#touya: key his car | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

youatemylollipop · 1 month

Note

I saw that you write for mha. Can you write first time (nsfw) touya x reader? Thx 🥰

Synopsis: You're tired of being the only one lacking experience in the s*x department, so when Touya suddenly suggests that you accompany him to a party, you decide to take him up on the offer. Who would have thought that this would lead to a steamy session with your childhood friend in his car?

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Touya Todoroki X Female Reader

WARNING: Childhood friends to lovers, college and no quirks au. First time, loss of virginity, kinda(?) soft dom! Touya, he's an asshole but has low-key a soft spot for the reader, explicit sexual content, oral sex (m.receiving), dirty talk, Touya calls reader slut a couple of times, MDNI!!

Word Count: 10.5K

“What’s the farthest you've gone with a girl?” You suddenly ask, tilting your head curiously as you turn to face him as he drives the car.

Touya raises an eyebrow as he glances at you. He's quiet for a few moments before responding in a more casual tone.

"As in, how many girls have I dated or...? Are you asking if I've... You know... Done the naughty?"

“Yes,” you confirm blatantly. “I meant the naughty.”

Touya sighs and looks ahead again, a slight blush on his cheeks. “How’d I know that’s where you were going to go with that question…”

His tone is teasing but there’s a hint of irritation there. He slows down slightly and pulls over to the side of the road, putting the car in park before giving you a look from the corner of his eye.

“And why do you even care?”

“So…?” You trailed off, ignoring his question as you eye him with a scrutinizing gaze, waiting for him to say openly that yes, he’s had sex.

Touya groans and rubs his eyes, already feeling this conversation becoming annoying. Though that’s probably more because of who it’s coming from and less because of the actual subject matter.

“Yes, alright…”

He finally caves. You’re like a child that’s curious and has a lot of questions about things they maybe shouldn’t be so curious about. Maybe it’s your own childishness rubbing off on him.

“Yes. I have.”

“So you’ve done the deed?” You continue to ask, just to make sure—and maybe just to annoy him.

“You’ve gone all the way? Like actually putting your sword in someone else’s cave?” The way you’re describing it makes him roll his eyes and look away, the blush on his cheeks deepening just a bit.

“Goddamnit… Yes. I have.” Now he just looks amused by the ridiculous way in which you’re asking this question.

“Ok.” Was all you said, before turning your attention back to the window.

He raises an eyebrow at that. Something’s bugging him slightly. Why is there suddenly so much interest in this? He doesn’t mind talking about his sex life, especially since it’s you he’s talking to. Though you’re kind of… weird about it.

“Why do you even care so much?”

“Because I’ve never done it,” you admit, turning to look out the window, sounding very much like a sulking brat. “I’ve never done anything like that with a guy.”

Touya turns his head to look at you, an eyebrow raised. He had a small hunch that was what you were gonna say though it still took him by surprise. When he speaks, his voice is calm but a bit teasing.

“Sounds like somebody’s salty that they haven’t done it yet.”

You huff, pouting at his attitude. “Yes I’m salty! Who’s gonna be willing to date a 19 year old college student that’s got zero experience? I haven’t even had my first kiss yet,” you complain with the same bratty attitude.

“Show me some sympathy, asshole.”

Even though he’s clearly trying not to, Touya snickers. He can’t seem to help the slight smirk that has formed on his lips. You’re so cute when you’re being a pouty brat like this.

“You say that as if it’s the end of your existence, or as if it’ll never happen. You are being overdramatic, you know that right?”

“I hope that I’ll meet someone at the party tonight,” you continue, ignoring him. “You’re friends are going to be there, right? Do you think I can kiss one of them?”

That gets the reaction he was hoping for. Touya turns to you, giving you a raised eyebrow as his lips curl into a smirk. “Oh? You want to kiss one of my friends?”

He’s quiet for another moment before smirking a bit and speaking again. “What about me? Maybe you could kiss me instead?”

“You’re not being funny,” you roll your eyes, not taking him seriously. “I just want to get it over with, I hope that at least one of them is hot enough.”

Touya lets out a small laugh at that as he looks away from you, the smirk on his lips growing into a small grin. Damn, you’re being a brat but for some reason it’s kind of hot.

“Oh come on, surely I’m hot enough. You should kiss me instead.”

You were about to retort until something clicked in your mind. “Wait, are you for real?”

Touya raises his eyebrow a bit, his grin widening as he notices the shift in your attitude from petulant brat to actually thinking about it. He shrugs as his lips turn into a smirk, looking back at you for a brief moment before looking back at the road again.

"Sure, I'm for real. Why shouldn't I be?"

“Won’t it be, I don’t know—weird?” You ask with furrowed eyebrows.

“What do you mean by ‘weird’? I mean we’ve known each other since we were kids. What’s weird about us kissing?” He keeps smirking and speaks playfully, not seeming to take the concept too seriously. Of course he is, but he’s not making it too obvious.

You eye him skeptically for a brief moment before deciding to let it go. “Alright, if you say so.”

He can’t help the satisfied grin that comes across his lips. It was probably a bit easier than expected to convince you. After all, the two of you have been so close since you were kids.

“You gonna kiss me or what?”

You let out a half amused snort before unbuckling your seatbelt and crawling over to him so that you were now seated on his lap, with your legs spread out on either side of his hips. There is a mix of excitement and nervousness in your actions as you lick your lips, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck.

“So, am I just supposed to lean in?” You ask.

Touya just lets out a small hum as he takes his seat belt off as well, watching as you crawl over to him and sit on his lap. For a moment, he says nothing, a smirk still on his lips as he gazes at you. Finally, he speaks with a more confident and teasing tone.

“Yeah. Just lean in… Make sure to aim for my lips, though. Don’t miss.”

You roll your eyes at his so called ‘instructions’, but do as he says anyways. The action is slow and once you get extremely close to his face you hesitate for a moment.

“Tell me if I do something wrong,” you mumble out before finally going in for the kill, closing your eyes as your lips finally touch.

As soon as he sees the motion coming, he meets you in the middle, closing his eyes as your lips finally brush against each other’s as well. For a moment all Touya can do is sigh softly, your scent filling his nostrils, his fingers tightening around your waist as his face heats up.

Finally he speaks again. His voice is slightly breathless. “That’s not bad, but go again…with a bit more passion this time.”

You adjust yourself on his lap to sit more comfortably before speaking. “Uhm, can you show me how?”

Touya snickers at that. You really haven’t done this before, have you? He thinks to himself amusedly.

“Sure… I’ll show you…”

Finally his hands start to move, slowly wrapping around you before one hand reaches the back of your head. Leaning forward slightly, as his other hand presses you down a bit more, he leans in and takes control of the kiss.

It turns into a deeper kiss, as his hands work on your body. The movements of his mouth against yours are more precise now, his tongue beginning to explore the depths of your mouth with confidence.

His grip becomes slightly tighter, his hands digging slightly into you as his arms almost seem to constrict you from the back. His lips are demanding, moving against yours with pressure. He pulls you in ever so slightly and then lets you go, repeating the same motion over and over again, trying to show you how to kiss and how to get into it.

You pull away after a while, feeling slightly breathless as you try to calm yourself from that kiss. “Whoa.”

Touya lets you go as he lets out a soft chuckle. He lets his hands stay where they are, still wrapped around your waist as he looks at you with a grin. After a bit he speaks up again, speaking casually as he leans back in the seat.

“Not bad… But here.”

His body moves again, this time more slowly, as he brings you back in as he presses you against his lips again. He moves his hands to grab the nape of your neck, pulling you forward and making the kiss even deeper than before. The ravenette holds you there for another moment before finally letting you go again, speaking with a confident tone.

“There,” a hand runs through your hair as he leans back in the seat a bit. Touya looks at you with a soft smirk on his lips.

“See? Like that,” he speaks before adding teasingly. “Are you sure you haven’t kissed before?”

Your cheeks are flushed as you pant softly, trying to regain some form of composure. “That was—“ you gulp, letting out a shaky breath. “Awesome.”

Touya chuckles at your reaction, the soft smirk still on his lips. His body relaxes a bit as he leans back in the seat again. The way you react and your inexperience is almost adorable. But it’s also a lot of fun.

“I can show you more than just how to kiss if you want…” He says, teasing you a little.

“Really?” You breathe out as your panting slowly calms down.

“I can feel you, down there.” You mutter softly, gesturing towards his obvious bulge.

Touya lets out a quiet chuckle in response. He moves one hand slowly to your rear, letting it rest on your backside. With the other hand he plays with a lock of your hair before speaking in a teasing, raspy voice.

“Oh… You can feel that, can you?”

“Yeah…” You mumble with a mix of shyness and eagerness. “Can I see it?”

Touya laughs as he feels his body heating up once again. He keeps his hand on your rear and shifts his body closer so that you’re basically straddling him. Your thighs are pressed right up against his waist and his other hand reaches up to the side of your face.

“Are you sure you want to see it?”

“Please…?” You add, lips jutting out as you do so.

Touya lets out a soft sigh, his breath hitched a bit. Your bratty pout is both annoying and cute at the same time. “Such an impatient brat…”

His tone is still teasing but he finally lets out a small sigh. With his hand still on the side of your face, his other hand reaches down to unbuckle his belt, undoing it slowly. All you can hear is the subtle sound of a zipper being undone and pants unzipped as his hand disappears from your side. He lets out a brief grumble before speaking again, his tone still being teasing.

“So, you really want to see it, huh…”

Still not taking his hand away, he gently pushes your head down. There may be no mistaking it as he gently pushes you even closer, your face only a few inches away from what was earlier tucked into his jeans and now out in the open.

Touya looks down at you from above, that snarky smirk remaining on his face as he watches you from this angle. There’s no denying the fact that you’re adorable when you look up at him like that. He’s only half joking when he calls you a little brat… And yet something about the way you act and the things you say makes him want to have you all to himself. It’s something he’d never admit out loud however.

He waits for a response, but there’s none yet. The corner of his lips starts to twitch as a smirk forms, knowing full well why you’re staying quiet. Finally your gaze moves lower, and your lips part as you stare. Touya keeps your head in place with a firm grip on your head as your gaze remains glued on that spot.

You swallow thickly as you gaze at his size with awe. “Can I touch it?”

Touya lets out a breath, he can’t help but feel a little bit amused. Your eyes are so fixed, it’s adorable. Finally he lets your head go once more, giving you the freedom to do whatever you want.

“Go ahead… I won’t stop you.”

Touya tilts his head up again to look at you from above. He lets out a small chuckle as he finally sees your hands move to the front of his pants. When you touch it, his body reacts with a subtle twitch from the sudden sensation. You can almost feel him shiver in your grip.

Touya looks down at you again, a devious smirk forming on his lips as your hand squeezes his shaft experimentally. He sighs softly and his lips curve up into a sly, suggestive smile. He’s just enjoying the sight of you right now, watching the look of curiosity on your face as you take in his size.

Touya lets his lips curl up into an even wider smug grin as your hand starts to move faster. His hips rock forward ever so slightly with the motion of your hand. Another small gasp comes from his lips and he leans back in the seat with his eyes closed.

“Am I doing this right?” You ask curiously.

With a slight nod, he whispers softly. “Mhm… You just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Just touching him is driving him insane… It feels so good, he’s enjoying every moment of it. His breathing grows even heavier now as a raspy moan escapes his lips in response to the light brushing of your fingertips. He shifts once again, spreading his legs further to give you more room to work with.

He lets his gaze fall on you again, watching you take his piece of flesh in your hand like this. His lips curve up into a smirk as he speaks softly for the first time in a while.

“Do you really have no experience?” He asks teasingly.

You gulp audibly, feeling the heat between your legs grow as you continue your experimental touches. “I wanna taste it.”

You mumble breathlessly before peering up at him, licking your lips as you feel your mouth watering at the thought. “Can I?”

That takes him by surprise. As soon as you speak up he opens his eyes once more, looking at you and noticing the breathlessness in your voice. The way you gulp and the way your body reacts to his touch tells him everything he needs to know. Though he lets out a soft, smug laugh when you ask that last question.

“I don’t see why not…”

He pauses briefly, giving you a teasing grin before adding, ”Just don’t disappoint me.”

He spreads his legs even more. After a moment, when he’s satisfied that there’s plenty of room for you to work with, he simply nods once again, allowing you to do as you please. You’re slow and hesitant in your movements as you bring it closer to your mouth, starting off by licking it experimentally.

“Mm…” Touya lets out a raspy moan of satisfaction as he notices you’re slowly and timidly moving. He can’t deny that it’s very erotic. But it’s also extremely cute. Your hesitation is almost as cute as your eagerness. He stays silent for a few more seconds, wanting to see how you feel as you give it a little lick.

Yet another moan escapes his lips again as your tongue rubs over him. You can feel him shiver slightly as he feels the sensation, his body moving in response to your tease. He closes his eyes and leans back the best he can with the little room he has left, his lips curling up into a small smirk.

“Keep going…” You feel your mouth water as you suddenly swallow as much of the length as you can fit in one go.

You’ve gone too far, and now his reactions are becoming even more intense. His throaty mumbles turn into loud groans as his entire body starts trembling. He shifts once again, pressing his back against the back of the seat as he tries his best to keep quiet. He's struggling to maintain any sort of control over himself, but with every suck you give him, his willpower weakens a little bit.

With a satisfied grunt, he finally finds some degree of control as he lets out another small moan and leans back once again. “God… So good…”

He moves one hand upwards, gripping onto the seat as his other hand shifts to the back of your head. You can hear your name escape his mouth as he lets out another small moan.

And just like that, you feel his hands shift. His one hand grips your head lightly as he gently takes control and moves. The slight change in motion is almost imperceptible but you do notice that he holds his breath for a moment as you lick him. It takes him a few seconds to recover as he lets out a loud moan. He lets go of your head and his fingers bury themselves in your hair as he shifts in his seat.

You can feel his grip tighten and a small shiver runs through your body as his hand moves your head up and back down again, this time with a bit more force.

“R-right there… Fuck, don’t stop… Mm…” Touya lets out quiet but clearly noticeable groans as your mouth works its magic. You gag slightly as the sudden force makes you choke slightly on his length, which urges you to send him a bratty glare despite low-key enjoying it.

Touya lets out a raspy chuckle at your glare, a smugness in his expression as he looks at you. The pressure he’s applying is steady but gentle enough not to hurt you or make you choke too hard.

"You're enjoying that, huh..." He lets out a small grunt and a muffled moan as you keep moving your head up and down. His hand keeps a firm grip on your hair, keeping you in place.

Touya keeps this up for a few more moments, his breathing getting heavier as your mouth works up and down repeatedly. He starts to growl softly, trying to hold back a little. This is just as much of a pleasure for him as it is for you. His grip tightens once more as his growls get louder. The grip is still not rough but firm enough to make sure you don’t slip up while working on him.

Touya’s body finally gets to that point, making him let out a loud moan as his grip around your head tightens some more. His hand on the side of your face moves up to the back, making sure you stay in position as he pushes you further and further. His eyes are closed as he relaxes a bit more against his seat.

Touya lets out another breath as he finally speaks with a raspy voice. “Keep going… Don’t stop… Fuck don’t stop…”

He lets out a raspy moan as your mouth continues to work on him as he tilts his head back a bit. His fingers dig into your hair as he pushes you back down, not letting your head move away from him. The grip on your head becomes tighter and more demanding as he holds you down.

“You really are good at this…” His hands grip your head tightly, letting you feel just how much he’s enjoying this as he lets out a few more sounds. He tries his best to be as quiet as possible since you’re in a parking lot, but it’s becoming harder and harder to not get too loud. As his grip on your head tightens even more, his moans become increasingly louder. He feels like he’s losing himself…

You pull away, taking a shuddering breath as you look up at him with glassy eyes and shiny lips, panting lightly. “Tou-chan, I want you.”

Touya’s eyes flutter open for a moment as he feels you stop with the sudden movement. Seeing the effects of your ‘experiments’ on you is quite exciting for him as his breath hitches and his heart rate picks up drastically. The grip on your head tightens again as he sees you squirm slightly.

Touya grunts in affirmation as his voice remains raspy, a smugness written all over his face. “I want you too, you little pervert.”

“Sorry…” You pant before a small cheeky grin grazes your features as you had completely forgotten about your previous unsureness. “You just taste so good.”

Touya chuckles softly at your comment, he can’t help it. You’ve clearly changed your mindset after that little ‘testing’ and now you’re a lot more eager. He tilts his head up again, taking in the view of your glassy eyes as you pant faintly, your lips shiny with saliva. The grip on your head remains firm this time though, not moving even slightly as he keeps his gaze on yours.

“You really think so?”

“Yeah,” you pant out, gulping audibly as you nod shakily.

Touya grunts softly as he sees you nod. His gaze shifts down in between your closed thighs for a minute, your wetness clearly evident on your skirt as he shifts in his seat again. The ravenette finally looks up at your face, that smugness back on his lips as he speaks again.

"How much do you want me…? Don't hold back..."

“So much that I want you to be my first,” you suddenly blurt out in the heat of the moment.

“I’ve liked you for years,” you admitted with a small, flushed smile. “It doesn’t matter if we go back to being just friends afterwards, but I really want you to be my first.”

That takes Touya off-guard for a moment, his body momentarily freezing in place from your words. You don't know how long he's waited to hear those words from you. Eventually he exhales and sighs softly with a soft grin. Touya looks down at you again, that smug look never leaving his features.

"You want me that badly, huh..." He moves closer to you once again, his lips literally within an inch from your own.

“More than anything,” you mumble softly.

Touya smiles at that, that smugness still on his face, but it's mixed with a soft look, showing his adoration for you. The ravenette grins at your words, you sound so cute when you get all steamy like this. It’s something he has been fantasizing about for a while, and it looks like you’ve finally come around.

Touya leans forward the rest of the way and presses his lips fully against yours, the force behind it a bit more this time, as his hand moves to your rear again, giving your buttocks a small squeeze. His other hand grips your neck tighter, keeping you in place as it moves to your hair. Touya leans into it, and this time, he doesn't let you break away. His lips start to move against yours once more.

“I love you,” you mumble breathlessly between hot and steamy kisses.

Touya freezes up for a time as you let out those words. His lips part from yours as he looks down at you. He blinks a bit and slowly takes in what you just said. It makes his heart skip a beat.

After a few seconds, he lets out a small chuckle though it sounds more like a breathless gasp. His grip around you tightens once more as his reply comes out in a raspy, but soft voice.

“I love you too… I love you so much…”

“Please take me,” you speak sweetly with a small pout.

The way you say those words makes your cheeks go red immediately. You can pretty much see the effect these words had on him. You finally confessed to him. You admitted your feelings and told him you want this as much as he does. Touya is speechless, he didn't expect this to end that way, but it definitely did in the best way possible.

He reaches up to your cheek with one hand, rubbing gently over it as he looks down at you with a flirtatious smirk. “Heh… Is that a request or a demand?”

Touya smirks at your pout, his thumb rubbing on your cheek as he looks at you. You can tell from his tone, he’s enjoying himself. Your response makes him want to tease you even more now.

“I want you inside of me,” you mumble impatiently, your lips jutting out even more.

That’s what he wanted to hear…

He lets out a breath, this is the kind of dirty talk he’s always enjoyed. The way you describe your own needs is hot and definitely makes him desire you more. He lets out a quiet laugh before he responds, the way he spoke was not the same as it used to be before your confession.

“Is that so, now…” Touya’s grip on your rear tightens slightly as he rubs gently on your ass.

With a small smirk, he immediately pulls you towards him, causing your bodies to press tightly against one another as his lips finally make contact with yours. He begins to slowly move his tongue into your mouth. Your kiss slowly grows more intense as he moves his tongue around, exploring your mouth as he holds you close to him.

The sudden switch from your hesitant behavior to this… It’s pretty surprising. With a soft laugh, he pulls away again, his lips curling into a playful grin.

“That's what you’re asking me for, huh?” He lets out another chuckle as he leans his head close to your shoulder, whispering softly directly into your ear.

You pout slightly, “Quit teasing me.”

“You want me to quit teasing you?” He leans back so that he can look at you again once more as he tilts his head up while speaking with a smug tone.

“Is this adorable brat asking me to stop?” Touya’s grip on you remains tight as he stares at you for a moment. The look on his face says just how much he enjoys playing with you.

“Stop being so mean,” you whine, looking at him with puppy eyes. “Pretty please with a cherry on top.”

“Awww…~” Touya lets out a quiet chuckle as you beg him with those puppy eyes and that whiny tone. Touya can’t resist that look. He finds it so damn adorable. You’re so easy for him to tease.

He keeps his grip on your body tight as he moves his face even closer to yours. You can feel his breath brushing against your neck as he leans against you and whispers his next words.

“That’s not how you beg, you brat…”

“Will you please fuck me?” You beg with wide glassy eyes, batting your lashes to appear cuter. “I need to feel you inside me—to feel that big fat cock rearrange my insides to the point nobody else could ever please me as much as you could.”

Those words coming out of your mouth, and that soft, desperate tone… It drives the ravenette crazy. A loud moan escapes him as he hears you say those words. His grip on your body tightens even more as he lets you go for a moment, to catch his breath.

Your words are such a turn-on for him. The way you just spoke right now is one he’d only hear in porn, you speak with such filthy language. He swallows thickly as he takes in the effect of your dirty talk. It's so blunt and crude, but so damn hot. That playful begging and your soft, vulnerable tone, it’s quite the combination as he stares at you with a smug smile on his face.

Touya's smile grows wider, almost to the point of being teasingly malicious as he stares you right in the eyes. Your body is so soft, so vulnerable and that tone just makes him want to take you right here and now. His grip around your waist tightens once more as he speaks again, this time with a sinister grin.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, you naughty little slut…”

“Just be gentle,” you whisper breathlessly.

The way he was talking with you—in such a degrading manner at that—was making you feel extremely hot. Yet you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as you realized that you’re actually about to lose your virginity to your childhood friend/crush.

Your mix of emotions is one that makes him want to take you even harder, to show you how much he wants you. To show you how much he’s desired this for years.

The ravenette lets out an amused laugh as he hears you ask him to go slowly for you, to be gentle. Oh, that’s rich… But he doesn’t voice his thoughts just yet as he leans up against you again, his eyes staring right into yours as he slowly speaks with a teasing tone.

“Who’s saying you deserve that?”

You pout, tilting your head slightly to the side to make yourself even cuter and more fragile. “Pretty please…?”

There was a childish lilt in your voice as your lips jutted out even more. “Didn’t you say that you love me too?”

You're doing this on purpose… You have to, there’s no way you’re not. The playful pout and the way you tilt your head to the side, there is no way it’s not on purpose. The way you ask for him to go slow with such a soft tone and the sudden mention of his confession… You’re making him soften up on purpose. You want a nice, soft gesture from him? You’re trying to make that happen.

Touya sighs softly, knowing full well he’ll cave under the pressure. His lips curl into a teasing smile as his gaze narrows at you. “Am I supposed to say yes to that just because I love you?”

He continues to look at you as he lets out a breath, not yet revealing what his answer will be. Does he intend to go easy or will he just pound you and tear you apart? That's for you to wait for. But you can tell by the grin on his face that you've already gotten through to him. Despite the knowledge, you still nodded affirmatively while flashing him a sickeningly sweet smile to get your way.

“Very well, you naughty little brat... I’ll go slow for you, since you asked me so nicely…” His reply comes out in a soft tone, with a smirk. He relaxes his shoulders as he stares at you with a smug look, but the moment has finally gotten to him. The way you have to ask him to be gentle makes it feel like you trust him after all.

He runs his tongue on your cheeks once more as he finally leans up against you, taking his time doing this. His tongue slowly makes its way down your neck, causing you to shiver and squirm as he continues licking and kissing your skin. The effect this had on you is quite visible as you breathe heavier and moan quietly.

Touya lets out a soft laugh as he hears you whimper and moan. The way you squirm as his tongue and lips move down your skin...is so damn hot. He slowly reaches his hand on your thigh now, getting even closer to your soft, juicy center.

Touya’s hand moves up to your thigh as it rests close to your wetness. As his tongue and mouth continues to move down your skin, he presses lightly against your thigh for a bit before moving even closer, using his thumb to trace circles around your wetness. The tease makes your whole body move, your mouth opening silently as you start to moan quietly.

“So wet already?” He asks you with a quiet laugh and a teasing smirk.

“I’m just horny,” you complain in a whining tone. “And whose fault is that?”

“My fault? Is that so now?” Touya laughs out, finding this to be both amusing and a bit arousing at the same time. His hand continues to play with your wetness as he traces circles around your thigh and inner thighs, his thumb brushing against your clothed clit briefly before moving upwards again.

“Just one more thing…” Touya smirks as leans in closer, his breath still hot and damp on your neck. His lips once again brush against your ear as he whispers softly once more.

“Keep your eyes closed when it happens…”

“Okay…” You breathe out, complying to his wishes.

Touya leans back once again, his hands loosening around your waist. He adjusts himself in his seat a little bit before beginning to move his hand back up your thighs, moving over your dress and slowly starting to unbutton it.

Eventually, after slowly unbuttoning your dress, he reaches the bottom of it. His fingers wrap around the side of your hip as he shifts once again and pulls you closer to him. His other hand slowly makes its way up your thigh as he grabs onto your waist.

He starts to slowly lift your dress up, pulling it over your thighs and leaving it all bunched up in his hands. His cerulean blue eyes flick down at the sight of you under the dress, slowly revealing it all to him. He finally lays his eyes upon what he’s been waiting for. Your pale, slender thighs and soft smooth skin… The small mound of your womanhood. His eyes practically glowing as they wander to the lace fabric of your panties and back up to your face once again.

The ravenette’s hand moves over the lace of your panties, gently rubbing at them with his fingers as he watches your cute, flushed face. He’s seen this many times before now, but never has it been this tantalizing…

“I want to see you,” you mumble softly with a tiny pout, but still keep your eyes closed as he had told you. “Please, let me see you.”

“Hmm… You want to see me, huh?” He chuckles softly as he hears your request. He keeps rubbing his hand over your underwear again, slowly rubbing through your silky skin as he whispers softly once more.

“But for now, keep your eyes shut… I’ll let you see me soon enough…” You let out a whine, but comply nonetheless.

Touya chuckles softly, his eyes wandering down to your body as his hands continue to slowly rub at your underwear with his fingers. He wants you to focus solely on the feeling of his fingers slowly going through your lace underwear… The slow and steady movement of his fingers as it rubs against your skin. Slowly giving your sensitive parts the heat and attention they crave.

“So sensitive…” Touya growls as his fingers continue to explore through the thin fabric of your panties. When he notices just how sensitive you are, he begins to apply a bit more pressure as he rubs his fingers over you.

He keeps this up for a little longer, pressing his fingers against that one spot, the pressure gradually increasing as time goes on. Soon, he can feel the slightest trace of your juices beginning to flow as your breathing becomes a little heavy.

“Mm… Looks like someone’s definitely enjoying this.” Touya chuckles in amusement as his fingers continue to rub at your sensitive spot. He can’t help but bite his lip as he hears your breaths pick up. The sight of you getting wet and excited from his touch is more than enough to get his blood flowing.

He moves his hands away with a small smirk, his tongue briefly flicking out to lick his lips as he watches you. You let out yet another whine at the loss of contact. Touya laughs once again as your whine grabs his attention.

“So, you really want more, huh?” Touya's deep voice echoes inside the car as he finally breaks his silence as he leans back towards your neck, taking another glance at the sensitive spot he just made so damp. “I’ll give you more then… Just let me do something first…”

After taking a glance at your damp spot again, he finally decides on giving his fingers a break for now. He slides his hands back down your thighs as he looks back at you once again, noticing that your eyelids are twitching.

“Tou-chan,” you breathe out in a whining tone. With a raspy laugh, he leans in next to your ear again. His breath is still hot and damp against your skin as the tip of his tongue flickers out once more.

“Yes?” He murmurs as his cerulean gaze narrows towards you once more, a little grin on his lips as he leans close to you again. This time his voice is even lower and more husky than before. His tongue flickers out one last time to brush against your cheek as it trails down to your neck again, where he begins to nibble on it.

“Just take them off,” you squirm in his grasp, opening your eyes despite not being allowed to do so yet. “I feel so empty.”

“You shouldn’t have opened them… You know that, right?” Touya’s voice is deeper, a bit more sinister but you can still hear the teasing tone. He speaks calmly but firmly, despite you now going against his wishes. You might be in trouble.

“So you want me to just rip them off and take you right now~?” Touya’s voice has become much more rough. The way he looks at you, you know that all he wants to do is to just break you, to tear you apart and break every single self-control you have to make you beg and whimper for him to stop.

But he knows that you’re too inexperienced for that yet.

“Opening your eyes like that without me letting you… This is going to have consequences, you know, little brat…”

Touya adds with a teasing smirk, but he’s immediately heeding your words and moves to take your panties off. He slides them lower and lower before taking them away completely. His hands move to the side as he takes a look at you, your face becoming flustered when he takes a look at your beautiful body. Once they’re finally out of the way, your soft folds become visible to his eyes.

“So...this is what you meant by empty, huh?” Touya’s deep voice echoes inside the car as he gets a look at your body once again. His breath is still hot and damp as his gaze flicks to your folds. “Pretty sensitive aren’t we...? Hm?”

Touya’s fingers move in closer slowly as he traces circles around your slickness once more, this time putting more pressure than before as he begins to rub and play with you.

You tug on his shirt impatiently as you demand, “Take it off.”

