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#todoroki touya x you
plush-rabbit · 2 months ago
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Sleeping with the Villains
Request: My request idea that popped in my head was I haven’t seen a story of shigaraki’s or dabi’s impression of them sleeping nude/naked with their S/O. I was wondering what their thoughts would be? I wouldn’t mind it if it was both sfw and nsfw:)🤸‍♀️
It can either be headcanoan or a fic. you can choose which one suits best for you to compose. 💕 💕 💕
Word Count: 1.5K each
A/N: I went for a more sfw vibe(‾◡◝)
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Dabi:
His skin is rough, calloused and burned, and even if he is clean, the scent of ash overtakes that of milk and honey. Dabi is scarred, his body in deep purple patches that are pieced together with staples and on a good day, he can ignore the the pain, can push past it and focus on how soft your hand is compared to his, he can focus on you, rather than the way that that his clothes catches over his skin and pulls on the grooves and the burns. On the harder days, he has to push himself out of bed before you can wake. He has to bite down on the pain that screams for him to collapse, and he’ll swallow pain medication and drink the pain away before you can wake. He is a man ready to explode at any given minute, and he will refuse to do that in front of you.
He wears a loose fitting shirt and sweats that makes it unbearably hot and when he walks into the bedroom that he shares with you, you’re undressed. He grins at you and even if his skin does ache, he can’t deny you, and he can’t deny himself. If you want him now, he’ll give himself to you in a painful and horrible way to keep you by his side.
“I didn’t realize we were going to fuck tonight,” he says, a thin smile on his lips as he sits beside you on the bed. “You should have told me, I would've dolled myself up.” He teases, but he’s serious. He wants to be made pretty for you, to have you look at him and ignore the scars that decorate his face and his body. When you roll your eyes and shake your head, your hand curved over his untarnished skin, he deflates.
“It’s not that,” you tell him with a laugh. You mov to sit fully on the bed, your legs crossed and he’s unable to keep his eyes off of you.
He raises his brows, and his eyes are focused on the swell of your stomach, soft and full, and he hates that he wants to touch you. To simply let his body drape over you and keep you under him. “It’s not?” He asks, his throat already beginning to close and when he catches your eyes, he flashes a smile- awkward and tense. “Then what is it?”
Your hand moves slowly away from him, and even though he is warm, the fire inside of him unending and all consuming, he is cold without you. He watches as your hand falls to cup over your calves. “I just want to sleep naked with you.” He must have given you a bewildered look because when you laugh, you go to hold his hands. “You heard me,” you lilt, something so sweet on your tongue that it makes him ache.
“Why?” He’s done it before with you. Sticky skin against sticky skin, your chest rising and falling, his body shaking in the afterglow of sex as you kiss his chest. But it was always that, always after sex when you both slept naked together. Why now? Why without clothing? And even when he’s dressed, he feels so bare.
“Dabi,” you call his name and it’s like sin that slips past your lips. Your hand rises slowly to cup the side of his face and he hates how you can read him like an open book. He hates how vulnerable he’s become when he’s around you. “I just want to sleep with you. Nothing more and nothing less, honey.”
Honey. What a sweet thing to call him. A nickname that is given and told with love and admiration, and he knows who he is. Thirty people is how many he’s killed. His skin is purple and falling apart on him. He is ash and smoke, and at any second, he will fall apart. No matter where you touch, he is scarred; your touch is something so delicate and painful against his neck that he leans into it, desperate for the pain, but desperate for the touch that you are so willing to give him.
“Me too?” He asks, his clothing pulling taut against his scars and when you nod, a soft, inaudible plea on your lips, he can’t deny you. He can’t rid himself of his clothes quick enough, and yet, he takes them off softly as if he were taking off a bandaid.
Your hands replace his and when you lean over him, your chest is in his face and if it were any other time, if he were less broken than he is now, he’s sure he would have joked and teased. He’s sure that he would have used sex to distract you from seeing him. You’ve seen him before and yet, it is never enough. It’s never his skin, it’s never him, it’s a ghost of who he should be- coy and charming. Yet, here he is, having you helping him remove his clothing because if he were to do it, he'd never be bare in front of you. He’d rather burn once more than to ever have you truly see how he appears.
He is a man of many faults and when you kiss his lips, his scarred and rough bottom lip pressed against yours, he pushes you down to the bed and hovers above you. Your hands hold him tenderly, keeping him together, and you smile at him. There are tears in your eyes and he wonders if he’d match you in another lifetime. The fear. The adoration. The way that despite being above you, he’s unable to breathe properly. He can’t stand it. It’s all so horrific in a way he never thought could be real. He lays on the bed, his body vulnerable to you and your ridicule and when he looks at you, he gives you sad eyes, expecting for your face to twist once you realize who you’ve allowed to touch you.
The air is cold, and his staples are warm, and he is bare. Fear has taken over, and it’s chosen to stay, to his his eyes follow as you look at him, and when you raise your hand, letting it hover over his scarred skin, he can feel it and it’s excruciatingly painful and something that he has craved for far too long.
“Honey,” you call him, your hand curving over the crown of his head and running past his hair. You say it so dolefully that he has to shake his head and even then, your smile is one that lacks it’s usual shine.
“It’s nothing,” your name is a whisper against his lips and it’s a sin for him to say something like that. “Just-” he pauses, he doesn’t want you to stop touching him, but he also doesn’t want you to look at him. He swallows and wraps his hand around your wrist. “Do you mind just laying beside me?”
It’s pitiful. Pathetic and everything bad that he’s ever been told. He can’t stand you looking at him when he can’t feel. When he isn’t supposed to feel a thing. And yet, your lips press against his and he can taste the mint on your tongue, and he lets out a shaky breath, closing his eyes tightly as you rest carefully beside him.
“Dabi,” you call him and it sends a shiver down his spine when the thin blanket is placed over the both of you. He hums in response, unable to trust his voice at the very moment. “For what it’s worth,” your breath is cool against his shoulder, “I think you’re beautiful.” He can’t help the ugly and snarky laugh that slips past his throat in some cruel joke. You ignore the mean sound and continue, your hand soft on his body. “I wouldn’t dream of ever leaving you. I think I’m too attached to ever believe that I could find someone else. You’re the best that I’ll ever come across, and I hope that when you look at me, you know that I’ll never grow tired of you.”
When you’re asleep, your name having left his lips in a mantra, he lets out a shaky breath. His face burns and he’s glad that he can’t cry. He’s glad he rid himself of that emotion. He’d never forgive himself if he cried because of you. He’d never forgive himself for being so attached to you. He holds you close and the ceiling is blurry. You’re warm in the ways that remind him of something once lost and found. You are something that he will never forget and will never forgive himself for invading your life. Sleeping bare with you was much more than nude, it was vulnerability to let you touch him and see him as him. He turns his head and kisses your forehead. “I hope that when you look at me, you know that I’m sorry.” His voice is weak and he can’t breathe, but he’s by your side and when he wakes up, he wants you to still be there.
Shigaraki Tomura:
His reflection is whole- the mirror before him clean and free of anything that would distort him. With an exposed chest, his shirt is on the sink counter, and he stands in front of the mirror shirtless, observing his body as if he had never seen it before. Tomura raises a careful hand, letting it ghost over his stomach where scars of all shapes and sizes are etched upon his body. The scars are soft, stretched skin that feels almost false under his own, the edges ragged and tickling against the tips of his fingers. He’s never had the luxury of taking a moment to stop and watch his own body, to trace over the imperfections and feel them. It’s so foreign that it makes his anxious, worry bubbling in his stomach that when you call his name, he pulls his hand away from himself, taking a step away from the mirror, recoiling as if his reflection would reach out and trap him there.
He’s never been one to be ashamed of himself, to let the words of others affect him. Time and time again, he’s been told of how awful he looks, reminded of how he’d look better if just a few things were changed about him, and in the end, he’s never cared about any of those comments. He never put his worth on his physical appearance, and that was fine for him. Still, when he sees himself he can find his own flaws, the remarks that people make, and when he sees you, he can’t find any of those. The shirt is grabbed, held tightly in his hands that he has to lift a finger, because old habits die hard.
The door closes behind him and he sees you sitting on the bed, the blanket pulled up towards the chest, gripped in your fists as you hold it close, giving him a tentative smile. Your shoulders are bare, your collarbones exposed, and with his own torso exposed, he clears his head and turns towards the door, almost hoping for an interruption but so scared that someone other than you would see him like this- scars and all.
“You’re not wearing anything,” he presumes, turning back to you, a soft shade of pink blooming on his chest and slowly creeping upwards. “I uh-” he clears his throat even if there is nothing there- “should I do the same?”
You laugh and it’s so sweet, so light and airy, that it reminds him of the first time he shared cotton candy with you. It’s a memory that he pushes away when you drop the blanket and even if he’s seen you in much more passionate ways, he still averts his eyes.
“Only if you want,” you tell him and it makes something inside of him switch, to follow the implication of a command and shed his clothing.
His shirt falls into a puddle of fabric and he steps over it, his steps quick as he goes to the bed that he shares with you. The edge of the bed presses against his thighs and he can’t seem to rid himself of his sweats quick enough, sliding them off until they pool around his ankles. He’s breathless, looking down at himself, his hands hooked over the waistband of his briefs and when he blinks, your hands are over his.
“Usually sex is a lot more fun than this,” he jokes, lifting his head and giving you a ghost of smile that quickly disappears.
“It is,” your voice airy. “But-” your knuckles are now pressed his hips and you lower them slightly, your hands cool against his warm skin- “it’s not about sex tonight.” His boxers join the pool of fabric that is around his ankles and he quickly removes his socks, climbing into bed as you back away to make space for him.
“No?” He whispers, leaning towards you, his hands on either side of your thighs as you sit on your legs. “What a shame,” he says, leaning his head onto your chest, his ear pressed against your beating heart. Your hands curve over the top of his head and he pushes himself further into you when you click your tongue.
It’s quiet for a moment and he can’t bring himself to ruin the silence, to move away from you, even if his arms are starting to tire from holding himself up. Your hand is over him, parting through his silver hair and his ears burn with every touch.
“Tomura?” He hums in response, pushing himself further into you. He doesn’t want for the moment to be ruined. He wants to stay here, uncomfortable and sore, and safe and held. He wants to be in your arms. “How about we lie down, okay?” Your hand leaves the crown of his head and when you pull away, he’s left chasing after you, trying to follow your warmth and reclaim it.
The blanket is pulled, held open for you and him, and in it, is warmth. In it, is you that looks at him so tenderly, the corners of your eyes crinkled and the little fat in your cheeks pushing upwards as you smile at him. He’s clumsy and quick, and he doesn’t care if he seems desperate to get under the covers with you, but it’s all that he wants. He just wants to be beside you.
His hand aches, and his arms are sore, and he’s beside you, his face against your chest as he holds you close to him. It truly is just lying beside you, it’s nothing more, simply being bare in front of you with the distraction of sex to occupy you or him, and it’s horrific. Your hand starts from his neck, past scars trembling under your touch that leads him to hold his breath, taking in one last breath that fills his lungs with the sweet aroma of your body wash and cream. Your hand lowers, tracing over the scars that are wrapped around his arms, coiled and pressed and whispers your name. It stops you for a moment, but when he says nothing else, devoid of breath, his lungs burning and throat tight, your hand continues to press and massage over the scars, each gentle nudge bringing forward the reminder of who he is and when his hands clamps around your arms, free of the mangled scars that are his, he lets out a mix of a whine and cry. He doesn’t know what it is that you are doing, but it hurts and he’s so desperate for the comfort that he fails to register as your hand glides down and flutters over his side, where a scar is large against him, wrapping around his side and fading once it reaches towards his stomach. It’s an odd sensation, different from his. Yours feels as if it really is a ghost that is pressing against him, something so light and foreign that it’s as if you had never touched him before.
“Does it ever hurt?” You ask, and he can feel the press of your thigh against his.
“Yes,” he breathes, unable to lie to you. What is it about you that ruins him, that makes him so weak and willing to tell you whatever it is that you want to hear. He’d bow before you, plead at the mercy of you for just a simple smile.
“Am I hurting you?” You ask and when you press down, the small shift of weight making his gasp out, he hisses out his answer.
“Yes,” he confesses. Your hand starts to lift away from him and he holds it down, his own scarred hand holds yours. “Please, don’t stop,” he asks of you and when he pulls away his eyes burn and yours look so sad and he can’t have that. He can’t have you look at him, and he can’t bear to see you so sad.
Tomura presses his lips against yours, the kiss wet and shaky and it’s more of him needing you than it is of him just wanting to kiss you. He pulls you close, his nails dragging against your soft skin and there’s this aching part of him that doesn’t want to let up for breath, he’d be happy to die there with you, his lips on yours, and yours on his. His heart echoes in his ears and beats against his ribcage like a bird with too big of wings trapped in a cage. Your hands curve around his neck, and it’s different. It isn’t a gnawing sense of pain and itch, it’s not muddled clarity that makes his stomach twist; it is simply you and your touch that keeps him grounded. He’s gasping and when he finally pulls away, gasping for breath and looking at you through half lidded eyes, he sees you smiling back at him, your chest rising and dipping and he is still with you.
“I’m still here,” you say as if you could have heard his worries. Your hand cups his chest and moves to tangle into his hair. “Whatever you want of me, I’ll give it to you.” It’s something that he will hold you to and when you press your lips against his in a fleeting kiss, he’s left wanting more.
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sunnyfunerals · a month ago
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Dabi would be so much rougher if he knew Hawks was reader’s brother tho
Like imagine the resentment and pent up anger about hawks taken out on her sister
What if hawks was the undercover cop and instead of directly punishing him, Dabi went for reader (rough noncon)
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Squid Game AU - Frontman!Dabi x Hawks' Sister!Reader
Part 2.
Squid Game Masterlist
TW: Noncon, Some Coercion (but Reader definitely doesn't consent), Forced Oral (m. receiving), Abduction, a gun is used as a threat.
In a way, she looked like him, Dabi thought.
Not necessarily in the traits of her face. Not necessarily in the color of her eyes nor in the way she bit her lower lip when she opened the door to him. Not necessarily in the shape of her jaw, and certainly not in the graceful curves of her body.
No, the similarity laid somewhere else.
She looked like Hawks when she gazed at him.
With betrayal in her eyes.
“So, you said on the phone that you’ve seen my brother, right?” She asked as he sat in her tiny little kitchen, a cup of coffee in front of him on the scrawny table. “Any idea where he is? I’ve been trying to contact him for days now, but he’s completely disappeared.”
Dabi had seen him, of course. He still had him, even, chained up in that dark basement they’d put him in when they caught him lurking on the island, trying to find any hints on the murder games that took place there. He might have found some, but it didn’t matter now.
Keigo Takami was as good as dead, and Dabi was going to relish in his punishment right before putting a bullet through his head.
And of course, that cute little sister of his was going to help him achieve that.
“Yeah, I’ve seen him. I could take you to him if you’d like.”
She smiled politely, and Dabi almost could have believed it, that faked shyness, that pretend sweet kindness of hers, if only he hadn’t seen the glint of a blade hiding in her sleeve.
It took him only a second to catch her wrist, sticking the barrel of his gun to her forehead. Her knife slipped in his palm and he calmly tucked it in his pocket, safe and out of reach from her hands.
And yet, she said nothing. Simply gritted her teeth and glared at him, all of her cute little gentleness left behind now that he’d seen right through her and oh, if she could have killed him with a look, Dabi was sure she would have.
She was going to be so much fun.
“So, what gave me away?” He asked with a smile, amusement filling his tone.
"Keigo would never associate with someone like you," she spat, and he barked a laugh, using the barrel of his gun to gently replace a strand of her hair that had fallen gracefully in front of her eyes.
