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bloodstripedblondie · 3 years

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SADISM & MASOCHISM.

PAIRING: suna rintarou x reader.

CONTENT WARNINGS: heavy angst. established relationship. toxic relationship. falling out of love. hurt/comfort. suna is bad at feelings. happy ending (not clickbait. lmfao.)

NOTES: tumblr fucked me over a few times while writing this that i had to rewrite scenes over and over again after losing them. all errors is because i've been awake for almost 24 hours :D

there isn't a thing that could match the ache, the hollow—the searing, despicable pain in suna's chest.

he wished you away. he watched you crumble under the weight of his loveless. he hadn't thought of himself as such a sadist, nor a masochist.

yet undoing the ties of what bounded you to him—unweaving yourself from his grasp with your own nimble fingers that should've stuck interlaced with his—is all it took for him to find out he could be both.

and at the very end, it's still you. the reason, the result, the beginning and the end, the cause and the meaning.

it's all you.

but before all that—he's a sadist first; when he pulls on your love without hesitation and strings it along without regard for you.

in his sadism, suna panics first. he worries about the nagging thought that he might not love you anymore, because your affection has him feeling withered. he's tired of it, tired of you.

but suna can't picture himself telling you this.

in his head, it would go like this: watching the light leave your eyes like someone just shot a bullet through your skull. suna doesn't like it, every nerve inside him is riddled with unease at the thought—especially when he knows he'd see the slow cascading of your tears over your cheeks even after you've thrown your head back to keep it all in.

then, you'd smile at him, tell him you love him all the same even if you leave.

suna knows you'd blame yourself if you left like that, if he broke up with you like that.

so instead of a shot through the skull, suna makes it seem like an inevitable death from disease.

he shows you he doesn't love you anymore—it's a slow burn in reverse; you feel like you've been set on fire, with suna waiting until you're reduced to dust.

heartbreak is a drug and he knew you were an addict. you've always been so clingy, suna has always loved it.

in all your efforts, he allows it to fly over his head. he feels nothing when your lips press on the outline of his jaw in affection, when your hands expertly move and press on his sore muscles, relieving him of all the pain from training.

this is just you. there's nothing new.

you were love personified, a manifestation of devotion. you loved ruthlessly and for the longest time, suna had been your adonis, your muse, your art.

your attention had always been on him and you leave no room for doubts. so he pulls you apart by giving you none of his, your attempts at a conversation shut down and dismissed until suna turns over for the night—when you wrap your arms around his torso, his own doesn't move to pull you closer.

when you wake up, his side of the bed is cold.

it's summer. you cough like your chest has frozen over, then you shiver.

you wrap yourself in the thickest blankets, then wait for him to come home. this time, you'll be ready for the cold, and you'll keep your body snug against his.

but suna comes home, and he avoids your touch. he turns his back on you in bed, he squeezes his eyes shut when his shirt soaks your tears.

he's asleep and he's a sadist.

that one night is all it takes for you to stop looking at him in the eyes.

but you smile at him, still. that's why he thinks he hasn't thorned you away from him enough.

at your last attempt, between your stutters of anxiety, you ask him, "rin, can you hug me?"

you feel like blood has been getting drained out of you lately. today was a bad day, you wish you could tell him what happened.

but you settle with a hug until he answers, "'m tired, next time."

suna tells you this even though he recognizes the crack in your voice when you ask him—you looked so tired, so sad.

he knows you just need him. even a little bit.

a bit he couldn't give to you—not anymore.

after that, you stop coming to bed after him.

when he feels a pinch in his chest, he tells himself it's because he pities you, but it's okay. you'll leave him soon, you'll get tired, you'll break up with him. he won't have to see your eyes go dead.

that's how it goes.

you barely talk to him anymore. when you do, your voice is barely above a whisper.

you loved far too much, but he knew you had your limits. because you stop talking to him, stop reaching out for him, stop coming in bed with him.

and he decides he wished he didn't share such a huge apartment with you. in the same breath, he wishes the two spare rooms away.

