#I CAN FINALLY DROP THE TITLE YAYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

LOYALTY - Dabi x f!reader

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synopsis: After years of being a Villain, you're trying to be good now.

Fucking a Villain isn't the same as being one.

Right?

word count: 7216

warnings: f!Black!reader. Reader is a foreigner and is very chronically ill, using a wheelchair while also having a tube in their throat for respiratory issues. club scene. implications of drinking and off-screen drug use (reader is high and probably drunk throughout the oneshot)

A/N: HI!!!!!!!! =D

I've been trying to write this for a year and finally got it out of me! This is a companion piece to my much longer wip, "Bury My Ashes at Sea" (aka Hex!fic). I have many companion pieces planned for AFTER Hex!fic, that would explore the events of their relationship more, but after seeing these pics of Dabi, this became a very impromptu entry. It was only supposed to be literally just a short scene about watching Dabi's face in the water but it uh...got away from me. I really hope I don't regret posting this first, but I had to get it out.

This is very MC centric, whereas Hex!fic and other companion pieces will be Dabi centric. This is also primarily angsty as you're kinda having an existential crisis!!!!!! I'm not super sure anybody's gonna like this but me, but if you do, I love you and hope you tell me everything you liked in the tags and comments!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Enjoy! <3

(header made by the beautiful amazing @xxlvndrxxhzexx )

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You could always be found by the water.

The ocean was obviously your favorite, but any water would do. It called to you, no matter where it was. No matter where you were. Even if the closest thing you had was a bathtub, sometimes you just had to soak. Life felt worse if you didn’t. Your family used to joke that it was supposed to be your Quirk—it just got lost in the mail somewhere, or stuck in your already clusterfucked excuse for DNA.

It’s how they came up with the name Siren.

But you didn’t use that name anymore.

You were trying to be good now.

The music swelled and thumped in your chest, all while you sipped your drink through a straw in the corner, unfocused and unfazed. As soon as you heard there was a pool at this place, it was constantly tugging at the back of your head. You wandered around the party, head buzzing with a mixture of substances and a booming baseline, and still somehow ended up within view of the back door. No matter where you went, your eyes still glanced to the alluring outside. Maybe it was the drugs, but the longer you stayed here, the urge for the water was becoming an almost desperate pull. Like for some reason you were drowning on air. Eventually, you caved and decided to find your date before bailing. You clicked your teeth a few times and the fox-like creature standing guard beside you followed close to your wheels.

Apollon was a Quirk Pet, named so because of his psychokinetic Quirk. When you insisted on moving to Japan of all places—where they had enemies even more troublesome than the constant mass of Heroes everywhere—and refused to take any of your family or their allies, refused to use your support devices anymore, refused anything more from your Villain life than the house and the store they gave you, this was was your adoptive moms’ final attempt at a safety net for you.

At first you resisted—Quirk Pets were a relatively new (and sometimes dubiously bred) accessory for the Quirkless elite or their children to feel special like the rest of society, and that kind of flash didn’t exactly fit your attempt at a normal civilian lifestyle. The only people that could afford one of those things were high-profile Villains and crooked billionaires. But since your usual mode of assistance at the time was even less fit for civilian life, and you sure as hell weren’t taking a bunch of nursing staff, you relented. Of course, it didn’t take you long to fall in love with the little bastard.

It was at least a good signal for the more seasoned Villains to know you were someone somehow. You were seen enough around these spots now that they mostly left you alone, lumping you in with the rest of the regular slumming civs—Villain arm candy, nightly entertainment—which you supposed was what you technically were now. Apollon was never a part of your Villain life, so while you were conflictingly more comfortable in seedier places like this, he was on edge, showing his teeth at anyone who got too close.

Which, despite sleeping with him for a while now, still included Dabi.

It was a casual arrangement between the two of you. Sometimes you asked, sometimes he did. Tonight was him. Need my girl for something, the text read. You could never refuse when he called you that. He needed a way to get into this party—for recruitment purposes, you guessed—and a pretty little thing like you could get an invite with a plus one a lot easier than he could. It’s about the only time he ever took you out for anything other than crashing at your place. For someone who called herself retired and put an ocean between herself and her old life for a reason, you should’ve said no. But without the issue of his dealings—which technically he did not tell you about, per your relationship rules, and you were not participating in whatsoever— a party was a party. You worked hard. You were trying to be good now. Other civs were here, and a lot more often than you were. If they were still allowed their normie cards, then there wasn’t any reason you couldn’t get down and dirty every once in a while without having an existential crisis over it.

