#love letters from todoroki | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

treestargarden · 1 year

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Permanent Plague

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Warnings: self-harm, semi-public sex, praise, degradation, biting, non-permanent marking, trans!Hawks, cis!Touya, Touya has a Jacob’s Ladder and Prince Albert, breeding kink (if you squint), threats of murder/violence, cannibalism imagery, slaughterhouse imagery (but no actual gore), previous fight mentioned, Touya has burn scars over 70% of his body, self-deprecation, sadism/masochism, predator/prey kink, smoking a cigarette, Touya has a split tongue, Hawks cries, implied inexperience (for Hawks), Shigaraki is there at the end lol, quirkless au, train hoppers au, mafia au

Summary/Context: Touya and Hawks have known each other since childhood, but were separated as young teens. As adults, they find their paths cross again and Touya isn’t going to let this one chance go to waste.

A/N: I am enamored by the Dabi x Hawks ship, but I find that a lot of people characterize it as very flluffy. This is my take on the ship. Full of desperation, violence, covetous passion juxtaposed by a gentleness that is utterly foreign to Touya. Also, this is very specifically Touya rather than Dabi. If you want an idea of the imagery I accompany with this one-shot, check out @/elegiesforshiva dabihawks art (there’s a specific red string of fate one that I think fits the mood perfectly). I have a playlist I write DabiHawks to that can be found here. DO NOT REPOST

Words: 3.5k | NSFW/18+ ONLY (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

Touya’s teeth squeaked with tension, Aren’t you supposed to be good at your job, bird brain? He stretched his arms and an obnoxious yawn curled into the air in the small room. His face scrunched into a leer; the image of beauty certainly. “Let’s stretch our legs. I have a feeling ima work through the night.”

“Lead the way, I like having the option to slip a knife into your back.”

Touya's eyes sparkled with mock pain, “What, you haven’t hurt me enough? Gotta sink that humiliation in just a little more, eh?” A dull thunk followed them into the hallway after Touya closed the door behind him.

A pair of boots tup, tup against the concrete flooring. Hawks' footsteps were nonexistent beside Touya's. They walked in sync for a few moments before Hawks, true to his word, slowed his pace to tail Touya instead. He took note of the promise made true, but otherwise offered no reaction.

“Room could be bugged. What the fuck–” he mimed shaking Hawks by his temples,”was that? Aren’t you supposed to be quick-witted, quick reflexes…” he rattled off several other words that meant fast. “I thought you were good at being… you,” his voice softened on the last word and shifted his eyes to focus on the end of the empty corridor.

“Who broke whose ribs?”

When Touya made no effort to retort, Hawks continued, “Ah, that was–” he stopped himself mid-explanation. Touya peered at him, but otherwise made no further comment. Momentary silence. “I was thinking about something else,” Hawks eventually offered.

A hand elongated Touya's features as he swiped it down his face with annoyance, “You’re lucky you have broken ribs, otherwise I would jab you in them for the lame fuckin’ answer.”

A scarred hand scrounged in his pocket. The rough edges of the fabric rubbed against the soft tissue. But his extensive nerve damage meant he couldn't recognize the abrasive texture against his skin. He fished out his golden flip-lighter. Slender fingers with silver and black jewelry decorated the lengths of each section. The metal reflected the indoor lighting as he plucked the half-smoked cig from behind his ear. Cigarette between his teeth, he teased Hawks, “You owe me a new car cig lighter, birdie." His neck stretched to retrieve the patient, hot flame in his fist.

Hawks lifted his chin like he was superior to the antics Touya threw at him, “I don’t owe you shit. You threw that out for fun.” His hands disappeared casually into his jacket pockets. The silence Hawks mastered so easily made Touya’s skin crawl; made him feel like he was being stalked. The fluorescent lighting above buzzed between Touya's ears.

Touya shook his head, “You’re dangerous even while tied up and injured. I’ve watched you fight,” a mild reminder of their past. Touya had always watched. Will continue to watch.

“Don’t use me as your scapegoat. You’re a violent person who is wildly unpredictable.” Hawks threw cursory glances behind them as they walked. Always watched, but never saw what was in front of him. For a man who wanted to go fast, he had a tendency to look behind him a lot.

Who are you leaving behind, Hawks?

A sardonic laugh accompanied his retort, “Why would I throw something out I could use for ‘self-immolation’ purposes,” he scrunched his fingers in air quotes while he repeated Hawks words.

He sensed they had enough distance between them and any possible surveillance in the server room. Touya's rough whisper repeated the information from before, “I said there are three of us you need to watch out for. Including me.” He glanced over his shoulder and observed Hawks’ reaction to the new information.

Touya wouldn’t kill him. Not yet. But if Shouto really was at the compound and it came between his versus Hawks’ safety? There was no competition. There would be no hesitation.

Hawks’ glance met Touya’s in that moment and they both understood what the other was willing to do if it meant their individual lives were spared. It was just a matter of fact. This was a favor–Hawks wouldn’t be misled by the intention.

No quip, Hawks aimed for business, “Who are the other two.”

He inhaled his cigarette, his voice strained when he replied, “The doctor.”

Okay, that was two guys, “And the third.”

Touya shifted his eyes around the hallway, looked behind and ahead of them. The alcoves were washed in inky shadows. The smoke rings created small targets for Hawks to bounce between.

“They’re important to you, otherwise you would tell me,” Hawks playfully ducked under a smokey bullseye.

A wrinkle in Touya’s eyebrow and a sneer glanced off his features. Hawks saw through him so easily. A subtle threat muttered, “You won’t meet him unless he’s actively killing you.” He would protect the third man’s identity to the best of his ability. He didn’t want Hawks’ talons on him.

Hawks put his talons on Touya though. His hand clasped Touya’s shoulder, firm but not threatening.

Of course it was a threat, this was Hawks. If Touya was any other person he would be unable to detect the concealed danger.

Fuckin’ raptor.

“Can I guess? It isn’t Thumper. We talked just the other day. She gave me her number, did you know that?”

Touya was unbothered by Rumi’s friendliness. If her mission was completed, she treated everybody with kindness. She flipped it like a switch. He was annoyed that she wasn’t more suspicious of Hawks, though, especially because he was a crafty one. But Rumi proved herself capable against Hawks; he needn’t worry about her.

The silence accentuated Touya’s footfalls. They echoed between the rafters on the ceiling. He could feel Hawks�� piercing gaze on him, like he was a piece of meat to be picked apart. He wasn’t meant to be a slab of meat laid across the table. He hated how it made him feel small.

His voice was sweet–he was anything but, “C’mon. I’ll figure it out,” he coaxed Touya, attempted to loosen him up. “There aren’t that many in your circle,” he felt confident laying out his thought process for Touya out in the open. Touya felt chilled to his bone marrow. The prowess he emanated when he was locked on his target reminded Touya of his childhood admiration of Hawks. He wanted to be devoured. “It wasn’t that sweet boy that interrupted us. Are you that scared of me?”

He was.

Immediately, Touya halted and took the last drag from his cigarette. A passionate ruby glared from the end and Touya ashed it out on his arm, next to his other fresh lesions. A soft tick hit the floor as he tossed the butt without a second thought. Touya stepped toward Hawks and commanded his personal space. Hawks’ mouth moved–sure to have a snide remark about Touya’s self-harm–but no words came.

“You may figure it out, but I’m not helping you do it sooner.”

Touya continued walking in-step with Hawks until his heels bumped against the opposite wall. A finger taut with scar tissue caressed the edge of Hawks’ stubbled jawline. Touya was a monstrosity, but the gentleness in that touch hinted at a tenderness beneath the carnage and hard exterior.

Hawks’ throat bobbed and his pupils expanded. Touya was unsure if it was desire. Unsure if Hawks ever felt that way about him.

“You do not frighten me, dove,” and a malicious grin split his features, “actually, you excite me.”

Instantly, Touya knew Hawks had been distracted from his quarry; Shigaraki no longer in danger of discovery.

“What’s’a matter, birdie?” a bastardization of his father’s nickname for Hawks when he was training. “Cat got your tongue?” A twitch in Touya’s fingers implored him to feel more. His thumb traveled the length of Hawks jaw and down his throat. Touya glimpsed at the space they shared between their chests. He smiled viciously, “Gotta admit I’m a li’l disappointed you don’t have your knife pulled on me.”

One agonizingly infinite heartbeat later, Touya leaned his face next to Hawks’; warm breath stirred the air near his ear, “Have you gone soft on me?” When he pulled away, he glanced at Hawks tender lips. He pulled Hawks by the chin and he closed the distance between them. Their lips grazed past each other. It didn’t have to mean anything. If Hawks decided to walk away.

He chased Touya when he pulled away, stretched up on his toes. He chased a high he didn’t know he craved. And then Hawks seared his handprint into Touya’s chest; above his heart.

If the kiss was the gasoline, then Hawks’ brand was the match that ignited a decade-long repressed desire hidden deep within Touya.

Instantly, Touya shifted Hawks’ hand to wrap around his shoulder and devoured Hawks. Marred hands reached for Hawks' thighs and lifted them around his waist.

Utter silence from Hawks, so Touya’s reassurance is more for himself than for the asshole with him, “You say stop, and I’ll stop.” He’s pretty confident he’ll know if Hawks doesn’t want him anymore.

The tips of Touya’s tongue are needy and sloppy. They caress each side of Hawks tongue, threatened to drink him in. Only the ambrosia that Hawks fed him will satisfy his long-standing famine. He’s breathing hard into Hawks mouth, unable to contain the desire engulfing him. Hawks matched him with just as much desperation. Agile fingertips pulled at Touya's skin on his back, his waist, his hips, his chest. His fingers were everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Touya rolled his hips languidly into Hawks. Want–needed–Hawks to be aware of the desire he inspired. A sultry and wanton moan was cradled in the back of Hawks' throat. The first real thing Touya had ever received from Hawks. And he felt the greed spark in his chest that implored him to keep it all to himself. The non-fictitious version of Hawks was Touya’s to claim.

They were in the middle of a long corridor, late at night. Anybody who walked past the hall would be able to see them. Hawks had abandoned any sense of self-preservation.

Pinpricks of pain at his scalp caused a cold hiss of breath to stir the air between them. A skillful hand wrapped itself in Touya’s hair. And then he was being constricted into Hawks’ embrace. The wetness between his legs was evident.

Hawks was clothed beneath Touya, but his scent was heady and enraptured Touya's senses. He wanted to swim in all Hawks had to offer. Their surroundings melted from sight. Hawks was his only focus.

In their fever of passion their teeth click, click against each other, and it encouraged both of them. His shirt was tugged from his chest in increasingly impatient intervals. The soft hums Hawks breathed into Touya is a lifeforce unmatched that ignited a flashfire in Touya's gut.

From his mouth to his ear, Touya licked sloppy kisses, “Touya. Call me Touya. I want my name in your mouth when I make you cum.” Some deep part of himself wanted Hawks to yell it with abandon–wild anguish, starved wanton need. Needed people to know who he was so long as Hawks pronounced it.

The skin at the junction between Hawks’ neck and shoulder was soft, pliant. Ravenous teeth sunk in with reckless violence. The whimpering sounds and the dramatic jump ripped from Hawks fueled his fire further. Several sharp stings were littered across his abdomen and he muffled a whine into Hawks’ skin. Wicked little fingernails dug crescents into Touya’s wrinkled and scarred skin.

He retaliated with a particularly rough thrust, his hardness stroked against the wet spot between Hawks’ legs. His chest rumbled with the drawn-out moan that quickly followed, “Fuuuuuuuuu–”

As if brought back to life, Hawks–the little minx–shyly stuttered Touya’s name. Urged Touya to fuck him like he meant it when he squeezed him closer with his legs.

Dopamine crashed through Touya’s system in response. He growled into Hawks’ ear, “You sound so dumb saying my name and I don’t even have you bouncing on my cock yet, little dove.” His fingers pinched Hawks’ inner thighs and he adjusted Hawks’ weight against the wall so their chests were level with each other.

A knee slid underneath Hawks’ ass to support his weight, “Hang on tight,” was his only warning before he swung Hawks’ ankles over his shoulders. His feet held upright in the air on each side of Touya’s head.

Clever fingers bunched the fabric of Hawk’s pants and pulled them up swiftly. The offensive fabric was thrown to the floor next to his feet without ceremony. An ankle flopped to the side and then gravity weighed it down to splay against Touya’s bicep. He smirks at Hawks’ pitiable arrangement of limbs, “Can’t even support yourself can you, dove?” Touya’s knee was replaced by a hand and he pressed Hawks between the solid, cold wall and his yielding, warm frame.

“Touya,” Hawks pouted again. Degenerate little fingers tugged at the button on his pants once again.

“Greedy little dove, aren’chya. So eager to see me sink into your tight little hole, hmm?”

While Hawks’ fingers struggled with the button of his pants, Touya collected Hawks’ wetness upon his fingers. Hawks' hips canted into the sensation and the heat in Touya’s gut coiled with hunger. He inhaled Hawks’ musk that lingered along his fingers. Slender pink tongue tips slithered out for a taste, “Is this all for me?” A sharp hiss of breath reverted his attention back to Hawks. He admired the pierced cock laying across his mound.

Touya smirked, “Go ahead, you can touch it, dove.”

Eager fingers wrapped around his length and roughly jerked him. The piercings on the underside and head were yanked sharply by the dry skin of Hawks’ hand, “Hey, hey, easy, not so rough, shit.” Touya was entertained by the impulsiveness Hawks displayed, but the slightly uncomfortable burn momentarily took him out of the mood.

The head was still flushed pink and the veins along the topside were visible with the tautness of his skin. It glistened with Hawks’ wetness as Touya used it to lube himself up. He soothed his ladder piercings and the one at his head with quick circles around the tender skin.

He shallowly rocked his hips into Hawks. His Prince Albert caressed the head of Hawks' clit. The shockwaves of want that shook Hawks’ thighs made Touya growl with possessiveness. This was his.

A rough hand cupped Hawks’ ass and the other guided his cock that took one, two test strokes–cockhead ghosted kisses over Hawks’ hole–and then speared him. An unintelligible exclamation echoed through the hallway. The lights above flickered haphazardly. Each of the men panted hard breaths into the pocket of space shared between them.

The sharp stings of Hawks’ nails bit into Touya’s damaged skin at his hip. The length of his slender throat was exposed and Touya’s mouth watered at the sight. A dull ache at his tail bone throbbed as Hawks’ heels dug into his tender muscles. He swallowed Touya’s cock with warm fervor, “More,” he begged into an attentive ear, “Harder,” he demanded.

Touya steadied Hawks in one arm and a thumb traveled across Hawks’ sweat-slick abdomen and sank between his legs. Slow circles traced around his clit caused Hawks’ eyes to roll back into his head, mouth hung open. Touya's thrusting paused so he could focus on stimulating Hawks, “You sound so fuckin pretty when you tell me what to do,” his split tongue stiffly trailed up Hawks cheek and left a sloppy trail of saliva on his peachy skin, “Say ‘please.’”

The pathetic mewls below him were music to his ears and beat the fire steady in his groin while he sat still. Touya was overcome with the obsession to swallow Hawks. Eat everything he was willing to give him until he was a begging, sloppy mess. Fuck him so good he was just a bobbing empty head, thoughts unwilling to breach the surface of his fucked-out mind.

Touya didn’t need to wait long before Hawks responded immediately, “Good boy,” he grunted.

The guttural moans Hawks rewarded Touya with signaled his successful ministrations, “Please,” he says yet again.

He permitted no time for Touya to respond. The heels of Hawks boots felt like molten steel on his back. Evidence of Hawks’ permanent effect on Touya’s fate. And he thrived with the thrill of Hawks ruining him. Wanted to be equally fucked up by Hawks. His greedy hole clenched around him–demanded he continue fucking into him, “Please.”

As fast as he could respond, Touya’s forehead met Hawks’ and the force he pistoned his hips with made their heads bob in rhythmic tandem. The position and Hawks’ combined weight didn’t lend themselves to much space, so Touya only pulled out one or two inches before he slammed back into Hawks.

He dropped his head to the joint between Hawks’ shoulder and neck and latched onto the soft skin–angry red and purple bruises blossomed across the surface. Delicate control was necessary to keep himself from breaking the skin. Making Hawks remember their tryst made the beginnings of his orgasm pool at the base of his cock.

Touya’s burning gaze returned to Hawks’ scrunched face. His eyes were glassy and there were twin wet trails that ran down the slope of each supple cheek. Touya crooned at the pathetic display, “Are you crying, sweet dove?” His voice was low and gravelly with concern. His eager tongue swiped up Hawks’ nearest cheek and salt sprang across his taste buds. Hawks was always so poised. The only other time Touya had seen Hawks sob was when he spied on him during disarmament practice in the private dojo at the far-end of his childhood home.

He flicked the head of Hawks’ clit with a soft fingertip and it earned him another squeeze around his cock. It made his head swim. Their fucking was sloppy and messy and the hedonism tickled Touya when he reveled in the wet schk, schk, schk of his balls that slapped against Hawks’ ass.