"Oh, but he has, sweetheart. And that's why I'm here. You're his punishment for trying to trick me."
Her eyes widened, her glossy lips parted in surprise, and the simple sight of her, of her fear swarming in her pretty irises, of the trembling of her hands as she held them nervously in front of her, of the slight tilt of her eyebrows that made her look unsure for the first time since he'd entered her home, all of it went right to his cock and he felt it harden, pushing against the fabric of his pants and begging for attention.
"My brother will make you regret whatever you're about to do," she snarled, faking confidence but Dabi simply smirked and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, holding them nonchalantly in front of her face.
"Put them on. Hands behind your back."
When she hesitated, he leaned towards her, voice low and deep as he whispered in her ear:
"I want you to do it yourself, sweetheart. Tie your hands behind your back and kneel down before me."
And maybe it was the threat that lingered in his tone, or maybe it was the barrel of his gun still gently stroking the skin of her throat, or maybe it was simply the realization that Dabi was the only one who knew what had happened to her dearest big brother Keigo, but still, Hawks' cute little sister took the handcuffs with trembling hands, closed them on her own wrists behind her back and slowly, carefully, kneeled on the kitchen floor right in front of him, her mouth the perfect height to rub over his crotch when he caught her hair in a tight, mean grip.
"Good girl," he praised with a smile. "Now get to work. Who knows what'll happen to you and your sweet brother if you don't."
He swiftly unbuckled his belt and pulled down his underwear, giving her a few seconds of freedom to marvel at the monster of a cock right in front of her eyes, lined with silver piercings that faintly glinted in the low lights of the kitchen. Then, his hand went under her chin, fingers cruelly diggin in the soft, plump skin of her cheeks, and she opened her mouth, her adorable little pink tongue coming to tease him and give kitten licks all along his shaft.
He let out a low groan of pleasure, petting her hand with uncharacteristic gentleness when she finally took him between her lips.
"You're so damn good at this," he let out while pulling her closer, and closer, until the tip of his cock hit the back of her throat. "I should thank that goddamn cop Hawks for leading me right to you, shouldn't I? It's only thanks to him that his sweet, adorable sister is now sucking my cock like a good little whore."
Tears pooled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as the filthy words fell from his lips, and the sight of her despair only made him harden, made him go rougher with his strokes inside her mouth, made him groan and moan when she gagged on the sheer length of him.
And, right before fucking her throat at last, he pulled his phone from his pocket.
Opened the camera.
And started recording.
She froze and looked at him, his cock still safely tucked on her tongue in between the sweet walls of her mouth, her eyes wet and reddened with pure, raw distress, her gaze pleading and begging him not to do whatever he was about to.
He simply smirked.
"Smile for the camera, sweetheart," he said, and caught her hair in a tight grip to pull her to him so harshly that her nose hit his pelvis right at the moment she let out a pained yelp around his cock. She gagged, struggled in his embrace as the length of him cut her airway, but there was no escaping him nor his cock, not when her hands were tied behind her back and she kneeled there, defenseless, all for his hands to take and abuse.
And she had done it all herself, they both knew. Had been convinced she'd be able to take him on, had opened her door and let him enter, had kneeled before him and put his handcuffs on her own wrists.
She wasn't so confident now.
It was only when she started passing out that he toppled over the edge of his orgasm, filling her mouth with white, heavy, sticky cum and letting the white drops of it sit on her tongue when he pulled out.
He used two fingers to push down her lower lip, forcing her to open her mouth wider so that he could clearly capture the way he'd defiled her all on his phone camera.
"Perfect, sweetheart. You can swallow now."
Hesitation sparked in her eyes for a second but she still did it, still swallowed all of it and even stuck out her tongue as a proof that she'd obeyed him like a good, tamed little pet.
She was fun indeed.
"Will you let me go, now?" she asked, her voice now barely a whisper, so low he almost didn't hear it.
"Let you go? No, you're coming with me."
She blinked, surprised, her lower lip wobbling as if she was struggling against more and more tears, and Dabi was sure that she was.
"B-but I thought..."
He closed the camera app on his phone, gave her a gentle smile as he softly stroked her cheek.
"This? This was just me indulging in a little foretaste, and a souvenir for myself. No, I'm taking you with me, and then..."
His fingers traced the shape of her jaw, delighting in the soft trembling of it as she shivered, eyes pleading when she gazed at him, still kneeling like a little sacrifice right before slaughter.
"I'm going to fuck you right in front of your dear brother, just before I put a bullet through his head."
She cried, and he cradled her like a child, his touch reassuring and threatening at the same time.
Yes. She was going to be fun.
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Join the taglist?
I think I might just edit this a bit and repost it someday with the canon BNHA setting! So not Squid Game AU and not quirkless. I really want to write about Hawks more ahhhh
Please tell me what you think ❤
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touyaz · 3 months ago
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WHAT IS LOVE IF NOT REDEMPTION?
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PAIRING dabi/ todoroki touya x fem reader
W/C 4.7k
A/N many thanks to @httptamaki​ for letting me join your birthday collab! please read the other entries +here! and the fattest smooch for @iznku​ for beta-reading this! ily both <3
EXCERPT He won’t break — not any more than he has already. And, even if he does, if it’s by your hand, then he wouldn’t mind a single bit. If your touch signs his death, he thinks he could go to heaven.
WARNINGS smut, fingering, vag sex, dabi is touya, dabi is a lovesick fool (as is canon), major abuse of brackets my beloved ♡
MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.
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There's a clatter to your left, the sound of metal clanging against metal, then of plastic being torn to shreds and waded through afterwards. A stray cat, you guess, or maybe a raccoon. More and more have been creeping out lately. You hope it finds whatever it is it's looking for, though the disaster of a town you live in seldom grants wishes.
The wind howls with each step you take down the winding path. There's a lull when you pass the old bakery, and your fingers wriggle to zip up your jacket before the gale returns tenfold. You should probably invest in a scarf — one that's so long you could cut gloves out of it, too, to save some money. For now, though, you settle your hands back in your pockets and trudge home.
There's a group loitering by the entrance of your apartment building, young adults who have nothing better to do than share a cigarette and pass around a can of beer, as if all that matters in the moment are the laughs they share, not the volume of their raucousness, nor the cold that nips at your cheeks and makes you wade through their huddle.
The sign plastered across the lift is crooked, but you already know what it says in that chipped away, bold font. “Out of order” for the third week running. At least the long walk up the staircase helps warm you up.
Light filters out through the gaps between the door and its frame, and you would probably be more alarmed considering the area you live in, had you not already known who was behind the wood. You don't remember him texting you that he'd be here, so it must have been a spur of the moment choice. You just hope he's not covered in blood like the last time he decided to surprise you.
You almost think he's dead with how he lies on your sofa, head resting on the back of it as he tilts his head to the heavens, as still as an ocean, calm unlike the breeze that flitters into the room.
"Hey," you murmur, toeing off your shoes and hanging up your bag and coat.
The first thing you do is give him a quick once-over. He's fine, thankfully. No more blood on your floor, no more staples poking out of your sofa. The next step is shutting the windows.
His response is a mere grunt until you sit beside him. Then, his eyes are fluttering open and he's tipping his head the slightest degree to look at you.
"Shit day?"
You sigh. "That obvious?"
There's a smirk tugging gently at the corner of his lip, and his eyes are so intense — they always are, that vibrant, melancholy blue telling stories he can't quite voice yet — staring as you slump into his lap and avoid his gaze.
Smoke weaves through the threads of his trousers, ash lingering around the tattered holes in the fabric, but it's comforting. It's something you've grown to find a home in. Blazing fire no longer reminds you of devastation and despair, families wailing for help, loss and death and hopelessness; instead, you think of hands that drum along your cheek to an unheard song, you think of fingers slotting with your own cold hands, warming them up without needing to ask.
"You eaten?" Dabi asks, fiddling with the belt loops on your trousers, letting his hands wander just beneath the hem before they move away entirely, poking at the very top of your knee only to find their way back to your belt loops.
"Not since lunch."
It's nearing midnight now, and you're beyond surprised that your stomach hasn't started growling for food already. You should probably make something to eat, but you’re savoring the feeling of being in his arms; it's been a while since you've been this intimate with him.
"I brought food."
Your hand finds its way to his, and he stops moving, letting you cover the back of his hand with yours. There's a teasing smile on your face as you let the cold from your fingertips sink into his unmarred skin, trailing them down to the scarred flesh of his wrist, tracing the fatigued metal found there.
"As in… You bought food with your own money, or you robbed a helpless little food stall on your way here?"
He pinches your thumb in retaliation, but his touch is as harmless as always. "Does it matter?"
You shake your head at his reply, but share his fond smile.
"Have you eaten?" you repeat his question.
"Nah. I would have, but someone's—" he jerks his knee up slightly to jolt your body where you're still sprawled across his lap "—in my way."
"Poor you."
Another pinch, to your hip this time, before his hand eases you up.
He goes to the kitchen and you stay behind, watching him open the fridge and flit between the cupboards, wondering whether or not you should ask why he's here.
He's carrying a box when he returns, a single fork balanced on top of the lid. Just a plain, white box with no emblem on it to hint at what it is or where he's gotten it from. 
He hands it to you, and the curiosity must be evident in your furrowed brows; all he supplies you with is: "Not stolen. Paid for it myself 'n everything, so even if you hate it, we're finishing it."
(You both know he doesn't mean that. He's never been averse to taking your leftovers. He's grown to like all the foods you hate, if only for the way your face sours when you taste them, and then sweetens like sugar as you offer it to him, instead.)
All your questions are answered when you open the box and see 'happy birthday' written in perfect cursive atop a layer of fresh cream; succulent, fresh fruits skirt along the edge of the cake and blue icing drips around to complete the decor.
(He had told you he didn't remember when his birthday was. "Childhood trauma," he'd brushed off with a laugh, "never really celebrated that shit at home."
Your birthday became his, too.)
But it wasn't your birthday today.
He's staring down at the cake when you turn to him, awfully fascinated by the elegant piping, too busy eyeing up the fresh fruit to notice your mouth open and shut as you think of what to say. Instead, you place the box back in his lap and head to the kitchen.
After today, you should start collecting candles. For now, though, a matchstick will suffice as decoration.
You wedge it into the cake and he snorts at the realisation, pinching the tip and setting it alight.
"Make a wish, birthday boy."
"This is stupid."
"Hurry, the cake's gonna melt."
Maybe it is a bit stupid. Two adults — one working 12 hour shifts in a run-down store in the middle of nowhere, the other a notorious villain — huddled around a store bought birthday cake, wishing on a matchstick.
You think you understand why that group stayed outside. You don't really care about the wind that rattles your shutters, nor are you paying attention to the sirens in the distance. All you can think about is how pretty he looks above the small glow of the match; in this moment, the only picture ingrained in your head is of him, stupid smile and all, blowing out the little spark. All that matters is the way his lips pull into something soft, something almost childlike right after.
"Happy birthday, baby," you murmur, nudging him in the arm. "You're, what, pushing thirty now? Forty?"
"You into older guys?" He teases, grabbing the fork and breaking off a bite of the pastry.
Despite the occasion, Dabi feeds you first, and he's nothing if not insistent on doing so.
"Only if they look like you," you reply, tugging the utensil from him and feeding him a too big slice. "Say 'ah'." Frosting coats his upper lip, and he glares at your giggling form, nudging you back when your shaking shoulders bounce off of him.
"C'mere," he rasps, muffling your laughter with those sugary sweet lips of his. It's a little rough, a little messy, with his scarred lips brushing against your grin before he dips to focus on your bottom lip, spite sinking into your flesh as be bites with vengeance.
You hum at the taste of the frosting, flicking over the blue icing before he tangles his tongue with yours. The sharpness of strawberries lingers in his mouth, cutting through the sweetness as his tongue slides along yours, curving over the point of your canines before he finally pulls back.
The fork in your hand clatters to the floor, but neither of you pay attention to it. His eyes are simmering with unbridled desire, rooting you to your seat with their intensity — they, alone, are enough to bring great heroes to their knees, yet you feel nothing but exalted under their laser focus, as if the universe is your oyster and you are unstoppable only because he thinks so.
When he tips his head to yours once more, you expect the lust blooming in his eyes to translate into teeth clacking against yours, to a controlling grip on your cheeks as he tilts you into a long kiss. Instead, however, you're met with a soft caress, patience and gentleness moulding your lips to his as he steals your breath away.
Hands wander up the sides of your body until one settles on the nape of your neck, holding you steady and close, and the other curls around your back, keeping you there, right there.
A groan bubbles in his throat when your fingers slink up the marked skin of his neck and weave through his hair, tugging on the strands to bring him even closer.
Another break and his breaths, light and airy, warm your wet lips. There's a timid smile lilting his lips, a fleck of frosting dusting the upturned corner, but he looks perfect. You want to sit and stare at him for longer, memorise the curve of his lips, the heat of his hands on your body, the way his eyes, half-lidded, look at you as if you're all that matters to him.
(You are. You are. You are, but he's never been too good at voicing his vulnerability.
He doesn't need to speak to convey the message, though. You know. You know. You know he loves you.)
He puts aside the cake box and pulls you to stand, hands on your hips, feet almost touching, so close and yet not close enough.
A tentative wisp of a kiss dances over your lips before he asks, "Can we… Bed?"
Your nose grazes against his when you nod your head and, without another word, follow him to your bedroom, hand in hand.
There's a quiver in his hands as he takes you to the bed, only noticeable because his touch is all you can focus on as you settle beneath him. There's hesitance in his fingertips, a nervous tremble that cumbers his gentle touch, but you lay there, perfectly still, perfectly pliant and perfectly patient.
(Sometimes — more often than not, truthfully — he doesn't believe he deserves this. He bides his time, waiting for the ball to drop, expecting the universe to steal away the slivers left in his rotten hands, to tear him apart until he's a shell of the man he is right now, until he's nothing but a broken, hollow body with nothing to give and even less to lose.
Until that fated day, he'll take and take and take. How can he not when you offer yourself up to him so sweetly, so foolishly?)
When you are bare beneath him, his breath hitches in his throat. This isn't the first time he's seen you like this, but it feels different. Maybe the bedside lamp's bulb has changed, or the moon has tilted just for you, for him, for this moment, but you're swathed in a mixed honey and silver glow and he can't look away. He can't peel his eyes away from the arch of your back, from the shiver that racks your body when he slides his fingers along your wetness.
Your voice has never sounded so gratifying, and he swears he can feel himself grow intoxicated just by the lilt in your voice; a flick of the wrist, a graze against your labia has your sighs keening, makes you pant a little more wantonly, and he’s damned if he doesn’t try to elicit more of your singing.
It’s when you whine — desperation leaking into the dulcet syllables, drawing them out so he can bask in your craving — that he slips his fingers in, one, then another to stretch you out a tad further. 
(You should never beg for anyone or anything, least of all him.)
Your pelvis digs into the mattress when Dabi crooks his fingers, body mimicking the way they curl as he pumps them in and out, back and forth, savouring the way your walls clench around them. He knocks the breath out of your lungs when he leans over you to litter kisses up the side of your neck, teeth leaving tiny crescents as he trails up, up, up to your ear. Just as his lips sweep across the shell of your ear, a third finger joins the mess between your legs, and he buries himself as deep as you allow.
A sharp trill runs down your spine when he nibbles on your skin and his fingers pinpoint those sweet spots in your core, tapping away diligently to bring back those honeyed moans.
His mouth finds its way back to yours as the coil in your stomach winds tighter, following along the curve of your jaw before slotting against yours in a slow kiss. You’re groaning into his mouth, helpless to the way he does that special something with his tongue that has your eyes rolling back.
“Cum for me.” His voice is raspy, headier with impatience and laced with a rampant longing to see you fall apart. “Fuck, please, wanna feel you.”
