#and before he can stop himself he asks 'Touya

[shibaraki]

THE ARSONIST’S LULLABY ┊ TODOROKI TOUYA

synopsis: the theory is everyone has a metaphorical part of themselves frozen in childhood. a symbolic, younger version of the self that can still be saved.

dabi comes home with what seems to be a sleeping four year old in his arms and the look of a man who has just seen a ghost.

tags: GN reader, reader is a civilian, sorta established relationship (dabi is paranoid and allergic to labels), accidental child acquisition, angst and fluff, pre LOV (like right before), alludes to past canon child abuse, dissociation, family feels (dabi shithead big brother tendencies)

wc: 8K

“What the fuck—”

“Don’t,” Dabi hushed you frantically, far more frayed than you’ve ever seen him. Affronted, you open the door wider all the same, allowing him inside.

He’s careful with his movements as he kicks off his boots and ducks into the living room. The lump bundled in his jacket does not stir. Dabi lowers to a crouch and settles a young child on the sofa cushions. You note the deliberate care in which he slides his arms out from beneath the boy's body.

The coat lapels have slipped to reveal a child that can surely be no older than four years old. Waxen skin, full cheeks and a wind bitten nose. Most notable is the red hair, thick and fanning across the decorative pillow in undefined waves.

You feel inclined to tiptoe as you approach. Navigating the short space cautiously, knowing where to set your feet; avoiding the creaky floorboards you’ve long since memorised. Dabi lets out a shuddering breath and slumps back against the coffee table. Not once does he look at you even as you enter his vision.

Knelt at Dabi’s side, you evaluate the things laid out before you. The air remains tepid. There are no remnants of smoke clinging to his clothes. Your gaze sweeps over his body. He isn’t running hot, and the sutures aren’t weeping. Not a blood stain nor a burn mark to be seen. He is simply frozen, staring down at the boy.

The child, too, is unscathed. Under a thin T-shirt his small chest rises and falls. He wears an expression that can only be described as tranquil; part of this disturbs you, and tempts you to poke the kid, if only to make sure he isn’t a doll.

You brush your knuckles along his jaw. The kid runs cold but he’s warmer than expected after being rushed through the late evening streets without sleeves. No shoes on his feet either. Odd, considering his socks are clean.

There are a million questions clamouring in your head that you lose the opportunity to ask—that all lead to a single, heartbreaking answer—because the little boy stirs at your touch. His eyelids scrunch together as if to protest his own consciousness, then gradually open, irises as blue as early spring periwinkles peeking through slits.

Nausea grips you. A dark amalgamation of anger, anxiety, confusion and jealousy knotted itself deep in your gut. Those eyes—eyes just like Dabi’s, staring back at you, head tilting with a blank expression.

You take far too long to notice that he’s stopped breathing. Stuck in place, likely frightened to be somewhere unfamiliar, crowded by people he does not know. “Hi there sweetheart,” you say, willing yourself to smile reassuringly. “I know this must be scary for you but I promise you’re safe. We won’t hurt you”.

At that the little boy puffs up. “I’m not scared!”

Dabi scoffs. He hasn’t looked in the boy's direction since he woke up; you nudge his side, brow furrowed in disapproval. “Good. 'Cause you've got nothing to be scared of,” you tell him, glare softening as it slides back to the couch. “Do you think you could tell us your name?”

The silence is oppressive. You’re stared at as if you were a battle to be conquered. You sigh, “Alright. You don’t need to tell me. Stranger danger, right?”

Oddly enough, the boy doesn’t appear disturbed about his surroundings at all. You’d prepared yourself for tears, or some wailing. Instead he casually pushed himself upright into a sitting position and stretched his short arms high over his head, as if waking from a routine nap.

You draw air through your teeth, gasping as his shirt lifts with the stretch and reveals his belly. Dabi’s jaw winds at the sight. The air around you expands, thick with ephemeral warmth. He’s considerate to keep it there, boiling violently under his skin. His reaction nags at your conscience, and you want to grab him when he stands to walk away, but you’ve no choice but to prioritise the situation in front of you.

There are burns around the child’s midsection. Mottled pink and swollen. He rejects your touch as you reach out to examine him further. “You’re hurt, kiddo. We can help. Let me—”

“No!” he yells. You startle at the genuine heartbreak in his voice. He scrambles down and shoves past you. Rabbit footed, he sprints to the bathroom and slams the door. You strain to listen, relieved that he does not turn the lock, and debate going after him. Something about that childlike anger is deeply familiar.

Ice crawls through your chest; it’s a dread that lingers in your periphery yet evades perception the longer you try to put a finger on it. You throw another glance down the hallway as you stride toward the genkan. “Dabi,” you call firmly. His hands, bloodied with the runoff dirt and ash, continue scrubbing at the sole of his boot in an almost mechanical fashion. “Touya,” you try again, quieter, exercising caution when wielding that name. And his movement stutters. “You can’t just—go! Not now. He’s badly burned. Where did you even find him?”

You’re patient as he exhales a harsh breath; seems to grapple with his thoughts, a distant look in his eyes. Seeing him so unsettled is scaring you. “Does it really matter? He’ll probably be gone soon,” he mutters. A wave of defensiveness on behalf of the poor child bubbles to the surface. But before you can argue, he is tugging his cleaned boots on with sudden force.

Dabi stomps to settle the heel and pulls open your front door. It rattles on the hinges. A cold evening breeze billows into the apartment and bites at your bare arms. “I’ll be back later. Just pretend he’s not here,” he grunts. “He won’t notice the difference”.

“Wait, baby—!”

And he’s gone again.

You smother the frustrated yell that follows into your hands. There’s a faint sense of abandonment on the fringes, creeping in and forming a lump in your throat. Dabi always had to run first. You rub at your eyes until the sting disappears and exhale until all the air in your lungs is gone, taking with it your frustrations.

Somehow the hallway stretches that much longer. This time you press weight onto the old floorboards and hear them creak, making your presence known as you approach. There’s no noise behind the bathroom door. Your fingers curl around the handle but a gut feeling begs that you pause.

The soft knock of your knuckles to the frame echoes through the apartment. “It’s me,” you say. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, little guy. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t in pain”.

Your ears prick at the quiet movement inside the bathroom. The latch clicks as the handle turns and you move away as much as the narrow space can afford, the front of your sweater bunched up in your fist; it mirrors the child’s own stance, shifting in place gripping his shirt.

Now under the cheap flickering light you notice an uneven patch of white in his hair. There is something uncomfortably broken about him that you can’t place. A dissonance between his outline and the world, as though he were a pencil drawing in a watercolour canvas.

“M’not little,” he insists with a stomp, looking like he might cry. “Stop talkin’ to me like I’m a baby”.

“Alright. You’re not a baby, you’re a big kid,” you settle on your knees in front of him, lowering your voice in a way a child might consider more ‘grown up’, “But I still have to make sure you don’t need a doctor. So is it okay if I ask about the marks on your tummy?”

This time his reaction is far more subdued. Exhausted from his earlier anger, maybe. Or resigned to the fact that you will not let the injuries go. He jerked his shoulders and crossed both arms, staring down at his feet.

“Has someone been hurting you—did they do that to you?”

The kid huffs, indignant. “No,” he mumbles with a pout. Your eyes follow his fingers where they begin to anxiously clench and unclench. “My quirk”.

The admission is clearly difficult for him, like he has to force the words out of his mouth. You unfold your legs from beneath you and dip to try to meet his eyes, “Your quirk hurts you?”

“Not all the time!” there’s that flash of emotion again, racketing through him like thunder. If he were a kitten you think all the hair on his body would be on end. “If—if I train more I bet it wouldn’t,” he sniffs. “But father told me I can’t do that anymore”.

“Oh,” you’re taken aback at the mention of another father figure. You feel a growing dislike for the unknown man. “Well that’s kinda silly. How will you ever learn to use it safely if you don’t practice?”

Finally, the boy’s glassy eyes snap up and meet your own. He’s practically glowing; awestruck, as though you’d turned his entire worldview on its head with just a few words. “Right, right?” he begins to bounce on the balls of his feet. “I’m gonna be the bestest, strongest hero. Better than All Might!”

Your thoughts stall, reaction delayed. Only Dabi would bring home a kid who loves heroes—that is if they’re related at all. You find it hard to believe. Those eyes do not lie.

“That right?” you let yourself be influenced by his enthusiasm and mirror his grin. Whatever Dabi did or did not omit it’s not the kids fault. “Well, I’ll be cheering you on from the sidelines. How about that?”

“Yeah! You’ll see!” your heart clenches at the sight of his little leg stomping excitedly as he rubs at his eyes. A hiccup wracks his body. Telegraphing your movements you rest a hand at his back, rubbing back and forth to calm him. Such an extreme response to such a simple praise.

After some gentle cajoling you manage to get him to sit on a stool in the kitchen with some apple juice that you miraculously had in the fridge. Your eyes linger on the glass in his hands as you apply the medicated cream to his stomach, barely big enough to hold it.

You exhale, fingers pausing by his waist. The sight is hard to swallow. The tissue is smooth to touch and irregularly shaped, as though the scar had outgrew the initial wound. Even as you reached the inflamed sections he hadn’t so much as flinched; again you're reminded of Dabi, his impassive expression perched on the edge of your bathtub, skin swelling around his sutures, a merry scarlet waterfall weeping from the exposed wounds.

“Where did that man go?” he asks, pulling you from your reverie.

“Ah, he needed to go get something,” the lie is unconvincing even to your own ears. Discomfited, you clear your throat and add, “You can call him Dabi when he’s back”.

You search for his discarded shirt while he tests the name with his own voice. Small mouth shaped around the syllables, da-bi, and spitting it out quick again, dabi. “That’s right. Dabi. You like his name?” the kid staunchly shakes his head, hair falling over his eyes. He pushes it back with both of his hands.

“S’dumb,” he says. The bluntness makes you laugh.

“I bet your name is cooler, right?” that catches his attention. He nods once with a firm hum. “You wanna tell me it now?”

Your efforts seemed to fall flat. The child would not tell you his name; during the numerous attempts in the hours that followed, you got the sense that he couldn’t tell you. And he would get this odd look about him, as if it was you asking that was confusing to him. As if you should already know.

Far more concerning to you is that he never asks to go home. Not once does he mention his mother or father of his own volition. After countless questions you can discern that his knowledge is strangely limited. He seems frozen in time, with no real memory of how Dabi found him.

The hours pass uninterrupted when your curiosity veers away from his circumstances and closer to him. To things he loves, and the like. You carry him on your hip, surprisingly light, and settle him back on the couch as he rambled about Caped Kid and Supertoon and the old All Might animated shorts that you forgot even existed. He kicks his feet along the cushions excitedly when you find some pirated clips online for him to watch.

By the time Dabi comes home the kid has fallen asleep, right back where he first left him. Your arms cross over your chest, the earlier anger rising once more, but something about his expression wills you to temper it.

Dabi is wet through. Soaked to the bone, clothes hanging on his frame. Black streaks are running down his cheeks, and despite your disappointment you hastily tug your sleeve over your hand as you start forward, bringing it up to dab away the dye before it seeps into his sutures.

It’s a relief that he doesn’t flinch away. Not even as his gaze drifts to the TV, which has automatically started up another All Might clip. No vitriol comes. A warm, savoury smell fills your senses and you notice that he’s carrying a plastic bag.

“Brought food,” he rasps. You look back up and meet his eyes, unnerved at how far away he sounds.

“Thank you,” you murmur. Casting a final glance to the young boy on your couch—laying suspiciously still—you wrap fingers around Dabi’s cold wrist and coax him into the kitchen. He sets the food on the counter and in letting go the plastic handle is left upright, misshapen from the responsive heat of his quirk.

He inhales, readying himself to speak, but you gently interrupt, “I think you should shower first. Change into something comfortable. I’ll… I’ll serve the food”.

Dabi sighs but slinks away to the bathroom at your suggestion. You watch him bristle and glare halfheartedly at the head peeking up from behind the couch cushions and the boy shrinks back. Not a moment later the door slams and he flinches, chubby fingers clutching tight to the upholstery.

“Is Dabi mad?” the small voice asks. Sullen in a way that draws you closer to comfort him. Your hand comes to rest on the crown of his head, petting him now that he’ll let you.

“No, no,” you demurred. “Well. Maybe he is, but he’s just having a lot of uh, big feelings”.

“Big feelings,” the boy nods. Then he peers up at you searchingly, “…Is he melting?”

Having expected him to ask literally anything but that, you give a soft laugh. “Dabi isn’t melting. It’s the colour in his hair. He painted it and if it gets wet it washes out, like you saw”.

“Oh”.

The kid is calmer now, no longer ready to bury himself between the cushions. “He brought food back. Smells like curry,” you tell him. “Want some?”

Returning to the kitchen after an enthusiastic ‘yes’—pushed out between a big yawn—you unwrap the takeout boxes and begin to portion them. Dabi finished his shower, dressed in the loose fitted sweatpants and t-shirt you kept for the nights he felt comfortable enough to stay, and accepted the plate you put in his hands.

Together, you eat around the kotatsu in relative silence filled only by the limited ramblings of the child Dabi brought home. He’s the type to express things with his entire body, the type that cannot sit still, and you find yourself shooting Dabi the odd furtive glance, worried he might snap, almost daring him to try.

But Dabi does not snap. He doesn’t look at either of you. You note the tension in his shoulders, winding tighter with every mention of the word ‘hero’, and how his fist clenches and uncurls, knuckles white where the blood recedes. He keeps his head down, forearm curled protectively around the food on his plate as he eats, and doesn’t say a word.

You’ve never met anyone else who can so readily act as though they’re unfeeling. The embodiment of feigned indifference. Dabi was so confident in his detachment, with the scathing comments, comfort in violence and purposefully unapproachable demeanour, but you knew what lie underneath; you can tell when it’s an act and when it’s real, and right now he’s never been more transparent.

The boy starts to droop into his food some time during the next Caped Kid episode. Your hand shoots out to cup his chin when his head wobbles on his shoulders, close to using the rice as a pillow. “He’s all tuckered out again,” you comment aloud, licking your thumb to wipe at the sauce around his mouth. “Can you take the—?”

Dabi is already standing, stacking the plates atop one another without so much as trying to be quiet. You roll your eyes to the ceiling, seeking strength, and tuck the little boy to your front, hoisting him back up into the couch. He stirs and blinks around the room as though seeing for the first time.

“It’s alright. Go back to sleep,” you whisper. He yawns, jaw stretching around such a tiny squeak that you can’t help but to kiss his hair.

Dabi is standing at the sink, back turned to the dirty dishes and leant against the counter. Your eyes meet, but you pointedly look away and say nothing as you step forward to gather the empty takeout boxes and throw them out.

He speaks, if only to fill the silence, “I shouldn’t have walked out”.

It’s the closest to an apology you’ll probably ever get. “Y’think?” you hesitated for a long minute, speaking only as you sensed his presence at your back. “Actually, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Really, your relationship with Dabi has always been chimerical in nature. Some strange patchwork attempt at being human. You fucked, kissed one another at the door, shared parts of your lives that you wished you never had. Labels only drove him away, like identifying the thing you’d woven together would bring it to actuality, make it corporeal, ridding you of plausible deniability.

It was never a question why he brought the kid here. This is where you play house, after all. Dabi’s shoebox apartment was empty, simply a place to go when he wasn’t out doing who knows what, like a waiting room. A space between spaces. Yours was far more appropriate for a child, and you’d thought that maybe—he chose to trust you enough, to finally ask for help, rather than doing it out of convenience.

Heat soaks through your shirt as his mottled, slender hand settles on your waist. You turn on your heel to face him directly, resolve weakening at the careful squeeze of his fingers. You sigh, palms brushing featherlight up the uneven flesh along his forearms and follow as he retreated backward to lower onto the nearby breakfast stool.

“I was hit with a quirk on my way back”.

“What?” your inner conflict falters. Concern superseding your anger you cup his jaw to tip his head back and side to side to get a good look at him. “When? Are you hurt?”

Dabi snorts, relaxed by your gentle countenance and fretting. “Not now. Earlier. Some middle schooler without a handle on her quirk yet. Quit fussin’, I’m fine,” he continues and shakes free of your hands, so you settle them on his shoulders. He walks his fingers behind your knees, cupping the back of your thighs, uncharacteristically restless.

“It’s where the…“ his jaw clenched and he pressed his forehead hard to your stomach, burrowing into the fabric. Anticipation grips your lungs when he doesn’t immediately explain.

“Talk to me baby,” you run your fingers through his hair and they come away stained black. “How did—what does the quirk do?”

“Fuck, I hardly had time to ask about specifics. The stupid kid knocked into me and suddenly I had my arms full,” Dabi’s snarling dwindles. He licks his lips, hesitant, and casts his eyes to the narrow space between your bodies. Quieter this time, “It’s where he came from”.

You register his words. The realisation slides through you with sharp clarity. It swells in you, all encompassing and painful, like love and heartbreak at the same time. “He’s not yours, is he?” you say, reminiscent of a whisper. “He’s you”.

“My inner child. Some pseudo bullshit like that,” Dabi supplies, as though the distinction was important. He looks up, the column of his throat pressed to your sternum, and your chest loosens a little, some of the fear ebbing. “Did you seriously think I knocked someone up?”

“Plausibly, what else was I supposed to think?”

“Not that,” he scoffs. “Either way, I don’t know how long we’re stuck with him”.

“Don’t talk about him like he’s a burden,” you frowned. Dabi’s eyes squint, and he makes a low, dubious noise. “Why didn’t you tell me straight away?”

“Didn’t want you to know,” he shrugs. It shouldn’t sting the way it does. This is hardly the first time Dabi kept something from you. “Thought I could make the kid keep his mouth shut about my family”.

Inwardly you think he needn’t worry about that. They were as secretive and stubborn as each other, in that respect. Hell, it took Dabi three years to give up his name and that was only because he’d been delirious at the time.

“But you left anyway”.

“He woke up,” Dabi says, like that was enough explanation. You give a commiserate nod, cradling his rough jaw, because maybe it is. “Needed to blow off some steam. Figured I might look for the twerp that caused all this but she’d probably run if she saw me again”.

“Don’t tell me you scared the poor girl shitless?”

“Alright. I won’t tell you,” he snorted, biting at the heel of your hand when you mutter his name disapprovingly.

“So we just wait for him to go?” you brush the remaining skin between his eye and his cheek with your thumb, following the curve of his sutures. “Maybe it is psychological then. Make your inner child happy and the quirk might cancel out sooner”.

There’s something dark in Dabi’s expression when his mouth pulls wide into a smarmy grin, eyes burning as his fingers dig into your thighs. “Looking to rehabilitate me, sweetheart?”

You soon put that to rest, guiding him into a kiss. His grip falls slack, and then returns, more needy than dangerous. Dabi’s lips pressed back, insisted, softer than you thought possible. “Course not,” you murmur, admiring the resentful flush on his face as you draw back. “Maybe I like you as you are. Just a little”.

“Bad taste,” he breathes. His nose scrunches the way it always does when he’s feeling too much, and you kiss that too. You recognise Dabi’s flaws for what they are, and you’ve given yourself to him knowingly. Even so, in the confines of your mind, you do wish he might’ve had the chance to be something better.

This inner child incident could be a small step. You don’t expect his perspective on society will change; he could learn compassion and forgive himself for whatever led him here. But what exactly is an inner child?

The theory goes that everyone has a metaphorical part of themselves frozen in childhood. A symbolic, younger version of the self that can be talked to, supported, and guided—that can still be saved.

Dabi informs you with great reluctance that this little Touya was probably closer to five years old, and stuck in the time right after his first brother was born. You never knew he had siblings.

“Did something significant happen around that time?” you worry at your bottom lip, glancing out toward the living room, shrouded in darkness now that the TV has switched to standby. “Do you remember what you wanted most, from before?”

You hear your name. You’re startled by the intensity in Dabi’s stare, unyielding and sharp. A primitive part of you wants to shrink back from it. “Don’t push it,” he says.

It was on the tip of your tongue to remark something equally catty. Instead you swallow them. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you muttered. Through trial and error you’ve already memorised the ley lines that make up Dabi’s boundaries and know well enough that prying too far into his past, or encroaching on his future plans, is a hard no-no.

“We’re going to need a cover story for him if he’s here longer than a day,” you continue, a smile creeping in alongside your teasing inflection. “Guess you’re a dad—”

“Not a chance in hell,” Dabi grimaces, skin taut around his scars. “If it comes to it, say he’s my nephew”.

“You’re no fun,” you concede. “Fine. Uncle Dabi”.

The discussion leads nowhere in the end. Dabi is unwilling to delve any further into his childhood and you know a losing battle when you see one. You turn your attention to the sleeping arrangements, and decide that it would be best to roll out your spare futons in the living room, just in case something happens.

And Dabi, despite his objections, despite puttering around with pillows under each arm and cursing under his breath, throws them down and sprawls out across the blankets. You feel his stare as you move Touya—as you’ve taken to calling him in your head—from his resting place to the space between your bodies.

Touya isn’t yet the light sleeper you know Dabi to be. His eyes shift behind closed lids and his lips curl in momentary discomfort but he doesn’t wake. “Does he have to sleep there?” Dabi all but sneers when Touya curls into your warm chest, much the way he would like to.

“Aw. Don’t be jealous,” you pillow Touya’s head on your shoulder and reach across to take Dabi’s hand, entwining your fingers through stubborn means. “He’s just a baby”.

A fresh wave of heat ripples around your hands and Dabi’s grip is solid, as though you’ve been soldered together. “He’s not a baby. He’s already five,” he mutters with a faraway look in his eyes, indifferent to the callousness in his words.

Your palms kiss and you aim for a lighthearted tone, “Stop being a dick. You’ll have me to yourself again soon enough”.

Dabi grunts and some of the tension is relieved from the atmosphere, his face thrown into stark relief by the sliver of moonlight flooding through your curtains. Not for the first time, you wonder if he feels the after aches of childhood—if the hollow inside him felt that much deeper now that Touya was out here, safe in your arms—and suddenly holding his hand is not enough.

You entangle your legs and distract yourself with the feel of his boney ankle. Some things are better left unknown, you reason. A mantra that encompasses your relationship. Better not pick and prod. You’ve done quite enough of it already, more than you’re entitled to. Sometimes you worry that one day you’ll unravel the wrong thread and he’ll never stop bleeding.

Touya clutches tighter to your shirt. Kicks a tiny foot against your pelvis in protest of the movement, surprisingly hard. Dabi snickers at your restrained groan. “Guess you’ve always been a restless sleeper”.

“That's what you get for giving him my spot,” Dabi says, the beginnings of a smile in his voice. “Was worse when I was a kid”.

“Clearly. A fly could sneeze and wake you up,” you remove the heel from your stomach and let it tangle with the blankets. Touya suddenly flips onto his back, arm cast out toward Dabi, not far from smacking him in the face. “Atleast he feels safe, I suppose”.

The night settles, your apartment alongside it. Walls quietly groan as the wind picks up a fraction. “We should take him somewhere tomorrow,” you think aloud, staring at the hairline fracture in the ceiling. “The arcade, maybe”.

“Now why the fuck would we do that?” Dabi’s voice is lower, muffled, and a quick sidelong glance confirms that his mouth is half squashed into the pillow, fatigue starting to weigh on him. “Don’t even have clothes for him”.

“Kano-san might let us borrow some,” you offer tiredly. Though your neighbour's four children were all over five years old you had no doubt she kept hand-me-downs. “It’s not fair to just keep him holed up til he disappears”.

“I refuse…” Dabi mumbled. You snort, resting your chin on Touya’s crown, swaddled by warmth. Shadows creep in and blur the edges of your vision. You’re gently coaxed into sleep, final thoughts being the hope that Dabi would still be there tomorrow.

What you receive is far more. Where soft moonlight once drifted in through the cracks, harsh sun is striking through the dim room, right against your closed eyes. You flinch away from it, turning into your pillow. Half-awake, you aren’t quite in and not quite outside yourself, but you are conscious enough to hear Dabi laugh at your displeasure.

The weight in your arms is gone. Pawing at the yawning emptiness, you abruptly sit up and whip your eyes around the room. They land on Dabi, who is laid on his back and surrendering to his current predicament. He pointedly avoids acknowledging it.

Time stretches thinly as you take in the scene. At some point in the night, Touya had made his way over to Dabi and laid himself on top of him. Chubby cheek squished to Dabi’s sternum, lashes fluttering as he dreams. Fleeting, you consider that he may be trying to crawl right back into him.

“G’morning,” you sigh, blood rushing to your limbs as you contort and stretch. Unable to resist, you shuffle across the futon and press yourself to Dabi’s side, nuzzling into his shoulder. You tilt your head up to find Dabi looking down at you. “Kiss?”

“Your breath stinks,” but he kisses you anyway. His own is hardly better. You nip at his lip, licking over the faint sting and drawing back before he can reciprocate.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” his hands gesture toward the lump on his chest, “until this shit happened”.

“Now he’s taken my spot”. You could point out that Dabi had every opportunity to move the boy through the night, or however long he’d been there, but didn't. “Though it makes sense he’d want to be near you”.

“He doesn’t want anything. He’s not real,” Dabi drawls. He’s betrayed by the arm that supports Touya from beneath as he sits up exceedingly slowly, the other holding the back of his head. Dabi pivots the small figure into his lap, acting like a cradle.

Limbs akimbo, Touya lies on his back, mouth open and ribs expanding with each breath. His clothes are askew. Shirt ridden up his round belly, loose pants bunched up at the knees. To your relief the burn marks look no worse than the day before.

“Even though his body isn’t suited to his quirk, he still…” your voice is but a murmur as you sit up to trace a fingertip over the swell of his pink cheek. “He’s a very brave little boy”

Dabi held the toddler delicately in his arms, a fraction away from his body, and paled whenever he stirred a little. You see how his pupils soften, tension seeping from his shoulders bit by bit. “Or maybe he’s just stupid," he rasps.

“Well, many heroes are both of those things,” you offer, mouth curling as you hold Dabi’s half lidded gaze. His mouth presses thin so as not to give you the satisfaction of making him smile. When your attention returns to Touya an unfamiliar quietude comes over you.

“Last night,” he starts. “I left because I thought it would be harder”.

You pause, peering up from the little boy curled in his lap. “To what?”

“Not to hurt him,” he says, quietly. “Or you”.

Then Touya sputters a first, clean breath, breaking into a drawn out sob that drags you from processing what that could mean. Dabi grows tense and your hand flutters across Touya, rubbing over his chest as you coo and hush. The louder he cries the stronger the tremor in Dabi’s hand becomes.

“There there, little guy. We’re right here,” you slip an arm around Dabi’s back, and suddenly your murmurings begin to soothe Touya’s distress. Red rimmed eyes squint up at you. “Did you have a nightmare, buddy?”

“Heroes—” Touya eventually hiccups and jolts. Frustrated he hits himself, face twisted in devastating anger. “Heroes don’t—have nightmares!”