Hawks relaxed enough so his forehead fell forward onto Touya’s. The hair tangled in wet clumps. He tasted Hawks’ delicious and broken sobs. Hardly a second passed before he gathered a handful of words on his tongue, “Touya–I need–Please!” any word that came to mind and was short enough to pronounce, he grabbed and tossed into the air.

Touya’s hips and thumb stuttered. They threatened to lose their momentum. But he couldn’t stop. He would hold on for Hawks. As long as he needed him to.

Touya’s nose traced a ghostly trail from Hawks’ cheek to his ear, “What is it, pigeon? Use your words. Tell me what you need.”

The hallway smelled of sweat and desperate sex. Touya needed Hawks to abandon his self-control–join him in the sweet expanse of chaos and self-destruction. Wanted Hawks to give into the urges that would hurtle him towards the edge. Touya would meet him once he falls over. Touya would catch him. Even if it was just this once.

A sharp quiet squeal as Hawks got closer, “Touya!” his voice broke on the last syllable of Touya’s name. A gasp wracked his chest as his legs shook violently between Touya’s arms. His hands twitched across Touya’s back and his hips worked to milk the cock buried deep inside him.

Touya’s eyes rolled back and his fingertips stamped small constellations of bruises on Hawks plush thighs. Something to reconcile later. Hawks heels pinned Touya’s hips against him, trapped him in a possessive vice. The wildfire erupted into a whoosh and Touya fucked into Hawks until his cum leaked down his shaft and between his own thighs. He grimaced at the sensation, but held Hawks aloft regardless.

“C’mon, birdie. Let’s get your pants back on.”

Lithe fingers clung to Touya’s shirt in conscious desperation. The moment too quickly passed. Then Hawks’ legs gave out and he sunk delicately to the floor. A shaky hand rubbed tiredly at the skin around his closed eyes. He willed some form of reality to enter his system.

The hairs on Touya’s neck raised when he anticipated they were no longer alone. Then he became aware of shuffled footsteps behind him. The presence wasn’t one Touya experienced often, but it is recognizable.

Touya’s eyes pinched closed in panic and his knuckles pressed stars into the void of his vision. This was the last thing that he needed to happen. Hawks was hot on Shigaraki’s trail before Touya fucked him up against the wall. Surely, Hawks was no idiot, no matter how spaced out he seemed. He would deduce who was the third person watching Hawks closely.

What a waste.

“This isn’t,” the voice was scratchy yet familiar, “what I expected.”

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violetarks · 2 months

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third year! bakugou katsuki thinks it's pathetic how everyone tries to ask you to be their valentine while you stand absolutely awkwardly and oblivious to their advances.

he rolls his eyes, scoffing at how you tilt your head and ask 'what do you mean?' when a new second-year tries to confess through a heartfelt letter a week before valentines day. he's sitting in the cafeteria, a few tables away from you where you stand with your tray. his friends catch his line of sight and begin to watch too as you awkwardly take the letter and mention how it's your favourite colour, what a coincidence.

"man, poor y/n." kaminari sighs, "been getting bombarded with valentine's day proposals."

"acting like you werent one last year." sero snickers, elbowing the blonde, who replies with 'shut up!'.

"y/n, todoroki and momo have to be the most popular third years. i saw todoroki carrying a fruit arrangement yesterday with 'be my valentine' on some flags." mina states, drinking her orange juice.

jirou retorts, poking her food, "did you see y/n's shoe locker when they opened it? they were basically drowning in all those letters. and their desk was full of teddy bears and hearts and flowers."

"yaoyorozu told me that she felt so bad because she rejected someone who choreographed a flash mob for her." kirishima inputs, "but seriously, so many people have tried getting with y/n, it's insane."

katsuki only rolls his eyes again as you thank the person, who runs away giddily. you're so uninterested in the person that you just pocket it in your blazer for later. katsuki chuckles at the action before returning to his food.

he thinks it's so funny that everyone is fawning over you. he understood todoroki and yaoyorozu, they've been popular since day one. but you? what did anyone see in you?

"hey, bakugou, are you alright?" you ask, standing in front of him on the porch of the dormitory. it's now five days later and he blinks himself back to reality and swallows the lump in his throat. "you were kinda' just staring at me and that girl just then..."

it's true, he was. a first year, some lovesick teen girl, came to confess to you just then. you hold some chocolates in your hand and a bouquet of roses in another. your third this week, he tallies.

"i—i wasn't." he stammers, looking away. he was leaning against the pillar, watching you as he took in some fresh air. it was pure coincidence, he says. "what... did you tell 'em?"

"i felt a bit sorry, she cried a little when i said i'm not a fan of this kind of chocolate." you express, showing him the box. katsuki smirks. you were so blunt. "i still accepted it though, to make her feel better. i don't even know her, though."

"strange." he responds, staring at you, "so what now then?"

"do you want it?"

"i don't want your fucking confession candy." he scoffs, furrowed brows. he's irritated at the offer and you just tuck the chocolates underneath your arm. "why'd you say 'no'?"

"i... don't know her." you state as if it was obvious. he blinks and looks away. "i dunno', i've been getting asked a lot recently."

"that so?" it's so pathetic, how anyone would trip and fall at your feet at the slight chance to share valentine's day with you. he could think of a thousand things better to do tomorrow than spend it with you—

"how come you haven't asked me yet?" you inquire, pursing your lips, "to be your valentine?"

"hah?" he huffs out, making the most outraged expression on his face, "what the hell did you just say to me?"

you sigh, opening the entrance door with your new gifts, "nevermind."

he stares at you as you leave him alone on the porch. questions swirl in his mind, making him think about you even more. is this how you made so many admirers? you just... made them think about you? you were absolutely crazy.

that's got to me the most pathetic thing about valentine's day, right?

wrong.

katsuki annoyedly drops the chocolates that he knows for sure you love. and as he passes the flower section, oh god, the amount of time he spent trying to figure out which ones were the perfect ones. the cashier looks at him knowingly, wishing him 'goof luck' on his endeavour. katsuki scoffs and tells them to shut his mouth.

what's pathetic is that katsuki readies himself for asking you. now that he's got confirmation that you were expecting him to, he would do it. he is standing in front of your dorm door, holding the flowers and chocolates and teddy bear in his arms. he knows you have hundreds in your room right now, but... he's pathetic.

when his hand goes up to knock on your door, the elevator reaches the floor and opens to reveal you in the sports uniform.

you walk up, typing on your phone when you look up to your dorm to see him. "oh, hey."

"hey." he mumbles, trying his best to hide the presents behind his back, "went on a run?"

"no, quirk training, actually." you respond, unlockong your dorm. you walk in and turn your head. "did you need to talk to me?"

"well... i—"

"are those for valentine's day?" you point to the flowers that are badly hiden behind him.

katsuki grunts, finally revealing them, "y—yeah... i don't know how to do this."

"come in." you say, inviting him into your dorm. he nervously enters and closes the door behind him. you sit at our desk, leg over your knee, almost like you're inspecting him thoroughly. "so, who is it for?"

he stops. "huh?"

"i mean, who are you asking?" you mumble out. he doesn't know what to say. do you not remember asking him to ask you yesterday? "you're looking for advice, aren't you?"

suddenly, he's on the fire. he's in the position that he made fun of those other people for being in. and it fucking sucks.

it takes all his courage to sigh out, "no... no, you idiot. i'm asking you."

"wha—? me?" you point at yourself.

"yes! here!" he practically shoves them into your hands and steps away away. "i... want you to be my valentine tomorrow. please."

his harsh tone makes you rethink his statement. but katsuki sees a smile dawn on your face regardless, something the others who have asked you haven't seen.

"thank you, bakugou. i love them."

he knows damn well you do.

"i'd be happy to be your valentine." you confirm, standing up and placing the flowers on your desk. you put the chocolates and teddy on your bed, smiling the whole time. he gulps in anticipation, despite you already saying 'yes'. "thank you, truly. it's perfect."

katsuki clears his throat, hands in his pockets and he looks away, "'s nothin'."

you chuckle and step towards him, hand on his shoulder as you give him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

"whatever you say. where did you wann' go tomorrow?"

he thinks it's pathetic how on valentine's day, you drag him to all the couple stalls and events, and even do a hand-reading (katsuki lets out a sigh of relief when they said that you two are quite the perfect match), but when it's with you, it's a lot less embarrassing to do it. in fact, he'd relive this whole day again if he could.

what's pathetic is how all those people thought they could have this time with you, when all you ever wanted was bakugou katsuki himself.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou #bakugou x reader #my hero academia #my hero acaedmia x reader #mha #mha x reader

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shotorozu · 1 year

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(gender neutral reader, reader went to middle school with bakugou and midoriya, reader can make chocolate, and reader bent their back for the making of said chocolate, not that much beta read /derogatory, i got carried away 😭)

bakugou katsuki is a feared, but admired guy— especially during valentines day.

it’s interesting.. when he was a younger boy— he’d take gifts from admirers (usually girl classmates or other kids that frequent the park he goes to) with widened eyes and a scoff, snatching the gift away from them with quick hands, and mumbling how valentines day is stupid— that it’s lame and he doesn’t understand it.

but refusing gifts are rude, he’d remember his mom say, after he refused to accept something his dad made for him— and back then, he’d listen to his mom like his life depended on it. so, for a year or two— he’d take gifts.

but as the blond boy manifested a quirk and became just a bit older— he started ignoring her words altogether, having had grown out of the “listening to mom all the time is cool” phase.

his features started defining themselves, and he was starting to become taller. before he knew it— he had a sudden wave of admirers crashing down at him almost everyday of the year.

and it almost excluding valentines day.

because he’d sneer at anyone willing to offer their affection in the form of sweetened confectionary, and resorted to blowing up love letters into smithereens.

if his personality wasn’t obvious enough, this was precisely the reason why his admire-from-afar to get-personal ratio was obviously imbalanced.

of course, no one really learns— even as he grows older, enters UA for highschool, and retains his personality even after some realizations, because bakugou katsuki is quite beautiful.

so there’s at least a handful of admirers that are willing to risk it all— even if it meant some form of humilation or intimidation.

but not you.

you’ve prepared a little something for everyone in your class— yes, even the forbidden grape haired classmate and him. your hands practically hurt from stirring, and you feel like if you’d even bend up slightly, you’d hear multiple cracks amass from your back.

but you think it’s all worth it. your work tastes good, looks good and cute, and you’re certain everyone would enjoy how their chocolates varied in flavor, even if the change was just slightly noticeable.

you hand out chocolates to each respective person as soon as they pop into the common room.

the girls of your class perk up in interest and clamor around you— smiles adorning their faces as they line up to receive their chocolates.

mina, kyouka and hagakure compare their flavors together, momo asks you how you did it, because she’s “bad at cooking”

ochako’s already munching on the sweets, when he starts thanking you. finally, tsuyu just looks at you silently, and gives you a warm side hug.

midoriya goes beet red when he realizes that you personally gave everyone a slightly different flavor (you don’t know how he blushed over that, but you find it endearing.) todoroki, tokoyami, shoji, sato, koda, and ojiro look a little confused and dazed at first when you give them your chocolates, but they end up accepting it with gratitude.

kirishima, iida, kaminari, sero, aoyama and mineta accept your chocolates rather quickly, wasting no time in giving their thanks (excluding mineta— who just teased you about liking him, which was and will never be the case)

but through it all, you managed to avoid eye contact with your snarky blond childhood friend and classmate— who was silently trailing you with crimson eyes the entire time.

for a moment you think he’s mad at you for not giving anything, which you’d understand— if it weren’t for the fact that he is valentines day’s #1 public enemy. but you exchange this thought for something else.

he must think that you’re strange for making the class chocolate, and you wouldn’t blame him. usually, it’d be sato making stuff like this. not to mention, you heard him remark rather loudly about the kitchen smelling strongly of chocolate, in his usual bakugou tone.

you made the right choice not to give him the chocolates you made, you think to yourself. not to mention, how amidst it all, you might’ve showed a slight bias to his chocolate’s design— and revealing your crush on him on today of all days is less than ideal.

and you think nothing of his behavior—

“s’ i’ve got nothing, huh?”

he jumpscares you when you close your locker, and he lets out a snort when your shoulders rise in reflection of your surprise.

your gaze trails to his locker, which cannot close due to a lump of chocolate and letters preventing it from properly doing so. “you’ve got plenty, though. i don’t want to give you diabetes or anything.”

(which was half true because wow the amount of chcolate—)

“you gave all of them chocolate. why’da do that?”

“because.. it’s valentines day..?” you start walking away from your locker— and to which he follows all the way. you try not to think much of the action

“but what makes you think that i shouldn’t get any.”

normally, one would state that as a question, but the way he said it, the tone of his voice— it wasn’t said like one.

“i know you, kachaan,” you reason while making use of his childhood nickname, which gains an eye twitch from the blond. “if i was told to count how many letters you’ve burned and chocolates you either gave away or thrown out, i wouldn’t have enough fingers on my hands.”

“‘cause all of them were fuckin’ store bought?”

“and what if they weren’t?”

“then they were horrendous.” he states, matter of a fact. then, his eyes narrow, “and it’s not like you’re giving me a damned letter.”

you feel your cheeks heat up. that’s not the case— but the idea of writing him a love letter has your mind going into haywire.

“it’s not. but you’ve never showed interest in this sorta thing in a long time.”

“what— eating chocolates?”

“pretty much.”

he blinks, unamused. “you can be such a dumbass sometimes. can’t take the fucking hint.”

you’re pretty sure he meant to say that quietly, but he didn’t. you’re unphased at this point.

but you don’t get what he means, so you try to defend yourself. “but—” your words come to a sudden halt, as you realize the uselessness.

“wait, why am i trying to reason with you?— look, i actually did make something for you too. if i didn’t then that’d be such an asshole move of me to exclude you.”

“really. you’re not bullshittin’ me?”

“no.” you reply, firmly. “but you have to promise not to laugh. you can insult me, but laugh? no way.”

he raises an eyebrow.

then, you shift onto one leg and start looking for something in one of the front pockets of your bag. the search doesn’t take long, because you pull something out— medium sized chocolate in clear wrapping, with an orange bow tying it together.

it’s clearly slightly bigger than the rest of your classmates, and you hope he doesn’t notice.

he silently unwraps the chocolate, and gets eye to eye with your creation. it’s three pieces of chocolate shaped as explosions— the middle explosion being bigger than the other two. anyone who sniffed it could smell orange first, as the middle (biggest) piece has a swirl of orange and milk chocolate, the left piece is simply milk chocolate, and the right piece is white chocolate.

he takes the middle one and bites half of it, and chews. you observe, like he’s a top chef reviewing your latest work, and when he finishes, he says—

“not bad,” he remarks, flashing that heart racing smile. “wanna taste?”

you gulp, stupefied by his offer. words don’t have real meanings for a second. “huh?”

then, he’s reaching up and popping the other half into your mouth, thumb pressing against your lips.

you almost choke— and it wasn’t from the chocolate. you bite, taste the flavor, the mouth watering taste of orange and chocolate swarming your mouth.

to twist the knife into the wound— he cups your face and presses a deep, but quick kiss against your lips. his soft lips linger onto yours, and this intensifies what you can already taste.

and then, as quick as he kissed you, he pulls back— gaze still lingering on your lips.

a toothy grin starts to grow on his lips, and he pats your shoulder— beginning to create distance between you two by walking ahead.

“next time, give me the chocolates first, will ya? tastes fuckin’ good.”

you have a feeling he isn’t talking about the chocolate.

6K notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 3 months

Text

what now?

character: dabi | todoroki touya

genre: smut + angst

notes: eeeee happy birthday dabi!!! sorry i’m a day late, and sorry i keep writing angst for your birthday. this piece is set directly after dabi’s touya reveal, in that dingy little safe house he seems to love so much! please heed the warnings below and stay safe!

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, rough sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dom/sub dynamics, use of master/owner/sir, fem!reader, minimal prep, biting, branding, blood, the piece switches between both dabi and touya as names, size kink + size difference, spanking, objectification, degradation + dumbification, a lil bit of praise, dabi’s pretty mean when he’s fucking, dabi carries reader, toxic relationship, dacryphilia, choking

words: 8.8k

It’s dark by the time he returns, reeking of charred flesh and ash. He had stashed you away in a decaying little safe house—a place no one else knew about, a place that was his and his alone—and had told you to wait for him. He had promised he’d return to you, no matter how long it took, no matter what happened, he’d be back, pinky swear.

Touya never breaks his pinky swears. Dabi might, though.

You had seen his video. You had been watching the news just like he told you to, anxious, waiting for any sign or indication of trouble, of terror, but the heat and the dust had been too much for the news cameras to penetrate, and there had been no reports of casualties on either side.

Yet.

It’s astonishing to think that the whole world knows his name now—his true name, the one buried in his blood and his bones, the one staining his soul, the one he can’t snuff out, no matter how hard he tries. You remember the first time he told it to you.

“Touya.”

He had said suddenly, randomly, while laying in bed with you one night back at the League’s hideout—back before all of this was set in motion, back when there was just the gentle clink of glass sounding beneath the floorboards, followed by a muddled curse and the rapid mashing of plastic buttons.