It isn’t long before his other hand slides up your thigh, thumb coming up quickly to prod at your wet lips before returning lower, rolling over your clit in steady motions until you feel the coil snap.
There are no shrieking whines or shrill cries, not when he swallows down your sobs so eagerly, as if he lives and breathes for you pleasure.
(He does, he thinks. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do to make you happy, to bring you to unimaginable heights, to keep you safe and sound and alive.
He wishes he could do more for you — buy you the books you’ve got an eye on, give you a real house with heating and proper lights, get you a car so you’re not stuck walking home in the dead of night — but there’s only so much a man with his face plastered on wanted lists can do. He’s not the kind of man who can waltz into a library, and he’s more adept at blowing up cars than purchasing them.
You tell him that he’s doing enough, that he doesn’t need to go out of his way to do something for you. That doesn’t mean he’s given up on learning the recipe to your favourite meal. He can’t afford a two-storey house, but he’ll get the seasoning perfect, if it’s the last thing he does. He promises.)
A tremor runs through your legs as you gradually come down from your high. Little puffs of air warm his face as he dips in to kiss you, languidly scraping the metal of his scars over your chin before his lips seal over yours once more.
“You okay?” Your murmur is so quiet, he wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t so focused on you, if he was any less attuned to everything you say and do.
“‘m fine,” Dabi replies, and he wishes he could be half as soft as you, wishes he could stay silent and just listen to you for the rest of his life.
Your hands follow the lines of his shoulders until they cup his face, thumbs tracing over the rough patches beneath his eyes with a delicacy he doesn’t deserve, with a fragility he has longed for for too many years.
“You’re crying,” you say.
He can’t. He shouldn't be able to. He doesn’t know when he last cried, can’t even remember the feeling of tears pouring down his face. But then he wonders when your face had become blurry to him — when he tips his head to yours and it’s as if he’s seeing you from a far distance, he wonders if you’re really there.
“‘m fine,” he chokes out once more.
(He is, he truly is. How can he not be when you’re right there? When you’re holding his face in the palm of your hands, and he can feel the flutter of your lashes on his cheeks, when your wispy breaths fan over his lips and he can taste you in the air. He doesn’t know why he’s crying, or how he’s crying, just that he is.
It’s irritating that he can’t see you properly, that you’re a warbled mess beneath him, but at least you’re there. You’re there, pecking his lips so gently, so how can he stay frustrated?)
“Are you sure?”
He nods, nose brushing against yours, forehead still resting on yours, mouth barely detaching from yours. He’s so close, and yet it’s still not enough. It’s that selfishness of his rearing its twisted head; he wants to be closer, wants to forget where you begin and he ends, wants to be buried in your body and carved into your bones — he wants to squeeze his body against yours until you’re bursting with desperation, with an unquenchable hunger, just like he is. He needs you, more than anything, he needs you to see how you’re embedded in his blood, his soul, his very being, how you’ve engraved yourself into the crumbling walls of his heart, how your name is written on every cell in his body, how he is nothing without you.
His body sinks into yours, and he can feel the press of his length against your pelvis, relishing the way you push back onto him, just as needily. You want him. You want him just as much as he wants you.
Your hands wander down his body as he steals your lips in another kiss, and then another, and another, until the skin is rubbed raw and swollen, and then another.
You’re unnecessarily gentle as you push his trousers down, as you graze your nails along the slant of his hips.
(He won’t break — not any more than he has already. And, even if he does, if it’s by your hand, then he wouldn’t mind a single bit. If your touch signs his death, he thinks he could go to heaven.)
And you’re unfairly soft as you stroke his length, as you tease the tip, but make him wait no longer than mere seconds. His desperation is tangible, suffocating almost, but you don’t cut through it and mock him, you bathe in it, breathe it all in and reciprocate. When he cants his hips against yours, when he buries himself, inch by slow inch, into your body, he sighs with relief.
He has an aversion to heat — some days (most days, really) he can’t stand the sight or feeling of his own flames — but when you’re wrapped around him so tightly, surrounding him with your own warmth, your goodness, he wonders how he can ever bring himself to dislike it. It feels like coming home, like finding the final piece of a puzzle left untouched for years, like a mother’s embrace when her child’s been out at war for too long.
Your nails dig into his skin, marking dents he’ll trace over for as long as they last, as you usher him to move. There’s a sigh caught in your breath, a whimper escaping in its stead when he rears his hips back then fills you up once more.
“More, please, baby,” you ask, breath pitching so sweetly, so eagerly, and he’s at your mercy, resigned to do your bidding for the rest of his life, though he will never complain.
His hand unclenches the sheets, treading down to yours to pin it above your head, and then he repeats with the other. Palm to palm, fingers entwined with yours to never let go, he dips his head to capture your lips in another bruising kiss as he thrusts in again, and again, and again.
It’s a slow, relentless motion, burying himself so deep your body has no choice but to mould to his shape, drawing out those saccharine sounds from you with every stroke. The bed creaks every time you arch off of it, the headboard knocks against the wall in sync with the wet sounds of his skin slapping against yours. Your legs tighten around his waist, heels digging into his lower back and he savours the feel of you pressing into him, careening up against his chest, pulling him in by his shoulders until he’s flushed against you, until not a single breath can pass between your bodies.
You’re gasping against his lips, hiccups jolting out of you with each drive of his hips, and you sound so needy, so wanton, that his hips surge forward with renewed vigor, sheathing himself so deep and then grinding his pelvis against yours. A thrill sparks up your spine when your clit catches on his body, and he rolls his hips to send shockwave after shockwave right through that little bundle.
“Ah— shit, shit, shit,” you mewl, bucking your hips for more friction, more of his touch. “Please, baby.”
“Fuck, what do you want? What d’you want, baby, tell me ‘n I’ll give it to you." He groans, revelling in the way your walls flutter around his length, how he can taste your craving in the grooves of your tongue, smell your lust floating in the air around you. "Give you what’ver you want, fuck— I swear.”
"Jus' you— oh god, just wan' you, Da—"
"Touya," he chokes out, burying his head in the crook of your neck, tightening his grip on your interlaced hands. "Please. Touya."
"Touya, want you— want you so badly, please."
"Yeah?" He pants, nestling himself further, so his mouth can kiss away the sweat shining on your skin and his chest scratches against yours with each thrust. "You want this? You want me?"
"Yes, yes, Touya, please. Need you, need you so much."
God, Touya doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing that — it's like a choir of angels praising him, singing his name as if it's the only prayer they know. He's found heaven between your thighs, but salvation drips from your lips every time you call his name, every time you whimper a little ah, Touya, please, every time he feels your body mould to his, seeking out his touch. He may be a sinner now, but he thinks he was a saint in his past life — why else would he have been blessed with you? How else could a man destined for hell believe he has a chance of absolution?
"I've got you," he says, and he can feel the flex of your thighs around him, can distinguish that keen in your voice to know you're nearing your end. "Fuck, I've got you, I swear, 'm never lettin' go. Fuck— fuck, baby, c'mon. C'mon, I can feel you, 're you close?"
"Yeah— yeah, 'm close, 'm s'close. Touya," you whine, a tender, impatient little sound that embeds itself into every recess of his mind, driving him insane with how much he wants to please you, wants to hear you call for him until your throat goes raw, until it's the only word you know. "Touya, please— please, cum with me. Wanna feel you cum f'r me, baby, please."
And who is he to disobey you?
His hand travels the length of your body, finding your clit easily, rolling the bud around until you're curving into him, stuttering his name between quiet sobs. He's helpless against you, at his wit's end when you cry his name so preciously, so deliciously, high off the way you use your free hand to drag his face back to yours and steal his breath away.
"Please, Touya," you pant, eyes half-lidded, but he can make them out through his tears; he can see the adoration softening the corners of your eyes, see the awe that wells at your lash line. He hopes beyond hope that he looks half as blissful as you do right now. It's the least you deserve. "I love you s'much, Touya."
There's nothing else he can do but let his tears fall as he bottoms out in you, as he lays his forehead on yours and whispers a fuck, I love you. Love you more against your lips, as he fills you up and feels you tighten around him in return.
His mind goes blank. Nothing flashes through his head as he basks in the feel of you fluttering around him, until he becomes a bit more cognizant, as he remembers the starry look in your eyes, as he replays you telling him, telling Touya, that you love him.
Your chest grazes his as you slow your breathing, but he can't bring himself to move off of you. He could die here, he thinks, happily buried in your arms. Your body, his coffin — he'll find a home in your bones, like he has in your hands, in your heart, reside deep in your marrow until the end of time.
"Touya?" You call, and it feels like a fever dream. He's terrified that if he opens his eyes, he'll be met with a cold, empty bed and no signs you've ever lived here, no proof you've ever existed, no evidence you've ever loved him. He doesn't answer. He wants to hear you say his name again, and again, and again, until you grow tired of it, until he's overstayed his welcome in your life.
So he sinks into you instead, head on your chest, listening intently to the way your heart beats, thinking (foolishly, hopefully) that it's pounding just for him. His arms wrap around you, so tight the metal digs into you, yet you stay still, you let him mark you up however he wants to, however he needs to.
He can feel himself slowly drift away, succumbing to sleep the longer you play with his hair, the longer you trace over the scarred lines in his body, the longer you let him stay by your side.
(He thinks you should let him go.
He won't ever let go of you, but you would be better off without him.
Yet, no matter how many times he says that to himself, he'll never voice it aloud in fear of you agreeing.)
It's that selfish part of him that has control now, that makes him embrace you just a little harder, that makes him murmur don't leave me, instead, that bares another part of his heart to you, and relishes the whispered I won't, Touya, you promise in response.
(Touya thinks he's in too deep, falling in love with someone that can leave him at any time, being vulnerable around someone who can take his heart and tear it to shreds right in front of him.
He also thinks he's an idiot, because if it was you breaking his body and burning his heart to ashes, he'd gladly hand you another piece and watch you do it all over again.)
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touyaspeach · 3 months ago
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Love Taste - brat! Todoroki Touya x fem! domme! Reader
a/n ; I got a nice little request for a subby Dabi so of course I had to deliver! Sorry if it sucks I'm very tired!!!
summary ; you peg dabi, but you gotta tame the brat first. words ; 1.3k warnings ; fem reader, domme reader, pegging, sub dabi, brat dabi, cum as lube, dirty talk (m), praise (m), unedited, I'm sure I missed some but I'm tired hahaha
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He was angry. Well, he tried to be angry. Tried to show you that he wasn't going to put up with your shit, but you both knew the truth.
He actually liked giving up control, letting you take the lead and doing whatever you liked with him. He liked that freedom, the way it felt to just exist for a little while. And if things worked out (they always did) you both were cumming over and over by the end of it.
But the thing about Dabi was that you had to get him there. Had to tame his bratty side and thrust him into subspace before he would obey you and take whatever you'd give him. So he's angry, but not really.
"Don't you fucking touch me," he spat, venom dripping from his lips as you finished securing the ropes that bound his wrists to the headboard. "I can burn these puny little ropes in a heartbeat why the fuck do you think you can do this to me?"
"Then burn them," you said nonchalantly, moving back to admire the view. Before you Dabi laid bare on the mattress, cock standing at attention, rows of silver piercings glimmering in the low light. The bridge of his nose and the small pieces of healthy flesh on his cheeks were flushed, his eyes already lidded, he was ready for you.
Almost.
He answered you with a click of his tongue, both of you knowing he would do no such thing. "That's what I thought. You don't want to be a brat, you want to be a good boy for me."
You slid off of the bed, leaving him alone and unattended, to secure the strap-on to your body. The dildo you chose was pretty: long and veiny and marbled a bright blue and purple. He was still getting used to this, so you opted for something less intimidating. For now.
Dabi's eyes grew wide when you turned around, cock swinging languidly with the motion. You still wore a pretty set of lingerie, keeping yourself mostly concealed to him. He exhaled a hiss through his teeth, gaze focused on the length between your legs. You saw his throat bob with a thick swallow, and smirked.
“Like what you see, pretty boy? Want me to fuck you with this?”
“Fuck no, don’t you come near me with that thing.”
“Well, if that’s what you want, I guess we’ll just call this whole thing off,” you moved to unfasten the contraption, but a soft ‘wait’ stopped you.
“Hmm?”
“Don’t-” he growled, frustrated, “I mean I want…”
“Use your words, baby, what do you want me to do?”
Dabi looked away, unable to meet your eyes as he spoke, “I want you… to .. fuck…. me…” his voice grew quieter with each word, his face growing hotter at the admission.
“Yeah? You want me to fuck you? You gonna be a good slut for your mistress?” You crawled to him on the bed, a bottle of lube in your hand that he didn’t seem to notice, and slotted yourself between his thighs. His knees fell to the wayside, giving you full access.
He still wouldn’t meet your gaze, but that was fine, you’d have him a drooling, begging mess in a moment. Pouring some lube into your palm you stroked over your silicone cock, the movement drawing his attention back to you, finally. Then, you pressed it against his dick, making him shudder.
Taking both in your hands, you started sliding your palms up and down both of your lengths, adding a thrust at an uneven pace to stimulate those pretty piercings that laddered up his underside. Dabi inhaled shakily, holding his breath to keep himself from moaning, but a gentle, encouraging squeeze drew those sounds out of him. It rumbled deep in his chest, up his throat to fall from his lips.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah? Like the way my cock feels against you? Like it when I stroke us both? So fucking dirty, you really are a slut for me aren’t you?”
He answered with another click of his tongue. You paused, pulling away completely.
“The fuck- why?”
“Brats don’t get to have their dicks touched, I thought you’d have learned by now, Dabi.”
“I’m not-” you could feel the frustration bubbling up, he was close now. He gritted his teeth, levelling you with a glare. “I’m not a brat.”
You scoffed, pouring more lube into your palm, “Yeah? You think so? Then prove it. Tell me how much of a slut you are for me, that you’re a whore for your mistress’s cock.” From his vantage, he couldn’t see you slick your fingers up with the lube, couldn’t see them hovering dangerously close to his tight hole.
“I’m…” he groaned, “you’re really going to make me fucking say it.”
“If you want me to take care of you, prove you aren’t a brat.”
“I’m… I’m a slut for you, I’m nothing but your whor----hhhahhhhhhh fucking hell.” You interrupted him mid-sentence by pushing two fingers into him, making him clench and making his dick throb.The moan that tore from his throat was deep and the feeling of your in his ass made his eyelids flutter.
Slowly you started working your fingers in and out, scissoring them to stretch him and prepare him for you. “What was that?” you asked, teasingly, with that smirk on your face again.
“I’m your fucking whore, god it feels… fuck… I’m your slut, m-mistress. Hnnghh shit that’s good. Right there y-yeah like that. Fuck, mistress, keep doing that.” He attempted to rock his hips into you, but you held him back with your other hand on his thigh.
“Beg.”
“Please, please I need more,” there it is. “Please I need you, need you to fuck me. God, fucking dammit please.”
“Well since you asked so nicely,” you said, adding a third finger and making his back arch. He groaned long and deep and his eyes clenched shut at it. “Mmmm you look so pretty like this, baby. See how good it feels when you behave?”
He managed a nod, but it quickly turned into a needy whine when you pulled your fingers from him. “Mistress-”
Again, he was cut off by an intrusion in his ass, this time the head of the dildo slowly pressing into him. Dabi hissed at the additional stretch. “Fuck… hhhhfffuuuuccckkkk,” he groaned again, elongating the syllable as you pushed further and further in until you were hilted. You paused there, letting him adjust to you while your fingers wrapped around his neglected cock.
“Ah!” his whole body convulsed with a wave of pleasure when you gripped him, drawing more pretty moans as you stroked him slowly.
“You ready, baby?”