“A very impatient little brat you are, huh…” Touya chuckles softly, taking note of the way you tug at his shirt, his teasing and flirty mood changing a bit as his eyes narrow against you.

He doesn’t speak much as he reaches up and pulls it over his head. The moment his bare chest is visible your body seems to be heating up. The air is thick with heat and desire as he finally lets out a breath.

Your fingers trace his toned chest as you shamelessly ogle him. “You’re so pretty,” you mumble out breathlessly.

Touya gives you a playful smack against the side of your neck as he glances down at you, his tone and expression changing a bit as your hands trace his toned chest. His eyes widening as you compliment him, cheeks becoming a bit red as he glances at you.

“Pretty, am I? You think I’m pretty?” It’s clear that you’ve hit his weak spot as he tries his best to hide his blush.

“Like a piece of poetry,” you breathe out softly.

“Shut it…” Touya’s reply comes out as a playful tone as he gives you another light smack this time across your cheek, but the moment you compliment him his attitude changes a bit.

Touya lets out a breath as he glances elsewhere, not knowing what to say in response to that. You can tell that you caught him off guard with your words of appreciation. He wasn’t used to being complimented like that by anyone, certainly not by the person he had been crushing on since childhood. His cheeks remain a bit red for a reason.

You position yourself over his bare shaft, gripping his shoulders tightly. “I’m on birth control so…” You trail off, waiting for him to help you.

“So that means…” Touya’s voice trails into a soft and teasing moan as he hears you say those last words. His voice becomes lower and even more husky as he grabs on to your hips, his cerulean eyes once again glance up at your body. His hand moves to your hip as he stares up at you, pupils dilated as he watches you move over his shaft.

“So you want this to be raw…?” Touya’s voice becomes somewhat teasing once again as he looks at you, giving you a playful smirk as he looks between your legs.

He doesn't speak another word as he leans in and bites your shoulder gently before letting out a breath. His hips grind against yours briefly as he gets more riled up with each passing minute.

You swallow thickly, getting equally nervous and excited. “So, am I just supposed to slide down or…?” You ask hesitantly, unsure on how to continue.

“It’s pretty self explanatory, don’t you think?” His voice grows deeper and more hoarse. The ravenette’s hands move to your thighs as he grips onto them, his eyes glancing straight ahead as he moves back against the vehicle’s fabric seats. His mouth moves up to your neck again as he plays with your body even more. His legs shift slightly as he moves himself into a better position.

That’s your cue to move up to him once more. He’s done pretty much everything to set the scene for you. His hands slowly grip your body as he shifts your hips so it’s easier to enter. He wraps his arms around you and kisses you tenderly on the mouth.

“Now you know…” Touya smirks against your mouth as he pushes himself against you, causing his tip to graze your folds. His breath is hot and wet as he moves his hips against you again. He moves further back against the car seat before pressing himself against you again, his body making contact with your slickness but not fully inside of you yet.

The sensation of his tip touching your folds makes your body tense. You take a shuddering breath as you let him guide you, the grip on Touya’s shoulders tightening significantly from the intrusion. Biting your bottom lip softly as you did your best to relax your body in order to make the experience less painful and more pleasant.

"S’tight, doll." Touya lets out a rough moan as you tense up, cursing under his breath and keeping his hips still to help you cope with the pain. It takes him a bit longer to notice that you're gripping his shoulders, but as he does he just chuckles gently as he kisses your neck once again.

He begins to slowly move himself against you again, rubbing his tip against your folds as he begins to move deeper slowly.

“W-wait a bit,” you mumble shakely, making Touya stop his movements immediately as soon as you tell him to. The ravenette lets out a small grunt as you halt him for a bit, gritting his teeth as he holds himself still, his grip tight but steady around you.

“Mm? What’s wrong, doll?” He whispers softly in your ear as he tries to assure you and keep you calm.

“S-sorry…” You flush in embarrassment, tensing your body and trying your best to relax as he tries to inch himself in deeper. Legs shaking and trembling a little as you keep them wide open.. “It’s just hard to relax.”

“Hm… So you’re tense, are you?” Touya chuckles as he speaks in a teasing and flirty tone, though he’s still being cautious and slow as he doesn’t want to hurt you in any way. He wants your first experience with him to be a pleasant one, but that seems to be somewhat difficult at this moment.

He leans his head on top of yours and whispers softly to you once again. “Relax for me, doll… Just focus on breathing…” Touya’s whisper comes out in a soothing and tender tone. You take a deep breath before slowly sliding further down.

“There we go… Good girl…” Touya’s voice changes into a soft and tender one once again as his hands let go of your thighs and grasp onto both of your hips, helping you ease your way down into him. His cerulean eyes are fixated on you the entire time as you feel him slide inside of you, inch by inch, slowly and gently.

“Mm… There we go…” Touya’s voice mutters out softly as you slowly take his whole length inside of you, his breath catching in his throat as he feels you fully wrapped around him.

His body is still for a moment, but his breathing begins to quicken as he feels you adjust yourself to his movements. Another shiver travels down his spine as he feels the wetness inside of you, feeling the intensity as he pushes himself deeper. His fingers move down to grip your hips as he slowly starts to move his hips against yours.

Touya’s breathing becomes even faster as he lets your body adjust to his movements, slowly beginning to thrust deep, his hand now gripping your hips firmly as he moves in and out of you slowly and rhythmically. His other hand gently runs through your hair as he moans out softly.

“Mm… You’re so tight…” He says with a deep and husky voice as he glances down at you.

Touya’s pace begins to speed up slowly as his breathing grows heavier with each passing minute. He leans down towards you, biting your skin as his hips begin to grind against yours, his thrusts becoming faster and faster. His cerulean gaze glares into yours once more as he watches your body and the way he makes you moan every time he thrust harder and deeper.

“Mm…” Touya’s voice is a bit more hoarse as he moves quickly now, his breathing heavy as you feel yourself filled and stretched out even further. His cerulean gaze meets yours again as his fingers grip yours tightly, his thrusts faster and faster now.

“Such a tight little hole…” He mutters out breathlessly once again.

“Full,” you moan out. “F-feel so f-full…” You let out a gasp, “S-so big..!”

“Mm~ You really feel me, huh…?” Touya chuckles softly as his fingers grip yours tight. He begins to press his thumbs into your wrists as he thrusts deeper into you and pulls you closer to him. His movements are faster now his breath becomes short and shallow. Each of his thrusts becomes harder and harder as his cerulean eyes glaze over as he moves you closer to the edge. His lips curl up into a small smirk as he watches your reactions closely.

You let out a startled gasp at the change in pace, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. “Th-there! Please keep hitting there,” you moan.

“Oh~ You like that spot, don’t you?” He smirks playfully as he hears you tell him to hit that spot. His thrusts grow rougher, more intense, as he hits your G-spot exactly where you need it. He grips your body even tighter as you feel yourself about to reach your climax. A light sweat begins to coat his body as his cerulean eyes grow glazed, all the while you the tip of his shaft touch that one spot inside of you that makes you moan out.

You nodded shakily, unable to pronounce any words as you kept moaning softly into his neck. He could tell just how good you were feeling as your body was literally reacting to his motions.

“Mm~ You like that, huh…” His voice grumbles as he moves even quicker inside of you, his thrusts growing even faster as he hits all those sensitive spots.

“Such a good girl… All mine…” He whispers softly before biting your neck once again, leaving a small mark.

Touya lets a breath escape from his mouth, his body shaking a bit as he gets even closer to climax. He grips into your hips tighter than ever before as his body grows tense with each passing moment.

“Y-yes! ‘m all yours!” You moan, gripping his shoulders so tightly as if your life depended on it as you tried to meet his thrusts. “P-please don’t stop! You make me feel so good!”

“Oh~ Such a needy girl…”

Touya’s lips curve up into a smug smirk as he feels you start to move against him, your body moving in the same rhythm as his own, making it much easier for the two of you to climax. He begins to move his hips even quicker, his breath beginning to quicken as he approaches the precipice. With each passing thrust he felt a bit of himself build up inside of you. He lets out a deep grumbling that tells you exactly how close he is.

“S-so good!” You moan out breathlessly, biting your bottom lip softly as you try to keep up with his pace. You pull away from his neck, breathing heavily as you face him. “K-kiss me, please.”

His lips curve up into a playful grin. “Oh… Are you begging me, doll…?~”

You find that his grip has loosened up just a bit as he holds onto you more loosely now. His free arm moves up to stroke your face as he leans back slightly. Touya then stares into your eyes once more as his cerulean gaze meets yours. His lips curl up into a mischievous smirk once more.

He lets out a breath as he locks his lips on yours, tasting you as his other hand strokes your cheek gently. His caresses move down to your neck once again, rubbing the spot he marked before softly as you continue to make out. The ravenette moves his hips against yours as he’s continuously hitting your G-spot. He bites your lower lip once more as his tongue gently explores your mouth.

The ravenette then lets out a breath as he parts his lips from yours, his breath quickening as he stares at you once again. “God… You’re such a needy little slut… Your tightness is sending me over the edge…” He grips your hips as he thrusts deeper and hits your spot once more, his body twitching as he approaches climax.

“So c-close-“ you sobbed, tears trailing down your flushed cheeks from the overstimulation, clawing at his back uncontrollably. “N-need to cum…!”

“A needy girl like you, so quick and so desperate…” His voice is a soft whisper as he begins to thrust even harder now. His cerulean eyes glaze over as he smirks and bites your bottom lip as you clawed at his back. His body twitches and quivers slightly as he feels you getting into a frenzy.

His hand strokes your cheek slowly as he feels your body tense up even more. He lets out a rough groan as your nails start to dig deeper into his shoulders as you claw at his skin. “C’mon, sweetheart…c’mon… Just a bit more…”

A soft shudder runs down his spine as his hips thrust into you deeply. He feels you tightening around his shaft, indicating that you are approaching your climax. “Fuck, almost there… Just a little bit more…”

“Feeling it?” He whispers softly, his arms wrap around your body tightly as he grips the back of your neck and pulls you back into another kiss. All you can do is moan into his mouth as he keeps hitting that one spot.

He breaks the kiss again after a little bit, breathing heavily as he looks at you once again. He sees your body react to his movements and how your body trembles and quivers with each moment. His grip tightens around you as he whispers softly,

“Ready?” He rasps out as he keeps hitting the spot consistently, not bothering to change up his routine or increase the pace even. He waits for your answer, still not moving his hips faster despite how much you’re clearly enjoying it.

“F-for what…?” You ask confusedly.

He can’t help but grin slightly as he sees how confused you are. How clueless and lost into the moment of pleasure you are. His eyes shift to your mouth briefly as he asks you softly:

“To finish…” He says it just vague enough that it can be taken as anything but he keeps slowly moving and hitting that exact spot as he waits for you to understand what he means. Your mouth forms into an ‘oh’ shape in realization as you let out a moan. He lets out an amused laugh as you moan and realize what he meant.

”Yes!” You moan out. “So close, Tou-chan! Please don’t stop!”

His body tenses even more and he groans as he feels your grip tighten around his shoulders. He kisses your neck even more as he moves with both of your movements, slowly taking you back and forth between his own pace and your own rhythm. He whispers softly as his body continues to grow hotter with your sounds.

“You feel so fucking good…” His voice is still calm but he’s growing more and more breathless with each minute and moment you keep pressing against him and moving against him. He can feel himself getting close.

Touya lets out a raspy groan as he continues to kiss your neck and keeps up with your movements. He picks up the pace even faster as it feels like you’re reaching your peak. His grip becomes tighter as he continues to drive himself into you.

“A-almost—fuck… Keep it up…”

He closes his eyes for a few seconds, taking deep breaths as he tries to gain control over just how much his body is reacting. After a bit, he opens his eyes again and presses his body into you. His breath has gone back to being steadier and slower, but he still holds you firmly and keeps moving slowly, but firmly. He kisses your neck again as he whispers softly to you.

“How you feelin’…?”

“Like I’m about to burst…” You gasp out.

He moans roughly as he watches you writhe and squirm under his grip. He sighs softly as he speeds up slightly, your response and movements make him want to speed up even more, but he ignores the urge of letting himself go all out.

“Don’t let go just yet…” He rasps out, his voice already beginning to become breathy as he moves more and more into you, his grip keeping you firmly in his hold as his movements become faster. “Hold it in for a bit longer.”

He can feel you tensing and quivering under his grip as he feels your body starting to twitch more and more. His grip around your waist is still firm and his body heat grows with each moment as he speeds up again. He keeps his pace for just a little bit longer before he grips your waist tighter with his one arm while he lets go of your back with his free hand. He leans forwards and meets your mouth once again, taking control of the kiss with his tongue.

His body relaxes a little bit while he’s kissing you as his body heat grows hotter and hotter. His grip is tight around you as he keeps pushing and pushing you even more. He can feel your body starting to tense and quiver even more as you grip his back and waist tightly. He can see how much you’re struggling to hold it in, and just when it looks like you’re reaching your peak, he pulls back slightly and whispers into your ear, his breath coming out quick and sharp.

Touya’s voice sounds breathless and breathy when he whispers to you, he feels the tip of his tongue slowly rubbing your ear as it teases you, his grip on your waist and back becoming even tighter as he keeps pushing into you more.

“Almost…” Touya breathes out sharply, pulling his waist away from you slightly. The ravenette breaks the kiss and licks your ear one more time before pulling back even further. His cerulean blue eyes watch you squirm even more as your body tests your limits. He sees your twitching, quivering and tense body as he grips the front of your thighs and squeezes them as he whispers softly to you.

You moan out loudly as you finally reach your peak. Your body explodes in pleasure as pleasure spreads throughout it, flooding your senses as you twitch strongly and your body quivers more. Your tight grip on his body finally lets go as you squirm underneath his grip.

“T-Tou-chan!” It’s more of a cry then it is a moan of pleasure. He pushes deeper into you, finally reaching his climax as he grunts softly.

“Goddamn…” He lets out a final groan as he relaxes once he finally reaches his own peak. He leans in and kisses you one more time before pulling out, breathing heavily.

The ravenette leans back as he lets a breath escape from his mouth. His cerulean gaze meets yours once more as he glances down at you with a small smirk on his face.

“Did you enjoy that, doll…? Was I too rough with you?” He whispers softly, his hand rubs your thigh gently.

“A bit…” You pant softly, cheeks flushed as you snuggled against him. “But I…liked it.”

“Hm… You liked it…?” He lets out a low, husky chuckle as he leans his body back against the car door, his body tired yet satisfied now. “I guess you like it rough, don’t you…? You little naughty girl…”

You let out a soft, tired giggle at his implication. “Can’t believe I lost my virginity in a car that’s parked near a party with my childhood best friend turned boyfriend.”

“Is it weird to say that I find that a bit hot…?” He whispers softly back to you as he glances at you once more with a sly smirk on his face.

You let out an amused snort, “You’re such a horndog.”

“And you aren’t…?~” Touya smirked playfully as he teased you again, causing you to bite your bottom lip as you found yourself unable to find a retort.

“You’re not wrong.”

The ravenette chuckles softly once more as he glances at you again, his cerulean eyes glancing at you with a more teasing and flirtatious look to them. His hand moves back to stroke across your cheek as he leans back against the car door himself.

“I’m going to take it that you really enjoyed it…” He says as he teases you some more as he chuckles once more. “You feel tired…?”

“A bit.” You mumble softly, nuzzling your face against his chest comfortably. “But I don’t wanna sleep naked in your car.”

“Hm…” The ravenette ponders your request for a moment as he looks at you, deciding if he should grant it to you or not. “We can skip the party and…”

He lets a breath escape from his mouth before he gives you a playful smirk. “Just go back to my place. Sounds good?”

“Sounds nice,” you mumbled contentedly. “But next time there’s a party, we have sex only afterwards.”

“Good to know, doll…” Touya smirks in amusement. He then pulls his pants back up and fixes his other clothes before he looks back at you. “Need any help fixing up yours…?”

“Yup,” you nodded, stretching out your hands before grabbing your panties, pulling them on slowly before putting on your bra.

“Can you help me with the dress?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

Touya’s lips curved up into a small, playful grin as he watched you put on your own panties and your bra first. “Sure,” he says with a nonchalant shrug.

He wraps his arms around you from behind as he helps you put your dress on again, helping you with the straps on the back of your dress before helping you zip your dress up again. His lips tilt into an amused smirk as he chuckles a bit. “It looks good on your body, I have to say…”

“I just remembered that you didn’t compliment me when you saw me in it,” you huffed as you heard his comment.

He lets out a deep chuckle as he finally helps with you putting your dress back on completely. After that he pulls his arm back and sighs softly. A teasing smirk still stays plastered on his lips. “I was probably too focused on how much I wanted to take it off of you…”

“But, now that you mention it… It does look good. It compliments you very well,” Touya says with a bit of an aloof tone. His smirk widens even more as he adds to it with, “It really does hug your body… Quite the good sight~”

You let out an amused snort, “Have I ever mentioned that you’re an asshole?”

Touya lets out a snicker before whispering softly in your ear as he leans forward and nuzzles your neck once more. “And yet here you are, falling for me…” You pout with your usual bratty attitude as he says this with a smug smirk, looking soft and playful as he teases you. He chuckles and nods his head as he turns on the engine.

“Now, let’s get out of here so I can finally fuck you in every position that I’ve imagined, but couldn’t, since we were friends.”

170 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 2 years

Text

i can taste your skin in my teeth

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

notes: waaaaah finally!!! after working on this piece for nearly two years, it is finally finished!! this piece is the second part of my tag you’re it series and it deals with some pretty dark and heavy subject matter, so please heed the warnings carefully! also, there is a LOT of smut in this, all clumped together relatively close to the beginning so beware of that i guess! | part one | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, power play, blood, physical fighting, verbal fighting, manipulation, toxic relationships, size kink/size difference, rough sex, pussy slapping, dumbification, praise, degradation as a form of emotional release/therapy, thigh riding, dacryphilia, cum feeding/snowballing, minimal prep, the faintest hint of mindbreak, marking, implied car crash/accident, physical abuse + mentions of physical abuse, graphic depictions of drug use and addiction, drugs in general, needles (heroin)

words: 25.6k

synopsis:

It’s incredible, the way his body so readily reacts to your confessions—shoulders curling in a protective shield around your trembling frame, palms grabbing fistfuls of your flesh and tugging, lips brushing yours as he sucks the proclamations from your mouth—an instinctual response he’s hopeless to hold any authority over whatsoever; a natural inclination that had lay dormant, slumbering in his soul, patiently waiting to be awoken by you.

Because he loves you, too.

He tells you as much, in a soft, hushed voice, vulnerable and cracking. It’s been a long time since he’s said those words to anyone, and although they feel rusty on his tongue, creaking under the weight of authenticity, of pure truth, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

Dabi has lost all semblance of time.

He doesn’t remember how long it’s been since you called, going through his transactions blinded with rage, nostrils flared and teeth clenched, your quivering words, stuffed full of tears and terror, ricocheting off the walls of his skull and reverberating against the bone, more and more and more until his ears are ringing and his heart is charred with scalding anger and it’s all he can fucking think about.

He doesn’t remember how the deal went, doesn’t remember if it went well or if he blew it—not that any of it even matters anymore. There will always be another slimy boss looking to recruit a decent and loyal dealer; they’re a dime a dozen.

You are not.

He doesn’t remember driving to the house you and your brother share, either, but now, somehow, he’s made it here, standing on the small slab of concrete outside that white front door. Trembling hands rifle through his pockets in search of your house key—the one he had persuaded you into giving him a few weeks ago, for emergencies such as these, for fear of the absolute worst.

It’s all been a hazy, fuzzy blur, like his mind is a camera that’s been knocked out of focus, everything feeling slightly surreal, body running on pure instinct until the click of the lock sliding out of place snaps him back into kilter, everything suddenly sharp, crisp, clear.

Something slams—the muted yet colossal bang! of a brass doorknob making it’s mark in cream drywall, sending gentle tremors through the whole structure—and bounces a few times against the small crater it’s created, mingling with heavy echoes of rubber soles colliding with pristine hardwood.

Keigo crowds his vision in an instant, wildly swinging curled fists in Dabi’s vague direction, so messy and uncoordinated Dabi can’t help but laugh.

It’s a callous little sound, nothing more than a few notes playing at the back of his throat, grim and cruel as broad shoulders roll once.

Bone knocks against cartilage half a second later, sharp knuckles striking soft, pliable tissue hard enough that Keigo stumbles backwards, tripping over his own ankles and landing on his ass, blood cascading over his bitten-raw lips, collecting in his cupid’s bow and trickling down his chin.

A large hand, strong and calloused and unlike his own, tangles nimble fingers adorned with flashes of precious metals and stains of gleaming crimson—gold, not silver, yet much like his own—in his hair and yanks, forcing him to his feet through sheer will and power, impelling him to confront, to be condemned with and cornered by, glowing, glaring sapphire.

“Where is she?”

And despite his heaving chest, rising and falling harshly under his sharp, deep breaths, Dabi’s voice is calm, cold, almost serene.

“Y-You’re not taking her,” Keigo manages to spit through the sticky blood flowing into his mouth, staining the lines of his teeth and the curves of his gums.

A rumble behind a cage of ribs, another punch, square in the jaw this time and hard enough to dislocate it, Dabi’s fingers still threaded securely through tousled gold keeping Keigo standing and steady.

“Like fucking hell I’m not,” Dabi snarls, nostrils flaring, that serene mask already beginning to crack as hot lava boils underneath.

“I wo—” he coughs around the word, sentence drowning in blood. “Won’t let you.”

“Yeah?” Another blow, another breath. “You gonna stop me?”

Short nails sink into the flesh of the hand knotted in Keigo’s hair, a pathetic attempt to claw himself free from its grip. But it’s no use, Dabi’s fingers rooted firmly in shimmering curls, keeping him captive as his knuckles collide with Keigo’s mouth, bottom lip catching on top incisors and splitting the skin.

“Please, you—you can’t,” Keigo nearly whines, a rush of tears flooding his eyes, diluting the steadily pouring blood to a watery pink. “You can’t take her from me, Dabi. I need her.”

“Need,” Dabi snorts out the word, eyes rolling in pitiful disbelief. “You wanna talk about needing something? Huh? Which one do you need more: your baby sister, or heroin?”

“What?”

“Either she comes with me, or you don’t get your fix this week. Your choice.”

“I—You can’t—” Keigo sputters, head shaking in jerky little movements, still trapped in Dabi’s grasp, vying fingers coming to scrape at the other man’s wrist again.

“Oh, but I can, can’t I?” Dabi tilts his head in mock question, eyes twinkling as he stares down at his newest masterpiece, a twisted little smirk crawling onto his face. “Make a decision, Keigo.”

Shame sludges through Keigo’s veins, thick and acidic as his chin trembles and his eyes squeeze shut, jaw clenching with a thick swallow.

But he doesn’t need to say anything; Dabi already knows his answer.

Meanwhile, the sounds of their scuffle seeps through the thick white wood of your bedroom door, muted and muffled, words dulled to caustic, rancid lilts that bear little semblance to what they’re supposed to be, your ears only able to discern their voices, their tones—Dabi’s furious, Keigo’s terrified.

You hasten to pack the last of your belongings, fearing that your boyfriend might truly murder your brother if you don’t appear soon.

And it’s hard. It’s harder than you expected it to be.

It’s hard to leave him, bloodied and bruised and broken, gilded curls matted with sweat and scarlet, stray strands sticking to his salty cheeks.

It’s hard to take your Daddy’s outstretched hand, soiled with the blood of your brother much like your brother’s hands are still stained with that of your own, dried streaks of russet painted across smooth skin, tarnishing the once bright silver of his rings.

It’s hard to walk away without a single glance back, to walk out of that little white house with its white door and white windowsills and white panelled walls while Keigo lays in a crumpled heap on the floor, his hoarse pleads of don’t go, sweetheart, please, don’t go, you’re all I have, and cracked whimpers of your name following you on your way out, words clinging to your skin like a sticky film in permanence, soaking through your flesh to poison your blood and permeate your brain as they fuse to the walls of your skull.

✰ ✰ ✰

They’re uncontainable, those half-stifled sobs that keep shattering to pieces in your chest as you try to hold them back, to push them down, to keep them restrained just until you get to the safety and solitude of the Eldorado.

Dabi’s got both arms wrapped around you as he walks you hastily towards his car, grip tightening with each shredded cry that wracks your body, lips murmuring sweet nothings into your hair as they press endless kisses to the crown of your head.

Any attempt to deposit you on the passenger seat is immediately abandoned as you cling to him with a sharp whine of protest, dainty fingers twisting almost violently in the fabric of his hoodie.

“Okay, okay,” he’s pacifying, nodding to himself before he tucks you beneath his chin, holding you tightly to his chest as he maneuvers the two of you to the drivers side, fluidly sliding into the vehicle with you still tangled up in his limbs and shuffling you into a straddling position on his thighs.

The steering wheel digs into your spine, grinding against each notch of vertebrae as you wiggle on your Daddy’s lap, attempting to smush yourself closer to him. A large hand is roaming your back at once, pressing you against him in an attempt to protect your backbone while his other hand hastily fiddles with the seat adjustment, thighs tensing beneath you as he uses his feet to push the seat back.

For a moment, everything is nearly silent, the full weight of the situation settling into place, dense and suffocating and padded by Dabi’s jagged breaths and your poorly suppressed sniffles.

And then, it breaks.

And, oh, how you cry, chest stammering sobs that send ripples through your flesh, that shudder your bones and stutter your breath, until your eyes sting and your head pounds and your throat aches and your lips crack.

You cry until you can’t anymore, until the tears turn torrid, leaving behind sticky trails of salt to stain your cheeks.

And throughout it all, Dabi holds you, safe and secure against his vibrating chest, palms pressed to your heaving back and nose buried in your damp hair, softly humming, his strong arms keeping your bones from splintering under the weight of your agony.

“Hey,” he whispers after your weeping has calmed to hiccups, leaning back a little and shrugging a shoulder to nudge your face from his chest. “Look at me, precious.”

His features twist into a wince as you obey, peeking up at him from your sanctuary, eyes swollen and lips licked raw.

Calloused palms cup your jaw, more tender than anyone’s ever touched you before, as if you’re physically delicate—one careless action and you might smash to pieces—and tip your head further upward, rough skin contradicting the gentleness of his actions.

Tilting your face to the right, Dabi reveals your injured cheek, a sharp hiss sucked through his teeth at the full, unadulterated sight of it, his grimace deepening.

You can feel it below you, the way tremors of fury course through his veins, can see it in the air around him, the way it pops and crackles with potent energy, ebbing and flowing with the blazing sapphire of his eyes.

“That fucking bastard,” he chokes out, voice fading to a snarl.

It’s obvious he has more to say, the methodical flexing of his jaw and violent bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he repeatedly shoves the words back down his throat serving as a testament to this fact.

And although he doesn’t vocalize them, you can hear them, rattling around rancorously in your head, ghosts of sentiments he’s expressed before—I told you I’d fucking kill him if he put his goddamn hands on you again, baby, and I fucking meant it. I’m gonna fucking slaughter him, gut him from groin to sternum and watch all his insides spill out; a slow, tortuous death for what he’s done to you…

But you’re thankful he refrains from speaking such notions anyway, sparing you the gory, grotesque details of everything he wishes to do to your older brother; now is hardly the appropriate time for such vile things.

Instead, he clears his throat, scrambles the letters around and exhales a singular, shaky breath from his nose.

“Look, I…” he begins, then falters, eyes intently searching your face before they dart away, his front teeth nibbling at the thin skin of his bottom lip. “I wish I could take you hundreds of thousands of miles away from here, so far that this all becomes nothing more than a distant, hazy nightmare. I—I can’t do that right now, because I just don’t—I just don’t have the money yet, but…”

He halts again, sounding truly regretful, gazing at you through his lashes almost as if he’s embarrassed, as if he’s worried it won’t be enough, or it’ll be too silly. A hand, small and gentle, finds its dutiful place on his cheek, cupping his strong jaw; a silent plea to continue. His chest rises with an inhale, and he nods once before continuing, powering through the words.

“But I can offer you an escape, even if it’s just for a little while.” A thumb skims across your unmarred cheekbone, then over your bottom lip, azure eyes tracing his actions before finding your gaze. “Will you let me do that for you, baby girl?”

Yes, your nodding your head in his loose grasp, a fresh wave of tears lacquering your eyes. Yes, of course you will, you always will.

✰ ✰ ✰

The sun has retreated below the horizon by the time Dabi pulls into the nearly empty parking lot, a healthy slice of moon bathing the indigo sky in flares of silver, beams distorted by a veil of clouds.

The Mint Motel stands crumbling and cracked on the other side of the city—far away from that small white house with it’s little white fixtures, far away from Dabi’s dingy little bachelor apartment three floors above the convenience store.

Fog diffuses the flickering neon sign, casting a haloed glow around the bright blue VACANCY, soft and surreal as you both walk back from the front office, the Honeymoon Suite key pressed tightly to Dabi’s palm. The wet, warped asphalt beneath your feet shimmers in the dim light, pitch black catching the waning fluorescent rays.

The suite’s bathroom—all gleaming black ceramic and shining red acrylic—has you gasping in surprised delight, eyes glittering as they catch on the heart-shaped jacuzzi tub sitting lonely and empty in the corner, encased in a rectangle of black tile and surrounded by mirror-panelled walls.

Your soft noise garners Dabi’s attention, hands halting their rummaging through the cabinets and throwing a glance over his shoulder, a smirk spreading across his lips as he realizes what has you so enamoured.