You move to still his fists but Dabi beats you to it, fingers circling a pair of wrists and holding them firmly. “They will if I have anything to say about it,” he says.

“Really, Dabi,” you admonish, pursing your lips at him. He wrinkles his nose and sticks his tongue out in response. Muffled giggling fills the room and you realise it’s coming from the bundle in his lap.

Dabi looks as if he’s been struck. A finger pokes at the skin above his puckered cheek. “Dabi made an ugly face,” Touya grins.

“Oh yeah?” Dabi growls and leans forward, spine bending uncomfortably just to get into the boy’s personal space. “Well I’ve got bad news for you, kid”.

Whatever the desired effect, Touya’s chime-like laughter only doubles, and while watching their interaction you feel warmth ignite behind your breastbone.

Not long after, you return from Kano-san’s upstairs apartment with a cotton sweater, discoloured patches sewn onto the elbows, and a pair of pants. They’re size five yet too big for Touya, so you roll them to the ankle. “How’s that?” you ask, getting to your feet. “It’s not itchy on your burns, is it?”

Touya wriggles. You’ve come to learn that he really can’t sit still, especially when you’re fussing. “No,” he says, flapping the sleeves that fall over his hands, silently asking that you roll those up too. “Where are we going? I want to train!”

“No training inside. You’re going to set off my fire alarm,” you reply, absentminded as your fingers gently fold back the shirtsleeves to his wrist. “And we’re going to the arcades first. You can beat Dabi at all the games”.

“Yeah!”

“Fat chance,” Dabi calls from the bathroom. Light footsteps echo through the hallway and his voice grows louder. “We’re not going anywhere near Musutafu,” he adds, shucking on his dried black coat over a plain t-shirt and jeans that may as well have been painted on his legs. He pulls something out from his pocket and throws it, “Put that on him to be safe”.

You catch the lump one handed, bringing it down to inspect it. A beanie hat. “Is that really necessary?” you murmur, releasing your grasp when Touya decides he wants the hat for himself and stretches it haphazardly over his head.

Dabi rounds the couch and hooks his chin over your shoulder, watching the kid struggle. “Can’t have him being recognised…” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching at a thought that suddenly crosses his mind. “Or maybe we should. Hey, kid,” Touya’s head whirls around the room in search of Dabi, vision blocked by the beanie; he pushes it up above his eyebrows, periwinkle eyes peeking beneath.

“Wanna go to my old house and scare someone?”

Touya’s lips thin and his nose crinkles, managing to look down at Dabi despite being so much shorter. “Heroes aren’t ‘posed to scare people,” he argued.

“Whatever. This guy isn’t good,” Dabi huffs, wincing at the click in his knees as he crouches in front of the boy to fix the hat seam, and Touya positively preens under Dabi’s direct attention. “This guy hurts people. Hurts his family. Probably deserves it, right?”

You watch in disbelief as Touya hums and begins to consider it. “Okay that’s enough,” you circle and coax them toward the genkan. “We aren’t scaring anyone. We are going to the arcade and we’re not going to cause trouble. Yes?”

Dabi and Touya share a long, knowing look. You can’t say you’re unhappy that they’re connecting—they’re unbearably cute when standing side by side, dithering as you slip on your shoes. “Yes?” you repeat yourself with more emphasis.

They nod in tandem.

“Good. Now who is holding my hand?”

Daylight feeds in through the sparse grey clouds, upper wind guiding them east where they darken, likely raining over another part of the city. The pavements are wet, rainwater fed into the uprooted cracks. A couple smile at you as they pass. It is rare for anyone to glance your way when Dabi’s at your side; he knows the image he projects and he likes it that way. But today, with Touya in the middle holding one of each hand, you paint a far lovelier picture.

You think you must look like a family, on the outside. It’s nothing you ever imagined for yourself. Especially not with Dabi, who was seemingly hell bent on getting himself arrested, or killed, in his spare time—not that you knew the finer details, but you weren’t dense.

“I can feel your street cred depleting,” you quietly tease as you stop at a pedestrian crossing, bridging the gap while Touya is preoccupied with counting down until the red man turns green. “Uncle Dabi”.

Dabi’s upper lip curls and he lurches half a step, as if to attack you, and you pull away laughing.

Your neighbourhood doesn’t see much in the way of funding, or heroes, and that truth is reflected in the surroundings. Buildings half constructed, shutters down, people lingering on the streets. Touya presses a hairsbreadth closer to Dabi, sensing how eyes turn to him, and you catch the way Dabi squeezes his small hand in response.

“Scared?”

Touya straightens, “No!”

Dabi snorts, “Thought not”.

The arcade isn’t far. Well beyond its years, an old musk clings to the carpets despite the open windows. Light bulbs flicker here and there. You can taste electricity buzzing in the air. The machines are outdated, but they work. High pitched, quick paced music paces from all directions. If you had to, you'd describe it as the embodiment of sensory overload.

As luck would have it Touya recognises most of the games, having been released around his time. He steps on your shoes to watch raptly while you try to win him a prize on the claw machines, and he kneels at your feet to steal any ticket away before you can grab them.

He frees himself of your grip the moment he spots Crimson Fighter. You sidle up beside Dabi as if to shield from it all. His knuckles brush the back of your hand and you smile to yourself. So starved for affection yet so intensely humiliated by it—that and the fact that he cannot seem to let Touya out of his sight, only a few feet away.

You loosely entwine your fingers and he relaxes. “Not gonna play another round with him?”

“Why don’t you?”

In that instant you hear the repeated call of your name. Touya bounces from left to right, waving you over. “Look at me! Come watch!” he beams. “Look at me, I can win!”

Dabi’s fingers flex, tighten, digging crescent moons into your knuckles. You shoot him a worried glance but the light in his eyes has dimmed once again, and you tug him over towards Touya like a kite on a string, keeping him tethered until he returns from whatever memory he’s lost in.

“I’m looking, I'm looking,” you titter, standing behind him and tilting to watch the screen. Dabi’s presence lingers. Your heart pangs when Touya stands on the tips of his toes to reach the controls. He picks the Endeavor avatar and the game opens up onto a floating platform, All Might standing at the other end.

“Fight!” Touya whispers in sync with the narrator, mashing all the buttons without direction or strategy. He clicks and clicks and clicks until Endeavor’s quirk bar is maxed out and he releases; pixelated flames burst across the screen, doing significant damage to All Might but not enough—and too much to himself. The Endeavor avatar drops to his knees, overcome by dehydration and exhaustion, defeated by his own flame.

Apparently brought back to the present, Dabi laughs.

“No…” Touya’s eyes grow round in disbelief and then harden. He kicks the machine with as much force as he can muster. Before he can do it again you’ve wrapped an arm under his armpits and herded him outside. “Let go!”

“Absolutely not,” you grasp his elbows and settle on your haunches. Touya turns his head away from you in dramatic fashion. “That isn’t okay. These games belong to someone else. They’re not yours to damage”.

“Shouldn’t’a picked Endeavor,” Dabi remarks.

Your neck aches as it snaps up to glare at him. “Not helping,” you hiss through gritted teeth. He puts his hands up in a show of surrender and you inhale until your lungs feel tight. Exhale.

Touya has fallen suspiciously quiet, chin tucked to his chest, and thankfully nobody inside noticed his brief outburst. “Hey,” gently, you run your palms along his shoulders. “Talk to me, kiddo. I promise you’re not in big trouble”.

Your ears pick up fragmented parts of his mumbling, “Lost… M’weak… Endeavor… stronger… not ‘posed to lose”. Something about his reaction is both fragile and momentous, and with Dabi nearby your instincts are telling you to tread carefully.

“Hey, listen to me. I don’t know much but I do know you’re not weak,” you begin to smooth down his sweater, and fiddle with the seam of his beanie while you talk—fretting, admittedly, and determined to wipe the heartbreak off his face. “You’re the strongest little dude I know”.

Touya sniffs, unconvinced. He waddles further into your embrace and you take it as a win “Gotta be stronger than All Might”.

“One day you could be,” you reason, gathering him against your front and hoisting him up as his legs wrap around your waist. A firm body stands behind you. Dabi is closer than anticipated and you falter, meeting his half lidded eyes. Reality stomps over the little charade you’ve created—recalling that the boy in your arms, so desperate to reach the pinnacle of heroics, will one day be Dabi, the self proclaimed villain.

“Y’know, even All Might didn’t become the number one hero until he was thirty,” you tuck a wayward curl back into Touya’s beanie and use your sleeve to wipe his damp cheeks. “He had to learn to control his quirk and get through hero school, just like you will. It takes time”.

“R—really…?” you’d be remiss not to notice the hope in his voice as he fists at his sweater, stretching the fabric further. “But I need to be strong now,” he insists thickly, a fresh round of tears at his waterline.

Dabi steps closer as more people pass by, nudging you into a dead end alley. There’s heat emanating from his skin, making ripples in the air. You hold his gaze with purpose, turning until Touya is once again enveloped by your bodies, and the boy instinctively reaches for his adult counterpart.

“You are strong,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to Touya’s temple. “Wanna know what Dabi and I were talking about while you were sleeping this morning?”

Touya’s mouth quivers, sneaking a furtive glance. He nods. You narrow your eyes at Dabi, try to tell him that this could be it, and he relents, accepting the weight as it is passed to him.

Touya settles in his arms. “We…” Dabi’s jaw ticks. There’s a depression in his cheek where the inner flesh is held between teeth. “We said that you’re brave”.

You circle your arms around his middle, around Touya, and rest your cheek on his shoulder. Touya blinks in awe. “Brave?”

“Brave for trying so hard to reach your goal,” Dabi continues. The harsh edge to his voice has puttered out into melancholy. “Even when it hurts. Especially then”.

“I am?”

“You are,” you murmur, cradling the back of Touya’s head. There’s an odd sheen to his skin. Translucent almost. Your heart jolts. Conflicting emotions swell in your chest, leaving you torn. “I heard heroes have that in spades”.

Eyes bright and wide, undoubtedly that of a child, Touya looks at Dabi, and Dabi looks back. “You’d be one of the good ones, kid,” he rasps. It comes like pulling teeth but he means it, and Touya must know—the quirk must hear the sincerity, because the little boy beams and the air tastes sharp. He lights up, eyes first, like dusk catching on stained glass windows, robin egg blue overcast with shades of pink, heat suffusing through his bones until—

Your fingers enclose around the limp fabric of Touya’s beanie. Dabi shudders an exhale. The patched sweater falls limp over his crossed arms.

“That… worked?”

Dabi’s mouth opens and closes, lips shaping around words he doesn’t know how to say. You cannot read his expression at all. You yourself can hardly register Touya’s absence, left like a bruise that you just know is going to start aching the second the adrenaline wears off.

“I guess it did,” he finally agrees, quietly. Not quite whispered, but his voice carried no strength. Through the discomfit cuts an abrupt, shrill beep. Dabi swallows, and after pulling out his phone his expression sours.

“Who is it?”

“An associate,” he says, hands an unsteady counterpoint to the surety in his voice. Another blatant cover that you know better than to peel back. “…He wants me to meet his new colleagues. He thinks I’ll work well with them”.

“Do you need to go now, or…?” your skin prickles with unease, leaning into him as close and psychics would allow, not wanting to part with him.

“Think you’ll miss him?” Dabi asks instead, bordering on hesitation. Your head tilts at the sudden change in topic. His gaze dips low to avoid yours. You rest your hand over his chest. His heart beats against your palm, hard and steady. You wonder what, if anything, Touya’s time here might’ve changed.

“I don’t have to,” you tell him, choosing your words carefully. “He’s right in here”.

Dabi hums in that way he often does when he thinks you’re being ridiculous. Your thumb moves back and forth, shifting the fabric of his shirt. “…He deserved better,” you say, heedless of the cold determination setting into Dabi’s bones. And later, despite being the truth, you would come to regret voicing it.

He looks back at the message on his phone, typing out a reply with his screen tilted away from prying eyes. “You’re right,” he mutters.

“He did”.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader

[missmeinyourbones]

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

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

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."

#dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x you #touya todoroki x you #dabi fic #touya todoroki fic #dabi angst #dabi fluff #touya fic #touya fluff #touya angst

[lexxiie]

can we have lov trio + overhaul discovering that their s/o had been cheating on them? 🥺

When They Think You Cheated

Omg, anon, no! I'm so bad at writing break ups, so I'll change the concept a bit to them believing their s/o is cheating, but she's not.

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Featuring: Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Overhaul.

TOMURA SHIGARAKI

Tomura is an insecure man. That is no secret to either of you, however, he understands how his insecurities may harm your relationship, so most of the time he voices them out so that you can both talk about them, and you always end up reassuring him.

Today, though, he cannot, for the life of him, think of a way to talk out the fact that you have a hickey on your neck. What is there to talk about? The truth that he ignored was that you accidentally burnt your neck earlier this morning while doing your hair, it would've never occured to him, especially when he was as angry as he is right now, observing your neck, a thin layer of make up attempting to cover the mark, but failing. Why would you even hide it if there was a reasonable explanation? He knew for a fact that he didn't left that on your neck.

As much as he wanted to yell at you and dispose of all his rage, truth was that he was really hurt, and so everything he managed to do was confront the reality with resignation. "Who did that?" He asked calmly, but you could hear bitterness in his voice. "What?" You asked, not very sure what he meant. He looked at you angrily now, it was very clear. "Who's the guy that you are seeing? Or do you just happen to have a different one every now and then? You know, I always thought of you as a smart girl, but it is very stupid of you to let them leave your neck like that, you could've tried harder to hide it." You finally understood what was going on... Oh god. He tried to sound as if he didn't care, cold and indifferent, but you knew how incredibly hurt he was.

You immediately got up and approached him, reaching for his face, but he moved to avoid your touch. "Tomura, look, it's a burn mark, I did it with my straightener, I swear." He looked at you through narrowed eyes, still not believing you. You rushed to your room and came back with your straightener in hand, turning it on and attempting to place it on your arm, but Tomura immediately stopped you. "Are you crazy?" The man scolded you, and you looked at him desperately. "It is a burn, I swear." You repeated. Now starting to doubt himself, Tomura then reached for your neck, caressing it softly with his thumb, rubbing a bit of the make up off. You were right. Oh no. He truly felt like a fucking asshole. The man sighed before pressing his forhead against yours. "I'm truly sorry, (Y/n). I'm so, so sorry." You were just relieved it all ended. He spent the rest of the evening tending to your wound, scolding you for putting make up on when it was still so fresh and kissing your cheeks in hopes you would forgive him. Never again will he act like that, that's for sure.

TOUYA TODOROKI | DABI

Touya sits silently on the edge of the bed as he observes the hotel recipt he found under the bed. It dates a week back, when you were supposed to go on a work trip at a completely different city than the one this hotel was at. Now, he can be very confident some days, and very insecure some other days. This is one of the latter days, evidently. In moments like this, thousands of thoughts run through his mind. Why? Is it because of the scars? But you said you didn't care. Did you lie? Of course you did, who would actually choose him over anyone else? He feels stupid, and so heartbroken. He loves you. He really does, and now all of this hurt has turned into uncontrolable anger.

He stands up and walks to the kitchen, where you turn around to smile at him as soon as you hear him coming, only to be greeted by his beautiful blue eyes contorted in pure rage. He must be a very scary adversary to his enemies. "What the fuck is this, (Y/n)?!" He asks while holding the recipt in his hand, speaking those words through gritted teeth, as if his jaw was frozen because of how angry he is.

"Wait, Touya, is not what it looks lik-" The villain slammed his fist on the kitchen island, flames emanating from it. "It's not?! Really, (Y/n)? Do you really think i'm this fucking stupid?” He is now yelling, very loudly. He starts getting closer to you, and you start walking backwards, trembling. He then takes one more step forward and you raise your arms as if you wanted to protect yourself. Now Touya is the one walking backwards. He would never hurt you, but as he took a step back, he realized that it really looked like it. Did you think that he was gonna incinerate you? Did you think he was about to hit you? The look on your eyes was too familiar, he had seen it in his mother's eyes way too many times. He sighed deeply as he burried his face in his hands. It seemed like he wanted to wake up from a nightmare, and then, as seconds went by and he wasn't lifting his head, you realized he might have started to cry, though he would never let you see him.

"That day-" you started speaking after several minutes, "I decided to stay at a different city because I heard about it being quiet and pretty. I thought maybe I could rent an apartment there, so you wouldn't be at risk. There isn't many people, it is indeed quiet, no one would recognize you, so I looked at a few places. There isn't anyone else I'm seeing, just apartments." Touya finally lifted his head from his hands, and you could see the relief in his eyes, but also a lot of guilt. A lot of it. He got closer, kneeling before you, pressing his forehead to your body, his hands clenching the coat that covered the sides of your frame. This was him apologizing. You caressed his hair softly, everything would be okay.

KAI CHISAKI | OVERHAUL

He trusts you, he really does, but what is he supposed to believe when you tell him that you are going to the grocery store and you lie. He went there to help you in case you had bought too many stuff since it was taking you a while, but you were nowhere to be found. Minutes later, you come home, smelling like men's cologne that clearly wasn't his own.

God, this can't be happening, he thinks to himself. You walk to him, hoping to get a kiss from the yakuza, but instead you are greeted with a cold stare, his lips don't move when you place yours over them. "Where were you?" He asks visibly angry. "At the grocery store." You answered showing him the two bags on your hands. "All of these hours just for that? You really don't want to piss me off, (Y/n). Not more than you already did." Now his tone sounds like a threat, and you get defensive. "What is that supposed to mean?" You ask him. You have always hated whenever he would talk to you like you were one of his men, and he knew that. "Where did you actually go?" Unbelievable. You still didn't quite understand where he was trying to get, but you did know that you didn't like the way he was interrogating you. "Did you go out to meet with someone?" He asked, this time, impatience ruled over his voice. Okay, so he thinks you are cheating. great.

Leting out a heavy sigh, you dropped your bags on the floor and approached the hurting man before you. Much to your surprise, he allowed you to take his face in your hands. "I went out to get you a new cologne, I noticed you ran out of the last one I gave you. I wanted it to be a surprise, but it is in the car, in case you wish to have it now."

God, did he feel like an idiot right now... You could tell that he was beating himself up mentally. The worst part of it was that he felt truly relieved that you hadn't fallen out of love with him yet. Despise him attempting to seem indifferent earlier, he felt like his whole world was crumbling down before him. Kai then took your hands in his, kissing them softly. "I'm truly very sorry, darling." He said sincerly. "It's okay, I should've made up a better excuse anyway." You replied smiling gently. He couldn't help but smile back, still embarrassed with himself. He compensated you treating you to dinner that night. Kai saw himself realizing how strong he felt about you. The sole idea of you leaving made him feel vulnerable and terrified for the very first time in a while. He was going to need to learn how to trust you more if he didn't want to lose you.

KEIGO TAKAMI | HAWKS

The pro hero had a lot of work all of the time. He would get home late very often, many times closer to sunrise than midnight. Of course, it was only logical for you to be asleep at those hours, which was always the case. Except for last week.

He had gotten home very late, but still earlier than usual, expecting to find his lover on his bed, hoping he could hold on to you for a couple of hours before he had to get to work once again, but you weren't there. Naturally, he freaked out, but just as he was about to go looking for you everywhere, the main door flew open. He hid on the bathroom, in case it was someone else, but all he saw was you getting on the bed and falling asleep almost instantly.

He let that incident go. He gave you the benefit of the doubt, he gave you his trust. This despite the uneasy feeling in his chest, however, today, you weren't on the bed either. Now the doubt felt very real. What on earth could you be doing at 4 am? He waited a couple of minutes, until you finally got home. The hero was trying his very best not to break down when he saw you. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this hurt. "That other bed must be really comfortable." He accused, startling you as you obviously weren't expecting to see him yet. "What?" you asked, a bit disoriented. "You heard me." Keigo then stood up from the couch, walking towards you. "How long have you been sneaking out for, huh? Cause this is the second time I witness this already" You realized how this looked immediately. Oops.

"Listen, Keigo, I'm not sleeping with anyone else. In fact, I'm not sleeping at all." The man looked at you confused now, all of the anger he previously showed you slowly disappearing. "I have been having trouble sleeping, so i go out and take walks in hopes i'll get tired, I'm sorry I worried you, yes?" You assured your lover as you took his hands in yours, offering him a tired smile. "But why? You used to sleep well before..." All of his previous worries seemed to be forgotten as soon as he realized how tired you looked, his hands roaming your face, as if they would figure out what had changed. "Yes, that was before you would leave all night, I guess I'm a bit more anxious now." You confessed. He felt very bad for adding to your already bad night with his insecurities. Soon after, though, Keigo managed to change his schedule, making sure to spend every night holding you, and he would be lying if he said he didn't miss you too. As for that particular night, he prepared you a tea and talked about his day until he made sure you had fallen asleep.

MASTERLIST

#bnha scenarios #bnha headcanon #bnha fic #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #tomura shiragaki #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #hawks headcanons #keigo takami imagine #kai chisaki x reader #overhaul x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia

[thecuriousquest]

Stay Home, Imoto!

Platonic!Yandere Shoto Todoroki x Little Sister!Reader

@melaniemartinez22 I FINALLY FINISHED IT 😭🤘🖤

Request: Yandere Platonic Shoto trying to get the reader to stay home, but the reader doesn't listen, so he locks them up until they are a good sister and won't leave him.

Warnings: Platonic yandere themes, isolation punishment, ear pulling?

Master List

Requests are currently closed. Thank you for your patience.

—————————————————————————

You felt so confident in your new outfit, so proud of yourself and feeling at your best. You’re ready to go to the movies with your friends. They’re showing your favorite on the big screen, and you wouldn’t miss it for the world.

But Shoto, your big brother, sees you through the little crack in your door from not shutting it properly. You’re fully dressed, so it’s no big deal.

But to Shoto, this is more than just a big deal.

Suddenly, he can’t stop himself from pushing the door open with his hand and glaring at you.

“What have I told you about closing your door properly? What? Did you get changed with the door like that?” he can’t help but spout question after question.

“I didn’t realize it wasn’t shut. Sorry, bro.”

He’s heard it before, and he’ll probably hear it again.

“Did you know Touya and Natsuo are home? What if they saw you…dressing? Anyone could see you with the way the door was cracked.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not a big deal. I said I’m sorry.”

Anger. Frustration. You’re not listening to him. You’re not being a good girl. You’re not being his good baby sister.

“Watch it.”

“Watch what? The door?” You can’t help but tease with a tiny smirk.

And then he’s grabbing you by your upper arm and spinning you to look at him.

“Don’t. Don’t test me.” He looks you right in the eye, silently daring you to challenge his authority as your older brother.

“Nii, stop it!” You try to shake him off of you.

“Where are you even going dressed like that?”

“To the movies with my friends.”

“Did you ask your Nii-Chan for permission?”

“Touya doesn’t care.”

You know he’s not talking about Touya.

“Try again, Imoto.”

You can’t help your pouty little lips. “Can I go out, Nii?”

He bends down, making you fully aware of the height difference. His bangs sway slightly, he looks you dead in the eyes with his bi-colored orbs.

“No.”

“What? You can’t just say no! You’re not Dad!”

Shoto just laughs at your little outburst, an eerie chuckle that defies what you just said.

“I might as well be with how he’s never here. You’re not going out with your friends. You’re too immature to even be deciding who is a good influence or not, so I don’t trust the people you’re trying to hangout with.”

“The hell, Shoto?! You’re so controlling!”

Bad move. Oh, so fucking bad.

He’s no longer grabbing your bicep. Now, he’s pinching your ear and pulling you in close.

“I’m giving you once chance and one chance only to apologize.”

However, you take that chance and tell him to shove it up his ass.

If his eyes could narrow anymore, they would be akin to razor blades. He pulls you, by your ear, towards the closet. Opening it, he shoves you into your clothes before slamming the door shut. There’s no lock on your closet, so Shoto has to manually act as a lock by keeping it forcefully closed. You bang on the shoji door, try to use your hands to pry the door open.

But Shoto’s on the outside, and Shoto’s always been much stronger than you.

Panic sets in, and tears stream down your face in pathetic rivers.

“Shoto, let me out! Let me out! Nii-Chan!”

You act as if he can’t hear you. He can. He’s just ignoring you.

“You can come out when you apologize and tell me you’ll be good. I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”

You can’t tell if his words are meant to be condescending.

You kick the door out of anger and wipe away your salty tears. What the fuck! None of this is fucking fair!

You just wanted to go to the movies with your friends. How did all of this happen?!

Sliding down the wall, you’re not ready to give in yet. You sit on the floor and wait in agitation. Maybe you can even wait long enough until Shoto gives in.

But it’s dark, and you don’t even have your phone to pass the time, and you’re starting to feel hungry and thirsty, and your ass hurts from sitting on the hardwood floor.

And then two hours pass, at least you think it’s been two hours, and you realize there’s no point now.

“Shoto?”

“Yeah?” your big brother answers back.

“I…I’m sorry for being a brat. I’ll be a good girl now.”

“You’ll be my good little sister, right? You’ll stay home with Nii-Chan?”

“Yes, I’ll stay home with Nii-Chan.”

The door slides open, and it takes your eyes a few moments to adjust. They feel extra sensitive from all of the crying and irritation, but you don’t even care about that right now. You get up and immediately fall into Shoto’s arms, rambling about how you hated being in that closet and how you don’t ever want to go back in there again.

Shoto strokes your hair, making you feel safe, making you feel guilty about how you talked to him. How could you have been like that when he was just looking out for you?

“I only want what’s best for you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, Nii…I know.”

He rubs your back and tells you that you two can watch a movie in his room. You take him up on the offer, and he makes the popcorn while you pick out the film.

And all is right in the world because Nii-Chan has his Imoto right by his side.

#yandere #triggering content #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #triggering themes #yandere x darling #yandere themes #my hero acedamia #boku no hero academia #yandere my hero academia #my hero academia #platonic yandere #platonic yandere big brother #yandere big brother #platonic yandere shoto todoroki #yandere shoto todoroki #yandere shoto x reader

[gardenofnoah]

i’m coming up on a year of having this blog and i thought i’d do something with this drabble that i can’t stop thinking about so. yeah! thanks for reading my little stories and saying such nice things to me for a whole year <3 love u 

summary: in his 40s, touya isn’t expecting anything outside of his normal, comfortable routine. you come along and give him far more than he ever wanted. oddly enough, he doesn’t think he minds. 

tags: MDNI, i’ll call this a medium burn, mentions of drinking, reader uses she/her pronouns and is called a lady,etc, age gap (unspecified but like 10 years--both are consenting adults), very little angst (like, the least i’ve ever written. this is just cute, if you can believe that.), smut (dry humping, oral), this is very much a comfort fic to me idk. wc: 10.1k

much to his utter disdain, Touya sees you everywhere after your first encounter. and often. 

you have this awful habit of just popping up. in the stool next to him at the bar, with such regularity that his friends now joke about it being your stool, and then around town—everywhere he goes. it’s a small town, sure—but he still finds it ridiculous. even more ridiculous—the fact that you might be growing on him, despite all his resistance. 

he doesn’t know when he started expecting you to hop up on that stool every friday. has no idea when he memorized your drink order, or when he started ordering it for you preemptively. this goes on every friday for weeks—until you don’t show up.

and he’s irritated then, because it makes him sore—where else could you possibly be? 

