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animereaderinsertwriter · 2 years

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Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: fantasy au, violence, smut, angst, fluff, non-major character death, pregnancy, dub con/fuck or die but only kinda?, enemies to lovers, there's an arranged betrothal somewhere in there that eventually goes away, spoilers for dabi's identity

ao3 link here

One month later

"The Age of Unrest, of course, is known by this name because of the stirring restlessness of the Clans’ gentlefolk. However, this unrest did not stop at the well-mannered, hard-working folk who were subjected to the Empire’s rule; as it happened, rogues, tramps, bandits, and malcontents of every sort were also restless. Eventually tiring of their own singular wickedness, they banned together, forming a nuisance known as the aptly-named League of Villains. Oh, they were a mean, mangey, motley crew, and as they began to terrorize the land in ways never before seen, it was widely agreed that it would be better by far to stumble across a pack of rabid wolves than a single member of the League. The wolves, at least, could not talk, and in that age, there was nothing more antagonizing than the yapping of an idealist right before meeting one’s demise. It settles ill on the stomach.”

—Balthazar the Wise, On the Age of Unrest

(Y/N) woke up gasping for air, her body coated in a thin sheen of cold sweat.

The moon shone big and bright in the eastern sky above the small farming village of Solime. The light of it shone through the open shutters of the village temple’s window, casting the relatively small space in ethereal silver. The walls, which were made of cool gray stone, looked like pools of mercury, and the steady drip, drip of dew slipping into the brazen bowl at the altar, though quiet, sang out into the night like a lonely moan.

(Y/N) forced herself to sit up on the soft pallet she used as a bed during her travels, inhaling and exhaling deeply. She was safe, she was fine— it was hard to remember, sometimes, but she was okay.

It had been a while since she had dreamed of that time.

This is nothing like then, she mused, internally grateful for not having accepted the hospitality of one of the villagers, instead having insisted on sleeping in the temple like any other traveler might. And yet, some days I wonder which is worse.

It was hard to say.

Nearly a year and a half ago, in the Battle of Brookside, the war between the Empire and the Clans was escalating to its peak of violence and ferocity. The goddess-blessed— those with supernatural ability granted by the goddess— were being hunted like foxes in the wood by imperial soldiers, especially those of which had physical manifestations of their blessings. It was a nightmare to say the least, but even then… even then, even while running for their lives and fighting for their homes, there had been more freedom, more agency for the people than they would ever be allowed to have under imperial rule. Some days, (Y/N) thought that it might have been better to have never made peace with the Empire in exchange for the people’s autonomy. After all, what peace could mean more than freedom?

(Y/N) shook her head. Those thoughts belonged to days when she didn't remember the screams of women and children ringing out into the night. They belonged to the times when she no longer thought of the long, dreadful days of her capture when she was finally caught by imperial forces about a mile south of The Wildwood surrounding Castle Morg.

She remembered those days well. By that time, the Clans were already losing the war; (Y/N) had been leading a battalion masquerading as nothing better than rag-tag bands of guerilla fighters, attacking imperial encampments by night and running during the day. Looking back, she should have known that it was only a matter of time before she was caught, but some foolish hope had taken stubborn root in her heart, faithful and unyielding. So strong was her faith that before they eventually took her, (Y/N) had led the imperial soldiers on a three-day chase through the Wildwood, living on nothing but hope, acorns, and a single skin of water; even as they surrounded her, (Y/N) still had hope. She killed six out of twenty men before she was subdued, and she kicked and screamed all the way back to the newly-captured Brookside Castle, raising holy hell at all hours until someone finally knocked her unconscious.

It was odd what two weeks of captivity and brutal treatment could do to a thing like hope.

Fourteen days, fourteen nights— that was how long (Y/N) spent in enemy hands. They beat her, burned her, kept her chained to a wall by her wrists in the dungeons of Castle Brookside with only gruel to eat and rank ladlefuls of water to drink. The soldiers of the Empire would question her for hours and hours, taking fingernails and strips of flesh from her hide for every time she cursed them— and she cursed them a lot. Her accelerated healing allowed them to push her farther than a normal person could possibly have endured, and (Y/N) remembered praying for the goddess to bring the castle down on top of them brick by brick, killing every living thing within. Darkest, blackest vengeance— that was what had become of her hope.

On the dawning of the fifteenth day, Shoto Todoroki had stormed into the castle with a written pardon from the Empire and a license to kill as he pleased; (Y/N) remembered hearing the screams of her torturers as their faces were melted by those famous Todoroki flames and thinking that the goddess had finally unleashed the might of heaven to smite earthly devils once more. Perhaps the goddess did smite those men and Shoto was just a vessel to embody that divine wrath, but all (Y/N) could remember doing when he set her free was sobbing, that crying out that she had wanted to be the one to kill the bastards that had caused her so much pain.

Looking back, it all seemed so long ago, and yet— and yet, in her dream, (Y/N) had seen the frightened eyes of the boy whose job was to feed her in perfect detail, as though it were only yesterday that he was crying, repeating I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry over and over again as though that would absolve him of the sins he hadn’t even committed. Every time, he would apologize, hiccupping little sobs as he spooned gruel into her mouth— he couldn’t have been more than twelve, and the bastards had made him watch, training him to be an Inquisitor before he even knew what it was to be a man.

Strange— why was it that memory in particular which haunted her? Was it because he was just a boy, a small, bird-like thing with a big heart and teary eyes— because he was the only thing in that castle possessing something even remotely resembling humanity?

(Y/N) wondered where that boy was now, if he had since lost his kindness.

A shout rose in the distance, stirring (Y/N) from her thoughts. Through the window to the east, (Y/N) could see smoke rising to meet the sky from somewhere in the distance, and before she remembered the time of year, her whole body tensed, ready for war.

Fool, she thought to herself after a moment of thought. Jumping at shadows like some kind of alley cat. I should be ashamed.

No doubt the smoke and the shouting had come from Tinkermen and Troubadours that were camped somewhere nearby, traveling together to visit bigger towns for the festivals. Beltane was a performer's busiest time of year, after all, and the best season for traveling.

Still, the image of that smoke disturbed (Y/N). Something about it felt wrong, even ominous.

Jenny’s baby is going to be born tomorrow, she mused, an odd wave of certainty washing over her— goddess-given intuition. I suppose I should stay another day, Welcome the child myself.

(Y/N) had planned on leaving early the next morning, but it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to stay. Giving birth was an unpleasant process, and Jenny was a young woman with no husband and few friends; it would be worth (Y/N) delaying her journey to support the girl.

Still uneasy, (Y/N) relaxed onto her pallet and fought to find sleep— this time, hopefully dreamless.

***

Flames as blue as a jay’s wing reached up to the midday sky, and Dabi— the Black Dragon of the League— was prowling with his sword drawn, seeking whom he would devour.

The village was fairly small—a little farming community by the name of Solime that made its living off of the miles and miles of golden wheat which grew naturally over the moors— but unusually fierce. Before Dabi and his marauders had come through, it had been a lovely, prosperous little place, no doubt full of laughing children and doting parents; it was certainly not the League’s usual fare, but the men were hungry for both food and violence, and Dabi— well, Dabi was of the opinion that everything looked better when it was burning with flames of beautiful sulfur-blue.

“Mercy!” cried a distant voice that shook with desperation. “Please, my daughters—”

The pleading ended with the thunk of metal cleaving flesh, and Dabi grinned. What anguish his father would feel at the news of yet another village razed! Todoroki Enji would shake with rage and impotence, and the very image of it was almost good enough to make Dabi shiver.

Through the ash and smoke, Jin the Twice appeared in Dabi’s peripheral with a worried look on his face. Normally, that would be no cause for concern— Twice often got something of a fit of the vapors during raids like these— but this time, something in his expression gave Dabi pause.

“Twice!” he bellowed to his comrade over the din of chaos, “What news?”

Twice stopped, searching for Dabi, and found him waiting patiently a few yards away. Hurriedly, Twice made his way over, looking more panicked by the minute.

“What news, he says, what news indeed!” The vertical scar that split Twice’s forehead in two rippled with concern. “We’ve cornered a wildcat over in the temple, and not the kind with fur— one of the novices there is armed and dangerous.”

What fun! thought Dabi, imagining a feisty young priestess writhing on the furs in his tent. There may yet be excitement to be had here.

“What, some kitten’s claws are troubling you?” he asked, shifting his gaze over Twice’s shoulder to the direction of the temple— a one-room building just big enough to seat the families that made up the village. “Surely one backwater pussy-cat is no match for—”

A truly harrowing scream rang out from the temple, and Twice winced.

“She’s killed four men so far,” he said with a pained expression. “No one can get near her.”

Dabi raised a brow. Interesting.

“Weapon of choice?”

“Bow and arrow,” Twice replied, and Dabi scoffed.

“Let her shoot until she runs out of arrows, and then kill or cage her like the animal she is— I don’t care which,” Dabi said, but Twice shook his head.

“She already ran out of arrows.”

Dabi frowned.

“Then how is she— ”

Another scream rang out, and Dabi decided it was time for him to see what all the commotion was about for himself.

“Follow me,” said Dabi, striding off in the direction of the temple. “I’ll declaw this cat myself before she can do much more scratching.”

“Be careful,” warned Twice, only a step behind. “She’s feral!”

Dabi took the warning for what it was, but even so, nothing could have prepared him for the sight that he was met with at the threshold of the temple— nor could he have predicted how hard it would be to contain his laughter at the irony of it all.

The girl— well, truly, it was a woman about his own age, maybe a bit younger— stood poised with a shortsword in hand and blood on her face. She was dressed like a man, in breeches and a shirt, and though Dabi had only heard rumors of the woman who roamed the countryside with breeches and a shortsword, Dabi recognized her on sight.

The High Priestess and Hand of Cerridwen stood before him, fierce and fearless; she was a relic of a faith newly forsaken, and she represented all that Dabi was working both for and against. This young woman was the perfect symbol of the perseverance of the Old Faith and its perversion— the spitting image of a plant twisting itself almost beyond recognition to gain even a sliver of sunlight.

What a golden opportunity!

Dabi stepped forward, fully intending to brave the point of her sword to seize her, but she proved too quick, stepping up with a warning slice before he could get close.

“Not a step further,” she commanded, locking eyes as fierce as any wildcat’s with his own. The steely strength and resolve Dabi found in her gaze was most interesting, and despite the six dead men at her feet, he decided to press his luck.

“Or what?” he challenged, stepping into the room. “Would you hurt a man who has done you no wrong, little priestess?”

“I know who you are, Black Dabi,” she sneered, her lovely features turning dark with malice, “And as it happens, I have no problem killing a man like you in the name of my goddess.”

“My, my, aren’t we well-informed.” Dabi knew his smile looked more like a predator baring its teeth, but he couldn’t care less. “Why don’t you put that sword down before someone gets hurt, pussy-cat?”

She looked like she wanted to lunge at him, but she stayed put, wary.

Intelligent, he thought, watching her watch him right back. This is no ordinary pussy-cat, oh no.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” Dabi continued, walking even closer. The woman brandished her sword, and he stopped just outside of its reach. “If you know who I am, then you also know you can’t kill me.”

Her eyes glinted, ferocity lurking behind her mask of calm. “You underestimate me.”

“I think not,” Dabi replied slowly. “I really, really think not… High Priestess.”

He could have heard a pin drop in the ensuing silence. The only thing to betray her surprise was the widening of her eyes— and what eyes they were! She looked like she could light a fire with her gaze alone, and Dabi felt something hot flare in his gut as he watched her.

Just when it seemed that she was going to say something in reply to Dabi’s revelation, there was a pained cry behind her, and Dabi noticed the rotund form of a pregnant woman lying on a cot behind the priestess. At the sound of distress, the priestess was momentarily distracted, and in that split second, Dabi pounced, wresting the sword from her hands and tossing it aside as he wrapped his own slender fingers around her throat.

“Now, pussy-cat, I’m not a bad man,” he told her, lying blatantly as she choked and sputtered on her breath, her eyes burning holes in his face. “I can see you’re in the middle of something, but I can’t just turn a blind eye to you killing my men, can I?”

“You can if I gouge them out,” she spat, her words garbled by the pressure on her neck, and he tightened his grip on her throat so much that her voice died there under his fingers as she struggled and fought against him.

“How rude,” he tutted. “If you would have asked nicely, I would have let you see to your patient… but now I’m not sure that such an ill-behaved wretch as yourself deserves to do as she wishes. Unless, of course, you really are who I suspect. After all, even a man like me has to acknowledge the will of the goddess, no matter how poorly behaved the vessel is.”

The woman sputtered and struggled against him, but to no avail. Dabi wasn’t letting her go until he had answers.

“So, how is it going to be, kitten? Confirm my suspicions, and neither myself nor my men will disturb you in your duties any longer."

There was wild hatred in her eyes, and Dabi was beside himself. It was heady, having this much power over someone who was arguably the most powerful woman in the land; the feeling was so intensely satisfying that Dabi was almost sad when he had to ease his grip on her throat to get her answer.

“I am the will of the goddess incarnate,” she croaked, her fingers digging into the scarred flesh of his forearm, attempting to push him even farther from her. “I am with Cerridwen, and she is with me.”

“Proof, pussy-cat,” he chided. “I want to see your power.”

There was a long cut across Dabi’s arm— he hadn’t given it much notice before, since he could barely feel it— and with no small amount of distaste, the priestess grabbed the wounded arm and held it in her hand. Right before their eyes, the cut on Dabi’s skin sealed itself shut as the same place on the priestess's arm was rent open. If what the rumors said was true, that cut would heal completely within the hour, and Dabi was fascinated.

“Exquisite,” said Dabi without quite meaning to, and the priestess glowered.

“You’ve seen,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “Will you let me see to my duties?”

“Of course,” he replied more softly than he meant, releasing her. “Do you have need of anything?”

The priestess looked as though she might refuse his offer of assistance out of pure spite, but then the woman on the bed jolted upwards, holding her belly with a horrible groan of pain, and the priestess surprised Dabi by giving him orders.

“A fire, I need a fire in the fireplace,” she said, turning away from him to see about her patient. “I need the dead bodies out, some strips of clean cloth, and I need a pot of water on to boil. All the doors and windows need to be shut, and I’m sure Jenny would like her privacy.”

“You’ll have all that, privacy excepted,” he replied, extending a hand to the fireplace. At his will, blue flames flew to fill the hearth, and he nodded to Jin— who was standing just outside the open door— to gather men to fulfill the rest of her requests. “Sorry, pussy-cat, but if you think I’ll leave a kitty such as yourself alone in a room to sharpen your claws, you’re mad.”

At that, she turned to glare at him once more.

“Don’t call me that.”

She spat the words like they were bitter, and Dabi considered her thoughtfully.

“And what should I call you, priestess?” he asked as she urged her patient to stand and walk a bit. “Not your title, mind; the name your friends call you— the one the Great Mother gave you.”

She told him her name, and Dabi found himself immediately enthralled with the way it sounded from her lips.

“Y/N,” he echoed, and the name tasted like honey.

(Y/N) ignored him in favor of her duties. After a moment, she glanced out the window towards the burning fields, then turned her gaze to the sky.

“You’re a bastard,” she said softly, watching smoke curl up to the heavens. “The goddess must have a hell of a fate for someone like you.”

Dabi didn’t comment, but it hardly needed saying that traitors and blackguards like himself preferred not to ruminate on what fate the goddess had in store for them.

After an indeterminable amount of time, Jenny’s wails became closer and closer together, and the beginning of the birth seemed to have reached them. (Y/N)’s tone became clipped and urgent, and she commanded Dabi as if she’d done it all her life.

“Fetch me that stool,” said (Y/N) without looking up, and Dabi complied. “Come on, Jenny— push, woman, like the Seven Devils are loose from their binds!”

So interesting— this priestess had a mouth on her unlike any priestess Dabi had ever known. Not that he had ever been with a Healer who was helping someone give birth— maybe they all spoke that way under duress of this nature.

“Push, Jenny!” (Y/N) urged, and Jenny screamed. “I see the head, we’re almost there!”

At the end, Dabi was glad he’d had the foresight to look away; he’d never seen a birth before, but if his initial disgust at seeing a newborn for the first time was any indication, he wasn’t sure that he would have made it through without retching. Still, as he looked on, the depth of the moment struck him hard. That child— ugly with blood and placenta as it was— was the very image of the future Dabi was striving toward. If he had his way with the world, that babe would know nothing of the persecution his people had known, feel nothing of the suffering they’d felt. This babe would grow up worshiping the goddess without fear, without prejudice, and without being demonized by the followers of that sick, invasive parasite that was the New Religion, brought by invaders that razed the land he loved.

Invaders, whom people like Dabi’s father and this so-called High Priestess were working to compromise with for the sake of peace.

The thought made Dabi sick.

“I need a bowl,” said (Y/N) without looking up from her task of cleaning the child. “Can I trust you to bring me a fresh lump of earth— no ashes, if you can help it— and the water from the altar without touching either with your hands?”

She did look up then, and Dabi was struck by how tender her expression was, how lovely and sweet she looked even with the gore of the delivery on her hands. Looking at her was a study in opposites, he found; her face was young, but her soul was old… her deeds were noble, but her purpose was ugly. She was everything he had expected her to be, and yet somehow— not.

"No," he replied, just for the sake of denying her. "I'll have one of my men do it. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Dabi motioned to Twice— who was standing just inside the door— and the priestess’s request was fulfilled.

Once the last item necessary for the Welcoming ritual was handed over to Dabi, (Y/N) placed the newly cleaned and swaddled babe into its mother’s arms and took the bowl in her lap. Gently, she poured the sacred water— fresh, clean rain water and dew drops that were allowed to flow through a hole in the roof of the temple, untouched by human hands— into the bowl of earth, letting the one flow naturally over and into the other. Then, Dabi watched as she slowly pulled something from the pocket of her breeches.

“I have a blade,” she told him, her eyes boring into his own. “It’s for the ritual. I’ll surrender it as soon as the Welcoming is complete.”

So saying, (Y/N) cradled the blade of the knife in the palm of her hand, but before she could make a slice across her skin, Dabi’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“Under different circumstances, the entire family would have surrounded this young one and would have given drops of their blood to mix with earth for the Welcoming,” said Dabi, stating the obvious, and (Y/N) looked up at him with a puzzled expression. “It is in part the fault of myself and my men that there are none here to welcome this babe, and thus we have all been promoted to the roles of husbands and fathers in the absence of any here. I would be the first to give of my blood for the Welcoming— your own and the mother’s excepted, of course— and with permission from all parties, my right hand Jin the Twice would also like to volunteer his services in this matter.”

From the corner of the room, Twice started, but Dabi didn’t acknowledge his second’s surprise. Jin was a good man, a loyal man, but not a man that was likely to ever have the opportunity to participate in a Welcoming. Dabi couldn’t give Bubaigawara Jin much in return for his service, but he could give him this.

Hesitantly, (Y/N) looked to the mother of the babe, but to the surprise of all of them, Jenny nodded.

“Very well,” said (Y/N), slicing into her palm without flinching or hesitation. “Quickly, now— and if you and your man know the Blessing, sing it with me.”

Dabi did know the blessing, as did Twice; they followed (Y/N)’s direction by chanting along with her in the Common Speech, but Dabi itched for the rolling melody of a Welcoming in the Old Tongue. Even as he struggled to hide his well-trained voice within the deep, gruff grumble of the ruffian he was supposed to be, all Dabi could think of was that he would rather be using the words of his ancestors— the words of the goddess— to Welcome this child into the world. That much, he thought, was its birthright, as it was with every mother’s son.

But, Dabi supposed, he could hardly be angry on the child’s behalf when the High Priestess herself was there to sing it into the world; that was more than most men would ever be able to boast of.

At the end of the singing-chant, (Y/N) mixed together the blood, the water, and the earth, and she painted runes all over the child that glowed a deep russet color, then dissolved as though seeping into the child’s very skin. Thus, the Welcoming was over, and the moment was ended.

“Blessed be this babe,” (Y/N) murmured, handing the child back to its mother, and Jenny took her son in her hands and whispered his name.

“Balthazar,” she said, pulling her babe to her breast. “My little boy.”

With that, Dabi supposed he had indulged his curiosities enough; the hour was growing late, and he needed to pull his men back to camp to regroup.

“Come,” he told (Y/N), his voice pitched low and his hand outstretched. “I’ve given you what I promised, but now your time is up. You’ll be coming with me.”

The hate which had been noticeably absent in (Y/N)’s eyes in those last moments returned at full force.

“You war-mongering cur,” she spat, backing away from him. “I won’t be going anywhere with you.”

Dabi fought the urge to sigh. Women were so difficult. Luckily, however, they all had the same weakness, and Dabi always took great pleasure in exploiting it.

“If you refuse to come, I’ll have my men put that baby on a spit and roast it over my campfire.”

(Y/N) bared her teeth in a snarl, but there was real fear in her eyes.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Dabi raised a brow. “Wouldn’t I?”

They stared at each other for a long, long time. Dabi didn’t want to have to prove he meant what he said, but he would if she forced his hand. The High Priestess was an incredibly powerful bargaining chip in his hands; the possibilities were endless with her in his camp, whether she went willingly or not. At the very least, she could be used for ransom— she would be easily worth a small province of land for the people of the Old Faith— and at the most, she could be used to achieve everything he wanted and more. If one little peasant bastard had to die for that, so be it, but Dabi was not a man to let something so small and insignificant as morals get in the way of his ambition.

That was, after all, how the Empire had won their war. They’d thrown out their morals and captured one (apparently) smart-mouthed priestess, and the war had been over within two weeks. Maybe Dabi would get lucky and catch a break too.

"If you touch that babe," she warned him, somehow both flinty and fierce, "I'll know— and if you do, I swear by the goddess of my mother and her mother before her that you will die screaming with my hand around your beating heart."

Dabi wondered what it meant that his cock twitched in his pants at the look in her eyes as she threatened him. She really was quite beautiful; perhaps Dabi would even like to feel her hand on his beating heart. His cock, at least, had no objections to it.

“Take her, Twice,” he said, never taking his eyes off of hers. “I’ve got to take a few men and ride over to the main camp to report to Shigaraki.”

Before he handed (Y/N) over, though, Dabi wrapped his hands around her throat once more, pulling her close enough to kiss. He looked long and deep into her eyes then, and saw that they were ancient; her skin might have been that of a young woman’s, but her inner self, he knew, was as old as the earth itself. If there was any lingering doubt that she was the vessel of the goddess, it would have been dispelled by those eyes.

“If you pull anything— and I mean anything— while I’m gone, I’ll starve you half to death, and your next meal will be human-jerky,” he told her quite seriously. “Do you understand me, priestess?”

“Too well,” she replied, her words a bit strangled as her air supply was cinched. “I understand perfectly that you’re an inbred bastard with a prick too small to behave with empathy and kindness like a real man."

He struck her then, but not with all his strength. It was a stinging slap, just enough to hurt, but not enough to make her ears ring and her teeth clack; still, for all that he held back, her expression was still murderous. There was too much bite in this little kitten, and he was beginning to suspect she was untamable by human hands.

“Keep those claws to yourself, pussy-cat,” he said, “And we won’t have any problems.”

She raised her chin. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Dabi sighed. This was getting nowhere.

“Teach her some manners while I’m gone, Twice,” he said, his gaze still unwavering as he released her. “And show her to my tent. She’ll need to be familiar with the area.”

With that, Dabi turned on his heel and left in search of his mount. He knew those words would sound ominous to (Y/N), when in truth they were benign; Jin would more likely bring her to his tent and try to ask her what manners she needed to learn and whether or not she played cards than cause her any harm. He almost laughed at the thought.

Behave, pussy-cat, he thought as he walked off, entrusting kind, gentle Jin with the task of taking care of his plundered treasure. I’d hate to have to declaw you.

It hit him, then, as he was leaving the temple, that he might not have a choice in the matter, depending on what Shigaraki had to say about the whole ordeal. Once Dabi had made his full report— and he would make a full report— there was no telling what that mad bastard would have in store for her.

***

Dabi lied straight to Shigaraki’s face.

It hadn’t been his intention— far from it— but at the very thought of the pretty High Priestess bound and helpless on the floor of his tent, his lips glued themselves shut.

If he was asked, Dabi couldn’t have said why he lied. It wasn’t that he was afraid Shigaraki would take her away from him— for what it was worth, Shigaraki trusted him well enough to manage even so valuable an asset as (Y/N)— or even that he was worried about her treatment. Truly, it made no sense for Dabi to keep something so important from the man who was, for all intents and purposes, his superior, and yet— and yet.

I must be mad, he thought to himself as he walked back from the main camp to his own, his hands in his pockets. There's no way I can conceal her presence here for long, and when Shigaraki finds out, I’ll be a dead man walking.

Anyone with half a brain would have turned right back around and told the truth, consequences be damned. Such promptness and humility would surely have earned mercy, and being the bearer of such good news could only bring blessings— but something stopped Dabi. A small, dark, ugly part of him recoiled at the idea of deferring to anyone, and as was his wont, he let that darkness rule him, striding only ever forward as twilight settled over the land. What Shigararki didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him; if Dabi could only keep (Y/N)’s presence quiet for a while, then he could time everything so that when Shigaraki did find out, it would already be too late to stop the chain of events that Dabi had been working toward since the very beginning.

Oh, if only it could have been that easy.

As Dabi entered the camp, he found an immediate complication with his master plan. A crowd had gathered around in something of a circle in the center of the camp. As Dabi came closer, he could hear shouts of protest and fear, and he soon realized that, to his horror, Twice and (Y/N) were at the center of the commotion.

The scar that split Twice’s forehead was open and bleeding, and (Y/N) was standing face-to face with him, dancing around his sword with quicker feet than Dabi would have credited her with. All the while, she was shouting something that Dabi couldn’t hear— and, curiously, there was no fear or anger on her face that he could see; there was only concern, and a healthy amount of caution.

Surely, she didn’t strike him? Dabi wondered, pushing through the crowd as quickly as he could. Looking at the facts— Twice’s split forehead, his aggression towards her— it was a likely explanation, but when Dabi grew closer, he saw the dead bodies of two men, and a more plausible alternative presented itself.

Having a woman who wasn’t a whore in the camp was rare enough, and even when there was, the woman in question was almost unfailingly Toga, who wasn’t much better, bless her sweet, slaggy heart; the presence of fresh meat— pretty, feisty fresh meat— was usually enough to start a fight in and of itself, even if it meant going up against someone as skilled as Twice. If someone had been foolish enough to attempt such a thing, and had somehow hit Twice hard enough to make him lose control of the killer in him… it would be an unmitigated disaster, an utter slaughter. No man alive could beat Jin the Twice when he went berserk. He would kill everything within sight if he wasn’t stopped.

And yet there was (Y/N), dancing around him as nimble as a fairy, with bound hands and bare feet, screaming sense at him like a woman half-mad.

“Put down the sword!” (Y/N) was shouting, leaping in front of him as he lunged at one of the onlookers. “You’re no longer in danger! You’re safe!”

Dabi finally broke through the crowd, but neither Twice nor (Y/N) saw him, each of them too involved in their struggle to notice anything around them.

"Foolish girl!” called Dabi, a strange mix of respect and frustration welling in his chest. “Get away from him!”

That turned out to be the wrong thing to do. (Y/N) turned at the sound of his voice, distracted, and Dabi knew she would never be able to dodge the blow that Twice was about to deliver.

Well, at least I won’t have to explain to Shigaraki that I lied if she dies here, he thought a bit hysterically as Jin raised his sword above his head for what might be a killing blow. Dead is dead is dead, and that’s hardly my fault one way or the other.

But then (Y/N) surprised him.

As quick as a cat, she pivoted on the balls of her feet to face Twice, and saw his sword raised above his head. Then, in a desperate motion, she threw herself to her knees, her bound hands outstretched as Twice’s sword came down. Dabi’s heart leapt into his throat, but by some miracle, the razor-sharp blade passed just between her arms, severing the rope that bound her without cleaving into her flesh. Now free, (Y/N) launched herself at Twice’s legs, and with one mighty heave, she locked her arms around his knees and pulled backwards, toppling him to the ground with her beneath him. That bought Dabi just enough time to grab his right-hand man by the collar and drag him away before he could do any more damage— with a punch to the jaw from Dabi’s gauntleted fist, Twice was down for the count.

“Who started this?” growled Dabi, furious when he saw that Twice’s head wound looked worse than he’d thought. “If I don’t get an answer I like, I’ll give every man in this camp a face to match mine.”

Before anyone could muster a reply, Dabi felt a hand press against his bicep, and he turned to find (Y/N) looking at him with an unreadable expression.

“They’re dead,” she said simply. “There’s no need for any more blood to be spilled today.”

Dabi wanted to argue— he was in the mood to burn someone, to hear hoarse screams and watch the death throes of a man who no longer had a face— but something in her eyes stopped him.

“No one here is to lay a finger on this woman,” he announced darkly, choosing his words carefully. “She is my prisoner, and mine alone.”

So saying, he turned away, grabbing (Y/N)’s arm and none-too-gently dragging her along to his tent. Twice, he knew, would be just fine— after that display, no one would come close enough to him to do him any harm, and with decent luck, the poor bastard would wake and not remember a thing— but (Y/N) needed to be pulled from public view as quickly as possible.

"Unhand me," said (Y/N), trying to jerk her arm away from him as he strode forward. "You're hurting me, you brute, let go—"

She dug her heels in then, and Dabi rounded on her with a fury.

"Jerk against me one more time," he told her, squeezing the soft flesh of her arm painfully tight. "Give me a reason to bare your arse in front of all these men and paddle you like a child, I dare you."

"Unhand me," she repeated fiercely, "And I'll walk beside you like a good little prisoner."

She spat the word like it was a curse, and Dabi gripped her face, smashing her cheeks almost comically inward.

"Let's make one thing clear, pussy-cat— you don't give the orders around here," he said, staring into those age-old eyes with dark, steady certainty. "Watch your mouth when you speak to me, or I'll make sure you regret it. I'm not like the little serving boys or the drooling knights you're used to ordering around with that poniard of a tongue; goddess incarnate or not, I'm only one snotty comment away from putting you over my knee and tanning your hide with the flat of my sword. Am I clear?"

"Oh, certainly," she replied with a sneer, her words mangled with the pressure of his fingers on her face. "I’ve been made well aware of my place by big, bad Dabi. I'm terrified of a man who slaughters frail old women and helpless children— you must be so strong and brave to take on such worthy opponents!"

Dabi's patience snapped. He backhanded her, and she crumpled, collapsing to the ground with an indelicate thump.

"I warned you, woman," he growled, pushing a boot into her chest when she tried to get up. "Watch your mouth."

"Or what?" she challenged, and Dabi grabbed her by the hair, his fist snug against her scalp. She let out a scream that rivaled that of a bobcat's, but he paid her no heed as he dragged her along with him the rest of the way to his tent. She would learn to respect his authority, even if he had to beat that respect into her.

"You are troublesome," he told her in the privacy of his tent, throwing her down on his furs so that he could remove his belt. (Y/N) scrambled backwards, suddenly appropriately wary, but it was far too late for that to save her. "If it weren't for your station, I'd slit your throat and leave you in a gutter— but as it is, that's hardly the best use I have for you."

(Y/N) looked around as though searching for an escape route, but Dabi loomed over her— taller, bigger, stronger, faster— his belt now folded in half and held like the whip he intended to use it as.

"Even so," he continued, "You're going to have to learn to behave. I have men to lead and a reputation to uphold, and I cannot and will not sacrifice the respect of my comrades by bowing and scraping to a woman. Let today be a lesson to you; in order for me to use you, I have to keep you alive, but I'm not above bruising my peach before I eat it."

So saying, he descended on her like a hawk might a rabbit in a field, intent on making his point clear. She fought him tooth and nail, screaming curses that would have made Shigaraki stifle a smile, but eventually— after some nasty scratches to his face, one very memorable bite to his forearm that cost him a chunk of flesh, and (Y/N)'s spit in his eyes— Dabi was able to pin her down properly, one hand fisted in her hair to shove her face into the furs as he pulled her breeches down to expose her ass with the other. Even restrained, however, (Y/N) still refused to suffer her punishment with dignity; as he whipped her, she howled and thrashed like one possessed, and it wouldn't shock Dabi if half the camp heard her call him a thrice-damned son of a motherless whore.

"Oh, I love it when you talk dirty to me," he grunted smugly, thrashing her even harder. "Go on, insult my lineage more; I hate my fucking parents."

And wasn't that the truth?

"Go to hell!" she screeched, and Dabi wondered briefly if that was an actual goddess-ordained curse or if it was just the regular kind. Not that it mattered— Dabi was certainly hell-bound anyway— but he was curious nonetheless.

When Dabi finally finished with (Y/N), they were both tired. Her arse was a horrific shade of crimson, and Dabi might even have felt a little bad for going so hard on her if his arm didn't hurt so bloody much where she'd bitten him. He probably should have stopped earlier to have it cleaned out— he was missing at least half an inch deep of flesh over a three-inch surface area— but when she refused to gratify him by crying and pleading with him to stop, he'd simply continued to whip her until he couldn't anymore.

"I hope you learned something," he said, withdrawing his hand from her hair and rising stiffly from where he'd been kneeling over her. "If you don't want a repeat performance, I'd suggest that you behave yourself."

When she turned to look at him, her eyes were daggers.

"I hate you," she said, though she trembled like a newborn foal. "You bastard."

Dabi tutted. "I assure you that I'm perfectly legitimate, pussy-cat. Now, be a good kitty and stay put while I go fetch some refreshments. If you so much as poke your head out of this tent, one of my men will throw you over his shoulder and toss you right back here, and I'll be sure to replace my belt with a freshly-cut switch when I tear your arse up again."

So saying, Dabi left to scare up some food from Spinner— the camp's most cold-blooded cook— and was met with stares and snickering as he passed.

"What's all that about?" he asked Spinner as he fixed a platter, watching as a couple of goons laughed in his direction. "Did I do something funny?"

Spinner gave him a wry look.

"Well, since you asked… by the looks of you, none of us can tell who got the worse thrashing, you or the girl."

Dabi huffed, affronted, but when Spinner thrust a freshly-cleaned platter in front of him, Dabi understood. He looked as though he'd had the worst day ever, with his jaw swelling from where (Y/N) had kicked him to try and escape, his cheek deeply scratched and still bleeding sluggishly, and his hair even more disheveled than usual.

"I gave as good as I got," Dabi replied with a shrug, exchanging the empty platter for a full one. "Her arse looks like an overripe tomato."

Spinner grinned. "Oh, I bet she hates you."

"I believe she might have said so a time or two."

"Was that before or after the 'son of a motherless whore' bit?"

Dabi rolled his eyes.

"Both. Thanks for the food. Wish me luck in eating it— she's going to be glaring at me, hoping I choke."

At that, Spinner laughed and wished him well, and Dabi was on his way back to his tent.

She'll learn one day, he thought, making his way back to his tent. If not today, then tomorrow, and if not then, the next week or the next. Even the meanest dog can be trained, given the right master.

#dabi #dabi x reader #mybigbangacademia #touya x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi smut #dabi x y/n #touya x y/n #fantasy au #enemies to lovers #a suitable match (to start a fire)

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animereaderinsertwriter · 2 years

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Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Rating: Explicit

ao3 link here / art here and here

One month later

"While star-matches are rare, they often result in the most famously intense and controversial love and often end in tragedy and even death. Among the most well known from the legends are Tristan and Ysolt, Orpheus and Eurydice, and Hades and Persephone. Many famous couples throughout the centuries have been suspected to be star-matches, and doubtless many of them were. However, during this dark age of war and strife, there were star-matches that shined so brightly that there could be no doubt of their existence…"

— Balthazar the Wise, On the Legends and Myths of the Clans

"So tell me, again, what the master plan is supposed to be here," (Y/N) murmured, tracing lazy circles on Dabi's chest as they lay together, sweaty and spent. "We can never finish talking about it without arguing, and we can never finish arguing without fucking each other quite dumb."

A fire blazed in the center of the tent, casting everything in warm golden light. Dabi had left the flap of the tent open so that the cool nighttime breeze could flow through, keeping their space at the perfect temperature. Only moments before, (Y/N) had been straddling his hips, wringing his cock dry from orgasm as she rode him, and now that they were both finished, the world seemed to grow hazy at the edges in the afterglow.

Dabi hummed, and (Y/N) felt the low reverberations of it through her hand on his chest.

"The Empire is a lion," he told her, his eyes languid and half-lidded, "and the Clans are a pack of wolves. No matter how great the lion is, or how many wolves he's killed, if he has no sheep on which to feed, he starves."

"So you plan to destroy everyone— everything— and rule over ashes?" she asked, laying her head on his shoulder. "If the lion starves, so do the wolves, after all."

Dabi sighed.

"At some point, the lion decides it's too costly to steal from wolves, and it retreats back to its pride."

(Y/N) didn't have to say how ridiculous she thought that notion to be; she'd told him many times over the last month that in a battle of attrition, the Empire would win, even if it was solely because it had the most resources.

"Why choose the path of destruction when you can disrupt the pattern of this madness from the inside with minimal bloodshed?" she asked, tracing the line of his jaw with a finger. "Can you not feel pity for the people who suffer at your hand?"

"No one felt pity at my suffering," he huffed, rolling to his side so that they were face-to-face under his furs. "Nor yours, love. Why should I feel for theirs, hm?"

(Y/N) frowned. "Because it is right— because it is human, Touya."

Touya. (Y/N) had been using that name more often as of late— or, rather, the man lying next to her had been that name more often as of late. There were times, it seemed, when he was more one name than the other, more villain than nobleman, or vice versa. Among his men, this man was Dabi— a general, a leader of men, a war-dog on the prowl— but here, in his tent, beneath these furs, he was gentle, sweet, and kind. Here, in her arms, he was Touya, the lost little boy of Clan Todoroki, a warm and caring man, the man that she—

The man that she loved.

"Would it please you if I were to give this whole thing up?" Dabi asked her, using the knuckle of one finger to trace the curve of her cheek. "If I turned tail and fled, let the Clans hunt me down like a dog? Is that what you want?"

Eyes of azure watched her, lazy, yet piercing; his voice said that he would do anything to please her, but the question was pointed, sharp with intent, like a needle hiding beneath silk sheets.

"It would please me if you could find peace," she replied, taking his hand and splaying it against her cheek, feeling its warmth. "If we could sleep in a castle instead of a tent— if I could introduce you to my friends, if I could see your brother again— that would please me."

"My brother," he growled lowly, a nasty, jealous thing, "You mean your betrothed."

"I mean my best friend."

Dabi scowled, but did not turn away.

"You will marry him one day, and sleep in a castle with him, and meet often with the friends of yours he already knows," he said, angry, but truthful. "The only peace I will find is when I sleep beneath the earth in the Mother's embrace, or when the Empire kneels at my feet."

He pulled his hand away from her cheek, but (Y/N) caught it before he could withdraw it entirely, raising a brow.

"Jealous?" she asked, and she could practically feel her lover's temptation to turn away instead of facing the issue at hand.

"Of my father's favorite?" he retorted. "For what? His eugenic success? The love of my parents? Your cunt? All things I can live without, pussy-cat."

(Y/N) wanted very badly to give him a slap for that, but she barely— just barely— restrained herself. By now, she had learned to recognize hurt in Dabi, to understand that lashing out was his best and only defense against the things that hurt him the most; now that she had exposed a thorn in this dragon's claw, she could try to remove it, and with it ease his pain.

"Your brother never had my cunt," she told him gently. "How can you be jealous of a thing that doesn't exist anywhere but your own mind?"

"I did say that I wasn't jealous," he replied, and (Y/N) sighed.

"Shoto visits your grave every chance he gets," she told him, revealing perhaps too much of what she knew. "I've watched him, sometimes, from the far wall of the cemetery— he talks to you, asks you for guidance and advice, and there is always a candle lit at home for you and a cup poured out to your memory."

"They love me dead better than they did alive," Dabi mused, watching her expression intently. "What does that tell you, pussy-cat?"

Well, that didn't work. On to the next tactic.

Diatraction.

"I am the Mother, and she is me," (Y/N) replied, slowly moving the hand that held his wrist so that she could guide it to her breast. "Can you not find peace in my arms?"

Touya paused for a moment, then smiled— a true and tender smile, only for her.

"No," he replied, his tone teasing as the calloused pad of a finger brushed over her nipple, "Never there. I can't bloody win with you, and I can't quit either— so I fight in circles with you, with never a moment's peace!"

He pinched her gently then, and she smacked him with an outraged squeak. They laughed together for a moment— his eyes crinkled cutely when he laughed— and then they grew quiet. Dabi pulled her close and held her, kissing her forehead lightly.

"How long do you intend to stay here?" he asked, suddenly dreadfully serious, and (Y/N) pulled back, unwilling to answer such a loaded question without looking her lover in the eyes.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean, when are you going to stop fooling around here and get back to being the Hand?" In a manner so unlike himself, Dabi's tone was free of bitterness, free of judgment, but shackled with the sort of sadness that hid itself within the cover of nonchalance. "You know that you're free to go— no one here would stop you, and my superiors don't even know I have you. So why are you here, and when will you leave?"

There were many answers (Y/N) could give to answer that question.

She could say that she was here because the Mother willed it. That wouldn't be a lie— not when she'd felt the hand of the goddess on her as she had in the last few weeks. She could say that she was here because she wanted to be, and that wouldn't be a lie either, technically. She could say that she intended to gain information from the League, or that she wanted to stay and heal and protect those wounded at Black Dabi's hands, and all of that would be true, but— but not the biggest, ultimate truth.

In the end, she decided to say the safest truth— the one that would reveal little while concealing nothing.

"I'm here because I need to be," she replied, "And I'll only leave when the Mother sends me in another direction. Does that satisfy you?"

Dabi's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her with faux skepticism.

"I am never satisfied," he said, leaning forward to place his forehead against hers. "I always want more of the world than it can give me."

"More, you say?" she asked, trailing a finger down his chest, under their furs and down to his belly with a wicked little grin. "What more can the world give you that you haven't already got or given up?"

The knuckle of her right forefinger grazed the white hairs of his happy trail, and Touya made a deep, grumbling sound low in his throat.

"I could use the freedom to worship as I see fit," he replied, brushing hair from her shoulder as he pulled her closer. "I'd like a bit of land, and vengeance on my father— though not necessarily in that order."

"Is that all?" (Y/N) asked, her gaze flicking downwards to his lips as one of her hands wandered to the thatch of hair just above his cock. "It seems so simple— is there nothing else?"

"What else is there?" he said, grabbing her wrist and staring intently at her face as he propped up on one elbow.

"Oh, plenty." (Y/N) raised her leg, trailing her biggest toe over the thin flesh of her lover's ankle. "Many men want wives."

Dabi gave her a look.

"And what would I do with a wife?"

"Love her, I'd expect." (Y/N) looked anywhere but Touya's face, feigning innocence as her knee brushed his manhood. "Maybe father her children, even— many men find the idea appealing."

"I'm too difficult to be a husband," he told her as he shifted, finally giving in to her teasing as he slipped a hand between her legs,"And I don't feel particularly suited to fatherhood, either."

"Oh?" (Y/N) replied. "Could have fooled me with that appetite of yours."

(Y/N) was, of course, referring to his current occupation of pushing leaking seed from their earlier encounter back inside her, playing with the mess of her folds in a sort of possessive, prideful way that lent itself to further inferences.

"You mistake me, pussy-cat." His voice betrayed the smile that was hidden as he dropped wet, warm kisses from her neck down to her shoulder. "This is something I do and have done with you, and no other."

"You don't get points for trying to make me feel special when you've already gotten me in your bed," (Y/N) chided, though she shivered as he pressed his thumb lightly into her clit. "I'm not stupid, you know."

"Then you should know that I wouldn't lie," he replied matter-of-factly, plunging one long finger inside her, followed by another. "Lie back— I want to taste you."

(Y/N) did as she was bid, spreading her legs, and Touya settled between them, her knees over his shoulders as he licked a broad stripe up her sex, his tongue obscene and divine against her clit.

Dabi, she'd learned, lived to eat pussy. He loved the taste, the smell, the feeling of it, and it seemed that his favorite pastime was fighting for his life between her legs when she'd already come and her thighs were closing involuntarily to crush his head in defense of her poor, overstimulated clit.

"Touya," she gasped, throwing her head back as his fingers curled inside her and the chill of the wind tightened the skin of her nipples. "Touya, please."

At that, he lifted his head, and her wetness glistened on his chin, painted golden by the firelight.

"What is it, kitten?" he asked, withdrawing his fingers to reach up and pinch one of her nipples with warm, wet digits as he moved up her body, hovering over her with a smug expression.

"I want you," she murmured as she looked away, almost ashamed, but Dabi took his other hand and held her chin so that she had no choice but to face him.

"All this time, and you're still bashful when you're asking for what you want," he said, leaning down to kiss her lips, his mouth tasting of salt and sweat and slick. "Sit up, sweet one, I'm going to rearrange us."

(Y/N) went, willing and pliant, to where he placed her. Dabi sat with his legs crossed, his cock hard and straining against his abdomen, and he guided (Y/N) on top of him, her legs wrapping around his torso. As she sank down on his length, the position put his cock deeply inside her, and instinctively, (Y/N) began to move, grinding her hips back and forth to feel the stretch of him reach deeper and deeper until she could no longer tell where he ended and she began.

"That's it," Dabi praised, slowly, gently kissing any part of her that he could reach, from her breasts to her neck to the outer shell of her ear. "Fuck yeah, grind on me— you feel so good."

(Y/N) let the praise wash over and through her, and then his mouth was on hers, kissing her more tenderly than she had ever been kissed. As she rocked against him, she felt his hands come up behind her, roaming over her back to support her, and his tongue slipped inside her mouth, exploring unhurriedly. They were so close, so intertwined— and just then, (Y/N) felt some curious elation rise in her chest, a thrill of intimate pleasure that threatened to overwhelm her. She had never been this close to another person before, in sex or otherwise.

I love you, she wanted to say, but didn't.

"You're so beautiful," said Dabi, interrupting her thoughts as one of his hands found her breast. "Have I told you?"

"Mm," she replied, words catching in her mouth— but Dabi didn't need a response.

"When I first saw you," he said, his thumb brushing the sensitive peak of her breast, "I knew I wanted you. I hated you, but you were so pretty that I wanted to keep you all to myself— I even lied to Shigaraki for you, hiding your presence. Do you know the penalty for that?"

(Y/N) shook her head, all sense lost to sensation, lost to the movement of the cock inside her.

"If he knew, he'd try to kill me— and, if I didn't see it coming, he could probably manage to do it. It's mad that I didn't give you over to him the moment that I got you, but I can't make myself feel sorry for it. I'd do it again, and again, and again, if I could."

He paused, but only long enough to groan as she clenched around him.

"And that whole nasty business in Illan," he continued, his eyes locked with hers, "I was ready to burn the fucking world for you. I knew their reputation, knew their capacity for violence for goddess-blessed of any kind, and all I could think was that I couldn't let them have you. If you were going to die, I wanted to be the one to kill you— if you were going to be free, I wanted to be the one to give you your freedom. Is that mad?"

(Y/N) didn't have an answer— not when Dabi's attention had been turned to her clit, where his fingers made smooth, unrelenting circles in her flesh.

"If it is madness, then I don't want sanity," he told her, stupidly sincere as he watched her chest rise and fall with her breathing. "Do you feel that way, ever? Like you could burn the earth for this?"

"Yes," she cried— but whether it was in response to the question or the stimulation, she wasn't sure.

Dabi became silent after that, and (Y/N) was immersed in sensation, in the touching of every inch of their bodies. They stayed that way for an indeterminate amount of time, grinding and writhing and kissing and biting, until her lover's patience ran out, and his fervor overtook his affection.

"Lean back," he instructed her, moving his hands to her hips. "All the way, that's it— I won't let you fall."

(Y/N) did so, and then Dabi was on top of her, moving in and out, in and out of her, fucking her closer to orgasm with every thrust.

She must have wailed like a wildcat as she came, because Dabi thrust two fingers in her mouth— both a gag and a source of stimulation as she sucked on them, running her tongue over calluses and large, bony knuckles— and there was rustling outside, and a slight chuckle from one of the men stationed as lookouts. If (Y/N) had been anywhere else, she might have been ashamed, embarrassed; but here, in Dabi's arms, kissing him, with his seed filling her, she could muster no shame, and no remorse.

"I could forgive my brother," he told her later, after they'd cleaned up and settled back in, her head on his chest, "If only he hadn't put a ring on your finger. For that, I'll hate him until I'm dead or that ring is gone. Can you understand that?"

(Y/N) could and did understand, perhaps more than Dabi intended. Those words— as many and weighted as they were— could have been summed up in only three.

I love you, he might have said, and saved himself some breath.

"I don't love him," she said in reply, knowing what he needed to hear. "You know the man I love."

Dabi cracked an eye open, like the sleepy lid of a lizard's eye.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." She shifted slightly, raising her head. "He's you."

She laid her head back down, pressing even farther into his side, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, keeping her close. He didn't say it back— didn't have to. (Y/N) heard the words in the way he kissed the top of her head— soft, gentle, and affectionate— and in the way he wouldn't let her get very far, always shifting to follow her when she would turn to get more comfortable.

Goodnight, Touya, she thought, closing her eyes for the last time that night. Sleep well.

***

Something was wrong. Dabi could smell it in the air, could feel it under his feet. Change was coming— things hadn’t been right at all for over a week now— but he didn’t know how, or when, or what to expect when it finally did come.

The men, he'd noticed, had been restless of late. Since Dabi had single-handedly destroyed Illan, there hadn't been a whole lot for them to do; it had been far too long since they'd sacked a village and split blood, and now the men's morale was suffering for it. Hell, even Jin was on edge, and everyone who was anyone knew that a twitchy berserker was never a good thing. As Dabi saw it, if the man didn’t find some way to ground himself, everyone in the camp— including himself— was at risk.

As if that wasn't bad enough, (Y/N) had been sick, slowing their camp down. The past two mornings, Dabi had woken to the sounds of her retching, and she hadn’t been able to stomach the usual rations provided for her by Spinner. The very smell of roasted duck the night before had sent her out of the tent, covering her mouth with one hand and clutching her stomach with the other, but this afternoon, she craved spicy pickled quail eggs— which she hated— with a hunger that bordered on violence. Dabi wasn't quite sure what was wrong with her, but it seemed an unnatural illness— one that was beginning to frighten him.

Storm's coming, he noted, staring off into the cloudy, darkened horizon as he reined Bandit around, waiting for some of the men to pass ahead of him so that he could check on (Y/N). That's no good— Shiggy was hoping we'd get a lot farther today than we will.

And that was a whole other problem. Dabi had never been solely loyal to Shigaraki as much as he had to his own cause, but now Shigaraki seemed to be… spiraling. Dabi had been hearing rumors about Shigaraki talking to himself, claiming to be a goddess-chosen bearer of ultimate power, edging the League closer and closer to the Summit— making strange, unhinged claims and exhibiting behaviors that had never been present previously. It was worrying, worrying, worrying. If Dabi's ambition and Shigaraki's came into conflict, the fallout would be horrific.

"Dabi?"

Dabi turned and saw (Y/N) urging her horse out of line to ride up beside him. Her expression was tight, pinched as though in pain or discomfort, and Dabi felt a weight settle heavily over his shoulders.

"Yeah, pussy-cat?" he asked, his voice more tired than he'd intended it to be.

She fidgeted a little, looked away.

"I think we need to talk.”

Dabi clenched his jaw and tried to be patient despite the myriad of thoughts and fears swirling in his head.

“Is it important, or can it wait?” he asked, his eyes on the road ahead of them. “We’ll stop in a few miles to rest the horses, and prepare for the storm— we can have a bit more privacy then.”

She was uncharacteristically silent for a moment, and Dabi turned to look at her, concerned. When he did, he found that she was silently crying with a hand over her belly and the other on the reins of her horse.

“What is it?” he asked, nudging Bandit a little closer, concerned. “Are you alright?”

“I think I’m pregnant,” she said, her eyes red and full of fear, and Dabi's world stopped.

The fields are ripe for sowing, the aes sídhe had said, And there is more than one kind of seed.

And then, later— afterwards, it had said—

Though there is much you do not know and cannot see, your child will be strong. My mate has foreseen it.

Beltane seemed so long ago, like a distant dream, but— but if (Y/N) was right…

“It shouldn’t— I keep track of my moons, and I take root-of-the-virgin every morning, but—”

Dabi moved his gaze downward to her torso, eyes wide with disbelief, but he noticed a slight roundness to her figure that hadn’t been there before, one that could easily have been written off as a heavy meal or two, but with the other signs and symptoms…

Fuck.

“Hey, let’s not panic,” he said as Bandit tossed his head, raring to get back on the road as he watched the other horses ride ahead of him. “Have you stopped taking the— the whatever it is, now that you think…?”

(Y/N) stared at him, bewildered.

“What?”

“Did you stop taking the anti-baby root?” he repeated. “I don’t know much about these things, but it can’t be good for you or— or the baby to keep taking it.”

“I— yeah, I did,” she replied, still as skittish as a fawn. “You’re— you aren’t angry with me?”

Now it was Dabi’s turn to be confused.

“Why would I be angry?” he asked. “Aren’t all children a gift from the goddess? Especially… yours?”

(Y/N) looked at him for a moment, her expression caught somewhere between horror and befuddlement, and she collapsed into tears, crying like a child with her head in her hands.

“Hey, now,” Dabi said, unsure of what he should do to comfort her, “I don’t know what’s happening here, but you’ve gotta tell me what’s going on before I can help you, pussy-cat.”

She looked up at him then, and her wrecked expression was like a knife twisting inside his chest.

“They’ll shame me,” she cried hoarsely, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth as tears slid down her cheeks, horrified. “They’ll treat me like the scum of the earth—”

“Who?” Dabi demanded, still puzzled. “And why?"

Really, Dabi didn't understand— what’s to feel but pride and respect, and maybe a little envy, for a woman who is growing with child, powerful with proven fertility, the ability to create life?

“The priests, the holy men of the Church— I’ll be a pariah!” (Y/N) choked on a sob, nigh upon hysterics. “An unmarried woman, pregnant— I can forget trying to negotiate with them. I’ll be lucky if they don’t kill me! I’ve ruined everything!”

Dabi’s expression darkened at that.

“That’s enough,” he snapped. “Dry up the waterworks, pussy-cat, no one will be killing you without going through me first."

"You don't understand,"she protested, but Dabi wouldn't hear any more.

"So what if they shame you?" he demanded. "They can’t take away your power, your faith, or the love the people have for you. What can they really do to you that matters?”

(Y/N) shook her head, and her sobs broke what little was left of Dabi's heart.

“They can make laws that prevent me from performing any rites or ceremonies, including Welcomeings,” she replied, trembling. “They can drag young priestesses out of temples by their hair and have them whipped for collecting rainwater, they can destroy sacred places and reward those who desecrate our holy ground— they can make it so that the world forgets the Mother altogether!”

Dabi tried not to be frustrated or lash out with anger; since (Y/N) had come into his life, it had come to his attention that doing so usually made matters worse where she was concerned.

“They can’t, and they won’t,” he told her, and Bandit stomped the earth with his hoof as though in agreement. “We won’t let them. If the world needs to end to prevent it, I’ll burn it to ash myself. Do you hear me? Nothing is going to happen to you, this baby, or our faith.”

“But—”

“But nothing. You’re okay. We’re okay. It’s okay. Okay?”

(Y/N) took a shaky breath and looked at him with uncertainty, but she nodded, wiping her nose with her sleeve. Her cheeks were swollen, and her skin was colored from crying, but she had never looked more beautiful to Dabi than she did in that moment.

Brave girl, he thought to himself, watching her breathing even out. That’s it, in and out.

“Ready?” he asked her, nodding to the procession.

“Ready,” she replied, only somewhat weakly, and they rode together to their proper place.

A child, Dabi thought, watching (Y/N) as she rode beside him. Our child.

Dabi had never considered having a child. After the botched job his father did, he figured he’d save everyone the pain of producing a little copy of himself and die before he could fuck up and give in to biology… only, he hadn’t accounted for meeting someone like (Y/N), or for loving her. She had stumbled into his life like a bull in a china shop, knocking carefully-placed shelves to the floor and smashing his known world to bits in a matter of weeks. Now, in the ruins of his old self was this new, terrifying version of himself that didn’t care for anything outside of holding, loving, and protecting (Y/N) to the best of his ability. It seemed that his former ambitions— destroying his father and the Clans, reclaiming what the empire had taken— all seemed so small, now, in comparison to keeping (Y/N) with him. She was all he wanted, his only pride, his only joy.

He loved her, or as near to that as he knew how.

And now that she was with child— with his child— everything had changed.

“You need to see a Healer-woman,” he spoke aloud, glancing over to (Y/N), who still looked troubled. “I don’t know where to get one of those.”

(Y/N) shrugged, frowning.

“I used to see the matron of Clan Midoriya,” she said, self-consciously touching her torso, “But she’s at the Summit, currently.”

Admittedly, the Summit wasn’t too far. It was perhaps three days’ ride to the southeast— an easy journey for a party of two or three to make in a little less time than that. However, appearing at the Summit could mean big trouble if Dabi were recognized, and if he let (Y/N) go alone, she might never return to him. Dabi would not risk that, not unless she were in urgent need of the best care available.

“What about any of the villages close by?” he asked. “Would any of them have someone you could see?”

(Y/N) chewed her lip, considering.

“Maybe in Aryon,” she said. “A little shepherding village a few miles east of where you want to make camp. There should be someone there who can help.”

Dabi nodded. That was certainly more reasonable than taking a detour to the Summit.

“We’ll go there early tomorrow,” he told her, “Just you and I. Sound okay?”

(Y/N) agreed, but Dabi couldn’t help but feel that there was still something amiss.

“If you’re feeling well, we’ll talk more after we make camp,” he promised her. “Just— just take it easy, okay?”

For him, she tried to summon a smile; and though the smile she managed was a small and half-hearted one, Dabi was pleased by it nonetheless. He smiled right back— an expression that he was sure looked as wrong as it felt on his face— and (Y/N)’s own smile grew until it stretched her cheeks with its width.

That’s my girl, he thought, turning back to the road. She’ll make a fine mother.

***

As the sun began to dip lazily below the horizon, (Y/N) sat alone in Dabi’s tent, anxious and nauseated.

Outside, Dabi was still managing his men, supervising and assisting with even the most simple tasks. Completing everyday chores with the men, (Y/N) knew, was one of the ways in which Dabi earned their trust; it showed them that he wasn’t too good to pull his weight, and it gave him an opportunity to interact and observe the men he was leading so that he knew them and knew them well. It was so strange to watch someone who should have been a brigand act like a soldier, like a nobleman’s son— like a prince, even— and (Y/N) wondered at the loyalty he inspired from the men he led. Often, she thought that if Dabi had stayed with his family as a child and had grown up with his siblings, he would have grown into a leader more fierce and awe-inspiring than his brother.

The would-be Todoroki heir-apparent, she thought, touching her belly. I suppose I fulfilled my duties, but with the wrong Todoroki in line for the seat!

Shoto was going to be… something. He was going to be something, and while (Y/N) wasn’t sure exactly what it was that he was going to be, it wasn’t going to be good. The words shocked, hurt, and offended came to mind, and on their heels came furious, insulted, and disappointed— but none of them felt right. Realistically, he would be some mixture of all of those things, and (Y/N) wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to face him.

You could run away with Touya and never look back, said a tiny, insistent voice in her head. You could have your child together and grow old far away from the Empire’s reach.

The idea was tempting beyond words— but that was not (Y/N)’s destiny. She was the Hand of Cerridwen, and her place was with the people.

Before she could think any farther about her predicament, the ground in front of the tent flap darkened, and Jin the Twice ducked inside, his split forehead creased with worry.

“Jin,” (Y/N) greeted him with a tired smile. “How can I help you?”

Jin looked askance, as if unsure of himself.

(Y/N) hadn't noticed it before Dabi had pointed it out to her one night, but Jin had seemed restless lately. At first, it was little things— mumbling to himself, habitually toying with his knife— and then it had become worse, until he'd taken to pacing the length of the camp and starting fights with himself over dirty boots and empty wine-flasks. The fact that he was reaching out now, and to (Y/N), of all people, was both reassuring and a little scary.

“I don’t know, priestess,” he replied. “Can I talk to you about it?”

“Of course— come in, come in.”

(Y/N) stood, rearranging things so Jin would have a comfortable place to sit. When she was finished, she patted the seat beside her, and Jin lowered himself to the floor, almost comically large in the small space of the tent.

“I’ve been… troubled, lately,” he admitted. “Distracted. The parts of myself that are usually at odds are— well, they’re agreeing. The only thing is, I’m not sure I agree.”

Oh boy, did (Y/N) identify with that.

“Do you feel comfortable telling me what the conflict is?” she asked gently, taking one of his hands in hers. “Sometimes, hearing an objective opinion on the matter can help, if that’s okay.”

“You won’t tell Dabi?”

Jin wouldn’t meet her eyes, and (Y/N)’s heart hurt for him.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” she promised. “Your secret will be safe with me.”

Jin looked at her then, and nodded slowly, steeling himself.

“Priestess, do you remember… do you remember the day we, er, found you?”

How could she have forgotten it? That was perhaps the most memorable day of her life, and (Y/N) told him so with a playful grin.

“Well,” he replied, “Then that means you remember the babe that you— well, we— Welcomed that day? And his mother?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Yeah, I do. What about them, though?”

“I’ve— I’ve been having dreams about them,” he replied, looking away once more. “I always see Jenny and her little boy— they’re traveling, and every time I see them, they’re a little closer to the Summit. I can never talk to them, but I always get the feeling that Jenny is lonely.”

(Y/N) went very still.

“Jin,” she said slowly, “Are you thinking of leaving the League for this woman?”

Jin looked up at her then, alarmed, but (Y/N) touched his shoulder, attempting to reassure him.

“Maybe,” he replied, still uneasy, and (Y/N) did her best to hide her shock.

“I don’t want to be a deserter,” he told her, shamefaced. “I love these men like brothers— but— but I feel a calling. Jenny needs somebody, priestess, and I want that somebody to be me. I don’t— I haven’t ever wanted anything for myself like this, ever, and I’m terribly afraid it’s going to get me into trouble.”

“Oh, Jin,” said (Y/N), unable to stop herself from smiling. “I don’t know what to say. Are you in love with this woman?”

“I don’t rightly know,” he said with a hapless little shrug, “I’ve never been in love before.”

There was a certain superstition among the novices of the Old Religion that when the goddess made the world, she split stars and turned them into people. With one half of the first star forming as a woman and the other as a man, the two halves were destined to find each other, their fates intertwined. Matches such as these— or those that seemed perfect enough to be so— were what the novices liked to call star-matched, and those two halves of a star were soulmates. Even as Cerridwen’s chosen, (Y/N) could neither confirm nor deny the existence of star-matches and soulmates, but this thing between Jin and Jenny seemed more profound than mortal means could provide explanation for.

“I think you very well may be in love,” she told him, patting his hand. “And when you’re ready, I think you should tell Dabi.”