“We’ll use that later, baby,” he promises as he turns back to his task, pulling a small first-aid kit from the bowels of the cupboard and tossing it on the counter. “But right now,” he begins, grunting a little as he pushes on his knees and stands. “Daddy needs to get you all cleaned up.”

Strong hands snake under your armpits, hefting you up and placing you on the edge of the countertop, sharp hipbones nudging your thighs open wider as he stands between them. A damp, soapy wad of gauze presses gently against your swollen cheek, sending little thorns of pain searing through your flesh, and a low whine catches in your throat, face jerking away instinctually.

“Shh, I know, I know,” Dabi murmurs as his free hand comes to cup the back of your head, holding you in place as he dabs at the wounds again. “It hurts, baby, Daddy knows. But it has to be done.”

The impact of Keigo’s rings has left two large, deep gashes across your right cheekbone, blood crusting around the wounds in ugly, uneven mounds. The bleeding has mostly stopped by this point, dried strokes of rust and crimson smeared across your cheeks and jaw, Dabi being mindful not to displace the scabs as his hands work.

Dark sapphire eyes, turbulent with a storm of fury and contempt raging in their irises, stay diligently trained on his task, angular jaw clenching as molars gnash together behind his lips, grinding all of the hateful words he wishes to speak to dust and exhaling them in sharp breaths out his nose.

But despite the terrifying malice blazing in his gaze, the thumb on the back of your head is tender, loving, rhythmically petting your hair as the other cleans, a small but appreciated comfort.

The pungent stench of alcohol stings your nose a few moments later, after Dabi has completed his initial cleansing, features contorted into a wince as you cower away from the smell.

Such a reaction has Dabi laughing a little—nothing more than a short chuckle, yet still enough to break through the hard emotion coating his face.

“This is going to burn,” he tells you honestly, though there are still glimmers of mirth playing in his eyes, voice morphing into that tooth-rotting condescension you’ve come to know so well. “But I want you to be a big girl and sit still for me, yeah?”

“No promises,” you grumble through a pout, eliciting a snort from your boyfriend.

“Dramatic little brat,” he huffs out through a grin.

Taking your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, Dabi holds you firmly in place, inhibiting you from squirming away as he begins his second round of cleansing.

He’s careful to only apply it to the cuts themselves, avoiding the surrounding sensitive skin while explaining that this isn’t technically necessary—the water and soap should’ve been enough to adequately clean the wounds—but he wants to be safe, he wants to be sure an infection won’t occur.

Responding coos fall from his lips while he continues with his duty, each an acknowledgement of the small pained whimpers vibrating in your chest, procured by the waves of pinpricks that sprout through the wound with each blot of alcohol.

“Almost done, almost done,” he placates, throwing the soiled gauze on the counter next to your thigh. “Just a little bit longer, princess. You’re doing so well.”

Rough fingertips, pads stained pink with your diluted blood, slather glops of Polysporin over your cheek, glazing the lesions with the substance before taping thick bandages over them.

“There,” he says softly, eyes scanning over his handiwork, that storm dulled to a drizzle as he soaks it all in. Knuckles brush back strands of hair from your temples before skimming the curve of your cheek, gaze following their slow trajectory, their touch featherlight. He swallows thickly, voice coarse when he speaks again. “Good as new.”

This is the gentlest he’s ever been with you—this is the gentlest anyone has ever been with you—and something buried deep and dark inside of you breaks, fractures into sharp shards that pierce your organs, a dense ache radiating throughout your chest.

For the first time in your life, you are the one having your wounds tended to, taken care of, instead of the other way around.

You try to tell him this, but the words materialize into splintered sobs before they reach your lips, nothing more than an incomprehensible jumble of letters on your tongue.

But you don’t need to vocalize it—he knows.

He knows, because he can see it: in the way appreciation gleams behind a thick shield of tears, in the way your fingers are tangling in his t-shirt, twisting in the fabric and tugging him closer, needing him closer, in the way your ankles are hooking around the backs of his thighs, clinging to him in every sense of the word.

Calloused palms cradle your jaw, heedful of your injured cheek as they drag your lips towards his own, mouths slotting together.

Despite his tender actions, his kisses are anything but, saliva-soaked lips bruising in their fervour, mouths messily slotting together as they slip and slide, drool oozing from the corners to lacquer your chins and cheeks with shimmering spit. Nimble fingers dig into the back of your scalp, tugging you closer, closer, closer, noses mashed against one another as your tongues grind, hickory and Marlboros staining your flesh.

You kiss him back just as voraciously, suddenly insatiable for his touch and his tongue, an urgent yearning to submerge yourself in him completely igniting at the core of your body, desperate to feel him surrounding you, intoxicating you, numbing you.

One set of fingers tangles in the tufts at the base of his neck as the other set, already knotted in the fabric of his t-shirt, give a harsh yank. Your teeth suck his bottom lip between their edges and sink into the plush flesh, savouring the groan that rumbles from his mouth into yours, a shiver creeping up the notches of his spine as he drags his lips free of its sharp captors, the ridges of your teeth scraping against it in the process.

The thighs cushioning his hips flex as you attempt to pull him closer, the ankles clasped around his legs tightening, heels digging into firm muscle.

He’s just as desperate to give you everything you’re craving, just as desperate to take away the anguish that has been instilled in you; to suck it from your mouth and soul in the form of precious little gasps and broken little whines, to store it safely in the depths of his lungs and the pit of his stomach and take the strain of its immense weight off your body, to share the burden of carrying it.

“I want this off,” he murmurs against your lips, hands pulling at the hoodie your body is currently drowning in—his hoodie, used to hide your marred face from the motel clerk at the front desk, since you had refused to wait for Dabi in the car, refused to be away from him for even a moment.

You obey immediately, retreating and lifting your arms, allowing Dabi to rid you of the garment, cautious of your injuries.

Taking your face between his palms again, sapphire eyes sweep across your face, gaze trailing after the crystalline tears that continue to drip down your cheeks, watching as they collect in small puddles along the edge of your jaw.

And, for once, Dabi does not find them agonizingly beautiful.

Not when they aren’t solely conjured up by him.

His tongue laves across your jaw in wide, sticky strokes, the muscle pressed flat to the bone as it mops up the salty little dewdrops, swallowing down ounces of your pain.

The repetitive rubbing of denim chafes the smooth skin of your inner thigh as Dabi ruts against it, action almost involuntary while he paints your neck in glistening saliva and blooms of violet, hard cock straining, hot and throbbing, against its confines.

A dainty hand snakes between your bodies to pick at his thick belt buckle, whining softly as nails scrabble against silver.

“What is it, baby?” he asks, a hint of teasing tinging his tone, though his voice holds none of its usual derision, the question soft and sincere. “You want something?”

“Daddy,” you cough around the word, stuttered breath slicing it to pieces. It’s all your able to manage: one word, two syllables, pitched high and full of cracks.

But that’s okay, because Dabi knows, just like he always does.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here,” he whispers, nosing along your jaw. “Daddy’s gonna make the pain go away, okay?”

“Please,” you whimper, and your voice sounds so small, so raw with uncut emotion that it has Dabi nodding in an almost frantic manner, eager to rid you of such distress.

Calloused hands slip beneath your dress, kneading your supple flesh as they travel up, up, up, until fingertips brush silk and lace, delicately clinging to your skin. They trace the trim, following it around the curves of your thighs and along your hips until they locate the waistband, toying with the cute satin bow before hooked thumbs dip into the material and tug.

But you refuse to unlock your legs from his own, unwilling to part with his warmth or his touch for a single second, and Dabi laughs, huffing out something about how fucking greedy you are, the words doused in adoration.

Looks like you leave him no choice, he’s saying as his fingers tear through the lace as effortless as fire licking through a spiderweb, yanking the ruined garment from your skin in one swift motion.

It flutters to the floor in a dainty heap of white—Agent Provocateur, two hundred and forty dollars, destroyed in mere moments—but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care at all, too preoccupied with shoving Dabi’s jeans down his thighs, the balls of your feet aiding his hands, then locking him in place again, ankles hooked together behind his back, heels digging into those sweet little dimples that frame the base of his spine.

His cock bumps against your inner thigh, drooling sticky pre-cum across your skin, another whine, impatient and needy, hiccuped in your throat.

Dabi’s muttering something, low and pacifying as he lines his cock up with your unprepared hole, allowing an impressive dollop of spit to drip from his lips, haphazardly slathering it around his shaft. His eyes stay fixed on the apex of your thighs as he pushes into you slowly, steadily, watching his movements with a sort of fascinated awe as your body stretches and struggles, sensitive skin splitting open for him, welcoming him home.

The pain is immaculate, a sharp hiss slithering from between your clenched teeth, throbbing little spikes searing through your thighs, flesh trembling in their wake.

But it feels so right, being stuffed full of him. It feels so safe, bodies encased in a protective bubble of affection, where nothing can get to you.

“Please, Daddy,”

One final plead, quiet and broken, thick tears dazzling your eyes, continuously escaping the corners like clockwork—two at a time, twin diamonds streaking your flesh, others embellishing your lashes, tiny jewels sewn into fluttering lace.

One final plead is all it takes to have his hips drawing back, charged with dutiful intent, then snapping forward, hard and rough and fast as he builds up a rhythm, one hand braced on the counter, the other pressed against the mirror, fingertips leaving smudges with each thrust.

The consistent bang! of his heavy belt buckle against the edge of the counter acts as a crude metronome, keeping time for the breathtaking symphony of your moans—airy little mewls and pretty little whines, garnished with his own guttural groans and growls.

Every tear that falls, every sob he fucks out of you, every slam of his cockhead against your cervix melding delirious pleasure with delicious pain all diminish the suffocating ache in your chest bit by bit, relieving a deep sorrow knotted at the core of your body.

Together you create something beautiful, something safe, something yours, an ephemeral masterpiece that ebbs and flows and grows and crests before it explodes in tandem with you both, clutching and clinging to one another, bodies shuddering and hips stuttering with the clench and pulse of gushing juices and thick cum, drenching him and filling you.

And, God, you love him. You love him so much, love him more than anything on this planet or any others, love him so tremendously it physically hurts, organs expanding with the sheer density of it, bones straining beneath the immensity, whole body seeming to swell with it, threaded through your blood and brain and barreling up your throat until it’s spilling out your mouth in a single continuous, seemingly uncontrollable stream.

Dabi isn’t even sure if you’re fully conscious of what you’re saying, fucked so good your brain has melted, body pliant and sagging, but he knows it’s true nonetheless, struck by the sincerity in your voice, the urgency in your grappling fingers, pawing at him senselessly.

Because he loves you, too.

✰ ✰ ✰

You wake somewhere between Friday and Saturday, the sky still dark and void, the dim motel room blinking in time with the screen of the small television, the only other source of light pooling around a bedside lamp.

Dabi sits next to the puddled yellow glow with his back propped against the wooden headboard, a book held open with one hand and a steadily burning cigarette wreathed between the fingers of the other.

“What are you reading?” you croak, wincing at how raw your voice sounds.

He turns the book towards you, showing you the cover—Brave New World—eyes flicking up to meet yours, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Found it in my car,” he says with a single shoulder shrug.

“You’ve read it before,” you say, not an accusation but merely an observation, gaze scanning the worn, veiny back cover, noting the laminated library sticker plastered around the bottom of the spine.

He nods. “I have, but I don’t mind reading it again.”

Accepting his answer, you flop onto your back, staring up at the stuccoed ceiling. It’s hard, in the muted silence, to keep those recent memories at bay, the most gruesome events of the past twenty-four hours flickering through your mind—the flash of silver, the sting of the slap, gold matted with crimson and salt, sticking to flushed skin that begs you not to leave—a crudely stitched together montage playing torturously on loop, screened on the walls of your skull.

And the harder you try to force them away, the more vivid they become, binding themselves to the tissues of your brain and ensuring they’ll never be forgotten.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Dabi’s placing his book face down on the nightstand and drawing you into his arms, murmuring out comforts into your hair as he squeezes you tightly, a smothered sob scrabbling at your sternum.

Anger flares in his chest again, bright burning flames of carmine licking up his throat, but he swallows them back down, douses them in his love for you—in your love for him—extinguishing the blaze to a dull smoulder.

Now is not the time for such things, for such hatred and fury. But he will save this fire, keep it kindling deep within the core of his body until he can finally release it to ravage that fucker.

The most important thing at this moment is eradicating all of that pain, all of that suffering and sadness from your soul and replacing it with love, with warmth, with him.

“Oh baby, oh baby,” he’s saying as he cradles you to his chest, bodies rocking back and forth slightly, legs entwined. “Let Daddy make it better, yeah? Do you want Daddy to make it better?”

You’re nodding against his shoulder, a little hiccup stammering the breath in your throat, sweet jumbled pleads spilling from your lips.

“Okay,” Dabi says softly, rolling your tangled bodies so you’re trapped between the mattress and his chest, those jutting hipbones snuggling between your thighs. “I’m gonna take the pain away, princess.”

You’re mewling out little affirmatives beneath him, legs folding on either side of his torso as your feet find his hips, pushing his briefs down his legs as far as you can.

A soft chuckle wafts across your face and he kicks the garment off the rest of the way, ending up in a small heap of fabric near the foot of the bed.

Leaning back on his haunches, he hooks one of your legs over each of his thighs, spreading you wide and bare, vulnerable beneath his stare. Sapphire eyes watch in an almost trance-like state as nimble fingers skim across your skin, outlining all of your curves and all of your contours: the hills of your breasts, the peaks of your nipples, the bends and ridges and slopes of your stomach, down, down, down until they hit the apex of your thighs, thumb brushing against your clit.

It’s beautiful, he’s telling you, still enchanted by your body, how easily you react to him, how readily you react to him, two pads of his fingers pressing down hard on the little nub to accentuate his point, observing with an almost morbid fascination the way it sends jolts zipping through your body, flesh rippling with the force.

His cock is already hard, pink and perfect and leaking against his pelvis, and your hole constricts around nothing, hungry and raring for something to stuff it full.

A gentle laugh, embellished with just a hint of patronization, falls from his lips, index finger tracing the outlines of your pussy—hood, lips, circling your hole—before finally pushing inside, breath exhaled in short pants as you greedily suck him in.

He teases you a little, pumping that singular finger in and out, crooking it at just the right time and pressing a knuckle into that plush spot until the digit is slippery with slick, until your hips are wiggling and whines keep crumbling in your throat, back arching a little in impatience.

It’s not enough, the ache of your cheek beginning to permeate the haze of lust Dabi had veiled over your mind, and you need something else, you need something stronger, you need more.

“Need you, Daddy,” you drool out, words lazy and full of spit. “Need you right now.”

A sharp slap to your cunt with the back of his hand has all of your pain radiating to the core of your body, the sound sticky and wet as it rings out among the room, Dabi speaking over your pitchy cry, strong thighs keeping your legs from instinctively snapping shut.

“There’s never any excuse to be rude to Daddy,” he says, another slap sending pinpricks tingling throughout your inner thighs. “Where are your manners?”

“Please,” you gasp out, lashes fluttering against a torrent of tears, desperate to keep them locked behind your lash line. “Please, please, Daddy,”

“Please what?” His knuckles collide with your cunt a third time, a faint glint of malice glittering in his eyes. “Tell Daddy what you want, sweetheart.”

“Please, your cock!” The words rush from your mouth in a singular huff of breath, tongue nearly tripping over itself in your haste to clarify. “Want you to fuck me with your cock, Daddy, please, want it so bad!”

A coo vibrates at the back of his throat, fingers turned gentle again as they caress your slit.

“That’s better,” he murmurs over the stream of pleads still oozing from your lips. “Okay, baby, okay, hush now, Daddy will give you what you need.”

The stretch is incredible—not that you’ve come to expect any less—delicate skin ripping itself wide to take him, the little sutures created in the bathroom opening again, gleefully, willfully, needing him.

But the pain is welcomed, the pain is familiar, the pain is good, because it numbs your mind, takes your focus off the emotional wound festering in your chest and the intermittent stinging burrowing through your cheek and renders you incapable of concentrating on anything else except for him, him, him.

His hips gyrate for a moment, cockhead grinding little circles into your bruised cervix, inducing a dull ache to take root at the very core of your body. A palm flattens between your hipbones, pressed tightly against your body, softly moaning Dabi’s name as you feel his motions nudging through your flesh.

“I’m gonna fuck you until all you can feel, all you can think about is my cock,” Dabi vows, hips drawing back, unhurried yet purposeful. “I’m gonna fuck you until you go stupid from my cum, baby.”

“Want it, w-wan’it,” you babble out, sentence fragmented by his cock as it slams back into you. “Want it, D-Daddy, please.”

And, fuck, he can’t deny you a single goddamn thing, not when you’re like this, staring up at him with those glazed, starry eyes, glistening chock full with your love for him; not when his name and his title are tangling on your tongue, his cock fucking the most beautiful rhapsody out of you, shards of words infused with sounds of pleasure, sentiments routinely smashed to bits with each pound into you.

So he gives you what you want, thighs straining as he balances on his knees, creasing your legs and crushing them to your chest, using your shins to keep him steady as his hips snap relentlessly.

Tears are seeping through your clamped shut lids, streaking your face with gleaming paths of salt as they roll down the sides of your face. Thick lashes trap a few, shimmering dewdrops that cling to dainty feathers, sparkling in the weak golden lamplight.

“Yeah,” he pants out. “That’s it, baby, cry for me. Cry for me, let it all out, c’mon.”

It’s all so overwhelming, the pain and the pleasure and Dabi, Dabi, Dabi—sweet hickory and spicy nicotine enveloping you, his aura like a thick haze of smoke, candied and intoxicating, burning as it rushes down your throat to ferment in your lungs.

Every stuttered inhale is a shot of novocain to your brain, numbing those memories, numbing your consciousness, every harsh thrust forcing thorns of pleasure searing through your gut, little spikes that melt together in the pit of your stomach, forming a heavy, fluttering ball of blue fire.

It’s all so overwhelming, yet it’s all so fucking good, simultaneously too much and not enough.

“Da-Daddy,” you’re sobbing, little fingers groping at his biceps, trying to grip him, to bring him closer, to find comfort. “Daddy, it’s so much, it—it’s too much!”

You’re really wailing now, whole body juddering with the force of it, nose puffy and twitching with harsh sniffles, a vain attempt to keep it from leaking, spit collecting in the vacuities of your mouth, so much that your words drown in it, coming out mangled and soaking.

“Oh, baby,” he breathes, leaning down so his chest is pressed flush to your folded legs, cupping your face between his palms as his hips slow to uneven rutting, dimming the sphere of fire roiling in your tummy.

“Hey, look at me.”

Your damp lids lift, dislodging some of the teardrops that had been caught by your lashes as sapphire searches your salt-stained face, a glimmer of condescending concern in his irises.

“You can take it for Daddy, though, can’t you?” A rough thumb caresses your uninjured cheekbone, calloused skin contradicting such a tender action. “I know how good you are, princess, I know you can take Daddy’s cock for him, right?”

Your head is nodding before you’ve given it permission to, pathetic little mewls of yes, Daddy and of course, Daddy tumbling mindlessly from your lips, desperately vying for his praise, desperately vying for the mind-numbing high that comes packaged with it.

“Good,” he murmurs softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before he starts fucking into you again, rapidly gaining speed with each jackhammer of his hips and surpassing his previous pace.

The prettiest whimpers are spilling from your throat, gentle little things that break and fade into wispy little whines, each one pushed from your lips in time with his brutal thrusts.

“How’s that, baby?” he breathes, eyes voracious as they sweep across your face, desperate to devour every little change in expression. “Go on, don’t be shy, tell Daddy how his cock’s making you feel.”

Good, good, so fucking good, every drag of his cock against that plush spot buried deep within you sending another flare of scalding sapphire flames licking through your veins, adding to the blaze coiling at your core.

So good, in fact, that you can’t seem to stitch the simple words together, letters turning to ash in your throat, wheezed out as bastardized versions of what they were originally supposed to be.

And Dabi can’t help but huff out a little laugh, strained with pleasure, murmuring something about how fucking cute you are when you get like this, all dumb and fucked out with hedonistic bliss.

“Yeah, yeah, just think about Daddy’s cock, princess, s’all that matters right now,” he rasps, stringy strands of ink, clumped together with sweat, hanging in his eyes. “God, look at you,” he nearly keens, gaze flitting to where you’re conjoined. “Such a perfect little whore I’ve got, taking my whole cock like that, such a—f-fuck—such a good, good girl for me,”

That sphere of fire is curling in on itself, tighter and tighter and tighter with each pump of his hips until finally it explodes in a shower of sapphire sparks, singeing into your flesh and steeped in your blood, lighting your entire body ablaze as your cunt spasms, floods of heat gushing at the apex of your thighs.

“Yeah, baby, c’mon, cream all over my cock,” Dabi says, voice hoarse with passion.

You’re still cumming when he does, only a few pistons later, muscles pulled taut as his cock pulses, spurt after spurt of hot cum stuffing you to the brim, your name cracking in his throat.

He collapses on you a moment later, a heavy heaving mess of sticky skin, cock still buried inside you, twitching with the corollary of his orgasm. You can feel his cum oozing out of you, thick and cooling as it trickles down your skin, thighs tensing as you attempt to keep it inside of you.

“Daddy,” you whimper, the name nothing more than a warped mess on your tongue, weighted with spit. “Daddy.”

“Yeah, baby,” he mumbles into your shoulder, noncommittal, breath still coming in short puffs.

“Daddy, your cum,” your hips squirm beneath him, shoving upwards, trying to use his cock as a plug.

“What about it?”

“S’leaking outta me.”

Dabi pulls back to look at you, eyebrows slightly wrinkled. “So?”

“I don’t want it to,” you whine. “Want it to stay in me forever.”

With a laugh, he shakes his head. “That’s cute, princess,” he says. “But there’s nothing Daddy can do to make sure it stays in you forever.”

Another whine, pitchy and petulant, vibrates in your throat, hips rocking again. “My mouth,” you say. “Feed it to me. Put it in my belly where it’ll stay forever.”

A piece of him, seeping into the floor of your stomach, mouth watering with the thought.

Crystal eyes search your face for a moment, darkening with the sincerity of your expression. You look as though you may cry if he denies you, staring up at him with lust-blown lidded pupils and a spit-shined mouth, high mewls spilling from your throat.

He doesn’t say anything as he disentangles his limbs from your own, body sliding down the mattress to hook your legs over his shoulders, arms crooked around your thighs, big hands splayed on your hips, pushing them down and keeping them still.

Unblinking, his eyes hold yours as his head dips, tongue unfolding from its cavern, tip hooked as it licks into you, gathering glops of his cum. He laps as much of it as he can from your abused cunt, slow and methodical with each lave, each delve into your soaking hole, filling his mouth with his own essence until you’ve been sucked clean.

Only then does he release the grip he has on your flesh, crawling back over you and using a hand to squeeze the hinges of your jaw, popping it open. His tongue sprawls from his mouth, drenched in thick cream, and hangs enticingly above your own, threads of cum diluted with saliva dripping in slow, large dollops directly into your throat.

You swallow them readily, greedily, both hands clawed around his wrist as your back arches, starved for more. He laughs at you again, after he’s emptied all the viscous substance from his mouth, telling you in sugary condescension that there’s no more, that you’ve eaten it all up, like the good, greedy little girl you are.

The thought makes you giggle, sends a rush of tingling spikes through your veins, whole body buzzing as you nod along to his sentiment, his cum a warm comfort in your tummy.

Placing a kiss on the tip of your nose, Dabi pushes himself up from the mattress, sauntering into the bathroom. You watch as he goes, stretching your sore limbs out across the sheets, catlike, before you roll over, floundering a little until your toes sink into plush carpet.

Standing in front of the gilded mirror, your eyes skim over your own body. There are traces of Dabi all over your skin, your flesh a map of the past twenty-four hours, of where he’s been and what he’s done, impermanent little artworks that’ll fade by next week—sketches of his teeth, all thirty-two of them, tinctures of their thin red edges etched into your flesh; dark swirling blotches of deep violet and navy-grey, scattered along your neck and collarbone; tiny starbursts of fingerprints pressed into your thighs, hips, ass, periwinkle speckled with scarlet—and it is all so magnificent, physical declarations of your love.

Eyes drifting back up, your gaze lands on the ugly patch of gauze, the hints of a bruise—lilac, tinged pink around the blotchy, uneven edges—encasing the pads of white bandages plastered across your face.

Dabi joins you then, strong arms wrapping around you from behind, lips pressing sweet kisses to your neck as sapphire eyes catch your own through the reflection.

“You look so beautiful covered in me, baby,” he murmurs into your shoulder, eyes fanned by black lashes. “I think this is the most beautiful you’ve ever looked.”

You smile a little in response, stare breaking from his to find your injured cheek again, grin deflating. Dabi follows your trajectory, the light dimming from his eyes, replaced by something hard, something hateful.

“The bruise will take a few days to show up,” Dabi says pragmatically, as if he speaks from experience. “The deeper the trauma, the longer it takes to show.”

You nod your understanding, hesitant fingertips prodding at the swollen flesh—marks of Keigo, evidence of your big brother and his hands on you, patched up, hidden away behind thick ivory bandages and paper tape.

“Don’t touch it,” Dabi chides halfheartedly, stepping back and latching onto your elbow with a gentle tug. “Here, come. Let Daddy redress the wounds for you.”

✰ ✰ ✰

The sun is hanging high in the sky by the time you rouse on Saturday afternoon, filtering in through the moth eaten chiffon curtains and painting strips of gold across the room, sparkling motes playing between the shadows.

Dabi’s sitting in one of two leather armchairs positioned near the small wooden table, eyes fixed on the flickering tube television murmuring out a staticky version of True Romance to itself.

He looks ethereal, ivory of his bare torso almost glowing in the afternoon rays, the colourful ink sketched into his skin stark and striking, coming alive with each of his gentle breaths, rippling with the rise and fall of his chest.

The sunlight haloes him, encompassing his body in its glowing embrace and outlining all of his sharp edges and contours—the slope of his nose and curve of his cheekbones, the ridges of smooth muscle blanketing his upper body and the prominent hill of his Adam’s apple.

The rustling of sheets alerts him to your wakefulness, gaze snapping to your form immediately, a small grin spreading across his lips.

“G’morning, princess,” he teases, but his eyes are soft, scared, worry etched into the lines of his forehead and the downward curve of his mouth as he observes your form, the skin of your cheeks taut and glazed with dry salt, strands of hair crusted to your face, lids sticky and puffy. Large hands pat his thighs enticingly, his head quirking to the left in indication. “C’mere.”

You’re scampering across the mattress before the word has fully left his lips, already yearning for his embrace and all the comfort and protection that comes along with it, a quiet chuckle vibrating in his throat as you straddle his lap, one of his thighs slotted comfortably between your own.

“Missed you,” you mumble into his neck as a form of explanation.

He snorts, a palm coming to pet your back. “Did you now?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, eyes slipping shut again as you snuggle against his collarbone, haze of drowsiness still dousing your brain. “Were gone for too long.”

“I’ve only been awake for about an hour, princess.”

“Too long,” you assert with a pout.

“Alright, alright,” he soothes, laughing a little around the words. “Are you hungry?”

Shaking your head, you hum in dissent.

“Okay, but you’re gonna eat something a little later for Daddy, yeah?”

His voice is kept light, pleasant in tone as his fingers continue to stroke your spine, a sugared demand folded into his words.

“Of course, Daddy,” you breathe out dreamily.

“That’s my good girl.”

The next hour passes in a fragmented daze as you flit between states of consciousness, Christian Slater’s fuzzy voice twirling through the recesses of your mind, twined with the occasional rumble of your Daddy’s laughter.

But it isn’t long before you begin to grow restless, tormented by sharp splinters of memories once again—sticky scarlet smeared across metal, shimmering topaz lacquered with tears, the tangle of deep, angry, terrified voices growling out muddled words—slashing through any semblance of peace your semi-sentient state had brought you, suddenly desperate for your twisted guardian angel to dissipate the pain, to distract, to push those harsh, hard, hurtful realities back outside that sky-blue motel door and locked away for just a little bit longer.

You squirm a little in Dabi’s lap, clit catching on the ragged denim of his jeans, weak shocks cackling along your spine. A sharp intake of breath stings your throat, teeth sucking your bottom lip between their edges and biting as your pelvis involuntarily wiggles again, pressing down harder this time, grinding the swelling bud into clothed flesh.

“Having trouble getting comfy, baby?” Dabi questions after the third time you shift your hips, bare cunt pressed flush to his thigh. “Or,” his muscles flex, firm and strong between your legs. “Is there something else on your mind?”

The drop in his voice, the way it fades to a rough whisper as his lips caress your ear, has scalding heat unfurling in the pit of your tummy, thick and sticky as it seeps through the floor of the organ, leaking into your gut.

A low whine slips from your lips, embarrassment scorching your cheeks and eyes shutting tightly as you mash your face against his collarbone, answering with a single rock of your hips.

Dark laughter vibrates against your cheek, a large palm connecting with your bare thigh half a moment later, the shock and the sting of the impact forcing your head from its hiding place as Dabi speaks clearly over your resounding yelp.

“When Daddy asks you a question,” he begins, lithe fingers digging into sore flesh and squeezing, gathering a healthy handful in his palm. “He expects an answer, sweetheart.”