“where’s your girl?”

“don’t know,” he mutters. he catches the smirk on his friend’s face out of the corner of his eye. “and she’s not my fuckin’ girl.”

that makes him laugh, and Touya turns away in a huff, face burning. 

“sure she’s not.”

it’s another two weeks before he sees you. not that he was counting. 

when he sees you again, it’s a tuesday, and he’s just wrapped up at his neighbor’s house. he carries two loaves of bread in one arm, and his toolbox in the other. the old woman had chased him out of there early, telling him, “it’s a nice night. go out there and find you someone!”.  he snorts, kicking a bit of asphalt down the pavement. that old bat acts worse than his mother. 

there are a few vendors lined up along the road, so he lets himself take his time—strolling casually, eyes raking over the stalls. it is a nice evening—warm, but the breeze is cool as it rustles through his hair. he sees a white tip from the corner of his eye and it almost startles him. it doesn’t matter how much distance he puts between himself and Dabi—it still surprises him when he realizes that he is not the same. physically or otherwise. 

lost in his thoughts, he finds himself nearly home when he sees you in his peripheral, taking something from the merchant of the produce stall across the street. he has half a mind to turn and walk the opposite way (away from his house) just to avoid this interaction—still wholly irritated over wasting the $7 on your stupid little drink, and that’s all—but you seem to have a weird sixth sense when it comes to him, and your head snaps up in his direction right before he can make a break for it. you give him that stupid smile that he has to look away from, waving at him happily before you take off in his direction. 

he considers if he still has time to flee, but then you’re there in front of him. 

“Touya!” you beam up at him, totally ignoring the scowl he levels you with, “what are you doing here?”

“i live here,” he grumbles, looking away from you again, “what are you doing here?”

“ah, i visit my family on tuesdays. whatcha got there?” 

he pointedly looks down at the bread in his arms, and back up at you. you’re looking at it a little too intensely, eyebrows scrunched together like you’re trying to figure something out—and then the moment’s gone, and you’re smiling up at him again. 

“want to share?” you ask, holding up your bag of produce to him. 

he doesn’t, but he finds himself next to you anyway, sitting on a retaining wall while you chatter away—kicking your feet out and handing him slices of an orange between your own bites. 

he learns more about you. early 30s (so not as young as he’d guessed, but still young enough to make him cringe), living alone like he is. you grew up in town, moved away for a while, and then came back. you don’t really like sweets but you do like fruit—hence the overflowing tote bag full of it—and you’re more inclined to reach for tea than coffee. you own the little flower shop a few blocks down. he thinks it suits you—and then he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought. 

“i’m having an issue with the floor though, so part of the shop has been blocked off for a few weeks. not great for the foot traffic, but what can you do,” you shrug absentmindedly, more focused on digging another piece of fruit out of your bag. you settle on a peach, and it’s quiet between you for a beat. as if waiting for the silence, the thought that he’d been holding back for the better part of an hour finds its way out of his mouth. 

“haven’t seen you at the bar,” he mutters, picking a stringy bit of peel off the orange piece he’s been holding. 

“huh? oh, yeah. i had a wedding order that i was working on. it was so….much,” you shudder like you went off to war instead. “why, did you miss me?”

he looks away, eyes narrowed in a scowl. “just was a waste of a drink, s’all.”

he regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. 

“a drink? my—oh. wait.”

your eyes go wide—he should’ve known you’d catch on to the meaning behind his words and he wants to die—

“forget it—“

“Touya,” you cut him off, and he can hear your shit eating grin, “were you hoping to see me?”

he’s sure he’s gone bright red and resists the urge to recede into himself like a snail into a shell. now he’s irritated, because did you think your drink just magically appeared in front of you every friday? he can feel the smugness radiating off of you—you want him to say it. he huffs, still looking away from you. 

“just…was a waste of money,” he grits out, knowing fully that he hasn’t worried about money in quite some time, “figured you’d be there.” 

you hum, and he still can’t look at you. refuses to, actually. 

“sorry, Touya,” you tell him, and it sounds so genuine that he finds himself turning to you, just to check—to make sure you’re not fucking with him. “i’ll be sure to let you know the next time i won't be there.” 

he rolls his eyes at the way you’re smiling softly at him, always like you know something he doesn’t. he mumbles out a clipped “whatever” and he hates the way he sounds like he did when he was 23. you don’t pay it any mind though, right back to talking his ear off. 

“so do you live, like, really alone? or do you have a pet? you strike me as a gerbil guy.” 

he huffs out a laugh at that, caught wholly off guard at the thought of being the gerbil guy (have you seen him?) and you smile at the sound, clearly pleased with yourself. 

“no gerbil. a dog,” he finally takes a bite of the orange he’s been cradling in his palm for the better half of the last 20 minutes. your eyes don’t leave him. 

“mm. chihuahua,” you say solemnly, and he whips his head around to look at you, expression all twisted and incredulous. 

“a big fuckin’ dog, you brat.” 

you laugh at his outburst, seeming to get some sort of pleasure out of riling him up. 

“can i meet him?” 

he looks at you then, and you’re really laying it on thick—wide eyes blinking up at him, bottom lip jutted out in a little pout. he can’t find it in himself to say no to you. with a sigh, he pushes himself up from the wall. 

“c’mon then.” 

it’s a short walk to his place and you’re vibrating behind him. shoving his key into the lock, he hears the familiar thumping of a tail, at about the same frequency as your incessant excitement at his back—he wonders just what he’s done to attract this level of energy. 

“wait a minute—he’s going to jump at you—“

“oh, who cares. let me see him!” 

he shakes his head, swinging open the door. he sees his big oaf of a dog rear up to jump, and then—

and then his jaw drops, because for what may very well be the first time, his dog is suddenly sitting. 

you squeal and the dog isn’t much better off—practically wiggling away from his spot on the floor and whining at the sight of you, but still sitting. 

“Touya!” you laugh, shoving past him to throw your arms around the dog’s neck, squeezing him tightly, “i know this dog!”

“you—huh?” 

“i—“ your own laugh cuts you off, giggling while the dog fights your grip to lick you directly on the face, “i know him! did you get him at the shelter in town?”

“…yeah?”

“oh man! i used to volunteer—i was there when he was dropped off. i was with him all the time—taught him some manners—but then i took that job out of town for a little bit, so i didn’t get to see him after that.” 

Touya, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his dog is sitting, can’t bring himself to formulate a coherent reply. 

“oh, i was so worried about him,” you say quietly, hugging the dog tighter, “i’m really glad you have him. what did you name him?”

that snaps him out of it, and he looks away, sheepish. 

“i—uh. didn’t.” 

you blink at him, processing, and then you frown. 

“are you kidding me?”

he shrugs, looking at the dog— who, also for the first time, seems to be glaring at him with the same sentiment. 

you sigh, shaking your head. “that won’t do,” you mutter, more to the dog than to him. “i think i called him Buck.” 

as if on cue, Buck’s tail thumps against the floor. 

“why?” 

“not sure,” you say, scratching behind a fuzzy ear, “he just reminded me a little bit of a deer.” 

Touya scoffs, completely in the dark as to how the two were even remotely similar. 

“alright. Buck it is, then.” 

you smile, patting the dog on the head as if he’d done anything worth rewarding. with a sigh you get to your feet, stretching a bit. 

“i really do have to go see my family now,” you tell him, and he swears he hears a tiny bit of regret in your voice, “but thanks for letting me see Buck.” 

he only nods, watching you bend down to kiss Buck square on his stupid blockhead. 

“see you Friday?”

he swallows thickly, nodding again. your eyes are too bright. 

“okay. see you, Touya.” 

“hey,” he stops himself from reaching for you as you go to open the door, “i can…look at that floor for you. if y’want.” 

every time he thinks he’s used to the way you just throw your emotions around like live grenades, he’s not—you smile at him so brightly he thinks you might just kill him. 

you have a hunch that Touya is secretly a really good guy. 

it’s almost endearing—how hard he tries to be so prickly—but it’s always all for naught, because he can’t help but go out of his way to do things for you. 

you don’t know what to call the relationship—you gathered enough information from hushed whispers to his friends anytime he left his stool at the bar to know that he pointedly did not seek out the affections of women (“or men,” one of his friends said with a shrug, like they weren’t really sure). you weren’t clear on where that left you, so you were content to keep learning what you could about him—to stick around, as long as he tolerated you. 

and he just barely does that, but you have a hunch it’s a farce. especially when take out cups full of freshly steeped tea start appearing on your counter in the shop, more days than not.

you lean against the wood top, sipping today's tea with both hands to warm yourself while you watch Touya work. autumn was in full swing now, and you had some difficulty keeping the shop to your preferred level of warmth, but it didn’t seem to bother him. your eyes linger on the hem of his old t-shirt, rising up in the back just a little when he reached for a different tool. it was obvious that time had softened him a bit, but he was still in shape. your vision followed the faded, looping scar that moved with the curl of his bicep as he worked each tool. it was hard not to stare. 

it was even harder to get away with it. 

“you’ll burn a hole in my head, brat.” 

“just checking your work,” you tell him through a grin. trying very hard to feign nonchalance.

“oh yeah?” Touya looks at you over his shoulder, smirking at you. you feel it bodily. “what’s the verdict?” 

“looks….” you pause, examining the array of tools and the sizable hole he’s created in the floor, “yeah. yep. like good work.”

he scoffs, shaking his head and turning back to the task at hand. you resist the urge to slam your head off the counter—settling for tapping in lightly as reprimand for your less than intelligent response. 

you decide that the best way to get the embarrassment to dissipate is to do the thing that is quickly becoming your favorite activity: bothering him. 

“pick a color.” 

“what?”

“i said pick a color, grandpa.”

the sigh he lets out makes you laugh. “you fuckin’—fine. red. what’re you doing?” 

you smile at him, and you watch him flush. it makes you giddy. 

“nothing,” you drawl, sing-songy and incriminating, “don’t you worry your little heart about it.” 

“you are the worry to my little heart,” he deadpans, not bothering to look up from the measurement he’s taking. 

another thing you learn about Touya—he’s got a bit of a (dry) sense of humor. he seems to enjoy making you laugh.

there’s a lull in customers and you use it to your advantage—you go around to every bucket to ensure that each cut stem is submerged, and take out the wilted ones to dry. you don’t sell those ones—you just hang them up around the shop. you think it’s better not to waste them. 

you also pull out some good looking red ones, as inconspicuous as you can—you gather a tulip, a few poppies, a peony, and a big, variegated chrysanthemum for the center. 

you hold the makeshift bouquet behind your back as you approach Touya—padding over to him quietly until you’re close enough to lean into his space. 

“whatcha thinking about?” 

he spares you a pointed glance over his shoulder. “pest control.” 

“har har,” you plop down right next to him, grinning at the way he bristles. of course it’s all for show—he doesn’t move an inch. 

“made you something.” 

“hm?”

you bring the bouquet out from behind your back, brandishing it in front of him dramatically. “tada!”

his eyes go wide—you see it take a minute for him to process that you’re giving him a gift. he sets his tools down and reaches for it, tentatively, like you’re going to fake him out at the last second. you meet him halfway, setting it in his hands. 

“well?” you ask after a minute, “what do you think? i do pretty well, right?” 

he’s quiet—turning the flowers over and back again, like he’s committing all of the little petals to memory. “what are they?”

you tell him about each flower—where they grow naturally, what conditions they like to live in, how to take care of them. he listens intently, never looking away from them. 

“you don’t have to keep them,” you tell him after another moment of silence, “it was just a silly thing.”

“no,” he says, firmly. he looks at you out of the corner of his eye and lets out a breath, looking back down at the flowers. “s’nice. thanks.” 

you have to physically stop yourself from jumping up and cheering. 

“you’re welcome, old man,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder with your own.

he groans, grumbling a lighthearted “get away from me” as he shoves you back playfully. you let out some sort of dramatic squeal as you topple over, and you don’t miss the tiny smile that stretches across his face as he sets the flowers down next to him and gets back to work. 

customers come in and out throughout the afternoon—most not paying any mind to Touya as he works. there are a few customers that eye him hesitantly—and there are one or two that stare pointedly at the scars that split his face. it feels like second nature to drop the customer service persona then—and to do things like drop their change on the counter and revel in the way they scramble to catch it before it rolls off onto the floor. 

“have the best day,” you say to one particularly rude customer, all but shooing her out of the door. 

Touya huffs out a laugh when you walk back toward him. “didn’t think you had it in you, kid.” 

you cock an eyebrow at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“surprised you didn’t kick out her kneecaps on the way out.” 

“yeah, well,” you huff, waving a hand at the thought of someone so dreadfully rude, “she would’ve deserved it.” 

“why’s that?”

you meet his eyes, then, and for the first time since you met him you think about the fact that they’ve seen terrible things. you knew of Touya, of course—all of Japan did. you knew he’d been through something awful and did things that you couldn’t imagine the man in front of you doing now. you know that he would not be surprised if you told him the reason why you felt she deserved it. you wonder if it bothers him the way it bothers you, or if time has hardened him to his own mistreatment. 

“don’t worry about it,” you tell him, walking back behind the counter. 

you haven’t seen much of Touya for the last few weeks. 

you’d gotten another big order—what would probably be one of the last before winter really set in— so you were busy. he’d stop by sometimes with the excuse of checking the floor (and always with a tea for you in hand), but you learn that he’s uncomfortable with lingering, and he’s usually gone as quickly as he came. 

you don’t mind—it’s nice to know he’s thinking of you. you’ve just been wondering if it’s in the way you want him to—and a lot more than you should be, lately. 

you concede to having a little crush on him. who wouldn’t? he’s incredibly sweet in his own way and very nice to look at and you suppose anyone would if they’d gotten the opportunity to get to know him over the several months that you have. so what if you’re thinking about where he’s at or if he’s eaten lunch or if he’s at the bar without you, more often than not? it’s just a little secret you keep to yourself.

you try not to think about how it’s one that would make him never speak to you again if he found out about it. 

you let out a groan, looking down at the half-formed bundle of alstroemeria and eucalyptus in your hands. you’d been staring at it for 20 minutes now and the motivation to continue just wasn’t coming. you suppose it was as good of a time as any to take a break. 

standing up from the floor and stretching your arms above your head, your spine rewards you with a few satisfying pops as you get yourself moving again. your eyes scan the shop, surveying the damage—most of it caused by you in the last few weeks, with scraps of paper wrap and loose stems strewn about. the shop could definitely use a deep cleaning, but little things like that were just part of routine upkeep, so you don’t mind. it’s only when you roll out your neck that you spot it: a tiny, but noticeable, brown stain on the ceiling that certainly wasn’t there before. you lift your phone above your head to snap a picture of it. 

sent 5:57pm>>> hi. do you think this is a big deal

received 5:59pm>>> looks like water damage

received 5:59pm>>> when did that happen?

sent 6:00 pm>>> not sure. just saw it

sent 6:00 pm>>> if i just pretend it’s not there will it go away?

received 6:01 pm>>> that ever worked for you before?

sent 6:04 pm>>> i don’t like your tone 

received 6:06 pm>>> cry about it. i’ll be over to look at it tomorrow

you smile at his brashness, setting your phone down on the counter. it really was very hard to not be enamored by him. you shake your head, trying to get rid of the thought like a wrong  answer in a magic 8 ball. you have no such luck, but you realize what time it is and feel relieved. It’s tuesday—you can finally start getting ready to see your family. 

you clean up and pull on the spare coat you have in the shop storage room, locking the shop door behind you as you leave. your grandparents don’t live far—just a mile or so down the road, and it’s not too cold to walk yet, so you don’t mind the trek. 

you have a standing weekly visit at your grandparents’ place. they’re just about the only family you have left, and they’re slowing down a bit. it’s meaningful to you to spend time with them when you can—even if your grandmother insists on filling it with her insistence that you find a boyfriend.

you know she means well, so you tolerate it. your grandparents’ love story is one for the ages—high school sweethearts, together and in love ever since. the dynamic is an amusing one—your grandmother, ever the chatterbox, and your grandfather, only ever amused and endeared by his wife’s inherent ability to take up space. you have always really admired their relationship, but a small part of you believed for a long time that there was something wrong with you for not being able to have the same thing. now that you’re older, you don’t feel that way—but that doesn’t make being on the receiving end of the badgering any easier. 

like you’ve summoned her with your thoughts, she’s on the front stoop when you approach the house—hand already on her hip like she’s winding up to start her lecture.

“i was starting to think you wouldn’t come!”

“am i late?” you ask genuinely, pulling your phone out to check the time. 6:26pm—you’re early. 

“you might as well be!” she quips, pulling you into a hug. you can smell dinner cooking through the open window behind her. you close your eyes, content to be held in the moment. you miss this feeling of home every time you leave—

“alright you old bat, s’fixed. you gotta quit dumping cooking oil down the—oh.”

your eyes snap open at the familiar voice and you find blue eyes staring back at you, shocked as you’ve ever seen them. you blink, still mid-embrace and trying to comprehend why Touya is standing in your grandmother’s doorway. or why he’s a little sweaty and dirty and wearing that tight old t-shirt. if he’s always worn a bandana to keep the hair out of his eyes, or if that’s a new thing and either way, why haven’t you seen it? it takes another long minute before you remember how to get words to come out of your mouth. 

“i–uh. hi...hi Touya.” you stutter a little, and your grandmother notices that you’ve gone completely rigid in her arms. she pulls away to look at you, and then at Touya, and back to you—

and your stomach drops when you see the most shit eating grin spread across her face. 

you give her your best you wouldn’t dare look. 

she just smiles at you sweetly as if to say: i absolutely would.

“do you have dinner plans, Mr. Todoroki?”

he blinks. “i–uh–”

“no? excellent. go wash up! you can join us.”

she starts back up to the door with more pep in her step than you’ve seen in a long time, patting Touya’s shoulder before shoving him unceremoniously to the side with surprising strength and walking back into the house. 

you’re left out there together, both clearly still trying to play catch up. true to your nature, you’re the first to break the silence.

“i see you’ve met my grandmother,” you say with a laugh, starting up the steps. he shakes himself in time to open the door for you.

“you’re related to that dinosaur?”

you pin him with your best glare. “that’s not nice. she came after the dinosaurs.”

he follows in after you, the smallest smirk on his face. that you caused it makes your chest feel light. 

dinner is relatively tame. to your genuine surprise, your grandmother sticks to easy topics, save for one comment about how you’re “getting up there” and should start thinking about children. 

“oh my god, Mam,” you squeeze the bridge of your nose, exasperated. you look to Touya for help—who is clearly very amused and not interested in saving you from this. 

“i’m just saying,” you grandmother waves a dismissive hand at you, “now who wants dessert?”

you leave the house a few hours later—with Touya in tow, because he refused to let you walk home in the dark by yourself. you certainly don’t mind the company.

“i can’t believe i didn’t put it together that you knew my grandparents,” you say, shaking your head. no wonder those bread loaves, months ago now, had looked so familiar. 

“been helpin’ them out with maintenance stuff around the house,” he mutters, the hands in his pockets the only indication that he feels the evening chill, “they’re good people.”

the way that he talks about them makes you feel warm. “i’m really happy to hear that,” you sigh. you bump into him, and he stays close. “i’m sorry you have to put up with all of my grandmother’s antics though.”

he huffs a laugh, looking at you from the corner of his eye, “s’not so bad. except maybe when she’s trying to arrange a marriage for me with half the town.”

“oh god,” you turn to him in absolute horror, “she does that to you, too? i thought it was just because i’m her grandkid. she really wants to have great grandkids.”

he laughs when you shudder. “what, you’re not gonna give ‘em to her?”

you make a face at that. “no. kids are great, just…not really something i ever wanted.”

you think you see him physically deflate with something akin to relief out of the corner of your eye. you smile and try not to read into it. 

the wind picks up and you shiver. Touya blinks down at you.

“you didn’t think to wear a thicker coat?”

you roll your eyes pointedly at him. “no, dad, i didn’t.”

he scowls at you, clearly not entertained, but then he’s shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“what are you doing? it’s too cold!”

“s’fine,” he mutters, brushing up against you with each step, “can’t really feel it.”

you go quiet while you consider this, eyes drifting to the textured skin that wraps around his bicep. there’s an ache in your chest that flares up whenever you think about Touya, small and proud and burned within an inch of his life. you wonder if he still feels it, 30 some odd years later. you want to reach for him, but you think better of it.

“do they hurt still?” you ask quietly, after a moment. 

“sometimes.”

you get the sense that he wouldn’t mind if you asked more, but you’re not sure what to say. you don’t think it would be fair to ask him to relive any of it to satisfy your own curiosity. there’s just one thing you’d still like to know. 

“are you angry?”

he gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he looks down at you. his gaze is searching, like he’s looking for your fear—fear of him, of what he’s done. you know he won’t find any. 

“no.”

the rest of the walk home is shrouded in comfortable silence, save for the crunch of shoes against pavement. all too quickly you’re at the door to the shop again.

you dig for the keys for your apartment on the second floor while Touya leans against the door frame, watching you. 

you feel the metal dig into your palm when you close your fist around them. you look back up at him, and it’s almost startling how soft he looks right now. unguarded.

“can i hug you?” you ask, startling yourself a little. he’s so clearly not a touchy guy, but you hope he’ll indulge you—just this once. 

his eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then his face smooths back into his practiced stoicism. he rolls his eyes, but steps forward anyway. you feel like you just won the lottery. 

“make it quick, brat.”

you nearly tackle him in your excitement and you hear him grumble next to your ear. you feel an arm loop around your shoulders, and you are suddenly very aware that your little crush is far larger than you thought. you file it away for later, because the beat of his heart against your ear feels far more important right now. everything about him is warm—you stifle a sigh at the immediate comfort that rolls over you like a wave. 

“now go inside before y’get sick.”

you resist the urge to pout. you stay there for another beat—and he doesn’t move either. 

you untangle yourself from him with a sigh. if you didn’t know any better, you’d interpret the look on his face as something close to disappointment. you start shrug your shoulders out of his jacket to hand it back to him, but he stops you.

“just, ah—” he starts, looking away from you, “give it back to me tomorrow. when i fix your fuckin’ mess.”

you raise an eyebrow, posturing to argue, but something in his expression tells you not to.

“okay,” you say finally, quiet between you, “be careful going home. goodnight, Touya.”

he lingers for a moment more before letting out a little grunt and turning on his heel. your eyes trail over the expanse of his shoulders as he grows fainter down the road until he disappears into the dark.

you drag yourself up the stairs, suddenly feeling exhausted. you stumble through the dark of your apartment until your knees knock into your bed frame. you fall into bed face first, not bothering to change or even get under the covers. still wrapped in the jacket that smells like him.

you dream of fire that warms but doesn’t burn. 

“good morning, Mr. Todoroki.”

Touya nearly comes out of his skin, hissing as he hits his head off of the counter he’s crouched under. it would be impressive, how stealthy the old bat was, if it wasn’t so god damned annoying.

“how many times do i have to tell you not to call me that?” he grumbles, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head as he gets to his feet. she only chuckles.

“you’ll have to forgive me for not addressing you with the same familiarity that my granddaughter does.”

he whips his head around to look at her—which he finds to be a mistake, because she’s just looking at him with that knowing old lady smirk that makes his skin itch. 

“don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he mutters, stooping down to lodge himself as far under the counter as he needs to to avoid the rest of this conversation. 

“oh, please. do i look like i was born yesterday?”

he pauses, mid crouch, to look back at her over his shoulder. she clicks her tongue at him. “don’t answer that.”

“i think it would be nice for you both to have…companionship,” she settles on the last word like it’s not really what she wanted to say, and it reminds him far too much of his mother. usually he’d shut this conversation down, but for a reason unknown to him, he doesn’t. 

“don’t y’think i’m a little too old for her?” he asks, half-joking. he’d be a liar to say that he hadn’t thought about it at length. 

she waves a dismissive hand at him, rolling her eyes. “oh please—you wouldn’t know too old if it hit you upside the head.” 

he hides another smirk from her—which she seems to expect anyway, shaking her head with a sigh. 

“you’re both babies still,” she says quietly, with all of the wisdom and yearning of someone who has lived as long as she has, “you have nothing but time. just don’t waste it.”

Touya’s not sure when the shift happened, but he’s acutely aware that it has happened. 

he’s doesn’t know when he started allowing you to touch him. he’s usually uncomfortable with that sort of thing—it tends to aggravate his skin and it does well to make him feel queasy. but you lay your arm over his to show him something about your flowers on your phone, and he doesn’t feel any urge to reel back from you. he wants to be surprised at his lack of reaction, but he supposes he’s not—proximity to him has always been something you’ve insisted on, physical or otherwise. 

the bar is crowded tonight, which leaves him feeling uneasy. the noise level grates at his nerves and he finds himself having to lean into you just to hear what you’re saying. it sours his mood immensely. 

he’s scowling into his beer when he feels you crowd his space. his head snaps up, ready to gripe at you, and he finds you’re turned away from him. he looks around you and sees that your space has been crowded—by some rowdy little punk he’s never seen before.

immediately and on some sort of primal instinct, Touya wraps an arm around you, yanking you into his side. you brace yourself with a hand on his chest to avoid flat out headbutting his chin. 

“hey,” he snarls over your head, eyes like daggers at the offender, “watch where you’re fuckin’ going.”

the man turns around, posturing to defend himself, but one look at Touya has his eyes widening in the same expression of fear that he sees on everyone else’s face. usually the reaction sits in his stomach like a rock, but this time, he revels in it. “and while you’re at it, you can apologize to her.”

his looks down at the ground immediately, unwilling to spend another minute under scrutiny. 

“sorry about that,” he mutters dejectedly. Touya feels your grip tighten around the hem of his shirt, but to his surprise, you say nothing. 

“get the fuck out of here,” he barks, and he holds back a laugh as the man does just that—completely forgetting about the drink he ordered. 

shaking his head, he lets you go—expecting you to scramble away from him and back to your stool. he feels himself cringe—he probably embarrassed you.

he’s worried when he realizes you’re still tethered to him by the fabric of his shirt. 

“hey,” he murmurs, trying to push you back gently to look at your face, “you alright, kid? you’re not hurt, are you?”

you let go of him, albeit reluctantly. you only move back far enough to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. he can only think of how close you are.

“Touya,” you rasp, cheeks flushed and looking at him through half-hooded eyes, “that was, um—really hot.”

he blinks at you, a little dumbfounded. his eyes rake over your face, trying to find the punchline somewhere. wholly anticipating you to snap out of it and laugh at him—to tell him what a fool he is for falling for such a cruel joke.

but your expression never changes, and he realizes at once that it’s one of desire. 

a shudder wracks up his spine. he pulls you toward him again, splaying his fingers across your back to feel the way it arches into him. he dips his head down, lips next to your ear. fighting a smirk at the way you shiver in his hold.