he forgets this is what he wanted.

suna misses your voice. he misses your eyes. he misses your touch. he misses being in the same room as you.

he came home early today.

you're not sitting on the couch, the kitchen is clean, the fridge is empty, the bed is cold.

the apartment feels bleak.

you're not home today.

or the next day, or the next week.

had it not been enough that you stopped sleeping in the same bed as him?

the laundry is piling up. the apartment is silent. in the spacious room where your scent barely lingers, he feels like he's suffocating. you feel so gone. how does your absence fill his entire world?

shouldn't your absence free him?

so he empties out what your absence has filled—he picks up the shatters of his heart and lets it dig in his palms as he walks towards the laundry.

he loads it up just like you would.

because your absence has never made him feel more claustrophobic.

the click of the door following the sound of the machine starting brings the oxygen back in his lungs.

suna is tired, but never of you.

suna is a masochist. he wanted you to tug yourself apart from him—he doesn't love you anymore.

he never thought he was such a liar.

in the distance that separated him from you, his fingers twitch and he yearns. he can't remember the color of your eyes anymore—and he rarely ever cries so why is there a sting behind his eyes when he pulls you in and you only look at him only because you wanted to pull away.

"stop it, rin," your annoyance is the cherry on top.

in his masochism, he tells you, "i love you, still. i love you, always."

you give him the practiced, fake smile he's always called you out using on the people you disliked.

the shatters of his heart, dug deep into his palms, punctures past hands and falls to the floor.

just like them, he falls, into his knees with purpose.

he cries apologies as his forehead presses against your knees. over and over, he begs he's sorry. knelt like a soldier on his last foot, a god overthrown, a king cornered.

you offer him no comfort. you feel like he's breaking you apart all over again, but you always thought you could never watch him like this—fallen.

suna's larger hands cover both your own on your lap in a tight grip. his cries doesn't cease even as minutes past. you let his guilt eat him alive.

he tells you about all the things he thought—you think he's never been more vulnerable.

he rips you apart as he tells you of the months that has passed when he thought he no longer loved you, and builds you together with measly bandaids as he recounts all the times you proved him wrong—he loved, loved, loved you. more than you could never know.

in the last beat of his masochism, suna tells you that he would give you all the time in the world to hate him, if it meant you'd love him for a second more.

his knees are weak, his throat is sore. suna is no longer your adonis, your muse, your art.

but you would always be his. his lover, his fool, his sun.

suna looks up, bloodshot eyes tainting the green, he finally sees the color of your eyes again.

he's never forgotten, but the light has never gone out—that's why you stopped meeting his gaze.

that's how he knows you never stopped loving him, not for a second.

at the end of his sadism and masochism, suna admits he's wrong. never had his love for you falter, even when he thought it has.

in the spaces between the anxiety of not loving you anymore, he thought of you first and last. during training, coming home, leaving home, all tunneling at the thought of you.

contrary to the miya twin's belief, suna was not a genius.

but he wasn't so dumb as to let you slip away from him completely.

suna tugs on his love and ties you with it to make up for the love he's pulled out of you. he strings himself on the loose threads of your heartstrings and pulls you closer to him than he ever has before.

he swallows down the lump in his throat whenever you pulled away from him, and he lets you set the pace no matter how torturous it felt. he plucks himself free from the thorns he pricked you away with, and brings you in despite the pain of the ones that stuck with you.

suna asks you for a chance to fix it.

and you let him.

lastly, he vows he'll make you fall in love again—as if you ever stopped at all.

in his affections, he riddles you, drowns you, pulls you in with the heart he had to offer.

at the end of the isle, he vows he'll never make the same mistake again.

as you smiled at him again with the same love he grew so familiar with, he pulls you close to him—a habit he's developed after almost losing you—and you know for sure he won't.

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bloodstripedblondie · 3 years

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SILENCE.

cw: kind of hurt/comfort. some angst and some fluff. established relationship.