His eyes practically glow as they search your face, slow and purposeful, as if they’re trying to singe the sentiment into your flesh.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whimper, nails scraping against his biceps as you cling to him, resisting the urge to bury your face again, wide eyes holding his. “I—I was just—M’horny, Daddy,”

He knows there’s more to it than that, knows you’re using him as a distraction, an escape, from whatever thoughts and memories are currently poisoning your mind, but he accepts your response as satisfactory anyway. Because he’s honoured to be your preferred escape, your favourite escape, ready and willing to do his duty to his baby, to help and protect and take it all away, even if it’s just for a short while.

“Yeah?” he breathes, calloused hands slipping beneath the hem of his t-shirt and curling around your hips. “You wanna use Daddy’s thigh to help get you off?”

“Yes, yes, please,” you squeak, head moving in slow, lethargic little motions against his shoulder as it falls forward again, limp and pliant in his arms. “Want it s’bad,”

“Okay, baby,” his fingers twitch against your skin in anticipation. “Go on, then, hump my leg.”

Pricks of humiliation erupt across your skin at his candidness, but your hips begin moving immediately, snapped into action by a direct order.

It’s slow at first, the rock of your pelvis granting featherlight touches to your already swollen clit, a sudden shyness cascading over you, evoked by his pure, undivided attention.

It isn’t sufficient, of course, these shallow motions only working to frustrate you more, dull flares of the heat in your tummy not nearly enough to ignite the inferno you crave, your thighs clenching around the one wedged between them as annoyed little sounds spill from your mouth, huffed out against his neck.

But Daddy knows.

And Daddy knows just what to say, too.

“Aw come on, princess, you can do better than that, can’t you?” Dabi’s tongue tuts, as if he’s disappointed in you. “Or are you embarrassed, hmm? Acting like such a shameful little slut, so needy for her Daddy that she’s willing to take whatever he’ll give her, even if that’s just a thigh to hump?”

Usually, such a scathing remark would have lit a fierce fire in your chest, fuelled solely by your stubborn desire to prove that you can do it!, determined to demonstrate that you’re capable and worthy of his praise. But today, those insulting words are exactly what you need.

Because they open up a space where you can be vulnerable, granting you permission to be a fucking baby, to cry and whine and cling and want, to be pathetic.

You’re nodding again, forehead pressed tightly to his collarbone as eyes squeeze shut against the familiar nip of tears, half-coherent affirmations bubbling past your lips. Yes, Daddy, can’t do it on my own, Daddy, need you, Daddy.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, syrupy words dripping off a razor, the normally sharp blade dulled by true emotion, fondness. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s here, Daddy will help you make it feel good, since you’re too stupid to do it by yourself.”

Although the words are harsh, his voice isn’t, insults cracked open and oozing melted sugar, soaked in a sort of playful admiration.

Lithe fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he forces the rolling of your hips to accelerate, blunt nails branding violet crescents into your skin, a low whimper tickling the back of your tongue.

The denim of his jeans is coarse against your sensitive cunt, fucked open and raw from the night before, each grind against the tough material sending little spikes of agony tingling through your gut, promptly devoured by sparks of pleasure.

The pain fades quickly, though, the rutting of your hips morphing into a more sensual grinding expertly guided by Dabi’s hands, sweet little cunt steadily gushing slick all over his leg, fabric rendered sleek and slippery, aiding each glide of your pussy over the strong muscle.

“You’re soaking me, baby,” he nearly whines out, the words airy and infused with awe. “All the way through my fucking jeans; I can feel how wet you are.”

His grasp has gone lax around you now, fingertips merely resting on your skin as he encourages you to keep rubbing and riding, motivating praise panted out in hot breaths, curling around the shell of your ear.

That’s it, baby, that’s it, and There you go, you’re doing perfect, and Look at you, baby, being so good for me; each set of praise that falls from his lips merely inspiring you to go faster, grind harder, do better.

“Keep going, princess, keep going,” his cock strains against his jeans, eager and impatient as it throbs against your waist, each rut of your hips brushing up against it teasingly. “Yeah, yeah, just like that, use Daddy’s thigh to get yourself off.”

You mewl into his chest, hips beginning to gyrate in purposeful circles, chasing his validation, a high just as potent as an orgasm itself. Flame-charred fingers tweak a nipple through the thin material of his t-shirt, forcing a yelp from your throat, a patronizing chuckle syrupy on his tongue.

Beneath you, his knee begins to bounce, hard, fast little motions that reverberate against your clit, a loud moan escaping your lips. Each vibration sends another flurry of cinders to collect in your gut, torching a flame that burns bright and beautiful, a fire that cleanses, that blazes those memories to ash and whisks them away, replaced with addictive adoration.

“C’mon, baby, stop hiding,” a shoulder nudges your head. “Daddy wants to see that pretty face of yours.”

Your face lifts, forehead knocking against his, exhaling little cries into his waiting mouth—precious sounds that melt like maple sugar on his tongue, sweet and saturating. Azure glitters in the late afternoon sun as half-lidded eyes watch your expressions, ravenous for every little crinkle of pain that flattens to unadulterated pleasure, his breath wafting across your skin as he speaks.

Laughing, a palm cups your cheek, locking you in place. “That feel good?”

An indiscernible noise of pleasure tumbles from your lips in response, head bobbing clumsily, nose bumping against his own.

“Use your words,” he chastises.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,”

“You gonna cum soon for me, huh? Gonna show me how fucking gorgeous you look, creaming all over my thigh?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you gasp, eyes squeezed shut as you nod vigorously against him.

“Yeah? Then make a mess, baby. Make a mess all over Daddy.”

So you do, staining charcoal denim with your cream, a groaned curse falling from his lips, pitched high and cracked with love as he feels your gushing cunt clench and flutter around nothing, his thigh pressed hard into your core, and that’s so hot, that’s so fucking hot, baby.

You’re still in the throes of a post-orgasmic haze, body shivering with sweat and bolts of overstimulation quivering through your veins as he carries you towards the bed, laying you gently on the edge before shoving his jeans down, cock gorgeous and glistening with desire and pre-cum.

The excess of slick and cum, now smeared all over your inner thighs and still steadily leaking from your cute cunt, enables him to slam into you in one swift thrust, cock buried deep inside of you, balls pressed to your ass.

It still stings despite the aid of your wetness, sweet little hole barely stretched out at all now gorging on his thick cock, flesh quavering as it tears into little fissures to accommodate him, an instinctual wail drowning in your throat.

“What?” he pants out, the question embedded in a laugh. “You think you can—can just ride Daddy’s thigh without him needing to fuck you after?”

No, of course not.

He finishes quick, though, pumping your womb full of burning, sticky cum, a vicious tremor coursing through his whole body as he crumples next to you, cradling your body with his, and he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

Later that night, as you lay awake in bed, tummies stuffed full of blueberry pancakes and cinnamon buns, you ask him to tell you a secret.

He wavers for a moment, body turned to ice and then thawed in the blaze of your love, voice low and throaty as he speaks.

He tells you about his mother, a woman with snow for hair and slate for eyes, a woman he hasn’t seen for several years now, a woman he misses deeply. He tells you about his siblings—Fuyumi, Natsuo, Shouto—their likes and dislikes, hobbies and interests, fears and flaws, laughing wetly to himself about how much he still remembers, wondering aloud if any of those things have stayed the same, or if they’ve changed since he left, and how much so.

He tells you about Touya, the boy he killed when he was only a teenager, the boy who was spirited and ambitious and longed for nothing more than his father’s approval, the boy who only exists in memories now, hazy and desolate, nothing more than a ghost of smoke and ash.

He tells you about his father, about his father’s penchant for hitting women and smacking children—his most cowardly habit, according to Dabi—about his father’s precarious favouritism that changed with the wind.

And he tells you about the accident—his father’s fault, as always—tells you about the melting metal and burning leather and scorched skin, the feeling of the flames licking at his body, the heat of the crash, the cries of his baby brother, the firemen who pulled him from the jaws of the car and saved his life, the father who did nothing but stand and watch.

And by the time the sun begins to rise, his throat is raw from the past, his nose blotchy and his eyes swollen, and you hold him tight to your bosom, dainty little fingers cradling the shards of his old life, placing them piece by painstaking piece back in their proper places.

✰ ✰ ✰

The inevitability of Monday casts a deep shadow over Sunday night, the inescapable threat of reality looming in the near future, but Dabi holds it at bay for a little bit longer, the bubble of your own private utopia kept intact with clementine suds and whirling jets, calloused hands and soft kisses and an old heart-shaped tub.

His hands are tender, unhurried as they lather soap across your skin, almost lazy in how they clean you, appreciating the way every dip and curve, edge and contour converge to create the masterpiece that is your body.

It’s as if he’s in some state of wonder, sapphire glittering in the low light as it follows after his movements, outlining their trajectory and branding it into his consciousness, admiring the way your flesh yields to him as he pinches and kneads and rolls it between his palms.

“I love you,” he says finally, stare drifting back to yours. “I’m in love with you.”

You giggle a little, suddenly feeling bashful, body curling towards his. “I’m in love with you, too.”

“I’m so lucky you are.”

“I’m the lucky one here.”

“Don’t fight me on this, baby,” he warns. “You know you’ll lose.”

“Alright, alright,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “But it’s my turn to wash you, now, Daddy,” you murmur through a smirk, crawling towards him to straddle his thighs.

He mutters out a few weak protests about how you don’t need to, princess and he can do it himself, but you insist, already pouring out a syrupy dollop of body wash into your palm.

Breaths of chuckles escape his parted lips, eyes gone soft as they watch your delicate fingers trace out trails of suds across the koi fish swimming up his forearms, tiny white bubbles crudely illustrating the art inked into his skin.

You speak as you work, musing softly about which of his tattoos are your favourites.

“Why did you decide on koi fish?” you ask as your fingers wander up his arms.

“Because they persevere. They swim against the current and prosper, no matter how strong the waves are,” he shrugs a little, eyes sweeping across his body. Your gaze follows suit, noticing for the first time that all of the fish swimming up his arms are swimming against tumultuous waves, chaotic and dangerous as they crash into white caps.

“They’re like you.”

He nods, keeping his gaze averted. “And they’re—Well, they’re supposed to symbolize good fortune or whatever, so I figured…” he trails off, and you wait, allowing him a moment to sift through his thoughts, thumbs idly stroking his biceps. “I figured it couldn’t hurt, to carry them everywhere with me.” He looks up suddenly, blue eyes so clear you swear you can see into the depths of his soul, shimmering with bright love for you. “Maybe one day I can get one that reminds me of you, so I can carry you everywhere with me, too.”

“I—I’d be honoured, Daddy,” a rush of admiration, of appreciation, surges through your chest, leaving behind a swell of warmth, fingertips reaching up to draw out his features—his strong brow, the bow of his lips, the jut of his jaw.

He’s so fucking gorgeous it kicks the breath from you, onyx hair slicked back from his face in streamlined rows separated by the grooves left behind by his fingers, a few stray strands falling forward and curling to frame his eyes.

“I’d love to have you—a constant reminder of you—permanently stained into my skin,” he whispers, arms encircling your hips, pressing you flush against his chest.

“Maybe I’ll get one, too,” you whimper, tapering off into a gasp as his hard cock nudges your hole.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, why not? Make sure everyone knows I belong to you.”

He groans in response, nodding as you sink down on him, eyes dark with the thought of branding you as his, forever.

It’s sweet, slow and sensual, each roll of his hips, each rock of your own, dainty hands clasped behind his neck, fingers twining in the wet tufts of hair at the base of his skull, foreheads pressed tightly together.

Lips suck sweltering breaths from each other’s mouths while tongues suck on the sounds that spill from one throat into another, greedily swallowing them down to add to the collections each of you carries within your hearts; slivers of your lover, your soulmate, buried safely in pulsating flesh, never to be removed.

Your movements increase in force, Dabi’s cock pounding against your sore cervix with each pump of his hips, but the pace remains deliberately unhurried, every moment savoured, every moment sacred, almost as if you’re both terrified one vigorous motion—something too brutal, too harsh—will shatter your manufactured peace a little too early.

Blue flames lave over your organs, blazing stronger and stronger, growing larger and larger, until it engulfs you both in its inferno, bright and burning, licks of sapphire rushing through your veins as your cunt clenches around his cock, as his cock stuffs you full of cum, bodies stilling and nails gorging on flesh, clinging to one another like lifelines.

And as you come down from your conjoined high, unclamping your fingers and dislodging your nails, you feel something shift, change, the air suddenly denser, heavier, more substantial than it’s ever been before.

“I don’t know what I’d ever do without you,” you whimper, words loose and languid, the unapproved confession dribbling from your lips.

“Neither do I, baby,” Dabi whispers, hand emerging from the water—fluffy bubbles dissipated to a flat froth that lines the rippling surface—his thumb brushing baby hairs back from your forehead. His eyes glint in the feeble light. “Neither do I.”

✰ ✰ ✰

Finally, Monday comes, bringing with it a slew of texts from your brother, anxious and eager to know when you’ll be returning home.

Dabi laughs, harsh and rancorous, when you timidly ask if he’ll be bringing you back to that little white house with its little white fixtures, shaking his head with audacity, sharp twinkle in his eyes reflected in his gleaming teeth.

“I’m not allowing you to go back to that junkie psychopath!” he says, words infused with an incredulous chuckle, as if he can’t believe you’re even asking at all. “He’s dangerous, and I’d be an utter fool to let you live with him again.”

“But—But then, where will I—”

“You’re coming home with me,” he says, though the humour has faded from his features, replaced with a heavy set brow and slightly narrowed eyes. “I thought I made this clear already.”

He hadn’t—not explicitly, anyway—though you had had a feeling this may be the case.

“Dabi,” you begin slowly. “I don’t think—I mean, do you think me just abandoning Keigo like this is really the right choice?”

“Princess,” he says, the pet name full of condescension. “He hurt you. What man in their right mind would allow their baby to go back to such a monster?”

“It was only one time, though—”

“For now,” Dabi spits. “But it won’t be only once if you go back to him, I can promise you that.”

“But he—He can’t—I’m not sure how he’ll survive without me…”

“Look,” he sighs, large hands wrapping around your shoulders and forcing you to stare up at him. “You want him to get better, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. But I don’t see how this will help—”

“Keigo needs to lose everything—most importantly, you—because of his addiction before he’ll even start thinking about kicking the habit.”

You shrink into Dabi’s palms, voice small. “He can’t do it alone, though.”

“Actually,” Dabi says. “He can only do it alone.” At your confused look, he continues. “It has to be his choice and his choice only, if he is to seek help and get better.” You begin to protest, but he speaks over you, voice clear and certain. “No one can do it for him, no matter how badly they wish to. This will only ever work if he wants it to.”

“Shouldn’t I at least go home to check on him?”

“He’s texting you, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then he is very clearly fine. He’s an adult, he should have the basic capabilities to take care of himself when left to his own devices.” he pauses, eyes scanning your face thoroughly. “Despite what he’d have you believe, it is not your job to take care of him.”

“We’re family, of course it’s my job to—”

“There is a fine line between helping out family and being taken advantage of by an addict.” Dabi says sharply. “Never forget that.”

His tone, firm and resolute and chock with experience, startles you, and you look down at your feet, fingers twisted into an unsure knot in front of you.

“I know it might be difficult for you to understand, sweetheart,” Dabi murmurs, casting your gaze back to him. “But I need you to trust me on this. You know I’d never lead you astray, right?”

Yes, Daddy, of course, Daddy.

✰ ✰ ✰

Your days with Dabi are vastly different than your days with Keigo were, and you fall into a routine quickly, easily, effortlessly.

Gentle forehead kisses and lips caressing your ear rouse you from sleep each morning, flame-hardened fingertips tracing your facial features and brushing back strands of stray hair as your Daddy murmurs that it’s time to wake up.

While you dress and pack your things for your day at university, Dabi prepares you some sort of standard breakfast: cereal and milk, fried eggs and toast, steamed rice and egg yolks, or an omelette. He rarely eats breakfast himself, opting for a single cup of black coffee, but he’s always sure to keep you fed, even if the meals are basic and cheap—it’s all he can afford, at the moment.

You appreciate the gesture anyway, despite the fact that you often go against his wishes, sneaking out to the nearest grocery market during the rare moments when Dabi leaves you alone, armed with one of those pretty platinum credit cards your foster father gave you and arriving home with armloads of expensive meats, fruits, and cheeses. It’s important that he eats, too, you say to him.

Soon you won’t have to do that, he tells you one night, voice soft. He’s moving up the ranks, he says, climbing the corrupt corporate ladder within the underworld. Soon he’ll have his own group of lackeys, he promises. Soon he’ll be able to buy you all of the food and items your heart desires, with his own hard earned cash.

It’s hard to understand why Dabi has such an aversion to you lavishing him with your father’s wealth, even if it’s only in the form of good, fresh food, but you can imagine it has to do with some deep-seated need to care for, to provide for, to protect and nourish and own.

As you munch on whatever breakfast he’s made for you that morning, Dabi busies himself with constructing sweet little lunch boxes for you every day you have class; little snacks to bring along to your lectures, to keep you sated throughout your day, claiming your mind will absorb more knowledge if you aren’t hungry, if you are properly fuelled.

It sounds like something a father would tell their picky child in an effort to entice them to eat their school lunches, but you humour him anyway, being sure to consume every piece of food he packs you, never allowing any of it to go to waste.

He attempts to make the boxes cute and aesthetic, like the bentos you had showed him on Pinterest before, but his hands are too large, his fingers too clumsy, rendering the finished product a grotesque edition of the picturesque meals, grumbling to himself that it doesn’t matter, it’s all going to be chewed up anyway.

But it’s the thought that counts, and you love it all the same.

Some things stay unchanged. You still go to that stupid little run-down drive-in theatre you love so much, still go on your weekly breakfast diner dates every Saturday, still go on those joyrides with him, his little partner in crime.

He takes you with him everywhere he can, actually; everywhere he deems safe. Just like the joyrides, it’s nice to be a part of his life, to be included in some way.

You meet his closest friends—people he never spoke of before, but people he is evidently quite close with nonetheless: people he shares Zippo flames with, two hands cupping the precious little fire with cigarettes secured between sharp teeth, foreheads nearly bumping as they lean forward to light the entwined ends; people whom he can hold entire conversations with through side-eyed glances and quirked heads and private smirks; people that seem to know him—his wants and desires, his fears and traumas, his extended personal history—a hell of a lot better than you do.

There is a special type of intimacy that permeates the air around them when they’re together; something electric, something that snaps and crackles with their loud laughs and sharp quips, yet something that is cozy, homey, almost, akin to the warmth of affection that drapes itself over your heart like a protective blanket, the kind that fills your lungs and seeps through your ribs and into your bloodstream, setting your whole body pleasantly ablaze.

It’s a cherished type of intimacy, a rare and exceptional type of intimacy, forged through the lifelong building of friendships and the bonds of trauma.

Out of the three who are, undoubtedly, the most important to him, Tomura was the one who caught your eye first, who catches your eye often, still.

They were a pair to be seen—sapphire and ruby, a combined force to be reckoned with: Dabi with his vintage Cadillac, all electric blue and shimmering chrome; Tomura with his Mercedes Maybach, all glossy crimson and white leather—parked perpendicular to each other in the diner parking lot, owners perched on their respective hoods with glowing cigarettes wrapped up in their lips, huffing out clouds of smoke towards one another as they conversed.

Tomura is handsome in an unconventional sense, with striking, stark features—a sharp, angular jaw, pronounced cheekbones, glowing scarlet eyes—that often knock the breath from anyone he speaks to.

The air around him seems to be infused with a peculiar type of superiority, despite the fact that he is astonishingly apathetic, almost bored looking, toward practically every aspect of his life. When he talks, his voice nearly leaks from his lips, a smooth and unhurried drawl, the words occasionally huffed out in a dismissive drone, or drooled out from his mouth like thick, spoiled syrup.

Nonetheless, you like him, bonding over your shared love of ostentatious banana splits, doused in too much caramel and chocolate and encrusted with stale sprinkles.

“That looks like vomit,” Dabi had once sneered, face screwed up in disgust as he glowered at the colourful concoction shared between the two of you, his comment prompting both you and Tomura to spitefully shovel absurd spoonfuls of mountainous ice cream into your mouths in retaliation.

Yet, irregardless of his clever tongue and his lethargic indifference, he seems, in some way, delicate, with slim wrists and bony fingers and a protruding collarbone, expensive trousers hanging off his jutting, sharp hipbones.

A deep melancholy sometimes shimmers in his eyes, a small sparkle of it glimmering beneath waves of carmine, only revealing itself when Dabi’s voice drops to that low, guttural muttering, so quiet it’s difficult to understand, a raw, vulnerable edge tinging his tone; or when Himiko’s chipper chattering cuts off, sharp and sudden, gasp murdering the sentence in her throat, chopped to pieces so the words that do make it to her tongue and past her lips are stuttered and scrambled and scared; or when Jin makes a remark, then shuts his eyes tightly, face screwed up in psychological pain, a contradictory retort tumbling from his mouth in a seemingly uncontrollable, almost automatic manner, followed by his own paradoxical rebuttal, rushed and breathless as if attempting to suck his previous statement back in past his lips and down his throat and into his stomach.

Himiko—whom you had already been acquainted with at the diner—is lovely, if not a little eccentric, and you admire her dedication, her determination, to hold true to herself. The strength and commitment to wholeheartedly embrace and defend her beliefs and values, regardless of how morally dubious the rest of society considers them to be, is almost inspiring in a way, and you secretly long to covet her carefree confidence and courageous nature.

The saccharine scent of toffee and tiger lilies clings softly to her skin, mouthwateringly sweet and surprisingly dainty, and she leaves a residual trail of it anywhere she goes, a hazy mist of it hanging dreamily in the air long after she’s gone, ready to daze and entice any who may wander through it.

The owner of the small, shabby convenience store on the ground floor of Dabi’s apartment complex, Jin is the one you see most frequently.

Kind-natured yet brutally honest, with a large, gouged scar splitting the center of his forehead, Jin spends his days packaging the drugs and frying up fresh homemade donuts, encrusted with sparkling cinnamon sugar.

Best coffee in the Goddamn world, your Daddy had told you one day while depositing you by the front counter, as he often did when he deemed a job too serious, scary, important or dangerous for you to tag along. No one brews it better than Bubaigawara.

You don’t mind spending time with Jin—quite the opposite, actually, with the man frequently frying up your very own batch of mini donuts to snack on as you await Daddy’s return, pages of your homework stained with cinnamon and oil—but you hate watching Dabi go, features coated with a forlorn despondency as he pauses in the doorway, balancing a large paper bag on his hip and patting his pockets in search of that pretty silver gun, the one he had allowed you to adorn with glittery pink hearts, so every time he took it out he’d be reminded of you, reminded of why he does what he does, and who he does it for.

Still, Jin does a fairly good job at keeping you occupied while Dabi works, permitting you to sit crosslegged on the front counter with a knee pressed flush to the old chrome register, a textbook cradled in your lap and a pink, fluffy pen dangling daintily from your fingers, some sort of sweet—donuts or chocolate or lollipops—beside your hip.

As it turns out, he has a very difficult time saying no to you, an issue which often lands him in hot water with your Daddy, sheepishly accepting Dabi’s ruthless scoldings about your sugar consumption yet never making any slight effort to change his ways.

“You spoil her,” you had caught Dabi muttering once, a begrudged grin fighting its way onto his lips.

“I enjoy doing so,” Jin had responded simply, as if he didn’t see any sort of problem, as if the answer was clear as day and he didn’t understand why Dabi couldn’t grasp it.

Himiko visits the shop often, strolling in well past midnight in her impeccable waitressing dress, all pristine white lace and red piping, a cute little cap pinned haphazardly to her blonde curls, with Tomura occasionally in tow.

He doesn’t seem to like the place much, it appears, glowering pretentiously at the shelves surrounding him as two lithe fingers tug at the folded turtleneck of his black cashmere sweater.

This never seems to deter him from stealing bits of whatever sweet Jin has gifted you with that day, though, bony hands plucking a half-sucked lollipop gleaming with your spit from the crinkled wrapper it lay on, or cradling a few of those cute tiny donuts in a large palm and dusting his flesh with warm cinnamon, or snapping off a couple squares of stale chocolate from the bar half-eaten and discarded beside your thigh, always delighting in your sweet squeals of protest with a smug quirk up of scarred lips.

“I like your friends,” you had told Dabi one night, soft and sweet, as you handed him a dish for drying.

“Yeah?” he had smirked, casting you a glance from the corner of his eye, his mouth curving into a lopsided crescent. “We’re a bit of a motley crew,”

“Yeah, but that’s kind of the endearment of it all. You still fit like perfect puzzle pieces, even if you’re all from difference boxes. It’s…nice.”

“Who’s you’re favourite?”

“Trick question. You’re my favourite.”

Dabi had laughed, deep and fond, tossing the dishtowel on the counter and turning towards you, damp palms wrapping around your hips, tugging you to his chest, sapphire glittering with adoration as he gazed down at you.

“That’s my girl.”

✰ ✰ ✰

The group had an almost ritualistic schedule, routinely and rigidly adhered to, and Thursdays, you found out, are incredibly sacred.

Every Thursday, they gather—you included, Dabi’s protective paranoia already too strong to handle leaving you on your own for a few measly hours—at The League, crammed together in a singular red booth or huddled around the bar, legs swinging off the glittering, cracked stools as they speak in hushed voices and shuffle around crumpled papers, with fraying edges and folded veins.

It’s difficult for you to keep up with their conversations, something you assume they do purposefully, and you find yourself constantly drowning in a sea of numbers—weights and dollars—and foreign language; keys and eightballs, freebasing and black tar.

You’re rarely allowed in the cellar—the lab—but you don’t really mind, much happier to ignorantly munch away on a cookie or lick at a melting sundae, far from the harsh chemical smell and the chalky bricks and the soft mountains of powder.

These meetings span several hours, and often consist of Jin or Himiko periodically checking up on you, delivering a Daddy-approved meal—some sort of soup or salad or satayed meat with steamed rice and seasonal veggies—about halfway through the night.

It is during these moments, when you are finally, truly and completely alone, that you find yourself most frequently texting your brother.

Dabi knows, of course, because Dabi knows everything, has caught you more than once, not only at the diner, but at home too, snuggled up in his bed with your phone pressed to your face, or in his car, with your knees pressed to your chest and the device cradled in your palms.

Truthfully, you hadn’t even tried to hide it from him. In your mind, there really wasn’t a reason to.

Sure, Keigo had lost control and hit you, and yes, Keigo’s addiction has been spiralling into unrestrained depths, but he’s still your brother—still all you have, all each other has—and you thought Dabi would understand that, at least in some capacity.

You’re not sure how you could’ve ever been so stupid.

✰ ✰ ✰

The first time he brings it up is after one of your frequent moviegoing excursions at the drive-in—a double feature of Sunset Boulevard + A Fistful of Dollars this time, the pungent scent of buttersalt popcorn still steeped in the fabric of your dress, mouths smudged with a purple tint—an amalgamation of interspersed saliva infused with candied blue and pink dyes, respectively—your phone screen flooded with messages from Keigo; questions about your opinion on the stupid western you had barely paid any attention to, and suggestions that you come see a movie with him, too, sometime soon.

“I just—I don’t get it,” you’re mumbling through a pout as Dabi guides you through the apartment door, a stifled sigh heavy in his lungs.

You’ve been going in circles the entire car ride home, and you can tell he’s beginning to get irritated, shoulders tight and pinched, voice wavering under the strain of keeping calm.

“It isn’t a difficult concept to grasp, princess.”

“But—I—I’m not living there anymore, anyway,” you attempt to reason, the fact coming out as more of a whiny protest. “Why can’t I at least meet up with him?”

“You seriously don’t get it?” Dabi’s asking, though his voice is soft, large hands finding your shoulders and squeezing, thumbs rubbing lopsided circles into your skin.

Shaking your head, your pout deepens, puckering your chin and crinkling your brow.

“Listen,” he begins, his voice turned sickly sweet, drenched in condescension and encrusted with sugar. “It’s for his own good, and yours.”

“How?” you cry, frantic eyes darting across his face, searching for the answers in his glinting eyes and twitching grin. “How is me just—just ignoring him and forcing him to fend for himself good for either of us?”

With a short chuckle, Dabi shakes his head, pressing down on your shoulders and perching you on the edge of his—your—bed.

“You answered your own question, baby.”

“I’m serious, Dabi.”

“So am I,” he responds curtly, smile melting from his face as his eyes narrow slightly. “I don’t understand why this is so hard for your pretty little head to comprehend. I told you already; Keigo needs to hit rock bottom before he can begin getting better. You want him to get better, don’t you?”

“Of course,” you breathe out instantly, head nodding in short quick motions.

Of course you do; you want Keigo to be healthy, you want Keigo to be ridded of this demon hollowing out his organs and filling his veins with poison, you want to go home, to the only home you’ve ever known, the only home you’ve ever had, warm and golden and bright like the sun.

“Then you have to let him do this on his own. By giving into his demands—any of his demands, even the seemingly innocuous ones, like seeing you for an hour or two to watch a film or have dinner—you are continuing to enable him; you are continuing to give him what he wants,” pausing, sapphire sweeps across your face slowly, allowing your brain to absorb his words. “You are continuing to tell him that it’s okay, that you’ll still be here even after all he’s done to you, even if he doesn’t change or make amends. But, baby,” a rough palm cups your cheek, thumb hooked firmly behind your jaw, inhibiting your gaze from straying from his. “He will never hit true rock bottom if you continue to give him access to you.”