“Please…”
You set a ginger pace at first, once more pleasured sounds fell from his open mouth you sped up, pumping his cock while fucking his ass. The sounds of your hips snapping against him filled the room alongside his unabashed moans.
Dabi’s thighs began to shake, and you knew that he was close. Shifting slightly to pull his thighs over yours and leaning forward, you angled yourself to hit his prostate just right; sending waves of pleasure coursing through him.
“Oh fuck, oh.. Ohhh god mistress please… I’m gonna cum, please let me cum. Please I n-need to…”
“Cum for me, pretty boy,” you cooed, picking up the pace on both his dick and his clenching hole. That was all he needed, his body twitching and back arching as hot spurts of creamy white cum coated his belly and your hand. You used the slickness to continue stroking him until he was long finished, overstimming him in the most delicious way.
Soft whines and pleas for you to stop filled your ears and you smiled sweetly at him.
“No, baby, we’re not done yet. Keep being a good boy and I’ll make you cum over and over.”
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alani-r · a month ago
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Ok but what about Yandere Dabi with someone who finds him cool, and when he kidnaps them they are just in awe, because a scary but cool villain kidnapped them And maybe they get all nervous when he talks about fucking them stupid.
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Yandere Dabi with Reader who admire him
TW: Yandere, Kidnapping, Implied Non-con/Dub-con, Mentioned Murders
Note: I love this idea!! Dabi is a cool boy, I am willing to be kidnapped by him😌
I think this is reasonable. Who doesn't want to be kidnapped by such a powerful, cool and terrifying villain?
You may have only heard about him on Youtube, Google, and the breakfast table. How many people Dabi burned and which places he destroyed are the headlines. This society regards the public security system and criminal behavior as a form of entertainment. Both heroes and villains have fans, so you can easily see the praise and abuse of Dabi on the message board. His cruel and beautiful blue eyes linger in your mind. However, this dangerous person is far away from you, right?
Unfortunately, you are wrong. Those blue wildfires burned all over the tropical jungle and alpine grassland and eventually spread to a tiny plant.
He told you in a cold tone how to save your family and friends, that is to disappear in human society in exchange for their safety. You followed him obediently. He thought you were afraid. It's not like that. Awe fills your chest. You must hold back a smile.
He is terrible and powerful, just like you see on the news.
You helped clean up his room, tidy things and cook. You ask him to try your own cooking. Dabi thought you wanted to pretend to be submissive. He checks your belongings and tries to find some proof of resistance, such as kitchen knives and keys that may be hidden, but you take out all the belongings. When his hand is walking around you, you just lowered your head shyly.
Are you a freak? He kidnapped you. He was ready to your resist and scream, crying and saying not to forgive him. And he will destroy you little by little according to the original plan and train you into an obedient little pet.
He doesn't believe you. You still have to undergo some hard training. Whenever he scolds you as stupid and useless, you get nervous and don't know what you have done wrong. As long as you show a little disobedience, he will put you in your place, punish you, tame you, and break you. Your crying made him feel better and regular. You should hate him, hm.
Deep down, he wants to believe that you came here voluntarily, but this is too untrue. If he didn't use force, how could you be with him? You grow in the sun, and the raging fire burns to your side along with the weeds. Will you really be happy when he burns you to ashes? Do you want him to believe this? No. Impossible.
However, he may find some traces of you on the Internet (he confiscated your phone on the day of the kidnapping). You searched for his picture? You read his Wikipedia (he knows he has a Wikipedia now). You also saved some news photos. Oh, you told your friends that he is cool and scary, kind of like a cat. You are not talking about the League of Villains; you are just talking about him. You admire him, don't you?
Since then, your life has become sweet and easy. You rarely need "training" anymore (he still needs to educate your attitude). You just need to do housework, watch TV and wait for him to come home. He throws you some cakes that he claims are thrown away by dessert shops. Game console. Magazine. He fucks you every night and tells you what happened today. He said he didn't care about your tears but wiped them away.
Whenever he is sure that you are asleep, he kisses your forehead to say good night.
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noohpais · 2 months ago
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𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠? | 𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐢 (𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐚)
pairing : dabi x reader
genre : fluff, comfort (i think)
warnings : mentions of violence, mentions of smoking and cigarettes, suggestive content but nothing explicit, no pronouns were used but i may be wrong, NOT PROOF READ
word count : 845
synopsis : it was you and him, against everything else.
song playing : Find a Way by SafetySuit
requested : yes / ➢ no
notes : this fic is basically just a self-indulgence fic cause i really love him :)
disclaimer : this is a work of fiction, made only for entertainment purposes and in no way or form should be taken seriously. i do not own any of the my hero academia characters.
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If someone asked Dabi how he ended up here, he’d shrug his shoulders, unable to answer. Even he could ask himself that same question, and as much as he tried, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. Why a villain, a wanted man, like him, is here with you, lying beside him.
You weren’t anyone special. You were no hero, you didn’t work at a hero agency, and your quirk was less than impressive, but for whatever reason, it was you that he fell into submission for. Perhaps it was the way you looked at him with unjudging eyes? The way you listened to him explain how rotten the hero world actually is without calling him a crazy bastard of a villain. The way you never flinched when he touched you, or when his flames nearly licked at your skin. The way your fingers caressed his skin, and the way your arms wrapped around him, making him feel warm— dare he say it almost made him feel safe somehow.
Somehow.
You were just another random face he thought he’d never see again, but somehow, before he knew it, he felt himself opening up to you.
Taking another inhale of his cigarette, he felt you shift next to him. He watched as you tiredly pushed yourself up, hands coming to rub your eyes. When you blinked a few times and made eye contact with him, he exhaled. The gray smoke spiraled in the dimly lit room, the scent of it tickled your nose.
“Did I wake you?” Dabi asked.
You shook your head, readjusting yourself so you were facing him.
“Just felt a little cold without you holding me.”
He scoffed at your words, “You starting to get clingy now?”
You knew it was a rhetorical question, but you thought about it anyways before answering him.
“Maybe.”
Your response to him caught him off guard, just slightly. He watched as you craned your neck slightly, the burn mark he accidentally gave you a while ago, peeking from the collar of your t-shirt. In a normal case, Dabi wouldn’t give two shits if he happened to burn an innocent bystander. But the cry you let out when you got caught in the middle of a fight between him and some hero, the way you crouched in pain as your hand clutched where he had burned you. The sight itself often plagued his thoughts, especially on the nights where you were asleep and he was awake, staring at your unmoving form.
Bringing the cigarette in between his lips again, he inhaled. Holding the smoke in his mouth, he reached over, his hands grabbing your chin to bring your face closer to his. Your lips were centimeters apart, and you slowly let your eyes meet his.
‘Open.’ they told you.
When you spread your lips apart ever so slightly, Dabi exhaled, the smoke clouding your vision, the smell almost making you dizzy, and then you felt a pair of lips slot over yours. You brought your hands to his chest, your hands clenching at the fabric of shirt. His hand that held your chin slid itself to the back of your neck, his free arm lazily rested around your waist, softly bringing your body closer to his. When his lips began to move more aggressively, you let out a whine, pushing him away slightly.
“Dabi,” you breathed, his lips now pressing small pecks on your jaw, “I have classes today. Maybe I should-”
The man didn’t let you speak as he slid a hand up your shirt, his warm hands running down your bare back, eliciting a soft sigh from your lips.
“One more hour,” he whispered, resting his forehead on your shoulder. You felt his arms tighten their grip on you, and you could feel his slow and steady breath on your neck.
“One more hour, just stay.”
With a press of his lips to your shoulder, you sighed, and Dabi knew you had given in. You felt him smirk against your shoulder as he hummed in satisfaction— and when you ran your hand through his hair, bringing your lips to press a soft kiss to the top of his head, he felt himself melt into your touch.
“Aren’t you, ya’know, scared of me?” he asked you one night.
You both were lying on your bed, your head against his chest, as he played with your fingers.
“Why would I be scared of you?” your voice was quiet, interlacing your hand with his.
“I’m a wanted man you know,” he rested his chin atop your head, “I kill people, I’m in a criminal organization, do I need to go on?”
A soft scoff escaped your lips as you tilted your head up to look at him. “If I was scared, I would’ve told you to go a long time ago.”
Within these four walls, nothing mattered. The fact that he was a criminal, the amount of people he’s killed, none of that mattered to you. Deep down you knew, you’d always find a way into him.
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once-upon-a-scenario · 4 months ago
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Aesthetics of their Love (Dabi, Tomura)
Dabi
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The scent of ashes and stale cigarettes. Sheets of flames blowing past your face, close enough to singe your hair but not quite enough to kill. Living like there’s no tomorrow. The hum of high-speed vehicles. The cold metal of his piercings against your skin. Keeping each other’s secrets. Don’t ask, don’t tell. A crinkled photograph tucked into his pocket that only you are allowed to see. The scent of antiseptic and the softness of bandages when you wind them around his burned skin. Kisses that taste like smoke and say “I might not see you tomorrow and that’s ok.” Moments stolen in dark alleyways. Secrets that you’re always trying to forget.
Tomura
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Late nights and late mornings. The glare of a TV screen. Cartoon characters. Background noise of video game OSTs. Cheap taste of convenience store late-night snacks. Sitting on rooftops with cold night air blowing past your ears. Night skies above you, city lights below. Sharing everything with a glance; being the king and his right hand in your own little world. Talking about the future. Careful touches. Powdery textures. The pale blue of his hair against your pillow. Sardonic humor. Taking over the world together overnight. Walking through streets together at midnight. Neon signs shining on his face. Picking up the pieces when he collapses, helping him build them up into something new and stronger.
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fablesofkitkat · 2 months ago
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pov: the morning after you and Dabi...
Alt. title: Cherry, I run pt.4
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5
genre: angst
warning: suggestive
Synopsis: Sharing kisses tastes like iron. Cherry kisses makes him run. Don't get your hopes up, sunshine. Don't get your hopes up.
i hate you, i hate you, i hate you, but i was just kidding myself
- Lewis Capaldi
@madeofsaltiness cutely drops this and will be busy for awhile
@bakugoushoez this is part 4
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Dabi wakes up a new person. He sits up in bed. Your bed. He stares at your sleeping facade in a daze. Contemplatively, he brings a hand to his chin; in deep thought, his forefinger rubbing his upper lip and for a second the corner of his mouth tugged in a smile that he scowled sharply to himself, but he is burning, burning, burning.
Dabi knows how it feels to be burned alive. It's when you sit too close to a bonfire. It feels hot. So very hot.  And it feels excruciating for 10 seconds or less. The heat is more noticeable than the pain. After just 15 seconds or so, the nerves are dead and you don’t feel anything.
But this. This feels horrible. He is burning with so much feelings, burdened with too much rage and it's all so confusing  when he looks at you. That's exactly what he's doing right now. Watching you sleep.
Sunshine.
The memory take him, the shape of your body, the feel of you...
He is weightless. He climbs out of bed to find his clothes, walking across the room, marveling at the strangeness of his body. Like he is untethered. He has always been warm, but it feels like he has a ball of sunshine in his chest. Radiating not just heat, but warmth that feels so sickly fucking sweet.
Until he sees the blister on his leg as soon as he slid his boxers on. It is something he gets on his skin grafts from time to time. Almost subconsciously, he pops it and in grotesque fascination... he watches himself bleed.
It snaps him out of the daze.
He grabs his leg, heats up his palm and burns his skin grafts.
You wake up to the smell of smoke, menthol and burning flesh in your room.
---
"Dabi, what the fuck?!"
He ignores you and turned it up a notch. You hear the sizzle on his flesh with a horrified expression, you grab an empty vase from your nightstand, and ran to the bathroom naked, filling it up with water.
You splash it on Dabi.
There is a hissing sound; the smoke trails up from his leg. He is not looking at you. He is looking at his leg.  His indifference, uncaring of what he was just doing... It scares you.
"Dabi?"
He is so still.
You try again, reaching a hand towards him. "Dabi–"
"Don't fucking touch me." His tone so harsh,  it might as well be a slap to your hand.
"Dabi, if this is about last night–"
His shoulders start to shake; his head is thrown back in mirthless laughter. "Disgusting."
"Stop," you say as hot tears filled your eyes. "You're not disgusting."
In deliberate slow turn of his head, he cocked a sarcastic smile. "Sure, I keep forgetting you're into necrophilia. My dead skin still a turn on for you?"
"No– Dabi– I.."
"Oh, yeah.  You let me fuck you last night." If his mind was screaming to stop, he does a good job ignoring it. His gaze wandered all over your body and his lower half reacts to the vivid bites and hickeys that mar your skin. "Guess you really have shitty kinks."
Dabi stands up and in a moment he is cupping your face and pressed his lips on yours; drawing you into the most wretched kiss in existence. He doesn't register the burn on his leg, but the wondrous shiver that he feels when he has his hand stroking the back of your neck, his thumb running circles behind your ear. "You like me, don't you, sunshine?"
Although Dabi asked, he didn't want to hear it. He doesn't know which answer scares him the most. A hand grabs your face and shoves thick thumb into your mouth, brushing uvula that triggers a choking reaction. Tears welled up in your eyes even more.
His lips hover on the side of your ear, "you like getting railed by an ugly piece of shit like me?"
Suddenly the back of your legs bump against the bed, you didn't even notice that the whole time he was kissing you, he's been pushing you back to the bed. Dabi pushes you down and you smell the sheets from last night; musk, menthol, strawberry and smoke. "Or are you one of those girls who's into the villain thinking you could fix them like in a sad third rate shoujo manga?"
It makes you cry. Not at his jabs at you. But in how utterly broken and twisted his self esteem he barely salvaged from the childhood his old man put him through.
"Ah, I know. Good girls like you has some sort of fucking fantasy of getting ruined by the bad guy." His lips curl into a cruel smile. "You want to get ruined by a fucking trash like me?"
You moan when he finally pressed his body against you. Your hands roam on his body as much as his on youts. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Another case of a good girl getting her life ruined by a bad guy."
Your hands are moving downwards but he takes them in one hand pins your wrist above your head. He rubs himself between your thighs.
"Dabi–"
He kisses you deeply, thoroughly, and always always desperately. You whine with how he is withholding the act you two want the most in that moment.
"Well, I've got fucking news for you sunshine." He smiles in a once again cruel fashion. "I won't do it. I'll never re-enact your good girl fantasies. I would rather burn and I've done that before."
He won't do it. But he wants you.
He li–
Dabi puts into practice all the things he learned last night, where to touch you, how to touch you and how to taste you, reaching your peak without even doing it.
Because fuck you, sunshine. He's not gonna indulge your weird fetish for a piece of shit: him.
---
Disgusting.
How your eyes oozed with saccharine affection.
It makes him sick.
How he felt so weightless; that in the waking hours of dawn, he is unshackled from the rage he carefully stoked in his heart.
Fuck you, sunshine.
Lingering taste of cherry and iron. Phantom hands that touch him in the dark as the rain drowned the sounds of the world. Name. The way you call him has this kind of lilt that haunts him in a pestering manner.
---
Can you really love with a broken heart?
Once burned, twice spurned.
---
AN:
That's the question isn't it? Can Dabi even love reader? Not that he's incapable of love but it will be a long while before he reaches that point. He's going to be in denial throughout this whole journey.
Also, many has a headcanon of Dabi being a toxic boyfriend. And that is how I interpret his toxicity. It isn't blatant. But I imagine how exhausting it is to put much effort to love someone who will always try to push you away because he wasn't enough for his old man. Therefore he isn't enough for you.