…As long as by ‘Once in Awhile’, you meant ‘Any Time He Gave You An Excuse’.

The first few times you tagged along to one of these events, it was typical for nosey audiences to be watching the two of you. Now it was only the has-beens and wannabes that still bothered you. You think you hated Villains with lingering Hero complexes more than overbearing civilians. At least you expected the latter to think you were less than them.

Do you know who that is? They’d corner you with hushed voices when Dabi was out of ear-shot, their tone implying anything other than conscious agency from the crippled foreigner.

The pope. What do you fucking think?

You’d want to shout Do you know who I am? Because the covered tattoo on your shoulder would shut them up real quick. But the answer would be, no.

They didn’t know who you were. That was the point. You didn’t talk about that on purpose.

Siren didn’t exist anymore.

You were trying to be good.

Lucky you, it didn’t take much longer to find Dabi. Good news: the VIP space was very close to the poolside door. Bad news: Based on his body language, you weren’t leaving any time soon. Whatever he was doing, it was getting irritating. He had the same stoic posture as usual, just with an impatiently tapping foot. And he wasn’t with any of the other thugs you saw him with earlier, the ones you guessed he was trying to win over. They were a lot more uppity than the people he usually dealt with, way too high-brow and established to risk dealing with an upstart like the League. You could’ve spared him the time and energy from the second you saw them talking—they were not League fans. Their tune was all wrong. And even if they were, they were far from meeting the type of standards a group like the League would be looking for.

Not that you knew what those standards were, of course. You didn’t ask and you insisted that you didn’t wanna know. No details, no involvement—those were the conditions you set. It was just a guess, guessing didn’t count. All you were here for was the drugs, the drinks, and the eventual sex. You were trying to be good now.

You took another drink.

Zzt zzt.

The sound of your phone snapped you out of your spiraling.

{if I wanted some stalker freak staring at me I would’ve brought toga.}

Dabi took a swig of his drink while his phone rested in his freehand. He didn’t acknowledge you in any other way.

Finally, you smiled.

{It’s not my fault. Stop being the prettiest boy in the room~}

You could see him roll his eyes from here.

Dabi had been your favorite thing to watch since you met him. Watching, listening, whatever you wanted to call it. It was a habit of yours that you had no intention on breaking—your ever-growing excuse to keep Siren closer to the surface than you should.

All the world was a stage and every human had a harmony to perform, and it used to be your job to chart out the melodies. It was the one and only skill you had over your family. You were almost certain it played a large part in your moms’ decision to take you in. It was always something you could do—you listened to your targets until you memorized every beat. Then you added your voice. Timing your words to the rhythm of their heartbeat, adapting to the tempo of their bones, matching the key of their Quirk with perfect pitch. A single missed step or chord out of place and you noticed like blood in the water. They’d be so enthralled with the perfect duet that they never noticed your voice leading the song. They never noticed that it was your show now and they were the mimicking puppet, blissfully following you all the way to the inevitable end at the bottom of your family’s shark-infested ocean.

Dabi was no different. Granted, you weren’t trying to kill or extort him, and his melody was a lot harder to tape down than others, you’d give him that. To put it bluntly, it was unpleasant. Repellent was an even better word. It sounded wrong, cacophonous. Like…two different songs layered on top of each other and fighting for the lead. Far too bright and intense and hot to listen for long. But somehow, he took the stage and paired the noise with an effortless stride. His steps were controlled, steady. So deceptively quiet you almost didn’t notice him the first time he was in your store. You watched him turn the madness into the most elegant choreography you’d ever seen. A swan on the water.

If it was anyone else, you would’ve minded your business. But maybe you’d been good for so long that now, you were just bored enough Siren couldn’t resist the challenge. Maybe it wasn’t anything to do with his song, but how you were so homesick you couldn’t ignore someone who felt so familiar, so much like the walking ghosts you were used to. Either way, you hadn’t stopped watching him since.