“But—But he—” A hiccup cuts you off, sharp and vicious and startling your body as it hitches in your chest. “He probably isn’t eating, you know. He probably isn’t—isn’t cleaning his track marks, or drinking enough water, either.”

“He probably isn’t,” Dabi agrees simply. “Because you used to do all of those things for him.”

Salt stings your eyes, vision going blurry with thick tears. Sticky guilt, dense and suffocating, unfurls in your chest, engulfing your heart in its tarry embrace and squeezing.

Is that true? Have you been enabling him this entire time by simply taking care of him? Allowing him to live in relative comfort as you cooked and cleaned, nagged and negotiated?

“En—Enabling him?” your face twists, features screwed up and sour, despite the rapidly sinking barbed panic in your stomach. “But—No! I was just trying to help!”

Dabi barks out a short laugh, loud and absurd.

“No, sweetheart,” he begins, his voice turned caustic. “No. Helping would’ve been telling your parents about his rapidly raging addition. Helping would’ve been bringing this to the University’s attention and stripping him of all his false achievements and awards. Helping would’ve been working in tandem with all these authorities to enrol him in a program. Helping would’ve been leaving him, the moment he began to take advantage of you.”

A beat of silence grows, stretches, wavers, hanging heavy in the air between you, Dabi’s eyes following a tear streaming down your cheek with a sort of pitiful apathy, eyebrows drawing together in annoyance as your head shakes to indicate that you don’t understand, or don’t agree, face puckered in defiant confusion.

“Cooking his meals, fucking spoon-feeding him, cleaning his track marks, doing his laundry, keeping the house spotless—including the paraphernalia I’m sure he left lying around—and covering for him by verifying his lies to your parents about where those massive sums of money keep disappearing off to…None of that was helping. At least, not in the way you thought it was.”

Bitter remorse churns in your stomach, crawls up your throat and claws at the back of your tongue, confusion melting into horror as you realize that he’s right.

Because that��s not all; Dabi doesn’t even know the half of it. Dabi doesn’t know about the papers and assignments you completed for him when he was too high to finish them himself, out of fear of him losing that precious scholarship, or tarnishing his sterling reputation with late work.

Dabi doesn’t know about the money you used to give him, taken from your own monthly allowance when his own ran out a little too early—Just this once, princess, promise I’ll pay you back; though it was never ‘just this once’, and he never did pay you back—when he hadn’t budgeted his habit properly and you were too terrified of the inevitable withdrawal looming in the murky distance, sick with dread at the mere thought of him having to go through that.

Dabi doesn’t know about the times you skipped class to sit in his bed with his head in your lap, feeding him teaspoons of water in an attempt to keep him hydrated on those rare occasions where he did slip into that hellish withdrawal.

“He needs me,” you argue weakly, voice small and shattered, sentiment slathered with spit.

“Clearly, he needs heroin more.”

And that hurts, because it’s true. Because no matter what you say or what you do, no matter how much you shout and scream and cry and threaten, Keigo seems to prefer heroin, every time.

“He has chosen heroin over you many times,” Dabi continues, words echoing your thoughts, calloused palm smoothing your hair back from your forehead, voice snapped back to the Perfect Boyfriend edition, soft and soothing. “Because you continued to stay anyway; because he knew he could get away with it. But now, now it’s different; now you’re gone, and he’s all alone with his prized addiction.”

“I’m so scared, Daddy, I’m so, so scared. What if he—”

“If you truly love him, you’ll let him do this on his own,” Dabi whispers, both palms pressed to your cheeks now, forcing your trembling head still, holding your stare captive.

Something flashes in his eyes, a melancholic glimmer of knowledge that catches in the dim yellow light, vanishing a mere moment later, drowned in a sea of tumultuous sapphire.

Really, you suppose Dabi’s right, suppose what he’s saying makes sense, but it’s still difficult to accept, lodged like a hard, stubborn lump of lead in your throat.

Even if what Dabi says is true, you can’t seem to eradicate the terror that bubbles deep in your tummy at the thought of leaving him to fend for himself and survive on his own, fragments of the most grotesque scenarios slashing through your mind; Keigo bloated and blue with a needle stuck in his arm, Keigo face down in a pool of his own vomit, Keigo pale and cold and hard to the touch, dressed in his best suit and encased in varnished rosewood, surrounded by wreaths of flowers with those topaz eyes closed, never to be bright again.

Nausea swells, boiling up your esophagus, but you shove it back down, coughing around a wrecked little sob that rips itself to pieces in your throat. Dabi clicks his tongue in a sort of patronizing sympathy, strong arms encompassing your form and pulling you onto his lap, cradling you to his chest.

“This is his punishment,” Dabi speaks clearly over your crying, chest vibrating against your ear. “He needs to hit an all-time-low and seek help on his own; you can’t do this for him, no matter how badly you wish you could.”

“Why can’t you just stop giving it to him,” you weep into his neck, fingers tangling in the cotton of his t-shirt, his feigned gasp startling you slightly.

“That would be worse,” he pulls back to look at you, azure eyes serious. “Baby, that would be worse.”

“How?” you whisper, the question wobbling with your bottom lip, the teardrops clinging to your clumped lashes glittering as you blink them away.

“Because my shit’s pure, you know? My shit’s the best. Think about it: if I stop supplying to him, he’s just going to go look for it somewhere else, isn’t he? Would you rather he turn to some unknown dealer? Someone who probably cuts their shit with massive unregulated amounts of fentanyl?”

No, you suppose you wouldn’t.

“That could be so dangerous,” he continues in that same placating lilt, fingers rhythmically climbing the notches of your spine as your face snuggles back against his collarbone. “And besides, I gotta eat too, don’t I?”

You’re pretty sure losing a single client wouldn’t be detrimental to his business, but you don’t know just how much Keigo spends on drugs, so you keep quiet, nodding again.

“At any rate, it’d probably be best to limit your contact with him as much as possible. It does more harm than good, making this whole nightmare more messy and harder on everyone than it has to be, yeah?”

You don’t say anything, can’t say anything, that thick guilt devouring your insides, swallowing down your lungs and heart in its glutinous voracity, acrid as it sludges up your throat.

Is that true, too? Are you inconsiderate for wanting to talk to him, to be in contact with him, to check up on him? Is it wrong to do these things? To continue to allow him access and attention? Does it really just make it all worse for everyone, Keigo especially? Does it inhibit his potential to get better?

“This is what’s best for both of you, princess,” Dabi murmurs, tender voice pulling you from your sea of thoughts, his familiar voice eliciting an automatic, mindless nod from you. “I promise.”

✰ ✰ ✰

Sitting on that small slab of concrete porch wedged in front of that tiny white house, dismal topaz eyes watch as small rocks pop beneath the tires of the Eldorado, the large car grumbling to a stop with a shudder. Silence. Then: the slam of a car door, the jingling of boot buckles, footsteps stalking, almost catlike, up the paved driveway, coming to a stop a few meters away.

Finally, Keigo stands, gazing at Dabi from beneath grease-matted curls, thumbs hooked in the edges of his denim pockets, waiting.

“Christ,” Dabi snorts around a cigarette, lips curled into a smirk as he scans Kegio’s form. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, well,” Keigo says with a half shrug, a hand floundering aimlessly.

He knows he looks terrible; sunken pools of patchy violet encasing his eyes, hair so dirty it hurts at the roots, grime framing his fingernails in a grotesque grey-green.

His coaches comment on it all, at least once a week or so, and can always manage to coax him into showering at the gym while delivering lecture after lecture about why he can’t let himself slip like this, and how he has to stop being so Goddamn obvious now, but Keigo is finding it increasingly more difficult to care. What’s the point, if you’re not here? Why keep up any semblance of normalcy, why put any effort into the facade at all, if you’re not here to see it?

Dabi’s still talking, he realizes dully, jabbering on in that infuriatingly apathetic drawl, though there’s something else there, something razored and sharp glinting just beneath the surface, the unmistakable blade of personal offence.

“—Though I suppose it’s what you deserve,” Dabi’s saying, Keigo’s ears finally tuning into his frequency. “Y’know, being a fucking abusive asshole and all that.”

“I’m not—” Keigo begins, then he exhales, eyes closing briefly. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Oh? But you meant to slap her, yes?”

“No, I—I didn’t mean to do any of it at all.”

Dabi laughs, a booming echo that bounces off the cars and the house and reverberates in Keigo’s bones, harsh and brutal and unforgiving. The sapphire flames flickering in his eyes flare, glimmering with hatred.

“What are you talking about, you didn’t mean to do any of it? How the fuck do you manage to accidentally backhand someone so hard you leave scars?”

Scars? Keigo’s forehead crinkles. Had he really hit you with that much force? Were his rings, in that moment of rage and self loathing ringing tinny in his ears, sharp enough to have cut you that deeply? With a frown, Keigo shakes his head a little, swallowing weakly against the thick, slimy saliva that has pooled at the back of his tongue.

“Listen. I—I messed up, alright? I messed up,” a large hand cards roughly through golden curls, glinting dimly under the overcast sky. “I messed up,” he repeats, quieter. It’s silent for a moment, then his head snaps up, topaz eyes blazing. “It was only one time, goddamn it. You—You can’t tell me you haven’t fucked up before, too, Dabi,”

“One time? One time?” Dabi throws his half-finished cigarette to the ground. “Oh yeah? And those finger-shaped marks encircling her wrist, were those only one time too? The Keigo-sized handprint on her back, was that only one time as well? What about the bruises on her hips, or the blotches on her thighs? The fingerprints on her arms? Were they all just one time? How many one times have you had, exactly, Keigo?”

Keigo’s mouth drops open, closed, then open again, a pathetic, hurt little sound strangling itself in his throat, aggression melting into guilt-soaked shame, humbling the ugly crease between his brows.

Thunder roils in the distance, faint yet menacing, a warning growl of what’s to come.

“And I would never hit her, you bastard,” Dabi continues, his voice sharp and sure, calm and confident. “I would never lay my fucking hands on her precious skin.”

“No, no of course not,” he sneers bitterly. “No, you’re fine with simple emotional manipulation.”

“Better than physical abuse.”

”Is it?” Keigo questions, amber eyes suddenly bright, burning. “Will she still love you as much when she finds out what you’ve been doing? How you’ve been treating me? Treating her? Ping-ponging us around like this, using each other as bait for your sick little game? Because she will find out, Dabi.”

“I mean, she still loves you, doesn’t she?” Dabi retorts, the sentiment soiling his mouth, face screwed up in abhorrence.

A sharp exhale escapes flared nostrils and Keigo looks away, jaw clenching hard as he tries in vain to swallow his words, to suppress his vulnerability, to not hand Dabi yet another weapon to shred and stab and brand him with.

Except, irregardless of his desperate attempt, he can’t seem to keep that ambition locked safe and secure behind a cage of bone, the words prying their way past clenched teeth and pressed lips as if they need to be spoken, as if they need to be heard.

“I hope,” he mutters, so quietly Dabi nearly misses it.

He scoffs with a humorless laugh, appraising eyes raking over Keigo’s hunched form in a way that makes Keigo feel exposed, Dabi’s razor glare tearing him open, slicing through flesh and bone and bearing his soul to the man in front of him.

“She does,” he finally spits in an almost begrudging manner, like he’s upset about it, like the words have bitten his tongue and forced their way out licked-raw lips. “Trust me,”

A reprehensible little spark ignites in the pit of Keigo’s stomach, and he does his best not to douse it in hopeful gasoline.

Carefully, as if navigating a field of land mines, Keigo speaks, aiming to keep his voice placid, that despicable little tremor sewn into his tone imbuing his words with a certain type of pleading.

“Listen, I—I need her back, Dabi,”

“Oh, need, huh? It’s a need now, is it?”

“It’s always been a need.”

“No,” Dabi shakes his head with a tut of his tongue, a sinister smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “No, it hasn’t. It’s always been a want; heroin has always been the need here, Keigo. Don’t kid yourself.”

“I—” his voice splinters, and he clears his throat, hacking up the words. “I need her, too,”

“Not badly enough to quit, you don’t.”

An eyebrow raises in mocking question, daring Keigo to refute his statement, but his azure eyes look bored, as if they’ve been through this a million times already, as if Keigo’s some stupid child who just can’t seem to grasp a simple concept.

Maybe he is.

“It’s more complicated than that and you fucking know it.”

It’s supposed to come out strong, firm in it’s conviction, but the sentence wavers, a mirage in the desert, translucent and unstable.

“There’s absolutely nothing complicated about it,” Dabi snorts, and although there’s mirth playing in his eyes, sapphire shimmering with amusement, his features are anything but, his brows lifted ever-so-slightly and his mouth set in a slant as he digs through his coat pocket. “You love her, right?”

“Of course,”

“More than heroin?”

“More than anything,” Keigo says instantly.

“Prove it.��

Tugging his hand free from the depths of his jacket, Dabi’s fist unfurls, long fingers stretching out to reveal a bulging baggie stuffed with white powder, sitting prim and perfect in his palm.

China white.

Keigo hasn’t used China white in a long time—it’s purer, as pure as it comes, really, as pure as you can get it on the street, and a hell of a lot more expensive because of it. It’s the fucking best, the warmest, safest paradise he’s ever had the pleasure of experiencing, but Keigo’s had to resort to the sugary brown smack when his father had noticed the large sums disappearing from Keigo’s bank account a little too frequently, his suspicion growing when he discovered Keigo didn’t actually own any of the expensive sports equipment he had claimed to spend it on.

The blood in his veins itches, having sprouted tiny little thorns at the sight of his beloved, eager to scratch their way through the capillaries, to puncture tiny little holes and welcome an old friend home.

“What—” he begins, swallowing stickily, his throat dry. “What are you—”

“Prove it,” Dabi repeats, irritation bleeding into his tone, fingers wiggling a little in enticement. “I’ll give you this entire bag, free of charge, if you want it.” A pause, a moment for Keigo to digest the offer. “Or,” he continues in an amicable nonchalance. “You can choose to have your sister return home.”

Blinking several times, Keigo shakes his head as if he doesn’t understand, a frown toying with the corners of his lips. “You’re—You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not,” Dabi assures him, shuffling his palm a little, the baggie jiggling happily.

The head shaking has become more vigorous now, his dirty golden tufts bouncing with the motion. “Bullshit,” he says, but his voice is weak, wobbling with the quiver snuggling into his chin. “There’s no way you’re giving that up for free. That’s—”

“I am,” Dabi cuts him off, impatient. “Make a decision. Dope, or your baby sister. You can’t have both, Keigo.”

Unblinking honeyed eyes stare at the bag, his nose twitching twice, large hands curled into tight, trembling fists. The fragment of a memory slashes through his mind—this same situation, this same offer, this same mistake, the afternoon Dabi took you, cautious sun hiding behind misty clouds.

But it’s beautiful, white as powdered sugar and infinitely sweeter, its plastic housing glinting in the grey light, comforting and familiar. Its allure envelopes him, soft caresses like a precious old friend, whispering enchanting promises of the most potent bliss, phantom as it twines itself through his blood, rushes through his body and sets it all at ease, makes it all alright, devouring all of his problems like the most delicious corrosive, melting his brain to a euphoric mush.

Finally, his glassy gaze meets Dabi’s, eyes shielded thickly with salt water, balancing precariously on his lash line.

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t need to.

It’s only when Keigo’s walking away, hand cupped protectively around the large bag in his pocket, shoulders caving in as they shudder with half-swallowed sobs, that Dabi calls out to him.

“Hey, Keigo, don’t shoot your regular amount, yeah? That shit’s more potent than what your body is accustomed to.”

His steps falter at the sound of Dabi’s voice, the soft mud molding to the soles of his sneakers, the smooth muscles of his back tensing as he listens. It’s difficult to tell whether Dabi’s concern is genuine or mocking, his tone seeming to fall somewhere between the two, wavering on the line of distinction and blurring it significantly.

After a moment of hesitation, he nods, just once, wordlessly and without a glance back.

Keigo knows how to fucking use it.

A jaded flush of revulsion courses through his body, hands trembling with the enticement of a fix: beautiful, breathtaking, jumping daintily just out of his reach, calling to him with a soft smile and pretty eyes, come catch me, come catch me, I’m here, I’m yours.

He feels fucking disgusting.

He feels disgusting as he shuts the door on Dabi, disgusting as he collapses on the couch with his little wooden box of paraphernalia, disgusting as he holds a warped, blackened spoon over a tiny flame, substance bubbling delicately.

He feels disgusting, but it’s okay, his true love vowing to make it go away, to take the pain and turn it into pleasure tenfold, to wipe his mind free of anything other than a sick paradise.

He can hear his own breath, shaky and urgent, echoing around him, eyes intent on his methodical actions. Anticipation rises in his chest as he draws the liquid into the syringe. Rubber cuts into his flesh, tied tight, tighter, veins popped and prominent, inner elbow embellished with pinpricks of red. The welcomed sting of the needle puncturing skin—press, push, pull—a gush of warmth surging through his veins a mere moment later.

And everything’s fine, everything’s fine, everything’s fine.

✰ ✰ ✰

Irregardless of your Daddy’s stern warning, and how you, for the most part, agree with it, you struggle to find the strength, the conviction, to fully cut ties with your brother. It’s too much, too scary to lose contact with the only person who shares your blood, to purposefully allow him to aimlessly flounder on his own without an anchor. You’ve drawn back drastically, of course, taking care to text him only every few days, just to check in on him, to make sure he’s still breathing, and to reassure him that you are safe.

But you hadn’t truly realized the severity of your actions, and how much it genuinely upset Dabi, until one dreary night in October, with the constant drizzle of rain from an impossibly cloudless sky, deep navy and glowing with the silver light of a nearly full moon.

The steady drool of raindrops paint the whole atmosphere in a sort of dreamy haze, softening edges and blurring lines until its all kind of melted into one another, the void sky dripping into the neon city line dripping into the muralled concrete.

It’s wistful in a way, and it makes you ache for home, for your brother and his stupid buddy-cop films and 1950s westerns, and the roar of your antique fireplace, harmonizing with the splash of rain against stone.

Swallowing past the dazed memory that has lodged itself in your throat, you pull your phone from your bag, thumb hovering over Keigo’s name.

You know it’s wrong, you know you shouldn’t, you know Dabi would be absolutely furious if you did, but you can’t quell the deep, dull pulsating twinge burrowing in your chest, a specific type of gnawing that isn’t sharp or quick but prolonged and painful, a tender pang that seems to grow with each passing second until it engulfs you entirely, until your whole body hurts, and you want nothing more than to be back in the haven of that small white house, back in the safety of your brothers arms.

As it turns out, though, he saves you from having to make that difficult decision, just as he always does, just as big brothers are supposed to, the gentle vibrations of your phone jolting through your palm.

You fumble in your haste to answer, his name flashing in large white letters across the screen procuring a rush of thick tears to flood your eyes, his honorific a jumbled mess of letters on your tongue.

He breathes your name into the receiver, and it’s so heavy you swear you can feel his breath caressing your ear.

How long has it been since you’ve heard him say your name? Since you’ve heard him say anything at all?

That ache digging through your chest finally hits your core and cracks it wide open, clean in two, releasing a sob so ferocious it rattles your ribs and shreds your throat, your free hand slapping over your mouth in a pitiful attempt to muffle it.

The torrent of tears is so dense now you can barely see at all, the watery shield rendering your vision nothing more than an incoherent blur, and you blink rapidly in an attempt to clear it, crystalline drops streaming down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Keigo is saying, his voice cracking on the other line, full of static and emotion. “I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t be calling, but I—”

“I miss you so much,” you inadvertently finish his sentence, the words weeped out. “I miss you so, so much, Kei,”

“I miss you too, sweetheart,” he whispers, and you can almost see him with his eyes squeezed shut, with his phone clutched tightly to his head. “The rain made me think of you.”

The sentiment conjures up a wet laugh, and you brush more tears from your eyes, little droplets clinging to your lashes and clumping them together in large spikes.

“It made me think of you, too,” you admit. “And your dumb cowboy movies,”

“They aren’t dumb,” he shoots back, semi-defensively. “I know you secretly love them,”

“In your dreams! They bore me to death,”

“And yet, you still watch them with me,” he hums in mock contemplation.

“Yeah, because I love you, stupid,”

Your laughter twines together, sharp thorns of longing stabbing at your lungs. For a moment, you can almost trick yourself into thinking everything is okay, everything is back to normal—that you’re just out on a date with Dabi and will be home to your peppermint pink room and loving nii-san before the night is over—the effortless banter the two of you settle into lulling you into a second of complacency before reality tears through it, with sharp claws and gnashing teeth.

“How are you?” You ask, your tone suddenly more urgent, the words flying from your mouth at a rapid pace. “Have you been eating? Have you been—Have you been cleaning them?”

The heaviness of the situation seems to weigh on Keigo, too, and he clears his throat roughly.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he coughs around the words. “‘Course I am,”

“I’ve known you my whole life, Keigo. Don’t you think I can tell when you’re lying?”

The line goes silent, embellished with the occasional pop or hiss of static, and your tongue withers in your mouth, saliva gone pungent and sour.

“I’m trying,” he finally responds, his voice tiny and tired. “I’m doing the best I can. It’s hard when…” his voice fades into nothing, but you know what he was going to say.

It’s hard when you aren’t here.

“Hey,” he begins after several prolonged minutes of silence, in that soft, sweet, coaxing voice you know so well. “Why don’t you come back home, yeah? I promise I’ll—” his voice cuts off abruptly.

He promises he’ll what? He’ll stop? He’ll get help? He’ll get better? Get clean?

If there’s one thing you know for certain about your brother, it’s that he never makes a promise he can’t keep.

The thought inspires a flash of sharp, scalding anger to slice through your chest, but you stuff it down, contain it in the recesses of your belly, to smoulder and simmer, teeth grinding together as you exhale a slow breath and try to keep your voice from trembling.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

The question is whiny and petulant, and that fury blazes in your stomach, another deep, controlled breath shoving it down again.

“I can’t, Keigo,” you repeat, this time stronger, this time firmer, the words searing your tongue, red hot from that bubbling rage blistering your insides. “I-I won’t. I won’t sit there and watch you kill yourself,”

“No,” he spits bitterly, so harshly the word bites your ear. “No, you’ll just leave me to die, and let your boyfriend do it,”

The accusation, and the fierce brutality of it, stuffed full of venomous hatred, causes you to sputter for a moment, an indignant noise catching on the back of your tongue.

He isn’t pushing that needle in your vein! You want to scream, the words turning to vaporized ghosts in your throat, murdered on sight by Dabi’s sudden emergence from the cellar.

“Who are you talking to?” Dabi asks, his voice calm and cold, the blood roaring in your ears simulating alarm bells.

You don’t even need to say it.

Frost coats your veins, extinguishing your anger and freezing your blood, rendering your body immobile save for the gentle quivering of your puckered chin, the sweet trembling of your jutted bottom lip, the infinitesimal shake of your head.

With a heavy sigh, one that heaves his chest and rolls his eyes, Dabi stalks towards you, rubber soles of his boots colliding with the tiled floors echoing the throbbing in your head, and pries your phone from your fingers.

Keigo’s talking, you think, just an unintelligible mumble of his voice flowing through your speakers, but you can’t make out what he’s trying to say, his stream of words cut off bluntly as Dabi’s thumb jabs the red END button.

He places the device on the table in front of you, eyes cold as concrete, actions slow and deliberate, before turning, almost mechanically, to continue his discussion with his friends.

You aren’t sure how much longer you stay at The League, brain nearly comatose with the situation that just occurred, limbs feeling numb and stiff as your watery eyes stare at the speckled table top, not daring to touch the incessantly vibrating device until it’s time to leave.

Finally Dabi’s hoisting you up, one large hand wrapped tightly around your elbow, and dragging you out towards his car, your feet stumbling as your toes trip over the shining asphalt.

The rain feels refreshing on your skin, the sensation restoring some calm to you, but it is a short-lived relief, strong calloused hands shoving you into the passengers seat only a moment later before slamming the door so hard the entire car shakes.

The drive home is terse with silence, sharp and suffocating, your breathing laboured yet soft, as if you’re afraid that too large, too loud a breath may shatter the thin veil of serenity cast across his face.

You steal glances at him as he navigates the city streets, unblinking eyes glaring at the road, jaw methodically flexing and unflexing, undoubtedly flowing with his thoughts.

He doesn’t speak as he hauls you from the car, doesn’t speak as he drags you up four flights of stairs, doesn’t speak as he pushes you into the apartment, exhaling a slow, controlled breath as the door bangs shut behind him.

And then, he begins.

The air around him has changed, dense with anger. You can feel it radiating off him in thick, cresting waves, fumes of fury that lave over your body with pinpricks of terror.

“Alright.” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his forefinger. “Give me your phone.”

“What?” you breathe, clutching the device to your chest.

“You heard me,” Voice icy with a stony resolute, Dabi holds out his palm expectantly, fingers crooking in enticement when you don’t immediately obey. “Give it to me.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeats in disbelief, eyes widening, as if it’s astonishing that you are this stupid. “Because you are still giving him fucking access to you!”

“Dabi!” you cry, phone cradled tightly in both palms, the screen digging into your collarbone. “I can’t just—I can’t just give up on him! I can’t just cut him off entirely! What if he needs me? What if it’s an emergency!”

“You’re fucking ridiculous, y’know that?” Huffing out an incredulous laugh through a sharp smile, he shakes his head, as if he cannot believe your audacity right now. “No wonder he chose heroin again. It’s because you won’t fucking leave him—it’s because he knows you won’t fucking leave him; he’ll never actually lose you, so why bother giving up his true love, right?”

His voice is so mean, so vicious and dripping with venom, acidic words that burn holes through the atmosphere before they sink into your skin and erode.

“You just—You don’t get it,”

“I don’t get it?” Calloused fingers press to his chest, accentuating himself. “I don’t get it? Really?”

“Yeah, you don’t! You—You could never understand what this feels like, what it’s like to have—”

“My mother was an addict,” he cuts you off calmly, and you choke on your own words, slathered in spit and tears. “Yeah, didn’t know that one, did you,” he snaps. “My father drove her to do it—merciless brute of a man—looking for any sort of escape she could grasp. Except that didn’t work so well, because then she got reliant, needed higher and higher doses to function, to feel okay, and then the psychosis kicked in, and she poured a kettle-worth of boiling water on her youngest child.”

“I—” blinking in quick succession, your head shakes in short little motions, apologies evaporating in your throat. “Dabi, I—”

“The day she left—the day they took her—was the day I ran,” he tells you, voice strong. “The moment she was gone, there was nothing left to tether me to that family.”

His voice holds its conviction, but something flickers in the sapphire of his eyes, a dash of quicksilver, a puff of white.

It’s gone before you can inquire, blinked away with a willful forgetfulness, and then he’s continuing.

“The only one who doesn’t get it is you, sweetheart,” he seethes. “But, I mean, hey, you wanna continue to enable him? Be my fucking guest. You’re only accelerating his date with the reaper,”

“I—I just—” the words hiccup in your throat, thick with emotion. “I just don’t understand why it’s necessary to cease all communication with him!” Your head throbs, eyes shut tight against overwhelming confusion. “I get why I can’t see him, but—but can’t I leave just a thread of communication open? The thinnest, slimmest little line? Just so we can check up on each other every once in a while; just so I can make sure he’s still alive!”

“But that’s exactly the problem! He hasn’t truly lost you if you’re still bothering with him, if you’re still showing him you care!” He shakes his head, irritated. “Look. I’m not going to explain it to you again. I really don’t know how much clearer I can make it; I can’t fucking understand it for you. You are the only thing he has to—”

His voice stops suddenly, a clean cut, the type that occurs when a new thought, a better thought, slices through the previous one. Annoyance melts from his features, revealing something cold, something calculating beneath.

“Actually, that’s not exactly true, is it? You may be the most important thing he stands to lose, but you aren’t the only thing he has to lose, are you?”

Keigo’s scholarship.

Your head begins to shake—a small, automatic motion—as you blink furiously, watching as Dabi paces.

“They hide it pretty well for him, don’t they? My father, all those coaches and trainers and doctors.” He says this casually enough, but you can hear it, that sharp malicious edge of a threat buried beneath his amicable tone. “He must be making them a helluva lot of money, huh. Only a matter of time until someone slips up, though. Only a matter of time until the truth comes out.”

Sapphire glints with the implied threat, blood turned frigid in your veins.

“You wouldn’t.” You say, and although the words are supposed to be strong, assured, but they come out brittle and quivering.

“Oh, but wouldn’t I? He has to lose everything, remember? Don’t you think that includes his cherished sports scholarship?” Blinking, his head tilts, as if he’s expecting an actual answer. “Honestly, it’s a miracle he can even perform in such a condition.”

“Well—He only shoots just enough to keep from being sick on race days,” you mumble, eyes fleeing his blazing stare, nails ruthlessly picking at your cuticles. To be honest, you had wondered the same thing, several times in the past. “And I think…The coaches, they give him something. Something else; little tablets. Uh, orange.”

A look of recognition glazes Dabi’s features, smirk curling in on itself.

“Interesting. So he’s got a whole system set up and figured out, does he?” Dabi shrugs. “Well, it’s just a matter of time anyway. No addict can keep up the facade of normalcy forever. I mean, wouldn’t I be doing him a favour? Ripping that bandaid off hard and fast, forcing him to—”

“No, Dabi, please,” you breathe, head snapping up. “Not—Anything but the scholarship. Anything. I—Racing is so important to him.”