It was muttered out in the dead of the night, when the wind was stagnant and the moonlight shimmered through grimy windows, brilliance of the beams diffused by the dirt, turning everything a hazy silver, glinting off his stitches.

“Hmm?”

“That’s my real name. Touya.”

“Touya,” you had murmured to yourself, rolling the letters around on your tongue, allowing them to seep into your flesh. “It’s beautiful.”

“Todoroki Touya.”

Oh.

“It’s still beautiful,” you said softly, after several moments of silence, feeling Dabi melt beneath your words, tender yet resolute. “Even if the man who gave it to you isn’t.”

“Yeah,” he had responded, though his voice had sounded weird to his ears; odd, off, broken. “Fuck that guy.”

And that had been it. You hadn’t made a big deal about it, or pushed him to tell you more, or badgered him with questions and curiosities about his past. You had just accepted it and continued on.

He had offered up shards of information over the next few months, always murmured out in the dead of night, always a piece and never a whole, always something too jagged to fit with any of the other pieces of his jigsaw he had gifted you.

But it didn’t matter. Who he was, his past, the name he carries around and DNA twined inside his body—none of it mattered. He was, and will always be, the man you love, irregardless of the name he was born into, and the curse it bears.

The harsh unlatching of that decrepit painting startles you from your stewing thoughts, your gaze snapping toward the noise just in time to catch Dabi crawling through the trick window, entrance hidden behind the heavy gilded frame.

Your legs toss themselves off the fraying couch the instant his gaze meets yours, heart kickstarting thick bouts of adrenaline to rush through your veins, footsteps keeping time with the tattered exhales each bang of your heart sends barrelling up your throat, body colliding into his only a moment later.

He catches you with ease, laughing loudly as he sweeps you from the floor, strong arms locked at the wrists around your lower back. Instinctively, your ankles hook together at the base of his spine, fingers immediately wandering into the dirty hair at the nape of his neck, whole body wound around his own.

He’s still laughing, bright and breathless and so, so beautiful, even as he crushes his lips to yours, even as your tongue pries past his teeth and slams against his own. It spills down your throat in warm vibrations and you swallow it readily, greedily, hands sinking further into tufts of ink-tinged ivory and twining the strands around your knuckles, desperate to tug him closer.

The tang of death stings your tongue, earth and copper and smoke, so poignant you swear you can taste their screams, those who lost their lives to his flames and Machia’s feet and the rubble left in their wake, but you don’t care.

You don’t care, because he’s here, he’s home, he’s safe and back in your arms, with his teeth clacking against yours and his spit flooding your mouth and his unruly little giggles consistently breaking the flow of your lips.

“Did you see it? Huh? Did you see it?” he hurls the words into your mouth, lips still mashed against your own but spread in a smile, sapphire eyes twinkling.

“I did,” you confirm with a nod, tips of your noses nudging. “I did, it was brilliant; you were brilliant, baby.”

“I know,” he snickers, foreheads knocking together, breath wafting in small, ragged pants across your face as his feet begin to move, unable to stand still. “It couldn’t have gone more perfect, I swear to fuckin’ Christ. It was—It was better than I could’ve ever imagined. I can’t even believe it.”

Words continue to tumble from his lips in excited gasps as he twirls in wide lopsided circles slow and careless around the decaying little safe house, his boots conjuring small puffs of dust beneath their soles.

“I wish you could’ve been there, baby, honest. I wish you could’ve seen that fucker’s face, it was fuckin’ priceless, and—Oh! Fuck, how could I forget the best part!”

Halting his whirling, he pulls back to look at you more resolutely, as if he has to see the whole picture, sapphire darting around your face all wild and erratic, his smile spreading impossibly wider; uncanny, inhuman, eyes glowing with the thrill of the secret he’s about to spill.

“Shouto was there, too! How much happier could a coincidence get!”

“Shouto?”

“I wasn’t expecting him to be there, but seriously, it was the cherry on top.”

His feet begin to move again, resuming his impromptu dance number, adrenaline thrumming in his veins, overflowing from his orifices—smile stretching, chest swelling.

“His presence is what really made it spectacular, you know? Sure, dad was broken, but Shouto…” Dabi shakes his head. “Little baby Shouto was knocked off his fucking feet.”

“Oh, I can only imagine…”

…How horrifying of a realization it must’ve been; how terrifying it must’ve felt to encounter your father’s worst mistake in the breathing, bloodied flesh.

“I doubt he even remembers me—” Dabi continues, “he was only five or so when I died; he barely knew me at all.” He laughs, but it sounds tangled, caught on something buried in his throat. “Imagine that! Your big brother, only ever a ghost haunting your life, back from the grave!”

“I’m sure he was very shocked,” you giggle, pressing your forehead to his again, fingers combing through the hair at the back of his skull.

“Shocked? Baby, he was beyond shocked. He was—He was—I don’t even have a word for it!”

Another laugh spills from his lips, jagged and squeaky and full of razors.

And, oh, how breathtakingly beautiful genuine happiness looks on him, even if it’s tinted with derangement—the edges of his smile a little too sharp, the glint in his eye a little too vicious.

“The whole thing sounds magnificent,” you admit, soft and genuine, lips brushing his own. “I’m so happy it went so well.”

“It was perfect,” he gushes in a sigh. “The only way it could’ve been any more perfect is if mom, Yumi, and Natsu were there—but I’m sure they all caught the broadcast.”

You’re sure they did, too. That news programme had been playing on every major screen across the entirety of Japan; you’d have to be buried beneath a rock to have missed it.

He’s still babbling, feet still hopping and skipping around with you cradled tightly to his chest as the anticipation of his return finally wears off, clears from your system, and you take a real, good look at him.

And your heart sinks.

New burns have bubbled up on his cheeks, leaving only a sliver of skin between them and the scars below his eyes. Staples have snapped in half, hanging precariously from chunks of dead flayed flesh, their broken edges tinged an ugly black, burnt by Todoroki flames. Speckles of crimson are splattered artfully across his hair—though whether they belong to him or someone else, it’s hard to tell—the small remaining patches of healthy skin marred by dried black dye.

“Baby,” you breathe, struggling to keep your smile from trembling, struggling to keep concern from seeping into your voice. “You’re filthy.”

“Yeah, you should’a saw the other guy!” he giggles at his own joke, strident and sticky in his throat, but his smile is still so bright.

“And you’re hurt.”

He blows a dismissive breath from between his lips. “Can barely feel a thing, though—and I’m not even rolling right now!”

“Still,” you say, a frown beginning to weight the corners of your grin. “You should let me clean you up.”

“But it isn’t even painful.”

“Still,” you repeat, tender fingers brushing strands of white back from his forehead. “I want to clean you up.”

Begrudgingly, he allows it, sat on the closed toilet lid and continuing to chatter on as you tend to his wounds, words bubbling up on breathless excitement, massive smile still slapped, almost uncomfortably so, across his face.

Oxygen keeps escaping him before he finishes his sentences, everything bouncy and enthusiastic, and it’s such a stark contrast to the Dabi you’re used to, with his languid apathetic drawl and unhurried, uninterested speech.

And despite the subject matter, it’s nice, it’s cute.

He tells you about his father’s paralyzation and the tears in Shouto’s eyes and the horrified panic coating their faces as careful fingers dab and wipe and smear, meticulous in their task, devoted to their cause, your head nodding along with his endless recounter, emitting the perfectly placed ooh’s and mhmm’s, asking questions when the opportunities present themselves.

And even though you love seeing him this way, full of pure joy and exhilaration, you can’t quite kill the question sprouting in the depths of your mind, chewing on the back of your brain.

What now?

It’s on the tip of your tongue, searing your tastebuds, begging to be spoken. You try to swallow it down, but it claws at the back of your tongue, clinging, curling up in your throat and refusing to be forgotten.

What now? What’s going to happen now that Enji knows of his existence? What’s going to happen the next time he encounters his eldest child, swathed in the flames he once cherished so dearly, praised so hopefully, eating away at his boy as his hatred burns higher, blazes brighter, consumes his blood and flesh and bones and hopefully swallows down the monster that bred him in the process?

Will there even be anything left at all? Of either of them?

Does Dabi even care? Does Touya?

You know he’s still in there, despite the fact that his heart’s been corroded by the bitterness that’s been festering inside of him for eleven years—you’ve seen him.

You’ve seen him, trailing along with Toga, causticity eating at his teeth as he spits that she’s fucking stupid, this is so fucking stupid, but allowing himself to be led anyway, zero resistance as her tiny hands tug him along behind her bouncing form, feet following willingly.

You’ve seen him, meticulously picking through the glass bowls at the League’s small Halloween get together, checking and then double checking that everyone’s favourite candy is there, growling that he really doesn’t give a fuck, actually, he’s just looking for his own all the while, despite the fact that his fingers have skipped over that particular chocolate bar several times.

You’ve seen him, on those nights where Tomura just can’t get to sleep, sprawled out on the couch in the early hours of the morning, dirty boots an inch from Tomura’s crossed legs, staring blankly at his phone and waving Kurogiri off with a go to bed already, old man.

So what now?

“He tried to cool me down.”

The sudden switch to a quiet, monotonous voice snaps you from your tangle of thoughts, eyes refocusing on Dabi’s face, realizing you’ve rubbed a streak of his cheek near raw.

“What?”

“Shouto. He tried to cool me down. With his ice.” A pause, a drop of blood, balancing precariously on his lash line. “Like…Like how mom used to.”

His Adams apple bobs with the heft of a thick swallow, his eyes blank and unblinking, staring at your shoulder.

The blood in your veins runs frigid, hand held rigid and hovering over his wounds.

“During the fight?”

His gaze stays fixed on that spot as he nods, slowly, just once.

“I was overheating, and he…”

Another beat of silence passes, the sound of your own breathing echoing in your ears, harsh and fast with the rapid beating of your heart. The blood collecting along his lashes finally overflows, escaping their confines to pool in the crinkles of dead skin and coat gold in crimson.

“Hey,” you murmur, so gentle, so soft it inspires a second wave of blood, dainty hands cupping his jaw and tilting his face to yours.

Thumbs swipe through the thick streams of scarlet trickling down his cheeks, smearing bright strokes across healthy skin. His eyes, red and glazed but tearless, hold yours for a moment, his nostrils twitching twice.

Beneath your palms, the hinges of his jaw flex with another dense swallow, warped smile wobbling a little.

“Whatever,” he says, voice less than an octave off from normal. “Doesn’t matter, not important.”

It does, you want to say. It is, you want to insist—

“All I want to do now is celebrate the best day of my life with the love of my life.”

Saliva pools beneath your tongue, the threat of tears thick in your throat.

“Touya…” your eyes search his face, worry woven into the wrinkles between your furrowed brow. “It—”

“Please,” he whispers, so quiet it’s barely more than a wisp of air, his eyes closing briefly for a moment as he gathers himself, lids lifting a second later. “Let me have this.”

You want to, you so desperately want to—want to allow him this space to be happy, unfiltered and unadulterated, even in all of it’s unhinged, brainsick fervour. You don’t want to ruin this for him, the self-proclaimed Best Day of His Life, but…

What now?

It’s nipping at your lips, leaving them tingling and twitching, but you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and suck, melting the question in the smothering heat.

Now is not the time to ask. You will save this question, will fold it into a neat little shape and stash it away in your stomach, where it will rage and roar and demand to be spoken, where you will shove it down and stomp it into submission until it is time to be released.

You refuse to steal this moment from him.

“Okay,” you finally murmur, stroking his blood-slicked cheeks. “Okay.”

It’s hard to ignore the concern scraping at the walls of your skull, to disregard the talons tearing at your heart, to snuff out the flames licking at your lungs, but you’ll do it for him.

Always for him.

And for the first time tonight, his smile softens, sharp edges gone melty with love.

Large hands, hardened by blue fire and the ends of Marlboros, skim up your bare thighs, the callouses adorning his palms scraping roughly against sensitive skin, inspiring trails of chills in their wake. The hem of your dress pools around his wrists as his touch climbs higher, filthy fingers, with dirt caked beneath their nails and grime lining their cuticles, wiggling their way beneath a frilly pink waistband, curling almost protectively around your hips, tips digging into supple flesh just shy of too hard.

“A perfect day deserves a perfect end, don’t you think?”

The question drips from his lips in a sultry murmur, stare heavily lidded as he tugs you down into his lap, a leering smirk smeared across his face.

“Oh, yeah?” your arms wind around his neck, nose bumping against his own. “And what’s that?”

“Stuffing my favourite girl full of my cum.”

Lips trace along the edge of your jaw as he speaks, words leaving sloppy strokes of saliva as his mouth moves against you skin.

“Over,” kiss, “And over,” kiss, “And over again, until it’s leaking out of her pretty little pussy, all over her pretty thighs, all over my pretty cock.”

“I think that—ah—I think that’s a great way to end the day.”

“Mm,” he hums, painting a flat, wide stroke of saliva up the column of your neck, the tip of his tongue tracing your cupids bow, nose bumping against your own. “It’s my favourite way to end the day.”

His lips press to yours, tongues finding each other instantly, dragging across one another in crude, sloppy caresses, heavy and slow and firm as they grind, massaging together in little circles. It’s almost as if you’re trying to soak up his taste, to permanently imbue your tastebuds with it, to keep a little reminder of him—a single piece—with you forever.

It’s messy, thick drool oozing from the seams of your conjoined mouths, but you don’t care, licking excess saliva from the corners of his mouth, sucking the dribble steadily collecting on his bottom lip, lapping up the foamy spit coating his chin staples, leaving them gleaming with you.

Lips clash again, teeth gnawing their way into the warm, wet heat of mouths, desperate to devour any part of each another you possibly can, sucking gasps and mewls and laughs from one throat into another, inhaling shards of your souls and swallowing them down, burying them in pits of stomachs and depths of guts—keepsakes, kept safe.

You can taste his blood in your mouth, salty with the tears that can’t fall, trickling from the edges of his eyes. Unfurling from your mouth, the tip of your tongue licks a thin strip up his ragged cheeks, over dead skin and warm bumpy metal, sopping up crimson sadness and consuming it.

You hold it for him, extract it from him, bear it with him, letting it soak into your heart where it can stay, for as long as he needs it to.

But that isn’t enough for him, because he wants something in return; he wants your blood, too.

Sharp teeth sink into your bottom lip, sucked taut and pressed tight to his tongue, a muted chuckle vibrating in his chest at your responding yelp. The strong hinges of his jaw flex, burrowing ivory deep, deep, deeper into your flesh, until the barrier snaps and copper explodes on his tongue, sticky and potent and so, so much.

He refuses to release you, ribs rattling with a growl when you try in vain to tug your lip free from its captors, a sob hitching in your throat, followed by a wheezy whine.

“Stay put, goddamn it,” he mumbles the words through his occupied teeth, tongue stroking your lip in the process. “M’not finished.”

Your squirming stops almost instantly, body deflating into his own, and he huffs out a snort, hot against your face.

The grip of his teeth loosens marginally, the tip of his tongue laving over the steadily weeping wound in firm, thorough strokes, tracing every indent his teeth left behind, dips rapidly swelling and filling with watered down blood, a mold of six teeth carved into your flesh.

The strength of his suction increases, siphoning fresh blood from the tiny gashes, and he moans a little, eyes rolling back in his skull as fluttery lashes frame the whites, his hips twitching up.

Sicko.

His cock is already hard, rutting into your core in irregular little movements, the lace of your panties so delicate you swear you can feel it throbbing, his motions molding the dainty fabric to your soaking folds with every slight jerk upward.

Slim fingers flex, grip on your hips tightening and further burying his nails in your flesh as he forces you to begin rocking in his lap, grinding down to meet each roll up.

His lips have left your own again, his mouth streaked with your blood, a pretty pink shimmer glazing the bottom half of his face. Blood is still trickling from the six tiny slashes his teeth left, overflowing from the seam of your mouth and flowing down your chin in unbroken streams.

Swiping a thumb through the thin floods, he smears sticky crimson across your skin, collecting a healthy swap of the substance on the pad of his finger—so much so it begins dripping down the curve to settle in the lines of his knuckle and his palm.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, repeating the action, painting you in messy shades of yourself. “Just beautiful.”

A whimper slips through your lips, eager tongue catching his thumb and curling around the appendage—protective, possessive—drawing it into the heat of your mouth.

He lets you guide him willingly, watches with lust-blown pupils as your lips pucker around the second knuckle, slick tongue cradling his thumb as it sucks it to the roof of your mouth, pools of saliva washing your blood from his skin.

His breath is coming out in hot, hard huffs, exhaled through parted lips as your mouth tightens, swallows his thumb down further. His pupils pulse, gnawing away at his irises as they try to devour you whole, blue so thin it’s scarcely an outline tracing gaping orbs of black.

Your hips are still gyrating against his in erratic little circles, a single palm still clasped around your waist guiding you, encouraging you as he bucks in response, straining cock rubbing along your cunt.

It’s just barely catching your clit, nothing more than teasing little grazes, dense heat simmering in the pit of your tummy.

You need more.

“Dabi,” you whine a little, wriggling in his grasp, a desperate attempt to garner more friction.

“Uh-huh?”

“Touya.”

“Yeah, baby,” he answers, the nonchalance in his tone contradicting the mischief glinting in his eye. “What is it?”

Chrome chips your nails as you claw at the heavy buckle of his belt, leather squeaking against metal. His free hand captures your wrists easily, holding them together in one palm, hard enough that the bones grind together.

“You want something? Huh?”

Brows knitting, you glare at him, bottom lip quivering a little, fighting the urge to jut into a full-blown pout, fighting the urge to spit out what do you think?

“You know.”

He does, of course he does.

But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to give it to you.

“C’mon, I wanna hear you say it,” he purrs as your chin puckers, your whole face scrunched up in a scowl. “C’mon, baby, c’mon, be a good little girl and ask for it.”

Sapphire scathes your skin, almost as bright and burning as his flames, his unadulterated attention nearly too much to bear, confidence and brattiness withering beneath his scorching stare.

Lashes fluttering, your eyes flee his, tears forming to shield you from his heat, shoulders caving inward in an attempt to protect you from his unyielding scrutiny.

“W-Want your cock.”

His tongue clicks in disapproval, a mocking frown slapped across his face barely suppressing his amusement, eyes shining, power flaring.

“That’s not asking, sweetheart.”

Swallowing thickly, you force your gaze to his, lids squinting a little beneath his brilliance.

“Can I please have your cock? Please?”

“Please what?”

And although he’s acting unaffected, he can’t quite quell the spasming of his hips, jerking up in minuscule movements and grinding his cock into your sopping hole, panties clinging uncomfortably to your folds.

An eyebrow raises, a question of Well? I’m waiting… imbued in the subtle action.

He isn’t going to give it to you unless you ask properly, like a good little girl is supposed to.

As expected.

“Please, Master,” you mewl, fingers curling over the edges of his belt and tugging, sharp leather biting into soft hands. “Please, please, let me ride your cock, Sir.”

Cavernous eyes observe you for a moment, scanning for dishonesty, grin growing when a whine vibrates in your throat, low and needy.

“Please?” you whimper, the leather of his belt creasing beneath your grip, squealing as it rubs together, a plead hitching in your chest. “Pl—Please, Sir.”

“Alright, alright,” he’s pacifying, acting as if he’s doing you some sort of favour, as if his cock isn’t jumping eagerly with each drool of pre-cum leaking from its slit. “Go on, then. Get it out.”

Words of thanks are pouring from your lips as your hands hastily undo his pants, yanking at the buckle, tugging at the zipper, shoving at the waistband, messy and urgent until his cock is finally released.

The stretch is nothing short of incredible, as it always is with him, little hole trembling as it swallows around his girth, drawing him in further and further, deeper and deeper, slow and steady until the head nudges your cervix, his hips twitching up twice, ensuring he’s hit the end, buried to the hilt with nowhere else to go, completely stuffing your cunt full.

And despite the trademark ache, delicate flesh stinging as it splits into little fissures to accommodate him, your hips begin moving immediately, starved and raring, whimpering a little into his shoulder as you cling to him, every rotation of your hips radiating pricks of pain through your gut.

“God, you’re pathetic,” he snorts, but the insult is soft, edges dulled by love. “So fucking desperate for my cock, aren’t you?”

“Can’t help it,” you murmur, rubbing your cheek along the curve of his neck, then his jaw, streaking your face with his sweat. “Missed you so much.”

“I know, baby,” the tip of his tongue swipes through the blood still staining your chin. “Bet you missed my cock just as much, if not more.”

“Yes, yes, Sir,” you’re nodding in messy little motions, hips still rocking languidly against his own, clit gliding against his slick pubic bone in rhythmic strokes. “I did, I missed it s’much—”

A gasp slices through your slurred words, sharp air shoved from your chest as his hips begin snapping upward, rough and ruthless and without warning, the hands grasping your hips tightening around your flesh as he forces you to stay in place.

“Of course you did,” he grunts out, as if it’s preposterous to think otherwise. “I’m not at all surprised; my sweet lil slut can’t live without my cock, can she?”

“Never, never, ne-never,” you babble out in confirmation, words stuttered harshly with the piston of his hips.

Another laugh spills from his lips, airy and malicious in melody.

“No, never,” he rasps, ever-so-slightly breathless with the effort, dewdrops of sweat beginning to adorn his hairline. “Fuck, how would you ever get off without me, huh?”

The question sends a pang searing through your heart, echoing a question you’ve been asking yourself often as of late—how would you ever survive without him?

The thought stings your eyes, thick tears rushing to cloud your vision and rendering him nothing more than a watery blur of ivory and violet.

“I—I wouldn’t, Sir, I wouldn’t!” you cry out, rapid fluttering of your lids dislodging teardrops, streaming down your cheeks in glistening pairs. “I n-need you, I need you, always, always, al-always!”

Your fingers curl against his shoulders, nails catching on staples, a hiss spit from the gaps of his teeth. They sink into grafted skin, dead and weathered and dusted in ash, and cling, knuckles locked and stiff as you try to pull yourself impossibly closer to him.

Gnarled flesh collects beneath the edges of your nails as your grip strengthens, chewing on his body and gathering it in your grasp, consuming whatever tiny slivers you can, a silent plead to stay.

“It’s okay, precious,” he hushes you, lips pushed into a mocking pout, contradicted by the smothering affection exuding from his eyes. “M’here, m’not going anywhere.”

God, you hope not.

“Please, please—”

And you drown yourself in it, drown yourself in him; his taste, spicy hickory and warm smoke, exhaled onto your hungry tongue, soaked up and swallowed down; his gaze, overflowing with adoration and intense attention, tying itself in a thick braided noose around your neck and tightening; his touch, stamping his prints into your flesh in blotchy bursts of blue, singeing his name with licks of sapphire that welt and wound, that crust and crater and scar.

Your ribs squeeze, sucked inward by the voracious black hole your heart has morphed into—never sated, never filled, always vying for more—whole body curling beneath the strain.

But he’s right there to hold you, to steady you, to keep you intact, his hands the stitches you need to keep from unraveling.

“I know, I know,” he’s cooing as you choke on sobs, still scraping weakly at his back, “your Master’s gonna give you what you need.”

Slim fingers flex, soot-stuffed nails latching onto your flesh like tiny leeches, dug in nice and deep, using his grasp as leverage to control the speed and angle of your hips.

Your feet skid against the chipped bathroom tile, the muscles in your legs tensing as you attempt to find stable purchase on the floor trying to aid in his movements, to fuck yourself on him.

It’s no use, though—it’s not like it matters, anyway, not when Dabi’s got complete domination over your body, over all of its movements and positions, manhandling you into whatever arrangement he pleases, reduced to nothing more than his favourite little plaything.

“It’s real cute,” he’s telling you in that sugared condescension you’ve come to love so much, “that you’re trying so hard to help me.”

A whine escapes your lips, caught somewhere between apologetic and petulant, hips stammering as they begin to slow, and he laughs.

“Aw, no, don’t stop,” his tongue clicks against his teeth. “Keep trying, it’s so precious.”

And although his tone is taunting, full of characteristic derisive glee, his eyes are encouraging, begging you to keep going, for him.

And so, you do, desperate to please him, the muscles in your thighs beginning to burn as you work in vain to pathetically hump away at him, hips knocking together irregularly as your footing continues to slip.

It doesn’t do much to assist him, but he’s happy anyway, a certain type of pride saturating his features, dulling the points of his wide smile, dimming the harsh brilliance in his eyes, turning his face into something a little softer, something a little sweeter.

Dabi keeps an iron grip on the pace—not that you’d ever expect anything different—forcing you to ride him hard and fast, bouncing you on his cock as his hips buck up in expert rhythm, completing your movements every time. The head drags over that engorged spot with each pound into you, sending a judder of scorching sparks to rush through your blood, each bout more intense than the last.

“God, look at you, you’re such a little slut for me, huh?” he pants out, rapacious eyes sweeping across your face, keen to soak up your expression. “Taking my cock like you were fuckin’ made for it.”

He’s really fucking into you now, jerking you on his cock like a toy, because you are—something that’s his to use whenever, wherever, and however he sees fit, something that’s his to own, to care for and splinter to bits and painstakingly piece back together, over and over and over again.

Tears of ecstasy are pouring from your eyes, cascading down your face in twin streams, excess dewdrops embedded in spiked lashes glittering with every rough pump of his hips.

It all hurts—always does, with Dabi, incapable of treating anything with any degree of gentleness; not a flaw, just a fact, oblivious to his own strength—but the pain only works to elevate the pleasure, pushing it higher and higher and higher until it’s choking you, smothering your lungs and stuffing your throat and spilling out your mouth in the form of messy, stringy sobs.

“S’been so long, Sir, so long,” you weep, nails burrowing further into his body, almost as if they’re desperate to reach his core—to pry past his ribs and claw into his heart and curl up in his soul.

Because it has been so long, too long, most of Dabi’s attention soaked up by Paranormal Liberation duties and his own extensive planning as Shigaraki’s due date drew closer and closer, any scraps of time thrown your way whenever he had a spare moment to sneak off to this dilapidated safe house where he’d stashed you away, his visits sporadic and unpredictable.

“You’re right,” he says, and there’s a tinge of melancholy to his breath. “It’s been way too long since your sweet cunt has been filled with your Owner’s cock, hasn’t it?”

“It has, it has,” you’re nodding sloppily, tongue tangled in threads of spit.

“My poor lil pussy,” he pouts, and it’s so derisive. “Must be starving, it hasn’t been stuffed nice and full with my cum in forever.”

“No, no, no,” you’re chanting in agreement, “feels so empty without you, Sir, feels s-so wrong.”

“Aw, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he crudely laps at the steady stream of tears, vicious bouncing causing his teeth to nick your cheek. “I’m gonna change that.”

Chapped lips find your ear, slicked with saliva, his voice dropping an octave as he continues.

“Because tonight,” he breathes, sweltering against your ear, his tongue darting from between wet lips to trace along the curve. “I am going to stuff you so full of my cum that—ah, fu-fuck—that it’s going to flood your cute lil tummy, that it’s gonna seep into your organs, into your fucking blood, that it’s gonna be leaking out all over the fucking place.”

“Oh, oh, please, Sir, please!”

The pleads come out as a single string, melded together with drool and garbled on your tongue. Little jolts of fire shoot through your body with the constant ramming of his hips, flames licking at your veins as they sear through them, the sharp slap of your ass against his thighs complementing his harsh pants and your broken moans.

“Yeah, I know, my little cumslut wants that so badly, doesn’t she?”

Your brain struggles to stitch together a sentence longer than his name, your mind gone delirious for his seed—and it’s an aching, it’s an addiction, sick and depraved and downright uncontrollable—little uh-huh!’s mercilessly fucked from your throat, head bobbling along with the affirmations.

You can feel it, a taut pleasure building within your body, a fluttering that furls into a tight ball of sapphire flame in the pit of your belly, pulsing a little faster, a little harder, a little more with every drive of his cock.

“Oh, Touya, Tou—Touya!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, say my name.”

A growl rattles against his ribs, whole chest vibrating with the force of it, and his head dips down, slick tongue painting strokes of thick, shimmering saliva across your skin, an artist priming his favourite canvas.

“C’mon, tell me who’s making you feel this good—” and although it’s supposed to be a command, it comes out as a plead, voice tapering off into a low whine, muffled against your shoulder. “Tell me, tell me.”

“You, Touya,” you choke out, the name mangling itself in your throat. “You, you, you!”

“You’re goddamn right, it’s me.”

Sharp teeth bury themselves in your flesh, mouth clamped over the junction of your neck, harder and harder and harder until the barrier of your skin finally splits, syrupy copper erupting on his tongue.

His name shatters on your lips, a dark chuckle soaking into the wound when you arch your neck, stretched and strained and offering him more room to work despite the squeal of pain sticking in your throat

It’s all so much, too much, his teeth in your flesh and his cock filling your cunt and—and—!

“Gonna—gonna—!”

A large palm collides with your ass, sick slap echoing off the cracked walls.

“Is that any way to ask your Master for permission?” Dabi spits, voice dripping with disappointment. “God,” he huffs out a laugh, incredulous, but the mirth shining in his eyes is so bright, so blazing it almost hurts to look at. “My cock must’ve really made you go fucking stupid, huh? Don’t you know this body belongs to me?”

Another spank lands against your bottom, a yelp hitching in your chest with the ruthless jackhammer of his hips, his fingers sinking into the burning flesh in a bruising grip, amplifying the sting of the slap, digging it deep into your tissues.

“This body is not allowed to cum unless I say so—so ask nicely, you little bitch.”

“M’sorry!” you cry out, a fresh torrent of tears flooding your eyes. “M’sorry, m’so sorry, Master—”

“Yeah? Yeah?”

His other hand snakes between your heaving, sweat-drenched bodies, thumb and forefinger clamping down on your clit and tweaking, hard enough to force a scream from your tongue, sending spikes of pain rushing through your veins. His fingers flatten against the engorged little nub a moment later, rubbing hard, quick circles into it, a malicious little giggle squeaking in his throat because it’s so swollen, baby and Christ, you must wanna cream all over his cock so badly!

Sounds of affirmation spill uncontrollably from your lips, head nodding in frenetic little motions, whole face shimmering and sticky with salt, snot, sweat.

“Uh-huh? Uh-huh?”

He’s mocking you, chin tilted up in superiority, staring down the bridge of his nose to regard you in patronizing pity, eyebrows raised and imploring you to continue.

“Apologies are not asking, baby,” his grip catches your slippery clit again, twisting it harder this time, your eyes scrunching shut as a cry shatters on your tongue, fingers scrabbling against his shoulders, tearing out staples.

He’s right, you know he is, but he’s making it difficult to speak, difficult to ask, difficult to stitch together a single word at all, let alone a full thought, when he’s playing with your clit like that, alternating between pulsing pinches and gentle caresses, the calloused pads of his fingertips providing just the right amount of friction.

Your whole body quivers with the effort of holding your orgasm back, muscles pulled tight and taut with the strain, and he laughs—beautiful, breathless, bona-fide—cock twitching inside of you.

“Pl—Please, Sir,” you manage to gasp out, entreatment forced from your tongue in a single thin breath. “Please, let me cum, please, please, please!”

The pleads melt into one gooey stream as they flow from your lips, slathered in drool and dripping from the corners of your mouth in thick cords.

“Yeah? You want it? You wanna cum all over your Owner’s cock?”

“Yes, yes!” you practically wail, pawing urgently at him. “Please, sir, let me cum, make me cum, I wanna—I wanna—”

“Alright, alright,” Dabi’s pacifying, but his actions don’t slow, hips merciless with their assault on your body. “Go ahead, sweetheart, make a pretty mess on me.”

Never one to disobey a direct order from your Master, you do, almost instantly, entire body convulsing as your cunt pulses around his shaft, gushing so much slick that it floods his thighs and soaks the waistband of his pants.

The constant circles ground into your sensitive clit as you spasm around him only work to heighten the pleasure, brain gone numb with the shocks of ecstasy coursing through your body, another flurry of jolts sent through your veins with every run through the routine, skin rippling with the impact.

He doesn’t stop his assault even after you cum, vehemently refusing to let up even as the clenching of your cunt fades into something faint and erratic, even as violent tremors loop through your veins, entire body quivering in his tight grasp, even as your fingers claw weakly at his wrist, crooking staples and scraping scarred flesh, blood rushing to fill the gouges left by your nails.

No, he doesn’t stop until you’re teetering on the brink of passing out, wandering in and out of consciousness, his name leaving your lips in a near incomprehensible jumble, slurred and heavy with spit.

Only then does he scoop you up in his arms, your legs dangling limply from his elbows as his palms firmly clutch your ass, hard cock still aching and buried deep inside of you, and carry your pliant body to that worn, fraying couch, with the puffs of white cotton leaking through the polyester and the exposed springs groaning beneath your weight.

You barely notice the change in scenery, though, still blissfully fucked out, nerves gnawed raw by his overstimulation, a soft hiss slipping from between your teeth as the scratchy cushion rubs against your bare bottom, a raised imprint of Dabi’s palm and all five fingers still rapidly swelling.

“It’s my turn now, angel,” Dabi’s words drift over your body in an indistinct haze, vision fuzzing at the edges, your head nodding instinctively.

“Gonna—Gonna make good on your promise, Master?”

“I always do, don’t I?”

And then his hips are thrusting, cockhead repeatedly ramming your cervix with every harsh plunge forward, leaning down to catch fresh tears with his lips. The tip of his tongue traces their salty trajectory all the way to your bottom lashes, matted into wet little spikes, before sucking a hickey into your cheek, tiny capillaries bursting beneath his tongue, staining the thin skin with swiftly developing violet.

Tufts of ivory cling to his temples in damp clumps, dried black dye liquifying beneath his heat and running down his cheeks, leaving streaks along the line of his jaw and the curve of his neck. Sweat collects in the dips of his collarbones, shimmering gently in the flickering light spilling from the television set, a wavering news reporter recounting the tragic events of today, stuttered by static.

“God,” he nearly whines, voracious eyes sweeping across your face, desperate to soak up your twisted expression of pleasure-tinged pain—the way your lids keep drooping as you struggle to keep them pried open, eyes speckled with stars, lashes encrusted with tears; the way your tongue keeps lolling out to draw your slick lip back between your teeth, muffling your whimpers and mewls, and oh, no, he can’t have that, a gentle tut of his tongue clicking against his teeth as his thumb tugs it free from your mouth, drawing out a stringy whine in the process.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous when you go dumb from my cock.”

The words leave his lips in an airy gasp, as if he can hardly believe you’re real beneath him, as if he can hardly believe it’s his cock making you look this way, a hand leaving your waist to slide along your torso, taking the hem of your dress with it, rough palm tracing every curve and dip and bulge as it crawls to your collarbone.

He takes his time to admire you—to appreciate the sensation of your skin beneath his touch, fingers gripping, kneading, scraping, gathering palmfuls of you in his grasp before letting go again in a stunned sort of marvel—hips slowing to an uneven rutting, unable to fully halt his fucking.

Keeping a firm, steady grasp on your body and pinning you in place, his free hand continues to roam, hardened fingertips sinking into the pretty blue lace of your bra hard with enough force to elicit a yelp from your lips, amusement tugging at his lips.

“So, so beautiful,” he pants, eyes skimming your now exposed body, his fiery gaze outlining every edge, dedicated in committing every contour to memory. “Fucking look at you.”

In all the time you’ve been with him, your body has become a scrapbook of Dabi. It tells stories of him—what he’s done, how he’s felt, where he’s been, why he did it—stamped permanently into your flesh using his teeth and his tongue and his flames, in raised flesh and puckered craters and glittering scabs.

You can’t tear your stare from his face, though, too busy worshipping him, sapphire eyes gaping and glazed as they travel along your body, soft huffs of breath escaping his lips, pushed from his throat with the tender heaving of his chest, saliva glistening on his lips, smeared so prettily across the staples climbing his chin.

Dainty fingers grope at the air, pathetic and yearning, clawing at nothing, and he laughs a little, nothing more than a smooth, deep vibration at the back of his tongue.

His touch finds the apex of your thighs again, nails dimpling flesh as he spreads your legs wide—so wide your muscles begin to burn, taut beneath the strain—a quiet groan rumbling in his chest as he stares at your stretched cunt.

Two fingers press into your clit, still slick and swollen, grazing over it in slow caresses—back and forth, back and forth, gliding easily over the puffy nub and snorting a little at the way your hole flutters, eager and aching, squeezing his cock, sucking him in, begging for more.

So cute.

Eyes wide and unblinking, he plays with you in a trance, slowly but surely building up pleasure in you, pressure in you, fascinated by the way your body so readily reacts to his simple motions, grinding circles and rubbing strokes and pulsing fingertips.

It enraptures him, puffs of hot air exhaled through slightly parted lips as he watches just his touch bring you to orgasm for the second time tonight, obsessed with the way your cunt trembles around his cock, a surge of your essence streaming from your hole, embracing him in a thick, wet heat.

Your cunt gorges on him—so fuckin’ greedy, even after cumming twice—fluttering a little around the base of his shaft, still oozing so much slick that it’s glazing your ass and his balls, steadily seeping past the tight seam of your hole.

It’s so pretty, it’s so fuckin’ pretty, baby, he’s breathing, eyes hazy with awe, hips drawing back just a little to watch the way your body clings to his girth, sheathing his cock in a shimmering layer of arousal.

A palm wraps around the base of his shaft, the head of his cock still buried an inch or two in your straining cunt, and he jerks himself hard and quick, sick wet slaps echoing out among the room as his hand slams between your cunt and his pelvis.

“Fuck, f-fuck—”

His hips start moving on their own accord, too impatient, his hand nothing compared to the sweltering ecstasy of your cunt, and he releases his cock, sticky hand collaring your throat, pinioning you to the couch, his thrusts so vicious they’re jostling your body up the cushions, the palm crushing your airway keeping you in place.

Lithe fingers flex as their grip on your neck tightens, coarse pads of his fingertips beginning to heat up, blood in your veins bubbling beneath his touch.

Your flesh melts beneath his hold, melds itself to his grasp, desperate to stay in his hands forever.

The sting is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, his palm and all five of his fingers singed into your skin in the prettiest, most precious permanent necklace. You can barely breathe, exhales coming as weak little wheezes, and you swear his flames must be licking into your throat, down to your lungs and straight through your veins, incinerating your blood as your body goes numb, cunt clenching around his cock for the third time, wailing out shards of his name.

But you don’t allow his hold to let up, to loosen at all, both of your hands placed firmly over his, holding it there harder, a loud moan escaping his lips, his hips stammering out of rhythm.

“Brand me, Master, brand me, brand me,” you’re gasping out, voice wrecked and raw. “Make me yours, mark me as yours, forever!”

“Jesus Christ,” he nearly sobs, his thrusts turned brutal, primal, losing any semblance of finesse as he relentlessly fucks you, motions stuttering as he finally cums, a violent shudder coursing through his body before he collapses on top of you, drenched in sweat as his cock throbs, filling you to the brim with hot, thick cum.

“More, Touya, more, more!” you’re crying out, scrabbling at his shoulders as you try to pull him closer, shivering legs latching around his waist as tight as you can manage as your hips roll up to meet his own, crudely humping him. “Gimme more!”

A groan, dense and heavy, spills from his lips, his entire body rippling with hiccups as he ruts into you—automatic, instinctual, desperate to give his sweet girl what she wants, even if it hurts.

“Yeah, yeah, ye-yeah, Touya, Touya, fill me with y’r cum!”

And so, he does, using your cunt to milk himself even as his form quivers with every rock of his hips, chills skidding across his flesh with every bump of his cockhead against your abused cervix.

He keeps going, just like you begged him to, just like he promised he would, until your tummy is stuffed full and your cunt is leaking with his seed, until neither of you can take it anymore, bodies shuddering with every hump and drag and grind, deliquescing into one another, a puddle of limbs.

You stay like that for a while, his body blanketing yours, breathing as one, being as one. Gentle fingertips trail up and down the column of his spine as his bones begin to fuse and harden again, tiptoeing over the trails of staples stitching dead skin to healthy flesh and evoking a mild shudder, pads of your fingers pressing into each golden suture, counting them lovingly, kissing every one.

Eventually, after your fingers have traversed across all thirty-one, he shifts, manhandling you onto his chest as he shuffles himself beneath you, cradled between his thighs.

“What now?”

You don’t mean to say it, don’t mean to shatter that delicate, post-orgasmic, precarious peace with two simple words, but they claw up your throat and pry past your teeth and gnaw on your lips, desperate to be vocalized, immortalized, heard.

What now?

They’re uttered out softly enough, lips moving against his heart, warm breath seeping into his chest, the question worming its way beneath his skin.

His muscles go rigid, his breath stalling in his lungs.

What happens now that his goal has been reached, Part One in his plan succeeded? What’s the next step, now that the world knows Todoroki Touya is alive and simmering in his hatred, fuelled by spite and ravenous with revenge?

What happens when he goes to face his father for the final time? And what happens if he never returns?

“Oh, I dunno,” he sighs out, but his voice trembles. “We could fix this place up, all nice and swanky, have a couple’a kids, get a golden retriever—y’know, real nuclear family type shit.”

You laugh, but it comes out strangled, sounding strange to your ears, a distorted sob.

“The dream, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, quiet, nostalgia for a time that has never happened, that will never come, aching in his words. “The dream.”

A silence settles over the two of you, as tender as the edges of a festering wound.

“I have to do it,” he says after several moments have passed, and his voice is soft—softer than you’ve ever heard it before, softer than you ever thought him capable of—infused with apology.

He does.

You know he does. You understand why. That’s how the story ends, the final chapter he’s been drafting—you were never meant to be a part of this tale, written in between lines and margins, stuffed between words, twined throughout the pages nonetheless. But ultimately, this is his story—to write, to tell, to edit, to revise, to create, to conclude.

You know.

But the acceptance sticks in your throat, furled into a tight, hard lump, so you nod instead, punctuating your affirmative with a kiss pressed to his chest, planted right over his heart. It soaks into his skin, burrows itself into pulsating muscle and finds salvation there, finds home there, a puzzle piece that snaps into perfect place—something that’s always been missing, now complete. Something he’ll take with him, when his pen leaves the page, when his book snaps shut.

You don’t dare look at him. You don’t need to. You can feel the stutter of his chest, hear the hitch of his breath tangling on hard truths to swallow, smell the copper streaming down his cheeks again.

And you hug him tighter.

You know. And no matter how badly you wish to, you won’t stop him.

#dabi smut #dabi x reader #dabi x you #todoroki touya smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x you #dabi angst #bnha smut #bnha x reader #happy belated birthdaaaay dabi i love you so much #eeeeee feel free to let me know what u think!!! i hope u enjoy it!!!

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lovingksuki · 1 month

Text

✰ SECRET ADMIRER pt.2

— highschoolers bakugo x fem!reader

synopsis: an anonymous love letter appears in your locker on valentine's day. surprised, you and your best friend start an investigation to uncover who was that person observing you from afar. meanwhile, a flushed bakugo tries to ruin your plans on the undercover alongside his shitty-haired buddy

cw: sfw; mostly fluff; lil angst; very insecure bakugo; romantic comedy; puberty; silly jokes; little swearing.

an: guyyyyss it's hereeee. i hope you enjoy since i had many people asking for me to continue with this. i hope it is as good as the first part that btw you can read here

wc: 1,3k

the two went on a mission walking around the school and very non-suspiciously investigating whose hand that might be.

"i'm telling you! there's sato, iida and..." counted.

"are they even suspects!?" you mocked. "we have to be coherent about it. i don't even have a major relationship with them..."

"how could you possibly know what goes on inside other's head? i think you're being biased about it."

"what do you mean?"

"i know you want it to be one of the hottest in our class!" smiled diabolically.

"i have no idea what you're talking about." you sweated.

"maybe we should call that double colored guy and just ask a few questions..."

"no way... what are you insinuating?" you almost screamed truly shocked.

"that you have a slight cru-"

"I don't have a crush."

"admit it already."

"I'm not admitting anything. quit pestering."

"you're no fun at all. so... are we talking to Todoroki any soon?"

"no."

"psst, isn't that sero coming this way?" mina whispered looking ahead of the corridor.

the duo telepathically agreed to their next move and mina quickly went in action.

"hey, if isn't our fave tape boy! can I have a high-five?" the pink cheered lifting her hand.

the jet-black haired guy smiled playfully slapping hands with her. watching everything, you caught that glimpse of time needed to take conclusions on the survey.

"what are you two up to? feeling extra energetic today..." sero stated.

absorbed in your own thoughts, you simply couldn't answer any of the questions made, so pinky said in advance: "we're just too excited for the... the-"

"for what?"

"the new movie...! yeah! that one with the clowns. everyone is so hyped to watch it!" mina came up with some excuse.

"oh, so you like 'bloody nightmare' series too? man, me and denki are gathering people to go watch with us." he cheered.

you and mina eyed each other nervously while sero kept rambling about horror films. pinky swiftly poked your side sending the 'make him shut up' signal and you quickly catch the message saying:

"y-yeah! it would be super cool, but we need to... to... go to the 1b room! to dis- discuss the next match-"

"we're discussing the teams for the next training match!" mina rapidly came with an excuse ready to push you up the corridor. "see ya!"

"but guys... their class is towards the other side." sero warned confusedly.

"r-right! it's been months, but we still get lost... hehe!" mina sweated. she spotted a purple voluminous hair meters away. "shinso! wait up!"

and you runned away. sero chuckled observing the girls as another duo approached.

"'sup pal?" kirishima greeted. "it's a important matter so, could you share what are the girls planning? we have business with them."

"it's no use, we're gonna lose sight of them." said the blonde ready to walk away, but his buddy was fast to grab his shirt stopping his tracks.

"be reasonable, it's creepy to chase them around the school." eijiro whispered.

"what are you two up to?" sero crossed arms curious about the situation.

"nothing particularly important. girly borrowed something from bakugo." his heart he thought slightly laughing. "did them say anything about where they're heading?" asked.

"mina said they have something to do with class 1b, and i think they left with shinso." sero explained.

"not that eraserhead wannabe..." katsuki gritted teeth.

"well, no time to lose then! thanks dude." kirishima dragged his best friend away.

when the two males finally found the duo they were shocked to see you holding shinso's hand while walking

kirishima panicked turning to the blonde who watched that scene petrified. it was the second time eijiro saw that expression on his face, the first was when they watched all might last fight. that expression that indicates he started malfunctioning, his thoughts are running wild, and he is about to break.

when he finally inhaled, kirishima's heart skipped a beat thinking bakugo would explode at any moment. he prepared himself to restrain his friend from murdering somebody or start yelling like a psycho, but bakugo just hollowed his lungs right after.

watching deadpanned as you walked away giggling.

that behavior... it was truly concerning coming from him.

"are you totally sure?" mina whispered excited.

"it's a great probability, didn't you see that monstrosity of a hand!?" you whisper-exclaimed. "his grip almost crushed mine!"

"okay, but let's don't get ahead of ourselves, there's other boys to analyze." mina said carefully.

"right, but he's a suspect! and did you notice how he didn't hesitate or felt uneasy to hold my hand?"

"i'm not jumping to conclusions but he seemed too chill! it's almost unnatural coming from a person who wrote a love letter." mina spoke wisely.

"you're right." you pouted.

"what am i suspect about? love letter!?"

"aaaaaack! for fucks sake!" you and mina jolted. "y-you heard us?" you asked shyly.

"were you eavesdropping!?" mina confronted.

the boy leaned in the doorframe crossing his arms unphazed by the pink's attitude. "you're not even whispering... some of 1b even heard about how i have big ass hands and shit." he chuckled.

you looked over shinso's shoulder only to encounter monoma, kendo, shiozaki and komori confusedly observing at some distance. "h-hey guys..." and kendo smiled amused.

"he caught us, mina. what do we do?" you said fidgety.

"there's no other way now that he knows our secret. we must kill you." mina stated creepily serious to shinso, making him falter.

"ha. you almost got me there." he laughed mindlessly. after a couple of seconds staring at each other he came to realization. " you're joking,,, right?"

"why did you have to scare him like that? what if he go out telling others?"

"it's quite the opposite. he won't tell anyone if he believes it's confidential information. you can question my methods but not my results!" the pink girl explained confidently.

walking down the corridor in search for another male friend. now that the lunchtime was coming to an end the school was less fuzzy, and the groups concentrated in their usual places.

"uh... mina... you're not actually dangerous, are you?" you blurted.

she looked at you puzzled, as if that question was more complicated than it actually seemed. "why do you ask?"

"it's just because, you're my best friend, and if it were for me to have a psycho so close to me i would want to know..." you reasoned.

"don't be ridiculous!" she laughed. "but like you said, we're best friends, that does mean i would probably hide a body for you."

"wait. what the-"

"kirishima it's been thirty minutes." the blonde stated impatiently.

the boys were sitting casually at their class waiting for the others to come grab their keys to the closets. p.e was the next hour.

"just be patient dude, when she arrives, you casually get up and go talk to her. do you remember the three steps?" the red haired pointed.

"don't scream, don't curse and look at her in the eye." bakugo grumbled a little skeptical.

when they heard high pitched voices and footsteps approaching the blonde jolted in his seat.

"there they are." kirishima whispered. "good luck soldier"

katsuki got up with a sigh, heart beating fast, he didn't even notice his feet leading him directly to you and almost fainted when you looked at him with those doe eyes.

"h-hey."

"hey!" you greeted rummaging your backpack.

"i was... i recalled that time last week you shared your notes and... i"

"you came to say thanks? it's alrighty! just gimme a shoutout whenever you need!" you smiled

his ears reddened. "y-yeah. but i was trying to ask if ya wanna grab milkshakes sometimes, my treat for the notes." katsuki managed to spill

"oh! i didn't expect that" you giggled thinking that was a cute way to invite someone to hang out. "sure. i provide the notes, you provide the milkshakes." you extended your hand "deal?"

he smirked satisfied shaking you hand.

"deal."

#katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x fem!reader #self insert #mha fluff #mha fanfiction #bakugou fluff #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha x reader #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader #my hero academia

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zanarkandskylines · 12 days

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⭑˚. ⇢ you make a gift for katsuki's 18th birthday.

-`☆ day one of the explosive birthday celebration ! ☆´-

It's the week of Bakugo's 18th birthday - you and all of class A have plenty of plans arranged to make it special for him! You know he's going to feign ignorance, like he doesn't care about all of the love and support, but deep down is a sucker for it. Midoriya and Kirishima had all of the party supplies ready to go, stored secretly in their dorm rooms. Sato bought all the ingredients he'd need to make snacks and a cake for the party while the girls stashed away a bunch of party favors, splitting up everything between their rooms. Everyone was ready to celebrate their favorite explosive hero!

There's was just one thing left for you to do - find him a present.

What exactly did Bakugo want? He never vocalized desiring anything material in nature, not even All Might memorabilia. Getting him a gift card felt a little flat for such a milestone birthday, you wanted him to feel appreciated. With everything the class has gone through in the last three years, especially him and Midoriya, he deserved to be spoiled and shown how important he is to everyone.

In your mind, you went through the things Bakugo liked: hiking, cooking, All Might, spicy foods...maybe novels? You'd heard from Midoriya that he loves to read, but you didn't press him on what exactly his favorite genre was. Scribbling a bunch of ideas into a notebook, you brainstormed for awhile before the perfect inspiration struck - you can make him something!

Immediately, you call Midoriya to run your idea by him.

"Hey! What's up?" he answers cheerfully.

"Hi Izuku! I'm prepping a present for Katsuki's birthday and wanted to get your input. You got a few minutes?"

"Of course! What did you have in mind?" Midoriya seemed pleased that you chose him to help with your little creation for his best friend.

"Here's what I'm thinking..."

───

Later in the day, you return from the craft store with Midoriya, a couple of bags in hand with supplies for your gift. He helps you carry everything back to your dorm room and unloads it all onto your desk.

"Do you want any help making the book?" he offers.

"I think I'll be alright, but if you could get that recipe from Shoto, that would be a huge help!" You dump the supplies out onto your desk, spreading everything out neatly to begin working.

"Sure! I'll go ask him for it now. I'll be back soon!"

Midoriya exits your room quietly as you take a seat at your desk, prepping to start working on Bakugo's present. It wasn't anything fancy or flashy, but thought the sentiment was worth more than any lame gift card. You'd decided to make him a custom recipe booklet! It would be blank, with the exception of one recipe, for him to fill in as time goes on. You know how much he loves to cook and thought it would be handy to keep his favorite meals in one place. The first recipe would be a surprise - Fuyumi's mapo tofu recipe. Bakugo wouldn't shut up about it for weeks after going to Todoroki's house for dinner back in their first year. He more than likely had it, but having it be the first in the book sounds like a decent surprise.

A few hours and paper cuts later, you've crafted a cute little recipe booklet, bound with black rings and packed with subtly decorated pages. You chose not to theme the entire thing, more so just adding in areas for him to fill in instructions, ingredients and cooking time to the pages for reference. The cover was a burnt orange with a blank label on the front, plastered with a bunch of bright stickers of various styles - smiley faces, leaves, stars, food and other accenting themes. You didn't want to assume what Bakugo would want to label it, so you left it blank with some letter sticker sheets inside the cover. The rings are able to be opened, that way he can add additional pages in the future and expand the collection.

Your phone buzzes on the corner of your desk, a text notification from Midoriya appearing on screen.

[Izuku] stopping by with the recipe! [You] great! doors open, just come in when you're here

Midoriya knocks on your door a few minutes later, slipping inside your room and waltzing over to your desk. He looks down at the book you've crafted, eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Awww! This is so cool, he's going to absolutely love this. Don't be offended if he doesn't say it though," he jokes, shaking his head with a smile on his face. "You know he's still not great at expressing that kinda thing."

He hands you the recipe on a piece of paper. "Here, I wrote it down for you. Fuyumi's ecstatic you asked for it!"

"Thank you!" you gleam, studying the page's contents. "This'll work perfectly."

Midoriya leaves you to finish your present in peace. You copy over the recipe information onto the first page, organizing it neatly by the sections you created. It's finally finished! At least, that's what you thought until one last detail popped into your head.

Grabbing a black marker, you add in a short and sweet message to the inside cover of the book: "Happy 18th birthday Kats! Looking forward to years of your cooking. - ♡ (Y/N)"

Your heart flutters in your chest as you stare at the words, hoping he'll smile seeing it anytime he opens his recipe book. You grab the muted orange wrapping paper and neatly fold and tuck the book into it, tying it together with a black bow.

Waiting until the end of the week to see his reaction is going to be torture, but worth the wait to see him smile.

extremely flattered to be included in kae's bakugo birthday celebration series! be sure to check out each story this week leading up to his birthday on 4/20 ♡

⇢ master post

-`☆ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏɴᴇ: Coming April 14th - @zanarkandskylines

ᴅᴀʏ ᴛᴡᴏ: Coming April 15th - @xbabyd0lli3x

ᴅᴀʏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ: Coming April 16th - @angels-fantasy

ᴅᴀʏ ꜰᴏᴜʀ: Coming April 17th - @starieq

ᴅᴀʏ ꜰɪᴠᴇ: Coming April 18th - @lowkeyremi

ᴅᴀʏ ꜱɪx: Coming April 19th - @queenpiranhadon

ᴅᴀʏ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ: Coming April 20th - @cashmoneyyysstuff

((inspo for the recipe book! it would obvi not be as aesthetic when he'd use it lol but it would have a little decorative templates for him to fill in)) 💥🎁 tags; @gina239 - @mystic60 - @meowze4r - @icedemon1314 - @bigsimpo343 - @ah-mya - @whezdostuff - @berry-vioo - @seonne - @slayfics

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo #bakugo fluff #bakugo x reader fluff #bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugou #bakugo x y/n #bakugou x y/n #katsuki x reader #bakugo drabble #bakugo imagine #☆.rei writes

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veenxys · 1 year

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「Intimate moments with BNHA Boys」

⤷ Bakugou

kissing skin imperfections and calling them angel kisses. learning new things together. playing some sport like volleyball or basket just for fun (he takes it easy on you every time, he gets too distracted). arts and crafts dates where you make horrendous gifts for each other and for your mutual friends. endless inside jokes. gaming dates where you can only apologize for winning by kissing his pout away. being his biggest fan and admiring the way he blushes.

⤷ Deku

drawing fake tattoos on each other’s skin; playing a little game so that the other person can guess what the drawing is. being each other’s personal photographer, mostly candid and random pics. writing cute, cheesy letters and notes to you when he’s too embarrassed to say it. teaching him to cook. learning to play the guitar with his arms around your waist and his chin on your shoulder. kisses on your spots and blemishes and insecurities. grocery shopping together and rock paper scissors to decide who will ride on the cart.

⤷ Kirishima

showering together and helping each other wash their hair; and him getting a little pout when you ask him to hold your shampoo while you wet your hair. it’s singing softly in the kitchen only for the other to come in and start some off-key, funny karaoke. riding in a car at dusk while you eat french fries and listen to your favorite music while the wind ruffles your hair; he’s wearing sunglasses, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh as you lets the music flow with your voices. playing on the playground and having fun like kids. taking polaroid pictures and putting them in your wallet or cell phone cases or in random places around the house like next to your computer or next to your television.

⤷ Todoroki

doing wholesome dates at home together in comfortable silence while you listen to your relaxing playlist. sending and receiving music and videos that remind you of each other. memorizing each other’s favorite things and having a competition of who knows who best. stroking your hair gently to help you fall asleep. pouting and pretending to be upset when he can’t give you attention only for him to kiss and hug you. bright and passionate looks exchanged in the silence of the night or in the lull of the morning. kisses on your birthmark to help you love it.

⤷ Denki

knowing everything about each other, even hidden spots. hiding your coffee and giving it back just for a kiss. being his muse for anything. cheesy compliment and pickup line battles. cooking together, and laughing in the process but mumbling when you need to clean up the excessive mess you’ve made. taking classes together like; theatre, photography, crochet and unforgettable trips together. endless pda and being taken on all kinds of encounters

⤷ Tamaki

being his comfort whenever he needs to rest, vent or cry. him wearing your clothes and you wearing his. listening to each other’s opinions on the most diverse subjects when you don’t know what to say, but still want to hear each other’s voice. sleeping sharing headphones and listening to soft music. knowing what the other is feeling with just a look. accidentally completing each other’s sentences and smiling like children when this happens. falling more in love with each other every day, feeling completely happy and at home in each other’s arms.

⤷ Shinsou

being his best friend ever. sleepy love confessions when he loses his filter. making ramen together and praising him for being such a great chef. piggyback rides and overdramatic whines when you climb on. fixing his sleep schedule by bribing him with snuggles. being the only person he’ll be clingy with.

⤷ Hawks

slow dances that end up becoming rhythmless and happy in the kitchen, especially when he realizes you’re sad and he wants to try to cheer you up. being the only person who can see him cry. having him ask for kisses and hugs during the day. sloppy kisses on your cheeks, pouting as you wipe them. random stories from his past or even dreams he had and songs to help you sleep. listening to you ramble on about the things you love with a smile all the time.

⤷ Dabi

getting drunk together after a date; eating chips at dawn and laughing as if you had the world in your hands. his little smiles that mean the world to you. declarations of love whispered in the middle of the night after talking about dreams, fears, past and future. him trying his best to get you out of your comfort zone to live adventures with him; but still protecting you more than anything else in the world. being his comfort person. being everything he loves, feels or thinks. being his best friend and lover, his home and true and only love.

⤷ Shigaraki

being the only person he hugs or shows any kind of affection. working together to make him less hard on himself. doing your chores for you when you are tired. hearing about his passion projects and deeper emotions that he shares with no one else. saying “i love you” at random times but in subtle ways like; him making you breakfast, putting a blanket on your lap when it’s cold, buying you your favorite things, etc. getting to see the warm and beautiful side of him; his genuine smile and sincere look.

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doumadono · 9 months

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Synopsis: The BNHA boys confess their love to you for the very first time

MASTERLIST

Izuku Midoriya

Izuku had been feeling his heart race whenever he was around you, his girlfriend, but he was nervous about expressing his feelings.

One evening, you were sitting together on a bench at the park, watching the sunset after a long day of hero training. The colors of the sky reflected in your eyes, making you look even more beautiful, in his little opinion.

Izuku took a deep breath and, mustering up all his courage, he gently took your hand in his. He looked into your Y/E/C eyes and said, "You know, being with you makes me feel like I can do anything. You've always believed in me, and I can't thank you enough for that. I… I love you."

Your eyes widened in surprise, and then a bright smile spread across your face. You pulled him into a warm hug, replying, "Izuku, I love you too. You've always been my hero."

Katsuki Bakugo

Bakugo had never been great with words, especially when it came to expressing emotions. But he knew he had to tell his girlfriend how he felt because keeping it inside was driving him crazy.

You were spending a day at the city center, and Bakugo had been trying to build up the courage to say those three words all day long.

As the sun was setting and the sky turned shades of pink and orange, you were walking down the street, hand in hand. Bakugo suddenly stopped and turned to face you, a faint blush on his cheeks.

"Listen, dumbass," he began gruffly, "I… I care about you a lot. More than I thought I would. Hell, I… I love you, okay? So don't go getting any ideas about leaving me or some shit like that."

Your eyes softened, and you hugged him tightly. "I love you too, Katsuki. And I'm not going anywhere, my fierce warrior."

Shoto Todoroki

Shoto had always been reserved, and expressing his feelings was a challenge for him. But his girlfriend had shown him what it meant to love and be loved, and he wanted to reciprocate that.

You were at a peaceful park, sitting on a bench and sharing some ice cream after another day of your internship at his father's agency. Shoto was staring at the ground, trying to find the right words.

Finally, he looked up at you, his heterochromatic eyes filled with warmth. "You've brought so much light into my life," he said softly. "I never thought I could feel this way about someone. But I do. I love you."

You smiled, and a tear of joy escaped your eye. You reached out and touched his cheek gently. "Shoto, you have my heart. I love you too, with all of it."

Hawks (Keigo Takami)

Despite being a pro-hero, expressing emotions didn't come naturally to Hawks. But his feelings for you were undeniable, and he wanted to be sincere in his confession.

He decided to write a heartfelt letter, expressing all the things he admired and loved about you. He left it on your doorstep with a bouquet of your favorite flowers (yes, deep inside, Keigo was a true romantic at heart).

Later that day, he received a call from you. You were thanking him for the beautiful letter. Hawks asked if you liked it, to which you replied with a teasing tone, "Well, Mr. Hero, you're supposed to be observant, right? What do you think?" Hawks couldn't resist the playful challenge and responded, "I think… I think you did. Y/N, I love you." He felt the weight of his heart lifting as he admitted his feelings.

Dabi (Touya Todoroki)

Dabi had always been distant and reserved, but his girlfriend saw through his tough exterior and understood the pain he carried.

One evening, you were sitting together on the rooftop of LOV hideout, watching the sunset. The warm colors of the sky seemed to ignite a spark of courage within him.

Dabi turned to you, gently intertwining his fingers with yours, and whispered softly, "You know, I've always believed that my heart was frozen, but you… you've been thawing it all along. I never thought I could love someone so deeply, but I love you, Y/N."

Your eyes widened in surprise, but you could see the sincerity in his words. You reached out and gently touched his cheek, "Dabi, you don't have to say more. I can feel it too. I love you too."

Shigaraki Tomura (Tenko Shimura)

Shigaraki had always been awkward with emotions, but as he grew closer to you, he found himself wanting to be more open with you about his feelings.

You had just finished a long and eventful day of planning their next move as villains. With everyone else occupied, Shigaraki and you found a rare moment of peace in the dimly lit common room.

As you sat on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder, Shigaraki felt a mix of comfort and vulnerability, something he rarely experienced. He could feel his heart pounding as he debated whether or not to share his feelings. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on your arm, and he finally gathered the courage to speak up. "Hey... There's something I've been wanting to tell you," he began, his voice unusually soft. "You mean a lot to me. More than I ever thought someone could. You're always there, supporting me and understanding me. And... I love you."

You leaned in to press a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Tomura, I love you too."

dividers by @cafekitsune

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nova-amor · 7 months

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༘☁︎⋆ ◜ 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱 ◞

thick clouds of steam obscured the tranquil space of the shower, the golden glow of the bathroom's light casting an angelic radiance upon your wet skin. his tongue slid across his bottom lip, big attentive eyes watching as you rinsed the last remnants of conditioner from your hair.

his gaze glanced between your relaxed facial features to the droplets of water streaming from your hairline and down your jaw— his eyes following the trail of droplets going down the length of your neck, down the valley of your breasts, and down to the wet heat between your thighs before finally washing down the shower drain.

“stay,” his voice was barely above a whisper, thick arms wrapping around your waist as you motioned to exit the shower. the warmth of his breath fanned over the cartilage of your ear, teeth softly nipping at the lobe. your back was flushed impossibly close to his chest, his growing erection poking at the plump flesh of your ass cheeks.

the rough pads of his fingers caressed the slit of your folds, your body shuddering as you leaned back further into his embrace. “so sensitive already,” he teased before spreading your pussy lips apart with his index and ring fingers. “barely even touched you and you're already this wet for me, huh?”

his middle finger rubbed at your sensitive nub, swirling all sorts of shapes and letters around your clit, the euphoric sensation causing your hips to buck up to meet his ministrations. your head leaned back onto his shoulder— brows furrowed, eyes squeezed shut, mouth slightly agape. he pressed a searing kiss to your cheek, his nose nuzzling into the side of your face.

“you imagining my cock, baby? body craving for something bigger to fill you?” a thick finger dove into the wet heat of your cunt, tight walls clenching hard around his digit as he fucked his finger up into you. another moan bubbled from deep within your throat, the slick of your arousal staining your inner thighs as it trailed down his hand. “so fucking tight— love it when this pretty pussy squeezes around me like that.”

he bit at your cheek softly, rutting his hard cock into your backside as another finger slipped into you. “such an eager little thing— don't worry, baby, i'll give you exactly what you want in a sec,” he assured, his fingers massaging your gummy walls, poking and prodding at your g-spot. “just wanna toy with you for a bit more.”

tetsurō kuroo, miya twins, eren yeager, jean kirschtein, toji fushiguro, nanami kento, touya todoroki, keigo takami, simon riley, keegan russ

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shxtodxroki · 1 year

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𝙲𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍

Summary: Shoto has a meltdown after having a nightmare of you leaving him, telling him that you no longer loved him and felt suffocated in your relationship. Luckily you’re right beside him when he wakes up from the awful dream, there to hold and reassure him that you love him more than he could ever know.

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending), insecurities, Shoto has a meltdown

Pairing: Shoto Todoroki x Gender Neutral! Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Almond - Roommate AU

Sweet Pea - “Character has a nightmare about reader leaving them, reader comforts them”

- Shoto hastily pushed the door to his home open without much thought, shoulders drooping from exhaustion as he immediately dropped his bags at the door

- It had been a particularly long day of hero work, and he felt as if he was running on empty in that moment, craving a warm embrace from you that he could melt into as he finally allowed himself to rest

- After he had closed the door behind him and moved to take off his shoes, however, he noticed how eerily quiet the apartment was, seemingly lacking your presence entirely

- You would almost ALWAYS greet him at the door of your shared apartment once he arrived home, placing a heartfelt kiss on his cheek as you wrapped your arms around his waist, but he tried not to dwell on these details as he assumed you had simply fallen asleep early this evening or were otherwise preoccupied at the moment

- As Shoto made his way to the kitchen, though, quickly pouring himself a glass of juice and re-heating some leftover noodles from the dinner you had shared together the evening prior, he felt a sense of bitter dread growing in his stomach that was difficult to ignore. It started off barely noticeable, just a small gnawing inside of him, but it left him feeling uneasy and quickly began to grow as he attempted to push the anxiety out of his mind and enjoy his meal

- Shoto was unable to shake the unease he felt at the fact that you had yet to come see or acknowledge him at all, however, and he quickly found himself unable to think about anything else as he set his glass down and quickly sped over to the bedroom door

- He tried to convince himself that he was being ridiculous, that nothing was wrong and you were most likely just in the shower or something like that where you couldn’t rush out to him right that moment

- But you had ALWAYS kept the routine of greeting him at the door when he came home. You had never missed it, not ONCE throughout your entire time living together, so it was difficult to convince himself that this was something simple and innocent

- When Shoto pushed open your shared bedroom door to see an empty bed, he only felt his worry grow as his eyes shifted around looking for you

- Instead, however, as his eyes glances hastily around the room he was met with a sight that caused a pit to form in his stomach, eyes welling up with tears faster than he could control as the realization of what was happening began to hit him

- The majority of your belongings had been removed from the room, nearly all traces of you in the house suddenly bare despite having been there just this morning when he had left for work. All of your trinkets on the nightstand, the posters you had begged him to help you hang up on the walls, the clothes hanging on your now opened side of the closet, all gone without a trace

- It was as if Shoto’s lungs were collapsing, eyes filling so heavily with tears that he could only make out mere blobs and shapes in front of him as he noticed a sleet white sheet of paper resting atop your bed

- He didn’t want to read it, every cell in his heart was begging him to spare the heartbreak he already knew he would find in the letter, but his anxiety overpowered all else he was feeling

- He had to know for sure, had to know that what he thought was happening was TRULY happening as he felt his world crashing down around him, causing him to reach out and begin scanning the paper through his tear-filled eyes

- “Shoto,

I’m sorry to have to do this to you, I really am. I wish I could give you a proper goodbye at least, to tell you this in person, but I’m a coward. I’m far too much of a coward to own up to the consequences of my actions and the heartbreak I know you’ll feel in person, so I hope this letter suffices, at least in some way.

Even though I know it won’t.

Honestly, I don’t think I can say I’m in love with you anymore. I don’t think I have been for quite a while now, in fact. I care about you, quite a lot, which was why I avoided this for so long. But I feel so suffocated, stuck in a relationship I don’t want to be in, living together every day and not being able to say anything. So I had to leave, and I had to do it fast before I could talk myself out of it.

Please don’t try to find me. I no longer love you, and I’m completely done with this relationship. I'm washing my hands of it, and nothing can change my mind, I’m just sorry I had to do this in such a cowardly way. You don’t deserve this, but i just can’t pretend to be happy like this any more when I know I’m not.

-Y/n”

- Loud, guttural sobs echoed through the room, the sound bouncing off the walls and into Shoto’s ears as he collapsed on the floor in pure agony. Your note was covered in tear stains at this point, his hand shaking violently as he clutched it and sobbed into his knees

- Shoto felt like he was burning, all of his emotions were overwhelming his senses and he could feel his vision going black around him. His chest hurt, his head hurt, everything hurt, and as the reality of you breaking up with him fully set in, Shoto felt as if he was falling, sinking deep into a black abyss where he could feel nothing but pain all throughout his body…

- Sweat covered Shoto’s body as he shot awake in his bed, eyes opening wide in a frenzy as he breathed rapidly. He could feel tears staining his cheeks, still falling at rapid speed over the pain he felt as he began to panic once more, before you gently reached your hand over to hold his own

- Shoto’s eyes immediately shot over to yours, stunned to see you laying beside him, eyes still groggy and heavy from sleep as you looked at him with a confused expression and held his hand carefully in yours

- “Sho, what’s going on? What happened?” You asked, concern immediately covering your features as you noticed the tear tracks along his cheeks and the visible signs that a meltdown was near for Shoto

- As your boyfriend looked at you, still glancing at him with all the love and concern in your heart and gently rubbed shapes along the back of his hand in a gentle attempt to soothe him, Shoto realized that you breaking up with him had just been a nightmare. A horrible, devastating nightmare

- Shoto couldn’t possibly be more thankful than he was in that moment

- The sobs almost immediately returned at the realization, though, the memory of the dream and the pain it caused him still so vivid in his mind. He knew it wasn’t real, but the insecurity it was founded from was so hard to shake, even as Shoto pulled himself into your very real, very loving arms right beside him

- Shoto was burning up, losing control over his typically well-regulated temperature even on his cool side due to his panic, and you could see that it wasn’t time to ask questions in that moment

- You could resolve the issue he was dealing with later, but right now, you just needed to be there to comfort and console him, to help Shoto come down from the ledge of fear he was stuck on in his mind

- This wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar situation to you. Though your boyfriend typically tried his best to quell his internal fears and worries, he still found them slipping through on occasion, so you luckily knew exactly how to comfort him in moments like these

- You swiftly pulled the man into you, allowing his tears to stain your shirt and his sniffles and sobs to ring throughout the bedroom as you used one hand to gently run your fingers through his soft hair and the other to rub his back soothingly

- You knew you needed to get him some water to cool him down before he got too hot and gave himself a fever, but with how panicked he clearly was in that moment, you figured you could wait just a few minutes before tending to that need. You kept it at the front of your mind, knowing that you needed to get him physically taken care of as soon as you were able, but you knew Shoto couldn’t handle you leaving him right now, so you tabled that matter for the moment

- And so you simply sat there, cradling your boyfriend in your arms and attempting to soothe him however you could as you let him cry until his sobs were reduced to small sniffles and he finally felt ready to talk, not wanting to rush him whatsoever

- “I… I had an awful dream.” Shoto started when his heart had finally eased enough for him to speak, the comfort of your arms around him reminding him that what he had seen was nothing but a dream, a subconscious manifestation of his unfounded insecurities

- "You left me. You left while I was out at work, didn’t even say goodbye. You just wrote a note, telling me that you didn’t love me any more and couldn’t live in a relationship where you felt suffocated.” The tears came back to Shoto’s eyes as he rememebred the harsh, piercing words of the imaginary note, nuzzling his face into your chest in order to prevent himself from falling back into a panic

- “Oh, baby.” You responded, cradling your boyfriend’s head tightly in your head as you immediately jumped to soothe his insecurities. “I would never do that to you, you hear me? I love you so much Shoto, I always will and I couldn’t be happier than I am with you. I hope you know that”

- “I do, angel.” He replied, the last embers of anxiety leaving his body as he was finally rid of the terrible nightmare and its effects on him.

- You were here you were happy, and you loved him. He knew that, he truly did, despite his worries and insecurities sometimes trying to contest that truth.

- “I know that you worry sometimes, Sho. But please know you’re more than enough for me. You’re all I could ever ask for in a boyfriend, and I’d never do to you what that imaginary, awful version of me did in that dream.” You reminded him in a halfhearted attempt to lighten the mood, eyes brightening when you saw the softest, smallest of smiles cross your boyfriend’s face.

- Seeing that Shoto was no longer in a frenzy, you found the time to slip out of his hold just enough to reach for the glass of ice water you kept on your bedside table, immediately returning to his hold and pressing the glass to his lips to cool him down once you managed to reach it

- “You’re more than I could ever ask for angel, I’m so happy to have you.” Shoto responded, feeling exhaustion seep back into his body as he finally released the energy he had been holding in over the dream and realized just how late it was

- The yawn your boyfriend quietly let out as he continued to cuddle with you on the floor made you realize that it was probably time for the two of you to be getting back to bed, now that Shoto was content and relaxed once more

- “Come on baby, let’s get you back to sleep.” You muttered, standing up before reaching out your hand to help Shoto up as well. “And this time, only dream of good things, okay?”

- “I hope I will, love.” Shoto replied, making his way back to his side of the bed and immediately cuddling up to your side as you turned off your bedside lamp. Holding you always helped ease him into sleep, content knowing you were safe in his arms even in your most vulnerable state

- “Goodnight, Sho. Sweet dreams.” You whispered into the darkness of the room, closing your eyes and pulling him tightly into you as Shoto pressed a light kiss to your cheek in response before quickly drifting back off into dreamland, nightmares long gone from his mind this time as he slept peacefully beside you

A/N: I haven’t written for this event in so long oh my god, I never finished all the requests so hopefully I’ll get through them soon! When I looked on this doc today and remembered the prompt, though, I knew I HAD to finish it, I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you guys enjoy it too! This event is currently closed lol since it’s from quite a while ago, but I’ll probably be doing more like it soon so be sure to be on the lookout for that! My requests ARE open right now, though, and I’m currently working on making a request list, so if you have a request feel free to send it in to me! :)

Taglist: @rebloglikeyouneedtoo @pasteldaze @yeagerfushiguro @papijean @deadmans-toe @trashy-bowtie @palenightmarepersona @thekaylahub @applepie-macaroon @lady-juliette @ghostofscarley @swiftbyul @shinsosmatcha

If you’d like to be added to any of my taglists, you can fill out this form here! Thank you for your support <3

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jasontoddssuper · 6 months

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If i speak

#GAHSJSJSJSHSHSHSHD #not a love triangle/ot3 thing and if you make it into one i'm blocking you #todoroki shouto #momo yaoyorozu #iida tenya #ichigo kurosaki #orihime inoue #uryu ishida #todomomo #ichihime #t4t todomomo #t4t ichihime #bnha geekery #bleach #they're all trans and autistic btw :)#letters from summer

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irisintheafterglow · 2 months

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HAND TWO - PAIR

summary: in a season where you're determined to fly under the radar, newly-returned crown prince!touya todoroki has other ideas. in this hand, a deal is made.

wc: 2k

cw/tags: royalty!au/regency!au, fem!reader, official first meeting, banter and dialogue driven, fake dating, sassy touya again

note: idk how fake dating premises with plots are created like this took me a good 30 minutes of just straight thinking trying to figure out what is a plausible fake dating idea. anyway thank you for all the love on part one, hope you enjoy this part!! also overdue idea credit to @andypantsx3 who originally created a crown prince!touya piece (read it here!) that probably subconsciously inspired this entire series. thank you and hope you enjoy :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are greatly appreciated <3

Your maid’s face was whiter than her knuckles gripping the sides of her apron.

“You have a caller, miss,” she informs you carefully, bowing slowly and failing to hide her trembling. “It is…”

“I am aware of who it is,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose between your pointer finger and your thumb. It’d been exactly one week since Prince Touya all but julienned the ego of your pasty-faced suitor and you hadn’t received so much as a letter of greeting from him since then. All you received once the dust settled were mixed expressions of disgust and awe, along with a shit-eating smirk from the royal currently waiting to be led into the drawing room. “My stepmother?”

“At tea, miss, with the neighbors. She won’t be back for several hours.” You swear under your breath. With all other members of the family out of the house and your stepmother bragging about your prospects with the sought-after prince, you were on your own.

“Send him in when the minute hand next strikes six. Tell him I’m in the bath, or something.”

“As you wish, miss.” Your maid nods and promptly exits the room, leaving you slumped on the settee with no ideas but to beeline for the back doors and disappear among the trees of the garden. Hiking up your skirt and slipping into the yard, you’re careful to shut the door quietly behind you.

It’s not that you didn’t want to see him, even though you didn’t; in truth, it was fear of what he might say to you or how you two may interact. How are you supposed to look at a man suspected of committing treason against the king, his own father, and upkeep the manners drilled into your head since birth? It seemed too great of a burden to bear, so you resolved to forget your problems and the stranger in your house by walking amongst the flowers, blue hydrangeas that continued to bloom despite the sweltering summer heatwaves. It’s calming, being alone with nothing but the greenery. As your fingers brush over the delicately clumped petals, the hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stand up stick-straight and you don't need to turn around to see why.

“It’s rude to enter a lady’s house unannounced, Your Highness,” you say into the open air and hear him step out from behind a neighboring tree.

“I believe I was announced, considering the shaken demeanor of your poor maid.” His voice is low and raspy, like he’d just woken up.

“What if I was still in the bath?”

“You’ll have to tell my maids what you use to dry your hair so rapidly,” he replies and you catch him slinking over to you from the corner of your vision, approaching you carefreely with his hands in the pockets of his coat. You don’t look at him yet; in your mind, he was like a monster under the bed. If you simply didn’t look at him, he’d go away. “Unless, of course,” his voice appears over your shoulder and goosebumps break out over your skin. Not yet. Don’t look him in the eyes yet. “You weren’t in the bath at all. At least, not recently.”

“I’m not sure what gave you the right to invade my house and muse upon my bathing habits,” you counter, finally turning to meet his stare and willing yourself not to wither under it. He wasn’t close enough to feel his body heat, but the arrogance that radiated from his entire being was enough to make you sweat more than the bright sun. He considered you curiously, tilting his head to the side and narrowing those molten blue eyes that perplexed you so. You risk a glance at the scar tissue just under his eyes and chin, its deep purple color rumored to be the result of a fire accident while he was sent away. It unnerved you, but you still found the courage to stare back with consideration of your own, challenging him to say something else. His eyes narrow again for half a second before he brushes past you, walking further down your current path in the garden.

“You were keeping me waiting,” he states simply. “Not to mention, I am royalty.” You freeze, keenly aware of the power of the man admiring your daisies. “I believe it is you who should be considered the rude one.” The teasing lilt in his voice is not lost to you, but you’re too dumbfounded by his bluntness to think on it further.

“Argues the one who won my affections and then refrained from any means of communication for a week,” you point out with slight irritation, following him around the bend at a safe distance. He hums again thoughtfully, walking among the flowers like it was his property. Your tease falls from your lips before you can stop it. “Did His Highness run out of royal parchment to write his letters?”

“Royal candle wax, actually,” he answers stoically, but you catch the mischievous shine in his eyes when they flick to meet yours. “Dreadful effort, trying to write without my beloved candle lit.”

“Oh, and what is a prince to do?” You’re unable to hide the smirk that finds its way onto your face and he seems to notice your less-hostile demeanor, the faintest amusement breaking out on his features. Handsome features, you had to stop yourself from admitting. “I don’t understand,” you say after a deep exhale.

“I believe the candle was a gift from my great-grandfather.” His eyes continue to look over the rainbow of petals lightly swaying in the breeze. “Terribly well-loved by my father and the court alike.”

“No, Your Highness–”

“If this is to work, you must refer to me as Touya.” He’s still not looking at you.

“That is precisely what I don’t understand.” You muster up what courage you could to close the distance between you two, crossing your arms to properly confront him. “What are you trying to play at, Your Highness? What is supposed to ‘work?’ With all due respect, I’d like to know now if I am one of your latest games to irritate your relatives.”

“And what would you do if you were?” Shit. His attention moves from the flowers to your face and you’re met with the same cold, unwavering stare from the week prior. “What could you do, realistically, but play along? I am royalty.”

“You needn’t keep reminding me, sir,” you mumble. “But before we continue, I feel you must know. I did not have the intention of entertaining suitors this season.” You catch one of the maids peeping from around the corner of a topiary and motion for her to prepare tea for you and your caller.

“What were you doing at the presentation duels, then?”

“Fulfilling the wishes of my stepmother,” you answer wryly. “Whatever plans you have devised, I am the wrong lady to assist in enacting them.”

“I imagine that, instead of participating in this season, you would rather be reading from the libraries of King All Might himself?” The Prince falls into step behind you while you make your way to the garden’s gazebo, fully furnished to accommodate callers. You sensed, however, this particular suitor would rather sit on the floor than at your family’s lofty dining set.

“I’m surprised you understand,” you remark, neatening a stray napkin. When you look behind you, the prince is leaning his shoulder against the frame of the gazebo and observing you. Your manners somehow return, despite his lack thereof. “Do you prefer Earl Grey or green?”

“Neither,” he replies immediately. “I don’t care for tea.”

“Nor do I, but the servants will linger if we don’t give them a chance to gossip in the kitchen.” The prince’s eyes narrow once again only for a moment, like you said something unexpected.

“In that case, tell them green.” You murmur his request to the nearest servant and the handful subtly eavesdropping politely excuse themselves back into the house, no doubt eager to relay what little information you and the prince had exchanged.

“You still haven’t enlightened me on why, of all the ladies present at the duels, you chose to duel for my hand,” you begin as he takes his seat across from you and pops a piece of fruit into his mouth. “Especially when I am guaranteed to hinder any plans you have for–”

“You know nothing of my plans, as of yet,” he interjects. His face is carefully blank, seemingly too calm for your present situation. “Your reluctance to entertain suitors is exactly what is going to help me leave this kingdom.”

“I don’t understand,” you reiterate. “Your Highness, I do not wish to be in this season at all.”

“I share the same sentiment. Here is my proposal that will, in theory, rid us of both of our stressors: I will court you and, on the night of my father’s ball where I will surely propose, I will disappear, leaving you with nothing but a broken heart and a humble reparation of $100,000. A percentage of which, I note, can then be used to book passage out of Musutafu and find those books from King All Might’s mythical library. Do you follow?” You don’t remember when your jaw fell open, but it takes significant effort to regain your composure. When you eventually register what the prince had just offered, your face burns from a feeling you had never experienced before. It was a mixture of shame and shock, but mostly…excitement?

“You’re out of your mind,” you manage to force out. “I don’t think–How could we–It would never work!” What the hell was he thinking?

“You don’t know that,” he answers coolly. Maybe he’s not thinking at all. Maybe the prince is an idiot.

“But why not leave now? Why wait until the night of your father’s ball?” An unreadable look crosses over his face, one that makes your stomach turn. He fixes himself in a blink, though, and the sudden darkness that fell over the prince’s face is gone before you can comment on it. “I just don’t understand why you need my help doing this, Your Highness.”

“My father grows impatient,” he admits bitterly and when you meet his gaze, it’s burning. “He wishes to crown me as king within three month’s time, and I–”

“You do not wish to rule,” you finish quietly, the realization clicking together in your mind. “By courting a lady, you force him to put off your coronation until you propose.”

“By courting you,” he explains further, “I also guarantee that this affair will remain strictly one of business.” You can’t help the scoff that leaves your mouth.

“You think that if a woman were to fall in love with you, she would reveal your true whereabouts?”

“Women are fickle creatures,” he states simply. “You did not wish to fall in love this season, so you will not reveal my true whereabouts once I have faked my passing.” He sighs, pulling back the sleeve of his coat and checking the time on his watch. “It really is quite simple. Allow me to court you, stay silent about my disappearance, and be rewarded with $100,000.”

“And if we’re caught? If this charade is revealed as a farce and your father declares you King the following day?”

“Doubt in my plans is the first step away from succeeding,” he concludes. An approaching servant with a fresh pot of tea momentarily takes your attention and the prince stands, bowing in farewell while you’re still frozen behind your teacup. “I do hope you’ll join me at the races tomorrow afternoon,” he drawls out your name once the servant places the pot on the small table. His voice drips honey-sweet poison, drawing you in even as your body screams at you to run. The message hidden beneath his words, however, is clearer than crystal. “But, in the case of your absence, I will assume my affections have been denied.” You stand, dipping into a graceful curtsy. As you rise, your words ring in your ears before you can stop them.

“I look forward to our time together, Your Highness.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#dabi x you #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #touya x you #touya x reader #touya x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n

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florvaine · 6 months

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giggling and kicking my feet at the thought of old-school love with shoto todoroki <33.

he’s sneaking out of his house to see you late at night just to cuddle up with you laying your head on his chest in your bed, no need for blankets because he’s using a small amount of his fire quirk to keep the two of you warm.

there’s no phones, so he’s sending letters to you everyday. even if you’ve seen him and spoke to him, you still receive a long letter, delicate words carved out in black ink, crafted his love for you into words with his bare hands. they’re tied with twine, a small, pressed flower encased inside the careful folds of the yellowing paper.

every week there’s a new bouquet at your doorstep. even when the two of you were in u.a, and he was slightly more reserved, your parents would still bring up a vase with a smile and comment on him being sweet. nowadays, he would knock on your door and give them to you personally.

every now and then he’s purchasing clothes or products for you - this can range from a dress you were eyeing up in the window of a yellow-walled shop, or a pair of loose slacks you mentioned months ago. perfumes that remind him of you, jewellery that, in his words, ‘don’t even come close to being as beautiful as you are’.

you want to see a new movie? he’s got you, and he’s brought all the snacks the two of you can ever want. casual bike rides? once you stop at the top of the hill, he’s not looking at the breathtaking view of the tiny town, but instead your face and the look of tranquility in your eyes. new vinyl you want? it’s wrapped in a brown-paper with a short note taped to it.

your laugh is contagious, as well as your smile. he’s showed more tenderness when he met you, his sister noticed.

the rain doesn’t stop him nor you, either. todoroki would happily run down drenched streets with you, hand in hand and twirling you so the hem of your soaked dress flows upwards at the movement. and then he’s pulling off his jacket to drape over your soggy torso.

he’d 100% place his coat down on a puddle so you could walk over it without dirtying your new scarlet heels.

and by god does he swear that he is the happiest, luckiest man in the world when he proposes to you.

“will you marry me, let me be your husband?” and then he’s sliding the indestructible metal loop on your ring finger with a tear-soaked kiss to your knuckles afterwards. there’s a shimmering gem, your favourite gemstone, that you mentioned once nearly a year into your relationship.

the wedding is extravagant. he took care of the venue after you talked about where you wanted it to be. besides, it was both of your days - but mainly yours.

he cried happy tears when he sees you, clutching a bouquet of red, white and grey flowers in a floral, silky wedding dress with a trail that tsu and ochako have to hold up so you can walk. your veil is long and lacy, but he can still see your face and styled hair. even katsuki can’t hold back a quivering smile.

the vinyls he gifts you get used, after moving into a cosy little cottage house on a hill with a open, emerald garden with acres of apple and peach trees. the two of you sharing glass after glass of port as the music blasts from the corner of the room. and then, he’s whisking you up from your seat on the sofa and you’re slow dancing. todoroki noses at your cheek and you can feel him smiling as he presses his lips against yours in a wine-tasting kiss.

but he’s scared when the doctors bring up the chance of you being pregnant. as frightened as he is at the idea, he’s by your side every step of the way. at your bedside whilst your in labour, letting you cut all circulation off from his fingers and shout curses at him.

and he waits patiently as his little girl is being cleaned and wrapped up, using his ice to cool you down, his hankercheif to wipe sweat off your face and tucking baby hairs behind your ears, kissing your forehead and muttering sweet nothings of encouragement.

when he holds your daughter, he swears that for as long as he was alive, she would not have a father like his.

and even after the time changes, as his daughter grows up, he still finds himself more enchanted with you by the day. he finds himself admiring every forming wrinkle on your face, the silky silver strands in your hair. but your eyes are as gorgeous as ever, and you still have the spark that you did when you were younger.

once your daughter leaves for collage, a bittersweet goodbye, the two of you move. and now the two of you are that sweet elderly couple that sit together in rocking chairs on the porch, overlooking and waving with smiles at others going through the same.

“(y/n)?”

“yes, love?”

“do you want to go on a walk through the park? i heard it’s delightful during autumn.”

“of course, give me a minute to grab my coat, hun.”

old love with todoroki shoto <333.

#*{ ‘. florawrites<3 #fluff #mha #mha x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction #x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #anime #anime fanfic #anime x reader

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parkvcrs · 9 months

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The Flower Disease

SUMMARY: after developing a soft spot for his classmate s/n y/n, so imagine his surprise when he finds himself coughing up pedals the next day…

PAIRING: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader.

WARNING(S): mild cursing, angst, mild blood, fear of unrequited love, etc.

NOTES: i did write a hanahaki disease imagine for shoto todoroki a while ago, but ended up rewriting the last chunk of it since i didn’t like the way the ending was written.

Bakugou was never much of a romantic. In fact, he despised and cursed the name of love. The mere thought of it left a sour taste in his mouth. He currently sat at his desk, scowling, as he impatiently taps his pencil against the surface. The classroom is filled with Valentine's Day decorations, pink hearts, and an assortment of gifts scattered on some desks.

He despises the overly sweet and romantic atmosphere, finding it all utterly ridiculous. His eyes dart around, taking in the flowers, chocolates, and love letters that seem to be everywhere.

‘What a stupid and pointless day. Who needs this lovey-dovey crap?’ He rolls his eyes, attempting to focus on something else, but the constant reminders of the holiday persist. He crosses his arms, doing his best to ignore the flutter of envy that tugs at him ever so slightly.

As Bakugou's thoughts intensify, he's suddenly interrupted by a cheerful voice.

“Good morning, Bakugou!” That’s weird. He’d didn’t recognize that voice. If it was Kirishima, he’d be able to pick his voice out of a lineup. But it wasn’t. A bit puzzled, Bakugou glances up to see S/n Y/n standing in front of his desk, wearing a bright smile and holding a small wrapped gift. But she becomes awkward as soon as Bakugou’s attention snaps onto her, staring at her expectantly. “Um…” she trailed off. “This is for you!” She held out a gift for him, looking away sheepishly as she did.

Raising an eyebrow, Bakugou asks, “Huh? What's this for?” His eyes shift between the small box and Y/n.

“N-Nothing!” Y/n stammered out. “I just wanted to get you something…”

Bakugou snorts and glares at the gift for a moment. He's not sure how to react, especially since he's never been on the receiving end of such a gesture. “Yeah, whatever. Thanks, I guess.” He did his best to act nonchalant about it.

He takes the gift with a hint of awkwardness, his heart pounding louder than he'd like to admit. Y/n's grin widens, pleased with his reaction.

“Oh, uh, you’re welcome!” Y/n replies, happy that Bakugou didn’t get upset with her. It was a surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one.

As Y/n walks away to greet other classmates, Bakugou can't help but feel a strange warmth spreading through him. He attempts to push the sentiment aside, refusing to let this holiday affect him.

“It's just a dumb gift... nothing to get all worked up over.” He mutters to himself. But deep down, he can't deny the small excitement that's bubbling inside him. Despite his protests against Valentine’s Day, he can't ignore the fact that someone thought of him and took the time to give him a gift. ‘It's not a big deal. It’s not like I’m into this sappy crap.’ He reminded himself.

Yet, despite his dismissive words, Bakugou can't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, Valentine's Day isn't as terrible as he always thought.

A few days after this, Bakugou felt sick. But it wasn’t one of those ‘waking up in the middle of the night to throw up’ type of moments. He was just trying to hang out with the rest of his classmates in the dorms by watching a movie when he suddenly felt disoriented.

Holding a hand over his mouth and the other on his stomach, Bakugou stumbled out from the couch and hobbled down the hall. Unbeknownst to him, Y/n noticed this and watched him disappear with worry etched on her face.

When he finally gets to the bathroom, Bakugou locks the door behind him and clutches the sink, trying to steady himself as dizziness washes over him. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he can feel the sweat trickling down his forehead. He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure, but it's no use. The disorientation only worsens, and he knows something is seriously wrong.

“Damn it…” he grits through his teeth.

He stumbles over to the mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of what's happening, but before he can even process the situation, a fit of violent coughing takes over. He coughs and gags, and with each heave, cherry blossom petals and seeds mixed with blood escape his lips, landing in the sink. The realization hits him like a ton of bricks — he has the infamous Hanahaki Disease which makes the host cough up flower petals due to their feelings of love and the pain of knowing that their love is not reciprocated.

Bakugou’s eyes widen, not knowing what to make of this information. ‘No way... this can't be happening!’ His panicked mind began to race at what seemed like a hundred miles per hour. ‘How could I let myself devolve into a pedal-coughing piece of shit?’ He tries to suppress the coughs, but they keep coming, leaving him weak and breathless. Feeling the heat engulfing him, he rips off his black shirt, discarding it on the floor.

The pain in his chest intensifies, but he will have to hide it from his classmates. He cannot let them know that he has a limited time on this earth. He doesn’t want to be seen as weak by those extras.

Katsuki gathers whatever strength he has left and hobbles over to the toilet, collapsing in front of it. The coughing continues, and he's at a loss for what to do.

Suddenly, there's a gentle knock at the door. “Bakugou?” Y/n spoke up. “Are you okay?”

“Go away,” Bakugou said, wrapping both of his arms around his stomach in hopes to bring the pain down a few notches.

“You don’t sound good… should we bring you to Recovery Girl?” She asked. She must’ve heard him coughing.

“I’m fine. Just go away, dammit!” He growled out a reply. Bakugou can't face her like this. He can't let her see him in such a vulnerable state, especially now that he's realized he has feelings for her.

Reluctantly, Y/n steps away from the door, finally leaving Bakugou alone. “This is all her fault... but damn it, why can't I stop thinking about her?” He thinks out loud, his eyebrows knitting together. This must’ve all started as soon as she gave him that gift on Valentine’s Day. Who knows Bakugou could be so easy?

He never wanted to fall for anyone, but now that he has, he's faced with the reality of possibly dying if Y/n doesn’t like him back. As the story goes, there is one cure and that’s to undergo surgery but there is just one problem: he wouldn’t be able to feel love again. What’s the fun in that?

He has heard stories about this wretched disease, but he never believed them because he always thought the anchorpeople were full of shit. Looks like he’s the fool now.

Bakugou steps away from the toilet and slumps down, sitting on the cold bathroom tile, his back against the bathtub. He covers his face with his hands, feeling defeated and torn. The coughing subsides for now, but the heaviness in his chest remains.

“How the hell am I supposed to talk to her now...?”

The next week or so was rough on Bakugou. Every time he felt like his body was going to betray him and expose him for having the flower disease— which only got progressively worse over time— he excused himself to use the restroom, but there is only so many excuses that he could tell Aizawa and his friend group until they all got suspicious that Bakugou was up to something.

“Hey, Bakubro,” Kirishima rested a hand on his best pal’s shoulder as they walked out of school. “What’s with you, man? You’re hardly ever in class.” He pointed out.

“I’m fine, asshole. I just have more important things than some stupid classes!”

“Are you sure? Because you’ve been leaving in the middle of class a lot and—” before Kirishima could finish his sentence, the blond beside him quickly cut him off.

“I said I'm fine, dammit! Quit hovering around like a mother hen.” Bakugou glared at his friend for a second, wanting him to get the hint that he didn’t want to talk about it. He knows that the excuses he uses won't last forever, especially with his friends now getting suspicious. But he still can’t let them find out about his condition.

Despite his harsh reassurance, Kirishima can tell something is amiss. However, before he can press further, Y/n is suddenly within earshot, walking alongside Uraraka and Deku. Kirishima notices how his friend’s demeanor changes as soon as he spots her, so he decides to back off, sensing that Bakugou might need some space.

When Y/n, Uraraka, Deku finally reach the school’s gate before Bakugou, she stopped in her tracks. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.” She said, holding onto the straps of her backpack tightly.

“Huh? Where are you going, N/n?” Uraraka asked as she and Deku stopped walking to stare at their classmate quizzically.

“I just need to go check on something. Don’t worry about it. It shouldn’t take long!” It took every fiber in Y/n’s body to fight the urge to not glance over her shoulder to look at Bakugou. She didn’t want her friends knowing what she was up to. If there really was something going on with Bakugou, she wants to know about it.

“Okay… safe safe, S/n.” Deku offered her a small smile, waving slightly.

“Will do!”

Turning on her heel too fast for her own good, Y/n soon ends up accidentally colliding with him, their foreheads meeting with a soft thud which caused them to both groan in pain. Bakugou more so given his fragile state, but they are both rightfully taken aback. “Oh my gosh!” Y/n lets out a small gasp. She bows. “I am so sorry!” She immediately apologies.

“It’s nothing. Just forget about it.” He waves it off determinedly, trying to keep the pain and discomfort hidden from her.

But before he can continue, a petal tickles the back of his throat, and he doubles over in a coughing fit. Bloodied flowers escape from his mouth, and he knows he can't hide it any longer. Y/n’s eyes widen at the sight of the blood-filled flowers escaping his lips. “B-Bakugou, what's happening to you?” She stammers.

“It's... nothing. Just a stupid cold.” He lied.

“This doesn't look like a cold, Katsuki…” Y/n crossed her arms over her chest as she slowly started to make her way closer to him. “Please, let me help you. You don't have to keep everything to yourself. So, what’s the matter with you?” She asked.

Bakugou hesitates, realizing that he can't keep his feelings and the Hanahaki Disease hidden anymore. The pain in his chest is unbearable, and he knows he can't deny the truth any longer. “Y/n... I... I have this stupid disease because of you.” He said, softly.

Confused by his words, Y/n’s eyebrows knitted together. “What do you mean, Bakugou?” She questioned.

He paused and stared deeply into her e/c eyes before replying with, “I-I fell for you, damn it! And I can't... I can't stop coughing up these damn flowers because my feelings are killing me.” He admitted.

Tears well up in Y/n's eyes as she processes his confession. She reaches out to hold his hand gently, her heart aching for him. “Katsuki... I had no idea...” she whispers.

“Well, now you know,” Bakugou averted his gaze, growing a bit embarrassed that the cat was now out of the bag. “So, what are you gonna do about it, huh? You gonna tell me to get over it and stop being weak?” He rambled, not even bothered to notice the small smile Y/n tugging on her lips until she took another step closer to him, nearly closing the gap between them.

“No, never. I could never ask you to do that. But… I think I know how to get rid of it.”

Bakugou raises an eyebrow, looking skeptical but intrigued. “Oh, yeah? Go ahead and prove it the—” Before he can finish his challenge, Y/n closes the distance between them and plants a gentle kiss on his lips. Bakugou stiffens at first, caught off guard by her sudden action, but soon he can't resist and closes his eyes, kissing her back.

The world seems to pause around them as they share this intimate moment. Bakugou's heart races and he takes a sharp breath as soon as Y/n pulled him close, but after a moment, there's a sense of relief and warmth that washes over him. He feels a connection he had never experienced before. After a moment, they slowly pull apart.

“There… are you, um, feeling better?” She stammered out, clearly flustered.

Bakugou is taken aback, both by her words and her actions. He never expected her to be so bold and straightforward, but now he realizes that maybe this is the solution he needed all along. “You're an idiot, you know that?” He said, softly.

“Oh, thanks for the compliment.”

“But maybe I'm an even bigger idiot for falling for you…” he looked away once more, reminiscing. “But I don't need your sappy words, but… if you're willing to put up with me, then I guess you can stay.” He added as if Y/n didn’t just save him from certain death.

Y/n playfully rolls her eyes, glad to have somewhat broken through his tough exterior.

“I think I can manage that.”

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