AN:
link to part 5
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wnters · a month ago
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.ೃ࿐ TO CATCH A DREAM ❜ 🐌
─ 000. prologue
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PAIRING: dabi x fem!reader tangled au
WARNINGS: swearing
WORD COUNT: around 1k
LINKS: bnha masterlist ㅤㅤ serie masterlistㅤㅤnext chapter
AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi so im here after a long time with smth new 😦😦 i have no posting schedule and might post another chapter in like a month bc i have school 👍🏻 but enjoy <33
© wnters — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified
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This is the story of how I died. Don't need to worry, it's actually a very interesting story. And the truth is, it isn't even mine. This is the story of a girl, named (Y/n). Interesting girl, I must say. And it starts, with the sun. Now, once upon a time, a single drop of sunlight fell from the heavens.
And from this small drop of sun, grew a magic, golden, flower.
It had the ability to heal the sick and injured.
An older-looking woman came out from behind a bush. Her gray hair fell around her shoulders like a rich waterfall.
Oh, you see that old witch, over there? You might want to remember her. She's kind of important.
Well, centuries passed and a hop skip and a boat ride away there grew a kingdom. The kingdom was ruled by a beloved King and Queen. And the Queen, well she was about to have a baby, and she got sick, really, sick. She was running out of time. And that's when people usually start to look for a miracle. Or in this case, a magic golden flower.
Okay, back to that old witch. Like I said, she's important. You see, instead of sharing the Sun's gift, this woman, Mother Gothel, hoarded its healing power and used it to keep herself young for hundreds of years. Yeah, she seems selfish. And all she had to do was sing a fucking song.
The woman held out her hands in front of the golden flower and began to sing softly to make sure no one had heard her. She hid the flower well so that no one could find it, but you are never really sure. "Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine. Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine, what once was mine."
Gothel sighed happily, her strength returning quickly. Her hair, previously gray, took on a dark shade of black and her face, which was full of wrinkles, has changed to a one without a single flaw. She was beautiful, there was no doubt.
All right, you get the gist. She sings, she turns young. Creepy, right?
Gothel flinched when she heard the sudden sound of heavy footsteps. She slung the hood of her coat over her head and covered her treasure with a fake bush. However, the woman didn't notice she knocked it off with her lantern as she quickly wanted to disappear somewhere they wouldn't see her.
"We found it!" one man from the royal guard shouted and pointed at the magic flower.
If a look could kill, the guards would not stand on the spot. Gothel glared at them with a stern look in her eyes as they took the flower from its place in the ground. No one found the flower before, so why right now? She had to come up with a plan to get to the flower back and with that her young self.
The magic of the golden flower healed the queen. A healthy baby girl, a princess was born. With beautiful (h/c) hair. I guess I'll give you a hint. That's (Y/n). To celebrate her birth, the King and Queen launched a flying lantern into the sky. For that one moment, everything was perfect. And you know how it is, nothing great last forever.
Gothel, old again from the lack of a power from a magical flower, entered the room where the royal couple slept peacefully. She quietly approached the crib, where the princess slept with a small smile on her face. The woman took a strand of (h/c) and approached it with scissors she pulled out from under her cloak. She began to sing quietly. "Flower, gleam and glow, let your powers shine, make the clock re ─"
When she cut off that strand of hair, it changed from (h/c) to snow white. She gasped, withdrew her hand, and when the baby began to cry, she took the girl with her. The last thing Gothel heard as she left the balcony of the royal bedroom was the queen's cry calling for her only child.
Gothel broke into the castle and stole the kid. Just like that ... gone. The Kingdom searched and searched, but they could not find the Princess. For deep within the forest, in a hidden tower, Gothel raised the child as her own. Pretty fucked up if you ask me.
The little girl was sitting on a small chair, singing softly as the black haired woman ran a brush through her glowing long hair. " ... save what was lost, bring back what once was mine, what once was mine."
Gothel had found her new magic flower. But this time she was determined to keep it hidden. Forever.
"Why can't I go outside?" you asked with a curiosity in your eyes. The place outside looked to be full of exciting new things just waiting to be explored and discovered.
"The outside world is a dangerous place. Filled with horrible, selfish people. You must stay here, where you're safe," with a soft smile on her face, Gothel placed her hand on your head and patted several times. "Do you understand, flower?"
The disappointed in your voice couldn't be hidden but you tried your best. Just to make Mother happy. "Yes, Mommy."
But the walls of that tower could not hide everything. Each year on her birthday, the King and Queen released thousands of lanterns into the sky in hope that one day, their lost Princess would return.
Stars twinkled in your eyes as you looked at the beauty in the sky. Those lights were beautiful. An unique phenomenon that didn't appear every night, much to your disappointment. At that moment, you didn't think about the tower you were trapped in. You didn't think about Mother's command to not leave the tower. At that moment, only the strange stars mattered. And your new dream about seeing them closer.
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taglist: ❛ @escapenightmare @rinsbunny ❜ send an ask to be added but b4 u do check if it's open <3
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thbldngdhl · a month ago
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𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 | t. todoroki / dabi
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pairings dabi × f!reader genre nsfw, hurt w/ no comfort, angst word count 0.5k summary dabi (in his own way) loves you, and he hates you for it too warnings physical violence, verbal abuse, denied orgasm, daddy issues, toxic relationship, hate sex author's note i like the thought of him treating me like i’m not worth his time. so maybe y’all do too :3
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your lips weld together, impassioned by hatred and rage. day by day, dabi grew to loathe you, the woman that lay beneath him. still, he kisses you with the fear of never seeing you again. sadly, that’s never the case because you always come back. because when it comes to skin on skin, he’ll never reject you. as if to reiterate, he palms the back of your upper thigh just below your ass, adjusts, and lets himself in between your legs. in the moment he feels nothing short of weak because you’re so tight, so fucking warm—it feels like home. he hates you for it, too.
with a shuddered breath you hear him groan, “fuck.”
shame causes dabi to bury his head in the crook of your neck while being assaulted by the smell of your coco butter moisturized skin. just getting started, he’s too close to where he wants to be, and dabi knows that you’re far behind. but he’s have never cared about your release. this time is no different. time and time again he finds himself on the precipice of giving you the benefit of the doubt. he’s willing to turn away from the ugly that has been your relationship for the past five years. then, you act and reactively he jumps into pure, unadulterated rage. everything you say and everything you do ignites the distaste he has for you very existence. tonight, it stokes his orgasm.
up until this moment it has been an intricate dance so familiar, it’s routine. choreographed to perfection—step by step—it’s been performed one too many times for friends, family, and random strangers. it starts with nothing short of a fight. a war with the use of verbal ammunition aimed to hit the most critical parts of your insecurities. friendly fucking fire. after a while, your insults become numb to him. dabi’s heard them all before. and for it to wound him, he has to care. but he doesn’t and he starts to think that maybe he never really did. you on the other hand, you care too damn much and get triggered every time. your weak spot is your father--your first failed relationship with another man. pot, kettle, black.
after the dust settles and the attempts at emotional violence have failed, things turn physical. no surprise there. you throw the first blow, and him the next. though your defeat presses you to initiate sex, as usual he will never deny you. because it’s in the bed, he’s as cruel as he wants to be—cold and distant, the two things you cannot stand.
“p-please,” you beg on a hesitant whisper, and he could tell your pride was on the line. well, whatever you had left. “let me cum. let me finish…”
as he stares down at your face with muted emotions in teal pools, his hips continue to roll, his breath staggers feeling his release, and his distaste answers at the shell of your ear, “no…” and when dabi moans deep and his chest vibrates against yours while his grip tightens at your throat from heightened euphoria, he catches his breath and whispers against your lips, “…because i hate you.”
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all posts are mine © do not repost — all rights reserved.
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frankiekatt · 6 months ago
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1-800-Miss-Ur-Guts
Characters: Dabi / Touya Todoroki
Notes: Loosely based off the song ‘1-800-miss-ur-guts’ by the Tramp Stamps! This is the first fic I’ve ever shared and I’m so excited to share it with you guys! Dabi is one of the loves of my life so I hope you all enjoy <3
Warnings: Mentions of drug use and emotional manipulation. Umm I think that’s it but if I missed anything please let me know!
Words: 10k
Synopsis: She was not you, and here he was, in her apartment, in her bed, kissing her, pleasing her, fucking her. He felt like he was betraying you the first few times he did it. He had to keep reminding himself that you were gone, you weren’t his girlfriend anymore. He could have sex with whoever he wanted. After the first couple girls, the guilt and disgust melted away and morphed into delirium. If he was in bed with some girl he met at a bar, he could forget your face. If he kissed her lips in a sloppy, rushed manner, he could forget the way he felt to be touched by you. If he listened to her maddening moans as he fucked into her, he could forget the way your voice sounded, just for a moment. And that was enough for him to survive each day without you.
The air was stale and warm when Dabi first opened his eyes. It was dark, the room unfamiliar and the bed was uncomfortably hot and cramped due to the naked body that was sprawled out beside him.
Never like how mornings were with you.
With a deep groan, Dabi sat up and glanced at the bedside clock. 1:36pm.
He had slept way too fucking late.
Rising slowly from the bed so as not to wake the sleeping blonde beside him, Dabi began to slip his jeans and tattered t-shirt back onto his body despite the pain in his head flashing hard and hot. Once dressed, he quickly walked to the bathroom and softly closed the door behind him. Cobalt eyes stared back at him in the mirror, tired and spent. His black hair was messy, sticking out in all directions, and the skin underneath his eyes were stained purple and black from stress and from the alcohol he consumed the night before. There was a large, dark bruise on the side of his neck from where – Misa? Mila? – had sucked on the night before. Dabi Todoroki looked like a fucking disaster.
Looking away from his disheveled appearance, Dabi turned on the cold tap water and splashed his face in an attempt to soothe his gnarly headache. It works in just the slightest, as the cool water felt revivifying on his inked skin. Grabbing a small hand towel from underneath the hotel’s sink, Dabi wiped his face gingerly until all the water droplets were gone.
He needed to leave soon. To get ready. To see you.
“Hey, you alright in there?” a high-pitched voice asked from the other side of the bathroom door.
Shit. Dabi really did not feel like conversing with last night’s drunken hook-up. He could barely remember what she said to catch his attention in the small, dingy bar he frequented almost each night, or how they ended up in the equally small and dingy hotel where they had sloppy, unsatisfying sex. Dabi couldn’t even remember her name, and he didn’t exactly care.
Clearing his throat, Dabi grunted out a loud, “Yeah. M’fine.” Smoothing his hair back and glancing at himself in the mirror one last time, he reached for the door knob and pulled open the door.
He was greeted by the blonde women who wore a lopsided smile. She had thrown on her black cotton panties that seemed to be a size too small and the light pink tank top he vaguely remembered her wearing last night, minus a bra. Her short, blonde hair was stuck to the sides of her neck with sweat, reminding him just how utterly different she was from you. Your hair was longer, always brushed and either elegantly falling down your back or neatly put up.
“Mornin’, handsome,” she purred.
“Morning.”
“I was thinkin’ maybe you and I could go down the street, grab a coffee together, maybe beat this hangover,” she crooned, reaching out to run her fingers down Dabi’s chest.
Stepping to the side to avoid her touch, Dabi grabbed his black hoodie jacket off the floor and slipped it on.
“Nah, can’t. I have a thing today.”
The blonde’s face fell slightly before she covered it up with a sneer. “Thing? What kind of thing?”
With his back still turned to her as he slipped on his black sneakers, Dabi rolled his eyes. He had neither the time nor patience for this. “Uh,” he started, “a concert thing.”
The blonde girl hummed in excitement. “That’s cool! Maybe I could go with you and we could-”
“No,” Dabi snapped, “it’s not that kind of concert. Listen, I really need to get home, so, uh, see you around,” and with that, Dabi walked out of the room, leaving the nameless blonde women alone.
 *                                                                      *                                                                               *
 It was just after 2 o’clock by the time Dabi arrived at his apartment. He hurriedly walked up the steps to the second floor, dug his keys out of his pocket, and walked into his small living room. Everything was the same as he had left it the night before; empty takeout containers littered the coffee table, a couple articles of clothing strewn across the room, and all of the thick curtains closed over the large glass windows that looked out over the city. It was dark. And lonely.
Just like it had been since you left this apartment. Left him.
You and Dabi had officially met in your last year of high school. It was by accident really, but Dabi has always thanked the God that he didn’t believe in for putting you both in the same place at the same time.
  There was a spot behind the stage in the school’s auditorium where Dabi liked to go during lunch period to smoke. ‘The Spot’ was a small corner in the postscenium behind stage, which was usually hidden behind old props and costume racks. It was cozy and secluded, and was Dabi’s favorite place to be at school. His secret spot.
That was until you found it.
 It was a Thursday when you had stumbled upon Dabi hiding behind some of the props that were going to be used in this year’s production of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’ When you caught him, he had the hood of his jacket pulled over the top of his head and a joint between his lips.
The sight of him had startled you a bit, because you thought you were alone. The auditorium was usually vacant during lunch period, which you thought would be the perfect time to practice the several short ballads you would be performing on your violin with the rest of the school’s orchestra on the opening night of the play.
“Oh my god,” you shrieked and stumbled backwards. Dabi’s head snapped up to survey your face, cobalt eyes wide, pupils expanded. “You scared the shit out of me,” you breathed softly, pressing two dainty hands over your racing heart.
Dabi blinked up at you with a blank expression before lowering the joint to his side and clearing his throat. “Sorry. No one usually comes back here this time of day.”
You recognized this boy. You both had English 6th period, but have never spoken to each other. He always sat at the very back and never raised his hand. Never participated in group projects. Never did anything, really.
“Yeah, um, I just came to practice a few pieces for the play. I needed to get a music rack,” you nodded toward the black iron stand perched to Dabi’s left, right behind a small, emerald green swan fainting sofa used for the production of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ two years ago.
“Ah. You in the orchestra?”
“Um, yeah, actually! First violin.”
Dabi didn’t know what “first violin” meant, but he kind of liked the way your face lit up when you said it. He hurriedly pushed himself off the floor and grabbed the music stand which was surprisingly light. “Here,” he offered.
 You went to grab it, careful to avoid touching his hand, and let out a soft ‘thank you’ before walking out from backstage to the orchestra pit. Dabi watched your retreating form and silently hoped you wouldn’t tell anyone what he was doing in there. He was already in enough trouble for skipping class so often, and didn’t need any more drawn-out lectures from his parents or more days added to his weekend detentions. Settling back down on the floor, he set the joint back in between his lips and dug his phone and earbuds out of his pocket. He had about 12 minutes left before he would be forced to go back to class. The moment he decided on a song to listen to, however, he was interrupted by the sound of a violin.  
He wasn’t sure if he liked the sound at first. It was shrill and loud and unexpected. Then, the sound began to melt into a beautiful melody and the shrillness soon became a rich and elegant sound that danced in Dabi’s ears.
Now intrigued, Dabi screwed the end of his joint into the floor and tossed it into a nearby trash bin before he pushed himself off the floor and walked out from behind the stage, where he was was met by the sight of you, softly moving your bow up and down the strings of your violin. You were standing despite the fact that there was a chair planted behind you, and your head was moving slightly from side to side in tune to the soft melody. Dabi thought the sight of you was beautiful and alluring. He had seen you in class before and walked past you in the hallways, but he had never actually known you, never actually saw you quite this way.
Sweet. Elegant. Pretty. He couldn’t, for the life of him, remember your name though.
The song you were playing was coming to an end, as was lunch period and Dabi wished he had just a little more time to listen to you play. To watch you play. But then the bell rang, and it was time for you both to head to class.
You lowered your violin from your neck to begin putting the instrument and sheet music away, when the boy with the ripped jeans and messy black hair caught your eye from up on the stage. He met your eyes, but said nothing, and neither did you. You weren’t sure what you should say or if you should even say anything. You had never spoken to this boy before, and now he had just listened to you play music and was currently staring at you.