“come back to mine?”

you nod emphatically, and he’d tease you about it if he wasn’t feeling the same level of urgency. he throws a couple bills on the bar top and all but hauls you out the door. he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s half out of his mind right now and can’t find it within himself to think it over before he does something he might regret. 

his own desire is nearly stifling, and he finds he can’t go another minute without something to satiate him, if only for a moment. he pulls you into the alley next to the bar, crowding you against the brick.

“you drunk?” he asks suddenly—slivers of rationality making it through the haze of such thick lust. you laugh a little, breathy and overwhelmed. he can see the puff of steam from your exhale between you in the cold. 

“not at all,” you murmur, reaching for him. you wrap a finger around one of his belt loops and pull him toward you—he knows with an unsettling certainty that he’d do whatever you asked him to right now. the knowledge burns him from the inside.

“tell me to stop,” his lips are only a breath away from yours, and yet he almost wishes you would tell him to stop, because he’s not sure what comes after this. he’s alarmed by the weight of his own need, and he has a hunch that whatever happens next may not be enough to quell it. 

he has the sudden and sobering thought that he may never get his fill of you. 

“no,” you breathe, and it’s all he needs to bridge the distance. he’s instantly overwhelmed by the soft warmth of your mouth, and lets out a quiet groan when he feels your tongue swipe at the seam of his. he opens his mouth to taste more of you, and he truly cannot get enough. you pull his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it gently, and he is nearly frantic when he pulls away from you. he feels absolutely debauched and a little humiliated—in his 40-some odd years, he’s never known himself to get so worked up over some kissing. 

“we need to go right now,” he rasps, panting against your mouth. he feels your smile against him and wants to swallow you whole. 

“lead the way, old man.”

he barely registers making it through the door—has no idea how he managed to unlock it, let alone open it—before he has you pressed up against it. to touch you like this feels foreign, and he wants to feel everything. after a moment, he gets impatient with himself. he grabs you around the backs of your thighs, hauling you up and carrying you to his bedroom. he has half a mind to thank Buck later, for not bounding between the two of you and ripping him from whatever trance you have him suspended in right now. 

he drops you onto the bed unceremoniously and is quick to follow, mouth chasing yours on the way down. you pull your shirt off and he helps you with your pants—he can’t help but pull back to marvel at you.

your demeanor changes immediately.

you're entirely too tense, breath hitching and your grip on his arms uncomfortably tight. he pulls back to look at you and you flinch. 

“jesus—the fuck are you so jumpy for?”

"i don't know!" you cross your arms over your chest with a huff, red when you look away from him. "maybe i just don't do this as often as you, okay?"

he snorts, rolling his eyes. "i don't do this often."

it’s not exactly the truth—because the truth is that he doesn't do this at all—but he's still got his pride. he’d been touched before, but mostly in his 20s and only when he was just shy of belligerent. only when he could go numb with the certainty that it would be over quickly and that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. 

no one could hold a flame to you, though—sprawled out underneath him, chest heaving and eyes hooded with unbridled desire. something about it makes him want to reach into the ether and stop time with his bare hands. he wants to savor every bead of sweat that rolls down the curve of your breast, every touch that makes your pupils dilate—the primal need to know takes over everything else.

“i just…” you start, lip jutting out with the tiniest pout. he feels insane. “i feel nervous.”

something inside him twists at your admission, and he finds himself wanting to comfort you. it’s a completely unfamiliar feeling, but he leans into it. 

"relax," he murmurs, unwinding your arms and replacing them with his full body weight, directly on top of you. you squeak, and he presses his smile into the crook of your neck. "don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

he feels you slump underneath him—however minutely—and it feels like a reward. and then your hips kick into his, and his brain short circuits. 

he pushes back onto his forearms to look at you, and he's endeared by the flush that creeps up your neck as you avoid his gaze. he finds it cute, how quickly you lay your ego down for him. that in itself is another reward, and one he doesn't take lightly.

you might be a little embarrassed under his stare, but that doesn't stop the roll of your hips. yours is a slow grind up into him and he meets you with one of his own, firm and demanding. your mouth drops open and the way you shudder under him pulls a groan from him. 

"feel good?" he rasps, sneaking a hand around the back of your neck and holding you there, nosing against your cheek until you turn to him.

"yes."

it's borderline pornographic when it leaves you and his hips stutter—he feels it buzzing underneath his skin as it pushes him closer to a place wholly unfamiliar. 

through his jeans, he's sure you can feel him—hot and aching against the flimsy material of your panties. he huffs a laugh against your lips—suddenly acutely aware of the possibility that he may cum in his pants like a fucking teenager. 

you seem to be aware of that, too. 

you kiss him hard and he nearly whines, and then he actually does when you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull. he reels back from you to catch his breath and you don't let him go very far. 

"you feel so good," murmured into his mouth, it's nearly his undoing. 

"you gotta stop," it sounds a lot like a plea when it leaves him, "i can't—i'm gonna—”

you hook a leg around his waist, keeping him pressed to you. he knows at once that he is well and truly fucked in a fundamental and totally unrelated way. 

"no," you drawl, and it's almost a coo in his ear, "i don't think i will."

he doesn't know when you took the upper hand and he doesn't even care. he's lost in the movement of your hips and he knows that there's a mess between you both—he hears the tacky click of damp fabric meeting with every grind into you. 

"you're—fuckin' wet," he grits out, and he's so close. the knowledge of your arousal has him curling in on himself.

you chuckle, like he's stating something so obvious. "how could i not be?"

he rewards you with a particularly sinful thrust, and you keen underneath him. 

"please," you arch into him, "want you to cum."

and he does just that—all the breath is battered out of him with the force of it. his cock throbs with every wave of release in his jeans and he keeps himself pressed snuggly to you, hips thrusting with no particular rhythm as he rides out the last of it. he keeps his face pressed into your neck and lets out a long, broken groan. he stays there—full body weight collapsed on top of you again—and it's a moment before he comes back to his senses enough to feel your fingers scratch over his scalp. 

"fucking hell," he presses a kiss to your throat and you giggle. it warms something inside of him that's hard to shake once it starts. he has the sneaking suspicion—in this fleeting moment of vulnerability—that it started well before now. 

he gathers his wits and pushes back from you. he sees the look on your face and finds that he couldn't go any farther than an arm's length away, even if he tried. 

adoration. it could only be that—you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and it twists in his gut. he doesn't understand—he's done so many wrong things. you look at him like they don't hang above his head—like you can't see them there.

what a sweet little thing that's found their way into his bed. and deeper than that, it seems. 

"want to taste you," he murmurs, leaning back down to drag his lips over the curve of your jaw. you draw in a shuddering breath, nodding, and it fans his ego immensely. 

he takes his time, then—there's intention behind every warm press of his mouth to every inch of your skin. he takes note of the way your breath hitches, and of what makes you squirm. you tip your head back with a moan when he catches a bead of sweat between the valley of your breasts with his tongue. 

you breathe out a whisper of his name when he latches on to the skin that stretches over your ribs, and he feels his own arousal swell again—sloshing around in his gut, thick and needing. he finds himself grinding his hips into the mattress below him—lazy, really. just enough to dull the ache. 

"hold on," you croak, and he looks up at you, "you’re too dressed."

he looks down at himself and realizes that you’re right—he’s still fully clothed. he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at his own one track mind, and sits up to take care of it. 

he grabs the back of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion. he feels your gaze on him and feels a little bashful. he’s even quicker with the jeans—soiled and gross as they are now—shoving them down his hips and kicking them from his ankles until his clad in only his (also gross) boxers and leaning over you again. 

you reach for him, brushing your fingertips over the scar across his chest. he half expects you to pull away—to recoil from him like you should—but you don’t. 

“need you, Touya.”

he could just die. 

"s'that right?" he bends down to press another hot kiss to the skin that stretches between your hips. he fixates on the softness of it, and has to stop himself from nuzzling into it. he'd love to draw this out—to really get you pleading for him like he hopes you would, writhing and so wet underneath him. but his own patience nears its end, so he decides to be merciful. he shuffles down until he's eye level with the damp spot in your panties that makes him curse under his breath. 

"look at you," he breathes, dragging a finger through the mess. you let out a whine, arching to chase what little stimulation he's giving you. "poor thing. y'really do need it."

he doesn't wait for your response before his hooking a finger through the fabric and dragging it off of you. a string of your arousal stretches and snaps with it, and he commits the sight to memory. 

he wastes no time—he sticks his tongue out flat and drags it through your folds, groaning at the slick that coats it. 

"oh fuck," you wheeze, reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair to keep him there.

as if you'd ever need to do that. 

he can't get enough of you. so swollen and sweet against his tongue, he's nearly out of his mind with the need for more of it. he dips the tip of his tongue inside you and feels you squeeze around it, and it's unbearable how badly he wants more of you. 

"Touya," you groan out, eyes squeezed shut tight as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks, "please—please don't stop—"

he thinks you're fucking insane for ever believing he would. he pulses his tongue against your clit and revels in the way your back arches as you wail—he reaches up to pinch a pebbled nipple between his heated fingers just to feel you.

"oh fuck, fuck fuck—" the words tumble out of your mouth, slurred and nearly incoherent as he flattens out his tongue and lets you chase your pleasure.

in the throes of it, you reach down to tangle your fingers between his own. he's not sure if you even know that you've done it, but the knowledge that you seek him out for such an innocent display comfort has his heart fluttering in his chest. he gives your nipple a particularly harsh tug with his other hand.

"oh i'm gonna cum—" you cry, hips stuttering with every drag of your sex over his tongue, "please, Touya, i'm gonna—"

he squeezes your fingers when you do, and you let out a sob that goes straight to his cock. he feels you tense up—every muscle rigid for only a moment—and then you let it go, and he's mesmerized. it moves through you violently, like waves crashing into the shore during a storm. he keeps your clit between his lips as you thrash, letting you buck against his face, dragging it out for as long as he can. 

he waits until he hears your breathing return to a semi-normal pace before he cleans you up—with his tongue, light and gentle through your folds, not wanting to waste any of the mess you reward him with. he forgets himself and slips his tongue inside of you—drinking up all of your slick. basking in the way you flutter around him and the sweet slide of you down his throat. he only comes back to himself when you start to tremble, whining at the overstimulation. 

he rests his head on the inside of your thigh and closes his eyes, breathing you in. never in his life has he ever felt so satiated by something—it confuses him, to get so much pleasure from you without you ever even touching him. he feels you squeeze his fingers and realizes he's still holding your hand. 

"you with me, kid?"

you sigh, stretching your free leg out. "think so, old man."

he untangles your fingers to rub at your leg, reaching down to knead at the muscles in your calf. you sigh, light and content, and it makes him smile. it's quiet between you then, and he's grateful that you don't feel the need to fill it. he pulls your leg over his shoulder, moving to massage the outside of your thigh. 

"good to me," you sigh sleepily, and he knows you're only a second from falling asleep. 

he doesn't answer—his throat suddenly feels too thick and he doesn't think he can—he just keeps rubbing your muscles gently until your breathing evens out. 

he finds that he doesn't mind being trapped between your legs like this. when he thinks he might even be able to fall asleep, he realizes for the second time that he's in far deeper than he thought he'd be.

he lets his eyes flutter closed and has a hard time thinking of anything wrong with that. 

there’s another shift, after that. the only person that seems to be oblivious to it is you. 

it’s not that you haven’t noticed, because of course you have. Touya becomes uncharacteristically touchy, literally overnight. you bask in it when you can, because you know it’s fleeting. 

that’s where you split off from, well—everyone else. 

“c’mon kid, you can’t honestly think that.”

you huff, glaring into your drink. Touya’s friends had jumped at the opportunity to heckle you the minute he stood up to go to the restroom. you find it endearing, the way they act like little old ladies, gossiping amongst themselves. 

“we’re not together,” you repeat, albeit bitterly, “it’s not like that for him.”

the friend closest to you barks out a laugh, and you pin him with your meanest stare. it only makes him laugh harder. he’s wiping tears from his eyes when Touya comes back, filling the space between you. 

it hurts tremendously to know that this is temporary, and you feel ridiculous for feeling that way. it’s not like it comes as a surprise—you knew very well that Touya wasn’t one for romance or love. you thought you could live with that, especially with the sex being as good as it is—but it was just so easy to believe the opposite was true, because he really was good to you. if you allowed yourself to forget, it was nothing at all to pretend he was because he wanted this, too. 

still—like a magnet, you’re drawn to him. you hop down from your stool to stand beside his, and rest your head on his shoulder. 

“you hungry?,” he turns to murmur into your hair, “i’ll get you fries or somethin’.”

“wow, fries” you scoff, rolling your eyes, “how chivalrous.”

you feel him grin. “wasn’t raised in a barn.”

it’s a bad joke. it lodges itself in your skin and makes you ache for him. you try not to dwell on it. 

“you could’ve fooled me.”  

he rolls his eyes back at you with a little tch, but it’s lighthearted. he slings his arm around your neck and pulls you closer until you’re pressed into the warmth of his side, and presses a kiss to your temple. 

“you know, most men would give up their seats for pretty women.” you tease, leaning into his touch. 

“let me know if you see one, then.” 

“hey!”

he laughs, brushing his lips against your forehead again before leaning back, patting his thigh. 

“c’mon then, pretty lady.”

you feel warm as you climb up into his lap, and when you settle in, it’s like a key inside of a lock. you pointedly ignore the knowing glance from the man to your right, choosing instead to feel every inch that connects you to Touya. it feels like a reward, to mold to him this well—like something you’re owed after trimming off every one of his prickly little thorns for as long as you have. you want to tell him so, but you know he’d clam up or shove you off of him. you keep your feelings where they simmer under your skin and focus on the way his hand trails over the curve of your hip—back and forth, like he means to soothe, but his warmth feels like a brand. you close your eyes and imagine a reality in which he does it because he loves you.  

“you alright?”

it sounds odd, coming from him—like he’s not used to asking the question. you suppose he’s not—he’s never had anyone to check up on. he reaches to brush a strand of hair from your face, and his fingers linger over your brow bone.

you’d been quiet since you left the bar—you’d followed him back to his house with an uncharacteristically little amount of banter. you’d been pliant as he pulled you down on the bed with him—nearly boneless and without so much as a teasing bite on the way down. 

despite yourself, you feel your eyes start to burn. you let out a clipped curse, blinking rapidly and looking pointedly away from him—hoping he wouldn’t press you about it. 

he does. 

“hey, hey,” he says softly, reaching to grab your chin with warm, calloused fingers and turning you to face him, “what’s goin’ on?” 

his blatant concern makes it worse��drives the knife a little deeper into your side—because it’s so starkly different (and far more intimate) from the Touya you started with. it only serves as a reminder of your original suspicion having long been confirmed—that he cares for you because he’s good. not because he loves you. not because he feels this unbearable, aching need that you do. you know there’s no escaping him now—he’s seeded himself somewhere deep in your chest and taken root. when his thumb brushes down over the curve of your jaw, you know that there’s no stopping the words that are about to come out of your mouth. 

“i love you,” the tears crest and fall, and you ache when he brushes them away before they can slip down your temples, “i’m really sorry.”

you’re a little surprised when you see his eyebrows knit together slightly in an emotion that’s definitely not the overt and immediate dismay you thought it would be, but you close your eyes before you can see anything else—before you can watch him pull away from you, genuinely and for the last time. 

you go rigid when you feel his forehead knock into yours, gently and only for an instant. 

“s’that such a bad thing?”

your eyes snap open, and you think the sight might kill you—he’s open and giving you everything with a willingness that makes your breath stutter in your chest. he has his head propped up on his hand to look at you, and it’s almost enough to disarm you completely. 

“don’t be cruel if you’re going to leave,” you hear yourself plead, despite what you’re seeing. he only snorts. 

“and what makes you so sure i’ll do that?”

“i know that you don’t do this shit.”

he smiles at that—a little thing that stretches across his face slow. it amuses him to hear you swear. 

“you’re right,” he murmurs, reaching to brush his fingers over your jaw again. holding you there so gently that it aches. “i don’t. s’different now, though.” 

you blink at him through the sting in your eyes, more confused than anything. he lets out a slow sigh, but it’s not in frustration. 

“you’re stuck to me now,” he says with such a fondness that you feel the words stick themselves to your bones, “m’not going anywhere.”

“i’m not trapping you here, Touya—“

“you’re not,” he agrees, with more patience than he’s ever afforded you. something starts to click in your mind, but for some reason, you find yourself fighting it. 

“you don’t—you’re not—“

“hey,” he cuts you off with a flick to your forehead, “listen to what i’m tellin’ you.”

“it’s…hard. for me.” he says after thinking for a moment, eyebrows furrowed again like he’s trying to make up the words from scratch. “i‘m used to bein’ alone. never really thought about anybody else.”

you’re silent then, mostly stunned, because you don’t think he’s ever said so many words to you. not like this. 

“i’m outta my depth here, kid,” it’s nearly whispered and it feels sacred, like a confession between you. you’re suddenly very aware that he’s giving you something that he’s parting with for the first time in his life. “but i can’t think about ya anywhere but here now. makes me feel a little sick.” 

you reach for him then—tentative fingertips brushing over the rapid fluttering of his heart. he gathers them in his hand and holds you there. 

“i might not be any good at this. but i’d like to try.” 

his words hit your ears one at a time, like coins slotted into a carnival game—they reach your mind with a heavy clink and only when the last one drops in do you really hear him. he’s no casanova, but you understand the sentiment under his words as if he’d spoken it aloud. 

you close your eyes and draw in one more shuddering breath, and it knocks loose the last of your reservations. you turn on your side, facing him fully, meeting the blue of his eyes with a slow smile that makes them narrow at you in suspicion. 

“jeez. you didn’t have to go all soft on me.”

he scoffs, shaking his head. “glad to have you back, you fuckin’ brat.” 

you laugh and he chases the sound, leaning forward until your foreheads knock together again. this time, he stays put. 

“tell me again,” he murmurs, and your heart balloons inside your chest. 

“i love you.”

epilogue—1 year later

Touya trudges up the steps to your apartment after finishing up at your grandparents’. you’d think he’d agreed to remodel the whole house, with how often they call him over now. 

he had a hunch that he wasn’t really there just to make repairs, and he didn’t mind. he knew how much your family meant to you, and he’d be lying if he said they weren’t growing on him, too.

“you bring our girl over here to see us,” the old bat called after him as he walked out the door, “don’t let her work herself to death.”

he was quick to agree, because his concerns were similar—you’d gotten busy as the weather started to warm with the first hint of spring, and you did not appear to be particularly skilled at taking breaks or prioritizing yourself. predictable, but no less annoying. 

walking up the steps to the home you now share, he looks down at the squirming thing in his arms and lets out a sigh. 

it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree to move in. he got to see you everyday (which allowed him to ensure you were, at the very least, feeding yourself) and Buck was over the moon at living in a new space if that meant he could be with you all the time. he couldn’t find a reason to say no (and he really, really didn’t want to), so it was easy to say yes. the smile you gave him when he agreed is imprinted on his heart. 

“babe? you here?”

you call to him in response from the kitchen, not looking up at him when he walks in—you’re hunched over the counter in front of your laptop, going through orders while Buck lays at your feet. he makes no move to greet Touya—in fact, the only acknowledgement Buck spares him is a few thuds of his tail against the tile. Touya narrows his eyes at him. traitor.

“hi,” you murmur, turning your body like you’re going to look at him—except you don’t actually look away from the computer.

“hi,” he grins, not moving in to kiss you like he usually does. waiting for you to turn to him. 

“what did Mam need—oh.”

you’re finally looking at him—except you’re not really looking at him at all, because your eyes are focused on the shivering thing in his arms. 

you look at it, and to him, and then back to it. you’re quiet for a beat, clearly trying to process, and then the thing nearly jumps out of his arms when you throw your head back and laugh.

“what the hell is that—” you say through a wheeze, wiping your eyes on your sleeve,  “Touya—oh my god—where did you get that?”

you close the proximity between you—finally, he thinks—and he bends to kiss your temple when you take the chihuahua from his arms. instantly Buck is on his feet, sniffing the air but otherwise content just to look at the dog in your arms. Touya feels relief at the non-reaction—you really had taught his dog some manners. 

“the fuckin’ thing was rooting around in the trash,” he mutters, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “figured you’d be mad at me if i left ‘im there.”

you roll your eyes and he knows you know it’s a lie—he wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he’d left the dog there. 

“are we keeping him?” you ask absentmindedly, scratching his tiny head. it works to subdue him—the shaking stops (mostly) and he lets out a little huff before relaxing in your hold. it makes you smile, and Touya thinks he’d fill this whole fucking house with chihuahuas if it meant he could see it again. 

“do y’want to?”

you let out a stray chuckle, finally looking up at him. “i guess he’d fit, won’t he?”

he feels the grin stretch across his face. “i don’t know. it’d be a tight squeeze.”

you snort, reaching with your free hand to poke at his ribs. “you have to name him, you know.”

“fuck,” he groans dramatically, pulling another giggle from you, “fine. what about…” he trails off, wracking his brain and looking around the kitchen, praying for even a semblance of inspiration. he sees your half-eaten lunch on the counter, and he thinks about the moldy cold cut he’d had to wrestle out of the little shit’s surprising tight grip—

“lunch meat.”

“...i’m sorry?”

“his name is lunch meat.”

you laugh at that, and the sound reverberates off every cell in his body. 

“it’s a good thing we’re not having kids,” you say through a giggle, “they’d have the worst names.”

he grins at you and you just shake your head, cooing to the tiny dog in your arms. Touya peels himself from you, settling against the counter just to watch. the other surprise—the one he’d actually planned—involved a fancy dinner in the next town over, because it is your anniversary, after all—but right now it feels like he has nothing but time, and to do anything but stand here and feel every second with you would feel like a waste.

this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.    

#am i....a sap? #i love him. oh my god do i love him #my baby deserves a good fucking ending #glares at horikoshi #todoroki touya x you #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #touya fluff #touya x reader #fic: when fire doesn't burn

[kechiwrites]

kerberos

touya, natsuo, and shoto todoroki x f!reader kinktober countdown day four, (foursomes)

synopsis: "...the air is sucked out of the room, and you’re frozen in place as they move above you, forming a beast overhead, one with a sneering maw, frigid hands and a piercing gaze."

wc: 4k

cw: a dabi-less au, but touya is still a lil fucked up, fem + afab!reader, drunk sex, threats of violence/harm, anal play, fingering, dubcon, foursomes, creampie, oral (m + f receiving), praise, pet names (honey, baby), hair pulling, light choking, degradation, finger-sucking, a little bit of powerplay / dom sub undertones, mdni.

author's note: a fic that didn't make it in time for kinktober last year, finally finished. this originally started as a natsuo fic, but the other boys wanted to play too. (everyone is 20+)

 It sounds like someone’s humming, jovially, quietly, when you stir to consciousness, the alcohol in your system thrumming through your veins, loosening your limbs, making it near impossible to guess the hour. The curtains are drawn in the room, the lights low, leaving the room just bright enough to make out the figure above you. Then, the figure seems to split in three.

“I can't believe you got me to do this with you, and I can't believe you dragged Shouto into it too."

A derisive sounding scoff bounces off the walls, and the bed you're lying on sinks with the weight of someone sitting on it. The voice speaking is so familiar. You know you could place it if the world would just stop spinning so quickly.

“C’mon, you saw the way she flirted with us. She’ll love it. I promise.” Another voice stage whispers. A hand brushes your cheek and you follow it, nestling your face into the calloused palm, opening your mouth when a finger presses against your lips, letting the digit settle on your tongue.

“Cute.” The first voice sighs, and it’s too far away to be whoever is touching you, the person who pushes their thumb (you’re sure of it now) deeper into your mouth.

“Good morning sunshine.” Touya Todoroki smiles down at you, all big hands and white teeth and cerulean eyes that meet yours when you finally rouse from half-consciousness. Your face warms in embarrassment, and you draw back, Touya’s thumb withdrawing from your mouth and leaving it woefully, humiliatingly empty.

Your voice is high and tight in your throat when you finally speak, after your eyes have adjusted to the low light of the room. "Ah. Good morning?" You respond, apprehensive and more than a little startled. When you realize exactly who else is in the room with you, the last few hours of the night flood your mind in an instant.

Arriving at the Todoroki Estate for Shouto’s birthday party, drinking a ridiculous amount of tequila with Mina and Momo, grinding against Bakugo until he had to excuse himself to the bathroom, sidling up to Natsuo and Touya in their little “older brother corner”, pressing your hand to each of their abdomens and giggling before prattling on and on about the “family resemblance” and mumbling something about wanting to see if all Todoroki men had “super huge feet”.

You distinctly remember Touya’s knife-sharp smirk when he grabbed you by the chin and murmured to you, “Ask what you really want to ask, honey.”

You also remember whimpering before blacking out right in front of them, crumpling to the floor.

Jesus, that’s embarrassing. Pretty quickly you reason that they must’ve carried you upstairs, and you couldn’t have been out that long, because you can still hear the party raging on downstairs. Your friends are most likely getting drunk in your absence, assured of your safety stashed away.

“I didn’t mean to pass out like that. I just…” You drift off, peeking at the eldest Todoroki through your eyelashes.

“It's fiiiiine." Touya stretches out the word like a seedy car salesman, giving your eyes time to skip from him to Natsuo by his side, to Shouto, who's leaning against the far bedroom wall. "You know Natsuo wanted to keep you all for himself, wanted to lock you up and knock you up.” Touya laughs at his own joke, elbowing Natsuo in the side and receiving a scowl for his troubles.

"But I convinced him it’s only right to share, after all, he wasn't the one who saw you first."

You hear Natsuo mumble something that sounds suspiciously like "neither did you" before he crowds into your vision too. His face up close is a marvel. Steel gray eyes, clear skin and perfect white teeth.

"Is your head alright?" His fingers lightly graze the back of your head and it takes everything within you to not shiver at his proximity.

"Haven't had any complaints." You hiccup your response without missing a beat.

You are definitely still intoxicated.

Natsuo looks concerned while Touya laughs at your expense. Shouto stays blissfully quiet. And though it’s one of your favourite traits of his, it seems it’s short lived. He pushes off the wall and stands at the foot of bed, bringing all three men into your field of vision for the first time.

“Maybe we should wait. At least until we’re sure she doesn’t have a concussion.” the youngest Todoroki looks you over in concern, his face still typically placid.

You sit at attention, head swimming at the sudden shift in your position.

“Wait for what?”

“For us to give you what you asked for.” Touya intones, brows almost reaching his hairline.

Your palms sweat and your heart thumps in your chest, so loud you worry it can be heard over the pounding bass downstairs.

“I don’t wanna wait.” You mumble it so low you can almost convince yourself you didn’t say it. Like the words appeared out of nowhere, spoken by a stupid, reckless, horny spectre.

Four words.