SUNA likes silence. silence is comfortable, something he can bathe in and let loose in. silence left barely any room for mistakes. he even thinks, silence was what a safe haven would resemble.

but not with you.

suna hates your silence.

he doesn't understand it at first—how your parted lips trying to speak closes shut at some point during an argument. by the end of it, he'd come to his senses and come to you, still silent, but you smiled and reassured him it's okay.

you forgive him, and you love him too.

but it happens again, when you find him with a girl trying to flirt with him after a match against the red falcons; your wide smile faltering as you set your eyes on the girl he couldn't shake off—your lips sealing together and your pace going slower.

he rushes to you, even when the girl trails after him annoyingly. when you greet him, your voice is small—meek. he supposes it's a blessing that all he sees is you when you're in the same space as him, because you see it too as he cups your cheeks in his palms tenderly and leans in, only then does he say, "hey."

he's sure you see it, how he looks at only you.

it's the sort of reassurance that didn't need words. it's reassurance nestled in silence, just the way he likes it. you smile at him and you say, "hey," louder this time—but all the more lovestruck.

the next time, suna finally hints at a pattern on your silence.

he only hates that he finds it because of the words that falls from his mouth and weighs you down as if shackling you.

"and 'm so sick of hearing you talk so much." he quips in a fit of frustration. suna doesn't yell, after all. he doesn't raise his voice because silence is nice, but he snaps; much like a snake sneaking up to you only to bite you with venom. "it's so annoying cause you're always so naggy."

they're not true—he was just mad. but just like before, your parted lips seal together, wobbling this time as you did so.

and your lips part again, as if wanting to say something, only to shut again. this time, you nod instead, and then you walk out on him.

he realizes, your silence meant he's hurt you—caused you pain. in his hurtful words or in moments of jealousy, insecurity, or at fleets of his neglectfulness when he shrugs you off.

you shut your mouth—in spite of your frustation or in spite of the words bubbling in your throat.

in spite of even when there's tears falling from your eyes, sobs about to escape you and yet you swallow it down.

how can he like silence like that?

suna couldn't like silence if it was like that. if it accompanied knowing he's hurt you again—if silence meant your pain, he'd rather have anything else.

anything else but your silence.

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bloodstripedblondie · 3 years

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“Atsumu.”

“What?” Looking up from the menu, he tilts his head in confusion at your tone.

“You’re not going to like that,” you tell him, making his eyes widen in disbelief. He’s almost offended, takes it almost as an accusation. Or maybe a challenge, he’s a bit unpredictable.

“Baby, ya don’t know that,” he huffs, making you raise a brow. “’S their special, I’m sure ‘s a great dessert. Popular for a reason, ya know,” he insists, looking back down at the menu before him with a defiant look on his face. Rolling your eyes, you usher the waiter to give you two another moment when he approaches. Atsumu jerks his head back, mouth agape before he turns to the waiter himself, furiously beckoning him over.

“Tsum, it has peanut butter—”

“I am a grown man, y/n. I can read and decide if I want somethin’,” he says indignantly. “I don’t mind peanut butter anymore,” he promises. Not that Atsumu would actually know that, in all honesty. He hasn’t exactly had peanut butter in years, not since your first date, but he assumes his taste buds have matured since then. Pursing your lips, you simply shrug, deciding you’d leave him to his own devices when he realizes he’s made a mistake.

“Whatever you say.”

Atsumu hates peanut butter. It’s the first fact you learned about him other than he played volleyball with his twin. He asks you out on a date your third year in high school, standing in front of your locker with his sports bag hung loosely on his shoulder. Same day he finds out he’s captain.

He tries to pretend he isn’t bothered by the peanut butter cups in his ice cream, tries to chew them down like a champ, but you don’t miss the way he cringes with each swallow. You both have already walked a good distance from the ice cream shop by then, so, with a gentle smile, you offer to share yours with him.

He swears that’s the moment he knew he was in love with you.