“All the more reason to—”

“Please,” you hiccup, glassy eyes pleading with him. “Don’t take this from him.”

Racing is the last—albeit light—anchor that’s keeping Keigo from floating away entirely. The thought of Dabi ripping it out from under him all because you were too selfish, all because you refused to give up the luxury of being able to contact him, hurts more than you can bear.

Dabi’s smirk turns sinister, creeping out from edges of his expertly crafted mask of concern. “Give me your fucking phone, then.”

✰ ✰ ✰

Over the next few weeks, you only see your phone once—despite knowing Dabi keeps it on his person at all times—in the subdued twilight of the autumn nights, fuchsia haze painted across Dabi’s walls diluted by the pollution of the city, Dabi’s shadowy figure crossing through it as he fishes the tirelessly vibrating device from his pocket.

“Hello?” he had answered, calm, composed. “No, she can’t come to the phone right now…No, she won’t be able to come to the phone for a long while; I think it’d be best if you’d stop calling.”

Tap, click, silence.

And, just like that, the vibrating ceases.

✰ ✰ ✰

“You’re a fucking bastard, y’know that?” Keigo’s growling the moment Dabi’s Cadillac pulls into the empty high school parking lot, soles of his sneakers stomping across the cracked concrete, the slaps echoing among the vast, empty space, pinched face illuminated by Dabi’s headlights. “A deranged fucking psycho,”

“Oh yeah?” Dabi questions, voice calm and flat as he climbs out of his car. “And why’s that?”

“Taking her fucking phone away, as if you have any authority at all to do such a thing,” he spits, features twisted in abhorrence, acid dripping off his tongue. “That’s her only line of communication—”

“To you. I know.” He taps out a cigarette from a veiny Marlboro box. “That’s why I had to confiscate it; she’s made it very clear to me that she cannot handle having access to it.”

“Cannot handle having access to it—what the fuck?”

Dabi fixes him with an unimpressed glare, face blank. “She doesn’t know how to obey simple rules. Seems like the two of you have that in common.”

“You better give it back.”

Finally, Dabi cracks a smile, half-stifled snort scrunching his nose. “Oh? Or else, what?”

“I’ll get my father involved.”

A scornful laugh twines around the cigarette perched between his teeth, Dabi nodding as he cups the flame of his zippo, words slightly muddled. “You’re a comedian tonight, aren’t you,”

“I’m serious,” Keigo snarls, but his voice tremors ever-so-slightly, and Keigo can practically see Dabi’s ears perk up, eyebrows raised a trifle in falsified surprise.

“Oh?” he asks, question exhaled with a puff of smoke, Dabi squinting at the blonde through the cloud. “Are you? And then, what? You think you’ll get off scot-free just because you’re the Chief’s son?” With a tsk, Dabi shakes his head in mock sympathy. “Nah, nah, nah, pretty boy. It doesn’t work that way. You’re just as guilty as I am, and I’m sure your sterling father would be devastated to discover he has such a pathetic junkie for a son.”

“Maybe I don’t mind sacrificing myself, too, if it puts you behind bars,” Keigo growls, eyes flashing with topaz sparks.

“Don’t be stupid, Keigo. You do something like that and I might just do something equally as idiotic: I might just replace those pretty pink pills she takes every day—you know the ones, taken at the same time each day—with a pack of sugar pills, because Christ, wouldn’t she look so beautiful with a cute round tummy stuffed full of my spawn?”

“You wouldn’t,” Keigo says, though he doesn’t feel nearly as confident as he sounds.

“Why not? Our baby would be gorgeous, don’t you think?” Dabi muses, almost wistfully, sapphire eyes turned to mist. “My eyes, her hair; my nose, her lips…Perfection.”

“You’d ruin the rest of your life with a kid,” he hisses, words sharp but raspy with desperation.

“Ruin?” Dabi questions, and he sounds genuinely surprised, blinking twice. “How would having a child with the love of my life—and binding her to me for at least the next eighteen years—ruin anything at all?”

Keigo’s breath is coming quicker now, harsh and uneven as it rushes down his raw throat, vision beginning to blur with stinging salt. Dabi’s calm is infuriating, head quirked to the side as if he had asked Keigo a sincere question that demands a sincere answer, eyes glinting smugly, something like arrogant satisfaction tugging at a corner of his lips.

A half-baked response sputters on the back of his tongue, lead sinking toxic and heavy in his stomach as he realizes that he cannot win this game against Dabi, whole resolve crumbling to ash.

“I just—Please, Dabi, for God’s sake, I just want to talk to my sister,” the words are whiny and cracked, not a request but a plead.

“You can,” Dabi responds with a shrug of indifference, juxtaposed by the rapidly growing grin on his face. “It’s simple, really. All you have to do is stop being a fucking addict. But you can’t even do that, huh? Not even for your precious princess of a baby sister. Pathetic, that’s what you are.”

A forceful exhale, sharp and strong, halts the twitching of Keigo’s nose, his chin puckered with the trembling of his bottom lip, jaw flexing as he swallows down the excess saliva collecting on his tongue.

The world has turned into a quivering, blurry haze, objects turned to abstract, avant-grade versions of their former selves, with wiggling lines and blurred edges, lights diffused to massless, shapeless entities.

He refuses to blink, determined to keep the tears obstructing his vision safely behind his lashes, though every word that falls from Dabi’s lips drives that stake of disgust further into his soul.

Because regardless of whatever personal qualms Keigo has with Dabi and Dabi has with Keigo, he’s right. It’s true, it’s all true, and why can’t Keigo quit already? Why is he having so much trouble with this? Everything has always come so easy for Keigo, why isn’t this the same? Why can’t he quit?

“You clearly love heroin a hell of a lot more than you love her,” Dabi continues in that same insouciant lilt, though sadistic amusement sparkles in his eyes. “If you didn’t you would’ve already quit by now, right?”

Keigo shakes his head, choking on his own tears. “I’m trying.”

“Are you? Then why’d you meet me tonight? Why’d you call me two days ago, asking for another two fucking grams?”

Why? Why is Keigo in love with such poison? Why can’t Keigo kick the habit? Get help? Be better? Why can’t Keigo find the strength, the motivation, the willpower to go through with it for good? Why does the thought of never shooting up again fucking terrify him, crack his heart in two and devour the pieces in a bottomless black hole?

“Do you know how much she cries over you?” Dabi spits, eyes narrowed, throwing his cigarette at Keigo’s feet. “Do you know how much fucking pain you put my baby through? Why do you want to see her, when all you do is upset her?”

“I need to see her,” Keigo croaks, the words mechanical at this point, tears streaming down his face.

“Why would I ever allow you access to her again? Why would I subject her to that? She doesn’t deserve that, does she?”

So many whys, all echoing through his head, all in your voice. Why did he do it? Why did he start? Why didn’t he quit when it was early, when he was ahead? Why can’t he quit now? Why can’t he switch to something else, something less lethal, something more controlled (as if such a thing has ever existed for a drug addict)? Why does he still want to do this, when it’s destroying his body, destroying his life?

“Does she?” Dabi presses, sharp.

“No,” he weeps. “No, she deserves a good, sober big brother,”

“Exactly,” Dabi seethes. “But her big brother only cares about this.”

He pulls from his car a large ziplock bag, full of small white squares.

Forty little baggies, prim and pretty and perfect, the headlights of Dabi’s car casting a sick, haloed glow around them.

“I took the liberty of separating it into dime bags for you,” Dabi says, though his sounds revolted, face screwed up in bitter disdain, as if his own kindness has left a horrid flavour on his tongue. “So you don’t shoot too much at once and fucking kill yourself.”

Voice evaporating to smoke in his throat, Keigo blanches, gaze glued to the plastic clutched in Dabi’s fist.

It’s hard to believe Dabi’s done such a thing, hard to believe Dabi’s capable of thinking about anyone but himself at all. Keigo’s always thought all of this—this whole act he charades, about caring for you, about caring for Keigo, in some backwards sense—as something for Dabi’s own selfish benefit, some sort of twisted game he’s been playing with some sort of goal or gain in mind. He never thought Dabi actually meant anything he said—the man known to be a stellar actor when he wants to be, not unlike Keigo himself—never thought there was any sort of true emotion or feeling behind those sentiments.

But this—this is something else, this is something different. This is action, effort, separate from mere words.

He coughs on his shock, stuttering out sticky words of thanks, but Dabi merely rolls his eyes, shoving the bag into Keigo’s chest so hard he nearly falls over.

“Don’t fucking thank me,” Dabi snaps, not bothering to look back as he walks towards his car, keys jingling in his palm, fidgety, nervous. “You’re dancing on glass, Keigo, and it’s starting to crack. This shit will kill you one day; there’s no way around it.”

✰ ✰ ✰

Christmas comes and goes, your foster parents’ impromptu trip to the Bahamas saving you from having to explain why your boyfriend will not allow you to attend the family Christmas Dinner this year. We’ll have a celebration and exchange gifts in the new year, they promise, but you know it will never come, expensive presents wrapped in luxurious golds and reds doomed to lay in wait for a whole extra twelve months, collecting a fine film of dust in your parents’ basement.

New Years comes and goes, too, the eve of the next year spent surrounded by Dabi’s friends, with the lifeline to your kin held safe and secure in your boyfriend’s pockets.

Idly, you wonder what Keigo might be doing for New Years—he had always taken you and your friends out with him to one of those extravagant parties he always seems to be invited to; will he be going this year, alone for the first time in how many years?

Probably not.

Don’t kid yourself, Tomura had told you, in his special blunt nature, the words somehow simultaneously soothing and stinging. He’s getting high like every other year. Only this time, he’s doing it without you.

He’s probably right.

The thought makes your chest ache, wavering images of your big brother blissfully fucked up on opium, head thrown back against the couch as lidded eyes flit and flutter delicately, a needle still stuck in his arm slithering through your mind. Is he feeling as miserable as you are, right now? Is he feeling as alone, as lonely, as hopeless as you do? Does he miss you nearly as much as you miss him?

These questions grow louder and heavier with each passing day, weighing on your conscious until, finally, something breaks.

It was inevitable. You had both known it was. It was only ever just a matter of time; a matter of when, of how, but never of why.

Everyone knew why.

It’s been building for a while now, chipped bricks stacking atop one another in some sort of sick, precarious game of Tetris, another added with each freedom snatched from you, another added with every panged memory of Keigo.

It’s something innocuous that does it, that finally sends those decaying bricks tumbling down in a heap of dust and rubble, shattering to pieces upon impact and releasing the monster it had housed.

Dabi’s old television flickers idly, murmuring softly to itself as you sit cross-legged on his bed, a textbook between your thighs and a highlighter cap between your teeth. It bathes the small bachelor apartment in faded blues and washed out purples, casting long shadows across the warped wooden floorboards.

You’re barely paying attention, the screen set on some borderline decrepit channel that cycles through old game shows and sitcoms from the 90s, but you’d know that jingle anywhere.

The first few cheerful notes leak through the television’s weak speakers, distorted with the hiss of static, and your head snaps up, a razored little gasp slicing your throat.

It’s a commercial for some sort of gummy fruit snack—a snack that you and Keigo were, admittedly, not usually allowed to have, though your foster mother indulged the two of you on select occasions: when you had been exceptionally well-behaved, or when you had managed to ambush her in the snack aisle at the grocery store, a bright box clutched tightly to your chest as Keigo expertly listed all of the reasons the both of you should be allowed such a treat.

But despite how desperately you wanted to indulge in the treat, the advertisement had mortified you as a child; a sort of grotesque scene consisting of children’s heads exploding into a variety of terrifying fruits subsequent to ingesting the snack. Keigo had teased you about it at first, remarking that someone would have to be a real idiot to think that such a ridiculous thing would actually happen in real life.

Right, you had agreed with a shaky nod, desperate to be as smart and brave as your big brother. Of course, how silly. You were just kidding about being scared, duh.

It wasn’t until he finally got a packet in his palm for the very first time—something he had managed to sweet talk another student into giving him—that he realized how afraid you truly were.

Hey, he had said, golden eyes rippling with worry, such an expression much too serious for a child of his age. It’s alright, it won’t actually happen, he pinky swears.

You had given a small, uneasy nod in response, unable to banish the weariness from your features as you gazed at the colourful little candies.

Look, he plucked one of the gems from his hand, holding it carefully between his thumb and forefinger. I’ll go first, okay?

When nothing happened after he swallowed, his head keeping its normal, human shape, he pushed his palm towards you, gently urging you to try one next.

It’s a sweet memory, one that stings your eyes and burns your throat, fragments of the two of you later joking about the stupid commercial spearing through your mind, Keigo earnestly asking you which fruit you’d want your head to turn into (a strawberry, you had said), this little game becoming increasingly absurd as time went on, answers morphing from strawberries and lemons to gigantic watermelons, too big for your necks to hold.

You glance towards the bathroom door, rendered nothing more than a bleary, wavering rectangle of taupe wood parallel to your spot on the bed.

The shower’s still running, the uneven spray from the old, rusting head hissing against the limestone tiles, symphonic stream interrupted by Dabi’s body as he moves beneath it.

His jeans lay crumpled and abandoned near the foot of the bed, a small mountain of creased black denim on the floor, his trademark white t-shirt curled around them like an ivory reservoir.

Fingers curling in the sheets, you swallow thickly, unblinking gaze trained on the pile of clothing.

You know it’s there, buried deep within the fabric. You know you shouldn’t touch it, know that even if you miraculously manage to get away with using it that he’ll know in an instant, that he’ll be able to tell it’s been moved simply by the way you place it back in it’s cocoon of denim.

But the need to hear Keigo’s voice, even if just for a second or two, is too strong a pull, overriding any sense of judgement or risk assessment.

Your hands tremble while your fingers sift through the jeans, fumbling and unsteady as they dive into the material, finding your phone, at last, in the back right pocket. The screen awakens as you lift it to your face, bright white light straining your eyes.

Quick little pants escape your lips as your thumbs work, hastily scrolling through your contacts until you find his honorific and jab at it three times, rushing blood and ragged breath leaving your ears deaf, muting everything except for the drone that echoes through the phone’s speaker.

It’s halfway through the second ring that the bathroom door swings open and he emerges, steam clinging to his bare chest in crystalline beads, a ratty white towel hanging low on his hips, bones jutting out from beneath the fabric.

Shards of ice form in your veins, sharp and prickly, eyes not leaving his as you wrench the device away from your ear and slam down on the red END button, silencing the voice that was just beginning to answer.

For a moment, everything is still, stiff, silent, your breath held dense and stagnant in your lungs as you wait.

He breaks it with a rancorous little chuckle and a roll of his eyes, scoff dripping with incredulity as he turns towards the small bedside table and pulls open a drawer, rooting around for a pair of clean briefs.

“Whatcha got there, baby?”

He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, but you can see the thorny smirk etched into his face, the corners of his lips twitching with fury. To the untrained ear, his voice would sound painfully indifferent, almost patronizing in a way, as if the current predicament you’ve found yourself in is entirely insignificant. But you can hear it, the notes of anger infused in his tone, boiling just beneath the surface.

You must take too long to answer, response morphing to frost in your throat, because then he’s turning towards you, flames of sapphire raging in his eyes, his glare scathing your skin.

“When Daddy asks you a question, he expects a fucking answer.”

The fire blazing in his eyes thaws your voice and you sputter, choking on the words in your haste to spit them from your mouth.

“I just—I wanted—It’s not, I mean, I wasn’t—”

Head cocking in mock confusion, he frowns and furrows his brow, the inferno in his stare still scalding.

“You just, what?”

The soles of his bare feet slap against the hardwood as he prowls towards you, each movement slow, steady, calculated.

“You wanted, what?”

The sound echoes out among the small apartment, sick and sharp, and he shrugs, eyebrows raising as if enticing an answer from you.

“You weren’t, what?”

Finally, he reaches you, his thighs mere inches from your face, azure glowering down the slope of his nose.

“Huh?”

“I—I miss him, Daddy,” you nearly wail, harsh sniffles sandwiched between your words. “I just wanted to—to hear his voice, just for a moment, I swear, I didn’t mean to break the rules, I don’t—I’m not trying to be bad, I promise, there was just this commercial, and—”

“Excuses,” Dabi spits, features warped with aversion, squinted eyes and a screwed up mouth. “You know, I do so much for you. I do so much for you, and all I ask is that you obey a few simple ground rules, so I can keep you fucking safe,” a pause, a harsh breath, “and what do you do? You continue to treat me with this—this blatant disrespect: you spit in my face, you sneak around behind my back, you lie to me—”

“I’m not lying!” you squeal, free hand pawing at his denim-clad thigh. “I promise you on my life, on Keigo’s life—”

“Well that’s not worth much,”

“—that I’m telling you the honest truth!” your voice cracks with earnest, and Dabi scoffs, stepping back from your vying fingers as if he’s downright disgusted. The sudden lack of support has your whole body crumpling, shoulders curling in on themselves, ribs rattling with the irregular stretch and compress of heaving sobs.

“The honest truth,” he snorts to himself. “You really expect me to believe that bullshit? After all you’ve shown me time and again is how fucking selfish you are?”

“Sel—” Selfish?

“Yeah, that’s right,” he sneers, twisted triumph infused in his smirk. “Selfish. You’re greedy, craving the artificial comfort familiarity bears, not caring whether or not your brother gets better, not allowing him to truly hit rock bottom and instead teasing him with flitting interaction, like a cat with a string.”

“I—I—” Incoherent static, the fuzz of confusion, permeates your brain, razored little breaths exhaled harsh and uneven as your vision wavers, fat tears racing down your cheeks. “What are you talking about?” Your voice is shattered to fragments, raw in your throat. “Dabi, I can’t just abandon him entirely. He’s the only family I have!”

“Not anymore!” Dabi roars, but the flames flickering in his eyes are full of fear, of hurt. “I’m your family now, too. Aren’t I?”

Even through your thick tears you can see the heartbreak on his face. It dribbles through that expertly crafted mask he always puts on at times like this; when he wants to hide his truths—feelings and thoughts—from anyone who might be capable of deciphering them.

It’s in his voice, in the way it wavers on certain words, in the way it fades nearly to a whisper, soft and shattered, before it restores itself to a bellowing roar as his fury overtakes his pity yet again.

“God, if you’d just—just leave him alone, if you’d just let him be to realize that there is something important at stake here and it is worth getting better for then maybe he’d already be in a rehab program.” A hand cards roughly through his hair, fingers tugging at the strands. “But you only keep popping up, reminding him that you’re still there for him, you still care for him, that you’re not going anywhere no matter what he does, even if that thing is killing himself, slowly.”

It still makes no sense to you, how merely checking in on your brother equals any sort of enabling, but you can’t seem to stitch the question together, words welded with spit, emotion overriding your brain.

“I want my brother,” you whimper brokenly, crumpling in on yourself, desperate for Keigo’s arms, Keigo’s warmth, that special type of comfort only a big brother can provide. “I want my big brother.”

“Sorry,” Dabi snarls. “Niisan’s too busy being a Goddamn junkie to give a shit about you. When are you going to realize that he loves that drug more than he’s ever loved you!”

“M’sorry, m’sorry, m’sorry,” you’re weeping, nails digging into the flesh of your knees, clutching your legs to your chest, each sob sending violent shivers rippling through your body. “I don—I don’t know what to do, I dunno how to help! It all feels…” Wrong. It all feels wrong. No matter what you do, or what you say, it all feels so wrong, like nothing will ever truly be enough.

Dabi stares at you for a moment, crystal eyes hard and assessing, before finally he sighs, chest heavy with it, and drops to his knees in front of you.

Slim fingers work to uncurl your own, loose and uncommitted, removing the device from your palms. He doesn’t have to use force, doesn’t have to pry it from your fingers or tear it from your grasp as trembling hands offer it up to him, your head bowed, terrified to meet the diluted hell in his gaze.

He pulls you into his lap a moment later, after the phone is safe and secure on his person, hugging you to his chest as he murmurs out indistinct comforts into your hair.

The words don’t register, voice nothing more than a soothing vibration against you cheek, and you cling to him tighter, desperate for someone to gather up all of your shards and keep you put together—keep you from falling to pieces entirely—his love the only force keeping you here, real, whole.

You have nothing and no one left but him.

Or so it seems.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s an unassuming Tuesday, when it finally happens.

It’s as if the circumstances had been perfectly tailored by fate himself: your final afternoon class ends just over a whole hour early on this particular Tuesday, following an unfortunate mishap between your professor’s laptop and his coffee, leaving you with nothing to do but time to kill.

Dabi usually converges with his suppliers on Tuesdays—his busiest day of the week by far, comprised of meetings and testings, inventory and accounting—which means Tomura more often than not picks you up from class.

The sky is a blistering blue, the unrestrained sun beaming down on glittering waves of undisturbed snow. It’s blinding, but it’s welcomed; a nice break from the monotonous grey you have come to expect cementing the sky.

Yet, despite the bright sun unhindered by clouds, the day is cold, full of sharp winds and frosty air that gobbles up your clouds of breath nearly as quickly as they form.

You shield your eyes from the harsh light as you step out into the frigid atmosphere, squinted eyes scanning the campus idly, a glint of gold snapping your gaze to the left.

You’d know that head of unruly curls anywhere.

For a moment you’re unable to move, feet frozen to the ground as your lungs fill with ice, each stuttered breath like icicles ripping through your throat, leaving the flesh stinging and raw.

He doesn’t see you—not at first, anyway—jogging around the well-maintained track outfitted in black spandex and red shorts, bounding along to whatever song is currently playing through his headphones.

Even from your distance, you can tell that he’s lost weight, the spandex that used to cling to him like second skin gone sagging and slack, baggy shorts hanging lower on his hips than they used to.

Tears flood your eyes, thickly blurring your vision and you blink rapidly, two mittened hands moving to swipe viciously at them, scratchy wool rough against the skin of your cheeks. A hiccuped sob catches painfully in your chest, heavy and stuffed full of saliva as it tangles on your sternum.

That’s when he notices.

Feet skid to a stop on the track, kicking up a thin cloud of dust from the frozen floor, his shoulders heaving as his body stills, straight as a rod.

Time slows, just for a short instant, seconds dripping by sticky and sedated as the universe allows you a moment to process this, to savour it, before it kicks your body into gear, thawing your limbs and clearing your mind, your legs snapping into action and immediately taking off in the direction of your big brother.

You hurdle into his chest with such force it nearly knocks him off balance, heels teetering a little as he catches you in his arms and crushes you to his body. Delicate hands fist in the fabric of his shirt as you attempt to pull him impossibly closer, gripping him so tightly it feels as though your knuckles are going to slice right through your skin, stretched taut and firm over the bones.

Lithe fingers flex too hard on your waist as he holds you just as firmly, murmured apologies spilling from his lips into your hair.

You can barely make out his words, too slurred with spit and muffled with tears to be properly legible, but it doesn’t matter—you already know what he’s trying to say.

Burning salt leaks from your eyes and you burrow your face into his bony chest, a vicious sob shredding through your torso with such vigour it sends tremors throughout your bones.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, niisan is here, niisan has you,” you feel his voice vibrate against your scalp, but it’s gruff, hoarse, weighed with such heavy sadness it sounds like it’s about to split apart.

“What—What are you—?”

“My training schedule has shifted a little for the new year,” he explains with a wet laugh, squeezing you to his chest again.

Cold fingertips press into jutting bones as your hands roam his back; the knobby vertebrae at the nape of his neck, the sharp shoulder blades in his upper back, the bumpy ribs at the dip of his waist.

He hasn’t been eating.

Of course he hasn’t; you haven’t been there to make him, to check up—check in—on him, to cook him his favourite meals and coax him into having at least a few bites while he’s higher than heaven.

You aren’t spared a minute to inquire about it, though, Keigo pulling back and cradling your salt-stained face between his palms, peppering you with kisses—your forehead and your cheeks and your nose—as garbled sentiments spill from his lips; God, it’s been months now, hasn’t it? and He never got to give you your Christmas present this year and How are you? How is Dabi treating you? Has he hurt you? and Christ, he misses you so fucking much he can’t stand it, each tumbling from his tongue at such a fast pace the words collide and clash, as if he’s worried you’re suddenly going to disappear, going to be snatched from his very palms before he’s able to get it all out.

“Keigo, Keigo, Keigo,” you’re nearly weeping, fingers aching from the strength of their grip on his shirt. “Please, please, I miss you so much, I’m so —I’m so lonely.”

“I’m here, songbird, I’m here.”

In the distance, someone hollers his name, followed by an order, too muddled by the blood surging in your ears for you to comprehend.

Cursing under his breath, Keigo looks down at you, regret tugging at his mouth. “I have —I have to get back to training now—”

“No!” you gasp, dainty hands tightening in the fabric. “No, Kei-nii, please, I don’t want you to go.”

“I know,” he says softly, nose twitching with the threat of tears. “But it’s okay, alright?” Gloved thumbs run across your cheekbones, mopping up drops of crystals. “It’s okay, because you and I, we’re going to make a plan.”

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #bnha smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x smut #dabi #takami keigo #tw toxic relationship #tw drugs #tw minimal prep

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bunnyley00 · 7 months

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Stolen Pizza and Bitter Drinks

pairing: fem!reader x dabi

genre: pure fluff

word count: 804

warnings: none. just anotha soft, cuddly Dabi who likes to pretend he doesn’t care. (but we all know he does) super fluffy.

After work the best thing truly is a drink.

Driving should never feel so….robotic. That was the thought running through your head as you pulled out of the parking spot at your now dimly lit job. The sound of the tires dragging against the pavement filled your ears, and as your arm moved on its own to put your vehicle in drive, you finally started to relax a little. You couldn’t even muster enough energy to put on music. The muted sound of the other cars driving by, the small groups of people gathered at tiny restaurants- they all filtered through your closed windows, trying to compete with your breathing in the deafening silence of the car.

Lights passed over your face, sun long gone as the street stretched out for what felt like miles in front of you. How far was home? Your limbs seemed to run on autopilot, brain long gone and trying to compensate for the energy it lacked to process anything else but not crashing and dying. Fun.

Your trance-like state was heady, but dissipated as you parked in front of your apartment. Taking the keys out of the ignition, you gather your things and head upstairs, feet dragging like the tires of your car against the road. Heavy. At the top of the stairs you’re greeted with the same old, flickering ceiling light, its muddied green color flashing against your lock. Upon inserting the key, you step in, taking your shoes off and dropping your work bag.

He’s sitting there on the couch with a dull look on his face, nothing new frankly. The reflection of the television is flashing against his features, a slice of pizza in his hand as he mindlessly chewed on a bite he had taken. He looks over when you lock the door, giving you the usual head nod in acknowledgement. His work hat lay beside him, a box of the greasy food on his opposite side. You only grunt in response, your body finally beginning to register how exhausted you really were.

Your feet carry your body to the bathroom and you shower, hoping to wash off the entire day. Emerging later, you pour yourself a cup of whatever alcohol you managed to find and donning one of his shirts. You immediately take your seat next to him, sipping your drink and wincing slightly at the strength.

“Where’s Miss. Happy-Go-Lucky at? This cranky bitch just broke into my house.” Ah, yes. He always did have a way with words.

“Fuck off, Touya. Rough day,” you mumbled, just barely paying attention to some random episode of Family Guy.

He grunts softly in response, finishing his slice of pizza before standing. Taking his hat and the box, he leaves the room, coming back moments later to sit back down. He takes the cup out of your hand to steal a sip, giving it back right after.

“Just get a new job,” he murmured.

You scoff. “Like it’s that easy.”

“It could be if you-“

“I’m not letting you come in and kill anyone, dumbass. You’re on thin ice as it is.” Silence. He steals another sip and you click your tongue.

“Well?,” he continued.

“Well what?,” you ask in confusion.

“Go on cranky bitch, tell me what happened at work today.”

“This stupid asshole came in today-”

“There it is.”

“Shut up. So…”

Your voice drowned out the sound of the tv, the alcohol loosening you up as you described your day to him. He seemed uninterested, bored even as he stared at the floor, listening to you go on and on. Even if you were talking to the air, it didn’t matter, you knew he was listening.

“...So yeah. I hate people,” you finally finished, allowing a deep sigh to escape past your lips.

A chuckle. A genuine laugh escaped his mouth.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing. I just find it funny how you say you hate people.”

You knock back the rest of your drink and open your mouth to complain but your lips are being covered by his, a hand on your waist and the other tugging on your hair. When he pulls back you can only meet his eyes in half hearted irritation, having half a mind to pout.

“Quit complaining already, you cranky bitch. Give me the annoying cuddly one back.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled, though in the light of the tv, your cheeks grew warm.

You scoot closer to lay your head on his chest, legs curled up under you and a hand playing with a strand of his freshly dyed, black hair. One of his hands rests on your side, rubbing your thigh with a slightly heated hand.

“Can’t believe you ate your job’s pizza.”

“Well I made it. And it was free.”

“You stole it, didn’t you?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to, Dollface.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

<3 -leyley

#mha dabi #mha #mha x reader #dabi fluff #dabi x reader #drabble #bnha dabi #touya x reader #fic rec #fic ref #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #bnha x reader #anime #bnha

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dira333 · 7 months

Text

Passing Peonies - Post War Touya Todoroki - Part XI

When the war ended, Midoriya Izuku had proven one thing: That Villains did not need to be killed to be defeated. That you could make friends from enemies.

Touya Todoroki, formerly known as Dabi, had been one of those taken into the rehabilitation program. After one year of intense physical and psychological therapy, he's got the chance to prove himself. To prove that he can be a part of this world.