But apparently, that’s all it takes. The air is sucked out of the room, and you’re frozen in place as they move above you, forming a beast overhead, one with a sneering maw, frigid hands and a piercing gaze.

Natsuo is the first to kiss you, and his skin is so cool, you're surprised you can't see your own breath when you pant a sigh against his lips. His kiss is slow and building, constant, consistent pressure that only stops when he pulls back to stare at your dazed expression. Touya is next, shouldering Natsuo out of the way, his hard on is urgent and searing against your stomach when he plasters himself to your front. Touya crushes his mouth against yours, impatient and searching. If Natsuo is a glacier then Touya is a goddamn wildfire, hot and fast and vicious, all teeth and branding tongue.

Your dress was pretty much non-existent to begin with, strappy black fabric and gold buckles. Natsuo and Touya's hands make quick work of the cloth, stripping you down to your underwear, clothing tossed haphazardly to the ground, discarded, unneeded.

"Are you just going to stand there, Shouto? Because if you wanna watch, that's fine. I just figure our girl here needs as much attention as she can get.” Touya calls over his shoulder, pulling your underwear down your legs. He drops the panties at his brother’s feet while Natsuo circles around you, situating himself behind you so you're reclined between his spread legs, your back resting against his chest instead of the headboard. His fingertips graze a trail in-between your shoulder blades, unhooking your bra, clasp by clasp, pressing a barely there kiss into the middle of your back. You smile at the tenderness of the action even as your brain struggles to catch up with what’s happening.

The moment doesn’t escape Touya’s attention.

There’s an indent between his eyebrows, betraying his irritation.

“Y’know,” He simpers, settling on the bed in front of you, leering, “I feel like my handprint would look so good,” The eldest brother places his open palm over one of your hips, “right here, permanently. It’d only hurt for a minute” You choke on your answer, but it’s not really a question to begin with. His palm heats on your skin and you scramble back further into Natsuo’s chest, letting him wrap his arms around you,

“Touya, don’t be an asshole.” Natsuo bites, his tone acidic, “You’re scaring her.”

“Then why don't you take charge for a bit, little brother?” Over your head, Touya meets his brother’s eyes, his challenge clear.

You can feel Natsuo bristle behind you, his hackles rising at Touya's goading.

"Fine. Touya, why don't you shut the fuck up and tongue her tits for a while?”

The corner of Touya’s lips curl up, before he descends on you as ordered, mouth nibbling, sucking and kissing at the skin of your chest. The piercings decorating the shell of his ears glint back the light from the lone illuminated lamp in the room, blinding you momentarily before Natsuo angles your head upwards, covering your mouth with his own.

He traces the seam of your lips with his tongue, groaning when you open up for him, the cool surface of his palm tightening around your throat. Your nipples pebble under Touya’s attention, he uses his teeth more than anything else, biting and scraping and only soothing the pain when you cry out when it gets to be too much.

“Fuck,” and Natsuo’s voice is already so wrung out despite you barely having done anything, “you like when he hurts you?” He whispers, rubbing his thumb over your cheek repeatedly, a perfect contrast to Touya’s canines on your skin. You nod frantically, letting the second oldest sink his teeth into your bottom lip, then soothe the pain with the tip of his tongue.

Shouto crouches at the foot of the bed, watching his brothers touch you with hooded eyes. “I would’ve done this months ago. If you’d just asked me. But you’re greedy aren't you? I wouldn’t have been enough. You wanted them to fuck you too. Didn’t you?” His eyes never stray from your cunt, his voice is pitched low and so, so quiet, it’s almost as if he’s speaking to himself. You stare at Shouto, jaw dropped in shock at the filth pouring from his mouth, and when he finally drags his eyes from your pussy, it takes only a second for him to shove Touya out of the way and kneel between your thighs.

“I-I.” You stumble over your words, the lingering haze of alcohol weighing your tongue down in your mouth, making you clumsy, needy. You give up on speaking coherently, deciding to just shift lower, spread your thighs further, so Shouto can situate himself in between. He places a hand over your thigh, digging his thumb into the underside, crowding so close you can feel the puff of his breaths against your pussy.

“I won’t touch you until you tell me the truth.” He mutters, and you aren’t sure if he’s telling you or reminding himself. Even with Natsuo behind you, away from view, you know they’re all staring at you, you know they’re all waiting.

And it’s mortifying.

You bob your head in the affirmative, hoping it’ll be enough.

“Say it.” Touya urges, his hand on Shouto’s shoulder, finger digging into the fabric of his brother’s shirt.

The words stick in your throat at first, like your tongue is sitting in your mouth wrong, blocking the admission. “I-I wanted all of you.” Touya whistles saucily, Natsuo smiles into the crown of your head, and Shouto sighs, then he gives in.

“What a slut.” There’s so much blood rushing in your ears you almost miss Touya saying it. Instead, you opt to focus on Natsuo sinking his fingers into your mouth, covering your tongue with the rough, cold surface of his digits.

“Our slut.” Shouto corrects immediately and his tone is so insanely earnest you hiccup a laugh, even with your lips stretched around two of Natsuo’s fingers.

Shouto makes good on his promise immediately, his hand sliding between your legs, palm covering your pussy gently before his calloused fingertips move in a silky slide down your wet folds. Your body breaks out in goosebumps, all while Shouto eases two fingers in and out of you, deceptively quiet, letting the room fill with the sounds of you creaming against his hand. Your breath flees as his fingers thrust just inside your slick heat, teasing you with soft friction. You try so hard to stop yourself from holding your breath, periodically remembering how to inhale.

Your thigh is almost uncomfortably warm where Touya’s head lies, cheek pressed to bare skin. He groans happily as he watches his youngest brother’s fingers disappear into the dripping, tight clutch of your cunt.

“Right.” He murmurs, sinking his teeth into the plush flesh below him. “Ours.”

Shouto drops his head to lave at your clit in sweet, probing circles, making your toes curl and your hips twitch. It’s all you can do to not rip his hair from his head when your hands fist in his red and white locks. Natsuo tugs at the tips of your chest, rolling your already hypersensitive nipples between his fingers. It’s mind altering, how badly you want to come from this, your skin is covered in a fine layer of sweat and you jerk and buck against Touya keeping you held down. It feels as though Shouto is doing everything in his power to keep you lingering right on the edge, balancing the rapidly tying knot in your stomach with your desire to have this go on forever.

“As fun as this is to watch, I’m getting a little impatient here.” You watch as Touya palms himself through his jeans, undoing the fly when he realizes he has your attention again.

“We agreed I’d go first.” Natsuo grunts from behind you and Touya's eyes turn flinty in response but his stare never leaves yours, even as he talks down to his brother.

“Well I’m the oldest, dipshit.”

Natsuo continues groping at your chest until you break eye contact with the eldest Todoroki. Your head hangs down, getting an eyeful of Shouto pulling away, licking the taste of you from his lips. You open your mouth, to thank him? To cuss him out for stopping? You just don’t know and ultimately it doesn't even matter because before you can say anything, Natsuo sinks his teeth into the nape of your neck, biting down so hard he almost breaks skin.

“Fine.” He concedes, and Shouto wordlessly pulls away from you, eyes downcast and disappointed, like he can’t bear to part his mouth from your cunt. You bear down around nothing while Touya replaces Shouto, tapping the already hard tip of his dick against the puffy lips of your pussy. You buck your hips, silently begging him to get on with it, hoping to provoke Touya into action.

“Should I hold her open, little brother? I wouldn’t want either of you to miss me breaking her in.” He slides his thumbs up the lips of your entrance, keeping you exposed while Natsuo grinds the hard column of his cock against the small of your back. The shine in the eldest’s eyes is borderline scary, his gaze strips all artifice, any blustering confidence. Under Touya’s stare it’s not just your body that’s naked, it’s your fucking soul.

God, you’re really drunk.

Touya fists the root of his dick, slipping the angry red tip over your clit, once, twice, teasing you until you tilt your hips, wordlessly pleading with him again to push inside you. Finally, Touya concedes, shoving himself deep all at once, letting the girth of his cock spread you open. You cunt drips its contentment all over his pelvis, the sound of your hips colliding with his almost drowning out your fevered, breathless pleas.

He presses both hands to your shoulders, pushing you impossibly closer to Natsuo, making it absurdly difficult for you to squirm away.

The way Touya fucks you takes you by surprise. He’s slow, maliciously so. The heavy weight of his dick carves into you inch by inch, like he wants you to go insane. It isn't until he’s halfway in that you realize Touya has a piercing, several actually, concealed by the angle he’d had from above. What feels like six stainless steel orbs bracket the underside of his cock, three on each side. They’re not massive, thank god, so the sensation is barely perceptible at first, but once he’s finally all the way in, his hips flush with yours, the metal nudges and presses against the spongy spot inside you that makes you see stars. You dig your fingernails into his shoulder and when he smirks at you, you struggle to not bite the motherfucker. It’s clear he takes pride in the overwhelmed and impatient expression on your face, keeping his predatory glare on you while he grinds in deeper, not stopping until your eyes turn skyward.

He barely thrusts in and out, opting instead to pick and prod at your already pathetic mental fortitude by crushing his front to yours, bullying your insides with the head of his cock while you shriek and hum and sob with the overwhelming pleasure he brings you. He presses a flat palm to your abdomen, pushing down hard and greedily rubbing his pelvis against yours; “Fuck, you really are something. Natsu, pull on her tits again, bet she gets so goddamn tight.” Natsuo follows the instruction, tugging mercilessly, coercing you into arching your back. Touya takes advantage and slides his free hand under your ass before you can bring your hips back down again. Two fingers rub boldly at the entrance below your pussy, and you flinch violently when Touya pushes against you. You shake your head, hissing from the beginning aches of a forced intrusion and Natsuo and Shouto bite in unison; “Knock it off!”

Touya, to his credit, merely rolls his eyes and moves his hand lower, rubbing at your perineum in slow purposeful circles that occasionally allow the pad of his fingers to catch the rim of your asshole. You squirm beneath him until he starts fucking into you again, piercings, now warmed by your body heat, brushing what feels like every nerve ending you’ve ever had. Touya watches you bounce on his cock, all while you lay in his brother’s arms, thrashing when the feeling gets to be too much. Your cunt pulses around him, milking an orgasm out of him before he can warn you.

Not that you think he would to begin with.

“Fuck. Fuck. That’s it, squeeze down on me, baby.” He jolts forward, and the sound of his pelvis hitting yours is punctuated by the long drawn out groan of Touya being spent. You kick your leg out in frustration when he pulls out, whining low and watery in your throat at not getting to come again. All Touya does in response is lay a quick open-palm slap at your thigh, wink at you and smile, pleased, you assume, to have gotten a nut off before anyone else.

Mission accomplished you guess.

Shouto shoves his brother aside, and you could cry to God with how happy you are to see him between your thighs again. When the youngest brother seals his mouth around one of your nipples, sucking in long, desperate pulls, it feels almost vindictive. Like he’s punishing you for enjoying yourself, for enjoying how his brothers touch you, fuck you. Occasionally, his tongue flicks against it, pressing the peak against the ridge of his teeth, all while he grazes his rough fingertips against your inner thighs. His cheeks are flushed and he’s panting, honest to god out of breath at the sight of you, pussy puffy and used, hazy eyes heavily lidded, mouth slick and parted around gentle, quiet sighs in the shape of his name. He thumbs at the lips of your cunt, pulling you open, spreading you so he can see everything, watching you clench around nothing, watching you leak Touya’s come onto the bed sheets. “So needy.” he mumbles, and you both hang there, just for a second, while Shouto stares, consumes.

And then...he’s on you.

He isn't as big as Touya, but dear god does he make up for it in enthusiasm. So unlike the teasing, drawn out grinding and half strokes of his older brother, Shouto ruts against you like your pussy is the only thing keeping him alive.

The black t-shirt Shouto wears makes his shoulders seem even broader than before, his frame looms above you, arms heaving up and pushing back the weight of your thighs, until Natsuo helps by holding them up too, until you're very nearly bent in half for them. your toes are curled and bounce with every thrust he completes against you. The slow, thick drip of his brother’s cum leaks from your cunt, where the greedy pace of his thrusts disturbs it, sliding down the plush curve of your ass before dripping down into an obscene puddle below you.

The easy glide is perfect, nudging over and over at the rough spot deep within you. The tip of his cock knocks repeatedly against your insides and the sensation disables any and all coherent thought.

You choke on your spit as he fucks into you, gripping the bedsheets so hard you swear you can hear them tear in protest. Your core protests at the strain but you manage it, keeping your legs steady while they bracket the youngest Todoroki’s ears. Shouto tugs you further down the mattress, forcing you to slide down Natsuo’s front, and when your cheek makes contact with the middle brother’s hard-on, you place wet, open mouth kisses on his fly. Natsuo takes a fistful of your hair and tugs, separating you from his cock, brutally. You keen in pain, but Shouto’s dick distracts you from the worst of it, tunnelling inside you and striking that spongy spot that makes your vision go blinding white. Natsuo fishes his cock out frantically, as though he’s been waiting for your go-ahead, which is...sweet. Rather, it would be if he hadn’t agreed to debase you with his brothers while you were still heavily intoxicated. The younger, white haired brother releases you only when he’s completely free of the confines of his jeans, and smacks the length of his cock against your mouth, rubbing the shaft over your tongue when you present it to him for use. Natsuo is thick, thicker than both his brothers. His dick is mouthwatering, straining and red and threaded with angry looking veins you are desperate to taste. He won’t let you take it all though, will only let you kiss and mouth at it while he jerks himself off. Guides you to suck on his balls and stare into his eyes while Shouto fucks you harder, bringing his thumb to the hood of your clit and rubbing with intention. He must’ve been at his limit, because of the three of you, Natsuo comes first with a pleasured grunt, jerking his hips and covering his hand and the side of your face with his come. And though you know logically that it’s impossible, you had kind of expected his nut to be...cold.

Hands trembling, the middle brother returns his attention to your chest, smearing his spend over your nipples, pinching at them in time with the swipes of Shouto’s thumb.

You finally get to come, waves of it hitting you and dragging you undertow, smacking into your body so hard you give yourself a burgeoning headache from clenching your jaw. Your body spasms, over and over and Shouto fucks you through it all, eventually adding his own seed to the mess between your thighs.

At least you think he did. It’s hard to distinguish what happens around the time you pass out from the fucked up cocktail of exhaustion, intoxication and the sedating power of the best dick you’ve ever had.

When you surface some time later, Touya is gone. “Fucked off somewhere,” Natsuo provides when you ask and...well you aren’t sure if it’s a relief or a disappointment.

Best not to think about it.

Shouto is there though, gliding a warm, damp towel over your heated skin, while Natsuo, who it seems, hasn’t moved from behind you, presses soft kisses to the crown of your head, your cheeks, your throat. He plays with the gold hoop earrings you're still wearing, rubbing your earlobes, and tugging on the jewellery every so often.

“How was it?” Natsuo asks, his voice quiet and soothing, and despite having just woken up, you could see yourself succumbing to its gentle tone and slipping into sleep once again.

“Good,” you respond, murmuring quietly. Shouto finishes cleaning you off, tossing the towel into a nearby hamper. “Really good.”

Natsuo chuckles, and his breath huffs over your ear.

“Good.” He tightens his arms around your middle.

“Good.” Shouto nods, sitting at the foot of the bed.

“Good.” You repeat. 

and so, i make my glorious return to bnha. support city girls who would do anything, including kill, for one night with soft yet firm dom natsuo. reblog what you like.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

#kechiwrites #bnha x reader #shoto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #natsuo x reader #natsuo todoroki x reader #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #bnha x you #bnha x fem!reader #bnha x y/n #todoroki shouto x reader #kinktober 2023 #kechiwriteskinktober #bnha smut #shouto x reader #todoroki natsuo #todoroki natsuo x reader #dabi x you #touya x reader #bnha x black!reader #shoto x black!reader #shouto todoroki x you #shouto todoroki x black reader

[ayyy-pee]

imagining casual hookup touya bending you over the bed, admiring the view before he slowly slides into you. he takes his time. he's so gentle with you, his rough hands stroking along your back as your walls stretch for him. you're whimpering at the sensation, struggling to accommodate him. he's just so big.

"you can take it. can't you, baby?" he'll ask as he inches forward. "i know you can"

"y-yes, touya. i can take it," you promise and then he'll lean over you, his lips caressing the shell of your ear.

"oh, you're always so good for me," he'll coo, hissing when he feels your walls clench down on him and he's not even fully inside of you yet.

he'll slide his length the rest of the way in while he's still leaning over you, resting a hand at each side of your head on the bed. he won't move yet. he wants to give you a second to breathe. shit, he wants to give himself a second to breathe because one false move and he might blow his load before he's even started.

that would be fucking humiliating.

he brings a hand up to gently caress one of your ass cheeks, gives it a light tap before he leans back.

"you ready for me?"

and that first nod you give is all he needs before he's thrusting into you at a relentless pace, fucking into you so hard, so deep. it's all you can do to bury your face in the bedsheets and moan to try and keep quiet. you're sure the neighbors will hear you anyway. he's fucking you so good, you can't stop your cries of pleasure. each thrust feels like the tip of his cock is kissing your cervix. it's a pleasurable pain that has tears forming in the corners of your eyes and has you gasping.

touya likes this view the most. you, with your back arched, your ass in the air for him to watch. he loves to see the strings of your mixed arousals connecting you two together when he glances down. he loves to watch his cock disappear inside of you over and over as your tight little cunt swallows him whole. he loves the sucking and squelching sounds your pussy makes when he pulls out for just a second just to push back into you.

touya likes you a lot. hell, touya even thinks he loves you sometimes. he can't help but groan when he thinks about how much.

he won't ever tell you though. he's got shit to do. can't afford any attachments if he's gonna pull off what he needs to in the near future. doesn't mean he can't acknowledge these feelings to himself, can't admire how good you feel to him.

he loves the way your moans sound like a sweet symphony. the way your ass jiggles with every snap of his hips. the way your breath hitches in your throat when he licks his thumb just before he spreads your ass cheeks and presses the tip to your asshole. and oh he loves how that tiny hole clenches ever so slightly when he does.

"relax, baby," he utters softly, rubbing gentle circles over your other entrance. "it's just like we practiced"

and then he's pursing his lips together, watching the long string of spit slap onto his thumb. he rubs his saliva over your hole before he slowly pushes the tip of his thumb inside. it's so fucking tight. makes his mouth fall open with a sigh. he wants to put his dick in there so bad. maybe one day.

"o-oh fuck, touya," you whine. "gonna make me cum"

"mmm, cum for me then, baby" he grunts as he thrusts forward. he keeps pushing into you until his thumb is buried to the knuckle in your ass. and then you do cum, crying out into the bed as your walls suck touya as deep as they can, convulsing around his cock.

touya slows his thrusts, rolling his hips forward slowly as his eyes roll to the back of his head in pleasure. he keeps his leisurely pace, moving his thumb slowly in and out of your ass. the way your hole squeezes around his thick digit...the sight sends him over the edge and he's gritting out a quick: "'m gonna cum, baby. fuck"

he's leaning over you again, one hand next to your head gripping the sheets in a tight fist as he hides his face in your hair, his thumb still pumping in and out of your ass as he fucks into you.

touya is loud, groaning and whimpering as thick, hot ropes of cum shoot rapidly from his cock to fill your pussy. and it's intense. so intense touya can't stop the shudder that shoots through his body with each spurt of cum leaving him.

he's still got his face buried in your hair, grunting as he's pumping into you, still cumming, still filling you up. and then he feels it happen before he can stop it.

he's activated his quirk.

it's an accident, a minor thing. he doesn't think he could've stopped it if he tried. the release just felt too good. in the palm of his hand gripping the sheets, touya sees the dark curls of smoke rise from between his fingers. he lets go of the sheets quickly, wincing when he sees the evidence of singe marks in the fabric. you haven't even come down from the high of your release before you smell the burning scent and turn your head to see touya has apparently cum so hard, he's burned through your fucking sheets. and they were your favorite, too.

he's still inside of you, chuckling and pressing sweet kisses between your shoulder blades.

"sorry, baby. i'll buy you a new set" he promises.

#i feel like i can breathe now #i finally got that out #dabi x y/n #dabi x reader #dabi x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x y/n #touya todoroki x you #anime smut #anime x y/n #anime x you #anime x reader #mha x reader #TOUYA I LOVE YOU #touya todoroki drabble #dabi drabble

[shadowspromise]

Dabi, the criminal who has killed dozens of people, is Touya.

Your Touya. The boy that looks up at you with pleading eyes when you’re too busy to cuddle with him. The boy that insists on holding your hand no matter where you are. The boy that says “I love you” nearly twenty times a day.

Nobody else knows just how loving he is. He says that you are the only one who can ever see him like this, although he wishes so desperately that it was different.

Every night he dreams that he grew up in a happy family, and to meet you in that lifetime, making another happy family with you. Another universe where he didn’t have to worry about hiding his face on the streets, or being broadcast as a dangerous criminal on the news.

He wants to devote his life to you, but this world is too cruel to let him do that.

So until the world becomes a little nicer, he’ll save his devotion for the evenings. The only time of day where he can be alone with you, his lover, his everything, and he can finally tear off that tough, cold-hearted villain mask and be himself.

He wants so desperately to give you little kisses all over you. He wants to hold your hand like a lovesick teenager. His heart still flutters when he sees you, as if you’re his crush he hasn’t confessed to.

He’s so utterly in love with you.

Even if he tried, he can’t hold back the smiles and blush on his cheeks he’s overcome with every time you say “I love you” to him. And when you poke fun at him for being so cute, he smiles even more.

He scowls at his reflection, judging himself and his scars just like the civilians outside. But you, you kiss his scars and compliment them as if they’re the beauty standard. Sometimes, just sometimes, he thinks you’re a little crazy in the head. Him? His scars? Him? How could you ever love someone like him? It gets his mind going a hundred miles an hour, and you have to calm him down before he quite literally overheats.

He’ll say things like “I’m not beautiful, you are,” whenever you compliment him. He just can’t fathom the idea of him being pretty. He’s riddled with scars, bruises, and scratches, yet you call him pretty? You? You, the most heavenly, blindingly beautiful person he’s every laid his eyes on, is calling him beautiful?

He’s genuinely concerned that he may be dreaming. And even if he was dreaming, he’s making the most of it.

If you insist on him being beautiful, surely you wouldn’t mind if he kissed you, right? He expects to see a look of disgust on your face as he kisses you, and his heart skips a beat when he sees you blush instead. He really wants to say “What is wrong with you?” but he doesn’t want to risk upsetting you. After all, you’re somehow miraculously attracted to him, he can’t risk messing it up now.

He just has to come to terms with the fact that you, the embodiment of beauty in his eyes, loves him just as much as he loves you. Although he might insist that he loves you more. He really is like a lovesick teenager.

And he’ll be a lovesick teenager if you want him to be. He’ll do nearly anything you ask him to. Kisses? Cuddles? Jump off a bridge? You don’t even have to give him a reason. If you’re asking, there’s no hesitation, he’ll do it.

As much as you get his mind racing, he just loves to relax with you. His life is filled with fast paced moments, fighting, and arguing. He adores how you can so easily switch off all his worries and convince him to lay down and stop thinking. If you asked him where his happy place was, he’d say laying down on your chest. Hearing your heartbeat is like a lullaby, and the feeling of you playing with his hair is stronger than any melatonin.

He doesn’t waste a single second with you. He knows that the chances of him simply dying tomorrow are higher than he’d like, so whether his death is near or far, he wants to be spending his days with his lover.

Mornings are the hardest for him. He knows that the second he gets out of bed, he has to start preparing his villain persona and hope he doesn’t die in an alleyway fight that day. So while he’s still in bed, he’s clinging to you like you might fly away if he lets go. He would put his entire body weight onto you if you let him. He acts like a guard dog preventing anyone from touching its owner, because that’s mostly what he is.

Nobody can even look in your direction if Touya is near. Are they trying to hurt you? Flirt with you? He isn’t letting anyone take you away from him, and he sure isn’t afraid of spilling some blood if he needs to.

Though he does feel bad when you have to clean up his messes. He’ll come home with the face of a guilty puppy because he’s got blood all over his clothes and body. Is it his blood? Some of it. Who else’s blood? Who knows.

You’ll put his clothes in the wash while you run him a bath and complain about how reckless he is. Most people hate being yelled at, but Touya is just so in love with you that your yelling sounds like wind chimes. He could definitely fall asleep to it, although that would result in you yelling more.

Your complains are barely audible to him as you suture his open wounds and shove gauze into his bloody mouth. You’re rambling about how careless and stupid he is, but Touya couldn’t care less. As long as you’re still in love with him, you can call him whatever you want. He won’t tell you this, but sometimes he tries to get injured just so you can spend some time taking care of him.

He adores the way you touch him so gently on his scars. He knows very well that he could fall apart without your hands putting him back together. Your hands are so soft compared to the firm, warm, shedding skin on his face. Your fingertips feel like ice packs when you cradle his chin in your hands. Ironically, your hands will have him melt into your touch.

It took Touya months to stop flinching when you touched him. In those instances, the image of his father calling him useless flashed through his head. He knows that you would never hurt him, never call him useless, but he can’t help but be afraid of his trauma. After all, it’s the driving force that keeps him alive. Without revenge to give him a reason to keep going, he’s not sure he’d be this far in life.

But now that he’s used to you, he wants your touch. He wants it as much as he wants revenge. Sometimes your touch makes him forget how bad he wants revenge. He’d sell his soul if it meant he could stay in your arms forever. But he wonders, would you do the same?

Touya is a rose. He’s absolutely beautiful, but that doesn’t take away the fact that he’s covered with thorns, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

If he cuts off his thorns, he isn’t himself anymore, which is why he’s so grateful that you love him as he is, thorns and all.

He never thought anyone would love him. Of course he had his parents and siblings, but he questioned if they really loved him. But you, you love him. And he loves you. He feels like he’s living in a fairytale. It’s unreal how he’s so happy with you. He had been denied happiness his entire life until you came. You’re like the sun finally rising in his entire life of nighttime.

He loves you.

#bnha dabi #dabi #dabi fluff #dabi imagine #dabi is touya #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #mha dabi #mha touya #touya fluff #touya todoroki #touya todoroki fluff #touya todoroki x you #touya x reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya #touya todoroki is so soft #touya headcanons #dabi todoroki #dabi my hero academia

[gentrychild]

So, we have a few Anyone time travel fics. But this is what I'd kill for: while on a job Shouto is hit by a quirk. Next thing he knows he's back at his father's place, except things seem different. That's when he sees himself in the mirror, he time travelled. Now Shouto is stuck as a chubby-cheeked toddler who wants to keep his big brother around, stop his mom from having a mental breakdown and convince his dad to send him to a public school so that he can befriend his future platonic soulmate

Oh, this has the potential to be absolutely hilarious.

Shouto is very aware of what's waiting for him. His brother almost dying and running away. His mother's break down. Endeavor being Endeavor. He will have to wait ten years before being happy again and let's be honest, he isn't waiting that long.