Although the longer this went on, the more it felt like you were the one under the spell.

Dabi didn’t entertain you with a further response, instead downing the rest of his drink. The sloshing liquid made you feel like you were swaying with it. It felt like you were being rocked by the waves. You closed your eyes again. Waves made you think of swimming, and swimming made you think of the pool. You turned your gaze to the outside to catch a glimpse of the water, but all you could see was the top of a table’s umbrella.

It took about five more seconds for you to solidify your decision.

[Come outside with me] You text Dabi quickly but you were already moving toward the door.

[no. why.]

[Want the water]

[course you do.]

[=(((((( Don’t be mean. If they’re gonna keep you waiting around, you might as well wait with me.]

Again, he didn’t respond. You pouted at your phone. Unfortunately, you were just high enough to try your luck a little further.

[Pretty please? I want you to sit with me.]

He exhaled, his shoulders twitching just a bit more than they should. A knowing grin grew on your face. Exactly what you were looking for. You studied his steps. You charted impossible melodies. You hummed along with harmonies that made your mouth burn until finally, you followed the performance. You could keep up with him. After months of watching his flawless routine, there was only ever one misstep. The only note you had on him.

I want you.

Didn’t matter when, how, or why you said it. Whenever you told him you wanted him, there was always a sudden stutter in his rhythm. Expertly corrected, blink and you’d miss it. Every performer knew that the audience only recognized mistakes if you told them, and Dabi was nothing short of a professional. You thought that was why he was so good at this. No one ever watched long enough to know the difference.

But you did.

You could dance and sing with the boy in the water all you wanted, but once he bleeds you’ll remember you have fangs.

You memorized the note and sang it again. And again. You watched him trip on the sound of your words until your mouth watered. Curiosity turned predatory—the part of Siren you couldn’t kill. As soon as you found that perfect note of desire, you couldn't help but sing encore after encore until they drowned in it. It was a compulsion. You tried variations. Different tempos, different octaves. You swished the sound around in your mouth and probed your tongue along its edges like a missing tooth. Strangely, it tasted cold. You wondered if that was the appeal, if every refrain was like a single drop of rain on him.

I want you to listen to this with me! I think you’ll like it. (Fingers twitch.) When are you coming back? I want to see you. (Throat clears.) Do you like sweets? I want to make something for you! (Rubs his neck.) I want you to stay. (Jaw tightens.) Want you to kiss me. Want you to touch me. Want you, right there, please, please, please. (A hitched breath.) (A harder kiss.) (A choked moan.)

But he never gave you more than a flinch. Never more than a glance at the waves before he corrected. It drove you a little nuts. You wanted to see him fall. You wanted to pull him under. How long would you need to hold the note to break his performance? How many times did he need to hear your song before he loved your voice more than air? Dabi wouldn’t even tell you his name. He couldn’t be mad you were like this. It was like dangling himself on a hook and expecting you not to bite.

You were trying to be good, but you can't change your nature.

When he still didn’t give you a response, you sighed—dramatically enough that he could see your shoulders lift and fall with the motion—but didn’t bother pestering him further. There was a fine line between playful banter and being a pest when it came to Dabi, and you were getting quite proud of yourself for figuring out how to blur the boundaries, just enough to get under his skin in a good way. If anything, it made the sex better.

Instead, you clicked your teeth a few times for Apollon to follow you and help you out the door. The second the night air hit your face, you exhaled. You hadn’t realized how stifled you felt inside. Out here, everything was so still. You stopped moving and inhaled the moonlight. The silvery threads were cool and calming against your skin. It was like you stepped into the safety of a liminal space, outside of time, outside of the rest of the world. Only the dampened boom of the music to remind you of the real world waiting behind you.

When you opened your eyes again, the glow of the pool was waving along any surface it could reach. It kissed you with the same light, calling you. Apollon perched himself on the poolside table closest to you as you moved closer to the water. You kept moving until you reached the light, until the purples and blues lighting up the water rippled along your face. The closer you got, the more urgent it felt. Like something was lurking behind you and this was the only sanctuary.

There was a reason humans always searched for water to repent.

You snapped out of it when Apollon chirped with concern. He watched you from on top of the table, curled into a comfortable ball. Any closer and you would’ve sunk like a rock.