Now, six years of dating and two years of marriage later, you’ve no longer got a schoolgirl crush on him. His little pout will not compel you to share your dessert with him. Not anymore, especially since you’ve already warned him.

So, when Atsumu claims he’ll take the special that has peanut butter in it, you merely shrug and place your own order. And when he takes the first spoonful and his body stiffens, forcing a gulp to swallow the taste of peanut butter that he realizes he very much does not like, you hold back a smile.

“‘S delicious,” he says with a tight smile when he catches you staring at him. “I love it, really,” he nods.

“I’m sure you do,” you hum. He plays around with his spoon, pout on his face as he wills himself to take a few more spoonfuls when you decide to take mercy on him.

With a roll of your eyes, you shove your bowl to the middle of your table, staring at him unimpressed as he stares back sheepishly.

“Here, you idiot,” you mutter. “This is why I never take you anywhere.”

“Don’t take me any—I’m takin’ ya, actually,” he huffs indignantly. “Don’t need ya ta share, I love ma order.”

“You love it?”

“Mhm,” he nods defiantly. You raise an eyebrow, and he wilts under your gaze, arms crossed and lips curled into a sad pout as you glare at him.

“What did I tell you about the peanut butter? What did I say, Atsumu?” He sinks in his chair a little bit, but you don’t relent.

“That I wouldn’t like it,” he mumbles quietly. He hears a small snicker from the table beside you and his ears turn red, looking over at the young child that laughs as he gets scolded with a glare. “Don’t say ma name so mean.”

“Don’t argue about things you know you’re wrong in, and I won’t have to be mean.” Still, you gently nudge your ice cream towards him, offering him to share just like you did all those years ago on your first date.

His heart melts, your eyes soften, and you’re once again at the starting point of an endless cycle.

You and Atsumu are in love. He loves you, and you love him, and each day is a continuation of the last, love seeping through the cracks.

It seeps into the crisp sheets of the morning, one where his strong arm holds you securely in your slumber. It seeps into the creamer of the coffee he brews for you, offering it to you with a giddy smile as you meet him in the kitchen. It seeps into each kiss you press to his face just as he leaves for practice—one on his cheek, another on his nose, two on his forehead. And by the time he comes home, you’re both flooded, drowning in the depths of the feelings you share.

But he keeps you breathing, and you keep him afloat, and the cycle starts again, small droplets of love eventually pouring like rain.

You and Atsumu are in love.

“Yer the one offerin’ ta share, not like I asked ya,” he grumbles. You crack the first smile, and he huffs the first laugh. Soon, you giggle like idiots in love.

“You haven’t learned anything from our first date have you?”

“Oh I’ve learned plenty,” Atsumu promises smugly. “All I gotta do is make ya share yer ice cream with me, and ya’ll fall hopelessly in love. This was ma master plan.” Snorting, you reach for his hand across the table, and he squeezes lightly when they meet.

“I wouldn’t say hopelessly,” you tease. And he knows you lie, but he still pouts playfully. “But I love you.”

“Yeah, me too,” Atsumu whispers. “I love ya.”

based on a true story of my parents LMAO

reblogs are really appreciated !!

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bloodstripedblondie · 3 years

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au in which reader has the colossal titan and is one of the warriors with annie and reiner. armin and reader (or maybe just armin) has feelings for each other,and everything is the same. including the fact that armin eats reader and gains the colossal titan powers

#plz I need this

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bloodstripedblondie · 3 years

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——

Having a psychic boyfriend with the ability to shrink himself is a blessing.

——

Word Count: 0.6k

Warnings: None (?), Pure crack

Characters: Saiki Kusuo

Note: Anything italicized and in quotes represents Saiki’s thoughts.

——

Kusuo isn’t finding your snickering funny.

It’s not your fault you burst into laughter. How else are you supposed to react when your previously grown boyfriend is now four-inches tall? Kusuo couldn’t even give you an estimate of how long he’d be stuck like this. Unfortunately, you now had to take care of your doll-sized boyfriend. You really should pat yourself on the back for being the best S/O in the world. Not everybody would be willing to make your totally not devious sacrifice.

