Tumgik
#Dabi angst
jomamaofficial · 3 days
Text
An Empty Vessel pt.3 (Dabi x Fem!Reader Dark Angst)
A/N: As promised, I have come with Part 3. I can’t lie, I did not expect to have so many parts to this series (me personally, I thought it would be a oneshot), but guys, seeing all the love y’alls are giving to this series is just AHHH. It fills my heart with joy <3. I urge you all to read the TWs and CWs because this series as a whole is just dark. As always, my Ask Box is open for any requests or just a conversation. Please remember to take care of yourselves, and enjoy. As always, I would love to see your thoughts in the comments :). TW: Substance abuse (alcohol, smoking), small mention of mass murder and a reunion with abusive lover. CW: swearing. Taglist: @marlenemckinnonsleftfoot @sukunasleftkneecap @istoleyourmanho3 @witherfag @porusuniverse @iluvoaldmen @genshinsimpforlif @shadowmoonlight0604 @simpsimpson2023 @crybab7 @kaeyastittysucker @jennieyeager @an-ever-angry-bi @gyarukitti Masterlist Word Count: 2207. Summary: Saira Uchiyama. His past had caught up to him in the form of a family– Touya Todoroki had no family but Dabi could not deny the existence of his. The existence of a family that had driven him to search for a name he had never even heard of. Dabi's fragile world unravelled; every single thread forced him to confront the consequences of his actions. Was it even her? The one he had beat and shut out of his life? Dabi’s mind hurt, because it finally intertwined with the realisation of the irreparable damage he had caused.
——————————————————————————————————
Dabi has had his overcoat for a long time. 
It was the first thing that was ever made for him, and only him. 
He never had to share it. 
The material was light; he could move quickly without the weight dragging him down. 
The material was heat-resistant, so he didn’t have to worry about incinerating his clothes during a fight. 
His clothes allowed him to let go. Dabi could explore the forbidden fruits of his full potential because the material allowed heat to escape– because of the fabric’s ‘enhanced breathability’ or something. He never paid attention. But it worked, so he always had it on. 
Dabi made his way up to the roof, ignoring the small cries of his name from the distance. It wasn’t on purpose though– he couldn’t concentrate on anything else. His mind had to work hard to think about nothing. Because if his conscience took over, his chest would collapse. 
There wasn’t anything left inside of him anymore. That’s what he had recited every waking day of his life as Dabi. But God, he needed a cigarette– to fill that hollow feeling inside of him. 
A few long puffs always did the trick. Although it felt best when he was on the roof, legs hanging off the ledge. 
One of his favourite hobbies was to look at the city under the glistering stars. 
Yokohama never slept. The little toy cars had small people that were always going somewhere. Their blinking red lights mirrored the sea of stars on the bumpy road. At such a distance, where cars disappeared from one end to the other, that journey seemed so mindless. Yet still, everything felt like… like it was still in place. As if everything about this world was truly intentional. 
Dabi dragged a longer puff, throwing his head back, succumbing to the gentle breeze and his thoughts. 
But in the end, you couldn’t make out any face, let alone their identity. Everything became insignificant. All that mattered was the action. 
Dabi could distinguish between a walking figure and a jogging figure. Whether they were alone or with others. 
But in the end, everything else was insignificant when he was above them all. 
So far up, that if he fell– right now– he wouldn’t come back. 
Anyone could push him off.  
“There you are!” 
Dabi grimaced. His soothing bubble had been forcefully broken, and he was dragged back to reality. He had his suspicions on who it was. 
“I thought we could use a drink or two.”
His eyes glowered at the approaching figure. He could never be left alone. But when the bottle of scotch was handed to him, the interruption wasn’t too bad after all. Dabi jerked his head towards the empty space beside him. 
He could hear careful steps approaching, then cautious shuffling beside him. 
Had he stolen a glance in his peripheral vision, he could watch the gentle breeze tease her hair, sweeping it left and right. 
He felt a chaste glance on his face. 
There was a thin, yet strong wall between them. It was thin enough to talk through– although it left no room for subtlety. It was thin enough for them to warm each other. But if they tried to cross it, they’d have to break it down, and crush the other under the weight of the wall. 
There was a lingering sense of emptiness that filled the night sky. 
Empty smiles, empty vessels. 
She drew in a breath, but no words followed, as though she had forgotten how to speak.
“Today was…” she started, only to falter off into silence, her hands rubbing at her arms. 
Dabi had his overcoat for a very long time. 
It was the first thing that was ever made for him. And only him. 
He never had to share it. 
But it felt way too heavy today. And despite the gale tightening its frosty clutch, Dabi could feel his body heating up. 
“The plan was successful”, Dabi replied flatly, “that’s all we need to care about”. 
He pushed his discarded jacket towards her. She slipped it around her shoulders.
The League’s attack on downtown Esuha was broadcasted globally, and they had finally reached the headlines of every news article. 
‘Bloodshed Strikes Downtown Esuha as Villains Unleashed Devastating Attacks’
After years of failed plans, the League of Villains had finally succeeded. 
No man, no woman, no child was left. But it was all worth it. 
Wasn’t it? 
Their plan was the highlight of every media discussion.
Dabi took a larger sip of his drink, bathing under the serene wave which washed over his inhibitions. 
And the wall between them felt thinner and weaker. 
“D’ya think your mom would ever sacrifice herself for you?” 
The vivid images of fresh blood and visceral screams haunted their mind.  
“What did that woman say again?” Dabi asked, his voice cracking, “‘take me, but please, leave my baby alone’... That’s what she said right?” 
Both of their eyes lowered. The alcohol and the little food he had consumed was kicking against his stomach lining, irritating his abdominal grafts. 
“‘She has a long life ahead of her. Please, please, don’t kill her please’”, Dabi heard a sniffle. “That’s what she said before we…”  
He felt sick. 
“That’s what we do, doll.”
He met the pain in her eyes. They were a mirror. 
Dabi clenched his jaw before looking away. 
She did too.
Dabi began biting his fingernails, and her hands fidgeted with the glass. 
And then they looked at each other again, somehow closer than they were in the beginning. 
“I don’t know if my mom would ever do that for me… But, I-hm…”
A dry chuckle followed in a feeble attempt to humour the situation. 
But Dabi finished her unspoken sentence. 
“But you would, right? For your child,” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows and squinted, trying to make out some of the writing on the tall buildings afar. 
“Any mom would do that for her child.” 
“Didn’t you just say th-”
“Any good mom would”. 
No one spoke. But they shared a knowing look, before averting them back to the vastness of Yokohama. 
“But to be honest…” She took another sip of her drink. “If I had a baby, I’d never live in Musutafu.” 
Dabi let out a snort, thus earning a playful shove in return. 
“Oh yeah? Then where would you live, fucking Minato City?”
It was her turn to snort. 
“You think I’d live in a rich neighbourhood to avoid being a target of criminals and villains?” She scoffed, slurring out her words. “I know I’m the newbie but you have to give me some credit, Dabi.”
He rolled his eyes, yet they still urged her to continue. 
She thought for a moment, her gaze wandering off into the distance, before she continued again. 
“There’s this place, just outside of here. It’s called Yosai. It’s this remote residential area. And, um. It takes around 30 minutes minimum, to find any markets, or- or any offices or clubs, and you know, all that stuff. I think, for most people, it’s like- really boring. And that’s why it’s so isolated. No one even thinks of going there because there’s literally nothing. There’s a park, and a local school– I think, but there’s no one. Nothing. There’s these houses- a lot of them! A bunch of houses with no one to live in them”. 
It was weird, to be talking, uninterrupted, for this long. 
“I guess”, she shrugged a bit, blinking a few times. “Recently, people have started building roads and stuff for cars now. So they can actually do something. But yeah. Zero reported crimes and it’s been there for a few decades. So yeah, if I had a family, I’d go there”. 
She looked intently at Dabi, who didn’t say anything. 
But he moved closer, leaning forward, sitting upright. He scanned her jittering hands before searching in his pant pocket. He raised his eyebrows at the cigarette in his hands. She nodded. So he lit it, pressed the ends to his lips and inhaled before giving it to her. 
He watched her lips touch the cigarette. Where his lips were. 
“There’s actually this property under her maiden name- my mom’s. There’s still some legal stuff I need to sort out before it actually becomes mine. It’s like this, it’s so stupid, because it’s like obviously none of us use that maiden name anymore. But because of that they can’t give it to us. I don’t even know… But I guess it’s nothing too difficult”. 
“Ah”. That was all he could say. But when he peered into her expectant eyes, there was a sudden need to elaborate. Anything better than ‘ah’ at least.
Dabi felt dizzy. 
“Umm… What's your mom’s maiden name?” 
When his delayed voice finally caught up to him, Dabi winced. “Fuck”, he muttered. It was a stupid question, but he wanted to make sure that she knew he was listening. 
“It’s Uchiyama.” 
They were closer, breaths intertwining with each other under the watchful eye of the moon. 
-
There weren’t any buses that travelled from Musutafu to Yosai. Dabi made his journey by foot. 
Thus, during this four day journey, Dabi became well acquainted with people.
And he noticed that a lot of people in Japan had blue eyes. After the emergence of quirks, blue became a common colour for many. The truly rare ones were pink, or purple now.  
But Dabi’s eyes… they were different. 
His eyes. 
They were handpicked from the colours in the cerulean depths of the stormy sea. Whispers of secrets remained untold– that’s why no one could have the eyes that he had. 
Never. 
They were gleaming– echoing the beauty of the lights in the North. Depending on how you looked at them, they were teal, or sapphire. One thing was indisputable– the arctic chill they’d give when he’d pierce into your soul was breathtaking. 
His eyes. 
They were simply breath-taking. 
So when he towered over a small frame, gaze lowered, he could not explain the way his heart forgot to beat when he stared into a perfect replica of his eyes. 
With each beat, lost time unfolded in front of him. 
And he noticed the slight difference in the silent expanse that he had gazed into. 
There was an innocent reflection of the North Star twinkling in their genuine, rolling waves. Dabi’s eyes were an abandoned lighthouse. 
But, what alarmed him the most, was when those flawless replications turned frozen. Dark. 
Petrified. 
Dabi's heart ached as those eyes formed fog and mist, obstructing him from reaching the truth that was hidden beyond the plane of sight. 
His knees surrendered under the accumulating guilt of his past. And so his tears fell, trying to escape the grief and strain his weak body had repressed for so long. 
“Honey, are you okay? Who’s at the door?”
Icy tendrils spiked through him, and his breath was captured without a fight. In the wake of realisation, his body signalled all the alarms they could, telling him– no, begging him to run, but, his blood had turned to ice, and he succumbed in the paralysing grip of his inevitable fate. 
“Sana, are you okay…” 
He heard the voice taper away, followed by a sharp clink of a metal spoon. His laden head fixed itself downwards in shame, guilt, fear…  
“Dabi…?” Those words drifted out in a hushed tone. As if they were trying to protect the young girl, who now hid behind her mother. 
He braced himself for the hardest task he would ever have to face.
And in that split second, his breath had returned, and he let out a short exhale when he finally saw that face materialise from his past. 
Y/N. 
It was you. Saira Uchiyama. 
After 6 years, 8 months, and 19 days of navigating through the circular journey of denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, Dabi finally had the chance to reach the beacon of acceptance. 
His shoulders slumped, as short breaths hiccuped through the dark caverns of his chest. 
He had finally found you. 
And he had finally found the end to his coveted quench, which yearned for a solace, only to be found in your longing embrace. 
Softly, a bewildered whisper escaped his lips, barely denting the silence around them.
“Doll…?” 
Dabi watched as the maturer skin scrunched together, deep lines frowned at him. As the tenderness in your heart had to be locked away inside an untouchable crevice in your body. 
You pushed your daughter behind you, blocking Dabi’s protesting hands before they touched her.
“Sweetie, I need you to go upstairs okay”, you ordered sternly. 
“Mommy, he’s scaring m-” 
“Sana. You need to go upstairs. Lock the door and close your windows.” 
Sana.  
Her name was a painful reminder of the blank pages he had failed to fill as her father. How could he have written anything? 
He didn’t even know what the title was. 
“Never fucking come near my family again”. 
Those blank pages began to rip. 
“You disgusting freak”. 
The blank pages had burned to ashes, and Dabi was left outside on the suburban patio of a perfect neighbourhood. 
Maybe, if he found a place to wash his face, he could blend in with the garbage. 
27 notes · View notes
classyrbf · 4 months
Text
BABY DADDY DABI!
Tumblr media
SYNOPSIS...headcanons about what baby daddy dabi would be like to you and your child
WARNINGS...dabi x fem!reader, none really, dabi being a little sexual towards you, not proofread
OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated
Tumblr media
baby daddy dabi!who has the best relationship with his little girl. people always think he’d be a deadbeat father but he truly wants to be a good dad unlike his own
baby daddy dabi!who randomly visits your once shared apartment without even telling you. you get scared shitless when the door randomly opens but sees it’s just him, a smug smirk on his face
baby daddy dabi!who completely turned your daughter into a daddy’s girl. your daughter loves her father, always asking when he’ll be coming home next
baby daddy dabi!who calls his little girl ‘princess’ and ‘shithead’ interchangeably. giving her little small kisses on the cheek while she sits in his lap and shows him the new dolls you got her
baby daddy dabi!who puts your daughter to sleep and comes bothering you, slipping into your bed and holding your waist just whispering “let us be a family again”
baby daddy dabi!who spoils his little girl. she wants a new doll? dabi’s got her. she wants ice cream? dabi is telling her to pick out her favorite flavor. she wants those cute sparkly shoes? dabi’s already got the money in his hand
baby daddy dabi!who is still very touchy with you, hugging you from behind and running his fingertips over any place on you. he can’t help it, you’re still so attractive to him even if you two have been separated for a while
baby daddy dabi!who tricks your daughter into asking you if he can stay the night. “mommy can daddy stay please? it’s really cold out and he said he’ll sleep on the couch.” all while she’s hold his scarred hand in her little one, just standing in your doorway looking at with the sweetest eyes until you give in
baby daddy dabi!who ends up falling asleep on your couch, his daughter laying on top of him with her favorite stuffed animal and face smushed up against his chest. you can’t deny how much they look alike in this very moment
baby daddy dabi!who brings your daughter to school every morning before coming back to your place. why? you had no clue. he claims it’s good for co-parenting. you knew he was lying out of his ass, he just wanted to be around you
baby daddy dabi!who jokes with you about making another kid, but deep down he is not joking like at all. you’re such a good mom to your little girl he just can’t get enough of you
baby daddy dabi!who always finds a way to compliment you saying something like, “now I know where our daughter gets her good style from” just to butter you up. and it works cause your smiling like a kid in a candy store
2K notes · View notes
rishiguro · 1 year
Text
“YOU’RE BLEEDING” - DABI
Tumblr media
a/n: i love him so much it hurts
warnings: major character death. dabi‘s real identity. blood. mention of fire. desperate!dabi. implied murder. injury gets cauterized. 2k of angst.
Tumblr media
“if you close your eyes, i’ll fucking burn you to a crisp” dabi‘s voice was stern as he talked, eyebrows furrowed with his teeth clenched. “you hear me?”
you blinked multiple times, trying to get your eyes to focus on the blurry person in front of you. why was it so bright? you tried lifting a hand up, shielding your face from the sun, however your arm felt too heavy for you to move it even an inch.