“Oh, stop. You’re not gonna let me fall in.” You laughed it off. Apollon responded best in English, by design. A small security measure to make sure he only responded to you. Not that he didn’t ignore everyone else anyway.

You pointed at your high heels. “Help me take these off.”

He made another quiet noise to let you know his hesitance, but did what you asked. Your heels floated from your feet first, then with another point, you floated down to the edge of the pool. Apollon kept pressure on your spine so you could sit up properly—you were a ragdoll outside of your wheelchair, even on a sober night. This way, you could dangle your feet in the pool.

You were weightless like this. It was the only time you could really move so easily. You didn’t even mind the freezing water. The cold forced you to take in a slow breath, and it was like the first breath you’ve taken all night. It cleared up your head a little, drifted you back to the floating cloud of your high. You closed your eyes and let yourself sway to the music. It changed to a song you knew, warped by the DJ to be slower and pitched down. It sounded distant and muffled, like you were listening underwater.

(“It’s a secret society. All we ask is trust. All we got is us…”)

You hummed along under your breath and lost yourself in the ripples of the water. The coolness kept the doubt away, so much so that you nearly forgot what made you so desperate to come outside in the first place.

And then you noticed the moon.

Or the lack thereof, rather. A waning crescent. The reflection glistened on top of the neon glow of the pool. A tiny sliver of light, uselessly persisting against its shadowy fate, even its reflection nearly swallowed by the dancing blue of the water. Your stomach twisted at the sight. Once again, you were suffocating. Peace evaporated just as soon as it arrived. Now the music only reminded you of what you were running from. The walls were closing in on you, just like that moon. It was only something you could avoid for so long.

You were trying to be good, but you can’t change fate. (”Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty…”)

If you want out, then be out. Your eldest sister’s voice echoed over the thumping bass in your head, the last thing she said to you after finding out about your recent flirting with Villainy. Her disappointed tone still shivered hollow in your bones. You could always tell when it was her talking and not the spirits using her Channeling Quirk—while they always twisted her features into the manic bloodthirst most were familiar with, she, herself, only ever looked tired. You haven’t seen or heard from her since, but her voice still haunted you like one of her ghosts. Looming in the shadows, like that moon’s underbelly, chastising your indecision.

Even now, Apollon could help you swim if you wanted. Would keep the water from getting into the tube in your throat. But this is all you do. It was the same problem no matter where you ran.

You can never commit.

("Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty…")

“What the hell are you doing?”

You jumped, once again getting snapped out of your spiraling. You tilted your head all the way back, Apollon supporting your movements but not enough to let you fall. Dabi was near the door, a cigarette dancing between his fingers now instead of a drink. His delicate face was scrunched up with a rare expressive look.

“There he is!” You smiled, bright and inebriated. There was a sigh of relief in your voice. Your favorite distraction, always in the nick of time. “I knew you’d miss me. Or were you just bored?”

“Wanted a smoke.” He mumbled around the stick now pressed between his lips, his expression returned to its usual sour scowl. He narrowed his eyes at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Just needed some air,” you said, swallowing the automatic ‘nothing’ and opting for more believable half-honesty. Dabi didn’t tell you his full truth, and right now you weren't interested in telling him yours. “Think I’m getting a bad trip. Got really paranoid all of a sudden.”

“Don’t get so fucked up I gotta deal with you crashin' later. ‘M not your babysitter.”

“Oh, such a Gentleman.”

Without another word, he cupped his hands around the cigarette, blue light sparking it to life. You watched him blow out a stream of smoke, staying downwind from you. He didn’t say anything more, so you signaled Apollon to sit you back up and returned to kicking at the water.

As soon as you weren't looking, you felt the blue embers of his gaze heating up your back again. You pretend you didn’t notice, only because you knew it drove him nuts. Another one of his rare tells. Dabi hated talking, but if he thought you were ignoring him you could nearly count to a beat when he’d speak again.

1. 2. 1-2-3-4—

Exhale.

“You fall into that, m’not fishin’ you out.”

You smiled to yourself. (”I’m always on your mind…”)

“That’s fine. I got Pollo.” You said with a shrug. You played your part well. Nonchalant and coy. You thought he liked it better when you pretended not to know what he wanted.