Fortunately, he has read enough manhwa with time travel to know what to do. His first target is Touya, who still hates him at the time but who isn’t crispy yet. Shouto follows him around, proclaiming that he adores his brother. Touya hates it at first but Shouto is very adorable and slowly wins him over.

Natsuo and Fuyumi are very jealous that Touya is Shouto’s favorite. Shouto doesn’t care. Shouto can now play football with his siblings and have semi normal bonds with them.

One of the early storylines would be Endeavor suddenly having to deal with his small child flat out not caring about him anymore/actively disliking him. (Remember that this is pre training.) This feels extremely weird since their parents are everything to children and he slowly grows desperate because Shouto apparently hates him? Out of the blue? Rei, who has stopped watching her kids swith eagle eyes in fear of what her children could do to each other, is happy that they finally get along, points out that he isn’t passing enough time with the kids. Endeavor has a realization and tries to be a better dad. (The results are varied.)

Endeavor: “I have decided to take some vacations to spend more time with my lovely family!“

Touya: “Really? It’s the first time you-”

Shouto: “No one asked you.”

Endeavor: T_T

Baby Shouto keeps following Touya around with a fire extinguisher that is bigger than him. Just in case.

When Shouto is five, All Might disappears from the radar for a couple of months, right after an island was vaporized. Shouto realizes that the AFO and All Might fight happened and that Izuku is now dadless and about to become destitute. He informs his dad that he is moving elementary school. More precisely, that he is going to transfer to a very sub par elementary school that isn’t even in the same town he lives.

Endeavor: “How about no?”

Shouto: “I wasn’t asking.”

To summarize, Shouto might have run away from his perfectly good elementary school and reappeared in Izuku and Katsuki’s elementary school. The number 2 hero in person comes and retrieves his toddler.

Sadly, Izuku wasn’t here that day because he was so sad that his dad hadn’t even called for his birthday that he stayed home.

After several similar incidents, Endeavor and Rei force Shouto to tell him what is going on.

Baby Shouto, grabbing baby Izuku by the shoulder: “This is my best friend, Izuku. If I am not in the same school as him, I will cry.”

Izuku: “I don’t know this boy. His eyes scare me.”

Shouto: “I have unlimited budget for All Might merch that I am willing to share with my friends.”

Izuku: “...”

Izuku: “Ah yes, Shouto, my best friend. I add that I will also cry if he doesn’t get what he wants and yes, this is a flooding threat.”

Shouto becomes Izuku’s best friend/fierce protector, which makes things fun for Bakugou. Izuku is not bullied. (Shouto was called to the principal’s office several times but Bakugo < the son of the number 2. Izuku and Shouto probably transfers when they reach middle school. Inko still goes abroad to work and the Todorokis offer to take Izuku in but Izuku is fiercely independent, so they just keep an eye on him.

Years pass but no trace of Anyone appears.

Shouto realizes that Anyone was created because Izuku needed support and now that he has Shouto, it’s not needed anymore. At first, he doesn’t know how to feel about it. It feels like he deprived Izuku of a part of himself.

But in the end, if it means his best friend didn’t have to go through all that hardship, it’s worth it.

The very next day, Izuku appears with a broken arm and a toddler, admitting that he might have hidden from Shouto his slightly illegal organization and his plan to steal All Might’s quirk so he wouldn’t be implicated. But everything went to hell. Now, he needs help.

Shouto is delighted.

And will have his revenge on Izuku not making him part of the quirk heist operation.

#anyone: shouto time travels edition #anyone fic

[missmeinyourbones]

THE MONSTERS TURNED OUT TO BE JUST TREES

or four times Touya Todoroki almost told you he loves you, and one time he finally did

cw: GN!reader (one mention of them wearing a dress & heels), mentions of blood and injury, one brief mention of sex, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, canon universe | wc: 6.8k

“When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it.”

“Start Here” - Caitlyn Siehl

#001

Touya wants to tell you he loves you the very first time he meets you, which granted, he realizes is incredibly fucked up—but he swears on what little he has that it’s the truth.

Withering away in a damp and cornered alleyway, he clutches his abdomen in hopes of stopping whatever bleeding is going on down there. He can’t bring himself to look, but he’s certain it’s there from the warmth of the spot and the sticky film now covering his hand. 

Yes, he’s been in this situation before—you’d think he’d have learned by now, based on the embarrassing amount of times he’s walked this same path. But he hasn’t, which is clear as he sits and quietly moans in his own agony. His burns continue to sting as a new layer of charred skin forms by the second, sensitive and exposed. The cut in his side throbbing so harshly that he almost feels a bit nauseous just thinking about it. 

As he’s mentally finding the strength to stand, he hears faint footsteps. If they’re truly faint, he doesn't know—it could just be the effect of his vision coming in and out paired with the piercing ringing in his ears. 

“Are you alright?”

He can barely open his eyes, but he does—and he sees you. 

Who you are, he has no clue, but the smallest part of him is put at ease as you hover over his slumped and defeated frame. He’s oddly relieved at your presence, almost as if he knows you, or a part of him once knew you. It jars him how calm he is with the situation at hand. 

It’s just the pain talking, he’s quick to remind himself. The adrenaline using any part of his brain it can reach to push his body to heal itself, or at least remain alive long enough until he can bare to stand and defend himself. 

“Leave,” he barks, suddenly reminded of the reality of the situation, of who he is and the risk your company poses to him, “you didn’t see anything.”

“You’re—” your voice shakes before lowering its volume to a whisper, vaguely gesturing to where he clutches his torso. “You’re bleeding,” you utter it like a secret, like it’s something that shouldn't be addressed. 

Touya, or rather Dabi, closes his eyes and huffs with annoyance at your self-explanatory observation. You know, you're really not making this whole dying unnoticed thing easy for him. 

“I can help,” your voice finds his ears once more and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t embarrassed. Help, he wants to spit and stew at your pity insinuation, he doesn’t need your help. 

He stares at you for a long moment, eyes unimpressed and unwavering, before finally commenting with a gruff, “I don’t do hospitals.”

“Not a hospital,” you’re quick to stomp out his fire, “my place.” 

Your place? Christ, it’s like you're asking for trouble. Clearly, you don’t know who he is, unaware of his high-profile villain status and obvious label of being a danger to society. Even with all that aside, what kind of idiot invites someone who looks like him, bruised and scarred and bleeding out before your very eyes, into the safety of their home? To help? You must have a few screws loose of your own, and maybe you feel bad about—

“Please,” you anxiously press, not-so-subtly eyeing his worsening wound, “I wanna help.”

Dabi doesn't remember standing up, using your unfamiliar touch as support as he stumbled to your apartment. He doesn't remember trudging up the staircase to the 3rd floor, or the way you shakily fumbled with your key in the lock as you opened your door and rushed him into the bathroom. 

All he knows is that suddenly, he’s clumsily slumped against the refreshingly cool tile of your bathroom wall as you tend to his deep and now oozing cut. 

He notices the sharp skids of maroon his boots have smudged onto your floor. He bitterly laughs to himself, thinking about how his blood will now permanently stain the floorboards of a stranger’s home. A piece of him the world could never rid itself of, even if it tried. 

He flinches and groans every few moments, whenever you press harder onto his open wound or apply another round of antiseptic. 

With his vision coming in and out of haziness, his eyes land on you—more specifically, your face. 

Pretty, dainty, and soft (he imagines). He watches your eyes silently gloss over his contrasting scars—where the chunked and charred purple remnants of death meet the crevices of living and breathing skin, barely held together with the shitty stitching of rusted staples.

“Not gonna ask how I got ‘em?” he suddenly bores. It’s the first coherent sentence he’s been able to string together since you’ve brought him inside. That’s a good sign, you mentally note. He can speak. 

“No,” you truthfully respond, continuing without falter to aid to his injury, “s’not my place,” you admit.

The intimidating glare Dabi gives you is one of disbelief and suspicion, so you shrug and continue your work, feeling his stare burn holes through your skin.

“I just want to make sure you take care of them properly,” you elaborate.

He scoffs harshly before a sting in his abdomen interrupts his breath, “Why?” 

Your eyes soften a bit before looking into his, your movements halting as you curiously whisper. 

“Do I need a reason?”

I love you.

He has no idea why the thought comes to him so naturally, when love is something he’s never known, barely felt. He shocks himself when it pops into his mind, delicately ghosting on his lips, before roughly pulling himself back to reality.

He weakly searches for something, anything, that’s not you to distract himself from the jarring thought that just crossed his mind uninvited. 

He hones in on where your hands are at work. He takes a mental photograph of the bandage you press to his wound—soaked in red as it absorbs all of his cursed and wretched blood. Something about the new and clean bandage you replace it with sticks with him. It’s strikingly white and brightly untouched as you place it where the filthy one once was. 

He doesn't know why it draws him in the way it does, but he doesn't take his eyes off of it as it slowly soaks up the rest of his bloody mess. 

—

#002

The second time the three words threaten to fall from Touya’s lips is a more acceptable—but just as terrifying—moment than the first. It still fills the crevices of his crumpled heart with a concrete-like heaviness. 

Months have passed since the first time in the alleyway, the moment shaking him up so badly that he couldn't bring himself to even walk your street for weeks, choosing to instead watch over your apartment from a neighboring building’s roof. 

Things are different now. He likes to think that he’s grown a bit in those few short weeks—not enough to let you have him wholeheartedly in the slightest, but at least enough to let himself into your home once more. 

You let him stay with you sometimes, let him shower with your lavender scented products and relish in the warmth of your mediocre cooking. He leaves your apartment with a belly full of satisfaction and a strange feeling in his chest that keeps him returning to your door. 

Something brews between the two of you. It resembles that muggy air right before a storm, one that’s so heavy it’s almost suffocating, until it finally breaks with the rainfall. It swims in that dangerously grey area, the one that leaves you teetering on the edge of do we address this? And do we let it drown in it’s own silence? 

Something in your gut tells you that if you speak it into existence, then that makes it real—and reality is something that Touya has never dealt with well. Too permanent, too unforgiving. 

Lingering glances turn to fleeting touches, touches to kisses—kisses that make him feel worthy of something, even if it only lasts for just for a few measly minutes. 

This new (dare you say) routine the two of you develop often ends the same, like this, with him laying on your bed next you. Above the sheets, never underneath them. Never falling asleep, never staying the night, always gone in the morning—but there, nonetheless. Hot and cold, you bitterlyr emind yourself, mourning a moment you never even had the privilege of knowing. 

The two of you sit in the silence of your bedroom, the only sound being the chain from your ceiling fan swaying as it spins in circles. The whites of your bed sheets being the brightest thing in the space, other than Touya’s eyes secretly admiring your peaceful state. 

Your head pressed against your pillow looks like a painting, he thinks to himself. Like it should be hung up high for the world to see, for tourists to pay ridiculous amounts of money for, just to silently stare at for three seconds before moving on to the next exhibit. 

Your pinky rubbing up and down his forearm slows, and he assumes that you’re walking the line of consciousness and slumber. Once it stills for a few minutes and he’s positive you’re out for the night, he’ll be sure to quietly detangle himself from your limbs and slip out your fire escape. 

With this plan in mind and your pinky now motionless, the sudden rasp of your voice takes him by surprise. 

“Why do you always leave?” 

Your inquiry is small, so small that it makes his chest tight with a guilt he didn’t even know he had. He should've assumed it was there, he has plenty to spare. 

“I don’t always leave,” he retaliates, voice barren of any emotion, “slept here plenty of times.”

On the couch, you bite your tongue, And before that, it was the floor. And you’re always gone when I wake up. 

“You know what I mean,” you shyly ache. 

And truthfully, he does. Touya knows exactly what you mean. 

He knows that he has no problem crawling through your door, fucking you until you're both sore and sleepy goners. He knows that he has no issue coming into your kitchen, eating the meals you make just for him and showering with your shampoo that you now buy extra bottles of. He knows that for some strange reason, he draws the line at spending the night in your bed. Something about the sun going down, sharing the clean linens of one’s own personal sanctuary, it’s all too much—too intimate for someone as scummy as him. He deserves a cold and unsettled slumber, away from your contiguous fire. 

“Dabi,” you try once more, eyes pleading for any sort of response, any sort of explanation.

An explanation that both of you know he can’t give you—not right now, at least.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, picking a stray eyelash off of your cheek. He selfishly lets it sit on the pad of his thumb for a bit, holding onto any piece of you he can, for just a little bit longer. 

“Can’t have people thinkin’ m’going all soft now, can we?” he breathes out onto the eyelash, letting it flutter from his hold with the sudden gust of wind. 

You close your eyes gently at the air between the two of you, before challenging his claim, “Not even me?”

“Especially you,” he’s quick to draw a line in the sand. 

“Why?”

“Because—”

I love you.

The thought cuts him off mid-sentence, leaving him practically choking and stumbling on his own words as he trails off. He looks at you, doe-eyes admiring him as if he’s a saint, as if he hasn’t maimed and killed and destroyed things just because he could. Just because. 

His reply is softer, more defeated as he mumbles, “Just because.”

You sit up in bed, still adorned in the egg-shell white comforter of your sheets. You extend your arm’s reach, covering his shoulder with the blanket as you crawl into his lap and pull him into your magnetic little bubble beneath the covers. 

“Stay, just for tonight,” you beg, eyelashes fluttering softly against his cheeks. They tickle like a kiss, feeling far too gentle for someone as rough as him. He silently prays that another one will fall off and become forever attached to him, for when you're not around and he needs to feel you. 

“Please.”

He looks at you, cocooned in fluffy white sheets as you kiss him—once, twice, three times. Your lips taste like honeyed chapstick and the warmth of a love he’s never known, one he should never know. 

“Alright,” he selfishly agrees. 

One night can’t hurt, right?

He promises himself, “Just for tonight.” 

Touya does stay the night, and the one after that, and the following. In fact, he hasn’t slept anywhere that isn’t your bed since that very moment. 

—

#003

The third time Touya almost tells you that he loves you catches him by surprise—not that the other two times haven’t—because it’s so natural. So domestic, it makes him nauseous at who he’s become, or rather, who he’s becoming. 

“Touya?” your voice calls out to him, echoing off the walls of the hallway in your tiny apartment.

That’s right, he remembers, it’s Touya now. The name he once scorched from his skin, sounding so sweet leaving your mouth.

He notices the click-clacking of your heels on the creaky wooden floors getting closer. Confirming his suspicion, you turn the corner to where he lazily slumps on the futon, watching some rerun of a show that just barely keeps his attention.

“Hey, can you zip me up?” 

He makes out your request over the dialogue of the characters on the screen. Without looking up from the television, he scoffs out a laugh and immediately runs through his mental lists of quick remarks. Which should he go with today? ‘

Can’t do anything without my help, can you?’ Or maybe even, ‘Oh, so now you need me, huh?’ What about, ‘What am I, your personal servant?’

However, all of his thoughts seem to disappear into smoke once his eyes land on you.  

You’re wearing white.

A white dress, more specifically. One that hugs all of your curves and crevices perfectly, almost as if it was made to be worn by you. 

His eyes rake over the tiny details of the garment—it’s silk, he mentally notes. He has the sudden urge to reach out and touch it, feel it beneath his fingertips, He wonders if it feels as soft as your skin does, but he doubts it. He admires the delicate straps, how they sit nicely on your shoulders, exposing just enough skin for him to see the way your chest rises and falls with the pattern of your breathing. He looks at your legs, the dress reaching about mid-calf on you, perfectly acceptable for the networking event you’ll be attending. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding in—thank god. If you showed any more leg than that, he’d be restless the whole night. 

He eyes the dainty necklace adorning your collarbone, how it cradles in the dip of your chest. He smiles once he realizes that it’s the one that he gave you. Fake gold and stolen from a pawn shop downtown, the thin chain wraps around your neck like a reminder. A secret promise to let him know that you’re his, whether he’ll let you be or not. 

After a whole minute of silently ogling you, Touya finally registers your ask and pries his eyes away from where you stand. 

Granted, the dress is nice. Touya just doesn't care for the piece of material itself—what he cares for is you, where you're wearing it to, and why it’s making his stomach feel like it’s eating itself alive. 

He doesn’t know why the thought keeps repeating like a mantra in his mind. You’re wearing white, white, white. The way his brain is hyper-fixating on the color is beyond him, but he lets it continue to ruminate within his brain.

He stalks over to where you expose your back to him, patiently waiting to feel the cold zipper glide up with ease. 

However, he doesn’t zip it up right away. He lets his fingers play with it for a moment, flicking it back and forth between his index and thumb. He huffs before pulling it up agonizingly slow, in case you change your mind halfway up, in case you say screw it and decide to ditch the work event. For him. 

You feel his breath hit your neck when he practically whines, “You really have to go?”

He hears you giggle as he finally finishes zipping the dress to completion. You turn to face him, eyes bright and smile blinding as you raise your eyebrows at his rather needy remark. 

“If I wanna keep my job and if you wanna keep coming here and stealing my food,” you jab the center of his chest with a slender finger, it feels like sparks on his icy skin, “then yes, I really have to go.”  

He stays silent for the rest of your getting ready. He watches you readjust the straps of your heels, fiddle with the clasp of your necklace. Watches you skillfully apply lipstick, carefully removing the tiny amount that smeared onto your front teeth in the process. Watches you secure your earrings in place and take one final glance at yourself in the mirror, before grabbing your coat and making your way to the door.

You say something to him, probably along the lines of lock the door or don’t wait up for me, but your words are fuzzy and incoherent—as if he were underwater and the muffled sound can't fully reach his ears. 

You looked beautiful, almost angelic, like you weren’t of this world and didn’t deserve to be exposed to all of the dirt and grime it wields within it’s orbit. A dream, a saint, a—

It’s in this moment that he feels his heart meshing with his brain, and he yearns to tell you those three words.

I love you. 

You were wearing white.

Touya calms his shaky build with a ragged inhale. A bride, he suddenly decides.

Glowing as you beamed in your white dress, you didn't look like an angel or a goddess. You didn't look like someone going to a work event, someone who would stand alone without a date huddled close to your side. Not someone who deserves to come home to him, of all people—to a lowlife criminal who you will never be able to understand, let alone wed.

No, in your elegant white gown fitted solely to your frame—you looked like a bride.

Though he knows you’ll be returning back to him within a few hours, Touya feels uneasy. He thinks about a wedding. One where you stand at the end of a flower-adorned aisle beneath an ornate canopy. One where you shine ethereal and godly as you read your cheesy vows aloud and give yourself away without so much of a second thought. 

Touya doesn't think he’ll be the one meeting you at the end of the aisle, doesn’t think he’ll be the one you kiss as the crowd goes wild with an applause fit for a film screen. He won’t be the one whose last name you take on, as it’s more of a burden than it is an honor. He doesn't need to be. 

He just needs you to be happy, whether it’s with him, or not. 

—

#004

You wake in the middle of the night to a cold and empty bed, which is luckily a rare occurrence nowadays. 

On any other given night, your lover would be passed out in the space next to you. His position may vary—sometimes he rests on your chest with his hands around your torso, clinging to your body as if you’ll vanish in the shadows of the night if he doesn't have a finger on you at all times. Other nights, he can’t even bring himself to touch you, hugging the opposite end of the mattress, an ocean separating the space between the two of you. 

Regardless of the position, he was always there—always with you. 

Quietly pulling yourself out of bed, you tip toe down the corridor to find Touya right where you expect him to be. 

He sits on the edge of the couch, lacing up his beaten and tattered brown boots. You make a mental note to buy him new ones, reminding yourself that he’s a size 10 and prefers the color black to a more neutral brown or tan. 

You watch him pull the soggy laces taut, before knotting them and forming two larger loops. He does it a bit childishly—almost as if he’s reciting some nursery rhyme in his head with the instructions as lyrics. Bunny ears, bunny ears, playing by a tree...

Trying not to scare him, as if you ever could, you clear your throat to make him aware of your presence. He looks up with an expression that can best be described as shame—as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn't be doing, something you specifically told him not to do. 

It doesn't take long for your sleep-riddled mind to piece together that he must’ve gotten a call from the league. Waking him from his slumber and requiring his presence, his power, to aid them in something you don’t even try to imagine. 

You crawl over to where he sits, leaning down to squat on the floor and help him tie the other boot. He silently watches your fingers work the laces with ease. 

He admires your nail polish, it’s white. He remembers you applying it a few days ago while sitting at the kitchen table, fanning your hands around obnoxiously as they dried. He’d made some lame quip about you choosing such a boring color, but you’d just shrugged, insisting that it was pretty—that it’d reminded you of him.

Your raspy voice pulls him from the memory. 

“Weren’t even gonna say goodbye to me, huh?” you tease, tone supposed to come across as playful, but Touya knows you—reads you like his favorite book as he can hear the worry, the hurt, that hides beneath it. 

“Didn’t wanna wake you,” he answers honestly, holding your cheek in his hand as he guides you upwards to be eye level with him as you finish tying his lace.  

Now kneeling in front of him, you pull him into a kiss—one that feels like how tears taste. Salty and desperate, yet soft like an ocean’s tide. He dreams of a day where he can take you to the beach. Watch you bask in the sun’s rays and splash him with water that tastes like your lips do in this very moment, but happier. 

“I love you,” he feels you recite against his lips like a prayer as you slowly pull away, looking him directly in the eye. A tactic—so you can ensure that he knows you meant to say it, knows that you meant for him to hear it, to feel it. 

I love you. 

The response is instant in his mind, like the muscle memory of riding a bike or tying the grimy laces of his boots. 

However, Touya says nothing, frozen in place as he feels his eyes begging to water, to cry—to release something, anything. 

I love you, he inwardly repeats, as if maybe this time, you’d read his mind and hear it loud and clear. 

Seeing his internal struggle, you let your thumb brush his cheek. He almost instantly crumbles beneath your touch, like putty in your hands. 

“I don’t need you to say it back,” you gently smile for him, tenderly laughing as you continue to stroke his cheek, “you don’t even need to feel it back.”

That’s stupid, Touya bitterly thinks. 

How selfish and unfair and stupid of you to just give out your love for free, without a price. A co-pay, a service fee, a tax charge, anything. How dare you do this to yourself? What benefit do you gain from loving and losing all of the time? 

“Just let me, please,” your hushed whisper reassures him, as if you could hear his mental ramblings, “let me love you.”

I love you, he burns. He aches to scream it, to throw it at you the only way he knows how—with fire and hurt and violence and destruction. He wants to curse it, to leave you shaking in awe from its power and punch. It’s on the very tip of his tongue, he can feel the weight of it shaking and shuffling around on his tastebuds, begging to be released. 

But it doesn’t come. 

Instead, like a coward, he flutters his lashes and refuses to look you in the eye. “I don’t know how to,” he reveals, shame eating him alive from the inside out.

I love you, is what he means to say. He hopes you know that, somehow. After all, you do seem to know him better than he knows himself. 

With another kiss, one of warmth and chapped lips, you whisper into his mouth.

“Just feel it,” you breathe down into his throat, hoping he swallows it back like a shot of liquor, digesting it and remembering the feeling of its burn, “know that it’s there, know that you're capable of receiving it.”

He wants to scoff, but your tongue skimming his own prevents him from doing so. He’s grateful for it, he thinks—grateful for you. 

“Because you are,” you ensure as you pull away from him once more. Gently standing from where you kneel, you slightly pull away from him. You let him grab his jacket, help him zip it up all the way up to his collarbone. You hope he’s not cold out there tonight, you let yourself worry before irony can get its sadistic hands on you. 

“I love you,” you insist once more, and it makes his skin buzz with a newfound sense of purpose. With the silence returning to your apartment, you turn on your heel and revert back to your cold and empty bed. 

Touya leaves that night for the mission, but something feels wrong. Or maybe it feels right, and he’s just been taught that those two things are supposed to feel the same. It’s a grey area, one of unknown roads and phantom pains. He’s beginning to realize that rebirth feels far too similar to the gentle ache of mourning. 

Something in him fights a little harder that night, though. His moves are a bit more calculated, actually planned and thought out. He doesn't act on impulse, without any regard of his hands and skin and life, like he usually would. 

Because for the first time in Touya’s life, he’s aware that he has somewhere to be—he has a home to return to, with someone who loves him waiting for him on the other side of the door.

—

#000

With a heartbeat far too intense for a slumbering man, Touya jolts awake in the middle of the night. 

But the more he thinks about it, he doesn’t know if he actually ever fell asleep. 

He has no memory of dozing off in your embrace or closing his eyes after his long and grueling day with the league. But based on the way he’s short-winded and gasping for air in bed, he must have fallen asleep eventually—because as Touya puts two and two together, he’s pretty positive that he’s just woken up from a nightmare.

He can’t recall a single detail of the terror-induced dream, but he logically knows that there’s no other reason for him to be stunned awake and heaving in the middle of the night. 

It could've been about anything—god knows his subconscious has enough horror to choose from—but as Touya sits up in bed and attempts to catch his breath, he can’t remember what he was dreaming about. 

He’s grateful for that, as he’s beginning to learn that there’s no harm in leaving the unknown untouched. Leaving well enough alone. 

As the adrenaline slowly evaporates from his chest, he allows himself to lay back down with a deep sigh of irritation and annoyance. 

It’s not abnormal for him to wake in the middle of the night, he’s grown accustomed to it. He’s become decently skilled at lulling himself back to sleep with a few mental tactics he’s collected over the years. 

His favorite one being listing. He thinks of things that are stable, unchanging or always in the same relative realm of one another. Things that are endless in quantity, but simultaneously somehow permanent and constant. 

He names as many four-legged animals as he can—cow, dog, cat, alligator, gopher. He tries to list every food that starts with the letter “C” like cherries, curry, coconut, croissants, and cake. He tallies the objects in the room that are rounded. The clock on the wall, the glass of water on his bedside, the finicky and rusted doorknob to your room. He counts your breaths per minute, sometimes wagering bets with himself on how many times he can guess the exact amount correctly. 

Tonight, something inside of him is prompted to choose the latter.

With another deep sigh, Touya hoists himself upwards so that his head is resting on his hand, held up by the weight of his elbow leaning next to you on the mattress.

He watches you sleep, laying flat on your back with your head slightly turned to the side that faces him. He counts your nose-whistled breaths with the rising and falling of your chest. He starts fresh when the thin fast-paced arrow of the clock marks the beginning of another minute, keeping track of every inhale and exhale you take before the sixty-seconds come to a close.

Thirteen. He counts thirteen breaths enter and leave your lungs. He likes that number, something about it feels like it fits nicely, like it means something, whatever that may be.

He debates counting another minute of your breathing—just to pass the time, he swears—but he doesn't want to take something as precious as your proof of living for granted. Leave well enough alone, he reminds himself.

While his own breathing has slowed, he still feels restless. In fear of waking you with his nonsensical anxiety, he slowly slides out from your bed. He needs to move around, to feel his arms and legs recirculate blood that somehow still pumps inside of him. 

Closing your bedroom door with a quiet click, Touya paces the creaky floors of your apartment. 