“huh?”
with heavy eyelids you decided to give it up, wanting nothing more than to succumb to your body‘s cries for sleep. it wouldn’t hurt, right? just a couple of minutes maybe?
you hummed, content with your decision, letting your eyelids drop.
“you’re going to stay awake and look at me with these dumb eyes and you’re going to listen to what i say” dabi‘s harsh voice made you rip your eyes open again, vision slowly clearing and allowing you to look at his face. “understood?”
you studied his face slowly but carefully. it felt like the first time you had seen him and you took your time to examine him.
your eyes wandered upwards from his chin, however halted the moment you looked at his eyes and the purple scars underlining them.
dabi‘s scars weren‘t red, were they?
“dabi,“ you tried, your voice weak but filled with concern. you had to tell him. what if something bad had happened to him?
“shut the fuck up,“ dabi insisted harshly, his jaw still clenched to the point where his words were barely comprehensible, “you can’t talk right now” the villain knew he had to get you out of here somehow, this area wasn’t safe for you anymore. you couldn’t move, you couldn’t defend yourself.
he was pretty.
“dabi”
didn’t you hear what he had just said? he grew impatient, couldn’t you just listen to him for once? it took everything in him to not yell as he looked around, assessing the situation the both of you were in. the alley was dark, only a dumpster shielding the two of you from the street if it wasn’t for the blue flames burning behind it. a charred heap lazily kicked away, ashes dirtying the cold floor even further. at least he couldn’t hurt you any further. “i said shut up”
cursing loudly, he took off his jacket, grabbing the hem of his white shirt and roughly pulling at it. the tearing of the fabric was louder than you could bear, ears starting to ring in pain.
“touya,“ you whispered impatiently, mentally praying for him to just listen.
“be fucking-“
“you’re bleeding,“ you interrupted him, not paying any attention to the way his head snapped back at you and how he was fully ready to cuss you out.
“the hell have i just-“
“why are you bleeding?” you asked, concern filling your voice. “are you hurt?”
whatever it was that dabi believed you would‘ve said to him, it certainly wasn’t this.
him? hurt? were you serious?
dabi couldn’t help but huff at your questions, rolling his eyes. “you’re one to fucking talk”
“now just—“ he stopped briefly, assessing the state you were in. he had to act quick, do something. “just lay still and don’t fucking talk”
you however didn’t pay any attention to what he was saying, instead carefully lifting your hand to his face, thumb rubbing over the scarred skin.
blood.
“i’m gonna get you out of here,“ dabi promised. he knew he couldn’t wait much longer. you grew weaker by the minute and he for sure wasn’t skilled enough to save you right then and there. but he had to do something. anything.
“i’m tired,” you whispered, your heavy eyelids close to shutting again.
“no you’re not,” dabi replied, skillfully dismissing you.
“don’t you dare to close your eyes,“ he continued to threaten you, a warm hand grabbing your face and turning you towards him again, “keep looking at me. you hear me? you’re not going to go now”
you didn’t like how his voice sounded, so rough and hoarse, almost like he couldn’t speak properly. it was a rare sigh for you to see, the villain was hunched over you, his breathing flat and his teeth digging into his bottom lip. you couldn’t see what he was doing and you didn’t have the strength to lift your head, even if you wanted to. but something about him was so raw, so vulnerable.
he was hurt, dabi was bleeding, his blood still adorning the tip of your fingers, and yet he kept talking to you, letting you hear him and telling you to just listen to him, do as he told you to. that’s the least you could do for him, wasn’t it?
you groaned, opening your eyes again, even though everything in yourself protested against it. you were so tired. “that’s it, keep looking right at me, you’re doing so good for me”
“you’re pretty” dabi froze, his eyebrows furrowing, before shaking his head, dismissing you again.
him and pretty?
“you’re seeing things,” he muttered, throwing his head around and searching the area. the blue flames burning multiple feet away, shielding the two of you from the streets slowly started to dwindle. dabi could hear the commotion that was going on on the other side of it, the bright fire attracting the attention of civilians. it wouldn’t be much longer till a hero would come around.
he had to get you out of here, move you to a safer location. dabi cursed as soon he looked back at you. you were pale, too pale, and your breathing was barely audible. he didn’t even know if you were breathing properly. “i’m gonna pick you up now. it’s gonna hurt,” he warned, trying to shove his arms underneath you to support your body and carry you away.
“don’t,” you pleaded, looking at the villain with a scared look on your face. he couldn’t do that now, he shouldn’t. he was hurt, he was bleeding. you had to take care of him, you had to make sure he was safe, but you were too weak to get up. why were you so weak?
dabi’s jaw clenched, shaking his head at your protests. why couldn’t you just listen to him for once in your life? “this is really not the time for you to pick a fucking argument with me, so shut up and let me get you out of here”
weakly you shook you head, fully aware that you weren‘t strong enough to stop him in his doing anyways. “no, you’re bleeding,” you insisted. why wasn’t he listening to you?
why were you so stubborn? digging his fingernails into his palm, dabi fed into the flames shielding you from the public before he turned back to you. his mind was racing as he desperately tried to come up with a solution, a way out of any kind. “i fucking know, but so are you so please just—“
why was he so adamant to get you to agree to him? why couldn’t he just move? why couldn’t he just do as he wanted?
“you shouldn’t be bleeding,” you stated.
you shouldn’t be bleeding either, dabi thought, and yet here you were.
“for fucks sake, just please shut up,” dabi grew more and more agitated by the second, feeling the anger rise in him, skin slowly heating up. why was it so hard for you to listen, just for once? dabi cringed as he looked down at your torso, your shirt soaked in blood that by now has started to spill on the ground underneath you, your face drained of all color. dabi could hear how hard it was for you to talk, how your voice was nothing more than a pained whisper, a plea for him to listen to you. “stop talking, you’re only making it worse,” he chided, now not caring anymore about the potential pain he might cause you. he cursed, ripping a hole in your top, only to immediately shut his eyes in defeat as he assessed the damage.
this was bad. there was no way he could get you away in time.
turning your head away from him in shame, you muttered a small apology. you always managed to make things worse somehow.
truth to be told, dabi didn’t pay a lot of attention to what you said. instead he carelessly pulled on his own white shirt again, to the point where he ripped the hem of it. fisting the fabric he pressed it against your open flesh, watching as it turned crimson way too fast. “you should be. shit, it won’t stop”
you couldn’t help but smile weakly at his snarky comment. “you’re an asshole”
“doing my best, doll,” the villain replied, his lips curved upward too. however his smile fell immediately as he tossed the bloody fabric away.
dabi pulled at his hair in frustration. this wasn’t working, he wasn’t helping. he couldn’t just helplessly watch as your life force drained away, flowing right out of your body.
his stomach turned at the thought of his head, the only way he could try to save you right now— but he hated it. he didn’t want to do it, he didn’t want to hurt you even more. but what more could he do? if he cauterized the wound maybe then he could get you away, to safety, maybe then someone could patch you up, somehow.
maybe you could be kept alive then.
dabi swallowed, closing his eyes as he took in a deep breath. “i need to stop the bleeding, this is gonna be very hot but i need you to take it“
he didn’t wait for your reply till he pressed his palm against your wound, heating it up as soon as he came in contact with it. dabi turned his head away in shame as you cried out in pain. the smell of burned flesh filled the villain‘s nostrils, making his stomach turn in disgust.
when he turned back to you, after moments that felt like an eternity, he was horrified as he saw you with your eyes closed, your chest barely moving. were you even breathing anymore? “keep your eyes open,” he commanded sternly, hand against your blood-stained cheek.
but you barely moved. only now did he notice how cold your skin felt against his hot hands. eyes wide in terror, he grabbed your shoulders, slightly shaking your body. “fuck, stay with me”
“please, don’t do this to me,” dabi pleaded, pulling your form into his lap.
“look at me,” he continued, shoving a hand underneath your knees and lifting your body off the ground. he pulled you close to him, hoping that his own warmth might heat your body up a little.
“listen to me”
dabi ran faster than he ever has, pressing you against his chest. he had to run faster, be quicker, get you away from here.
“stay with me,” he pleaded, trying to catch his breath.
you however didn’t seem to listen, to even hear him and his cries. no, you didn’t move in his arms. you almost looked like you were sleeping peacefully.
too peaceful for his liking.
dabi clenched his teeth, muttering curses under his breath. “are you deaf, you’re gonna keep your pretty eyes open and you’re gonna stay right here with me,” he commanded coldly, trying to mask just how desperate he was.
you could barely hear what the villain had just said. it took you everything to open your eyes again, to look at him. was he always this blurry? “i don’t feel so good, touya”
“i know, fuck, i know,” he answered, turning around to see if someone had been following him. hiding between some dumpsters in the outskirts of the city, he carefully placed you down again, grabbing your hands to get your attention. “but you’re not gonna leave me now, forget it”
dabi sat down in front of you, grabbing your shoulders as he noticed you slumping. “i’m not letting you,” he insisted, pulling you into a tight embrace. you couldn’t leave him, you couldn’t just go and leave him behind. he needed you. he wanted you by his side, he had to have you by his side. “you’re not fucking leaving me”
you meant so much to him that it hurt, and now you were practically at death‘s door, and dabi couldn’t help but feel like you wanted to leave him. if you didn’t, why weren’t you fighting harder? why weren’t you staying awake? why couldn’t you hold on for him just a while longer?
you only managed to sigh in his hold, your eyes now too heavy to keep open. it wouldn’t hurt to shut them, right? you were so tired, so, so tired.
dabi stayed like that, holding you close to him, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. you were going to be okay, you had to be. you couldn’t leave him. “hey, open your eyes”
so why didn’t you respond? why were you so still? “i said open your eyes”
why were you so cold? why were you so pale? “fuck, open them”
why didn’t you move?
“doll, please,” the villain begged, pushing you away from him to take a look at you. you‘re eyes were shut, your mouth slightly opened, almost like you were just about to say something. you were, weren’t you? “just look at me, you can do that, can’t you?”
but why didn’t you do anything? why were you so still? you were supposed to open your eyes, to reassure him, to tell him you were here with him, that you listened, that you wouldn’t leave him. that you‘d never leave him.
“open your fucking eyes!“ he demanded now, violently shaking your still form. a loud, pained cry burned his throat as he threw his head back.
“you said you wouldn’t leave me!” he cried, yelling at you accusingly, like he was expecting you to answer, to justify yourself. how could you just leave him behind like that, how could you just go like you didn’t care how he felt about it. “i told you, you can’t!”
dabi pressed you against his chest again, curling your body in his hold, rocking the both of you back and forth. “i need you, please”
as he looked down at your face, he noticed small drops of crimson falling onto your skin.
dabi was bleeding.
Tumblr media
reblogs are appreciated
5K notes · View notes
inkykeiji · 2 months
Text
what now?
Tumblr media
character: dabi | todoroki touya
genre: smut + angst
notes: eeeee happy birthday dabi!!! sorry i’m a day late, and sorry i keep writing angst for your birthday. this piece is set directly after dabi’s touya reveal, in that dingy little safe house he seems to love so much! please heed the warnings below and stay safe!
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, rough sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dom/sub dynamics, use of master/owner/sir, fem!reader, minimal prep, biting, branding, blood, the piece switches between both dabi and touya as names, size kink + size difference, spanking, objectification, degradation + dumbification, a lil bit of praise, dabi’s pretty mean when he’s fucking, dabi carries reader, toxic relationship, dacryphilia, choking
words: 8.8k
Tumblr media Tumblr media
It’s dark by the time he returns, reeking of charred flesh and ash. He had stashed you away in a decaying little safe house—a place no one else knew about, a place that was his and his alone—and had told you to wait for him. He had promised he’d return to you, no matter how long it took, no matter what happened, he’d be back, pinky swear.
Touya never breaks his pinky swears. Dabi might, though.
You had seen his video. You had been watching the news just like he told you to, anxious, waiting for any sign or indication of trouble, of terror, but the heat and the dust had been too much for the news cameras to penetrate, and there had been no reports of casualties on either side. 
Yet. 
It’s astonishing to think that the whole world knows his name now—his true name, the one buried in his blood and his bones, the one staining his soul, the one he can’t snuff out, no matter how hard he tries. You remember the first time he told it to you. 
“Touya.” 
He had said suddenly, randomly, while laying in bed with you one night back at the League’s hideout—back before all of this was set in motion, back when there was just the gentle clink of glass sounding beneath the floorboards, followed by a muddled curse and the rapid mashing of plastic buttons. 
It was muttered out in the dead of the night, when the wind was stagnant and the moonlight shimmered through grimy windows, brilliance of the beams diffused by the dirt, turning everything a hazy silver, glinting off his stitches.
“Hmm?”
“That’s my real name. Touya.”
“Touya,” you had murmured to yourself, rolling the letters around on your tongue, allowing them to seep into your flesh. “It’s beautiful.”
“Todoroki Touya.”
Oh.  
“It’s still beautiful,” you said softly, after several moments of silence, feeling Dabi melt beneath your words, tender yet resolute. “Even if the man who gave it to you isn’t.”
“Yeah,” he had responded, though his voice had sounded weird to his ears; odd, off, broken. “Fuck that guy.”
And that had been it. You hadn’t made a big deal about it, or pushed him to tell you more, or badgered him with questions and curiosities about his past. You had just accepted it and continued on. 
He had offered up shards of information over the next few months, always murmured out in the dead of night, always a piece and never a whole, always something too jagged to fit with any of the other pieces of his jigsaw he had gifted you. 
But it didn’t matter. Who he was, his past, the name he carries around and DNA twined inside his body—none of it mattered. He was, and will always be, the man you love, irregardless of the name he was born into, and the curse it bears.
The harsh unlatching of that decrepit painting startles you from your stewing thoughts, your gaze snapping toward the noise just in time to catch Dabi crawling through the trick window, entrance hidden behind the heavy gilded frame. 
Your legs toss themselves off the fraying couch the instant his gaze meets yours, heart kickstarting thick bouts of adrenaline to rush through your veins, footsteps keeping time with the tattered exhales each bang of your heart sends barrelling up your throat, body colliding into his only a moment later.
He catches you with ease, laughing loudly as he sweeps you from the floor, strong arms locked at the wrists around your lower back. Instinctively, your ankles hook together at the base of his spine, fingers immediately wandering into the dirty hair at the nape of his neck, whole body wound around his own.
He’s still laughing, bright and breathless and so, so beautiful, even as he crushes his lips to yours, even as your tongue pries past his teeth and slams against his own. It spills down your throat in warm vibrations and you swallow it readily, greedily, hands sinking further into tufts of ink-tinged ivory and twining the strands around your knuckles, desperate to tug him closer. 
The tang of death stings your tongue, earth and copper and smoke, so poignant you swear you can taste their screams, those who lost their lives to his flames and Machia’s feet and the rubble left in their wake, but you don’t care.
You don’t care, because he’s here, he’s home, he’s safe and back in your arms, with his teeth clacking against yours and his spit flooding your mouth and his unruly little giggles consistently breaking the flow of your lips. 
“Did you see it? Huh? Did you see it?” he hurls the words into your mouth, lips still mashed against your own but spread in a smile, sapphire eyes twinkling.
“I did,” you confirm with a nod, tips of your noses nudging. “I did, it was brilliant; you were brilliant, baby.”