In the span of five minutes, you’d almost killed your boyfriend. It wasn’t your fault, honestly! You’d gone to sit down and relax; how were you supposed to know Saiki was on the couch. It’s not your fault you have a literal insect for a boyfriend! All you’d heard was his telepathy screeching at you to, “Stop sitting down!” but you were already sitting down; you aren’t strong enough to beat gravity. Yet.

On the bright side, you did get to feel your boyfriend’s show of strength – he managed to lift you with both hands. Your clapping didn’t settle Kusuo’s foul mood though. He’d pouted scowled and refused to speak to you for a good five minutes.

“I’ll buy you coffee jelly if you forgive me.” And suddenly your boyfriend was gripping onto your pinky with a “fawning” smile adorned to his face. The little rat. It makes sense for Kusuo to be excited at the prospect of having coffee jelly. One regular sized coffee jelly was equivalent to a feast for him now!

Sometimes you thought Kusuo loved coffee jelly more than he loved you. Maybe it’s childish to be jealous of a little cup of coffee jelly, but Kusuo’s eating it like a starving man! Truthfully, you’d been a goner the minute you saw miniature Kusuo take a bite out of a spoon of coffee jelly the size of his head. It was just so cute!

The thing that irked you was that Kusuo could clearly hear your thoughts demanding affection.

“Come on Ku, give me a kiss,” oh to be kissed by tiny Kusuo. How would it feel like? Would it be like feathers, or would it be so light you would only feel a ticklish sensation?

“You’re never going to find out.” You have the worst boyfriend in all of history! What sort of wicked soul denies their S/O the once-in-a-lifetime pleasures of being kissed by a tiny version of them? Only a person who doesn’t deserve you. Maybe you should go take Toritsuka on his offer to be his S/O instead. And from where you’re sitting, you can clearly see Saiki’s unimpressed eyebrow raise at that thought.

“I even bought you the coffee jelly too!” Despite emptying your wallet to please your boyfriend, he hadn’t offered to peck you. Just one kiss to your pinky would be enough to satisfy you.

Sometimes, you have to take what you want by force. You don’t grab tiny Kusuo. No, you wrench the coffee jelly away from Kusuo. If you can’t have your kisses, then he can’t have the coffee jelly either. Both of you can suffer together! How romantic…

“You’re insufferable,” there’s no venom in Kusuo’s thoughts, only exasperation. He’s finally given in to your demands. Still, you can’t have him reneging on your deal.

“Give me the kiss first, Kusuo. Or else…” you mime throwing away the coffee jelly into the trash. Outstretching your palm, you resist (terribly) the urge to smirk at Kusuo stepping into your hand. Winning is good for one’s ego. You lift your boyfriend up – as the best S/O in the universe, you deserve a kiss on the cheek. You can barely see Kusuo rolling his eyes, before pressing a kiss to your cheek. That’s it. You can die happy now. “Another one!”.

“No.” You frown, he leaves you with no choice. Guess you’ll just have to kiss tiny-Kusuo instead… that’s terribly awful!

“You’re a pest,” yet Kusuo doesn’t move when you press an abundance of kisses to his entire body. He totally wants you to kiss him.

“I don’t.”

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bloodstripedblondie · 3 years

Note

dabi seeing his old childhood friend as a waitress in one the dingy bars that he goes to

yandere childhood friend ! DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

im sorry, this turned into a waitress at a dingy run-down wendy's type of thing...

goodiebag WARNINGS: dabi being a bitter bitch, noncon hinting, kidnap depends

NOSTOLGIA

The lights were flickering.

Tired and dirty, run-down neon once so flaringly frisky, pop colours demanding attention, now baring such an alarming look of sketchy danger, spotted letters just barely hanging on above the windows, popped lightbulbs and others shortly following.

Dabi remembers coming here back when he was Touya.