Apollon chirped smugly and Dabi scoffed again. You still weren't looking at him. Eventually, you heard him stomp out his cig, followed by his heavy footsteps. You feel the heat from his body before anything else. He sat behind you, just close enough to place his hands around your hips, but Apollon growled before he could fully reach you. A psychic pulse kept his hands from getting any closer, like a sudden field of gravity.

“Call off your damn beast,” Dabi snapped. Your snickering only made him more irritated.

“Pollo, be nice. Let him go.”

Another disapproving growl. He did what you asked, but laid down and kept an unflinching gaze on Dabi, waving his tail in the air to sense any changes before they happened. There was a grumble from Dabi you couldn’t make out, then his hands were finally on you. Warmer than you usually liked, but not completely uncomfortable. He was irritated. Maybe tired too.

“You’re freezing,” he said. His grip briefly tightened on you again, tugging you a little closer to him and out of the water before you placed your hands on his to stop him. The idea of leaving the water still made your stomach drop.

“Aww. You care about me.”

His voice sharpened. “You’re not much use to me sick, are you?”

“Guess not.” When he bristled at your matching sarcasm, you laughed under your breath. “So, I take it by your current winning attitude that recruitment isn’t going well?”

“Thought you didn’t wanna know the details?”

“It doesn’t count if I can guess.” You pouted. “But you’re right, you don’t have to tell me if—”

“No. It’s not going well,” Dabi snapped. Usually he played along a little longer. He must've been more tired than you thought.

He exhaled deeply, then you felt his forehead resting against your back. He grumbled against your skin.

“Waste of my fuckin’ time. Nothin’ but tasteless trash, as usual.”

“Don’t you usually kill them when they’re like that?” You started rubbing your thumb along the top of his hand, trying to aid the soothing process.

“Gotta squeeze some money out of ‘em first.”

“Oh? The League’s broke?” You said. “I can pack up some leftover food from the store if you need it.”

“Typically humans need more than sweets to live.”

“Damn, that’s wild. But see, there’s also this thing called takeout, and I have like, a real job, so I can exchange money for goods and services.”

“Doesn’t sound very uninvolved to me.”

You took back what you said—he was fine. You could feel his petty little smirk on your back. The banter was probably helping him recover, the bastard.

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before continuing. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, doll. Haven’t starved yet, not gonna start now. Just got a few more negotiations before I can seal the deal.”

“Negotiations?” You quirked a skeptical eyebrow at him. “You know that ‘trash’ is planning on jumping you later, right?”

“Aw, you care about me.”

You smiled back, poisonously sweet. “Not very useful to me dead, are you?”

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t make much of a difference. I’m already dead.”

This time it was you that bristled at his answer.

He said it on purpose. You could feel the smirk still there. On a normal night, it would only be mildly irritating. You’d ignore it, or sidestep. He’d commented about being dead since you’ve known him—it was such a common statement out of his mouth that you wondered if he was trying to remind you or himself. Still, you always flinched. It never mattered that you knew what he was doing, that you heard the intentionally dropped beat in the performance every time, you always fell for the bait. He loved reminding you that it wasn't just you.

He had your number too.

“You know I don’t think that’s funny.” Your voice was uncharacteristically quiet. If he noticed, he ignored it.

“Wasn’t joking.”

Again, he was just as bad as you. Pressing the only button he knew just to hear how your voice stalled.

Just to see for a fact that he affected you.

Salt drenched your tongue and turned your voice bitter. It was to the point where you didn’t trust the sound it'd make if you spoke, so you swallowed it down to the best of your ability and focused back on the water. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing your sour notes. It was what he wanted after all. When Dabi was mean, his song turned cold. Feral flames swapped for a freezing arctic. It was a lot more effective on you. You could be as good as you wanted, but the ocean’s salt would always linger on your skin, and mixing salt with ice seared just like a flame.

Both of you were too stubborn to get off the stage first, so it was a frequent competition to see who would win: your drive to pull him under or his drive to push you away and prove himself right.

There was blood in the water and demons were just as hungry as sirens.