“I know,” he snickers, foreheads knocking together, breath wafting in small, ragged pants across your face as his feet begin to move, unable to stand still. “It couldn’t have gone more perfect, I swear to fuckin’ Christ. It was—It was better than I could’ve ever imagined. I can’t even believe it.”
Words continue to tumble from his lips in excited gasps as he twirls in wide lopsided circles slow and careless around the decaying little safe house, his boots conjuring small puffs of dust beneath their soles.
“I wish you could’ve been there, baby, honest. I wish you could’ve seen that fucker’s face, it was fuckin’ priceless, and—Oh! Fuck, how could I forget the best part!” 
Halting his whirling, he pulls back to look at you more resolutely, as if he has to see the whole picture, sapphire darting around your face all wild and erratic, his smile spreading impossibly wider; uncanny, inhuman, eyes glowing with the thrill of the secret he’s about to spill.
“Shouto was there, too! How much happier could a coincidence get!” 
“Shouto?”
“I wasn’t expecting him to be there, but seriously, it was the cherry on top.” 
His feet begin to move again, resuming his impromptu dance number, adrenaline thrumming in his veins, overflowing from his orifices—smile stretching, chest swelling. 
“His presence is what really made it spectacular, you know? Sure, dad was broken, but Shouto…” Dabi shakes his head. “Little baby Shouto was knocked off his fucking feet.”
“Oh, I can only imagine…” 
…How horrifying of a realization it must’ve been; how terrifying it must’ve felt to encounter your father’s worst mistake in the breathing, bloodied flesh.
“I doubt he even remembers me—” Dabi continues, “he was only five or so when I died; he barely knew me at all.” He laughs, but it sounds tangled, caught on something buried in his throat. “Imagine that! Your big brother, only ever a ghost haunting your life, back from the grave!” 
“I’m sure he was very shocked,” you giggle, pressing your forehead to his again, fingers combing through the hair at the back of his skull. 
“Shocked? Baby, he was beyond shocked. He was—He was—I don’t even have a word for it!”
Another laugh spills from his lips, jagged and squeaky and full of razors. 
And, oh, how breathtakingly beautiful genuine happiness looks on him, even if it’s tinted with derangement—the edges of his smile a little too sharp, the glint in his eye a little too vicious.  
“The whole thing sounds magnificent,” you admit, soft and genuine, lips brushing his own. “I’m so happy it went so well.”
“It was perfect,” he gushes in a sigh. “The only way it could’ve been any more perfect is if mom, Yumi, and Natsu were there—but I’m sure they all caught the broadcast.”
You’re sure they did, too. That news programme had been playing on every major screen across the entirety of Japan; you’d have to be buried beneath a rock to have missed it.
He’s still babbling, feet still hopping and skipping around with you cradled tightly to his chest as the anticipation of his return finally wears off, clears from your system, and you take a real, good look at him. 
And your heart sinks.
New burns have bubbled up on his cheeks, leaving only a sliver of skin between them and the scars below his eyes. Staples have snapped in half, hanging precariously from chunks of dead flayed flesh, their broken edges tinged an ugly black, burnt by Todoroki flames. Speckles of crimson are splattered artfully across his hair—though whether they belong to him or someone else, it’s hard to tell—the small remaining patches of healthy skin marred by dried black dye. 
“Baby,” you breathe, struggling to keep your smile from trembling, struggling to keep concern from seeping into your voice. “You’re filthy.” 
“Yeah, you should’a saw the other guy!” he giggles at his own joke, strident and sticky in his throat, but his smile is still so bright.
“And you’re hurt.”
He blows a dismissive breath from between his lips. “Can barely feel a thing, though—and I’m not even rolling right now!” 
“Still,” you say, a frown beginning to weight the corners of your grin. “You should let me clean you up.”
“But it isn’t even painful.”
“Still,” you repeat, tender fingers brushing strands of white back from his forehead. “I want to clean you up.” 
Begrudgingly, he allows it, sat on the closed toilet lid and continuing to chatter on as you tend to his wounds, words bubbling up on breathless excitement, massive smile still slapped, almost uncomfortably so, across his face.
Oxygen keeps escaping him before he finishes his sentences, everything bouncy and enthusiastic, and it’s such a stark contrast to the Dabi you’re used to, with his languid apathetic drawl and unhurried, uninterested speech. 
And despite the subject matter, it’s nice, it’s cute. 
He tells you about his father’s paralyzation and the tears in Shouto’s eyes and the horrified panic coating their faces as careful fingers dab and wipe and smear, meticulous in their task, devoted to their cause, your head nodding along with his endless recounter, emitting the perfectly placed ooh’s and mhmm’s, asking questions when the opportunities present themselves.
And even though you love seeing him this way, full of pure joy and exhilaration, you can’t quite kill the question sprouting in the depths of your mind, chewing on the back of your brain.
What now?
It’s on the tip of your tongue, searing your tastebuds, begging to be spoken. You try to swallow it down, but it claws at the back of your tongue, clinging, curling up in your throat and refusing to be forgotten. 
What now? What’s going to happen now that Enji knows of his existence? What’s going to happen the next time he encounters his eldest child, swathed in the flames he once cherished so dearly, praised so hopefully, eating away at his boy as his hatred burns higher, blazes brighter, consumes his blood and flesh and bones and hopefully swallows down the monster that bred him in the process? 
Will there even be anything left at all? Of either of them?
Does Dabi even care? Does Touya? 
You know he’s still in there, despite the fact that his heart’s been corroded by the bitterness that’s been festering inside of him for eleven years—you’ve seen him. 
You’ve seen him, trailing along with Toga, causticity eating at his teeth as he spits that she’s fucking stupid, this is so fucking stupid, but allowing himself to be led anyway, zero resistance as her tiny hands tug him along behind her bouncing form, feet following willingly. 
You’ve seen him, meticulously picking through the glass bowls at the League’s small Halloween get together, checking and then double checking that everyone’s favourite candy is there, growling that he really doesn’t give a fuck, actually, he’s just looking for his own all the while, despite the fact that his fingers have skipped over that particular chocolate bar several times. 
You’ve seen him, on those nights where Tomura just can’t get to sleep, sprawled out on the couch in the early hours of the morning, dirty boots an inch from Tomura’s crossed legs, staring blankly at his phone and waving Kurogiri off with a go to bed already, old man. 
 So what now?
“He tried to cool me down.”
The sudden switch to a quiet, monotonous voice snaps you from your tangle of thoughts, eyes refocusing on Dabi’s face, realizing you’ve rubbed a streak of his cheek near raw. 
“What?”
“Shouto. He tried to cool me down. With his ice.” A pause, a drop of blood, balancing precariously on his lash line. “Like…Like how mom used to.” 
His Adams apple bobs with the heft of a thick swallow, his eyes blank and unblinking, staring at your shoulder. 
The blood in your veins runs frigid, hand held rigid and hovering over his wounds.
“During the fight?” 
His gaze stays fixed on that spot as he nods, slowly, just once. 
“I was overheating, and he…” 
Another beat of silence passes, the sound of your own breathing echoing in your ears, harsh and fast with the rapid beating of your heart. The blood collecting along his lashes finally overflows, escaping their confines to pool in the crinkles of dead skin and coat gold in crimson.
“Hey,” you murmur, so gentle, so soft it inspires a second wave of blood, dainty hands cupping his jaw and tilting his face to yours. 
Thumbs swipe through the thick streams of scarlet trickling down his cheeks, smearing bright strokes across healthy skin. His eyes, red and glazed but tearless, hold yours for a moment, his nostrils twitching twice. 
Beneath your palms, the hinges of his jaw flex with another dense swallow, warped smile wobbling a little.
“Whatever,” he says, voice less than an octave off from normal. “Doesn’t matter, not important.”
It does, you want to say. It is, you want to insist—
“All I want to do now is celebrate the best day of my life with the love of my life.”
Saliva pools beneath your tongue, the threat of tears thick in your throat.
“Touya…” your eyes search his face, worry woven into the wrinkles between your furrowed brow. “It—”
“Please,” he whispers, so quiet it’s barely more than a wisp of air, his eyes closing briefly for a moment as he gathers himself, lids lifting a second later. “Let me have this.” 
You want to, you so desperately want to—want to allow him this space to be happy, unfiltered and unadulterated, even in all of it’s unhinged, brainsick fervour. You don’t want to ruin this for him, the self-proclaimed Best Day of His Life, but…
What now?
It’s nipping at your lips, leaving them tingling and twitching, but you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and suck, melting the question in the smothering heat. 
Now is not the time to ask. You will save this question, will fold it into a neat little shape and stash it away in your stomach, where it will rage and roar and demand to be spoken, where you will shove it down and stomp it into submission until it is time to be released.
You refuse to steal this moment from him.
“Okay,” you finally murmur, stroking his blood-slicked cheeks. “Okay.”
It’s hard to ignore the concern scraping at the walls of your skull, to disregard the talons tearing at your heart, to snuff out the flames licking at your lungs, but you’ll do it for him.
Always for him.
And for the first time tonight, his smile softens, sharp edges gone melty with love.
Large hands, hardened by blue fire and the ends of Marlboros, skim up your bare thighs, the callouses adorning his palms scraping roughly against sensitive skin, inspiring trails of chills in their wake. The hem of your dress pools around his wrists as his touch climbs higher, filthy fingers, with dirt caked beneath their nails and grime lining their cuticles, wiggling their way beneath a frilly pink waistband, curling almost protectively around your hips, tips digging into supple flesh just shy of too hard.
“A perfect day deserves a perfect end, don’t you think?” 
The question drips from his lips in a sultry murmur, stare heavily lidded as he tugs you down into his lap, a leering smirk smeared across his face. 
“Oh, yeah?” your arms wind around his neck, nose bumping against his own. “And what’s that?” 
“Stuffing my favourite girl full of my cum.” 
Lips trace along the edge of your jaw as he speaks, words leaving sloppy strokes of saliva as his mouth moves against you skin. 
“Over,” kiss, “And over,” kiss, “And over again, until it’s leaking out of her pretty little pussy, all over her pretty thighs, all over my pretty cock.”
“I think that—ah—I think that’s a great way to end the day.”
“Mm,” he hums, painting a flat, wide stroke of saliva up the column of your neck, the tip of his tongue tracing your cupids bow, nose bumping against your own. “It’s my favourite way to end the day.” 
His lips press to yours, tongues finding each other instantly, dragging across one another in crude, sloppy caresses, heavy and slow and firm as they grind, massaging together in little circles. It’s almost as if you’re trying to soak up his taste, to permanently imbue your tastebuds with it, to keep a little reminder of him—a single piece—with you forever. 
It’s messy, thick drool oozing from the seams of your conjoined mouths, but you don’t care, licking excess saliva from the corners of his mouth, sucking the dribble steadily collecting on his bottom lip, lapping up the foamy spit coating his chin staples, leaving them gleaming with you. 
Lips clash again, teeth gnawing their way into the warm, wet heat of mouths, desperate to devour any part of each another you possibly can, sucking gasps and mewls and laughs from one throat into another, inhaling shards of your souls and swallowing them down, burying them in pits of stomachs and depths of guts—keepsakes, kept safe.
You can taste his blood in your mouth, salty with the tears that can’t fall, trickling from the edges of his eyes. Unfurling from your mouth, the tip of your tongue licks a thin strip up his ragged cheeks, over dead skin and warm bumpy metal, sopping up crimson sadness and consuming it. 
You hold it for him, extract it from him, bear it with him, letting it soak into your heart where it can stay, for as long as he needs it to.
But that isn’t enough for him, because he wants something in return; he wants your blood, too.
Sharp teeth sink into your bottom lip, sucked taut and pressed tight to his tongue, a muted chuckle vibrating in his chest at your responding yelp. The strong hinges of his jaw flex, burrowing ivory deep, deep, deeper into your flesh, until the barrier snaps and copper explodes on his tongue, sticky and potent and so, so much. 
He refuses to release you, ribs rattling with a growl when you try in vain to tug your lip free from its captors, a sob hitching in your throat, followed by a wheezy whine. 
“Stay put, goddamn it,” he mumbles the words through his occupied teeth, tongue stroking your lip in the process. “M’not finished.” 
Your squirming stops almost instantly, body deflating into his own, and he huffs out a snort, hot against your face. 
The grip of his teeth loosens marginally, the tip of his tongue laving over the steadily weeping wound in firm, thorough strokes, tracing every indent his teeth left behind, dips rapidly swelling and filling with watered down blood, a mold of six teeth carved into your flesh. 
The strength of his suction increases, siphoning fresh blood from the tiny gashes, and he moans a little, eyes rolling back in his skull as fluttery lashes frame the whites, his hips twitching up. 
Sicko. 
His cock is already hard, rutting into your core in irregular little movements, the lace of your panties so delicate you swear you can feel it throbbing, his motions molding the dainty fabric to your soaking folds with every slight jerk upward.
Slim fingers flex, grip on your hips tightening and further burying his nails in your flesh as he forces you to begin rocking in his lap, grinding down to meet each roll up.
His lips have left your own again, his mouth streaked with your blood, a pretty pink shimmer glazing the bottom half of his face. Blood is still trickling from the six tiny slashes his teeth left, overflowing from the seam of your mouth and flowing down your chin in unbroken streams. 
Swiping a thumb through the thin floods, he smears sticky crimson across your skin, collecting a healthy swap of the substance on the pad of his finger—so much so it begins dripping down the curve to settle in the lines of his knuckle and his palm.
“Beautiful,” he whispers, repeating the action, painting you in messy shades of yourself. “Just beautiful.” 
A whimper slips through your lips, eager tongue catching his thumb and curling around the appendage—protective, possessive—drawing it into the heat of your mouth. 
He lets you guide him willingly, watches with lust-blown pupils as your lips pucker around the second knuckle, slick tongue cradling his thumb as it sucks it to the roof of your mouth, pools of saliva washing your blood from his skin. 
His breath is coming out in hot, hard huffs, exhaled through parted lips as your mouth tightens, swallows his thumb down further. His pupils pulse, gnawing away at his irises as they try to devour you whole, blue so thin it’s scarcely an outline tracing gaping orbs of black.
Your hips are still gyrating against his in erratic little circles, a single palm still clasped around your waist guiding you, encouraging you as he bucks in response, straining cock rubbing along your cunt. 
It’s just barely catching your clit, nothing more than teasing little grazes, dense heat simmering in the pit of your tummy.
You need more.
“Dabi,” you whine a little, wriggling in his grasp, a desperate attempt to garner more friction. 
“Uh-huh?”
“Touya.”
“Yeah, baby,” he answers, the nonchalance in his tone contradicting the mischief glinting in his eye. “What is it?” 
Chrome chips your nails as you claw at the heavy buckle of his belt, leather squeaking against metal. His free hand captures your wrists easily, holding them together in one palm, hard enough that the bones grind together.
“You want something? Huh?” 
Brows knitting, you glare at him, bottom lip quivering a little, fighting the urge to jut into a full-blown pout, fighting the urge to spit out what do you think? 
“You know.”
He does, of course he does. 
But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to give it to you.
“C’mon, I wanna hear you say it,” he purrs as your chin puckers, your whole face scrunched up in a scowl. “C’mon, baby, c’mon, be a good little girl and ask for it.” 