“I liked that,” Dabi blurted, shattering the silence.
“Um thanks. It’s for the play tomorrow night.” You shifted from one foot to the other under Dabi’s fierce gaze and hoped that the darkness of the theater was hiding the faint blush that was scattered across your cheeks. Dabi Todoroki had just complimented you. And it felt nice.
You stared at each other for a bit longer before you finally broke your gaze and picked up your violin case. “I should probably head to class. Ms. Hatsu hates tardiness,” you said shyly.
Dabi cracked a small smile, which you found quite lovely. “Sure. I’ll see you in 6th period then.”
 And he did see you in 6th period. Dabi had never paid much attention to his classmates before, but today was different. Today he wanted to see you sitting in the third seat in the second row. Four desks away from him. ‘Four desks too many,’ he thought. But as if the gods were listening to Dabi’s thoughts, Dabi’s literature teacher announced that today the class would be doing partner work. And without a second thought to consider his actions, Dabi rose from his seat and made his way over to you.
 You were never fond of partner work. You preferred to keep to yourself, work alone, and avoid conversing with most people. You were shy in nature, so every announcement of partner work in any class was slightly stressful to you. Finding a partner was usually more work than it was worth. Today, however, there was no need to go search for a partner to work with. Someone had already chosen you, and was pulling up a chair to your desk.
“So,” Dabi drawled smoothly as he plopped down in his seat. “Where do you wanna start.”
“S-start?” This boy who you had only met 20 minutes ago, only exchanged a few words with, wanted to be your partner?
“Yeah. You wanna start with The Iliad or The Odyssey?” He pulled out a few slightly crumpled pages of notes from his school bag before meeting your eyes and raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner.
“Oh, um...let’s start with The Iliad.”
The rest of the hour was spent conversing with Dabi on how each ‘hero’ of the Trojan War was really just a villain, and through this conversation, you realized several things about Dabi. Firstly, he was funny. He cracked a few jokes here and there, which made you genuinely laugh with ease. It was a nice feeling for the both of you, how easily he could make you laugh. Secondly, he was smart. He was articulate and insightful, though you sensed he was just a lazy person when it came to school work. And lastly, you were pretty sure you were now crushing hard on Dabi Todoroki. His aloof personality you and the rest of the school had always been privy to seemed to be totally foreign as he dazzled with humor and charm in front of you.
And Dabi had finally learned your name. Y/N. He thought it was pretty.
The bell rang signaling the end of class, and Dabi slid away from your desk. “One more class of the day,” he sighed as he grabbed his bag off the floor. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you smiled at him. You really hoped you would.
  Dabi stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around himself. It was 3:47pm. He had just over an hour until your recital began.
He swiped a hand over the foggy mirror and peered at himself once more. The skin beneath his eyes were still dark, but he looked a little more alive now that he had showered. He was nervous. There was a sharp pain in his lower stomach and Dabi didn’t know if it was from the anxiety, he felt knowing he would see your face tonight, or if it was from his hangover. Maybe it was both. Or maybe it was just because he was scared. Scared to see you. Scared to talk to you. Scared that as soon as you spotted him in the crowd, you would dedicate the night to avoiding him and he wouldn't get to speak to you at all.
He really hoped he would get to talk to you. He hadn’t heard your voice in so long. It had been just over half a year since you two had gotten in that tense argument that had ultimately ended your relationship. In reality, your relationship had been over weeks before the fight, but neither of you were brave enough to admit it. Dabi, because he loved you and couldn't imagine living a life without you. You, because life with Dabi had become so natural that the thought of leaving terrified you. What if you regretted it? What if your life becomes directionless without him? You had spent nearly a year and a half of your life with him. He was your first love. First kiss. First everything since the opening night of your senior year high school play.
 A Midsummer Night’s Dream was your favorite play. Shakespeare, in your opinion, was quite wordy, but you greatly admired the several love stories and humor weaved throughout the play, and tonight you would be a part of the orchestra playing for this production. You were beyond ecstatic to perform.
The first half of the play went smoothly, and you were filled with adrenaline. Something about playing your violin for a crowd of people filled you with your body with a euphoric feeling. Your chest was full, blood was rushing through your veins and your heart was pounding with pure excitement. This feeling was only magnified once you spotted a certain raven-haired boy sitting in the audience in the front row. The 30-minute intermission had just begun and Dabi Todoroki was making his way over to you as you gingerly tucked your instrument back into its case.
“Hey. You sound pretty awesome out there,” he praised.
“T-thanks,” you blushed. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight”
Dabi scratched the back of his head and looked away from you. “Yeah, well, I heard there was bestiality in this thing and I wanted to check it out.” That forced a small giggle out of you. Dabi liked that sound a lot. “Anyway, I, uh, wanted to ask you if you were thirsty. There’s a concession stand out in the hallway. Figured you and I could get a drink, maybe sit outside until the next part of the play starts?”
Your heartbeat began to quicken. Was he flirting with you? Surely not. Surely, he was just being friendly to you. Right?
“Yeah, sure! I’d love that actually.”
Dabi grinned at you. “Alright then. Let’s go.”
The air was frigid and you had, unfortunately, worn a short sleeved black dress to opening night in an attempt to blend in with the darkness of the auditorium. When the chattering of your teeth became audible and your shivering was too severe to ignore, Dabi quickly slipped his jacket onto your shoulders. It smelled like nicotine and pine wood. Just like him.
“Thank you,” you lilted, and Dabi just hummed in response. “So, why did you really come tonight?” Dabi eyed you from his spot beside you as you both sat on the large brick steps in front of the school building. “You didn’t seem too interested in Homer the other day in class, so why would you want to see a Shakespearian play?”
Dabi clicked his tongue and averted his gaze. Why did he come tonight? “I dunno,” he started. “I guess I just wanted to see you again. Outside of school. And... I like the way you play your violin. It's… relaxing.”
Your face was burning at 100 degrees. You were sure of it. “Y-you wanted to see me? Why”
“Look, I just think you’re pretty, alright. And I like talking to you and shit.”
He thought you were what? He liked doing what? “I like talking to you too,” you breathed softly. You hadn’t meant to say it. You were embarrassed enough as it was, and the slip of your tongue only made the already high temperature of your cheeks rise.
Dabi turned to look at you then. He thought you looked ethereal in that moment. Wide eyes staring back at him, expectantly. Legs dressed in tight black pantyhose crossed and angled toward him. A bright pink blush dusting your cheeks. God, he wanted to fucking kiss you.
So, he did.
He jerked forward and caught your lips by surprise, which forced you to emit a small noise from your throat. His lips were cold and smooth and unfamiliar and he tasted like smoke and mint flavored gum. His lips moved fervently, as if they were on a mission to prove something, until you moved your finger into his inky hair and pressed his face closer to yours. His lips slowed at that moment, and his movements became gentler. He wanted to tell you he liked you. He wanted to ask you out on a date. He wanted to take you to the movies or to dinner or to just drive you around in his car and talk to you. He wanted to touch you everywhere. Your face. Your chest. Your legs, your ass, your cunt. He wanted to memorize every inch of your body with his fingertips.
It was you who broke the kiss. The combination of Dabi’s lips against yours and the freezing air was making it difficult for you to breathe. You rested your forehead against Dabi’s and chuckled.
“Something funny?” he grunted and pulled away from you.
“No, no, not at all. I just never imagined that Dabi Todoroki would be kissing while we freeze our asses off.”
Dabi scoffed at that. “Yeah, well, it happened.” He leaned forward until his face was inches from yours. “And we should do it again. Tomorrow sound good?”
“Y-yeah! Tomorrow is perfect.”
Dabi’s cobalt blue eyes looked like they were glowing. You wanted to look at them longer. You wanted to watch as his eyes got closer and closer until they closed and exchanged themselves for his lips against yours. But your thirty minutes were almost up. The orchestra pit was waiting for you.
“I should get back inside. The second act is starting in a couple minutes.” You stood up then, wrapping Dabi’s jacket tightly around yourself
Dabi got to his feet alongside you and held out his hand, which you took. He led you back inside, back into the warmth, and into the auditorium where the crowd was ushering back to their seats. Dabi whispered a little ‘good luck,’ in your ear before taking his seat in the front row.
Although the orchestra pit was extremely warm due to the building’s heater, stage lights, and the amount of people that were crammed into the little space side by side, you couldn’t bring yourself to shed Dabi’s jacket until late that night when you were getting ready for bed. And even then, you used the soft red fabric as a pillow so you could keep his smell close to your heart.
 Dabi was wearing a black suit. He hadn’t dressed up in months, so the stiff material felt completely alien on his skin. His jet-black vest was slightly wrinkled due to being stuffed in the back of his closet for months on end and his ‘dress shoes’ were really just his cleanest pair of black boots. Dabi had no doubt that he would look ratty and out of place among the well-dressed attendees at your orchestra’s recital this evening, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He was used to looking like a second-rate citizen next to you anyway. You had always cared about your appearance to the next level; every article of clothing you owned was always ironed, every shoe polished, every piece of jewelry was sparkling - a complete contrast to Dabi. That was one of the things Dabi loved most about you - you had your shit together and it was always physically obvious. You were organized, driven, ambitious, clean. Everything that Dabi was not.
It was 4:23pm. Dabi had 37 minutes until the recital started, and he still needed a tie to wear. Dabi had only ever owned one tie in his entire life, and it was a tie made of deep red silk. You had told Dabi a couple days after he asked you to go with him to your senior prom that red was your favorite color on him, so he had decided to buy a red tie for your special night out.
The tie was placed in the very back of his sock drawer and was the only piece of cloth that was folded neatly. Dabi was hesitant to pull it out of the drawer. He had only ever worn it that one night. That one night where the only thing in his eyes, his nose, his head, was you. That one night where he dressed in a black fitting suit, dawning the red, silky tie you had picked out for him the week before. That one night where he felt like someone had punched him in the fucking stomach because breathing became an immense effort after you shyly walked out of your front door, dressed in a long, red satin dress, your mom following close behind with a big, flashy camera. That one night when you told him you loved him after your first dance in the decked-out school gymnasium. That one night where he convinced you to leave the school after half an hour so he could fuck you in his car. That one night where he convinced you to swallow those little blue pills he was always shoving down his throat. That one night where he whispered a barely audible ‘I love you’ into your hair as you dozed off in the passenger seat of his car, high out of your mind. Looking back, Dabi could see that, for you, prom night was the beginning of the end. Drugs and rough sex were things you just weren’t quite ready for. Prom night for him, however, was just the beginning of your relationship. He couldn't understand that the things he would do often, oxy, car sex, ditching school events, weren’t for you. In his own mind, Dabi was convinced he was showing you how to have fun. The 20 minutes he spent fucking you into the back seat of his black Camaro were heaven. You were warm and wet and your arms clinged to him as if he was the only thing keeping you afloat and he loved it. And for the next few months following that night, you thought you did too.
It was a 20-minute walk from Dabi’s downtown small apartment to The Bleu Theater. It would’ve been a measly 5-minute drive, if Dabi still had his Camaro. Dabi thinks maybe you would still be by his side if he had his Camaro.
  Dabi was royally fucked. He had promised you right when he dropped you off at Micaretta College for your first orchestra rehearsal that he would only be out for a few hours with his brother, Natsuo. He promised he wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t smoke, wouldn’t do any type of narcotic today while he was driving himself around. He was lying, of course, but he thought he would be able to handle himself. He thought he was ‘perfectly fine, Natsuo, let it the hell go,’ after downing a shot of tequila or five. He thought his high was nothing serious, despite the fact that he swallowed 3 oxys when he and Natsuo parted ways outside of the bar.
But he was wrong. So incredibly wrong.
The silence on the other end of the phone as he made his one phone call to you, mumbling that he was in a holding cell for crashing his Camaro into a government postal box because he was drunk and high and he needed to pick you up, made him nervous. He knew you would be upset - maybe sad, worried, angry - but your silence was conveying another emotion he couldn't quite put his finger on.
“Okay,” you said blankly. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
You showed up to the Tokyo police station ten minutes after your phone call just like you said you would - dressed in the same black and grey mini dress you were wearing this morning when he dropped you off. He had watched you dress yourself in the bedroom you two shared in your small but cozy apartment this morning from the queen-sized bed. Watching you with tired, lazy eyes, Dabi thought you looked so fucking cute. Your hair was still pulled up in a half-hearted pony-tail from when you washed your face minutes before, and your small, dainty hands were fiddling with the metal zipper on the back of your dress. He had cheekily told you ‘you're wasting your time zipping that up, princess. I’m just gonna rip it open when you get home tonight.’
Your cheeks had been coated with a light blush at that, and you let out a small giggle, glancing at him from the mirror with a shy smile on your face.
You had looked so happy this morning. Your smile was dazzling, eyes bright and lively.
You looked like the complete opposite now. A mere twelve hours later Dabi had managed to wipe that smile from your face, replacing it with a straight, thin line. The sparkle had been washed from your doe eyes, where only a blank, empty look now held its place.
He had really fucked up.
Signatures, paperwork, and a large down payment for the fine Dabi now had to pay took almost half an hour to complete before Dabi was allowed to walk free and was given a form that he was told to keep for his court date in 14 days. And then it was time to go home.
The 20-minute walk it took to get from the police department to your home was quiet and tense. You hadn’t spoken a word and Dabi hadn’t either. He was afraid of what you would say if he tried to speak to you. Would you yell at him? Would you cry? Tell him he was a failure, a fuck-up, that he wasn’t just ruining his own life, but yours too?
He already knew all of these things. His father reminded him every chance he got. He had barely managed to graduate high school, he never enrolled in college like you had, he was unemployed, paying his half of the rent with a monthly allowance he received along with the rest of his siblings from his grandmother. Each day was spent drinking, downing pills, inhaling blow, infiltrating his skin with needles, waiting for you to get home from school so he could kiss you, touch you, love you, and pretend he had a normal life - a normal, healthy relationship.
Just like you were.
“Guess we’re gonna have to use Uber from now on,” Dabi grunted, trying to slice through the tension that was strongly swimming in the air around the two of you.
“Guess so,” you said faintly.
Dabi’s eyes flash at your flat tone. “Look,” he said, teeth clenched. “I’m sorry, okay? I know I screwed up. You don’t need to make it worse.”
In an instant, your face morphed from blank and expressionless to white hot anger. “Me? You think I’m making things worse? I’m not the one who got shit faced in the middle of the day! I’m not the one who wrecked the fucking car into government property because you couldn’t see five feet in front of you!”
“I know that for Christ’s sake! Jesus fuck, I just spent two hours in jail for it! I. Fucked. Up! Get the fuck over it!”
You held his gaze for a few more moments before looking away. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many things you knew he needed to hear. But you were exhausted. You were so damn tired of fighting, of yelling, of constantly wondering if your life would always consist of picking up the pieces after Dabi shatters everything in his wake. You were tired of him.
“Okay,” you sighed dejectedly. “Let’s just go home. I have orchestra again tomorrow. We both need some sleep.”
Dabi didn’t say anything in response. What could he say? He could see the drained look in your eyes clear as day. He had pulled you out of your evening class to come bail him out of jail after totaling his car. He had promised you he wouldn’t drink while he was out. That he wouldn’t pop any pills while he was out. But he did.
  The line to get into the theater wasn’t too long once he arrived at the front entrance of the large stone building. There were only about fifteen people waiting to hand in their tickets to get inside, and the process seemed like it was going fairly quickly. Dabi pulled the crumpled, grey admission ticket from his coat pocket and handed it to the usher. Watching the man dressed in a baby blue suit scan the barcode on his ticket felt like watching paint dry. He needed to get inside and sit down. His head was pounding from his hangover and his heart was racing from anxiety. He hadn't seen you in six months. Not in person, anyway. He spent plenty of time stalking your social media accounts, looking to see if you had started dating again, if school was going okay for you, if you were happy without him in your life. He didn’t find much over the past few months, much to Dabi’s dismay. The only relevant thing he was able to find out about you was that your college orchestra group was conducting a recital tonight at The Bleu Theater, and that you would have a violin solo. Dabi bought his $250 dollar ticket three months in advance the second he read the flyer you had posted on your Instagram account.