Complete fic length: 30.600 words - Masterlist

Warnings: poor mental health and resentment against past actions is mentioned, burn scars etc. as well. There is angst but this is mostly soft Touya coming back to his family...

64.media.tumblr.com

Part 11: (2,3k words) - I apologize for the chapter ahead...

Rico surprises him one morning when they load his car with flowers.

“There’s this new movie I really want to see.” He tells him. “About this guy who got bitten by a spider and has a spider quirk now? My nephew got me into the Hero Movies and says it’s really good but it’s always awkward to go alone. Do you want to come with me?”

He’s speechless for a long moment and it’s to Rico’s credit that the other man does not waver in his confidence.

“You don’t have any other friends to ask?” Touya asks and Rico snorts.

“Sure do, but it’s a Hero Movie. Your boss thought you’d be into it.”

“Fine.” He huffs, planning to ask you all about it when he gets back to the shop.

It’s been a few weeks now that he’s allowed to buy the flowers by himself and he’s fully aware of the responsibility he holds. The heating went out last week, and the price for repairs was substantial, eating up what you had saved in the last few months due to increasing sales.

The holidays are almost over now, too, which means that there’s a rough stretch ahead where they have to rely on the sales they make from the agencies buying weekly Bouquets.

They skip the coffee break and drive back, Rico chatting away as usual while he makes comments whenever he feels like it.

Rico’s nice, never pushy even though he must know that something’s going on between Touya and you, and his chattiness eases his mind when he starts thinking too much.

About Toga, who’s appeared twice in the last weeks, Mari, who still refuses to speak to him when not absolutely necessary, how the healing of his piercings goes about as slow as the healing of Shouto’s broken heart, or the fact that he’s not sure what his quirk is going to be when the authorities decide to take off his quirk canceling anklet.

It’s still too early to open the shop when Rico drives off so he closes the door and turns the key again, shutting off the lights, and slips into the back room to make coffee.

He’s not been in there for long when you step in through the other door, holding a back of baked goods in your hand.

“Good morning.” Your smile is big as if you’d expected him to be back early. “How did it go?”

“Good. Kibe-san was almost nice today. And the Bonsai guy gave me some seeds.” He drops the little packet in your eagerly outstretched hands.

“Amazing. I got a call yesterday, a friend recommended my work to someone who just inherited an old house, and the garden is absolutely wrecked. He asked if we could get to work on it to make it more presentable before spring so that he could sell it. He’ll send us some pictures later but it would be a great opportunity to get a foot in the door for you. Who knows, you could retake your high school exams and become a landscape architect.”

“And leave the shop?” He hands you your coffee, filled to the brim with cream and a mix of sweet somethings. “Never.”

Your smile is sweet but a little bashful as if you’re not quite believing him.

“I’d never leave you behind, you know that, right?” He asks, his heart beating double time as he waits for your answer.

“Just leaving the door open.” You tell him quietly and take a sip from your coffee, no doubt to busy yourself.

Had you been talking instead, he might not have heard it through the thick door.

But there’s the sound of glass crashing and he freezes.

Then, again. And it comes from the shop.

“Touya?” You ask but he’s at the door, open it gingerly to look through, not risking to make known that they are here.

He smells the fire before he sees it.

“Touya?” You ask again, doubt seeping into your voice when he doesn’t answer right way.

“The shop’s under attack.” He says, his breath coming too fast now, but his mind is calm, high on adrenaline. “Stay in here, don’t come after me. Get yourself to safety.”

“No, Touya.” Your coffee cup explodes on the floor, your hands in his shirt but he pushes you back, one last look at your frightened face. “Stay back. You gotta stay safe.” He slips through the door, slams it shut, and turns the key they never use. For good measure.

Behind him, fire has built a wall of heat.

He hadn’t known flowers could burn so well but whatever crashed through the window - possibly a molotow cocktail - had hit the dried eucalyptus that’s now burning bright, the flames licking at the wooden wall behind it. He grabs a bucket of roses, pulls them out and throws them to the side, pouring the water over the fire as far as he can reach. It’s not enough.

Smoke’s stinging in his eyes, his nose, his throat and there’s ice cold panic crawling up his back, but he works methodically, grabs one bucket after the other and pours it over the fire. He can feel blisters forming on his hands from the buckets that have grown hot from the fire, not caring that his vision is going hazy - from the smoke, or his panic, he doesn’t know.

He can hear voices but he could just as well be imagining it, as he coughs and gags against the smoke filling his mouth and his lungs, pulling off his shirt to smother more flames, grabbing plants to bring to relative safety in the back of the shop.

Half of the blossoms of his plant, the holiday cactus, have burned away. The Bonsai you’d been so proud of is nothing but a stem anymore. Bob’s children aren’t bobbing anymore as he lifts them up, the roughness of the pot digging into his already blistered skin.

Something grabs and pulls him into the other direction.

He fights, claws at whatever it is, but it is stronger than him and suddenly, he’s faced with cold, fresh air and the dawning morning outside.

“Stay here.” Someone snaps at him and he can barely see the uniform of a firefighter before he sees you, on the ground, lifeless.

If he thought he’d felt panic before, it had been nothing compared to what he feels now, the horror imploding in his chest. He staggers forward, trying to get to you, but someone grabs him again.

He can see Mari lurching forward, toward you, and he might be barely able to hear anything about the thrumming of his heart, but he can hear her voice, read her lips, as she wails.

“It was him! He set the fire! I saw it all!”

She takes one more step forward, pointing her finger at him. She bends as if to touch you and something in him snaps so violently he gasps, flinging his arms forward as if he’s about to push her away from you - and somehow he does.

A wall of ice, the height and width of a grown man, surges forward, pushing Mari back, but circling you, protecting you.

That’s the last thing he sees before he goes down and everything goes blissfully dark.

His eyes snap open and he’s on high alert, trying to gain a sense of direction.

Where is he and when is it? Where are you?

“Easy there!” Someone presses him down and a face appears in his vision. It’s Hawks, surprisingly.

Touya chokes out your name and Hawks nods.

“She’s safe. Used her powers too much and fell asleep right there on the street. You gave us much more of a freight there. Half burned up, choking from the smoke and then the ice… didn’t know you could do that.”

“That happened?” He asks. “I thought I was hallucinating from the smoke.”

“Oh no, boy, that really happened. Still out there even, they need it as evidence. Have a look if you want to, but be careful, you took quite a beating from that fire.”

He gets up carefully, surprised to see his hands in bandages and a thick blanket slung around him.

He’s inside an ambulance, the doors open. Just outside he can see the wall of ice, police and firemen discussing something. Behind them, he can see a corner of the window, the glass black from smoke.

And there, right next to that window, are you.

He walks straight toward you, like a compass needle pulled north.

You’re huddled up in a blanket as well, clutching the ends to your chest as you look down at the ground. A woman in a police uniform is standing next to you, one hand on your shoulder.

She says something and you look up, catch sight of him - and go flying.

He barely manages to catch you when you fling yourself at him, arms around his shoulders as you press your face into his shoulders, sobbing.

“I’m so glad you’re alive.” You choke out and he understands deeply how you feel.

“You know me,” he jokes against the feelings raging in his chest, “Nothing a little fire could kill.”

As it turns out, Mari had set the fire, planning to blame it on him.

She didn’t expect him to be there earlier, not knowing about the agreement that had him buying the flowers in the morning.

Nor did she expect him to be with you as it happened.

You, who’d called the police the moment he had closed the door in your face. Who ran around the block to help him from the other side, not knowing what to expect.

Now, a tree is growing into the shop, it’s thick trunk stabilising the building further.

He didn’t have to wonder why you fell asleep instantly. The tree is massive, winding itself around and through the burnt wood, a living and breathing thing holding up the apartments above the shop.

It takes hours to clear everything up.

Mari isn’t one to reveal her secrets easily and the police don’t take his innocence for granted, even with an alibi.

He’s questioned again and again, repeating himself over and over until his voice gives out, his throat still raw from the smoke.

They don’t understand how he could be able to produce ice until they manage to get a hold of one of the guys who designed his anklets.

As it turns out, the anklets are either low impact on all quirks or high impact on a specific quirk. No one could have known he would suddenly develop an ice quirk and had he still been able to speak, they’d have wrung him through another round of questioning to find out if he’d been aware of the chance.

He wasn’t. He still isn’t really, the events of today feel more like a nightmare than reality.

Around five p.m. he’s allowed to leave the police station.

His father, having been by his side since the moment he’d been brought there, pulls him into an awkward hug.

“Where do you want to go?” He asks. “Hospital? Pharmacy? Home?”

Touya forms a flower with his hands and Enji nods as if that had to be expected.

“Alright. There’s a drugstore next door, I’ll get you something for your throat there.”

Touya’s not surprised to find you in the shop as well, tending to the flowers and plants amidst people in hard hats and suits.

“You shouldn’t be here.” You tell him when he enters, but still wrap your hands around his lower arms, carefully avoiding the bandages on his hands. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

He nods and points towards the plants at the back of the shop, drawing a question mark into the air.

“One of Bob’s kids did not make it but the others are still alive.” You tell him. “Most of the cut flowers are done for as well. The insurance company and city surveyor are currently doing an inspection. They’re not sure we can keep working in here.”

At your words, a small man with a button nose - a literal button nose, steps forward. He’s so small that he has to put his head back to look up at you.

“I am afraid we don’t have good news.” He says, his voice a little tinny but full of empathy. “Your quick thinking kept the building from collapsing but the building structure is already damaged and we cannot risk that you keep working in here. We’re advising evacuation.”

“But I live here.” You stutter out and the man nods.

“I understand. We have a team of movers that can safely transport all your belongings without upsetting the damaged structure, therefore one apartment after the other will be emptied out in the next week. After that, we’ll rebuild the apartment block and you should be able to move in again.”

“How long will that take? I can’t close the shop for long, it’s my only income.”

“It shouldn’t take more than three months, tops. If we can get building team three on this, we could be done in a month, they have some very handy quirks. But for today, you should go home, I mean, go home to a friend or family, and rest. Everything will look a little brighter tomorrow.”

You open your mouth to speak but he bids himself goodbye and leaves.

Touya puts his hand on your arm now and you turn, confusion, hurt, and bubbling panic visible in your eyes.

He points at himself, then draws the shape of a house into the air.

“You want me to come to your house?” You ask and he cocks his head to the side, hoping you’ll understand.

“No,” you sigh, “I don’t have any other friends I could ask right now.”

taglist: @misfit-megumi @shoulmate @pixiesavvy @the2ndl @neko-my-cat @chelseaquake @tiredslepz @frozen-phoenix17 @spltbtch @touyasprettydoll @dream-girl-stuff

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#my writing #passing peonies #touya todoroki #dabi #Touya x reader #Dabi x reader #soft dabi #dabi fluff #soft touya #touya fluff #todoroki family #happy todoroki #angst to happy end

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nohoney · 10 months

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waiting for a drabble where reader fights one of touya's/keigo's side pieces jkjk 😭😭

my girl gets done so dirty

u know what u right. takes place a between pt 4 and pt 5

Sometimes you don’t make the best decisions when you’re emotional, and you can admit that. There’s plenty of witnesses that can attest to that. Your family, friends, past relationships, and your boyfriends can all confirm it. You try not to act out, you know it only causes you more trouble, but sometimes you just can’t help needing to do something about it.

“Where’s my phone? I haven’t heard from it for the past hour.” Touya is checking all the places he swears he thought he put it down on. He’s already cut and packed the goods, he just needs his phone to confirm the meet up location. He can vaguely recall it but he needs to double check. He’s already running a little late because you got mad at him and stormed out, and he was happy to have you out of his face to get some breathing room.

“Goddamnit! Where is it?!” Touya mutters to himself.

He runs a hand down his face, trying to recall everything in the past hour or so.

You were making dinner while he was in the shower. When he came out, you told him that he got a message and that someone was asking for more pressed pills. He remembers you getting snappy after handing him his phone because the messages were from one of his female clients. He tried to let your attitude go at first by ignoring it, only reading over whatever request was made to him and thinking about how much he has leftover to sell. You dug into him if it was one of the ones he’d fuck on the side, which he tried to avoid at first but eventually he got fed up and answered honestly.

The same argument ensued with you being jealous and him insisting that it always means nothing.

He got fed up and so did you. He remembers tossing his phone onto his couch and stepping outside of his front door to try to calm himself down. Then you walked out a few minutes after him, taking your bag with you and stomping out. He didn’t bother trying to stop you.

The couch was empty though aside from the two stupid stuffed animals you insisted on being there. It didn’t fall underneath or wasn’t in between the cushions…

It finally dawned on him.

You took his phone.

Touya cussed out loud and hurried back inside to grab his keys and wallet. What you were planning to do with his phone, he wasn’t sure but you were gonna fucking get it from him!

The first place he rushes to is Keigo, having taken a day away to focus on a big essay that had been on his mind for the past month.

“Fuck! What are you doing here? I said I needed to concentrate on this-“ Keigo jumps when Touya barges in.

“Call my phone! Now!” Touya talks over Keigo when he spots him sitting on the floor of his bedroom. His nostrils are flared and he’s gripping his keys tightly in his hand. “She took it!”

Keigo makes a face at him, clearly a little disgruntled that his studying time was interrupted but he does as told. Clearly another fight ensued and he starts to ready himself mentally to calm things down. It’s not like this was the first time you acted out like this; last time you got really upset, you took Keigo’s car without permission. He picks his phone up from beside him and brings the phone up to his ear, his face peeking up when the phone call is received. “Dove? Hey, what’re you-“

Touya snatches the phone out of his hand to speak to you himself, “(Name)! Tell me where the fuck you are right now! I am not fucking playing around right now!”

“Fuck you Touya!” you yell at him through his phone before hanging up.

Oh you are definitely fucking in for it when he gets his hands on you.

“Christ, you really pissed her off huh?” Keigo comments as he begins to put away his study materials. His concentration is broken so there’s no point in even attempting to try to get his studying back on track. “What’d you do?”

His head jerk down to look at the blond. His face is set in a frown and his face says exactly what is on his mind: what do you mean what did I do?

Keigo holds out his hand for his phone back which gets handed back without question. He looks over his screen, typing something out but speaking to Touya without needing to look up, “We’ll just have to wait for her. She’s gonna come.”

Touya plops himself down onto the bed, turning his head to inhale the scent of laundry detergent and Keigo’s cologne from his bedsheets. It’s comforting and woodsy and calms him down a little. He’s still angry at you but Keigo is more of his voice of reason than himself. “What makes you say that?”

“I just texted her to come here.” He answers plainly.

“And she’ll listen to you?” Touya huffs.

“Well I didn’t yell at her so she’s more likely to.”

Sometimes it really gets on Touya’s nerves that Keigo has it easier and seems to handle you better. It makes him deeply insecure at times and also jealous. He has to remember though that he couldn’t maintain you all by himself.

Keigo leaves the room briefly and comes back with a glass bottle that’s half full of clear liquid. He holds it up in silent question and Touya merely sighs; he might as well pass the time somehow.

It’s past eleven when Keigo’s front door opens and both the boys turn their head at the sound of it. They hear you take off your shoes rather loudly and you slam the front door that makes the apartment shake. “Hey… I’m home.” you answer tiredly when you walk into the living room where they made themselves comfortable.

“(Name), what happened?” Keigo asks, taking in your appearance before getting up on his feet and helping you to sit in a chair.

Touya is stunned too, trying to find the words to say to you himself.

You’ve got a busted lip, scratch marks on your cheek, and part of your shirt is ripped which you’re holding up with one hand to keep from falling down and exposing your bra. When he looks closer he sees dried blood under your nose as well.

“Doll, what did you do?” He asks you, almost sitting on the edge of his seat for you to tell him. Instead you simply slam his phone down on the table to show the front screen is slightly cracked.

You avoided the question and turn your head away when Keigo tries to wipe at your face with a wet rag. “I’m gonna shower.” You announce and stand up, a pained look coming onto your face but you try to hide it. Keigo offers his help, making you lean on him as he helps you to the bathroom.

Touya inspects his phone and he’s relieved that it’s still functioning. The first thing he opens is his messages and he sees unopened texts, some of his customers wondering if he’s available. They wouldn’t have known that his own girlfriend jacked his phone and that’s why they were ignored. The most recent message at the top was from the girl that he was supposed to drop off before the argument he had with you. The messages were from you pretending to be him, finding out where she was supposed to meet, and a bunch of flirty emojis from the girl.

Oh he knows for sure that must have set you off.

You’re not one for violence but maybe he has to rethink about letting you into his phone if this something that’s going to come up. You driving off in his car was one thing; you taking his phone to fight someone he sells to is another.

He looks more at the text chain, noting that you made her change both the meet up time and the location to a different area. There was some reluctance on the other side but she eventually relented after you made some dirty promise, which he wouldn’t ever do with anyone except you.

A new message pops up from the same girl:

[11:35 pm] this girl attacked me out of nowhere while i was waiting! she hurt me really bad :(

Smart little thing, aren’t you?

Or maybe the bitch was just dumb.

Either way, you got the drop on her and Touya’s impressed.

You deserve a little something.

He stands up to go to the bathroom, pushing the door open to see you curled up in the bathtub and Keigo lathering shampoo in your hair. Both sets of eyes look to him as he holds up his phone. He approaches the tub and kneels down next to you.

“Open.”

You drop your mouth; Touya places half of a pill on your tongue.

The pill that he was supposed to sell tonight.

You swallow and wince at the taste of it on your tongue. Touya kisses your forehead, gently brushing his thumb along your bottom lip at the cut. You let out a little whine, your lip definitely sensitive and a little swollen and it makes him want to kiss the hell out of you.

“I fucking love you.” he tells you with a smile.

You hold your knees tight to your chest, resting your cheek on your knee and humming when Keigo pours water to rinse the suds out of your hair. “I love you too.”

When the pill hits you and you’re so giggly as you run your hands through Keigo’s hair, squealing in excitement when he smothers you in kisses all over your face, Touya blocks the bitch on his phone. He tosses his phone off to the side, uncaring that it clatters to the floor seeing as you already did some damage to it already.

He grabs your face in his hand, adoring your pretty eyes despite your big pupils taking away most of the color he likes to gaze into and kisses your forehead.

“Touya… I love you.” You ooze affection before leaning into Keigo and nuzzling him, giving him equal affection as well. Touya sits back, just a little happier and a little more in love with you.

#this might be my favorite drabble for the us series #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #us series #k.inbox

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xfgpng · 1 year

Text

𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 —

— : [nsfw ] toxic, unprotected sex, light angst, pregnancy kink, + possessive behaviour

— : wc : 1.3k

your relationship or lack thereof, with dabi has always been non-conventional. you don’t go on dates like a normal couple would and you only ever see him at night, when he’s done with whatever shady shit he does during the day.

you’ve blocked him 6 times in 2 days and there have been worse days. you’re not even sure why you keep going back to him but you do and your friends are tired of the way you complain about him.

you glare at your phone when you see his name flashing. your phone has been on silent all day and you’re too scared to check his texts because you’d give in and you wanted to be done with him.

he wasn’t good for you but every time you’d try to move on, you’d find yourself back in his bed or him in yours and the cycle never ended.

you’re not even surprised when you near the sound is car outside your house. he’s always loud when he enters your neighbourhood and you know it’s because your neighbours don’t approve of him.

you roll your eyes and walk into your kitchen to get a drink, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach as you hear the sound of your spare keys. you want to be mad at giving him the keys but you can’t be.

no matter how much you tried to deny it, you were already deep in love with him and even if you did move far away, he’d find you.

he shrugs out his heavy leather jacket and takes his shoes off, his eyes trained on you as you walk through your kitchen and into the living room. he can tell you’re angry and he’s trying not to raise his voice. he’s been working on his inside voice, some shit his therapist suggested.

“hi baby” he says, lifting your legs up to sit next to you.

“why are you here?” you sigh, scrolling through your phone. it was easier than looking at him.

“i called and texted you but you weren’t answering me” he narrows his eyes, “your phone seems to be working just fine”

“yes touya, i didn’t want to see you” you say, “i just needed space”

“it’s been 3 days” he scoffs, “i tried being patient but i don’t think i can handle you ignoring me like this”

he takes your phone out your hand and tosses it onto the couch on the other side, further away from you.

you finally acknowledge him properly, glaring as he smirks at you. he’s so infuriatingly handsome and it pisses you off how easily you give in to him.

“i missed you baby” he takes your hands in his, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles before kissing your hands.

“i didn’t miss you” you lie and he grins, kissing your wrist

“i know” he smiles, seeing right through you, “have you been drinking sweetheart?”

you nod. you were a little tipsy but you weren’t drunk and certainly not drunk enough to use that as an excuse for letting him hold you or be with you.

he chuckles and reaches for your drink, downing the rest of your wine. he never really liked the sweet shit but he knew it was your favourite.

“do you want me to leave?” he asks and you frown, eyes narrowing at him because he knows you won’t kick him out.

“touya, can you just.. make me forget” you say, taking his hand in yours and placing it on your upper thigh, “i just don’t wanna think right now”

you knew you’d have to talk eventually. the arguments and fights needed to come to an end if you two wanted to be together and dabi knew he wouldn’t want to be with anyone that wasn’t you.

“of course baby, whatever you need” he says, leaning in to kiss you.

you could taste wine and the cherry flavoured chapstick he always wore. you closed your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck and you deepened the kiss.

like this, with his kisses consuming you, it was easy to focus on just that and nothing else. you wanted to forget the reason you had a fight and the reasons you wanted to break up with him.

“you’re mine” he pants, pressing your foreheads together, “i’m not leaving you”

“touya please” you whine, gasping when he slips his hand further up your thigh, underneath the dress you were wearing.

“that desperate huh?” he grins, “that’s okay sweetheart, i need you just as much”

you find yourself looking up at the ceiling as you pushes you onto your back. his kisses have always been soft but aggressive and you could never fully understand the way he was able to make you feel just from this.

“lift your hips” he whispers and you waste no time getting rid of your panties.

he removes his own sweatpants and boxers, leaving him in his black vest and chains. he didn’t bother removing your skirt, flipping it up and slipping his middle finger into your pussy.

you gasp softly, legs spreading as wide as it can go on your couch, silently begging him for more.

“just.. put it in” you frown, grabbing his shoulders as he curls his finger

“you’ll bitch about me hurting you” he grins but he’s already rubbing his dick through your wet folds. he groans at the feeling.

he thinks about how beautiful you’d look, full of his cum. what you’d look like pregnant so everyone would know were his. your friends would have to accept that he was never going to leave no matter what they said.

he bites back a moan of his own just to hear you cry out for him as he pushes into you. you’re so warm inside and your walls hug him tightly, welcoming him home like he’s always belonged inside you.

“hurts” you whine, wrapping your leg around his waist. despite the pain from the stretch, it feels so good that you don’t want him to stop. you drag him closer, causing his cock to press against your cervix.

“fuck” he grunts, gripping your waist hard. he loves being inside you, being this close to you. he could never let you go even if he had to kill just to keep you to himself.

“faster” you moan, pushing down onto his dick as he picks up his pace. he’s so deep inside you and you can barely focus on anything besides how full you are but you need it. you need him.

he pushes your thighs further towards your chest and leans in to kiss you. somehow, the kisses feel more intimate than him being balls deep inside you.

“do you love me baby?” he asks, lightly kissing your cheek and your lips, “hm?”

“touya stop” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut at the feeling of him being so deep and so close to you. you don’t want to push him away, you actually want him closer but you can’t admit it. you don’t want him to know.

it seems like he does when he chuckles, eyes never leaving yours even when yours aren’t able to stay open the whole time.

“tell me” he urges, slowing his pace down a lot. you feel the drag of his cock and the way your pussy clenches around him.

“yes!” you cry out, tears of frustration well up in your pretty eyes and he coos, reaching up to wipe your eyes

“aw don’t cry baby” he grins, “you know i love you more than anything, don’t you?”

you nod and he smiles, picking up his pace and reaching between your bodies to press against your clit. he’s so good with his fingers and the way he knows your body almost better than you do.

“that’s it pretty girl, cum all over me” he whispers, “let me feel how good i make you feel”

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oh-its-souichi · 9 months

Text

Ghost of you

Dabi x reader

"Where are they?" Dabi growled, gripping the steering wheel of the shitty beater the two of you had stolen two towns over. You flipped around in your seat, your eyes cascading the beautiful countryside. There were vast fields of rice crops, and in the distance, you saw a shack that you guessed housed a farmer and his wife. You pictured how they looked, and you imagined they were worn with rough hands, but happy. You glanced at Dabi and thought for a moment what Dabi and you would have looked like if your life would have gone a different way, a more peaceful way.

You looked at him now, and he was gritting his teeth, his hands tight on the wheel. His blue eyes darted around the road in front of him. You couldn't help but think he looked so beautiful.

He did a double take at you "Y/N!" He yelled and you snapped back to reality. You looked to the left and saw three or so cop cars ripping through the field, they had just come into view over a small hill. "There!" You yelled, you threw your body half way out of the window next to you and sent a blast of glass shards into the dirt ten feet around and behind you. They stuck up about two feet and would reak hell on any tire they fell upon it.

Dabi punched on the gas and your back wedged harder into the side of the car. You punched the roof "Touya that hurt dickhead" you yelled sending out another blast.

Inside he rolled your eyes. "Oh sure, let me slow down matter of fact let me just fucking pull over, you want to get out and stretch, princess." He quipped the stress evident in his voice. It took a lot to make Dabi crack. You sighed and started to climb back in the car "Im sorry alright ju-"

Before the words left your mouth, there was a violent impact on your side. Still climbing in your head snapped back and crushed into the rearview mirror, your body crumpled down, and blood sprayed out of your head. "Fuck" he yelled and grabbed onto you leg yanking you the rest of the way into the car. "Y/n!" He yelled again to no avail. The black car crushed into the car again and Dabi ripped his eyes off of you. "Hold on baby, fuck these guys" he muttered. He took his gun out of his jeans and aimed it for the drivers head, pulling the trigger and blasting through the back window. It busted through their window, causing them to swerve off course but only for a moment until they were right back on his ass. He was fine with that, though, because that opened up opportunity, and that is what he thrived off of - what both of you thrived off of. He shot a wall of blue fame through the back of the car and into theirs. If it didn't burn up the driver, it would definitely burn up the engine and he didnt want to stick around and watch that explosion.

The black car slammed on its brakes, colliding with into the one police cruiser that made it through your forest of glass. He cheered punching the dash "yeah fuck you guys!!" He screamed in celebration punching a hole through the dashes cheap plastic. "Baby di-" he cut himself off. You had crumpled down onto the floor in front of the seat, blood coating you and everything that lay around you. He watched for the rise and fall of your chest, holding his breathe until he saw your shoulders raise slightly with each breathe in. It was shallow, but at least you were still breathing.

He punched the gas again and drove into the night, driving until the piece of shit car ran out of gas outside of another shitty small town. There were a few houses, a handful of stores and a janky hotel.

He unloaded you and a bag of both of your belongings out of the car and carried you into town.

...

The hotel owner didn't ask questions and just handed him a key and turned his head. The room was on the third floor, and by the second flight of stairs, his legs weaped for repreave. Now that the adrenaline rush had warn off, he felt completely exhausted.

As he reached the third floor, he looked off the balcony of the hotel, noticing how bright the stars showed in to ever piercing dark. In the city, he couldn't remember the last time he saw the stars, looked at the sky, but out here, it seemed like you could see the universe. He looked down at you and wished he could show you. You were always going off about scenery and shit.

Taking the last couple steps down the hallway he reached your room and haphazardly unlocked it balancing you and the bag in his arms, he kicked open the door and threw you onto the bed with a sigh and along with the bag he crumpled onto the floor "for fucks sake" he exhaled feeling his legs and back scream. The burns on his arms were oozing with blood and pain for the blast he set off.

He kicked off his shoes and stood back up, slipping off your shoes and undressing you from your wet, bloody clothes. He noticed pale cracks in your skin that splintered up from your hands like glass. Ever since he had known you- your quirk had always given you hell, much like his own. Only this time he noticed your finger tips were sliced and bleeding. He grabbed your hand, followed the wound, and noticed they were completely sliced up like the glass had been meant to stop you and not the cop cars. He sighed and sat on the bed next to you, holding his face in his hands. He didnt want this to be your life. The only reason you were on the run right now was because of him and as the days passed and he got in more and more trouble, he doubted how well he would be able to protect you. Especially since your body was starting to tear itself apart. With another sigh he undressed himself and found his way next to you in bed wrapping his arms around you tightly. He had first met you when the two of you were quite young, elementary school. At first you annoyed him but soon a friendship grew between you. Now he loved you and didnt want to see you hurt anymore.

...

Dabi took a drag off his cigarette and exhaled, thinking of those days. It was a few years later now, he wasnt a teenager anymore but an adult. The nigth after you cracked your head, he dropped you off at a hospital and said he needed to leave. You smiled at him and kissed his cheek. "Okay, be safe," you said, and his heart grieved. He hadn't seen you again since that day.

He was sitting on the roof on top of the League of Villians headquarters. It was a new organization he had just found out about. The leader was an asshole but at least with a group, he could make a splash in the world, rock things to their core, and then his father would look at him. He hoped that when the time came, his dad would weep at the things he had done. Dabi exhaled and imagined what you would think when it all went down. Would you smile and be happy he did it? He laughed aloud at the thought. "No, she would hate that," he mummbled. He remembered you telling him that you wanted him to find peace, not revenge. "Let's go live in a small town and sit on our asses the rest of our lives." You smiled at him, the words echoing from a long lost memory. He shrugged off what you said, but he sometimes found himself imagining that life. Growing old on a porch with his hand in yours.