He walks in circles around your coffee table, saunters back and forth in the kitchen. He strides up and down the narrowed hallway, refusing to look in any mirror or window reflection in fear of catching his own eye. He can only imagine how pathetic he must look right now, he can feel it ache in his calves and crawl up his spine with every step he takes.

The air in the apartment feels stuffy, suffocating almost. He does a quick scan of the area—the windows are open and there’s a slight breeze drafting through the room as the curtains slightly sway back and forth. 

He checks the thermostat on the wall. Pressing a flat fingertip to the dial, it glows back at him, reading a temperature perfectly average for a temperate night like tonight. So why does it feel like a fucking sauna in here? He doesn’t normally run this uncomfortably hot, as ironic as it may seem.

He needs air, more than just the draft from the windows. He needs the chill of an ice-cold bath to drown his lungs, he needs to let the water wash him from the inside out and rid him of any grime you’ve missed. 

He grabs his pack of cigarettes off the kitchen counter and makes a beeline for the screen door. 

Sliding the entry of the balcony open, he steps onto the tiny porch and leans on the cool metal railing. It’s not a drastic change in temperature—in fact, he’s not even sure if there is any change—but he feels better out here, like there’s more space to sigh and grovel. 

Over the hum of the city below, he notices his own breathing. A bit faster and shakier than usual. He scoffs at his own behavior—childlike and shaken-up after a tantrum.

Touya has no pity for himself, nor the way his body struggles and shakes when lighting his cigarette. He lets himself deeply inhale the stale smoke before letting it slip out through a pursed lip. 

He looks out over the railing. The city street below is surprisingly lively compared to its usual bare bones around this time of night. He people-watches for a few moments, a fragile attempt to distract himself from the uneasy pit threatening to permanently settle in his stomach. 

He observes a street vendor closing up for the night, scrubbing away at a hefty pot filled of some mixture of noodle and broth. He sees a stray mutt sniffing through piles of plastic bags filled with trash, before a policeman shoos it away from the neglected garbage. He watches a walking man pass beneath the street-lamps, faintly illuminated by their glow every few feet as he scurries to get home with convenience store bags in his hand.

His eyes fall to a young couple, teenagers maybe, strolling through the dimly lit streets. They practically skip down the alleyways, hands intertwined and animatedly swinging back and forth. He hears one of them loudly giggle as the other one attempts to balance on the raised borders of the sidewalk, placing one foot in front of the other like an acrobat on a tightrope.

It makes his heart sink for reasons unknown. The bitter anger he feels is a humbling reminder for him to get back inside and go back to sleep.

With a bit of a groan and a harsh rub to the bridge of his nose, Touya stifles his cigarette out on the brick wall of your apartment complex, before tossing it in the ashtray you leave out for him on the end table. 

On his way inside, he eyes the wilted potted plant next to it, dried and crumbling from the lack of rain these days. 

Once he’s through the door, Touya finds himself moving towards the bathroom. He leans over the sink as he avoids his own gaze in the mirror. While the ceramic is calm and cooling on his palms, it’s still not enough. 

He flicks the knob which turns the faucet on and allows the cold water to run for a few moments. Once he’s positive that it’s as cold as your apartment complex’s water tank can allow, he sticks his hands underneath the consistent stream of the nozzle.

He lets the water hit the center of his palms, cupping in his hands and overflowing over the sides of his thumbs. He watches it drip through the cracks where his fingers meet one another, feels it glide over his knuckles and down his wrists. He tilts his hands upward and lets it run beneath his fingernails—an attempt to hit every single one of his crevices with the purifying liquid.

His final act includes him cupping the water one last time and splashing it on his face. It slightly brings his temperature down, but more so pulls him back to reality as he blindly reaches around the bathroom for something to dry himself with. 

He decides to roughly collect the droplets on his face with the hand towel hanging beside him. While looking down at the floor, he spots the smear of blood he left on your tile the first time he met you. The one that he knew would leave a stain. He didn't expect to ever see it again, let alone every day. 

As he places the towel back on the rack, something briefly catches his attention from the corner of his eye—something he hasn’t noticed before in the small confines of your familiar bathroom. 

A tiny vase, no bigger than the circumference of his own two hands, sits on the shelf of your toilet tank. It doesn’t take up much space, maybe half of the ledge, as it decorates the otherwise relatively plain room. It’s not the vase that lures him in, it’s the flowers.

They’re white.

White, just like the bandages you pressed into his tattered and lifeless skin what feels like years ago. Like the bedsheets you wrapped the two of you in, holding him in your palms and begging him to stay the night. White, the same as the dress you wore, the one that had him thinking about a future—one with you and a forever kept promise. Like the boringly pretty nail polish you chose to decorate your fingernails with for the sole reason that it reminded you of him. 

White. 

He doesn’t recognize the type of flower, not that he knows many, but he’s familiar with the basics: roses, tulips, sunflowers. These ones are different. They spread themselves out at the stem, almost drooping into a delicate star-shape. They have tiny little seeds—he guesses—in the center, yellow and narrow. He leans in to sniff them, they smell of nothing but grass and wind. A clean scent. 

They’re new, he decides. He would've noticed those before. Knowing you and your routine, you most likely picked them up on your way back from work a few days ago. He vaguely remembers you mentioning a flower-shop close to your office that you’d been curious to check out. He figures you finally bit the bullet before the work week was over. 

Something about those fucking flowers ignites something inside of him. So simple and plain, yet captivatingly eye-catching at the same time. Silent and peaceful, they stay there. They don’t harm anyone. Their only purpose being to lighten up the dim and stale bathroom. 

They’re proof that things can be good, that things can sit there and exist for the sole reason of making someone happy. They don’t need to be any more complicated than that—Touya thinks they’re kinda like you in that way. 

With a new-found sense of ease and a strange sense of urgency pulling him back to the bedroom, Touya’s feet move before he can process his own realizations. They carry him back to bed, let him crawl underneath the covers and press his body softly against yours. 

He returns to the same position he was in before, resting on his side as his elbow prompts him upwards, giving him a clear angle of you sleeping soundly beneath him. 

Touya doesn’t know why he feels the need to say it right now. Maybe, it’s because you’re sleeping, in your own world and unable to hear him. He knows it’s cowardly—but for more reasons than one, he’s never claimed to be a hero. 

He braces himself—for what, he doesn’t know. Maybe the ground will split open from beneath him and swallow you whole. Maybe the sky will turn red and the sun will explode into a thousand fiery little flames. Maybe he’ll stop breathing.  Maybe you’ll breathe another thirteen times.

He focuses on you and nothing else, afraid to exhale too loudly or move an inch in fear of waking you and ruining the moment for himself. 

Frozen in time, he whispers the cursed phrase, lips barely moving.

“I love you.”

It’s foreign in his mouth, but it doesn’t feel acidic like he’d imagined it would. It feels light, feathery, as if it’s not even there in the first place. It melts like cotton candy on his tongue, dissolving into nothing but a sweet and sugary aftertaste. 

Touya blinks, releasing a sigh as he allows himself to relax a bit. The moment is peaceful. That wasn’t so bad.

“I love you too, Touya” he hears you faintly whisper from the space in between his arm and torso. His body freezes with what he hopes isn't regret. 

You don’t gasp and tremor like he expects, hell, you barely move a muscle as you mutter the words back to him with ease. You must be sleep-talking, he reasons with himself. There’s no other way that you’d be as nonchalant as you are about the situation at hand.

But as you move in closer to him, your hand rubbing soft circles on his chest, he knows you’re awake. 

He lets himself drift off to sleep once more, no need for counting mammals or listing specifically shaped objects. The sole thought dancing in Touya’s mind remains the same throughout the night and into his dreams. 

He needs to ask you for the name of those flowers. 

a/n: AAAAAAAHHHH here is my touya fic. i am very proud of it >,< i’ve been working on it for quite some time now and it feels good to finally be able to release it! i hope u all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. i had a lot of fun coming up with the little details and easter eggs in it. as always, i love receiving ur guys feedback so please feel free to let me know what u like about it (if anything at all LOL)

#touya todoroki #dabi #touya fic #touya todoroki fic #dabi fic #touya x reader #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x reader #dabi fluff #dabi angst #touya fluff #touya angst #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha writing

[thesakuragarnet]

Deal With The Devil (Dabi X Fem!Reader)

Summary: You've got a feeling that your sudden promotion has little to do with your boss finally recognizing your potential and everything to do with the strings your lover is pulling to bring you closer to him.

Part three of Dabi X Fem! Support Course Graduate Reader (Part 1; Part 2)

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY! S3XUAL TAGS WILL BE HIDDEN BELOW THE KEEP READING BUTTON!

Non-Spicy Tags: swearing, heavy smut, Dabi X Fem! Support Course Reader, making out, some g0re-y imagery/metaphor but none actually other than Dabi-typical b0dy horror

Word Count: 2,999 words

Tumblr Original <3

Spicy Tags: f0replay, mirror s3x, vag!nal s3x, aftercare, slightly rough s3x, pull!ng out, vag!nal fingering, gr!nding, d0ggy style, slight ma$turbat!on, 3dging, 0ral s3x, cunn!lingus, slight praise k!nk, slight 0ral fixation

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things were getting dicey in the news. The League was on the move...meaning your lover was getting anxious. They'd had to relocate from their home base in Kamino Ward, and Dabi's visits were growing few and farther between. Not by his choice of course...he loathed being far away from you. There was an ache like no other burning throughout his body...just for you. It grew stronger with each passing day. Each new encounter was more possessive. More greedy. More needy. Filled to the brim with an intensifying passion. It was enchanting. Some intrinsic part of you wanted to say to hell with it all and run away with him. But...you still had a job...an important job at that. You were one of Detnerat's Support Item specialists, and, lately, they'd been asking way more of you than ever before. Rumors were spreading about some shifty work higher up...and...when the new requirements for your temperature controller popped up with new measurements...and a familiar-looking jacket to attach them to...you slowly began to connect the dots. You were making Support Items for villains...or at least, your company was. More specifically...your life's work was going to belong to exactly who spurred it in the first place. Touya Todoroki.

...

Once Detnerat's allegiance was revealed to its employees, Dabi decided he wanted you closer. You got a letter in the mail at the end of last week...from your boss...your boss's boss's boss... Re-Destro himself. It was something about a promotion, effective immediately, with instructions regarding new living quarters and a laboratory for you to carry out your projects. The next day, moving trucks arrived at your apartment complex, along with a stretch limo with a nearly silent and slightly rude driver. You panicked, packing what little you owned as quickly as possible.

...

The limo stops at Gunga Mountain Villa: an old architectural blemish hidden in the forests of the mountains. To your surprise, you quickly gathered that this was, in fact, the home base for the Paranormal Liberation Front...an organization that you knew Dabi had recently joined as a lieutenant.

Speak of the devil, the moment you step out, Touya Todoroki appears out of thin air.

"What a coincidence," He smirks sarcastically, looking down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye behind his indifferent facade. "I'll lead you to your new home, darling," He muses, and you fall into step beside him into the villa. The halls are bustling with all sorts of riff-raff going about their daily duties, and some of them give you confused stares, immediately looking away once a certain pair of cerulean eyes bores into them.

In the distance, you see a lanky figure brandishing a laptop; his long, inky black hair hangs loosely. You recognize him from Dabi's descriptions whenever he'd complain about his new colleagues.

"Is that-" Before you can finish your sentence, Dabi nods.

"Stay close. Don't talk to him," He murmurs under his breath, and you feel Dabi's arm wrap around you, pulling you close to him and draping over your shoulders as Skeptic approaches.

"Off to have fun with your little pet, I see," Skeptic snorts cynically as he walks, typing away and barely looking up.

"She's not a pet!" Dabi snaps, eyes burning as venom coats his voice, seeming to dare Skeptic to hurl any more insults. Luckily, the man keeps walking in the opposite direction. Dabi's jaw clenches as he squeezes your shoulder, walking even more briskly. He leads you up several flights of stairs and down a hall to a door.

Your heart stutters in your chest as Dabi opens it. You recognize the charcoal black walls...the black silk satin bedsheets...you'd seen it in pictures he'd sent you of himself. Though...there's a noticeable addition to Touya's bedroom. One of the walls has been replaced by a mirror, hung parallel with the bed on the opposite wall.

"The movers will set up the rest of your things in your lab. It's gonna be in the basement by the auditorium," Dabi yawns absentmindedly as you shrug off your backpack filled with blueprints. "But...this is where you live now. I guess," He shrugs, trying to sound indifferent, but you can hear the tension in his tone.

"So...we're sharing this room?" You raise your eyebrow, and the devious grin spreads across Dabi's face once again.

"Unless you have any complaints about it," He croons, turning to face you. The room is dimly lit, and Dabi pulls the door closed before taking a few more steps toward you.

"I know you've had a stressful day with the short-notice move...so why don't we relax?" He chuckles darkly.

"Remember as always. Anything you don't like. Just say the word. I don't mind," He whispers in your ear, and you nod. Even in his darkest moments, this is something you're always thankful for. Despite him being a literal villain, he's gentle with you...unless otherwise discussed. He's...deliberate with you. Sometimes it makes you wonder if he's scared the slightest wrong move will scare you off. The last thing you want is for him to disappear...after all...you'd only just recently gotten him back after all these years. He loved you. He truly, wholeheartedly loved you. It was a bit strange, considering how he was portrayed in the news and by the public. Sure, he could be called a monster for his patchwork skin and for the things he's done, but you knew a different side of him. A real side of him. A raw side of him. A side that...perhaps you were the only one to ever see. He cups the side of your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb...and sweetly connects your lips. You dissolve into his embrace, feeling his hand snake around your waist and pull you flush against him; both of your hearts pound in your chests as you kiss one another passionately. It's so easy to get lost in Touya's kiss, especially with how your lips fit together like a final puzzle piece. Every time he kisses you, it's as if the whole world suddenly makes sense. Nothing else exists but you and Touya.

Dabi's hand drops from your cheek, resting against the back of your neck and pulling you in as he slides his tongue against your top lip. You let him in, meeting his tongue eagerly with your own. The hand at your waist travels to your back, gripping the fabric of your jacket in a fist. He wants it off. Without a word, you start shrugging out of the sleeves, and Dabi begins to slip out of his own jacket. The conductor cuffs clink to the floor, but you'll worry about repairing them later. Dabi's kisses grow more hasty, lips sloppily connecting over and over and over before he starts to move from your lips to your jaw. His hands find their way to the buttons of your blouse, roughly unbuttoning it at a furious pace. You submit to him, letting him drag his teeth down to your neck, where he starts intensely sucking on your flesh. You gasp when his hands cup your breasts, squeezing them in a way that's borderline concerning, but you know he'd never hurt you...not in a way that you didn't consensually ask for at least. Hot and heavy breaths burst from your lips as your hands find their way through his charcoal-colored hair, eyelids fluttering as he bites down possessively. Slowly, you feel him leading you backward to the bed, and, the next thing you know, you're falling onto those inky silk sheets.

"Fuck," Dabi's voice is gravelly as he groans against your skin, and something stirs between your legs when you feel his clothed erection pressing up against you. Instinctively, you roll your hips, and Dabi practically melts into your arms, his resolve shaking as the muted stimulation sends shockwaves down his spine. Something snaps in his brain. His fingers start tugging your pants down, and you hurriedly kick them off with your shoes as your arousal grows. Dabi's lips trace down your body, licking between your tits and further down still, trailing down your stomach before stopping at the waistband of your panties. Teasingly, he hooks his fingertips below the elastic, plucking it so it gently snaps back against you. Blush tints your cheeks as he looks up at you with a knowing grin before he kisses your inner thigh, slowly snaking down your leg until he reaches your ankle.

"Take 'em off. On all fours, princess," Dabi commands, love lacing his tone as he briefly gets off the bed to finish disrobing. You follow his orders without a word, tossing your panties off the side of the bed before facing the headboard as you get on all fours.

Dabi clicks his tongue as you feel the bed creak.

"Face the mirror," He coaxes, and you shudder, following his instructions...you can see him climbing onto the bed.

Dabi's calloused hands trace over your thighs, gripping them tenderly as you hear a soft sigh from behind you. You lift your head, looking into the mirror as you were instructed, and you can see that your lover's eyes are practically glowing. The blazing cerulean bores into you, staring into your very soul...it's such a desperate longing gaze that he might as well be ripping the flesh off your body and leaving you completely bare to the bone. You watch him reach over, pulling the lube out of the nightstand drawer and pouring a generous amount on his throbbing cock. He shivers, muttering curses under his breath as he smooths it over, lazily jerking himself off as he stares at you.

"You're so fucking gorgeous, y'know that, princess?" He groans, bending down to press a slow kiss between your shoulder blades. The gesture sends shivers down your spine, and you can't help but stare in the mirror, as if in a trance, as he slowly starts to sink into you.

"Oh, God," Touya huffs, pressing into you until his hips meet your backside. The stretch feels so familiar, yet it still throws sparks across your vision.

"Touya," You stutter, and you feel him twitch deep inside you. He loves it when you moan his name...he's obsessed. Delicately, he starts rocking his hips, pumping inside you at a steady pace that wrecks your brain.

"That's it, baby," He pants, squeezing your thighs again as he pulls you to him, "Lemme hear you."

You can't help but dissolve into a stuttering, groaning mess as he fucks you, sweat dripping down your neck; Dabi reaches around, pulling you off your hands and knee and hoisting you up so your back presses against his chest. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as his hands travel roughly up your body, subtly heated fingertips pinching your nipples. Right as you open your mouth to moan his name again, Dabi takes one hand and forces your head to the side before giving you a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue slides against your own, almost like he's trying to savor every inch of you. The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo throughout the room, the undertones of both your muffled, pleasured noises peppered throughout.

"Feel so good," Dabi growls against your lips, his voice cracking on the end of his words as he twists your nipples and licks a wet stripe up the side of your face.

"Back down, sweetheart," He rasps, gently taking his hand from your chin and putting pressure between your shoulder blades. You lower yourself back down on all fours, your body jolting as he picks up the pace. Pleasure boils in your blood as Dabi's hand travels from your nipple to make a swipe at your folds, getting a mixture of your slick and his pre before rubbing it on your throbbing red clit. You cry out, twitching against him, and you hear his dark, strained chuckle behind you.

"Is this too much for you?" He sneers, rutting up into you, but his movements start becoming hasty, and he's losing his composure. You can feel his cock pulsing, and you just know he's close. You can feel it in your bones...and you're skyrocketing to the edge yourself. 4

"Fuck-I'm-," Dabi stutters before roughly pulling out all at once, forcing a pained and confused whine from your lips before he reaches between your legs with one hand, pumping two fingers inside and thumbing at your pulsating clit as he fists his dick with the other. You pant heavily, weak moans falling from your lips as you watch everything with blurry eyes, tears welling up from the overwhelming emotions. It all feels too good. So...so good. The feeling is apparently mutual as your name softly rolls off of Dabi's tongue as he comes undone with a few more strokes, and you feel the heat spreading on your back. Dabi's fingers twitch inside you as his body shudders, and, to your dismay, you feel him slowly slip his fingers out as he sighs. Uncomfortably on the edge of your orgasm, you sink, forehead touching the pillow as he suddenly grips your shoulder.

"Hold tight, babe," He mutters before climbing off the bed. From the mirror, you can see him walking into the side bathroom. You close your eyes and grit your teeth as you hear water running from the bathroom. It's taking everything in you to not start touching yourself like an animal in heat. Finally, the water stops, and you blink through watering eyes to see Dabi walking behind you with a rag in his hand. Delicately, he touches the warm, damp fabric to your back, and you feel something in your heart twist as he wipes you down with an unusual tenderness. His other hand gently rubs at your shoulder, massaging until he finishes cleaning you up. He grunts as he sits back on his knees, carelessly tossing the rag into a laundry basket in the corner before suddenly grabbing your hip and shoving you sideways; you find yourself on your back, staring at the ceiling. Your eyes widen as you look down to meet his half-lidded gaze.

"Oh, no. We're not done yet. You think I'd be so cruel to tease you like that? Good girls deserve rewards," He croons, hooking his arms under your legs as he lays down. Before you can blink, he's dragging his warm tongue up your dripping slit, flattening it out so every inch of you is tended to. He dives into your pussy, and you feel the cold contrast of the staples on the side of his face pressing into your thighs as his hot breath teases your clit. Finally, he wraps his lips around the pulsing bud, sucking with a lewd desperation as he looks up at you with hungry eyes. Your back arches, head sinking into your pillow as your eyelids flutter shut, and you get chills when you feel the vibrations as he sighs into your folds.

"Eyes on me," He hums under his breath, and you obey, looking down at him as he laps up your slit. His eyes are glassy, probably from coming down from his own orgasmic high as he steadily coaxes you back up to your own. Still, those cerulean irises shimmer in the darkness of the bedroom.

"Fuck, I love you," He groans, tongue swirling around your clit as his hands travel up your thighs. You try to respond, but the only thing that you can do is just helplessly whimper in pleasure. Dabi's eyes close, breath hissing sharply through his nose as he switches his deliberate rhythm, tongue flicking and swirling in all the right places. The pleasure is consuming at this point, and you feel it building deep inside you, threatening to come crashing down all at once.

"Come in my mouth, princess," He rasps greedily between sloppy licks and suckles, the obnoxious noises filling your brain. Dabi can't get enough, and you can see, hear, and feel it. The way he's devouring your aching pussy. The way he can't look away from you. The way his breath gasps like he's trying not to moan at your taste. It's all so much. It's so...

You're gonna come soon. You can feel it in your bones and the way your muscles start tightening up. Heavy sighs and sobs of pleasure pour from your mouth, and, unconsciously, you hook your ankles around Dabi's neck. The villain melts, obsessed with the idea of being locked into you; he's determined to make you scream.

Suddenly, the waves of raw euphoria flood your body, and your body practically convulses, eyes almost rolling into your head and jaw dropping in a strangled gasp. Still, Dabi doesn't stop. He practically latches on, not caring that you're almost suffocating him with your thighs as they flex involuntarily. He breathes hard, eyes flitting closed again as a low groan rumbles in his throat. He holds you down, slurping up your fluids and eating you out through your orgasm. Finally, he pulls back, lips dripping and body shaking as he gazes up at you.

"Fuck," You sigh, shuddering as your head swims in the clouds and your muscles finally stop spasming. Dabi crawls up to you, grabbing the edge of the comforter and throwing it over the both of you before pressing a longing kiss to your forehead. He scoops you up in his arms, cuddling you close as he nuzzles into the top of your head.

"We get to do this as often as you want now, princess," He snickers, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you as close as humanly possible. His skin is warm, and the silk sheets feel impossibly soft against you. It feels...peaceful. It feels...like home.

"I love you, Touya," You whisper when you get your bearings, and you swear you hear him trying not to cry, but you don't look for confirmation.

"I love you, too," He replies, and you let yourself fall asleep in the arms of one of Japan's most dangerous villains.

#my hero academia fanfiction #dabi #ao3 writer #fanfic #dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #dabi x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya x reader #todoroki touya #touya todoroki #villain dabi #dabi smut #smut #heavy smut #mha smut #bnha smut #my hero academia smut #dabi my hero academia #dabi fanfic #dabi fic #toya x reader #toya todoroki x reader #toya todoroki

[crowborn666-nsfw]