The inside of the theater was as Dabi had expected it to be. Lined with red carpet and donning two grand marble staircases The halls of the theater were littered with high society aristocrats dressed in suits and evening gowns. Although he had dressed in an evening suit, Dabi knew he looked like lower class beside these people. In that moment though, Dabi couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed. The only thing lingering on his mind was you. What you might be wearing. What he might do if he snagged a chance to speak to you. What he would say if you decided to hear him out.
He didn’t have time to think about it though. The recital was starting, and Dabi needed to find his seat, which he knew was in the second row from the stage. All the seats in the very front had already been bought out by the time Dabi had purchased his ticket, so seat J in row B was the second-best option.
Hurrying down the aisle, Dabi found his seat in between two women dressed in both green and silver evening gowns. They were older women with hot pink lipstick coating their wrinkled lips who raised their brows at Dabi as he sat in between them. The MC began his little speech, thanking everyone for attending tonight and asking them to please silence their cellphones. He announced the first player of the night, a cellist who was dressed in a long, black, lacy dress. He hadn’t remembered to grab a program from the man handing them out beside the entrance of the auditorium, but the women in green to his right had one and was currently reading through it. He glanced to her side, hoping to catch a glimpse of your name so he could prepare himself to see you for the first time since your break-up.
And there it was. Act number two. Y/N L/N, violin solo.
You were next and Dabi felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. He was sure everyone in the room could hear the thump thump thump of the organ in his chest despite the rich boom the cello filled the room with. The cellist was reaching the climax of the Cadenza piece. You would be walking out of stage soon. In just seconds, Dabi would have the chance to lock eyes with you. He hoped he would be able to convey the love he felt for you, his anguish at the fact that you left him all alone in a world he felt had never accepted him, his guilt at making your life a living hell because he was too selfish to let you go the second things began to deteriorate. Deep down, Dabi had known your relationship was doomed.
Deep down, Dabi had known your relationship was doomed. That anxious, petrifying feeling of knowing the only heaven he was convinced he would ever know would one day leave him shortly after you had started your first year of college. You had gotten into your dream college, while Dabi hadn’t bothered to apply anywhere. You were working three days a week at a music store, teaching children how to play the violin. Dabi was living off an allowance, popping pills all day. You had aspirations. You were working toward a future you desperately wanted - you wanted to become a violinist for The Halle, you wanted to move to the city - you wanted to be with Dabi. But Dabi didn’t have dreams like you did. His father had instilled in him since he could form coherent sentences that he was a failure. He was a disgrace. He wasn’t even his real son. He was a product of his mother’s extramarital indiscretion - a stain on the Todoroki name. A mistake.
Dabi believed all his life that all he would ever be was a let-down. The only good thing in his life was you. Dabi Todoroki had managed to fall in love with a quiet girl who was ambitious and smart and beautiful - and just like everything else he did in his life - he screwed it up.
 “I need you to come home”
He shouldn’t be asking you that. Tonight was an important night for you - scouts for the Chordis Orchestra were in the audience tonight. Your school was putting on a production of Phantom of the Opera - your favorite musical - and you were lucky enough to be the first sophomore to play in the orchestra pit on opening night.
“What? Dabi - what’s going on?”
He felt like he was going crazy. Why were you asking so many questions? Why couldn’t you just come home? He needed you!
“Look,” he gulped as his knuckles turned white from gripping the phone. “I-my dad was here earlier and-”
“Your dad?” Dabi’s father, Enji, had never visited your home before. Dabi would never invite him and Enji would never lay out an offer. Dabi had told you a little about the issues he had with his father during late night talks where you and Dabi would lay naked in the back seat of his car, wrapped up in each other’s arms.
“We got into a fight and I don’t even know what happened, I just opened my eyes and our window was busted and my knuckles were bleeding and dad was gone. I was so fucking pissed and I don’t even remember uncapping the fucking needle...but I think I took too much.”
Your blood ran cold. You hated when Dabi would use heroin. You had tried it once when the two of you first moved into your apartment together, and you never wanted that substance in your body again. You knew how Dabi could get when he took too much of one thing. He would get angry, paranoid, anxious and clingy. You were terrified one of these days you would come home and find him dead on the bathroom floor with a needle sticking out of his arm or pills lodged in his throat.
“Dabi what do you mean you took too much? D-do I need to call an ambulance!?”
“No! No, don’t call the fucking police. I’ll get charged with substance abuse. Fuck! Just come home!”
“Okay, okay, Dabi. I’m coming home, alright? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
You quickly packed up your instrument, sheet music, and informed the director you would not be able to perform tonight. It was a tense conversation, as Ms. Hatsuki had given you a big opportunity to play tonight. But Dabi wanted you home. And he was more important, right?
The bursting open of the wooden door startled Dabi. He had been staring blankly at the wall, scratching at the needle scars that were riddled along his left forearm. It felt like he had been waiting hours for you to get home to him, when only a mere 20 minutes had passed before you burst into the living room.
“Dabi,” you breathed, “are you okay? You look so pale.” You rushed over to the brown sofa where he was seated and took his hand in yours. His hand was coated in brown, dry blood and there was a small gash across his knuckles. It wasn’t too bad, but he would probably need a couple stitches.
“M’fine. I think...I’m just coming down really hard. My hand hurts, too.”
Coming down too hard? How many times have you been through this? There had been several occasions where Dabi had called you while you were in the middle of class, or in rehearsal, or out with friends or family, frantically begging you to come home. Each time he made one of those calls, he worried you sick. He never sounded like the Dabi you knew like the back of your hand. He was sacred and sounded like he was close to death every time. And every time you came running, he would lay his head in your lap, tell you he’s sorry, that he wants to do better for you, and then do it all over again the next week.
You weren’t sure how much more you could take. At first, it was small, tolerable things. Things you could look past because you loved him so much. In the beginning, when Dabi went past his limit, he would grow overly irritable, snapping at you out of nowhere. Then, that gradually turned into full blown meltdowns with Dabi shedding a few tears as he paced around the apartment, not sure if he was angry or scared, not knowing what he could possibly be angry at or scared of.
Then, that morphed into complete paranoia. Dabi always thought he would die when he would go past his limit, but he would never do anything to help his fears. He was always afraid you would leave him all by himself in this tiny apartment that only felt like home when you were there. He was afraid his father would finally cut him out of the family because he’s a bad influence on his little brother - because he’s a good-for-nothing junkie with no direction in life.
He was afraid of problems that only he was able to cause. Problems he couldn’t stop causing.
Your mouth set into a thin line, a sight Dabi wished he wasn’t so familiar with. “Dabi,” you started evenly. “I thought you were fucking dying. You made me leave the most important performance of my life - for what?”
Dabi’s puppy eyes quickly morphed into piercing cobalt as he scowled. “For what? Princess, I need you here. I felt like I was fucking dying, I need a little support here!”
“WHAT ABOUT ME!?” you screamed. It startled the both of you. The scream seemed to rip itself from your throat without permission. The shocked look on your boyfriend’s face almost made you back down. But you wouldn’t – couldn’t back down this time.
“What about supporting me, huh, Dabi? Week after week, I drop everything, my whole life, to come running back to you. To make sure you’re okay. You make promise after promise to stop this shit, to get clean, to get your life together so I CAN GET MINE TOGETHER! Fuck, it’s like I’m your mother instead of your girlfriend.”
Dabi watched you silently from his spot on the couch. He had never seen you so angry before, especially at him. The smack running through his veins urged him to yell back at you. To scream that you were selfish. That you can’t talk to him like that.
But he doesn’t. Because he knows you’re right.
Deep down, he knows he’s ruining your life. He knows he’s continually taking opportunity after opportunity from you - because he doesn’t want to be alone. He knows his drug induced moods are wearing on you. He knows he’s tearing your heart apart by worrying you, yelling at you, destroying you. He knows he does not deserve you. But even so, he hopes to God you won’t leave. He’s too selfish to let you go on his own - he would rather watch you crumble because of him than watch you flourish without him.
“Tonight was so important, Dabi. You know that.” Your eyes were filling with tears. Your heart felt like it was shattering within your chest. You didn’t want to. Or did you? You weren’t so sure what you wanted anymore. But you did know what you needed. “I-I can’t Dabi. I cannot do this with you anymore.”
“W-what? The fuck are you saying?”
“I’m saying I can’t stay in this relationship with you, Dabi! It's tearing me completely apart. It's tearing me apart because you’re tearing yourself apart. I’ve tried and tried, but I just can’t do it. I hit my limit months ago. This - us - it needs to end now.”
Neither of you said anything after that. It was strange, in a way. You expected your boyfriend - your ex-boyfriend, would beg you not to leave. Like he always did when he was paranoid and high.
Dabi, on the other hand, had always imagined, in his hazy, drunken paranoia, that he would rage if you ever tried to leave him like this. What was he supposed to do without you? He had nothing in life but you. Every day was about you; waiting for you to get home from school, cooking for you, fucking you, talking to you, living life through you. But he wasn’t angry. All he felt in those next few minutes as the two of you sat side by side on the couch for the very last time, was sorrow.
His father was right, as he always was. He destroyed everything he touched. One tiny brush of his fingertips set anything in his wake ablaze.
When you stood from the couch to go pack a bag, Dabi couldn't bring himself to look at you. He couldn’t force out a single syllable. All he could do was sit. Sit and listen as the girl he loved gathered every piece of herself and walked out of his life.
The next few weeks following the break up were the worst. You were ignoring Dabi’s texts and calls, and he didn’t even know where you were. He assumed you were staying with a friend or had moved back in with your mother - but he wished you would answer one of his texts so he could know for sure.
Dabi didn’t leave his apartment until a month after the two of you broke up. He honestly didn’t see a reason to. After he graduated high school and moved in with you, he only left the house to go grocery shopping, or buy you little gifts, or go on dates with you. Now that you were gone, what reason did he have to venture outside of his safe space?
Alcohol. Sex.
Two enticing reasons.
The first time Dabi had sex with another person after your break up, he felt like throwing up. Her voice was higher than yours, her nose was bigger than yours, the way she looked when she came on his cock was nowhere near as beautiful as yours was.
She was not you.
She was not you, and here he was, in her apartment, in her bed, kissing her, pleasing her, fucking her. He felt like he was betraying you the first few times he did it. He had to keep reminding himself that you were gone, you weren’t his girlfriend anymore. He could have sex with whoever he wanted.
After the first couple girls, the guilt and disgust melted away and morphed into delirium. If he was in bed with some girl he met at a bar, he could forget your face. If he kissed her lips in a sloppy, rushed manner, he could forget the way he felt to be touched by you. If he listened to her maddening moans as he fucked into her, he could forget the way your voice sounded, just for a moment. And that was enough for him to survive each day without you.
 It was scary seeing you for the first time in so long. You looked the same as you always had; beautiful, elegant, and perfect.
You were wearing a white, spaghetti sleeved dress that reached to the middle of your leg and your hair was curled delicately and was falling freely past your shoulders. Dabi had spent half a year without seeing you or hearing from you at all, and still, the first sight of you made him feel like he couldn’t fucking breath. Every little detail was special to him.
He could see the nervousness written all over your face. You were used to playing in an orchestra pit, away from everyone’s line of sight. You felt most comfortable hidden in the darkness, playing music that was meant to add character to a play, not right in the spotlight, playing raw music for everyone to judge you with. But Dabi also knew that this is what you always truly wanted. You wanted people to see you and hear you, no matter how terrifying it was.
You started off slow, moving your bow gently and fluidly across the strings of your violin. It was soft and melodic, and only Dabi knew that this was your signature build up - it was how you always liked to play music. Just as you were doing now, you had always preferred to start everything off slow and delicate - gradually and powerfully zipping your bow across the metal strings to create an earth-shattering sound that was somehow richer than the cello. Dabi had noticed this the very first time he ever heard you play in that empty auditorium in high school, and still now you were able to knock him out with your beautiful talent.
You were avoiding looking out into the crowd to evade stage fright. You knew that if you looked out into the human sea, you would face the possibility of choking. This was an incredibly important night. Your mom had joked before you left her house this morning that tonight would mark the beginning of your musical career. You could not afford to mess anything up.
But then you looked up. You tore your gaze from the floor and glanced out into the abyss and fount cobalt blue eyes staring intently back at you. His gaze was enough to almost make your left hand fingers falter over the notes, but you regained your composure almost as fast as you had lost it. Looking away from him seemed impossible right then. Here he was, Dabi, your ex-boyfriend, your first love, sitting in the audience, listening to you play your heart out. Why was he here? How did he even know you would be playing tonight?
A million and one questions swam through your mind. You were playing on autopilot now. You couldn’t focus on anything but him. His inky black hair was combed neatly, just as it was on prom night. He was wearing a suit and he looked completely dressed for the occasion. Your song was coming to an end and you needed to snap out of it. The ending deserved your attention. You owed it to yourself to forget Dabi, just for this second, to focus on what you had in front of you.
The floor wasn’t anywhere near as pretty as Dabi was, but it was where you had to force yourself to look for the remainder of the song. It came to a finish 20 seconds later, and the applause was almost too loud for your ears. A proud grin spread across your face as you grabbed the neck of your instrument and bowed before walking back into the wings.
You weren’t sure why Dabi would come tonight. He had stopped trying to contact you three months ago after you ignored each and every one of his attempts. It was painful to even think about him after your break up. There were many times you felt as if you had made a mistake in leaving. Every memory of Dabi holding you to his chest when you would cry to try and comfort you, every memory of Dabi whispering out that he loved you late at night, every memory of Dabi kissing you goodbye as you left for class each morning, was almost enough to break you. But the fact was that you didn’t just leave for yourself. Dabi was too dependent on you. If you had continued to enable his drug habit, allowing him to think that he could be as destructive as he wanted and nothing would happen to him, he would end up killing himself. So, you stood your ground, and distanced yourself as far away from him as you could.
But he was here now. Dressed nicely, watching you on the most important night of your life. Did he want to talk? Or was he here for something else? There was only one way to find out.
Dabi had gotten up from his seat as soon as you exited the stage. He wasn’t too eager to listen to some guy play the piano for 2 minutes straight. He had only come here to see you. The air was warm and inviting outside as Dabi sat on the building’s steps and pulled out his e-cigarette. He wanted to go back in and find you, just as he planned when he first got here. Seeing you on stage tonight, however, made him think twice. You looked beautiful and vibrant. Despite the look of nervousness you wore tonight, he knew you were confident in what you could do. You smiled tonight. It didn’t look fake or forced, like it had months ago. It looked completely genuine and Dabi didn’t want to take that away from you.
You were happy without him. You were thriving without him. He needed to stay away from you.
“You’re missing the rest of the recital, you know.”
Your voice brought Dabi out of his head. He hadn’t heard your voice in so long, it almost sounded alien to him.
You stood two steps above him, still wearing your white dress. Still just as beautiful as you were on stage.
Dabi was searching for the right words to say, but he was coming up perpetually blank. He wanted to say the right thing, but he never knew what the right thing to say was.
“I, uh, only came to see one act.” You smiled softly at that, and Dabi felt like someone had shot him. He missed you. He missed you so much and your smile only reminded him of what he inevitably pushed away 6 months ago.
“Well, mister Beethoven,” you joked, “how did I do?”
You were walking closer to him and Dabi wasn’t sure if he should move away or not. He was afraid that if you got too close, he might burn you. “God, it was awful. It sounded like a tortured cat.”