That was a dream, though, and the fantasy of it made him sick. The way you loved him was warm syrup. Comforting and sweet, when you looked at him, he could tell you loved him. It oozed out of you. There was no sharpness or pain when it came to you, and it made him want to tear his skin off just to be free of the goo.

He exhaled and remembered the feeling, and it made him mourn. He put out his cigarette and stood up, stretching his legs.

He wondered what you were up to now and if you thought of him like he thought of you, if he was the ghost of your heart like you were his. He sighed again and walked to the rooftop door.

....

#dabi x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #dabi bnha #my hero academia fanfiction #bnha dabi #touya todoroki #dabi todoroki

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spookyxsprinkles · 4 months

Text

Freezer Burn

todoroki touya × gender neutral and poc friendly reader

not safe for work // 6.3k words // AO3. warnings: angst, break up, arguing, crying, touya has an avoidant attachment style, dialogue heavy, poor communication, nipple biting, oral, possessive, fingering, spooky doesn't know how to write.

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"Don't be so melodramatic. We weren't even dating," Touya said, taking his keys out of his pocket.

"I--I know but... you know what I mean."

"What do you expect me to say?" He scoffed. "That I'm sorry? 'Cause I'm not. I don't want this."

"Liar."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." He opened the door of your apartment and walked out towards his car.

"You think I don't know you're pushing me away on purpose?" You follow him out, not caring that you had different shoes on. "As much as you like to pretend you don't care, I know you--"

He interrupted you with an angry laugh, before turning to face you as he reached the sidewalk in front of his car. "You must be delusional if you think you have me all figured out. Don't tell me what I feel. You don't fucking know me."

His car's lights flashed as it unlocked and he opened the door, standing there and glaring at you like if you had spit in his face. Maybe, in his mind, you did.

"I don't need to know every little thing about you to know that you're lying to yourself because you're afraid."

"Afraid of what, huh? Afraid that I'll actually start to care about you as more than just a hole I use to get my rocks off, before ghosting you like all the others that came before? Yeah, you're not special, sweetheart," his hands trembled with fury.

You visibly flinched at his words.

You knew he was right. You were acquainted with him through mutual friends for quite some time before getting physically involved with him. You knew of his non-committal self-sabotaging tendencies. You knew, but it didn't make his words hurt any less.

A flash of guilt flickered in his icy eyes but it disappeared just as soon as it came thanks to the scorching heat of his emotions. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, trying to keep your voice steady as you spoke quietly with stinging eyes.

"Maybe I'm not special, but at least I can be honest with myself. Which is more than you can say about yourself."

He threw his hands up in the air, laughing. "Real cute coming from you. I'm not the one that's so desperate for attention I start writing sappy love stories in my head. Maybe someday you'll find someone who wants to deal with this shit, but it's not gonna be me."

He moved to get in his car, so you took a few steps forward which was enough to catch his attention and stop him from getting in.

"You were just as lonely and desperate for attention as me when we first met, Touya. You parade around all day acting like you don't care about anything, you can't feel anything, but if that was the case you wouldn't come back. You always come back home."

It was a slip up a few months ago. The two of you were out with some friends at a karaoke room and he said he wanted to go home. You never brought it up to him, but he could tell from the way you nearly choked on your food, that you heard him. Since then, every time he heard the word 'home' he'd think about that moment and regret letting himself drink enough to forget his common fucking sense.

And now you had acknowledged that it was a real moment that actually happened when he'd much rather shove the memory away and pretend it was something someone else said. Someone not him.

You stood a few feet in front of him, sniffling and staring down at the tires of his car that he had taught you how to change and fill with air without you asking him to.

"You're the most stubborn person I've ever met. You never do anything you don't want to do, but you kept coming back." You wiped your nose, ignoring the feeling of the hot tears spilling down your cheeks. "Even now, you're still standing here, talking with me instead of leaving. If you didn't care, you would have already left."

He froze as if you had pushed the pause button on his anger. He stared at you intensely. The only sounds breaking the silence was a dog barking at sirens in the distance and your sniffles.

He hated that you were right.

"So what?"

He got in his car, slamming the door in anger and started the engine.

He buckled his seat belt and turned in his seat to look through the rear window as he slowly backed out of the parking space.

You panicked, suddenly shoving your upper body inside his open window.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing!?" He hit the breaks immediately, causing you to flail as you lost your balance and he swiftly grabbed your arms to keep you from slipping and busting your head on asphalt.

"W--We haven't finished talking..!" You gasped, feeling your heartbeat pounding in your chest. "If you leave now, you'll only feel worse later!"

He simply stared at you in disbelief. His mind was screaming at him to get the hell out of there. The only thing stopping him from flooring the gas pedal was the fact that your legs still dangled helplessly outside of the car as you struggled to get inside.

You looked ridiculously stupid as you clung to the window with a tear streaked face. You also seemed so determined…

"Get out of my car," he snapped. "Right now."

He released a hand from you and moved it towards the handle of the door, but you caught his wrist with your hands.

"No," you said as firmly as your grip on his wrist.

His eyes watched as you continued to struggle to balance your body on the door comfortably. He had no idea what your endgame was here.

"You're fucking crazy."

"I love you, Touya," you gasped out. "I'm in love with you and I know you're afraid. I know you've been hurt before. I know you hate everything that's happening right now, but I can't let you leave like this." You tried wiping your eye by rubbing it against your shoulder, before looking back at him.

"I won't force you to stay with me and I won't force you to share things you don't want to share, but I also won't let you run away without us properly talking things through. If we're gonna break up then I don't want to let it end with that as one of our regrets."

He hated that you weren't giving up on him so easily.

Touya stared at you as you spoke. You were so calm and reasonable in spite of the ridiculous position you were in. There was no anger or irritation in your voice, just sincerity and...

He let out a deep breath in an attempt to stay calm.

"That's very big of you," he said defensively. He was always so defensive. "Trust me, it's better this way."

Your eyes studied his face before you decide to take the plunge and vocalize the thoughts that had been swimming around in your head recently. "Is it better or is it just the easiest way to avoid your feelings of inadequacy and fear of rejection?"

You watched as his eyes widened a minuscule amount that likely would've gone unnoticed if you hadn't known him for so long. You could feel the flames of his rage from the way his face contorted, his mouth opening to set you ablaze.

Your hands slipped down from his wrist to hold his hand gently in yours, your thumbs resting on the back of his hand.

Your grip was loose. He could easily pulled himself free if he wanted to.

But he didn't.

And that's all you needed.

"I've seen you be blunt beyond the point of just being rude to others and to yourself. You have standards that make it easy for you to look down on those who don't meet them yet even the ones that do fit them get pushed away. You easily say whatever's on your mind, unless what's on your mind risks leaving you vulnerable."

Your thumbs delicately drew circles into the dark marks on the back of his hand that were uniquely his. A sad smile marred your face as you continued to speak.

"I'm always watching you, always listening." Your eyes looked up into his, persevering through his gaze that scorched anything he deemed a threat. "You'd rather be alone than feel alone."

He was speechless as he watched you speak. You read him like an open book. A book he routinely burned whenever someone poked and prodded in a pathetic attempt to get closer to him. How had he let his fire get extinguished so easily? How did it not burn you like it did everyone else?

Like it burned him.

Even he was unable to escape his own flames unscathed.

The fantasy that played in his mind's eye was one where you patiently stood before him as the smoke cleared. His eyes stung and his breathing hitched at the thought.

He sighed deeply, looking more tired than you'd ever seen him before.

"I was serious," his words and tone contrasting with the heavy look he carried on his face. "You're wasting your time if you expect me to tell me what you wanna hear."

You shook your head, "I'm not asking you to say it back. I don't need words when your actions mean more to me." I bring his knuckles to my lips, pressing a soft kiss before looking into his eyes, "Besides, if it's time you're worried about, I wouldn't mind wasting it together."

His entire body reflexively ached to leave at the display of vulnerability, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from you.

Words escaped him as he stared back into your eyes with a confusing mix of fear and hope swirling in his icy blues.

He swallowed hard and finally spoke, "So, all this time," he started as he gathered his bearings, "you've been watching me like some kind of weirdo?"

"Of course," you laughed softly. The movement set a jolt of pain to your abdomen that reminded you of your current position. "Can we go back inside and talk? My stomach hurts from hanging out in your car like this..."

You hissed as you tried to remove yourself from the car. It was definitely gonna leave a mark. He waited until you moved back to the sidewalk before he parked and got out.

"I didn't tell you to jump through the window like a maniac. Seriously, what's wrong with you?"

"Desperate times call for--"

"Dumb ass fucking measures?"

"Yes, precisely. Glad we're on the same page."

He rolled his eyes as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, walking back to the apartment. "Masochist."

"Sadist."

"You know the door was unlocked, right? I was gonna show you 'til you started manhandling me."

"Never let them know your next move."

"So, just dangle like an idiot and hope you don't get run over?"

"I'll admit I'm not good under pressure."

He snorted as you opened the door. He just realized you had chased him out in different shoes. Desperate times, indeed.

"Anyways," you continued as you shut the door behind you and removed your shoes, "You liked it. Thought it was super cool and hot when I was flailing around like an idiot."

"Yeah," he said genuinely, catching you off guard and nearly causing you to trip over the entryway step, but you caught yourself against his arm.

You looked up at him with hopeful eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he repeated sincerely, his eyes staying on yours. "I did."

You swallowed, feeling your eyes prickle with tears as your mouth gaped at him.

He pinched your cheek.

"C'mon," he said as he walked away from you and further into your home to take a seat on the couch. "Let's do this talking thing. We can watch a movie after or whatever..."

You couldn't see his face as he walked away but you could hear his uncharacteristically breathy inflection and stiff tone when he spoke. Was he feeling nervous? Shy..?

The fact that he was the one trying to get the conversation started rather than avoiding it made your chest bloom with warmth. You had expected him to come up with other things to do first in order to put off the awkward and uncomfortable feelings for a bit longer.

You hopped over to him with a blindingly bright grin, sitting near him on the couch to give him some space for this conversation. However, he pulled your body closer to his so that your sides were pressed up against each other. He wrapped an arm around you while you leaned against his chest.

"So..." he started and you could hear something akin to timidity in his tone so you hugged him, letting your hands affectionately stroke his sides. "I'm shit at feelings."

You wanted to laugh at his blunt word choice but didn't want to come off as mocking and discourage him from speaking. "You are not shit at feelings. You seem to feel things quite strongly. We just need to work on helping you feel more comfortable with letting them out in a healthy way, rather than boxing them up and defaulting to avoidance."

"So, I'm shit at feelings."

"If you say that one more time I am going to bite you."

"I'm shit at-- what the fuck!"

"You were warned."

"My fucking tit--"

"Not my fault it's so chewy."

"I'm shit at-- don't you bite me you fucking animal. Hear me out." He had pinched your cheek again to stop your open mouth from it's impending attack. "I'm shit at this. I know. Don't… laugh at me."

Your eyes softened and you brought your hand up to cup the one he had squeezing your cheek. He released his hold on your skin but you kept it held as you let it slide down to your lap.

"It might feel a bit awkward for you but I promise I won't think less of you for sharing your feelings. I appreciate that you've been trying."

"'Been trying?' I've done jack shit."

"No, you have done 'shit'." You reassured him as your fingers drew circles into the skin of his hand. "You came inside--"

"I always come inside," he smirked.

You bit him again.

"What? No complaint for me this time, Touya?"

"I deserved it."

"Masochist."

"Sadist."

Your lips pursed for a moment as you tried to remember where you were.

"Ah, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," you glared at him playfully, "You've already shown me that you're trying. You came back inside, initiated our talking time, and you're participating, too. I know emotional stuff feels hard, but I'm really, really proud of you."

He let out a 'tch' in jest, before leaning down to whisper into the side of your head. "In case you forgot, I also listened to you while you tried playing leap frog on my car."

"Very true, but I didn't forget. I didn't want to include it since I was practically holding you hostage at the time."

"Hostage?" He laughed haughtily, "If I really wanted to leave you I would've ran you over."

"Why is that strangely sweet..."

"'Cause you're a damn masochist. Get help."

"This, coming from the sadist..." The room was quiet as I rubbed his chest lightly with one hand. "I was really scared you were going to leave earlier, Touya. Like, for good."

He clenched his jaw but didn't say anything, opting to listen since he knew she probably had more to say on the matter. And she did.

"I was afraid that I scared you off by talking about-- about whatever menial domestic thing it was we were talking about before. I can't even remember what it was." You clutched his shirt without thinking as you struggled to remember what could've been the catalyst to losing the person you loved.

"Toilet paper," he stated after a pause. "You read about some sale at the store and were talking about how we should go before the weekend so we could stock up. Then you mentioned wanting to buy me strawberry ice cream."

Silence.

"It all sounded so permanent, so easy to you." You could feel his body tense as he struggled to force himself to speak. "Seeing a future where we go grocery shopping for toilet paper and you buying me something. Something that'll sit in the freezer waiting for me even when I'm not around. Something just for me." His last words were barely a whisper.

Your mouth felt dry, it made sense. He had a hard time staying in one place for too long if it felt like he was being smothered or expected to do things he didn't want to do. Your apartment was no exception, even if he clearly spent more time here than any other place.

"Yeah, you're not special, sweetheart."

You felt a cold ache in your chest at the thought of his angry words from earlier.

You told yourself they were just that, angry words. If they were true, would he have bothered to come back at all? No. You knew Touya was good at lying and even better at emotional warfare. It's how he protected himself. He hadn't done it to you since before the two of you were friends, back when you were just another random person trying too hard to get to know him. Today was the first time in years he had said something that caused you to feel bad about yourself.

You would need to talk about it with him later. Right now you wanted to hear him out, so you shove the memory away for now. You can worry about it later.

As painful as it was to hear him speak of his troubles with having a place to call home, you were grateful to him for really trying. Really, it was incredible just how far he's come already. You always knew he was a fast learner if he wanted to be and this meant so much to you. He had never let himself get this vulnerable with you before.

You wanted to tell him something in response but why did it have to be now, of all times, that you couldn't find the words to speak?

You forced yourself to swallow and nodded at him in encouragement. You didn't want to cry and risk him getting cold feet about the feelings thing. You didn't want him to think this was a mistake and that you couldn't handle the truth, because you could, you just felt deeply for the inner conflicts that took place inside of his head. His fears, his happiness, his efforts... it all meant the world to you and it was really getting to you.

You quietly cleared your throat and with a hoarse voice said, "I can see how that would have caused you to react the w-way that you did."

You mentally cursed yourself for the way your voice broke pathetically mid-sentence. "Sorry about that." And you were. You knew he got flighty over things like that but in the moment I just wasn't thinking.

"Hey, don't wimp out on me now." He pinched at your cheek again. "If I'm gonna bare my damn soul or whatever the hell, you sure as shit better not hold out on me. If you gotta get weepy, then get weepy. I'll save the laughing for later."

Your lips trembled at his words and you can feel your face crumple as you bury it into his chest and wept.

"I was so scared I lost you, Touya."

He stared down at you, committing the sight to memory.

His carelessness did this.

He pulled you in closer to him and placed his cheek on the crown of your head. A little while later you calmed down, sniffling and apologizing for accidentally turning his shirt into a tissue.

"Sorry, this is really embarrassing," you sniffled out with a stuffy nose.

He took in the sight of your puffy eyes and runny nose, before looking away. "S'whatever. I know you, too, you know. That thing you said earlier? About you always watching and listening? I do the same shit with you. If being a crybaby helps, then do it unless you wanna be shit at feelings, too."

Sniffle. "We're both not the best at handling our own feelings, huh..."

"An understatement, in my case."

"It's good that you're acknowledging the areas where you could use some improvement." You say as you reach up to cup his cheek and kissed the corner of his lip. "You're doing so well, Touya."

The way your thumb gently rubbed the pale skin of his cheek while you looked at him with honey in your eyes made his chest ache.

"You--" he swallowed as he held your gaze, "think so?"

You nodded and leaned in to press another kiss on his lips. "I know so."

He felt that familiar urge to run away when shit got too personal, but he yearned for more of the pure warmth you offered to his cold, sorry existence.

"I can't promise to always be better. I'll fuck up. I know it. Just don't give-- don't give up on me."

Sharing feelings was embarrassing, painfully so. At least, that's what he told himself to explain the lump in his throat when he struggled to say the words out loud. His hand moved to your thigh and squeezed it, "I'm stubborn but I don't want to fuck this up. When I fuck up, I'll need time to get my head out of my ass."

You felt like crying again seeing how desperately he tried to let you know he wasn't going to always be good at the communication, but he wanted to be and he was trying.

"I'll sit in the freezer waiting for you."

"I-- what? The hell?"

You laugh softly at his dumbfounded expression. "I'll be the ice cream sitting in the freezer waiting for you. So, don't worry about having to rush the process. Do your best. I believe in you, Touya."

He stared at your face for a moment.

"You have low iron. The freezer would kill you."

"I'll be fine 'cause you're always warm."

He once again felt that familiar ache in his chest that he usually got around you. "Wait too long and you'll get freezer burn."

"Are you saying a little freezer burn would keep you from eating your favourite ice cream?" You paused when you noticed his amused expression. "Okay, I walked myself into that one."

"Yeah," the corner of his lip twitched as his eyes darkened. "You did."

"Hey, I know that look. We need to finish talking first-- T-Touya!"

He grabbed your legs, flipping you on your back against the couch with him crawling over you.

"Don't you wanna reward me for doing well so far?" He asked in a low voice. You whimpered at the sight of his heavily lidded eyes looking down at you, amused with your flustered face.

"W-Well, positive reinforcement is a good way of encouraging good behavior, so yes we can, but you have to swear we will talk about this right after-"

He expertly rolled his hips against you, making you gasp. "I'm feeling pretty encouraged right now. You can feel it too, I bet."

You definitely felt it.

He kissed your lips as he removed your bottoms, pushing the backs of your knees as far against as he knew you could comfortably take, exposing the entirety of you in your underwear.

"I swear," he licked a slow stripe against the fabric before pushing it to the side and staring hungrily at your flesh, "on my god damn dick, we'll talk right after I make you come at least four times."

"F-Four?" You could feel his thumb teasing you as he swiped up and down your flesh.

"Five now," his lips wrapped around your sweet spot. He sucked while rubbing his tongue against it at the same time, making your body shudder.

He needed to make up for making you cry so much today.

Your hips bucked against his face, then his fingers.

"So fucking eager after all that talking, huh?" He gave a lopsided grin as he licked the taste of you left behind on his lips. "Yeah, we're definitely talking more often."

He soaked his fingers with the bottle of lube he liked leaving between the seat cushions for times like these. You felt one of his slick fingers tease your tight hole.

"Tell me who fucks you better than me."

"N-No one!"

"Weak shit. Say it again."

"You're the only one who fucks me t-this well!"

He slowly pressed his finger in, the stretch making you sing. He took his time prepping you before inserting another finger and moving in and out of you. He lapped you into whines, working his hand at the pace he knew drove you wild. You cried out praises for him, which he liked almost as much as he liked fucking you to tears.

"And who does this hole belong to? Who owns the rest of this pretty body?"

"Y-You do, it's yours, Touya! It's all yours for you to use as you please!"

You felt your legs trembling as he kept his hands busy with fucking you. The coil inside of you tightening as he vigorously pumped and sucked.

"T-Touya..!" You voice broke as you wailed.

He smirked, feeling satisfied at how fervently your hips bucked against him. You were a needy mess and he hadn't even stretched you with his fat cock yet.

Soon.

"It's mine. You're all fucking mine." His head dived back in and you felt yourself on the precipice of-

"Yeah, you're not special sweetheart."

You shook your head and looked down at him as he looked up at you. He sucked you hard, making your back arch. You were so close.

You stared through half lidded eyes, throat already sore from the sounds he'd easily pulled from you. You tried to focus on the view of him pleasuring you with expertise. Your was mouth open as you shut your eyes and leaned your head back against the couch. You were so close.

"Afraid of what, huh? Afraid that I'll actually start to care about you as more than just a hole I use to get my rocks off, before ghosting you like all the others that came before you?"

You grit your teeth.

Now was not the time for this.

Your eyes shut. You forced the memory away from the forefront of your mind. It doesn't matter right now, you'll tell him how you feel about it later.

Now wasn't the time.

Later.

...

"Fuck!!" You felt Touya pull his body away from you. "Did I not hear you say the safeword!?"

You opened your eyes and Touya's blurry face had moved from in between your legs to kneeling on the floor beside where you laid on the couch. You blinked your eyes and wiped them with your hands. Oh.

You were crying again.

The realization brought more tears and you looked over at Touya who stared down at you fearfully.

"Maybe someday you'll find someone who wants to deal with this shit, but it's not gonna be me."

"Hey, what--" his voice cracked.

Your body shook as you sobbed into your hands.

A sinking feeling had found it's place in his stomach. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't-- I didn't hear you-"

"T-That's not it." Your voice muffled by your hands and your stuffed nose as you continued to sob. "The sex was consensual the w-whole time."

He looked down at you confused. Relieved that he hadn't hurt you in that way, but stressed since he didn't know what happened to you. His chest burned with anxiety and it made him feel restless. He grabbed your throw blanket and pulled it over you, which you used to hide your sloppy face as you tried to calm yourself down.

"Touya," you cried quietly and he stared down at you frozen with fear.

It was him.

"Tell me what I did." He knew he'd fuck up. He just didn't think it'd be this soon.

You didn't want to hurt him. You wanted to protect him but how could you protect him from the very words he spat at you in a desperate rage? Not speaking up about your own feelings fully and pushing them aside for someone else's sake is how you got here in the first place.

You needed to practice what you preached.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you said to me."

The parking lot. He already knew. He hated himself when he said those things and he hated himself now.

It was only a matter of time until he'd ruin things here.

You saw him grab his phone from the floor before standing up and walking across the living room. It must have fallen during your activities.

"I'll text Toga to come by. I'll stay until then."

"Don't go."

"I shouldn't be here."

"Because you hurt my feelings?"

"Yes!" He snapped. "This isn't masochism, it's straight up fucking delusional if you can't see the problem with me staying."

"You hurt my feelings," you sniffled. "It's going hurt whether or not you leave. Stay and talk with me about it."

"This talking shit clearly isn't working. One second you're telling me I fuck you the best then suddenly you're crying in the next. I already ruined whatever we could've had before it even started. We already know how this ends, so don't waste your time."

"If you leave then we will know how this ends." You sat up on the couch, clutching the soft blanket like a lifeline. Your voice was firm, but not enough to cover your soft determination. "You're hurt and so am I. So, sit with me instead of running away. Leaving things the way they are now is the sure-fire way to ruin this."

His jaw tightened as he stayed where he was.

"We talked a little bit earlier, but the issue just now wasn't your fault. It was mine-"

"You're not the one who said all that nasty shit to the person you-" He turned away and glared holes into an innocent plant. "It's over. We're not even fucking dating and it's over." He ran a hand through his hair and laughed.

"You did say horrible things, but I kept brushing off my feelings. We talked a bit earlier, but I still had feelings left unsaid." You stood up, the sound of your feet padding against the floor behind him made him stiffen. You stood in front of him, with your arms loosely crossed on your chest. "How are you supposed to know that stuff was still bothering me? It's not like you can read my mind."

"Don't be fucking dense."

"I seem to recall us wanting to work things out. You told me not to give up on you, remember?"

"Before I realized I traumatized you by saying a bunch of shit!"

"You didn't traumatize me, you hurt my feelings. There's a difference."

"You know the reason you had 'feelings left unsaid' is 'cause I basically mounted you before you could finish saying them, right?"

"No, that's not true and don't demonize yourself like that." You reached for his hand that was balled into a fist at his side, but he pulled it away.

He wasn't worthy of your compassion.

You frowned but didn't let it deter you. "I said it was okay --and before you say anything-- I wasn't coerced into it, either."

His eye twitched at her already knowing what he was going to say before he said it.

"You tease and mock, but you've shown me time and time again that you respect me and my body. You waited until I gave consent and I know that if I didn't give it, you would've let it go and let me talk about my feelings instead. You didn't take advantage of me. I disrespected myself by not prioritizing my own feelings. That's what the main issue was here."

"You said you couldn't stop thinking about what I said. It's my fault, they were my shitty fucking words."

"I'm not trying to say your words weren't a part of it, they definitely were, but I know you were just... saying what you could to put distance in between us."

He sneered, "Is that what you're telling yourself? Doesn't matter why I said it. Intentional or not, lies or not: it still fucking hurt you." His lips curled bitterly as remorse stained the cool blue of his eyes. "It'll be what you think of when you see me from now on."

You took a small step towards him, careful not to invade his personal space but enough to momentarily satisfy your need for physical closeness. Your need for the comfortable heat he offered to you as you both stood together in silence.

"I won't lie..." You started.

He knew that you never lied to him. Your stupidly sincere approach to interactions with him were probably what got him wrapped around your finger in the first place.

He did wonder if you ever lied to yourself about him, though. It'd explain why you let him stick around even while knowing he was a jackass.

He also recognized there wasn't any actual weight to that way of thinking. If anything, the times where your feelings felt so real outweighed those paranoid thoughts of his. Sometimes he'd catch you looking at him. The sweet honey dripping from your eyes at him doing fuck all felt so raw that he'd panic and have to leave for a while.

Whenever you smiled at him, even the soft little ones, you beamed bright enough to burn him to cinders if he let it. Lately, he had found himself simmering under your heat longer and longer, letting himself get singed by you.

Seeing you fidget with the hem of your top snapped him out of his thoughts. You were still in your underwear and it reminded him that he'd burned you. Not with the heat of patience and kindness that you regularly thawed him with, but with flames full of his own agonizingly self-sabotaging wrath.

"I won't lie," you repeated after taking a couple seconds to gather your thoughts. "I'll probably always think about what you said."

He already knew it yet it still made him hate himself more.

"The same way you'll probably always think about it, too."

You sweet, merciful, stupid fucking angel.

"Stop."

"No. You need to hear this."

"Just fucking stop."

"Don't interrupt me, Touya."

He glared at you in irritation as he clenched and unclenched his hands in an attempt to keep himself grounded. Mentally and literally. If he ran away now, you wouldn't be able to share your thoughts. He owed you that and so much more.

"It's something that effected the both of us and it'll change the way we are, but we don't have to let it change us in a bad way. We can use our hurt to help us grow." You said while looking at him with eyes full of hope. "We won't forget it happened and we shouldn't."

"We-- you--," he stammered. He could see the patience in your face and logic, feel the tender touch of your words. He was concurrently immolated by your steadfast mercy and by his venomous wrath. "We need to end this before you get hurt again."

"'Before I get hurt again'? I am going to get hurt again. By you, myself, or some other thing. It's what happens as we live and grow. The difference is learning from it. This is our 'before', and if you let us, we can work on moving on towards our 'after'."

"You know how ridiculously optimistic that sounds, right? Stupidly sappy, too. You really think it's as simple as that?"

"Can I hold your hand?"

He blinked in confusion at the randomness of the question but gave a small nod. You took ahold of it with both of your own.

"We both know it won't be simple. We both have baggage and hurt we'd need to address if we want to be something. It's going to be really hard, but if you stay I know that we'll both put in the work to reach our 'after' and every 'after' after that."

He stayed silent as he took in her words. You really saw--

"--Lots of 'after's, huh?" He quietly spoke as he tried to drown out his nerves with a teasing tone.

He looked at you with hopeful eyes that brought a small smile to your face.

"Lots of 'after's. I am your ice cream sitting in the freezer, remember?"

He'd scoff if he hadn't just gotten the wind knocked from his lungs.

You raise his hand to your lips before pressing a little kiss on the scars on the back of his hand before tugging it gently so he'd follow you to sit back down on the couch.

"I'm not eating freezer burnt ice cream."

"Hey! That's so mean…" you pouted. "And wasteful. You're way too picky of an eater, no wonder you're always grumpy."

"I'm fucking with you."

"Oh, I know. I'm fucking with you, too."

"Sadist..." He affectionately played with the shell of your ear while resting his cheek on your head. The gesture filled her with elation as they sat in comfortable silence.

"Look, I'm..." he started, struggling with his words.

"I know."

"I shouldn't-- I shouldn't have said those things earlier."

"I know."

"You didn't deserve it," his voice was softer.

"I know," you wrapped your arms around his firm torso, squeezing a little tighter.

"You're clingy. What're you thinking? Don't skimp out on me again, I wanna hear all the ugly shit, too." He lightly pinched at your cheek, "This shit ain't gonna work if it's one-sided. Start talking."

You smiled as he pressed his lips to your forehead.

"Okay, Touya."

#dabi x reader #touya x reader #dabi #todoroki touya #touya todoroki #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #toya x reader #i always feel bad for tagging him properly even on my main account so sorry to the ppl who dont wanna see this T.T #happy dabi day i fininished this 20mins b4 it ended i love having adhd and dying #i seriously couldn'tstart writing anything for him until the day before #let me know if it sucks my brain fog was bad with this one #it is so rushed i am sorry #spookyxsprinkles #edit feb 17 2024: edited this so hard and i'll do it again over the summer probably #i'm supposed to be taking a 1 week break from writing so i don't burn myself out and yet.....!

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