Sapphire scathes your skin, almost as bright and burning as his flames, his unadulterated attention nearly too much to bear, confidence and brattiness withering beneath his scorching stare.
Lashes fluttering, your eyes flee his, tears forming to shield you from his heat, shoulders caving inward in an attempt to protect you from his unyielding scrutiny. 
“W-Want your cock.”
His tongue clicks in disapproval, a mocking frown slapped across his face barely suppressing his amusement, eyes shining, power flaring. 
“That’s not asking, sweetheart.” 
Swallowing thickly, you force your gaze to his, lids squinting a little beneath his brilliance.
“Can I please have your cock? Please?” 
“Please what?”
And although he’s acting unaffected, he can’t quite quell the spasming of his hips, jerking up in minuscule movements and grinding his cock into your sopping hole, panties clinging uncomfortably to your folds.
An eyebrow raises, a question of Well? I’m waiting… imbued in the subtle action. 
He isn’t going to give it to you unless you ask properly, like a good little girl is supposed to.
As expected.
“Please, Master,” you mewl, fingers curling over the edges of his belt and tugging, sharp leather biting into soft hands. “Please, please, let me ride your cock, Sir.”
Cavernous eyes observe you for a moment, scanning for dishonesty, grin growing when a whine vibrates in your throat, low and needy.
“Please?” you whimper, the leather of his belt creasing beneath your grip, squealing as it rubs together, a plead hitching in your chest. “Pl—Please, Sir.”
“Alright, alright,” he’s pacifying, acting as if he’s doing you some sort of favour, as if his cock isn’t jumping eagerly with each drool of pre-cum leaking from its slit. “Go on, then. Get it out.”
Words of thanks are pouring from your lips as your hands hastily undo his pants, yanking at the buckle, tugging at the zipper, shoving at the waistband, messy and urgent until his cock is finally released.
The stretch is nothing short of incredible, as it always is with him, little hole trembling as it swallows around his girth, drawing him in further and further, deeper and deeper, slow and steady until the head nudges your cervix, his hips twitching up twice, ensuring he’s hit the end, buried to the hilt with nowhere else to go, completely stuffing your cunt full. 
And despite the trademark ache, delicate flesh stinging as it splits into little fissures to accommodate him, your hips begin moving immediately, starved and raring, whimpering a little into his shoulder as you cling to him, every rotation of your hips radiating pricks of pain through your gut.
“God, you’re pathetic,” he snorts, but the insult is soft, edges dulled by love. “So fucking desperate for my cock, aren’t you?” 
“Can’t help it,” you murmur, rubbing your cheek along the curve of his neck, then his jaw, streaking your face with his sweat. “Missed you so much.” 
“I know, baby,” the tip of his tongue swipes through the blood still staining your chin. “Bet you missed my cock just as much, if not more.”
“Yes, yes, Sir,” you’re nodding in messy little motions, hips still rocking languidly against his own, clit gliding against his slick pubic bone in rhythmic strokes. “I did, I missed it s’much—”
A gasp slices through your slurred words, sharp air shoved from your chest as his hips begin snapping upward, rough and ruthless and without warning, the hands grasping your hips tightening around your flesh as he forces you to stay in place.
“Of course you did,” he grunts out, as if it’s preposterous to think otherwise. “I’m not at all surprised; my sweet lil slut can’t live without my cock, can she?” 
“Never, never, ne-never,” you babble out in confirmation, words stuttered harshly with the piston of his hips. 
Another laugh spills from his lips, airy and malicious in melody.
“No, never,” he rasps, ever-so-slightly breathless with the effort, dewdrops of sweat beginning to adorn his hairline. “Fuck, how would you ever get off without me, huh?” 
The question sends a pang searing through your heart, echoing a question you’ve been asking yourself often as of late—how would you ever survive without him? 
The thought stings your eyes, thick tears rushing to cloud your vision and rendering him nothing more than a watery blur of ivory and violet.
“I—I wouldn’t, Sir, I wouldn’t!” you cry out, rapid fluttering of your lids dislodging teardrops, streaming down your cheeks in glistening pairs. “I n-need you, I need you, always, always, al-always!” 
Your fingers curl against his shoulders, nails catching on staples, a hiss spit from the gaps of his teeth. They sink into grafted skin, dead and weathered and dusted in ash, and cling, knuckles locked and stiff as you try to pull yourself impossibly closer to him.
Gnarled flesh collects beneath the edges of your nails as your grip strengthens, chewing on his body and gathering it in your grasp, consuming whatever tiny slivers you can, a silent plead to stay.
“It’s okay, precious,” he hushes you, lips pushed into a mocking pout, contradicted by the smothering affection exuding from his eyes. “M’here, m’not going anywhere.”
God, you hope not. 
“Please, please—” 
And you drown yourself in it, drown yourself in him; his taste, spicy hickory and warm smoke, exhaled onto your hungry tongue, soaked up and swallowed down; his gaze, overflowing with adoration and intense attention, tying itself in a thick braided noose around your neck and tightening; his touch, stamping his prints into your flesh in blotchy bursts of blue, singeing his name with licks of sapphire that welt and wound, that crust and crater and scar. 
Your ribs squeeze, sucked inward by the voracious black hole your heart has morphed into—never sated, never filled, always vying for more—whole body curling beneath the strain.
But he’s right there to hold you, to steady you, to keep you intact, his hands the stitches you need to keep from unraveling.
“I know, I know,” he’s cooing as you choke on sobs, still scraping weakly at his back, “your Master’s gonna give you what you need.”
Slim fingers flex, soot-stuffed nails latching onto your flesh like tiny leeches, dug in nice and deep, using his grasp as leverage to control the speed and angle of your hips. 
Your feet skid against the chipped bathroom tile, the muscles in your legs tensing as you attempt to find stable purchase on the floor trying to aid in his movements, to fuck yourself on him.
It’s no use, though—it’s not like it matters, anyway, not when Dabi’s got complete domination over your body, over all of its movements and positions, manhandling you into whatever arrangement he pleases, reduced to nothing more than his favourite little plaything. 
“It’s real cute,” he’s telling you in that sugared condescension you’ve come to love so much, “that you’re trying so hard to help me.”
A whine escapes your lips, caught somewhere between apologetic and petulant, hips stammering as they begin to slow, and he laughs. 
“Aw, no, don’t stop,” his tongue clicks against his teeth. “Keep trying, it’s so precious.” 
And although his tone is taunting, full of characteristic derisive glee, his eyes are encouraging, begging you to keep going, for him. 
And so, you do, desperate to please him, the muscles in your thighs beginning to burn as you work in vain to pathetically hump away at him, hips knocking together irregularly as your footing continues to slip.
It doesn’t do much to assist him, but he’s happy anyway, a certain type of pride saturating his features, dulling the points of his wide smile, dimming the harsh brilliance in his eyes, turning his face into something a little softer, something a little sweeter.
Dabi keeps an iron grip on the pace—not that you’d ever expect anything different—forcing you to ride him hard and fast, bouncing you on his cock as his hips buck up in expert rhythm, completing your movements every time. The head drags over that engorged spot with each pound into you, sending a judder of scorching sparks to rush through your blood, each bout more intense than the last.
“God, look at you, you’re such a little slut for me, huh?” he pants out, rapacious eyes sweeping across your face, keen to soak up your expression. “Taking my cock like you were fuckin’ made for it.”
He’s really fucking into you now, jerking you on his cock like a toy, because you are—something that’s his to use whenever, wherever, and however he sees fit, something that’s his to own, to care for and splinter to bits and painstakingly piece back together, over and over and over again.
Tears of ecstasy are pouring from your eyes, cascading down your face in twin streams, excess dewdrops embedded in spiked lashes glittering with every rough pump of his hips.
It all hurts—always does, with Dabi, incapable of treating anything with any degree of gentleness; not a flaw, just a fact, oblivious to his own strength—but the pain only works to elevate the pleasure, pushing it higher and higher and higher until it’s choking you, smothering your lungs and stuffing your throat and spilling out your mouth in the form of messy, stringy sobs.
“S’been so long, Sir, so long,” you weep, nails burrowing further into his body, almost as if they’re desperate to reach his core—to pry past his ribs and claw into his heart and curl up in his soul. 
Because it has been so long, too long, most of Dabi’s attention soaked up by Paranormal Liberation duties and his own extensive planning as Shigaraki’s due date drew closer and closer, any scraps of time thrown your way whenever he had a spare moment to sneak off to this dilapidated safe house where he’d stashed you away, his visits sporadic and unpredictable. 
“You’re right,” he says, and there’s a tinge of melancholy to his breath. “It’s been way too long since your sweet cunt has been filled with your Owner’s cock, hasn’t it?”  
“It has, it has,” you’re nodding sloppily, tongue tangled in threads of spit.
“My poor lil pussy,” he pouts, and it’s so derisive. “Must be starving, it hasn’t been stuffed nice and full with my cum in forever.” 
“No, no, no,” you’re chanting in agreement, “feels so empty without you, Sir, feels s-so wrong.”
“Aw, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he crudely laps at the steady stream of tears, vicious bouncing causing his teeth to nick your cheek. “I’m gonna change that.”
Chapped lips find your ear, slicked with saliva, his voice dropping an octave as he continues. 
“Because tonight,” he breathes, sweltering against your ear, his tongue darting from between wet lips to trace along the curve. “I am going to stuff you so full of my cum that—ah, fu-fuck—that it’s going to flood your cute lil tummy, that it’s gonna seep into your organs, into your fucking blood, that it’s gonna be leaking out all over the fucking place.” 
“Oh, oh, please, Sir, please!” 
The pleads come out as a single string, melded together with drool and garbled on your tongue. Little jolts of fire shoot through your body with the constant ramming of his hips, flames licking at your veins as they sear through them, the sharp slap of your ass against his thighs complementing his harsh pants and your broken moans.
“Yeah, I know, my little cumslut wants that so badly, doesn’t she?”
Your brain struggles to stitch together a sentence longer than his name, your mind gone delirious for his seed—and it’s an aching, it’s an addiction, sick and depraved and downright uncontrollable—little uh-huh!’s mercilessly fucked from your throat, head bobbling along with the affirmations.
You can feel it, a taut pleasure building within your body, a fluttering that furls into a tight ball of sapphire flame in the pit of your belly, pulsing a little faster, a little harder, a little more with every drive of his cock. 
“Oh, Touya, Tou—Touya!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, say my name.” 
A growl rattles against his ribs, whole chest vibrating with the force of it, and his head dips down, slick tongue painting strokes of thick, shimmering saliva across your skin, an artist priming his favourite canvas.
“C’mon, tell me who’s making you feel this good—” and although it’s supposed to be a command, it comes out as a plead, voice tapering off into a low whine, muffled against your shoulder. “Tell me, tell me.”
“You, Touya,” you choke out, the name mangling itself in your throat. “You, you, you!” 
“You’re goddamn right, it’s me.” 
Sharp teeth bury themselves in your flesh, mouth clamped over the junction of your neck, harder and harder and harder until the barrier of your skin finally splits, syrupy copper erupting on his tongue. 
His name shatters on your lips, a dark chuckle soaking into the wound when you arch your neck, stretched and strained and offering him more room to work despite the squeal of pain sticking in your throat
It’s all so much, too much, his teeth in your flesh and his cock filling your cunt and—and—!
“Gonna—gonna—!” 
A large palm collides with your ass, sick slap echoing off the cracked walls. 
“Is that any way to ask your Master for permission?” Dabi spits, voice dripping with disappointment. “God,” he huffs out a laugh, incredulous, but the mirth shining in his eyes is so bright, so blazing it almost hurts to look at. “My cock must’ve really made you go fucking stupid, huh? Don’t you know this body belongs to me?” 
Another spank lands against your bottom, a yelp hitching in your chest with the ruthless jackhammer of his hips, his fingers sinking into the burning flesh in a bruising grip, amplifying the sting of the slap, digging it deep into your tissues. 
“This body is not allowed to cum unless I say so—so ask nicely, you little bitch.” 
“M’sorry!” you cry out, a fresh torrent of tears flooding your eyes. “M’sorry, m’so sorry, Master—”
“Yeah? Yeah?” 
His other hand snakes between your heaving, sweat-drenched bodies, thumb and forefinger clamping down on your clit and tweaking, hard enough to force a scream from your tongue, sending spikes of pain rushing through your veins. His fingers flatten against the engorged little nub a moment later, rubbing hard, quick circles into it, a malicious little giggle squeaking in his throat because it’s so swollen, baby and Christ, you must wanna cream all over his cock so badly! 
Sounds of affirmation spill uncontrollably from your lips, head nodding in frenetic little motions, whole face shimmering and sticky with salt, snot, sweat. 
“Uh-huh? Uh-huh?” 
He’s mocking you, chin tilted up in superiority, staring down the bridge of his nose to regard you in patronizing pity, eyebrows raised and imploring you to continue. 
“Apologies are not asking, baby,” his grip catches your slippery clit again, twisting it harder this time, your eyes scrunching shut as a cry shatters on your tongue, fingers scrabbling against his shoulders, tearing out staples. 
He’s right, you know he is, but he’s making it difficult to speak, difficult to ask, difficult to stitch together a single word at all, let alone a full thought, when he’s playing with your clit like that, alternating between pulsing pinches and gentle caresses, the calloused pads of his fingertips providing just the right amount of friction. 
Your whole body quivers with the effort of holding your orgasm back, muscles pulled tight and taut with the strain, and he laughs—beautiful, breathless, bona-fide—cock twitching inside of you. 
“Pl—Please, Sir,” you manage to gasp out, entreatment forced from your tongue in a single thin breath. “Please, let me cum, please, please, please!” 
The pleads melt into one gooey stream as they flow from your lips, slathered in drool and dripping from the corners of your mouth in thick cords. 
“Yeah? You want it? You wanna cum all over your Owner’s cock?” 
“Yes, yes!” you practically wail, pawing urgently at him. “Please, sir, let me cum, make me cum, I wanna—I wanna—”
“Alright, alright,” Dabi’s pacifying, but his actions don’t slow, hips merciless with their assault on your body. “Go ahead, sweetheart, make a pretty mess on me.” 
Never one to disobey a direct order from your Master, you do, almost instantly, entire body convulsing as your cunt pulses around his shaft, gushing so much slick that it floods his thighs and soaks the waistband of his pants.
The constant circles ground into your sensitive clit as you spasm around him only work to heighten the pleasure, brain gone numb with the shocks of ecstasy coursing through your body, another flurry of jolts sent through your veins with every run through the routine, skin rippling with the impact. 
He doesn’t stop his assault even after you cum, vehemently refusing to let up even as the clenching of your cunt fades into something faint and erratic, even as violent tremors loop through your veins, entire body quivering in his tight grasp, even as your fingers claw weakly at his wrist, crooking staples and scraping scarred flesh, blood rushing to fill the gouges left by your nails. 
No, he doesn’t stop until you’re teetering on the brink of passing out, wandering in and out of consciousness, his name leaving your lips in a near incomprehensible jumble, slurred and heavy with spit. 
Only then does he scoop you up in his arms, your legs dangling limply from his elbows as his palms firmly clutch your ass, hard cock still aching and buried deep inside of you, and carry your pliant body to that worn, fraying couch, with the puffs of white cotton leaking through the polyester and the exposed springs groaning beneath your weight.