Headache

Dabi x Reader

Tags: AFAB anatomy for Reader, soft sex, lots of kissing, consent given, comfort fic, some praise/body worship,

~~~~~~

You were starting to regret coming to this club, the heavy music making your head pound with each beat. You took a sip of your drink, hoping it would ease the pain some, or maybe the flavor could distract you.

Instead rough warmth pressed to your temple, the scent of ash and smoke invading your nose.

But the scent was welcomed.

“Hey Dabi.”

“You doin’ okay?”

You shook your head, eyes shutting as the beat dropped again.

Dabi’s hand brushed over your forehead, his other hand pulling your drink from you. He tugged you along, out of the main room and towards the back alley of the club.

You leaned into Dabi’s hands as they cupped your cheeks. The quiet of the outside air gentle on your head.

“You done clubbing for the night?”

“Yeah.” You hummed, “You don’t have to stop cause of me though.”

“Nonsense. C’mon.”

Dabi led you through the streets, back to what you recognized as his meager apartment. You headed inside, sitting down on his bed as he brought you some pain medication.

“Take those.” He stated, sitting next to you and running his warm hands over your forehead, easing the ache left behind. You were quick to take the meds, eyes shutting as Dabi’s warm breath brushed against your face.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Mhm.” You hummed, setting the glass of water he’d gotten for you aside as Dabi’s lips pressed to your cheek.

He trailed the kiss to your lips, where it felt like the room heated up in that moment, Dabi’s hands cradling your skull as he kissed you slowly.

Your hands grasped his jacket, tugging him closer as you leaned back. You both fell onto the mattress, Dabi letting out a muffled groan as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips.

“Dabi~”

“Touya.“

You paused, blinking up at him as he pulled back to let you both breathe.

“Wha…?”

“Call me Touya here.” He murmured, and you knew in that moment that Dabi—no, Touya—had handed you a fragile, vulnerable piece of himself, and trusted you with it.

You nodded, fingers brushing dark locks out of his eyes. “Okay Touya.”

Touya bit his lip at the sound of his name leaving your mouth, diving back down to kiss you. He left you gasping at the hot press of his scarred skin, a delightful moan leaving you as he trailed down your throat.

He kissed your skin as if he revered it, his hands oh-so gentle as they slid down your sides, coming to rest loosely on your hips.

“How’s your head?” Touya asked, one hand coming up to brush through your hair.

“Better.”

He nodded, kissing your cheeks and nose, hands gently squeezing your hips. “Could we go further?”

You glanced up at him, eyeing the lustful yet loving haze in his eyes.

“Yes,” you nodded, smiling up at him, “please Touya.”

You enjoyed the slight shudder that left him. Seemed he wasn’t used to hearing his name being said. Touya leaned down, slotting his lips to yours, his hands giving your hips another squeeze before they slid up your shirt.

Your shirt came first, and then Touya’s tattered jacket. Touya kissed your newly exposed skin, being oh-so gentle with you.

“You’re amazin’, you know that?” He breathed, kissing over your heartbeat.

Pants came next, and Touya intertwined his fingers with yours as his hips cradled your own.

“This okay?” He asked, wanting to check one more time.

“Mhm! This is okay.” You replied, pressing your hips to his in hopes it would get him to move faster.

Touya chuckled down at you, giving you a warm kiss as he started to work his way into you. The stretch stung, bringing tears to your eyes which Touya brushed away.

“I’ve got you, you’re doin’ so well.” He murmured, pressing kisses to your skin to distract you.

“T-Touya~ Move please.” You requested, fingers tracing shapes into his skin. You expected moderate pain, but Touya was being so gentle with you that you could hardly feel the pain at all.

But the nearly overwhelming pleasure was delightful as Touya began to move, hands intertwined with yours as he set a steady pace, each thrust firm but gentle.

“You’re so perfect.” Touya breathed into your ear, content to press kisses to your jaw as you moaned beneath him.

You hooked your legs around his waist, back arching at the jolt of pleasure that shot through you. Touya trailed his lips back to yours once again, sapphire eyes staring down at you, pupils blown wide.

You moaned into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut as your orgasm washed over you, hands and legs squeezing Touya.

Touya shuddered above you, his pace quickening just a bit as his own orgasm came running. A broken moan broke your kiss, Touya quick to pull out and release on your lower stomach.

Tender kisses were pressed to your skin, whispers of “did so good” and “love you”s filling your ears.

“Let’s go get washed up.” Touya murmured, pulling back from you and scooping you up into his arms.

#bnha #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mha #mha smut #mha x reader #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi smut #dabi #dabi x reader #touya todoroki #touya todoroki x reader

[httpdabi]

Ecstasy

Genre: Smut, best friends (of course lol)

Summary: Your best friend is local bend‘s guitarists, subtly showing you on the stage that the two of you should fuck.

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: 18+ ( minors DNI!!!!!!), creampie, unprotected, praising, little bit choking, MASK KINK!!!, semi public. Dom!Dabi

Saw a video of a Ghost member doing crazy shit on the stage and had to write this 🥲

,, Yeah, I know, I didn’t forget to pick it up mom‘‘ you muttered, nodding your head like your mother could see you. Placing the phone a bit away from your ear, you hoped that she‘ll be done with the nagging soon, so you could finally move on with your day. Doesn’t matter how many times you already told her that you didn‘t forget about the package she sent, she still had something to say.

,, You know, next time just pay a bit more so you can follow the location of the package. You and your trust issues, I swear‘‘ You sighed, before the convo was done.

Thankfully.

Putting your phone inside your pocket, you slowly made your way home, dragging your feet lazily across the wett sidewalk. After the overheated days that hit your city, you found yourself missing the rain. Since you were already out, you decided to go buy some grocery’s, since you didn’t have much time to buy anything these days.

After all, you needed some snacks too for the movie you were planing to watch. Cheetos, nachos and so on. Anything is fine.

Once the sun was completely gone, you made yourself a hot cocoa, and cuddled yourself in your favourite blanket before you found the new Orphan movie.

The first part was one of your favourite movies, so you were really hoping that the new one won‘t disappoint you, and so far it was good in your opinion. You were more then curious about stuff that was going on. Snacking on the chips as you waited excitedly for the next thing to happen.

Just when you found out about the plot twist, a loud sound of the doorbell echoed in your apartment. Pausing the movie, you made your way toward the door. There was no need for you to ask who it was, since only one person would pay you a visit without any announcements.

,, Hi doll‘‘your best friend greeted you, hood covering his white hair. Only a smirk formed on his face visible to you. Inviting himself in, Touya took your place on the couch. Placing his hands above his head, he raised his brow at the paused scene on your Television.

,, Of course you’re watching this shit alone‘‘ he chuckled, making some space on the couch for you as he invited you into his embrace.

There was nothing that you loved more than spending time with your best friend. Watching movies with him or just simply being with him. Times like that made you calm, and simply happy.

,, Want me to start from the beginning ?‘‘ You asked, making yourself comfortable.

,, Nah, I‘ll catch up‘‘ he answered, caressing the back of your neck slowly.

The focus you once had was long gone, since he was caressing you the whole time. Not that you were complaining, you loved it and Touya is the only person willing to do it.

,, You asleep doll?‘‘ Touya asked, as he turned the Television off. Shaking your head slowly, you hummed a small no.

,, Are you coming tomorrow to the Tamaris? We‘ll be playing some new covers‘‘ Touya said quietly, like he was scared to wake you up, even tho you were already awake.

,, Which covers ?‘‘ you asked back, burying your face into his chest as he played with your hair.

,, Tek it, Cigarette Daydreams, Sex drugs etc, and so on‘‘ he said quietly, not stopping his movements. Sometimes you asked yourself how the fuck doesn’t he get tired.

,, Of course I‘m coming‘‘ you whispered, closing your eyes as you inhaled the scent of his perfume. ,, Wouldn‘t miss it for anything‘‘ you added.

,, That’s my good girl‘‘ Touya said, smile forming on his lips.

In short time your eyes started to feel heavy, giving you a sign it was time to drift into the sleep. Even tho your bed didn’t have much space for two people, the two of you fit in perfectly fine, and having him so close to you, you knew that you‘ll sleep just fine.

,, What are you going to wear tonight ?‘‘ Nejire asked, playing with the ice inside the glass., before she took the sip of her coffee.

,, I have no idea, gotta see what’s hiding inside my closet‘‘ you answered, rubbing your eyes slowly. You loved how Nejire gets so excited every time Ecstasy is performing. Actually, lots of people were like that.

You understand why, it was something interesting happening for once in a while. Most of the people, or better to say girls, were coming to see the masked band, curious who‘s hiding behind the almost spooky masks. You didn‘t blame them at all tho, you would feel the same probably, but you already knew who the lead guitarist is.

How couldn‘t you know ? That guitarists shares with you all the songs they prepare. Touya didn‘t and couldn‘t hide that from you even if he wanted. Well what else could he even tell you once you found various Ghostface masks inside his room. Original one, silver one, red one with horns and what not.

,, I can‘t wait to see Myers one beating those drums‘‘ Nejire smiled. You were thinking about asking Touya who that is, but how could you explain to her how you found out ? The band was extremely popular in the city, and you were sure, if Nejire found out, everyone else will.

You love her, you really do, but she loves to talk.

Looking at the mirror, you heard Nejire humming some melody in your living room as you did your makeup. You weren’t sure if you got nervous because you‘ll see Touya on the stage, or because of the fact that rest of the club will probably simp for your best friend.

It took you some time to find something to wear. Unsure, you took the white oversized button up shirt, which was big enough to make it look like a dress on you. You put your golden earrings, before you wore your dr martens boots.

The fit was really simple, but you felt good in it, and Nejire‘s compliments helped you boost up your confidence. She also looked good, as always. Her hair was up, showing her pretty face perfectly.

Since the club was near your apartment, the two of you decided to take a walk instead of driving. That way both of you could drink a bit if you decide to.

,, Oh my god, look at Yui there.‘‘ Nejire mumbled, hitting you with her elbow lightly. Your eyes widened once you saw what that girl wore.

Both you and Nejire weren‘t really the type to put someone down or even laug, but Yui was the only exception since she did much worse things to Nejire in the past.

,, She looks awful‘‘ Nejire commented.

,, Yeah, worse then usual‘‘ You tried not to make a face, as the two of you made your way inside the club ignoring Yui and some other guy kissing.

,, Is he trying to swallow her ?‘‘ you whispered to Nejire, making her laugh.

It took you few minutes to find Keigo and Mirio. Of course they got the table super near the stage, Keigo would never settle for less.

The 4 of you started drinking before the rest of your friends arrived. It wasn‘t a plan to drink so much, but Malibu with cherry juice was your weakness. The taste was perfect in your opinion, and it was hard to stop once you start with it.

Keigo was telling you something, which was hard to hear since the music was loud, but you just kept nodding your head as you completely understood him. Deciding to ignore him for a bit, since you felt your phone buzz inside your pocket.

From D4B1: having fun ?

You were about to answer the short message, but another one popped up. A photo of him, wearing all black and his Ghostface mask.

To D4B1: you‘re looking way too hot

You texted fast, not thinking twice.

To D4B1: don‘t make me too jealous, yeah?

Once again Keigo was yelling about something, forcing you to put the phone away and enjoy the night with them. And you did exactly what he wanted since Ecstasy appeared on the stage anyway.

Four of them, Myers on the drums, Jason holding the mic, Ghostface nodding his head as his friend was greeting everyone and Leatherface preparing his guitar.

It didn‘t take them too long to start with the music, and the moment they did , everyone started going crazy. It felt like they had a literal fanbase in the club.

Song after song, and drink after drink you decided to sit and rest from all the dancing. Taking your time to pay attention to your best friend.

You couldn‘t help but smile as you saw him interact with the public in his own way, making the girls scream and put their hands up in hope they‘ll be the one to get his plectrum. Not even realising, the smile you had on your face was long gone.

he never gave it to anyone, yet just the thought of it upset you.

Shaking your head a bit, you noticed that he was facing you. Waving his hand a little at you.

You weren‘t sure how to react. Wave back? Nod your head ? Taking your drink, you gave him a small nod before you took a sip, eyes still on him.

Touya pointed at himself, giving you the same nod. Tilting your head, you almost got confused for a second. Pointing his finger at you, he nodded again. Slowly tilting his head to the left, he pointed at you again, as he relaxed his hand a bit, before he pushed his middle finger up. Moving up and down repeatedly, copying the literal act of fingering someone.

Blush was spreading across your face, as you looked around to see if some of your friends noticed that the Ghostface was paying you little too much attention. You could feel his eyes burning on your skin through that mask, making you look at him again. And without stopping his dirty movement, he just nodded his head again, before he started playing the instrument again.

What the actual fuck.

Billion small questions were inside your mind.

You always had those small feelings for Touya, but yet you always suppressed them for the shake of your friendship.

Well at that moment, all those feelings were exploding like a fireworks inside of you.

Since Keigo ordered you a new drink, you decided to finish the one in your hand. You could feel Keigo‘s arm around your shoulder, but your eyes couldn‘t leave Touya.

The way he was moving there, everything about him was suddenly unbearably attractive. Like he could sense your eyes on him, Touya made his way toward the part where your table was.

Banding down a little, his mask was facing you once again. Not giving a shit that your friends were around, hyping him up. Nodding again, he placed his left arm behind his back. His right hand was on the strings, moving his hand as he was playing it. You weren‘t sure if your friends were too drunk to notice, but he was moving his hand extremely fast, only his middle finger touching the strings of his guitar.

Once you realised that once again he had something else in his mind, imitating the way of rubbing a clit, your eyes widened. And once he was sure you understood him, he nodded his head again, not stopping his movement at all.

The blush spread over your face faster than ever, and you found yourself thankful for the decision to drink, since your friends won’t question the redness covering your face.

After that interaction with Touya, your friends simply continued with the night and the crazy party, yet you were stuck in the moment, not being able to push the image of masked Touya and what he did at the stage.

It took you at least an hour to come to yourself, you drank few more drinks as you enjoyed the night with your friends. Of course that didn’t mean that Touya was done there. Nope, he was coming back every now and then, interacting with you in any way he could.

and once they were done, at your surprise he came to you and gave you his plectrum. A huge smile formed on your face when you took it from his gloved hand.

Nejire started jumping around excitedly before she gave you another drink. You could feel the stares of all the jealous girls, yet you didn’t mind it at all.

Even tho the band left the stage, the club was still full. The night just started and the atmosphere was too good just to leave.

The moment you felt your phone buzzing, you grabbed it immediately, knowing very well that its Touya who’s texting you.

From D4B1: ,, Got a cigarette for me doll ?‘‘

To D4B1: ,, Of course, but I‘m not sure how to give it to you tho ?‘‘

From D4B1: ,, Come to the stars in the hallway, near the toilets. I’ll wait for you upstairs.‘‘

After that message, you told Nejire how you‘ll go smoke one, hoping none of your friends will try to tag along. Being a good friend, she asked if she should come with you, but she didn’t push it once you said you’ll be fine and how you’ll come back fast.

You weren’t sure how to act, maybe it was because of all the alcohol in your system, but you felt like you were so suspicious to everyone. Looking around, you made your way upstairs.

Once you reached the middle, you jumped a bit once you saw Touya standing there with his mask on, laughing slightly at your reaction. Grabbing your wrist, he pushed you closer to him, placing his arms around your hips.

Not thinking twice, you placed your hands around his neck, smiling like you were high.

,, It was so gooooood‘‘ you said, almost screaming, hoping he can hear since the music was super loud.

,, Did you like it ?‘‘ Touya asked, rubbing your hips slowly. The moment he asked u that, you had a flashbacks of him abusing his guitar.

,, Yes, the atmosphere was really nice‘‘ you said acting dumb, not realising that the blush on your cheeks was selling you off.

,, So my girl liked the performance ?‘‘ he asked again, moving his hands to your butt slowly. His face was too close to yours, only mask being between the two of you. And even tho he still had a mask on, you could smell his breath, mix of cigarettes, alcohol and a mint gum.

Not being able to answer, you slowly nodded your head. Instead of saying anything, Touya took your hand, leading you upstairs towards the balcony, which you assumed was private one since no one was there.

In fact, the whole first floor was empty.

The moment he stepped inside some room, he took his mask off and threw it on the bed, before he opened the balcony. Stepping outside and sitting down on the bench as he took a deep breath of fresh air. Tilting his head toward your direction, he smiled when you gave him a cigarette.

The two of you enjoyed each other’s company. Listening to the loud music and screams, you finished smoking there.

,, Come here‘‘ Touya commanded, tapping on his lap. It wasn‘t a first time you sat on his lap, so without thinking much about it you did as he told you.

,, So, did you like it ?‘‘ Touya asked again, face way too close to your own.

,, I told you, it was amazing‘‘ you said fast, hoping he will buy your shit.

,, Don‘t act all dumb doll‘‘ he smirked, rubbing small circles under your dress. It was almost funny to you how a simple touch and few words could make you so lost. Almost hilarious how you’re the person who can always speak up their mind, yet sitting on your best friends lap, his hands holding your waist as he is looking down on you made you the most quiet person ever.

It took him all of his power to control himself. You were simply too cute, sitting there all lost, not expecting him to mention the silly act he did back on the stage. Instead of giving you some time to answer him, he placed his hands on your face, pulling you closer a bit.

He did give you a second there to pull back, smile forming on his face as you closed your eyes, waiting for him to make a move. And that was really enough for him, pulling your face foreword and connecting your lips together.

Two pecks were all that happened, before the kiss turned into a french one.

Touya grabbed your waist, standing up with you in his hands. The kiss was hella messy, yet it was so beautiful. His hands sink on your ass, squeezing it sharply as he made his way back to the room that was connected with the balcony.

,, Doll, I hope you want this as much as i do‘‘ Touya breathe out, managing to say it in between the kisses.

,, I want it more than you do‘‘ You half said half whispered. That was all he wanted to hear, even more. Sitting down on the bed, his hands squeezed your ass again, the left hand rising slightly to slap down. To say it didn‘t hurt would be a lie, but it was more as an unexpected pain.

There was something so inherently erotic about the way he held you and looked at you, about the way his fingers soothed circles into the same skin he slapped few seconds ago.

Hiding your face into his neck, you had the sudden urge to kiss him just below his earlobe, to swipe his white ear to the side and place your lips against his throat. And you do so, licking his soft skin temptingly. Groaning loudly, Touya switched the position, forcing you to lay down on the bed.

His eyes were scanning your face, lids half lowered as he admired how you look underneath him.

Touya took his time playing with you, rolling his tongue over your hips, snapping his teeth against your skin, biting all over again. He was working his way down exactly where you wanted him to be. One hand holding your hips, and other one playing with your underwear.

Your flesh was on fire, pulse racing so fast you were sure he could feel it through your skin. A loud moan escaped your lips as his tongue rolled against your clit. He didn‘t waste his time at all, he had to taste you.

Since you were moving too much, he wrapped his hands around your hips, working to constrict your movements, limiting your motion. You could feel his lips curling into a grin as you gave into his touch.

You were lost in his mouth, whining loudly not thinking about the fact that you were in a unfamiliar place and god knows if the door was even locked.

But how could you even think of that when your best friends tongue was doing wonders on you ?

You were too lost in the ecstasy to realise that one hand left your hips, too lost to figure out where it was going. Soon finding out when one finger slowly touches your clit, before slipping inside of you.

,, Fuck..‘‘ You moan, body jolting in surprise, jumping a bit when he thrusts yet another finger inside. Touya doesn‘t respond, too busy eating you out. The length of his fingers was like a bonus to you, flexing around your curve to hit your g spot. It didn‘t take you long until you started feeling the pulse of your orgasm growing inside you.

,, You taste so good doll‘‘ Touya‘s mouth breaks contact to tell you that, fingers still fucking against you way too fast. Your walls squeeze over his fingers, closing your eyes you placed one hand over your mouth trying to quiet yourself down as you came all over his fingers.

,, Good girl‘‘ Touya said, pulling his fingers out of you, as he played with your juices.

A small idea got inside his mind, nothing huge, but simply fun in his opinion. Watching you all breathless on the bed, he couldn’t help but smirk as he took his mask from the edge of the bed.

You were never sure what your kinks are, you never really experimented. And you never even thought about mask kink ? Just watching your best friend putting his Ghostface mask on and unzipping his pants made you twice as wet as you already were.

Touya‘s hand traced unter your dress, not bothering to get you out of it, leaving every piece of skin he touched on fire. He was touching your lips with his fingers, and without thinking much you simply opened your mouth, welcoming his fingers and sucking on them.

,, Is this what you want ?‘‘ Touya asked, giving you a chance to refuse him and go back to being friends. But who on the earth would refuse him ? Just hearing his voice, muffed because of the mask made you shiver.

You didn‘t even let him finish the question, nodding with your head almost aggressively, since you couldn‘t answer him with his fingers stuffing your mouth, almost fucking it.

,, My doll‘‘ he sighs, hidden behind the mask, while he lines himself up and finally pushes inside of you slowly. Agonisingly slowly. Hearing his muffed heavy breathing was driving you crazy, closing your eyes you enjoyed the feeling of his cock stretching you out, and simply listening to him. He didn‘t want to hurt you, pushing slowly. Not knowing that the slow pace already hurt enough, since it felt like he was stretching you out forever.

Not like you didnt like it. Somehow, it felt good. And then, you’re filled with him, cunt squeezing around his length.

Touya stays like that, masked face buried in your throat, cock twitching inside of you.

,, Touya‘‘ you moan quietly, touching the skin on his neck, one that the mask didn’t reach.

,, Jeez doll, you’re so tight‘‘ He mutters, easing himself out of you slowly, teasing. Until just the head of his cock is inside you. Once you moan, instead of saying anything, he snaps his hips, pushing back inside roughly.

Grabbing your hips, he pulls his body up, giving you a nice view of him. And there you have it. You didn‘t have a mask kink, but now you do.

Holding you still while he thrusts so hard, moving the whole bed. It was too much for you. His moans, that sounded even better under the mask, heavier. His firm hold, his hard thrusts. And just the fact that you were doing it with your best friend, it gave you the feeling like you were doing something forbidden.

It felt way too good.

Your fingernails scrabble against the wood of the bed, trying to grab onto anything to hold yourself. Even tho Touya was holding your hips, keeping you still.

,, Such a good girl‘‘ Touya pants, leaning over you until he is hitting you there deep inside.

You couldn‘t hold your moans, way too loud, not giving a fuck if anyone could hear. You clench around him again, whole body trembling while your pleasure builds.

,, Touya‘‘ you moan his name again, grabbing the mask, as give your best to remove it. And once it‘s gone, you‘re grabbing his face and pulling him to you, connecting his lips with your own.

As much as you liked the mask, it had to be gone. You had to see his face.

Your legs tremble as you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he moves his hips at one reckless speed. Smirk forming on his lips, as he moves his hand from your hip to your neck, giving you a perfect heckles.

The moment you felt the pressure around your throat, combined with his hard moves <our body accrues up and you can feel the second your body breaks beneath him, orgasm hitting you so hard you can see the whole Universum behind your eyelids.

Not sure if it was from the choking or the orgasm, but it felt good either way.

,, Good girl, you‘re taking it so well‘‘ Touya is saying when your ears stop ringing, and you‘re finally catching your breath again.

His thrusts have slowed, working you through your orgasm, waiting until the pulsing is gone. and then once again, he‘s slamming his hips against you, reaching his own high and painting your walls white.

The two of you stayed in bed just like that, in your own world as always, far away from everyone else.

The two of you made your way back to others, once Touya was done cleaning you all up, before he was stating how you should actually go back there with his cum still inside you, since everyone should know that you‘re already taken.

His property

And no one else‘s.

#dabi x oc #dabi todoroki #bnha smut #touya smut #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #dabi headcanons #dabi imagine #dabi is a todoroki #touya fanfic #dabi fanfic #smut #dabi fluff #mha dabi #touya x y/n #kpop #bnha dabi #touya imagine #touya #mha touya #bnha touya #bnha fanfiction #fabrication #yandere dabi #touya x reader #ghostface #slashers #dabi simps unite #dabi smut

[munchcorner]

Keigo wakes from his dream, panting. He turns to Touya and sighs in relief after seeing him lying beside him.

“Thank goodness,” Keigo whispers as his hands run through Touya’s hair. He presses a kiss on Touya’s forehead before snuggling close to him. He buries his face in Touya’s chest, gripping Touya’s shirt while murmuring I love you repeatedly.

The murmurs wake Touya. He pulls Keigo closer, asking, “Did you have a nightmare?”

Keigo nods. Touya’s chest vibrates when he laughs, “Ahh, my baby is having a nightmare. Should I kiss him to rid of it?”

Usually, Keigo will hit Touya and move away, but he didn’t. Instead, he looks up at Touya and puckers his lips, “Maybe you should.”

Touya’s eyes widen from the sudden change in Keigo’s attitude, but he indulges it. Touya lowers his head and gently kisses Keigo. His lips slowly move as he comforts Keigo from his nightmare. His hand rests on the small of Keigo’s back, running circles to tell Keigo he’s there.

“I love you, Touya,” Keigo says after they part. He stares straight into Touya’s eyes, repeating his words, “I love you.”

A smirk appears on Touya’s lips. He runs his thumb through Keigo’s swollen lips, “If having nightmares make you this sweet, then I hope they never go away.”

Since that night, Keigo constantly proclaims his love for Touya. They can be doing something mundane such as watching a movie, and Keigo will look at Touya with so much love in his eyes while proclaiming his love. It goes on for months, and as much as Touya loves him, it’s making him wonder.

“Maybe he’s hinting for you to marry,” Natsuo drunkenly said when Touya confided in him. Natsuo thought it was a silly drunk assumption, but Touya took it seriously.

Touya searches for rings and decides to propose after buying one. He didn’t prepare a grand proposal. All he did was get on one knee once he arrived home after purchasing the ring.

Keigo’s jaw drops, and tears immediately fall. He stares at the ring and nods, “Yes, Touya! Yes! Thank goodness that nightmare didn’t come true!”

Touya furrows his brows, “what do you mean?”

Keigo sniffles, “I dreamt you’d leave me one day.”

“Was that the nightmare you had that night?” Touya asks. Keigo immediately nods, “So that’s why you kept saying you love me?”

Keigo nods again. Touya’s lips curve into a smile before he laughs, making Keigo turn red. Touya continues to laugh while Keigo sinks into the couch in shame.

“Can you please stop?” Keigo asks when minutes pass, and Touya’s still laughing.

Touya takes a deep breath to calm himself. He wipes his tears and then stares at Keigo, “Here I thought you were hinting we get married from the number of times you professed your love for me. You had me thinking you were down bad for me.”

Keigo’s face burns in embarrassment, but he admits, “I was scared of losing you, okay?”

Touya smiles, “I guess that’s a sign that I made the right call to marry you. This ring should reassure you that I’m never leaving you, even if you get sick and tired of me. You’re stuck with me, Keigo Takami, until death do us part.” he says as he slips the ring into Keigo’s finger.

Touya’s last sentence might sound like a threat to others, but to Keigo, it’s reassurance that Touya will never leave.

#dabihawks #dabi x hawks #touya x keigo #hawks x dabi #keigo x touya #toukei #bnha hotwings

[sparkles-and-trash]

dabihawks post war ❤️‍🩹

«So it turns out pastels is gonna be huge this spring!»

Touya hummed.

«Well that’s great news for me isn’t it, lots of pastels in the hospital couture business,» he said dryly.

Keigo chuckled as he put the fashion magazine he’d stolen from the reception down on Touya’s nightstand.

«Well to be fair your new hair goes really well with pastels, maybe you should do a style makeover when you get out of here,» he suggested with a grin, and Touya rolled his eyes.

«You, lecturing me about personal style?» Touya asked, eyebrows raised.

«You wouldn’t know personal style if it slapped you in the beak.»

Keigo mock gasped and put a hand on his chest.

«You wound me, sir!» he sighed dramatically, but he couldn’t really rebuttal the claim.

Life after the war had taught him just how little personal… anything, Keigo really had.

Touya just rolled his eyes and leaned back in his hospital bed.

Keigo’s face turned more serious within the span of a second.

«Are you tired? Do you need me to leave?» he asked with a nervous twinge in his voice, and Touya gave him a small smile.

«Nah, you’re good Pretty Bird,» he said as he made himself more comfortable.

«Just… looking forward to being able to move around on my own, I guess.»

Keigo tried to act like the nickname didn’t affect him, but his acting skills had faltered more than he liked recently.

«Makes sense,» he replied thoughtfully.

Touya huffed.

«You think?» he asked sarcastically, and Keigo stuck his tounge out at him.

Touya’s face became more thoughtful again.

«It doesn’t mean you have to keep spending so much time here, you know?» he said with fake lightness, not meeting Keigo’s eyes.

«I know you feel guilty and all that shit, but I do actually have other people that visit me, it’s not all on you anymore.»

Touya finally looked over at Keigo, and when he saw that broken look on his face he realized his mistake.

«Not that I don’t want you here!» Touya quickly added, but Keigo still looked doubtful.

Touya sighed and ran a hand trough his fluffy white hair.

«Look, I just don’t want to be your pity project, I know you probably have lots of better things to do now that… well, that you’re free,» Touya said carefully.

Keigo guaffed and averted his eyes.

«Freedom isn’t quite what it’s made out to be, Hot Stuff,» he said cryptically, and Touya raised his eyebrows.

«Now Birdie, don’t go stealing my thunder, I’m supposed to be the gloomy one here,» he said with a small smile, and to his relief he saw a small smile take over Keigo’s features too, before the blond sighed.

«I understand what you’re saying, I do, but I promise I’m not here out of pity, but because…»

The hero trailed off a little.

Touya waited paitently.

«I guess I’m here because I’m the one who doesn’t have other people to turn to,» he finally admitted.

«It’s a lot nicer here with you than in my empty apartment,» the hero added with a dey chuckle, and Touya’s heart clenched, just a little.

All this therapy and shit was making him soft.

«Well then, I guess you can keep showing up here,» Touya said with a crooked smile, in which Keigo finally returned.

«Not because I like you pr anything, but because I’m becoming such a good fucking citizen,» Touya quickly added as a pink tint colored his cheeks and he averted his eyes.

Keigo smiled.

«Naturally,» he replied.

«Total pityparty.»

Keigo grin was whiped of his face when one of Touya’s face hit him right in the nose, but it didn’t stop his laughter from bubbling up, or dull Touya’s soft smile.

They’d be alright.

#dabihawks #Dabi #Hawks #toukei #Hawks x Dabi #Dabi x Hawks #Keigo takami #touya todoroki #Touya x Keigo #Keigo x Touya #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia