#and i have a chapter scripted out for a decently large argument LOL around this topic

[willowser]

hi willow i was just perusing ur fic rec you just posted when i saw you mention if he’s a serial killer and of course I decided to re read it for the millionth time and now I wanted to say how much I absolutely adore it so much. The characterization of touya and his development of romantic feelings is just so, so wonderfully well done. I think about those two all the time— it’s just: what are they up to these days? has touya throttled kinjo yet? have they progressed to sleeping in the bed together rather than one on the couch? because they are just so special to me and I want to swaddle your touya in a heated blanket and make him a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream.

oh, oh !! 🥺✨️ thank you so much for sending this in !! i'm so glad you enjoy his characterization !! 🤗💐💕

what are these two up to these days !! let's see !!

warning for just dabi in general, as usual LOL also this got so fucking angsty and a bit sad ?? my b !!

dabi is — sitting in the dark of your room.

on the bed, looking at the window he's just come through, how the night has followed him in. the clothes he's wearing smell like people, weird as that is to say; not at all like the passion-blah-blah-blah detergent he's become spoiled on.

and you're — not home. before he clambered in, he knew that already, but even a shell of you is better than nothing. preferable, almost, or at least that's what he tells himself.

couple weeks ago, you mentioned seeing a movie together, asked if you should take the night off before your work schedule came out, but dabi thinks that's all a little juvenile, doesn't he? whaddya wanna do? tongue each other in the back row? as if he gives a damn what's popular these days, what everyone's watching or why. not like he's got a ton of time to consume the general media.

but he's still here now. in the absence of you and your passion-blah-blah-blah, picking the lint off your comforter. there's no telling how to work the fucking washing machine; it sings and has a lot of buttons and he's never really watched you put the soap in it, and all he needs is for you to come home and know he's been here 'cause he flooded the place.

still hasn't decided if he's gonna stay the night.

(well, he has, because he always does, but he's at least trying to entertain the prospect of skipping out. for the sake of his ego.)

a huff of laughter slips through his mouth and all his gaps, watching his mirrored image in your vanity. "fucking pussy-whipped, dude."

"oh, touya, don't say that," he raises his voice several octaves, eyes falling closed as he lays back on your bed. sinks into it, really, as if it's trying to swallow him whole. as if he wants it to. "watch your mouth, hm, hm, hm."

and then he laughs for real, because he's fucking stupid.

what do you look like right now, he wonders. how'd you do your makeup today, and if you wore your favorite scrubs or settled for the ones that are a little too big. who've you spoken to. who had the gall to make you laugh. after knowing your nearly every goddamn move for half his life, being in the dark — fucking literally — has him distracted. side-tracked, for the past two days since he's seen you.

you're asking a lot of questions lately. ones he can't answer. things are — moving into place, changing, and they're all preparing for the grand finale.

touya is supposed to be preparing for the end, and instead he has his face pressed into your pillow, trying to scent himself in you so that he'll go unnoticed, just for a little while. really shouldn't even be here because he's got real important lieutenant shit to do, but —

no. because he's fucking pussy-whipped. and he ain't even gotten any yet.

touya wonders if you'll take the night off, when he kills endeavor. if you'll take the week off, when he's killed in turn.

touya wonders who is gonna walk you home that late at night.

fight-or-flight kicks in when the keys sound in the lock, but dabi's preparing for the end, anyway, so he just lays there. watches the amber glow of your living room lamp as it's twisted on, listens to the soft sound of your footfalls and maybe a plastic bag or two. you mutter something to yourself and his lips twitch, and when you stroll into your room, your eyes are on your phone.

when the light flips on, he groans and buries his face, muffled. blinded. "ah, fuck!"

the wavering breath you gasp in has him snorting, and then the knock against the wall has him peeking at you, squinting. you've got a hand over your chest and your phone is face down on the carpet and you look like you've seen a ghost.

right now that metaphor sucks, with everything on his mind.

"touya," you exhale, and his toes curl in his holey socks like a little fucking schoolgirl. "god, you scared me half to death!"

right now that metaphor sucks.

"turn the damn light off," he groans again, "some of us are trying to get some shut eye."

your expression melts down into one he's used to; yeah, it's been two days since he's been around, but he's answered when you called — "just to check" — so you shouldn't be all pissy. a little upset, because that ain't hard to do, but this is the best he can give you, with the time he has left.

even after you flick the light off, he can make out the soft curve of your cheek and it releases him from some shitty, unnamed thing; he wouldn't call it fear or panic or anxiety, but maybe something like it, if he wanted to be honest. and he doesn't.

a little flicker of want comes to life in the pit of his stomach, at the sight of you kneeling on the bed to lay beside him. he's not gonna die without fucking the life out of you, but your touch is making him too jittery tonight. has him on edge, and not the sexy kind.

"well hello stranger," you muse, tucking hair behind his ear before fiddling with one of his hoops. tense as he is, he should probably tell you to cut it out, but — fuck it.

"i'm here to rob you. gimme all your valuables and i'll let you live."

and because you're a fucking — little weirdo, you just tilt your head and crinkle your nose, already grinning. "what if you are my valuable?"

"shut the fuck up," he gripes, back curling like a cat as he faces away from you. the lilt of your laughter drags across his spine like a fine point, making him shiver and itch. "though we were s'pposed to see a movie, or something? not kiss each other's ass."

despite the curtain he's closed in your face, you still scoot closer to him, press your face against his back. "well, i'm sure it's too late now, all the last showings have probably started." you take his silence for disappointment, and are quick to appease. "we can watch something here though, if you'd like."

"i was expecting popcorn."

you snort, "that'll probably hurt your stomach, but i can make some." silence unnerves you again and you poke at his hips. "do you mind facing me?"

dabi does mind — but moments like this are what he'll want to remember. you're so close that his nose bumps yours, but you just smile at him, a little shy, like he hasn't known you your whole goddamn life.

"missed you." gently, your eyes close, like you're so fucking content that you could fall asleep just like this. "i know you can't tell me, but...i hope everything's okay."

and — touya has to fist a hand in your hair and knock his forehead with yours — softly; he's not trying to have any repeat incidents.

"i said i'm here to rob you, now tell me where the money is," he grits, "and maybe i'll even keep you for myself. like a little housepet."

"my wallet's out in the kitchen," you hum, wrapping your hand over his own until his grip loosens. "you can have it, just don't hurt the guy here in my bedroom."

"fuck him," dabi rasps, and you gasp, all dramatics. "i'll torch the idiot."

"then i'll fight you." again with your grinning; you hitch a leg over his waist, like you'll straddle him any moment and — whew. okay, your touch isn't making him that jittery. "you'll have to go through me first."

it's fucking bullshit, how true that is; preparing for the end means letting go, unfurling the hand he's had on you for so long. the very idea has him rolling the two of you over, pressing you firmly into your passion-blah-blah-blah sheets so that you're stuck, with no means to escape. some feral voice inside touya's head reminds him that you're his, because he's fucking earned you. all the waiting and watching he did, how hard he's worked to get you like this; beneath him and laughing and unbothered by the macabre of his hands and lips.

preparing for the end: yeah, he's working on it, but it ain't something he's got time for tonight.

too bad, so sad, but — he's got a movie date.

#aw — miss these two !! #did not realize it until just now !! #someone once asked me on ao3 if reader-chan ever asks about what dabi does #where he goes and what her thoughts are on it #and i have a chapter scripted out for a decently large argument LOL around this topic #but it just always has me thinking a little more !! #i originally just wanted to write endlessly about their relationship but — idk ! #with all of touya's plot in the manga i'm tempted to — cover some of it #especially since we wont go here directly in ptmy #just thoughts !! #[ ☆ if he's a serial killer: dabi ] #✿ willow writes #✿ ask willow