You barely notice the change in scenery, though, still blissfully fucked out, nerves gnawed raw  by his overstimulation, a soft hiss slipping from between your teeth as the scratchy cushion rubs against your bare bottom, a raised imprint of Dabi’s palm and all five fingers still rapidly swelling. 
“It’s my turn now, angel,” Dabi’s words drift over your body in an indistinct haze, vision fuzzing at the edges, your head nodding instinctively. 
“Gonna—Gonna make good on your promise, Master?” 
“I always do, don’t I?” 
And then his hips are thrusting, cockhead repeatedly ramming your cervix with every harsh plunge forward, leaning down to catch fresh tears with his lips. The tip of his tongue traces their salty trajectory all the way to your bottom lashes, matted into wet little spikes, before sucking a hickey into your cheek, tiny capillaries bursting beneath his tongue, staining the thin skin with swiftly developing violet.
Tufts of ivory cling to his temples in damp clumps, dried black dye liquifying beneath his heat and running down his cheeks, leaving streaks along the line of his jaw and the curve of his neck. Sweat collects in the dips of his collarbones, shimmering gently in the flickering light spilling from the television set, a wavering news reporter recounting the tragic events of today, stuttered by static.
“God,” he nearly whines, voracious eyes sweeping across your face, desperate to soak up your twisted expression of pleasure-tinged pain—the way your lids keep drooping as you struggle to keep them pried open, eyes speckled with stars, lashes encrusted with tears; the way your tongue keeps lolling out to draw your slick lip back between your teeth, muffling your whimpers and mewls, and oh, no, he can’t have that, a gentle tut of his tongue clicking against his teeth as his thumb tugs it free from your mouth, drawing out a stringy whine in the process.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous when you go dumb from my cock.”
The words leave his lips in an airy gasp, as if he can hardly believe you’re real beneath him, as if he can hardly believe it’s his cock making you look this way, a hand leaving your waist to slide along your torso, taking the hem of your dress with it, rough palm tracing every curve and dip and bulge as it crawls to your collarbone. 
He takes his time to admire you—to appreciate the sensation of your skin beneath his touch, fingers gripping, kneading, scraping, gathering palmfuls of you in his grasp before letting go again in a stunned sort of marvel—hips slowing to an uneven rutting, unable to fully halt his fucking. 
Keeping a firm, steady grasp on your body and pinning you in place, his free hand continues to roam, hardened fingertips sinking into the pretty blue lace of your bra hard with enough force to elicit a yelp from your lips, amusement tugging at his lips. 
“So, so beautiful,” he pants, eyes skimming your now exposed body, his fiery gaze outlining every edge, dedicated in committing every contour to memory. “Fucking look at you.” 
In all the time you’ve been with him, your body has become a scrapbook of Dabi. It tells stories of him—what he’s done, how he’s felt, where he’s been, why he did it—stamped permanently into your flesh using his teeth and his tongue and his flames, in raised flesh and puckered craters and glittering scabs.
You can’t tear your stare from his face, though, too busy worshipping him, sapphire eyes gaping and glazed as they travel along your body, soft huffs of breath escaping his lips, pushed from his throat with the tender heaving of his chest, saliva glistening on his lips, smeared so prettily across the staples climbing his chin. 
Dainty fingers grope at the air, pathetic and yearning, clawing at nothing, and he laughs a little, nothing more than a smooth, deep vibration at the back of his tongue.
His touch finds the apex of your thighs again, nails dimpling flesh as he spreads your legs wide—so wide your muscles begin to burn, taut beneath the strain—a quiet groan rumbling in his chest as he stares at your stretched cunt. 
Two fingers press into your clit, still slick and swollen, grazing over it in slow caresses—back and forth, back and forth, gliding easily over the puffy nub and snorting a little at the way your hole flutters, eager and aching, squeezing his cock, sucking him in, begging for more. 
So cute. 
Eyes wide and unblinking, he plays with you in a trance, slowly but surely building up pleasure in you, pressure in you, fascinated by the way your body so readily reacts to his simple motions, grinding circles and rubbing strokes and pulsing fingertips. 
It enraptures him, puffs of hot air exhaled through slightly parted lips as he watches just his touch bring you to orgasm for the second time tonight, obsessed with the way your cunt trembles around his cock, a surge of your essence streaming from your hole, embracing him in a thick, wet heat.
Your cunt gorges on him—so fuckin’ greedy, even after cumming twice—fluttering a little around the base of his shaft, still oozing so much slick that it’s glazing your ass and his balls, steadily seeping past the tight seam of your hole. 
It’s so pretty, it’s so fuckin’ pretty, baby, he’s breathing, eyes hazy with awe, hips drawing back just a little to watch the way your body clings to his girth, sheathing his cock in a shimmering layer of arousal. 
A palm wraps around the base of his shaft, the head of his cock still buried an inch or two in your straining cunt, and he jerks himself hard and quick, sick wet slaps echoing out among the room as his hand slams between your cunt and his pelvis. 
“Fuck, f-fuck—” 
His hips start moving on their own accord, too impatient, his hand nothing compared to the sweltering ecstasy of your cunt, and he releases his cock, sticky hand collaring your throat, pinioning you to the couch, his thrusts so vicious they’re jostling your body up the cushions, the palm crushing your airway keeping you in place.
Lithe fingers flex as their grip on your neck tightens, coarse pads of his fingertips beginning to heat up, blood in your veins bubbling beneath his touch. 
Your flesh melts beneath his hold, melds itself to his grasp, desperate to stay in his hands forever. 
The sting is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, his palm and all five of his fingers singed into your skin in the prettiest, most precious permanent necklace. You can barely breathe, exhales coming as weak little wheezes, and you swear his flames must be licking into your throat, down to your lungs and straight through your veins, incinerating your blood as your body goes numb, cunt clenching around his cock for the third time, wailing out shards of his name. 
But you don’t allow his hold to let up, to loosen at all, both of your hands placed firmly over his, holding it there harder, a loud moan escaping his lips, his hips stammering out of rhythm. 
“Brand me, Master, brand me, brand me,” you’re gasping out, voice wrecked and raw. “Make me yours, mark me as yours, forever!”
“Jesus Christ,” he nearly sobs, his thrusts turned brutal, primal, losing any semblance of finesse as he relentlessly fucks you, motions stuttering as he finally cums, a violent shudder coursing through his body before he collapses on top of you, drenched in sweat as his cock throbs, filling you to the brim with hot, thick cum. 
“More, Touya, more, more!” you’re crying out, scrabbling at his shoulders as you try to pull him closer, shivering legs latching around his waist as tight as you can manage as your hips roll up to meet his own, crudely humping him. “Gimme more!” 
A groan, dense and heavy, spills from his lips, his entire body rippling with hiccups as he ruts into you—automatic, instinctual, desperate to give his sweet girl what she wants, even if it hurts.
“Yeah, yeah, ye-yeah, Touya, Touya, fill me with y’r cum!” 
And so, he does, using your cunt to milk himself even as his form quivers with every rock of his hips, chills skidding across his flesh with every bump of his cockhead against your abused cervix. 
He keeps going, just like you begged him to, just like he promised he would, until your tummy is stuffed full and your cunt is leaking with his seed, until neither of you can take it anymore, bodies shuddering with every hump and drag and grind, deliquescing into one another, a puddle of limbs. 
You stay like that for a while, his body blanketing yours, breathing as one, being as one. Gentle fingertips trail up and down the column of his spine as his bones begin to fuse and harden again, tiptoeing over the trails of staples stitching dead skin to healthy flesh and evoking a mild shudder, pads of your fingers pressing into each golden suture, counting them lovingly, kissing every one. 
Eventually, after your fingers have traversed across all thirty-one, he shifts, manhandling you onto his chest as he shuffles himself beneath you, cradled between his thighs. 
“What now?”
You don’t mean to say it, don’t mean to shatter that delicate, post-orgasmic, precarious peace with two simple words, but they claw up your throat and pry past your teeth and gnaw on your lips, desperate to be vocalized, immortalized, heard.
What now? 
They’re uttered out softly enough, lips moving against his heart, warm breath seeping into his chest, the question worming its way beneath his skin. 
His muscles go rigid, his breath stalling in his lungs.
What happens now that his goal has been reached, Part One in his plan succeeded? What’s the next step, now that the world knows Todoroki Touya is alive and simmering in his hatred, fuelled by spite and ravenous with revenge?
What happens when he goes to face his father for the final time? And what happens if he never returns?
“Oh, I dunno,” he sighs out, but his voice trembles. “We could fix this place up, all nice and swanky, have a couple’a kids, get a golden retriever—y’know, real nuclear family type shit.” 
You laugh, but it comes out strangled, sounding strange to your ears, a distorted sob. 
“The dream, huh?” 
“Yeah,” he says, quiet, nostalgia for a time that has never happened, that will never come, aching in his words. “The dream.” 
A silence settles over the two of you, as tender as the edges of a festering wound.
“I have to do it,” he says after several moments have passed, and his voice is soft—softer than you’ve ever heard it before, softer than you ever thought him capable of—infused with apology.
He does.
You know he does. You understand why. That’s how the story ends, the final chapter he’s been drafting—you were never meant to be a part of this tale, written in between lines and margins, stuffed between words, twined throughout the pages nonetheless. But ultimately, this is his story—to write, to tell, to edit, to revise, to create, to conclude. 
You know.
But the acceptance sticks in your throat, furled into a tight, hard lump, so you nod instead, punctuating your affirmative with a kiss pressed to his chest, planted right over his heart. It soaks into his skin, burrows itself into pulsating muscle and finds salvation there, finds home there, a puzzle piece that snaps into perfect place—something that’s always been missing, now complete. Something he’ll take with him, when his pen leaves the page, when his book snaps shut.
You don’t dare look at him. You don’t need to. You can feel the stutter of his chest, hear the hitch of his breath tangling on hard truths to swallow, smell the copper streaming down his cheeks again.
And you hug him tighter. 
You know. And no matter how badly you wish to, you won’t stop him. 
529 notes · View notes
veenxys · 6 months
Text
「How BNHA Boys would react if you get rejected by them only to start dating their friend after they comfort you」
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
⤷ Bakugou
bakugou never needed anyone, and he felt great like that; that's what he always said and that's what he said when you declared yourself to him. he didn't feel remorse or sadness until he saw you moving on; a mix of emotions took over him when he saw you being happy with someone else, being loved and valued. he felt selfish seeing you like this, but mostly he felt horrible for letting you go and realizing his feelings too late. he would try to talk to you, but not in a nice way because he doesn't know how to do that; his feelings are taking over him, his anger and selfishness taking over his thoughts and words, which made you move even further away from him. which made you hurt even more. but you wouldn't need to worry about that because you have someone who would take care of you and help you heal your scars, while he only had himself because he never needed anyone… he thinks.
⤷ Deku he was confused about his own feelings and didn't want to involve you in this confusion, so he just let you go. at first, he thought it was the right thing because he thought he didn't feel anything for you, he didn't see you the same way you saw him. but these thoughts came at the exact moment he saw you with someone else. he didn't feel anything for you, right? so why now does his chest feel like you took his heart away? why does he miss you? he just looks at you from afar while you laugh at the joke that your 'friend' told you - the same friend of his, that he told you everything. the same friend who caught you when he let you fell. he just takes a deep breath, swallowing hard as he tries to look away. but he can't, you trapped him and he knows it won't be easy to escape. he knows it won't be easy to let you go. not this time.
⤷ Kirishima
he thought his friend would just laugh at the situation, but no, his friend got angry. why did he hurt you? why didn't he value you? why was he finding all this funny? the two argue and kirishima tries to put it aside; it's over now, none of that matters anymore. but, when he saw you and your friend being happy, he felt the weight of the consequences of his actions. he was childish to have found the situation funny or to have bragged that he didn't want you - when, in fact, all he wanted most was you. he knows there's nothing to be done now, so he just sits with his feelings, trying not to drown in a sea of guilt, disappointment and regret.
⤷ Todoroki
he just didn't know how to show his feelings. he couldn't say or demonstrate anything, just look at you scared while you opened your heart to him. from his reaction, you imagined that he didn't feel the same way and that your feelings didn't mean anything to him, so you just asked him to forget everything and left, trying to connect the pieces of your broken heart. you haven't seen each other since then, and the moment he sees you again, he becomes unresponsive again. you moved on. you learned to love and accept being loved by someone who truly values you and loves you the way you are; someone who knows how to show their feelings. he stays still, unresponsive again, just letting his heart shatter in his chest into pieces so small that he feels like they will never mend again.
⤷ Denki
he wouldn't mind so much at first, actually. you declared yourself to him, he didn't feel the same way, you say sorry, he makes a joke about the situation and you don't talk to each other anymore; breaking that bond of friendship and trust that you had. he was fine for a few days, but then regret came like a wave; why did he do that? he was so blind, so lost… he shouldn't have let you go. but when he looks for you again, it's already too late. you are with someone else; someone comforted you when he left. someone who truly loved you. someone who isn't him. he feels terrible like never before, but there's nothing he can do. he tries to be happy for you, he swears he tries, but he knows he will never really succeed.
⤷ Tamaki
when you first declared yourself to him, he was paralyzed. he didn't know how to react, it was as if the world had stopped as he tried to find himself. his silence was like a nightmare to your ears, which made you imagine the worst and he did nothing to change it; he just distanced himself from you because he felt like he was drowning, like he couldn't breathe next to you. after that you walked away from him because you couldn't look at him after what happened, but he could look at you with his friend; he didn't know if you two were together or not, but he felt his heartache like never before in his chest. and he wondered why. why couldn't he say anything? why did he feel his heart break for you after losing you? why couldn't he be different?
⤷ Shinsou
he was so used to people's rejection and fear that he was confused and lost when you confessed to him; he didn't know what to say. he didn't know how to tell you this, but he wasn't ready. he didn't want to trust anyone else just to have his heart and soul broken again. then he pushes you away, leaving you and him broken because he loved you dearly, but not in the same way you loved him. he thought it would be the best for both of you, but it was the best for you that you found a better person and finally cured yourself of all the nightmares of your past. and he can only observe; with a broken heart in his hands as he realized he lost the love of his life, the only person he truly loved and trusted, and who loved him back, but he realized his feelings too late.
⤷ Hawks
he started making so many excuses and reasons why you shouldn't be together that he made you think the problem was you. and it broke you completely. he was truly sorry about that, but there was nothing he could do when you started to walk away and fix yourself with someone else's help; a person he trusted. he knows it's too late to apologize or take it back, and he doesn't want to take away that bright smile of yours off your face after all he's done for you. so he just watches from afar with a broken heart and empty eyes as you find your home in someone else's heart.
⤷ Dabi
he didn't want a relationship right now and he wasn't ready to share his life with someone, so he broke your heart in ways you didn't even know were possible. but seeing you moving away from him made him feel a huge emptiness in his heart; a void you've filled for so long. and when he saw you with someone else finally being happy and free, he realized he made the biggest mistake of his life. he didn't know how much he loved you and how much he wanted you until he finally realized that he lost you in someone else's arms. but he has to pretend he's okay with it because, after all, he's the one who broke your heart.