There was a long, tense silence between the two of you. Ignoring him worked just as well as anything you’d say or do. You’d silently steep in the toxic waves and poison you both before you gave in. But soon, you felt his mouth moving against your back. Slow, soft. Absent, even. It was something to do with his mouth other than suck on a cig, but most importantly it was something you couldn’t ignore. Even if you wouldn't talk to him, his presence was still undeniable.

For someone who insisted he was dead, he sure did hate when people acted like he wasn’t around.

He gradually inched up to your shoulder, then your neck. His body temperature slowly cooled to the usual warmth you sunk into. You hated how nice this was when you were still so irritated. Even with the tiniest touch, his heat spread through the branches of your veins like a good high. Fireworks bursting in slow motion. Champagne bubbles floating to the top until your head was swimming again. With your lack of muscle, it was hard as hell to gain warmth and just as easy to lose it. Dabi made you so spoiled. A few hours in his presence and you forgot how cold the rest of the world was without him. Even the water seemed warmer. You closed your eyes and sighed quietly. The sound morphed into a quiet hum under your breath.

“I noticed, by the way.”

Dabi’s voice interrupted the syrupy sound of your humming and pulled you back to your irritation. At some point, you leaned over for him to get a better angle at your neck. His mouth moved with a little more intention now, possession tinging his lips. There was no way you were going back inside without a few new marks to show for it. Dabi’s apologies were never spoken, only delivered in deeper kisses, lighter touches, softer words. Whatever he can to make you feel good.

“What?” Your voice still came out as a cross murmur.

“The thugs that are gonna jump me? I noticed,” he said. “Kill ‘em later. After I get you home.”

The word made you tense again. He said it so goddamn casually. He started slipping every now and then and calling your place ‘home’. You didn’t think it started intentionally, but as soon as he heard your voice shake in response, it was too late. It didn’t take long for an accident to turn into a test. Now he did it at least once every time you saw him. More so if he thought he made you legitimately upset. Whenever he spoke it, there was always a question hidden in the off beat. A whisper, something cold again. Like a toe in the water to make sure you really wouldn’t bite. (”Loyalty, Loyalty, Loyalty…”)

Normally, you would take the time to sing around his trap and answer correctly, dodging anything that would be too encouraging (or you’d scare him off) without being too discouraging (or you’d never hear that chilled vulnerability again). But tonight, it was especially irritating. That little timid voice still asking if it’s safe, like you would leave him for this littlest thing. Like you were the flight risk. Like he wasn’t the one literally reminding you that he would never stay. Nothing you want would ever stay. No matter how far you ran, no matter how good you pretended to be, you were doomed to watch it die and fade away, just like that moon.

How dare he call your place home when the only space he planned on claiming as his was six feet under.

You finally gave in and let the salt flavor your tongue. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t fuck corpses.”

“Oh? Since when?”

“Since always, jackass.”

There was a brief pause before he shrugged again. ”Guess you can go home then.”

“Dabi.”

He laughed. A quiet, wheezy chuckle that paired perfectly with his smirk. It made an irritatingly pleasant shiver run along your thighs, even now. He returned his mouth below your ear and you let him.

“There’s my girl.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You scowled, but still decided to signal Apollon to let you slouch back into him. “Keep ruining my buzz like this and you won’t have to worry about the thugs. I’ll kill you myself.”

Another whispered sound of smug amusement brushed against your hair. “I’d let you try.”

“How romantic.”

The lazy rhythm of Dabi’s lips was replaced by the slow drag of his fingertips along your arm. Compared to the rest of him, his scarless fingers felt like silk. You wiggled yourself closer so your head was underneath his chin. You were barely in the water anymore. He was sneaky, tangling you further into the seductive heat of his body with every inch you relinquished to him from Apollon. It looked as cozy as it felt, you were sure.

But cozy or not, even this was calculated. You almost always did this after he said those stupid comments about dying or already being dead. Obviously he wasn’t. But he said it with such conviction, and the sound of his voice was never the right pitch for sarcasm or jokes. Despite what you could clearly see with your eyes, it always made you so anxious. So, in your cuddled position, you angled a little so your ear was against his chest, and you listened. It probably would’ve been even more subtle to check his pulse points, but Dabi’s wrists were covered in too much scar tissue for you to ever get a good reading. Instead, you could always hear it thudding along the healthy strip of his chest. After a few seconds, you would pull out your phone and use it to count.