Naive Touya with big dreams and ambitions he could never reach, yearning for a type of recognition he would never get, respect he couldn't ever earn, only take.

The N and R had shut down completely now, making the remainder letters of the diner simply spell out DI-E- in a series of blitzing flashes, as though in threat.

But Dabi wasn't one to fear death anymore, nor heed it's silly warnings.

Besides... he was hungry. And whether it was for food or nostalgia he hadn't quite bothered giving it much thought before halting at the sight of the familiar retro commercial signs up front.

However, stopping to think of it, if it had been simply and just to quench the gurgle in his gut he wouldn't very well had come here, of all places, now would he?

No, tonight the street mutt wasn't hungry for scraps like most other days. Tonight, the air was different and the moon shown paler than normal. Tonight, Dabi was on the hunt for reminders, for bittersweet memories of that time he was happy, perhaps in a wish to feel the fluttering of childlike hope between his fingertips once again before it so cruelly slipped from his grasp like it had so long ago, fade, turn sour on his tongue, pool like bile in the back of his throat, make him yearn for a cigarette to burn the taste away.

Smoke it out.

Burn what made him what he is into a pitiful pile of ash, only to wake up at dawn with the realisation that none of it helped calm the storm in his head.

He scoffed, taking his chances in spite of it.

The bell clanging at the opening of the entrance thrust him back, all those time he'd burst inside in search for ice cream or a milkshake, cool-aid or whipped cream, anything to cool down the burn in his chest, the one threatening to destroy him.

He closed his eyes while they spun in the chase of reminiscent, opening up to see the familiar face on the opposite side of the counter.

It didn't even take a second.

Look at you...

Walking about, table to table, with your little notepad, clicking your pen and taking down orders. He couldn't decide if you turned out more pathetic than him.

You’ve... grown. Still cute as a button, but something more as well. Something in the way way your cleavage demands his attention in that ridiculous retro-diner lolita-looking uniform.

Funny he was looking for nostalgia, and here you were, a waitress serving just that, like a perfect little bite-sized treat, in that short lamp-shade skirt, checkered handkerchief tied like a collar around your throat, three large pebble-buttons running down your chest to where your apron was tied snug around your waist.

Your smile was always so pretty. It still was pretty. Though... perhaps a bit slutty with that sparkly pink gloss on your lips.

Your laugh too... so genuine it used to give him chills. Still gives him chills, even now as you use it to talk to sleazy nobodies on the tables you’ve been assign, taking their drugged sluggish drunk questions on with a bright smile. As perky and perfect as always.

You’re a bit of a flirt, aren't you? That’s new. Batting your lashes at the costumers, putting on an extra swing in your hips as you walk, shoes clicking on the tiles as your skirt swishes from side to side, showing off a hint to the curve of your ass.

Makes him chuckle.

You were always such a timid little thing back when the two of you would run around, he’d had to hold your hand and pull you along. You used to beg him not to leave you, not to let you go. You used to beg so prettily for him, sparkles in your misty eyes as you'd ball up his shirt in your tiny little fists, bury your face in his chest, tears staining his shirt as you'd cry for him not to leave you behind.

He hadn't thought of you in ages. Must have been years since he last had the audacity to dream of you. After all, you were still just a silly little girl in his mind, just a childhood memory, a girl he used to like.

You didn't belong to him after all. You belonged to Touya.

But, looking at you now... chest once strictly flat now with a pretty swell, dolled up in such a tempting little dress... he bet your neck would look good caught between his stapled fingers.

Tonight, you were exactly what he'd been looking for. And Dabi hadn't cared for Touya's interests in a long time.

Besides, with that pout on your lips, you were begging to be swept off your feet and thrust up against the coarse brick wall behind the diner.

You yelped when you felt the hands of a stranger grab you from behind, kicking and hitting then wincing when the back of your head smacked against the stone of the wall, whimpering at the stench of burnt leather and booze, levelled with the sight of a white ribbed cotton-shirt contrasted against marred purple flesh, lean-muscled arms equally scathed, a look of rubbery you had no doubt was painful, pushing you flat against the wall with reckless strength, a ragged black leather-jacket thrown on the figure like a cape, though not in such a way you'd mistake him for a hero.