⤷ Shigaraki
he always felt something different for you, but he didn't want to destroy you like he did all the other people that came into his life. so the best option he had was to lie and say he didn't feel the same way about you. he knew it would hurt, but it was a pain he could heal and leave only a scar…right? he's sorry he hurt you that day and he'll never forget that, not after the day he saw you with a new person. and this person - who swore to be his friend - made you so, so happy. and he hated himself for knowing he could never give it to you, but he hates himself even more for not even trying.
802 notes · View notes
shonen-brainrot · 4 months
Text
Inmate!Dabi, who maneuvers through the intricate hierarchy of Tartarus, holds a position of both fear and respect.
Inmate!Dabi, who swiftly garners a notorious reputation among newcomers in prison, as word circulates with cautionary whispers, "Steer clear of that guy, you don't want to cross paths."
Inmate!Dabi, who becomes an exceptionally perilous figure, given his readiness to resort to violence. To find oneself a prisoner while becoming the object of his obsession would undeniably plunge one into an abyss of absolute hell.
Inmate!Dabi, who stands behind a plethora of poker games and shady activities, deftly manipulating both the incarcerated and the enforcers simultaneously. Thanks to this shrewd strategy, he collects favors, ensuring practically everyone is indebted to him in some fashion.
Inmate!Dabi, who consistently emerges unscathed from prison riots.
Inmate!Dabi, who has a penpal connection with you.
Inmate!Dabi, who becomes increasingly fixated on your correspondence, displays a subtle but undeniable obsession.
Inmate!Dabi, who, driven by a growing obsession, insists that you visit him in Tartarus.
Inmate!Dabi, who, having earned your trust through an extensive exchange of letters spanning half a year, achieves his goal when you finally inform him in one of your letters of securing permission to visit him.
Inmate!Dabi, who finds himself one day with handcuffs securing his hands, being escorted directly into the visiting area.
Inmate!Dabi, who, utilizing a substantial sum of money amassed from poker and other ventures, successfully bribes both guards escorting him. Upon entering the visiting area, they oblige by removing his handcuffs, leaving only the quirk blocker restraint secured around his ankle.
Inmate!Dabi, who waits patiently as other visitors leave the room, accompanied by fellow inmates who cast cold glances his way.
Inmate!Dabi, who is unable to tear his turquoise eyes away from your beautiful face and the contours of your body accentuated by the snug jeans and white shirt you wear.
Inmate!Dabi, who, with his voice carrying a low, persuasive tone, encourages you to come closer. "Don't be shy. There's nothing to be afraid of, doll," he smirks, his turquoise eyes locking onto yours.
Inmate!Dabi, who engages in casual chitchat with you, bluntly checking you out as you sit across the table. He smoothly asks questions, and you respond politely.
Inmate!Dabi, who, in a sudden move, leans forward and extends his hand, his long, calloused fingers gently brushing your cheek, eliciting a gasp as you notice the absence of handcuffs. "Don't worry, doll," he smirks, "I ain't gonna hurt ya, yeah?"
Inmate!Dabi, who informs you that he was on his best behavior, earning the privilege to go without cuffs, slyly admitting it was just to have the freedom to touch you. Another gasp escapes you, your cheeks flushing with a rosy hue, and you don't know why are you reacting that way.
Inmate!Dabi, who, as the visit comes to an end, rises from his seat and confidently seizes your wrist, pulling you closer to whisper in your ear, "I can tell you're into me, you wouldn't be here otherwise. No need to be shy about it, good girls like you always enjoy a little play with bad boys."
Inmate!Dabi, who forcefully presses his rugged lips against your soft ones, stifling a small moan that escapes your lips as his free hand firmly grasps your ass. squeezing it with intensity. "I'm already counting down the moments until your next visit, doll."
633 notes · View notes
harleys1nhawaii · 5 months
Text
TEASE [dabi / todoroki touya x fem!reader]
Tumblr media
he's close, you easily can tell.
he's rocking his hips to your wet core harder each time, with no remorse. you're squeling, tears blur your vision. he knows what he's doing to you, how good he makes you feel, like nobody else can. you can hear his grunts and low hisses under his breath. god, you think, being this fine has to be unfair. once you finally manage to open you eyes, you stare up at him. he looked breathtaking with his head thrown back and mouth open, brows furrowed with desire and lust. and kind of...cute. you can't help but giggle at the sight. when your voice catches your own ears, you realize you might've put yourself in a situation you'll regret soon. he lookes down at you, with a slight smirk plastered on his face. if you weren't soaking already, you swore you'd cum just by looking at his face like that.
"what's up, dollface?" he rocks his hips harder this time and steals a low cry from you. but you're already under him and destroyed, so why not play along your little teasing as well? "you look cute when you're close." you cheekily grin. "oh, do i?" now, his smile is bigger than yours. he brings his thumb to wipe the tears peeking around the corners of your eyes as he slams his body to yours one more time. "let's see how ya look like then, shall we?" he purrs. once you see how his eyes darken and his grip on your waist gets rougher, it's your time to panic.
he was close, you swore he was close. but when you came sooner than him it was frustrating. little did you know, though, he wasn't going to stop. not after your silly little teasing. he wasn't going to stop until he could cheekily observe your cumming face enough to picture it for any other time, later.
572 notes · View notes
tired-teacher-blog · 1 month
Text
Tumblr media
Listen, Dabi couldn't care less if you were a hero, a villain, or even regular civilian, since he would treat you the same way regardless.
You had been stuck -for the longest time- in a whirlpool of doubt and self pity, wondering if you actually meant anything at all to the infamous villain, a question that had proven to be hard to answer due to the man's stoic and aloof personality as well as his rare showcase of emotions, and athough it is true you were his first and only woman, the awkwardness and rift that loomed over for weeks following your first night together, did nothing but confirm your doubts.
Not so much as a glance or a how-do-you-do, as if regretting the night of passion he had with you, no explanation whatsoever, none when he shunned you, and none when he sought you out again.
Yeah, you were a play thing to him, as worthless as you had always anticipated yourself to be.. or so you thought.
You once found yourself caught in a ferocious battle between the two parties, and while falling to the ground barely conscious, all you could think of was him.
_ "Get up! Get the fuck up do you hear me?! Come on what the hell!" the words themselves were nothing you hadn't heard him yell out before, however the look on his face while he gently cradled your head and caressed your cheeks, while he kissed your forehead and carried you to safety, that look was something new.
It was fright, pure and evident, but also a softness that you had never witnessed before, so maybe, just maybe, you weren't just a nobody to him.
For days after that fateful one, a glimpse of hope appeared within you, and a determination to have an answer settled in your mind.
_ "You.. you were worried about me that day.. weren't you?" you struggled between labored breaths as he finally pulled out of your sopping heat.
_ "Would you let it go." he flumped back into bed, pleading with his pulse to settle, and placing his forearm over his face to escape your interrogation, despite that, there was no vexation to his words, it was more like he was.. bashful?
You remained quiet but only for a moment, a smile adorning your face as you watched him fidgeting nervously.
_ "I can't help but wonder though, why did you start avoiding me after our first night together?" you turned on your side to face him, placing both hands under your cheek as you waited.
_ "Are you fucking kidding me woman? I lost my virginity to you! How was I supposed to act around you after that? I needed some time damnit."
You were stunned witnessing his outburst, his forearm no longer covered his flushed face, and his typical relaxed expression was replaced with a twisted one. It was honestly comical.
_ "So that's what it was.." your words were no higher than a whisper as you allowed his own to sink in, "you do like me then, right?"
_ "What kinda' stupid question is that? Nothing is forcing me to be with you, okay?" and his frown only deepened as he attempted to keep his guard up.
You weren't as cool though, and hearing his distorted confession gave you a boost of confidence to comfortably divulge your own at last, "I like you too, I really do!"
You jumped to his chest and hugged him tightly, giggling and kicking your feet while he growled in annoyance.
_ "Yeah okay, I get it, now settle down." his grumpy expression remained, but his arms had moved to wrap around you while he kissed the top of your head.
Dabi couldn't care less if you were a hero, a villain, or even regular civilian, because regardless of that, his feelings for you will remain sincere, even if he fails to declare them properly.
Tumblr media
Divider by @/saradika
331 notes · View notes
missmeinyourbones · 5 months
Text
Tumblr media
DRANK DRY THE RIVER LETHE
"These days I think I owe my life
To flowers that were left here by my mother,
Ain't that like them, gifting life to you again?
- First Time, Hozier
Tumblr media
a/n: trying baby daddy touya, brief mentions of pregnancy, reader is exhausted and dealing w some parental impostor syndrome, reader and baby are referred to as touya's girls
Tumblr media
Touya comes home to a crying baby, something that has slowly become the new norm for him.
The fall breeze is uncomfortably chilly now that the sun has long gone down, and he can hear the familiar shrieks and hiccups before he's able to unlock and open the apartment door.
You don't hear him enter over the whines of the baby you cradle and caress in your hold. Touya's met with the back of your head and the sound of your desperate coos as he kicks off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket, making his way over to his girls. His family.
"Hey," he makes it a point to speak before letting his hand come to rest on your lower back. You'd think he'd have mastered how jumpy you are after all this time, but you flinch all the same at the sound of his voice.
He lets the warmth of his touch press up against your skin in an attempt to comfort you, but the second he's able to catch your eye, he knows it'll require a lot more than that to soothe your worries.
From your gaze alone, he can sense your panic almost immediately.
"She won't stop crying," is the first thing you say to him.
It comes out rushed and nervous, like you've been waiting for him to return home for hours. You have been, he knows to be true even though you don't say it.
He winces a bit as he takes in your appearance. You look smaller than he's ever remembered, and perhaps there's a truth to that old saying about not noticing something as it happens right before you, until it's already too late.
Your eyes are dark with exhaustion, his t-shirt swallowing you whole is covered with what he knows to be stains of vomit and spit-up. Your body doesn't stop moving, heels don't stop bouncing softly back and forth as you attempt to soothe your daughter in any way possible.
He doesn't ask how long you've been at this.
The haste returns when you continue, "She's not hungry, I've changed her three times, her temperature is normal, and I hate that I even checked her temperature more than once because she fucking hates it and--"
A calloused palm finds your head, gently brushing the tousled hair behind your ear and trying to rub the tension from behind your neck.
"Hey, hey. Easy."
He tries to console you. His tone is a bit cautious, like he's trying to slowly approach a wild and contaminated animal, but it comforts you all the same.
His heart hurts as he watches you take a shaky inhale, holding it for a brief moment before exhaling it just as uneasily. You're drained.
If this was three months ago, he'd instantly grab your wrist--force you to lay on top of him in bed until you inevitably pass out and succumb to your own exhaustion.
But things are different now, and he's not just in charge of you anymore. He has two girls to take care of, one being a lot more helpless than the other who needs him just as badly right now.
"I don't know what I'm doing wrong," you weakly admit through the tears that sit heavy in the back of your throat.
Nothing, Touya wants to say. He doesn't even think you're capable of doing something that isn't right, but he's self-aware enough to bite his tongue and focus on the task at hand.
His eyes fall to where the bundle of baby still shrieks and sobs against your arms. He slowly reaches to rub a soft finger against her puffy cheek before sighing to himself.
"Don't babies cry for no reason sometimes?" he mumbles.
"She doesn't cry like this for you."
He knows it's the fatigue behind your bite, so he chooses to ignore the harsh comparison.
"Yeah, she does, baby," he calmly breathes. "You're just tired."
Wordlessly, he motions for you to hand your daughter to him, and the pass happens naturally for all three of you. She leaves your arms and enters his without so much of a struggle. And you can't shake the failure that weighs heavy on your shoulders as you watch him gently bounce the baby on his hip, her cries almost immediately softening by being in his mere presence.
It takes all of thirty seconds before she's practically silent, resting on his chest and babbling herself into a calm drowsiness. His hand cradles the back of her head gently, mimicking how it did yours mere moments ago.
The scene before you is all you've ever wanted, and it's finally yours. And you absolutely hate that you feel a sob of exhaustion wrack through your chest, ruining a moment you never thought you'd have.
Touya watches you shrink before him, your eyes on the peaceful scene before you as you choke out a teary, "She hates me."
"Bullshit, c'mere."
He readjusts your baby so she's comfortably supported with one arm, using the other to snake around your shoulders and pull you in with them. You feel his hand flat against your sore back, rubbing gentle circles and pressing you into his warmth.
The three of you stand huddled together, all clinging onto one another in one way or the other. The baby in Touya's hold rests her sock-covered foot on the flat of your arm. You lean into Touya's chest, head right next to your daughter's as he whispers sweet reassurances. You don't need to ask to know they're meant for the both of you.
After a few minutes, Touya pulls away a bit, but only to use both hands to place the baby back in her crib. The transition is easy and she's out cold as she sinks into the tiny mattress pad and sprawls out.
The two of you lean on one another, hovering over the wood to watch her sleep. Her eyelids flicker with movement, her chubby fingers squeezing around nothing every now and then.
Eventually, Touya tiredly whispers into your hair, “I learned all this from you, y'know."
Sniffling with heavy eyes and a confused pout, you weakly turn your head up to look at him in confusion.
Assuming he's talking about parenthood, his words don't make any sense in your fatigued and spiraling mind.
You learned together. He was there in the hospital when the midwives walked you through swaddling and latching and burping. When you'd discovered that your daughter preferred to eat after napping because nursing before made her sick. Watching online tutorials on which bassinet is safest for newborns---Touya was there, for all of it. He didn't learn anything about this from you.
But when he looks down into your watery eyes, through the dark of the nursery and against the shallow breaths of your sleeping daughter, you realize he's not talking about that.
His voice is a mere whisper when he confesses, “Like, how to love her right.”
Sniffling and swollen, you open your mouth to protest, but no words come out. Utterly speechless, you just stare at him a bit dumbly.
Touya fights off a smirk at your uncharacteristic silence, directing his attention back to the sleeping baby once more.
"Wouldn't know how to do this if it wasn't for you, letting me learn how to love you," he admits.
He reaches down into the crib to where she sleeps on her back, arms spread out and upward like she's stretching her tiny limbs. He takes the tips off his fingers and gently rubs her onesie-covered tummy.
“So, when she feels it from me," he whispers, not taking his eyes off of the annoyingly perfect baby before him, "it’s really just an extension of you.”
A moment of silence passes. In the heaviness of the moment, he almost thinks you didn't hear him. But he's proven wrong--something he's learned is often the case with you--when he turns his head to where you wait. Touya sees your eyes and cheeks glistening with newly shed tears, no longer the dried ones from your weariness and anxiety, gleaming up back at him.
He can't help but shake his head and laugh at the soft sight before him, withdrawing his hand from the baby's tummy and wrapping it around your shoulder.
He ushers your head into his chest, muttering a loving, “Alright crybaby, c'mon.”
He lets you sniffle and close your eyes against the cheap cotton of his shirt, letting his own eyes shut and resting his chin atop your head.
Slowly, but all the same, you feel that gentle sting of guilt eventually fade from your lungs with each gentle exhale. With heavy eyes and bad posture, you ground yourself through the senses around you. Touya's skin against yours, the sounds of gentle sighs and sniffles. The baby, the one that you had together, safe in her crib with the sole responsibility of innocently existing.
You don't want to ever forget this, or maybe you do. Half of you wishes you could forget it, just to receive the blessing of experiencing it for the first time all over again.
“Also use my quirk sometimes,” you think you hear muffled into the crown of your skull.
You open your puffy eyes to look up at him, confused.
"What?"