It was always still beating. Maybe a little faster than it should be from all the stress he put his body under, but still beating. Still breathing. Still here.

Dying, maybe. But not dead.

You were very aware it was an important difference.

Once upon a time, it was just another part of the deal. Dabi was clearly hellbent on checking out, but that terminality was one of the main appeals. You knew what Villains were like. He was just as temporary as you were. This way, you could both get your kicks, you could get the teetering threat of relapse out of your system, and there wouldn’t be any reason for attachments when you both knew exactly what you were getting into. Limited time was built in the design. Quick, easy, painless.

You wonder if he used the same justifications for you in the beginning.

You wonder if it was backfiring for him the same way.

It was why you left. You spent your whole life being told and expecting that you would be the buried, not the burier. It was the bond your whole villainy was based off of. Everyone was dying here. You were all on a train to Hell one way or another. It didn’t matter how or why. You all had the same destination, the same rage, the same brutal apathy. Death was inevitable, and the only thing that mattered was making sure every Hero fuck that signed your sentence felt it when you finally reached that stop. It was a lot less scary when you had people to laugh about it with. It was spoken like a badge of honor. Yeah, the world wants me dead too. Come on in.

And then you woke up one day with the audacity to want to live. (”I’m hangin’ on the fence again…”)

The realization gnawed at you with panicked desperation. You looked around and discovered that everyone you loved was dying much faster than you, killing themselves in a blaze of glory. This wasn’t a party, it was a suicide pact. None of the civs or the Heroes tried to intervene because this was the point—the job was being done for them. The only way to win the game was to not play at all. Get to the exit. Live.

But it was what the Heroes never understood, and something you should’ve known better.

Everyone else always knew where the exit was.

It was always there, in blinking neon, unlocked and unguarded. Anyone could leave whenever they wanted. It’s why no one tried to stop you. This was what your Moms did, after all, since they retired from their own battle wounds—worked in the shadows, helped those who wanted out disappear without a trace, supported those who didn’t, take in the unwanted in-betweens until they could make a choice. Like you. Like your family. Like your sister.

Everyone knew they were free to go, but there was never anything to save.

And this is what Heroes would never understand. Why things would never get better until the question was addressed. They could point out the exit sign all they wanted, try to heroically lead them into a bright new future, but every Villain would always ask the same thing:

Why?

You didn’t think you’d be waiting here, dancing with the burning boy on the train tracks, if you ever found a good answer.

(”10-4, no switchin’ sides…”)

You looked up at him without moving your head. His eyes were fixed on the still water with an empty gaze. He was somewhere far away, farther than you could reach. Sometimes Dabi looked so goddamn fragile you thought you’d split at the seams, like him. The blue reflection from the water danced along his skin like his flames, and he looked so beautiful in your element that your chest ached at the unfairness of it all. You never wanted a Quirk more in your life. You wanted to be able to hum and wrap his wounds in water. Put the pain that was so loudly screaming out of his skin to rest with soft, cool lullabies. Whisper a single sound and keep him here with you a little longer.

You insisted that you didn’t want to be involved, but you started keeping ice packs and bandages tucked away for him, in the same spot as the black market quirk suppressants you still keep for your sister, just in case. The occult and mysticism books you borrowed about restless ghosts were piled with the new highlighted articles about burn wounds. You memorized the numbers of Dabi’s burner phones like everyone in your family, and you couldn’t help clocking the twitches and tells of the men he talks to like you were still a good spy for the cause. You let him stay in your house, your bed.

You let him hear you sing. (”Ain’t no other love like the one I know…”)

Sometimes, on the rare occasions you woke up before him, and he was still sleeping softly next to you, you thought about telling Apollon to bring you the syringe in the cupboard. They only worked for about two hours on your sister anymore, but you were sure Dabi wouldn’t have as much of a tolerance. You could keep him from going back out there. Without a Quirk, Apollon could easily keep him from running away or trying to fight. He would be safe, and you could finally, finally do something other than watch while those you loved destroyed themselves. There was no need to go back inside. It’s safer in the water. Stay, stay, stay.

But you can never commit.

You were trying to be good.

The song was long over but it still played in your head. (”Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty”)

It haunted you with a demand you couldn’t run from. (”Tell me who you’re loyal to”) You said you wanted to move far away from your old life, but you made sure that your store was far on the outskirts of town, off the path for Heroes, easily accessible for any undesirables that might need some bread or sweets, or a place to warm up…or flowers for their mom. You said you didn’t want to be a Villain anymore, but you wouldn’t serve licensed Heroes.

(”I said, tell me who you’re loyal to”) You refused to use your support items, but the metal rings around your fingers never felt as heavy as when you were sitting on the train, listening to the civs gush about Heroes. You were trying to be good, but you listened to them cheer and celebrate the capture of the ones like you—the people you love (“Does it start with your woman or your man?”)—and your perfect pitch stalls. It was the one note you couldn't hit. They made you want to honey your voice like you used to, lead them along like oblivious puppets. Warp the role of non-threatening into a eulogy for the ones that forced it on you, the last sound they ever heard before the snarls of your family’s bloodthirsty Quirks. (“Does it end with your family and friends?”)

But then you remember what happened last time. The blood. The screaming. Something suffocating on itself. It was why you left, wasn’t it? You knew better. There was only one thing this life could give you. You were cursed just like that moon. At some point, there would be no more delaying it. It felt right, it felt like home, but when you woke in the morning there was no one left but you.

So in the end, you always kept your mouth clenched shut.

You were trying to be good.

(”Are you loyal to yourself in advance?”)

“Dabi.” You spoke with your own eyes on the water, fixated on the rippling moon. “Can we go?”

“Now?”

You nodded. There was a sudden spark of urgency inside you. You couldn’t stand to be in this place for another second. You were trying to be good now. There was a house waiting for you. For him. You didn't have to go back in there. You could lock yourselves behind those doors and sing until he didn’t remember there was a life before your voice, until his touch burned the blood from your skin and finally made you clean again. You would cling to what you loved until you wasted away or they did, and not a second sooner.

You tilted your head to kiss Dabi’s neck. Just a single, soft smooch. You knew he couldn’t feel it there, but you always did it anyway, leaving a bright red lipstick mark as proof. Mine. If you weren't allowed anything else, this counted as something.

“Want you.” You looked up at him from the crook of his neck. It was the truest thing you said all night. “Please?”

He stared at you. The full force of his sapphire eyes was disarming, like his own siren charm. You could tell that he was studying your face for something. Like he knew there was more to your shifting mood tonight than a bad trip. There was something hidden in your notes—something silent, something off. But you wouldn’t let him hear it. He wouldn’t even tell you his name. He didn’t want to know. You didn’t want to tell him.

“Yeah. Alright.” His stare never wavered, like he was still focused on listening. But when you still wouldn’t give him what he was searching for, he started to move. “They should be back by now.”

He whistled at Apollon and nodded his head toward you. For as much as they didn’t like each other, they’d gotten into a groove. Moving in time with their own routine, at least when it came to you. It was a seamless transition—you barely had the chance to wobble before the weightless feeling of your pet’s Quirk replaced his embrace.

But as soon as Dabi left, you shuttered. It was a jarring shock. The cold seeped into your bones until your limbs were heavy with ice. You cussed with chattering teeth. Apollon floated you back in your chair quick enough, but the cold overshadowed everything. It caused time to start again. How long had you been out here? When did the song change? You didn’t recognize it. The bass thumped in your chest to an ominous rhythm that felt more like a hungry threat. The growl of the inevitable before it swallowed you whole. It was enough to snuff out what little sparks of resistance you were gaining. Instead, they were replaced with a desperate need. You kept saying you didn’t want to be involved, but what good was abstinence when this was your reward? The water kept you safe and secure, but what was the point of safety without warmth?

You were trying to be good, but you were so, so cold.

“You comin’?” Dabi turned to your shivering form. You heard the ghostly echo of a familiar song, refusing to die, whispering with his waiting steps and wrenching itself in the center of your ribs.

(”All I want is, all I want is…”)

“Yeah.” Your voice is a resignation. Out of the cold, but into the dark.

At least he’s a light.

#dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #sometimes I do this thing with words #dabi!oneshot #Loyalty oneshot #I CAN FINALLY DROP THE TITLE YAYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #I'm so nervous about posting this lol #Youtube