Peeking up you prepared yourself for death, but you'd recognise those cyan eyes anywhere.

"Touya?"

He could feel his heart beat in his chest, suddenly reminded of its mortal human presence there, sitting nearly forgotten within the confines of his ribcage.

"It's you..."

Your gaze was blown wide as you looked at him, that overwhelming tint of that something he hadn't seen in a long while swirling inside your eyes, making his heart feel so achingly heavy.

"I thought you were dead-"

Your fists attached to his shirt, in the same exact fashion you'd do all those years ago, clinging to him, with those large eyes who looks at him as though he is the world.

You used to have a silly little crush on him, didn't you? Why else would you follow him around? Hand tugging his sleeve, running after him even when he pushed you to the dirt, even when he told you to get lost. You'd scuff your knees and scrape your palms, tripping trying to keep up. Squeeze yourself tightly into his back, afraid to fall off when he'd ride his bike as fast as he could in effort to make you scream.

You sniffled, eyes flashing, that awful look of concern sweetening your face into a painfully adorable expression, one he didn't have the heart to handle.

"What have you done to yourself?"

A tear slipped your eye, as your hand, small and soft, ascended to hover above his face, eyes running over the metal holding his skin together, stitched up like a patchwork. A trail running up his chin and from the corners of his mouth, even outlining those tired patches beneath his eyes.

Your eyes swirled.

"Quit looking at me like that." He bit out, but his voice was for some reason really weak.

That look in your eye, that soft worry, that earnest care, felt like a noose tightening around his neck.

You softly thumbed the metal binders on his cheek, running a trail over the path as though you were afraid he'd fall apart at the seams. "You've destroyed yourself-"

Something clawed at his throat and he needed to make it stop.

"Shut up." He snapped, making an effort to put the spite in his voice. "Shut your fucking mouth."

His fingers clamped around your jaw, gripping it tightly, curling into your cheeks as he squished your face to silence all your words, turn them all into frail little whimpers instead.

You tried pulling yourself back, cowering into the wall he had you pressed against, shock pulling your face into a timid look he felt much more comfortable staring down.

"The fuck kinda right do you have to talk? Huh?"

A drop of spit hit your cheek as he barked out the comment. His cyan eyes, a million more minus degrees cold than what they were when you were kids.

"Tired fucking waitress working at a dump like this, dressed like a fucking slut-"

You flinched, trembling under the ache of the increasingly brutal grip he had around your waist, lanky fingers clawing with viscous strength into your ribs making you whimper while his eyes had you pinned, tensely crushed beneath the threat of his cruel words.

"Begging to be shot up and robbed- bet you think about it all day long." He scoffed, breath puffed out onto your face, making you blink your stinging eyes, where what had welled up started free-falling. "Wanting someone to bent you over the counter you just rubbed clean, fuck you in your little apron-"

"Touya-" You sobbed. Useless little hands, supported by the same twig-like arms you had way-back-when, desperately fighting to push his much stronger, much larger form off you, in such a hopeless aimless struggle he forced himself into thinking was amusing.

"It's Dabi now-" He seethed, face less than an inch from your already tear-soaked terrified expression.

You should have moved once you graduated.

Or perhaps it wouldn't have helped at all.

Perhaps he'd dream of you once and track you down all on his own someday.

Perhaps this would have happened no matter what.

Dabi remembers when you told Touya how much you loved this diner back when he was afraid of how much he wanted to kiss you, back when all he found himself doing was run away from you, but always drifting right back to where you sat sobbing on the sidewalk where he'd left you a brokenhearted mess.

Most of all, he remembers how fast you were to forgive him each time, how tightly you'd hug him.

Dabi is afraid of you too.

But he'll not only settle for making you cry this time, but for having you do it while cumming on his cock.

"Touya's dead."

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