You watch Touya smugly shrug as he brushes the stray and sticky hairs from your clammy forehead. A sly blush creeps up his neck and jaw when he fights off a smile.
"Warm my hand up and put it on her stomach," he admits casually, caressing your soggy cheek, "shuts her right up."
You laugh, wet and pathetic and absolutely enamored by him, "That's cheating, you asshole."
You don't blame her, you think, considering the countless times you've requested the same thing from him. From period cramps to pregnancy pain to just wanting to feel him--maybe it's genetic, having your DNA and craving his warmth simultaneously.
You decide that Touya must be thinking the same thing, because he simply chuckles with you, rubbing your back as you feel the familiar heat of his fingers begin to tingle.
"Yeah, yeah," he kisses your head, "wonder where she learned that from."
585 notes · View notes
phantasmiac · 1 year
Text
never forget that dabi is canonically a crybaby/angry crier and would 100% be clenching his butt cheeks trying to hold back the waterworks while arguing with you if his tear ducts weren’t burnt off. and that’s exactly why despite always packing a punch, his insults are nice and short. he’s gotta wrap it up and run out of there quickly before time is up and the dam breaks.
and you think he might truly be heartless when he leaves you to cry all by yourself but bro is literally somewhere having his own music video. sliding down a brick wall, gripping at his shirt, head in his hands, all while still trying to convince himself he doesn’t care. just ten times more pathetic than whatever you’re up to tbh. bc it’s easier for you to pick yourself back up once you realize he’s just gonna come back like always.
but he mastered the art of being dramatic and emotional before he even took his first steps! it doesn’t matter how many arguments you’ve had at this point; in his head, he’s experiencing doomsday for the trillionth time. after he’s done rubbing his eyes raw and furiously wiping away his snot he’ll straighten himself out and put on his most unbothered expression.
and you’ll cry again when he returns, because he hurt you and he’s an asshole for prancing back in all cool and nonchalant like nothing happened — and perhaps because you missed him, just a little. he’ll kiss your forehead and give you his little half assed apologies that you really need to stop settling for. he’ll wipe your tears away and tease you for being such a softie.
“one day you’ll be the one crying over me,” you sniffle. “then you’ll understand.”
if only you knew.
“keep dreaming baby.”
3K notes · View notes
shiggybrainr0t · 7 months
Text
dabi isn’t good at comforting people. aside from the fact that it was never really something he was given as a child up until now, he doesn’t have anyone he cares about enough to actually try. until you.
you’ve only been “dating” for a few months, and he’d rather die than admit it, but you’ve dug yourself a comfy little spot in his heart already. it’s the way you look at him, with understanding eyes. and the way you touch him with your soft fingertips-whether it be across his scars after you two have fucked or swiping a speck of dust off his coat.
dabi isn’t good at comforting people, so whenever you come home after work one day and your jaw is clenched and your hands are shaking, he’s at a loss. you don’t even look his way at where’s he’s sitting on your couch eating your snacks. you kick your shoes off and they land messily next to his (which he always lines up neatly because he thinks its a cute sight, his boots next to your smaller ones, like you live together or something).
whenever you stalk past him into the kitchen, he gets up for some unknown reason because he definitely wouldn’t have followed anyone else when they were this visibly upset. you’re standing in front of the coffee maker, jabbing at it aggressively whenever it doesn’t turn on. brows furrowed, he slowly comes up behind you and settles a hand on your waist.
“it’s not plugged in doll.”
“well why isn’t it?!”
you spin around at this, and dabi is horrified to see tears slipping down your cheeks. he’s never seen you cry before, and to see you reduced to tears is jarring.
he’s unsure, but he raises his hands to cup your face, using his thumbs to swipe away the tear tracks marring your pretty face. (because, he’s noticing, you’re still pretty even when you’re crying)
“want me to beat up the coffee machine for you?”
he’s relieved to hear you let out a wet chuckle, pushing your face harder against his hand.
“go change doll, and we can cuddle while you tell me about it.”
dabi isn’t good at comforting people, but he thinks it’s not so bad when it’s for you.
612 notes · View notes
doumadono · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media
Synopsis: Dabi hates his birthday dearly, but you surprise him with a small gift and heartfelt words that chip away at his guard significantly
A/N: the prompt was "Thank you for being born" This one-shot serves as the kickoff to my little Dabi's birthday event. I won't deny shedding a tear or two while writing it (there's something about making wishes that gets me emotional) Here's the link to the song I listened to while crafting this piece💜
MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST DABI'S BIRTHDAY EVENT
Tumblr media
The scent of cigarettes hung in the air as Dabi reclined on a worn-out couch, brooding in silence. The glow of the television screen flickered in the dimly lit common room as Dabi absentmindedly watched the news.
Another day, another hero thwarting villains, this time at one of Musutafu's bustling shopping malls. As the headlines praised the courageous actions of the hero, a bitter taste lingered in Dabi's mouth.
"Fucking pathetic," he growled lowly, taking a drag of his cigarette. A bitter smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he contemplated the irony. The world hailed heroes on the day he considered his own personal tragedy. The day he was born, the 18th of January.
The news anchor spoke with enthusiasm about the hero's bravery, the citizens cheering in gratitude for another villain thwarted.
Yet Dabi's thoughts, like wisps of smoke, curled around the unwelcome memories of his past. He traced the scars on his face absentmindedly, a reminder of a past he wished he could erase. The reflection in the TV showed a man haunted by his own existence, a shadow dancing on the edges of society.
Dabi couldn't shake the bitter truth that clung to him like a shadow. He hadn't chosen this life; it was thrust upon him by his father's sick ambitions. His birthday wasn't a cause for celebration; it was a stark reminder of his origin, of a life marred by pain and betrayal.
It didn't become any easier when he revealed himself as the son of the number one hero, Endeavor. The revelation didn't alter a single thing, but at least his obnoxious father was aware. Aware that his failed creation was still alive and somehow thriving on a path fueled by vengeance.
As the news continued, highlighting the hero's accomplishments, a bitterness swelled within Dabi. The contrast between his life and the celebrated hero's achievements became painfully apparent. The hero on the screen stood tall, celebrated by a society that Dabi saw as inherently flawed. He couldn't help but feel a surge of resentment, not towards the hero, but towards the world that applauded those who fit neatly into its definition of heroism.
The door to the common room creaked open, and you stepped inside, holding a neatly wrapped package adorned with shiny paper and a ribbon.
Dabi slowly raised his gaze, his turquoise eyes meeting yours. A skeptical eyebrow arched as he observed the item you held in your hands. "Don't tell me it's what I think it is," he remarked, his tone laced with a hint of sourness.
You approached, taking a seat beside him, the small package cradled in your hands. "Well, you'll never know unless you open it," you teased.
Dabi scoffed, "You and your surprises."
Undeterred, you extended the gift toward him. "Happy birthday, Touya. I hope you like it."
Dabi sighed, his skepticism evident as he began to peel away the shiny paper and loosen the ribbon. The room was filled with the soft rustle of wrapping paper, and he shot you a sidelong glance, an unspoken question in his gaze.
Inside the wrapping was a tiny box. Dabi hesitated for a moment, eyeing the box as if it held secrets he wasn't sure he wanted to uncover. Eventually, he cracked it open, revealing a silver necklace with a delicate flame charm.
"It's a flame," you explained, your voice soft. "I thought it suited you, taking your quirk."
Dabi lifted the necklace, examining the intricate details of the charm. His expression remained guarded, but there was a hint of something beneath the surface – a mixture of surprise and skepticism. "A flame, huh?" he muttered, more to himself than to you.
"Yeah," you affirmed. "A symbol of your strength and intensity."
He gave you a skeptical glance, his turquoise eyes narrowing slightly. "You put way too much thought into this. My quirk's a real fucking gem – kills me a bit every damn time I unleash it."
You bowed your head, realizing you had never viewed his quirk in that manner. To you, it wasn't just about his ability - it embodied an immense determination and unmatched dedication, even if the cause wasn't particularly flattering.
Dabi continued to study the necklace, his fingers tracing the delicate flame. There was a brief pause before he finally spoke, his voice low and gruff. "It's not bad, I guess."
You smiled, a small victory in breaking through his usual stoicism. "Glad you think so. Happy birthday, once again. And... There's actually one more thing I'd like to tell you... May I?"
Dabi regarded you with a notably impassive expression on his face, nodding.
You reached out and gently took Dabi's hand in yours.
His forehead creased into a frown, a silent question etched on his face.
"I know you've been dealing with a lot of crap," you began slowly, your voice sincere and heartfelt. "I don't fully understand, and most likely I never will. But ever since I joined the League, you were the only one who's been patient with me. Through all my failures, you saw some potential within me. You've always offered advice or just a listening ear whenever I felt like shit and wanted to cry it all out." You let out an exasperated sigh, wiping a single tear from your eyelashes. "Oh God, why am I even getting emotional? This isn't about me."
Dabi's frown deepened, his gaze steady on your flushed face as you continued, "Okay, so I basically just want to tell you that, to me, you were never a bad person, nor evil. I love you for who you are, with all of your flaws. I'm just... I just... Thank you for being born."
The words hung in the air, a mix of vulnerability and gratitude woven into your confession.
Dabi's stoic facade wavered as he absorbed your heartfelt words. His turquoise eyes, typically guarded, widened in genuine surprise, a subtle vulnerability creeping into their depths. The frown etched on his forehead softened, replaced by a mixture of astonishment and something resembling gratitude. He remained silent for a moment, processing the weight of your confession.
Finally, a raspy exhale escaped him, a rare display of vulnerability. "I... didn't expect that," he admitted, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. His gaze lingered on your teary eyes, and for a moment, the facade of indifference cracked. A subtle shift occurred within him, a fracture in the armor he usually wore so tightly.
With a rare tenderness, he reached up, his thumb brushing against the moisture on your cheeks. "Hush," he murmured gently, a subtle warmth in his usually gruff voice. His touch was surprisingly tender as he wiped away the traces of tears, his thumb grazing over your skin.
A ghost of a smile played on his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, the touch lingering for a moment longer than expected. "Thanks, Y/N," Touya said, the word carrying a weight of sincerity. "For the words and the gift. Means more than you think."
A subtle warmth lingered in his gaze as he fastened the necklace around his neck. The flame pendant rested against his chest. "You always manage to surprise me, doll face," the white-haired man chuckled softly.
"Well, it is your birthday," you quipped, leaning in to give him a quick kiss. "There's no way I could have failed to surprise you on that particular day," you whispered, leaning your chin on his shoulder, gazing up at him with the most innocent, doe-eyed expression.
He cast a glance down at you, scoffing with a slight eye roll. "Sometimes I wonder how someone as cute and soft as you manages to be a villain, Y/N."
You flashed a mischievous grin at him. "Well, let's just say that I'm flexible."
Dabi leaned casually against the back of the couch, his arm extending to wrap around your shoulder and pull you closer. "No doubt in me, you are. You prove that every night."
Blushing, you gasped and playfully poked his chest. "Todoroki Touya! Quit it!"
His fingers absentmindedly played with your hair. "What? That's the fact. And you know what? I love you."
You smiled at him, studying his expression for a moment before nestling against his chest, allowing his warmth to envelop you. "I love you too."
Together, you both tuned into the news service and later some TV show, but your attention was elsewhere. All that mattered was that the person you loved the most was right there by your side.
425 notes · View notes
classyrbf · 4 months
Note
Can you do a dabi one, anything could do 😔😔🙏🙏🙏
stranger!dabi who you meet in a bar, captivated by his presence and flirty behavior. He’s buying you drinks, telling you about his job as a mechanic and you can’t take your eyes off him because goddamn does he look good and his voice is so sexy. Before you know it, you’re in the back alley behind the bar on your knees with his dick stuffed down your throat. He has a fistful of your hair in his hand, fucking your face. Spit dribbles from your chin and onto your exposed breasts, nipples hard from the cold wind that blows past them. You look up at him through thick eyelashes, mascara running down your cheeks. You tap his thigh, Dabi pulling his cock out of your mouth to let you breathe.
“Goddamn, whoever taught you how to suck dick like that, I gotta thank ‘em.” He stares down at you, a smirk on his lips.
Your chest is heaving as you try and catch your breath, a string of saliva connecting between your puffy lips and his messy dick. He pulls your head back, slapping his dick on your face. It was so heavy and thick, it made your panties even more soaked than they already were.
“Such a nasty bitch…I love it. Stick out that tongue for me.” He slaps his dick on your tongue, letting out a groan. Without warning, he shoves his dick down your throat, you gagged with tears in your eyes. “That’s it. Choke on it.”
You held onto his thighs, nails digging into his skin. His grip on your hair never faltered, guiding your head up and down on his cock. Dabi pushed your face against his pelvis, your throat contraction around him while your tongue licked his balls.
“F-fuck me, shit,” he groaned, pulling you off of him. You let out a cough as you tried to catch your breath. Dabi let out a deep chuckle, reaching his hand down to play with your tits while your hand stroked him. “You like giving strangers head, huh? I bet you’re fucking soaked right now. Slut.” He pinched your nipple.
You spat on his dick, making it more messy than it already was before batting your eyelashes at the man in front of you, giving him a sweet smile.
“Such a pretty face. Put it back in your mouth for me, princess.” He gripped your chin. You happily obeyed, bobbing your head up and down on his length, tongue circling around the tip. “You’re gonna make me fuckin’ cum,” he moaned. Dabi grabbed your hair again, fucking your face and pushing his cock down your throat for millionth time. You gagged again, eyes clenching shut.Your eyes shot wide when you felt him cum down your throat. His hips stuttering as he let his orgasm take over.
“Oh, shit,” he said shakily as you lifted your head to look at him. He gently caressed your face, looking down at with admiration. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He smiled down at you, stuffing his dick back in his pants. “How about we go back to my place and I return the favor?”
thanks for the request @vix7nn
492 notes · View notes
rishiguro · 11 months
Text
BUSY THINKING ABOUT BOYFRIEND!DABI
Tumblr media
a/n: more dabi.
Tumblr media
boyfriend!dabi who never wanted to be so close to someone, yet found himself being drawn towards you from the moment you met, no matter how hard he tried to resist it.
boyfriend!dabi who loved to tease you from day one, finding it extremely attractive when you roll your eyes at him and turn away, unable to hide the smile on your face.
boyfriend!dabi who practically moved in with you, but not really - he himself however doesn't have a place so he always stays at yours.
boyfriend!dabi who wouldn't even dream of ever introducing you to the league, wanting to keep this side of his life as far away as possible from you.
boyfriend!dabi who gets more and more afraid the more time passes because he starts to share every part of him with you - even those which he told himself died a long time ago.
boyfriend!dabi who sometimes disappears for weeks without notice, always leaving you worried sick.
boyfriend!dabi who then shows up randomly one night with a slight smirk on his lips as he greets you so casually like he was never gone in the first place.
boyfriend!dabi who feels heartbroken when he watches you sleep next to him, seeing how you clutch against him, afraid that he'll disappear again.
boyfriend!dabi who can't believe that someone like you could truly love someone like him, deeply afraid that the warmth he feels with you is nothing but an illusion.
boyfriend!dabi who would never bring this up, not wanting to destroy the safe place he got with you - even if that place was fake.
boyfriend!dabi who slowly starts to realize that you do love him in the smallest of things; the faint blush on your cheeks when he teases you, the way your eyes light up when he enters the room and how you cling to him when you're asleep because surely nobody could fake that.
boyfriend!dabi who loves it when you run your fingers over his scars, instinctively closing his eyes whenever you do it.
boyfriend!dabi who keeps telling himself that he should push you away, but his heart aches every time he thinks about that.
boyfriend!dabi who hasn't had a home for most of his life and would give everything to protect the one he found with you.