“Tell Dabi what?”

Dabi himself stood under the suspended flap of the tent, eyeing his lover and his right-hand man with something akin to curiosity. (Y/N) fought the urge to hide her hands behind her back like a guilty child caught stealing cookies.

“Jin was just leaving,” (Y/N) replied smoothly with a sugary-sweet smile. “Isn’t that right, Twice?”

Jin hesitated, ever loyal; he would rather die than lie to his commander.

“I was thinking, sir,” said Jin, “And I wanted to talk with the priestess about that thinking.”

He glanced back at (Y/N), almost asking for permission, and after she had searched Dabi’s face, she nodded for Jin to continue.

“You see,” Jin began, still nervous, “Do you remember the day…”

He related the story to Dabi exactly as he had to (Y/N), and as he listened, Dabi lowered the tent flap, increasing their privacy.

“So you see, sir, I was conflicted,” Jin said, rubbing the back of his neck. “My place is here, but my heart is with her. If you command me to stay, sir, I will, but—”

Jin stopped then, his face coloring to the roots of his hair, and he stopped talking entirely, embarrassed.

“And what do you think of this, High Priestess?” Dabi asked, his expression unreadable. “What advice did you give my lieutenant?”

(Y/N) looked to Jin for permission, and when the man shrugged, she gave Dabi her answer.

“I told him to ask you, when he was ready to do so,” she replied honestly. “Is that satisfactory?”

Dabi walked over to her and smoothed a hand over her hair— an oddly affectionate gesture in front of other eyes, but somehow an appropriate one to allow Jin to observe.

“Any advice from the Mother is always satisfactory,” he replied, his voice low and gentle. His eyes were soft, and he looked as though he wanted to kiss her.

“So?” (Y/N) asked, looking up at him from where she sat. “What say you, Dabi, Black Dragon of the League?”

Dabi hesitated— watching, waiting, thinking. (Y/N) could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he considered every fact, every detail. If she had been asked what she thought of him before she had gotten to know him, (Y/N) wouldn't have credited Dabi with the brains to command an army of ants— but after having watched him for these past months, she knew that he had all the strategic savvy of a seasoned general.

“You’re my most trusted soldier,” he told Jin, extending a hand to help him to his feet. “You’re the best man in the company by far, and I love you like a brother.”

Jin accepted the hand up and thanked Dabi— but Dabi wasn’t done.

“There is nothing I would withhold from you that you desire,” he continued, looking Jin square in the eyes, “But in leaving this camp without orders, you know you would be leaving for good.”

“I know that, sir,” Jin replied, though he looked forlorn. “I know it well.”

“And you also know that if you’re recognized at the Summit, they won’t hesitate to end your life then and there, yes?”

Jin nodded in the affirmative, tears welling in his eyes. (Y/N)’s heart sank to her stomach, disappointed— but Dabi still wasn’t finished.

“Then I have a proposition for you,” he said. “Are you willing to hear it?”

Jin nodded, and Dabi explained a plan to him in a way that reminded (Y/N) all too much of Shoto and sent a pang of longing to her heart for her best friend.

“You will leave this camp at daybreak tomorrow,” said Dabi, one hand on Jin’s shoulder and the other propped on the hilt of his sword. “I’ll say I’m sending you as a spy to the Summit to see what’s happening. In reality, you’re going to go and establish yourself in the city, find your sweet Jenny, and woo her as you will. Are you following so far?”

“I am, sir,” Jin replied, his expression befuddled, “I’m just not sure where you’re going with this.”

“Once you’re well established with another identity, I want you to ask around about the matron of Clan Midoriya and see if you can get a message to her. A message that I’ll send with you. That is your one and only task. Is that clear?”

It was only then that (Y/N) understood what was happening.

A favor for a favor, she realized, watching as Jin agreed to the terms without a second thought. Dabi’s giving him an out and losing one of his best men in exchange for… in exchange for someone skilled, someone familiar to care for me.

The depth of Dabi's feelings for her in making the exchange was not lost on (Y/N).

“It’s all settled then,” said Dabi, clapping Jin on the back. “Tomorrow, you’ll be on your way. Best of luck to you, Jin.”

With that, they parted ways— each of them with an affectionate smile— and then (Y/N) and Dabi were alone in the privacy of the tent, watching each other intently.

“How are you feeling?” Dabi asked, kneeling next to her to take one of her hands in his own.

“I’m okay,” she shrugged. “Tired. Nauseous.”

Without prompting, Dabi took a large, warm hand and placed it beneath her shirt on her torso, right where the worst of the discomfort was. His hand became unnaturally hot as it rested there, and it was oddly soothing to have something warm and soft pressed against her uneasy belly.

“Better?” he said with a small, almost timid smile, and (Y/N) nodded.

“A little,” she replied. She paused for a moment, thinking, then added, “Will you hold me?”

“Of course,” Dabi replied, and he shifted until (Y/N)’s back rested against his chest, with his arm— heated to ease her discomfort— resting across her belly.

“I’m sorry I had a meltdown today,” (Y/N) told him, relaxing into the warmth of his body. “I don’t know what came over me, making a scene in front of the men.”

Dabi huffed a laugh.

“I think that was preferable to the way you were shouting for pickled quail eggs earlier,” he told her, planting a chaste kiss on her shoulder. “You were a terror— I think Spinner was ready to hit you with that cast-iron pan of his.”

(Y/N) laughed in spite of herself.

“I can imagine,” she grinned. “I think you were ready to strangle me yourself. You know, come to think of it, you’ve grown incredibly patient since we met.”

“It was that, or kill you myself,” he said, but (Y/N) heard the laughter in his voice. “And, as it happens, I rather like having you around, pussy-cat.”

They grew quiet for a moment after that, and (Y/N) allowed herself to think about nothing for a moment, focusing only on the heat of Dabi’s skin against her own. It was nice, trusting him, feeling safe with him. If she could, (Y/N) would never leave his embrace.

“Would you like to talk now, or do you want to sleep?” Dabi asked, dropping his stubbled chin into the junction of her neck and shoulder. “You seem tired.”

(Y/N) wanted very badly to sleep, but she knew she wouldn’t truly rest until they’d talked about this… new development.

“I just— I need to know,” she said, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Are you okay with— with me being pregnant?”

“Yeah,” Dabi said, gently caressing her stomach. “More than okay.”

Now that was surprising.

“Really?” She turned, eyeing him warily.

He shrugged. "Yeah."

“You’re taking this a little too well, Touya.”

“Well, there’s no use in not being okay with it,” he told her, smiling lopsidedly. “It’s not exactly reversible, y’know.”

Oh, but wasn’t it?

(Y/N) swallowed thickly.

“There are ways.”

Dabi stiffened, straightening his posture.

“Ways to what?”

“Reverse it,” she replied simply.

Dabi was silent for a long time, then, and (Y/N)’s heart began to race in time with her thoughts.

What if he wants the baby gone? she thought to herself, her nausea coming back at full force. What should I do? How can I tell him that I want to keep it when it could easily ruin both our lives?

“It’s your body,” he said slowly, “So it’s your decision. But if it means anything, anything at all… I would do everything within my power to be a better father than my father was to me. I know this may not be what you wanted— what either of us wanted— but…”

He took a moment to grab her hand, squeeze it, and bring it up to his lips for a light, sweet kiss.

“… I love you, and I will love this child until the day I die.”

(Y/N) was speechless. He'd never said those words before, and the fact that he was saying them now, meant— well, it meant—

"Are you in earnest, Todoroki Touya?" she asked, turning in his arms to face him.

"Oi," he grumbled, eyeing her up and down. "Are you calling me a liar, pussy-cat?"

"No, I'm asking if you are one," she corrected him, carding her fingers in his hair. "Do you really love me?"

"As well as I know how," he replied, flushing prettily as though embarrassed. "In any case, I'm quite sure I've forgotten how to live without you, if that counts for anything."

(Y/N) didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything. Instead, she threw her arms around Dabi and held him close.

"We're keeping this baby," she said, burying her face in his neck. "Whatever comes… I want this child, I want you, in my life."

In response, Dabi put his arms around her and held her tightly.

"I love you, pussy-cat," he told her, kissing her temple. "Thank you."

(Y/N) didn't ask what he felt the need to thank her for. She already knew; she heard the words he couldn't bring himself to say.

Thank you for loving me back.

It was something remarkably Todoroki-like of him to say, and yet so remarkably himself that (Y/N) wasn't sure how to take it. All she could do was hold him, keep loving him, and give him a child that would see him as a hero and love him even more. If (Y/N) had anything to do with it, she would shower Dabi in love and make him so happy that he would never even remember the pain of his childhood, or the horrors of war.

If only she could find a place to settle down with him, a place to have and to raise their child, to be a family— but no place like that existed for a man like Dabi. He'd be hunted to the ends of the earth before he would be allowed peace, and after all the destruction he'd caused, (Y/N) couldn't even deny that such a thing could be called justice.

If there is no place for us, she thought, burrowing further into the smoke-smell of her lover's chest, Then I'll make a place for us, if I have to.

#dabi #dabi x reader #mybigbangacademia #touya x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi smut #dabi x y/n #touya x y/n #fantasy au #enemies to lovers #a suitable match (to start a fire)

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