Tumblr media
reblog for more dabi content
2K notes · View notes
thehusbandoden · 8 months
Text
You Flinch During an Argument -Dabi
I like- sped through writing this, sorry if it sucks <33
Oh and the drabble kinda went outta line with the headcannons, but just a bit 😅
Edit: I'mma count this series as my 100 followers event cause why not?
Angst to fluff/ Comfort | Headcannons + a drabble | 963 words
Dabi | Hawks | Todoroki Shoto | Bakugo Katsuki | Midoriya Izuku | Shigaraki Tomura | Aizawa Shota | Amajiki Tamaki | Kirishima Eijiro | Shinso Hitoshi
Warnings!: Mentions of Dabi's backstory, mention of abuse (not in detail), mention of yelling, crying, thoughts of abandonment, flinching, self doubt. Let me know if I miss any!
Tumblr media
Gif credit: @kilruas
Dabi would truly be broken.
As soon as you flinched he was send him back to his childhood, Endeavor screaming at his mother and siblings, the fear in their eyes as he did so.
The similarity left him stumbling backwards, making his way towards the front door.
You would quickly snap out of it, truly not knowing why you flinched. You knew Dabi would never hurt you, you knew that you were safe.
You would quickly realize that Dabi was leaving, and rush after him, panicking as you asked him where he was going, what he was doing, and why was he ignoring you.
Part of Dabi wanted to fall into your arms and be comforted, but he knew that that was wrong. He didn't deserve that. Or you, for a matter of fact.
And so with you crying and begging him not to go, he walked out the front door.
And he stayed away.. for a few months.
It was the second week of the fourth month when he came back, eye bags dark and turquoise eyes hesitant, scared, and lonely.
You would immediately jump on him, crying as you asked him why he left.
But, he still doubted himself and merily patted your back awkwardly.
And that was when you realized how terrified he was.
As soon as you were back on the ground you grabbed Dabi's shirt and pulled his face to yours, kissing him roughly.
As you pulled back to breathe you glared up at Dabi and his wide eyes.
"Dabi. I trust you. I don't know why I flinched that day, but I knew for a fact that you would xneverx hurt me. Phsycially at least. You broke my heart leaving like that."
At that moment Dabi realized what he really needed to focus on and lifted you back up, having you straddle his waist as he wrapped his arms around your smaller form, kissing your lips as a silent apology.
"D-Dabi?" You ask, voice hesitant as he grabs his work phone and jacket before sliding on his platform boots.
"Dabi, where are you going?" You ask, moving towards the man you've grown to adore.
"Dabi, answer me." You whisper, putting your hand on his arm.
Jerking his arm away, Dabi made his way towards your bedroom, confusing you further.
"Dabi! What are you doing?" You ask again, moving to keep up with the villain.
Dabi said nothing as he made his way towards the window, unlatching the glass before preparing to jump out.
"Dabi- don't go! Wait- lets talk about this, I know that it seems a lot worse than it actually is in your head!" You exclaim, voice wobbly as Dabi starts climbing.
"Dabi don't leave me!" You cry, grabbing onto his arm in a desperate hope to keep him here.
Dabi simply shook off your arm before taking off, causing you to mentally breakdown.
In your head you somehow did something wrong and now he was leaving you, going off to find someone better.
Breaking down in sobs, you desperately tried to hold yourself in some sort of comfort, silently begging for your Dabi to come back to you, knowing if you went out looking it would cause a scene.
~About four and a half months later~
You awoke to the soft knock on your window. Slowly blinking your eyes open, you sat up and yawned, wondering what woke you.
You stopped as another knock sounded from your window. You knew that knock. That knock belonged to your beloved Dabi, your one and only.
Rushing towards the window, you quickly unlocked and opened it, reveling in the site of Dabi, who looked quite uncomfortable.
"Dabi!" You exclaim, dragging him into your shared bedroom, careful not to hit his head on the window.
As soon as he was safely inside you jumped on top of him, wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. Out of instinct Dabi quickly wrapped his arms around you, making sure you wouldn't fall.
"W-why did you leave me?" You whisper, eyes moist as you bury your face in Dabi's neck, inhaling his comforting scent of campfire smoke and sandalwood.
"I- I was scared."
"Of what?"
"Hurting you, scaring you, loosing you." Dabi muttered, burying his nose in your hair hesitantly.
At that your sobs started, you clung onto Dabi as you cried, staining Dabi's dirty jacket with your tears.
Usually Dabi would bring you to bed, holding you against his chest while whispering comforting words to you. Or maybe even chuckling and sitting you on his lap, kissing you until you were too engrossed in him to think about what was making you upset.
But instead he awkwardly patted your back, his hold becoming a whole lot less certain.
It was at that moment that you realized that he was still terrified of what happened.
Slipping out of his hold, you faced Dabi, tears still falling down your face as you pulled Dabi's shirt, bringing Dabi's lips to yours you clashed them together, kissing Dabi roughly as you clung to his shirt, demanding his attention and trust.
Once your lungs demanded air you pulled away, glaring up at Dabi, whose cheeks were red and eyes wide.
"I trust you, fully." You mutter, pulling Dabi down so your noses touch, "I know you weren't going to hurt me and I know you never will. So please, stop doubting yourself. And make up for the lost time and kiss me."
At your words Dabi hesitated for a few seconds before smashing his lips against yours, pulling you against him as he greedily sought your touch, wanting to make up for the time he spent away from you.
Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way, minus reblogging.
Dabi's masterlist | Main masterlist | Navigation
Tips <3
712 notes · View notes
dira333 · 25 days
Text
The cutest Todoroki - Touya x Reader
A/N: Angst to Fluff, Real Life AU, requested by @chelseaquake
Tumblr media
at 5 years old
You think little Natsuo is the cutest, with the little streaks of red in his hair and his deep grey eyes. You wish you could hold him too, but Fuyumi’s not giving him up, cradling him like an expert as her mother watches.
“He’s not that special,” Touya points out again, pouting a little. He comes to stand next to you, twirling a forgotten volleyball in his hands.
“Do you want to play?”
“But we’re playing happy family right now,” you point out and he huffs.
“That’s boring. Play ball with me.”
You consider it for a second. Fuyumi’s probably not going to let you hold Natsuo any time soon, and Touya never plays with you in school because he’s one class over you and much cooler. 
Before you can say yes, though, his father appears, and you shrink away. Todoroki-san is scary, taller than any other parent you know, and always angry-looking.
“If you’ve got time to stand around, you’ve got time to practice,” he calls out to Touya. “Come on.”
-
“Do you want me to braid your hair too?” Fuyumi asks when you are awed by her skills. Her hair looks so nice. Tomorrow, when her hair has dried, it will curl a little. 
“Would you really? That’s so nice!” You take your place in front of her, thinking once again that sleepovers at Fuyumi’s place are the best. Her Dad might be a little scary, but everything else is so much better than at home.
Fuyumi’s working diligently, not noticing when the door to her room opens slightly.
Someone peeks through. You recognize those bright turquoise eyes immediately and wave a little shyly. Does he think your All Might Pyjamas are childish? Or does he think they’re cool? You don’t own fancy sleepwear like Fuyumi.
He waves back just as quietly but does not speak. You pull a face in the hopes of making him laugh and he presses his hand against his mouth to silence it. 
It’s only when Fuyumi looks up that the moment shatters.
“Ugh, Touya, go away!”
-.-
at 7 years old 
Little Shouto is so cute, with his pouty mouth and his mismatched eyes. You even get to hold him once, but only because Rei had to discuss something with her husband in the kitchen and Natsuo dragged Fuyumi out of the room for a second.
“He’s not that special,” Touya points out. He’s still pouting like he always does when you spend more time praising his brothers than him. But there’s an angry furrow to his brows now that you haven’t seen before.
“He looks a little like you,” you tell him. “He’s got that cute little pout from you.” You tap your fingertips against Shouto’s puckered lips and bite your own right away, realizing how that sounded.
Most girls in your class think that Touya’s really cool. Most boys in your class think that girls are annoying. What if Touya thinks the same?
“I am pretty cute,” he huffs next to you but when you blink at him, he’s blushing.
“And he’s got your pretty eyes,” you whisper because it has to be said, but not as loudly. 
“Only one,” Touya points out, leaning into you a little. You nod, swallowing awkwardly.
“Ah!” Todoroki-san makes from where’s appeared in the doorway and you flinch. Touya stiffens next to you. “Where’s Fuyumi? Rei, please, I don’t want just anyone to be holding Shouto!” 
Rei shuffles up to you, smiling apologetically and brushing your hair as she takes her son. You might not be as smart as Fuyumi, but you’re pretty sure Todoroki-san just insulted you.
“Touya, if you’ve got the time to stand around, you’ve got the time to practice,” Todoroki-san points out. “Come on now, get going.”
-
When you wake up at night, throat parched and unable to fall asleep again, you creep into the kitchen.
In the soft glow of a reading light, Touya’s sitting at the kitchen table, head bowed over a book.
“Aren’t you going to sleep?” You ask, too surprised to see him there to care about the fact that you’re still wearing your Allmight Pyjamas, threadbare, and a little too short around your ankles. 
“Dad said I can only go to bed after I’ve got all the answers.” He explains, his voice both tired and annoyed. “I hate math.”
“Let me see,” you slip onto the chair next to him. “I’m not good with languages but I’m good at math. Maybe I can help.”
One look at the questions tells you that you’ll be no help at all.
“But…” You’re shocked. “You’re just one class above me.”
“That’s high school math,” he explains. “Dad says I have to unlock my full potential.”
“My Mom always says that I can’t learn if I’m tired. She always has me take naps before doing homework.”
“Your Mom sounds nice.”
“She is!” You smile. “But she has to work a lot. That’s why I can come over so often. When I’m sleeping over she can work a double shift.”
-
at 9 years old 
The house feels different without Touya there. 
It’s only ever Natsuo, who interrupts your playtime with Fuyumi, who asks you to play with him when you’re supposed to be doing your homework, who asks if he can, too, sleep over. 
Fuyumi’s not good at saying no and neither are you, so you end up sandwiched between the two, thinking about how weird it is that the only time you ever see Shouto is during meals when he looks at you like you’re something alien. He rarely talks, not like Natsuo who couldn’t shut up way before he turned four.
You wonder, with fear in your heart, if Fuyumi will have to go to a boarding school too next year.
She’s the only friend who doesn’t mind sharing her lunch with you when your mother forgets to pack it yet again. Who lets you sleep over this often without getting annoyed. Who doesn’t make fun of you for still wearing the same clothes as last year, a little too short and a little too tight on you.
You miss Touya’s presence at school too, the way he sometimes came over during recess and talked to the two of you despite him being much cooler than you’ll ever be. 
But it’s only at his home, where he’s supposed to be, that his absence weighs the most.
-
at 12 years old
Every summer holiday you hope against hope that this year, Touya will return.
Last year he went to a camp for gifted children but surely, this year will be different.
But you can tell, right at the door, that he’s not home.
It’s the way Natsuo sticks close, hides behind your back even though he’s long grown taller  than you. He’s always preferred his big brother over you and Fuyumi over Touya.
But Fuyumi’s busy most of the time. 
You try to help her cook and clean, but in the quietness of the night when he rests her head on your shoulder, she tells you that all she wants to do is play with you, feel like she’s a child and not her mother’s replacement. 
“Do you want to come over then?” You ask softly. “If your mother needs to rest so much, we can sleep at my place. We can be as loud as we want there.”
The Todoroki’s place has been your refuge all through your childhood.
Maybe it’s only fitting that your place will be their refuge all through their teenage years.
It hurts though, when you pick them up. Because Touya should come with, and Shouto too. Sometimes you can see them though, in the single turquoise eye that peaks out from behind the curtains, in the pout on Shouto’s lips when he realizes he can’t come with, yet again.
-
“Touya said we can write him,” Fuyumi tells you one day, in the safety of the girls bathroom at school, “But not directly. There’s an older lady living down the street that gives him the letters once a week. Do you want the address too?”
“Yes,” you try to sound less eager than you feel. But Fuyumi’s been your friend for too long. She can read your mind from less than a word.
She smiles though.
-
at 17 years old
It’s the redness blooming around a single turquoise eye that brings everything down.
Fuyumi calls you crying after it happens.
You’ve never been more thankful for your mother than that day. She knows exactly what to do, never once freezes in the panic that has taken hold of you.
Shouto’s clinging to you, bandage covering his left eye, like the little kid he is.
This is how he finds you, crammed into an uncomfortable plastic chair at the hospital, Shouto in your lap, Fuyumi sleeping against your shoulder, Natsuo’s long body stretched out on two more chairs, head resting in his sister's lap.
You recognize him immediately, even after all those years, even after the terrible job he did at dyeing his hair. 
“Touya?” You call out to him, where he’s standing frozen in the hallway. 
You don’t want to get up, don’t want to wake up Fuyumi, or Natsuo, or Shouto, but there’s something flickering in Touya’s eyes that tells you that some moments need to be seized.
Touya sinks into your cautious embrace. He’s sorrow and hope at the same time, and it doesn’t matter that he hardly ever replied to one of your letters, that you haven’t seen him in years.
“Everything will be okay in the end,” you whisper into the blotchy blackness of his hair, “I promise.”
-
Your mother and you move into the Todoroki house until either one of their parents are able to care for them again.
It feels like a constant sleepover some days and a terrible idea on others.
More than once you wake up from Shouto climbing into your bed late at night.
More than once you find yourself wandering the kitchen late at night, hoping for Touya to be as sleepless as you, as yearning as you.
-
“Are you going to the dance?” Touya asks. 
You’re alone in the kitchen for once. Fuyumi’s out to visit Rei, Natsuo’s staying at a friend’s house for the night and your mother is out with Shouto until later, check-ups with doctors and the obligatory ice cream treat afterward.
“Depends,” you say, trying to focus on the stir fry you’re making. “Why?”
“Did someone ask you out?” His voice is coming out gruffly and you turn to look at him. 
The black’s almost completely washed out of his hair, darkening it only in some spots to something akin to blood. He’s staring at the floor, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. 
You have been thinking about the senior dance before, but more in an abstract way. There’s simply not enough money for a dress and no boy interesting enough to wonder if he’ll ask you out. Well, no boy but him.
“No.” You turn back to the sizzling food.
“Do you want to go?” Touya asks now.
“I don’t have a dress.”
“But do you want to go?”
“I don’t have-”
“If all that did not matter?” His tone is sharper now, more desperate, “Would you want to go? With me?”
You turn again. His eyes are open, wide and vulnerable, like is voice when he uttered the last two words. Your throat is tight, your hands shaking.
You nod, unable to speak for a second.
He smiles, shyly and slowly. There’s something in his eyes that is asking you over.
You turn down the heat without looking.
His hands meet yours readily.
He blushes a fiery red when you lean in to kiss his cheek.
He pouts and you think, that in the end, Touya is the cutest Todoroki.
204 notes · View notes