A laugh tore itself from your throat as you sat beside him on the steps. “Yeah, well. That was your fault. I didn’t expect to see you out there. Caught me off guard.”
“You were great.” Dabi wanted to smile back at you, but he couldn’t. “Felt like I was watching an actual angel perform.”
It was quiet for a moment after that. Neither of you knew what to say. Why were you out here with him? Why did he come to see you tonight?
“Why’d you come tonight, Dabi?”
“I dunno, really. I just - I knew you were playing tonight. I felt like I needed to see you. I wanted to talk to you, I guess.”
The e-cigarette in your ex-boyfriend’s hand caught your attention. “Since when do you smoke water vapor? What happened to weed?”
Dabi looked down at his hands before replying. “I quit that shit a couple months ago,” he mumbled. “I didn’t like the way it made me feel anymore.”
Your eyes widened in surprise. “You stopped smoking pot? That’s great Dabi!”
“Thanks. I stopped with the pills and smack too.”
He what? “Wait, are you saying you got clean?”
He shrugged, not returning your gaze. “I guess. I stopped using four months ago. Fuyumi and my mom have gotten me into counseling. My therapist is helping me come up with ways to cope without drugs. The booze has been more difficult to quit though. I still drink pretty often. I’m...I’m working on being different. Like I always promised you I would. Except this time, I’m serious.”
The world halted for a moment for you. Dabi...was getting clean. He had promised you countless times in your relationship that he would try to stop. That he would be a better man for you. That he would stop using, get a job, go back to school. Each of those promises were empty, unfulfilled wishes.
But not anymore.
You threw your arms around Dabi, almost knocking him off the step. He stilled, not sure what to do. Should he hug you back? Push you off of him? He didn’t know, so he allowed you to continue to take the lead.
“I’m so happy for you Dabi. That is so amazing. I can’t believe it, I’m so proud.” There was a familiar warmth growing in your chest. The entire two years of your relationship, all you had wanted was for Dabi to get clean. The drugs, the directionlessness, it weighed on him. And, in turn, it began to weigh on you as well. “Have you thought about enrolling anywhere?”
You had pulled away from Dabi by now, but you were still sitting quite close to him, which made Dabi feel uneasy. He had wanted to be close to you like this for months, but now that it was happening, he felt anxious. What if after tonight, the two of you would go back to being strangers?
“I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve worked on a few applications already, but I haven’t sent anything in just yet.”
Hearing that Dabi was finally getting his shit together filled your heart with joy and hope. Dabi was trying to get sober. Dabi had come to see you tonight. And you still loved him after all this time. After everything, Dabi still owned your heart.
“I need to tell you I’m sorry.” He turned to look at you. He had been looking at everything but you this entire conversation, but he needed to look you in the eye as he said this. “I need to tell you I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I fucked up so many things for you because I was a piece of shit. I’m sorry for making you leave.”
Your breath hitched in your throat. Dabi looked so different now. He looked the same as he always did, yet completely unfamiliar all at once. You had spent so many months seeing Dabi kill himself every day. His eyes were sunken in, dark circles painted onto his sickly pale skin. His lips were always chapped and split open, scratching your own lips whenever he grabbed your face to kiss you. Now, underneath the bright June moonlight, Dabi looked alive. His lips were no longer dehydrated and split. His eyes were still tired, but more alert, and his skin looked healthy.
“I left for a reason, Dabi. Not just because it was too much for me, but because I thought you needed to figure everything out on your own.”
He nodded slowly while keeping your gaze. “Is it possible to try again?”
Yes, you wanted to say, absolutely. You wanted to tell him you could pick up right where the two of you left off, but you couldn’t. Not after everything he put you through. Taking a deep breath and taking his hand in yours, you said, “how about you and I go for coffee tomorrow? We can talk things out more then.”
Dabi grinned and squeezed your hand. I have a shot. Being this close to you, knowing he would see you again tomorrow, really made him want to kiss you. Six months ago, he could grab your face whenever he wanted and capture your lips with his. But he couldn’t now. He needed to take his time with you, let you decide if he was what you wanted. He had put you through hell for so long, so he needed to let you take the lead this time.
“I’d really like that.”
To his surprise. you leaned forward and pressed your lips gently to his cheek, and then stood. “I need to get back inside, but...I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?”
Dabi nodded furiously. “Yeah. Yeah, tomorrow morning.”
You smiled softly once more, and then turned to head back into the building. Watching you leave the night the two of you broke up made him feel like everything around him was bleak and broken. This time, as he watched you slip through the doors of the theater, he felt light things were finally a little bit brighter.
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sunnyfunerals · a month ago
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squid game dabi is just gonna straight up finger you during lights out. the other players are gonna die, he'll make sure of it, so why would he care if they know what he's doing to you? you'd already be dead if it wasn't for him, it's only fair for you to pay him back. after all, getting into too much debt is exactly why you're here, isn't it princess?
I have passed away. You can't just send me something this hot and expect me to survive the brainrot.
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Squid Game AU - Player!Dabi x Player!Reader
Squid Game AU Masterlist.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.
TW: Dubcon/Noncon, Dabi is one of the scary players, Mentions of Violence and Death (in the context of the games), Mentions of Blackmail.
The second the lights are out, his fingers slip inside your sweats.
They're slow, not in a gentle way but in a threatening, menacing way, like a feline would wait as it gets ready to hunt, to attack, its gaze focused on its prey until the perfect moment comes. Rough digits brush against the shivering skin of your hips, play with the hem of your pants, the lace of your underwear, cruel and mean in the way Dabi seems to make the moment lasts, the taste of your fear surely so intoxicating on his tongue that he'll savour it at will before devouring you whole.
"Why so scared, Princess?" he whispers in your ear, pulling you closer and closer against him, surely to delight in the shivers that are running down your spine. "Worried I'm going to ruin you?"
You can't say that he's wrong. You can't say that it doesn't feel like you're going to break under the touch of the terrifying man cradling you against his chest in that tiny little bed. You can't say that you're not scared that he'll destroy you like he destroys others, that he'll feast on you whole and leave nothing behind in his raging frenzy.
"P-please, Dabi, we can't," you murmur, unshed tears pooling in your ears and unspoken pleas dying on your tongue. He scoffs, leaving a mocking little kiss on the back of your neck as his fingers slip inside your panties, brushing against your clit and tearing a surprised yelp from your lips.
"Oh? And why can't we?" His voice is deep, low, his tone as amused as it's threatening. He's toying with you, you know, a predator eyeing a tiny, defenseless little mouse.
There are a thousand answers to his question. We barely know each other, I'm terrified of you, we could die tomorrow and should focus on the games instead, I'm too tired and I just want to sleep, please, please, please. Instead, you choose the more logical one.
"People might hear," you whisper, and it's stupid because you know they can hear you say it already, just like they can hear the little noises escaping your lips whenever his digits carress your clit, just like they can hear it when his fingers slip inside you and your breath gets stuck in your throat.
Dabi barks a laugh, a loud, deep sound that echoes in the otherwise silent dormitory. It's as if the whole room is holding his breath, waiting for him to be done playing, waiting for the storm of his desires and needs to pass before they can let themselves drift off to sleep. He's too much of a menace for anyone to rest peacefully, too much of a criminal, monster, murderer for anyone to close their eyes while he's still awake.
He chose you, but it's as if you're bait, a sacrifice, something to satiate him while the others look away, hoping they won't attract his attention as long as the game is not over, not like you have.
"Who cares about them? I could fuck you stupid in the middle of this room while the lights are on and it still wouldn't matter, because they'll all be dead soon. Can't let any of them live if we want to hit the jackpot, right?"
He slips another finger inside you. A tear rolls down your cheek.
"Be as loud as you want, Princess. I want to hear you scream."
You can feel his erection as he cradles you against him, can feel the uncharacteristically gentle strokes of his fingers inside you, torturing your most sensitive parts in the most excruciating show of pleasure. Shameful moans threaten to fall from your lips for all to hear, so, since you can't stop him, you do the next best thing.
You raise both hands to place them over your lips, hoping to muffle the sounds as much as you can.
"Hey, Princess. Want me to punish you? We'll be having none of that, I told you I want to hear your sweet little voice."
With his free hand, he grabs both of your wrists, keeping them in a firm, inescapable hold. You can't help the moan that escapes from your lips then, his touch getting crueler and crueler the more defenseless you become in his embrace.
He leaves a trail of soft little kisses on the skin of your throat, and you feel him smile as he does so, a mean, wolfish smirk that slightly pulls at the staples in his cheeks.
No matter how much you struggle, no matter how hard you try to free yourself from his hands, there is no use.
If he wanted, he could break you in a flick of his wrist.
And yet, he'd rather have you like this. Teary and pleading underneath him.
"What? Don't be shy, I know you're enjoying this. Wouldn't be so wet if you didn't."
Of course, he's right. You're melting under his ministrations, leaning against him for more contact just as much as you're struggling to get away. It's as if you're torn in two, heart and body wanting two different things, never to agree on how they see the monster of a man keeping your fate in the palm of his hand.
"Besides, you're mine to play with, Princess. You didn't forget your debt, did you? I think it's about time you start paying up."
-----
Join my taglist?
Aaaaand there goes some smut, finally, for Player Dabi! You might have noticed I'm still making this last and it's just a foretaste before a real smut scene but the request was just too amazing for me not to write it, thank you so much for this ndjsknd
Please tell me if you liked it!! ❤
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touyaz · a month ago
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IF THESE WALLS COULD TALK
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pairing todoroki natsuo x fem reader x dabi | todoroki touya
words 6.9k
notes thank you to @jirou-s​ for beta-reading this! ♡
WARNINGS smut, oral (m+f), fingering, spitroast, vag sex, unprotected sex, creampie, threesome, edging, brief mention of blood (from a bite), one degrading line, praise. established relationship (reader + natsuo). touya isn’t dabi, but it’s still kind of in the bnha universe. reader is called girl, doll, slut (once), princess. she/ her pronouns.
MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.
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Anxiety bubbles in your stomach with each step you take to Natsuo's house. The clack of your shoes on the cobblestone path seems to echo, like a blaring siren meant to alert the neighbours that you're trespassing. It really does feel illegal, ambling to the front door of the number one hero's house, even though his own son has invited you over. It's a beautiful place, rich with greenery, dainty flowers blossoming all along the path in tidy bunches, bushes lining the outskirts of the house in neatly-trimmed rows, even the trees are curved to perfection, allowing the sun to cast its magnificent halo over the house, so even people from afar are mesmerised by its glimmer.
You've barely brushed your knuckles over the thick, black door before it slides open and your boyfriend reels you in with a playful whine.
"Finally! Thought you'd gotten lost, baby."
"I can follow a map," you grumble, sinking into his warm embrace as he presses a fond kiss to the crown of your head.
"Yeah, yeah, c'mon in, I got everything set up."
With that, he closes the door behind you, then holds you steady as you take your shoes off. You follow, hand laced with his, as he leads you to the living area. In front of the television is a low table with containers of steaming food and side dishes laid out neatly, waiting to be feasted on.
"Man, I'm starving," Natsuo says, eagerly bounding to the table and ushering you to sit down first before he slides down right beside you. "Got your favourite, so you better not complain this time."
"Hey—" you elbow him, but he laughs it off, opening a container to place some steamed dumplings on your plate and then his.
There's some action film playing on the screen, but it's background noise as you speak to your boyfriend, listening to him rave about this new music video that came out, ramble about how his older brother keeps pestering him whenever he's studying, complain about how his father was in a bad mood this morning.
"Stop talking about him, what if he comes home?"
Natsuo snorts. "What, speak of the devil and he'll appear? I told you, he's barely home anyway, you don't need to worry, babe."
"But what if—"
Your boyfriend interrupts you by prodding your lips with his chopsticks, a pile of noodles clamped between the wood.
You roll your eyes, opening your mouth so he can feed you rather generously as you fiddle with your own chopsticks, more focused on pushing around stray vegetables as he speaks.
"There we go. For the hundredth time, he's out doing hero work, ma and ‘Yumi are out shopping and the other two are with their friends. We're the only ones home."
You glare down at the boiled carrots as Natsuo points out the obvious, swallowing your food to reply, but your retort dies in your mouth when you meet his intense, darkened gaze.
"W-What's with that look—?"
A smirk curls at the corner of his lips as he leans closer to you, and suddenly you feel like a meek, cornered mouse as he nears, broad shoulders poised to pounce on his prey at a moment's notice.
"We've got the whole place to ourselves."
He captures your lips in a bruising kiss, wasting no time in cradling your nape and tilting his head to yours, dining on the plump of your bottom lip like it's a piece of mochi, soft and supple under his starving teeth. His tongue laps over his nibbles, tracing the seam of your lips until they part, opening up for him to enter as he pleases. Like a dam bursting under unbridled pressure, as soon as his tongue begins exploring your mouth, you’re flooded with waves of shichimi togarashi; hints of red chili pepper seep into the grooves of your tongue as his own rolls over it; the aftertaste of sesame seeds saturate the lines of your gums as he roves around the expanse, flicking the tip of his tongue against your canines, tickling the roof of your mouth before eventually pulling out to pant. A line of spit connects his parted mouth to yours, but your gaze is fixated on the high rise of his cheekbones, dusted with rose, a stark contrast to the growing whirlpool of black in his eyes.
“Fuck, c’mere,” he growls just before diving in once more to devour your lips, to steal a taste of the spring onions from your gyoza, to sip on the lemonade you were swigging earlier. There’s too much to focus on when you're nestled in the palm of his hand like this: the way his large hand sneaks up the side of your body, wrapping around the curve of your waist and arching your body closer to his; the pain that sprouts in your knee when it knocks against the table as he slowly pushes you back to lay on the floor; the sounds that escape his mouth — the low, raspy groans, the breathless, muttered curses — when you brace yourself on his shoulders, digging your nails into the thick of his body. His breath is dangerously hot against your lips, but the dark glint in his eyes is what you’re more wary of, spelling nothing but trouble. “I’ve got an idea.”
Before you know it, he’s hauling you off the ground, taking you by the hand around his house on an impromptu tour of the place as you’re left stumbling behind, speaking to thin air.
“Natsu, what? Where’re we going? Why’d we stop?”
You’re certain he can hear the childish pout in your voice, feel the way you drag your feet with each step in defiance, but he easily brushes off your concerns with a hasty, “Wait, you’ll see.”
He stops in front of a large, closed door, and you groan. “Seriously? Your room? Could’ve just said—”
He pushes the door open, paying little mind to the way the hinges shriek under the immense force, and it reveals an austere room, bare except for the mattress on the ground and the desk neatly fitted in the corner. Few commodities collect dust on the desk, a folded newspaper, a pot of pens, a metal lamp; in the quick flit about your eyes do, nothing seems out of place, everything angled to perfection — there’s not even a crease in the bedsheets, and you wonder if this is some secret military camp in his house where everything has to be monotonous and perfect.
“Wow… You don’t even have posters?” you complain, following him into the room and finally getting a better look. "Way to decorate like an old man. I bet even your dad's room looks better than this."
You're too busy looking at the single potted plant on the windowsill — the only thing breathing life into this room with a splash of its starry indigo — to see Natsuo's lips curl into smirk.
"Yeah? Wanna see his room?"
You roll your eyes, finally turning to his sprawled out body. He's laying across the mattress, bicep bulging in the t-shirt he wears as he folds an arm beneath his head.
"Definitely not," you reply, making your way over and perching on his lap. You lean over, hands sinking into the pillow just above him as you murmur, "I want you to finish what you started earlier."
"Oh? What d'you mean, baby?" he asks, raising a brow in fake curiosity. "I was just eating and—"
You capture his lips in a kiss, cutting off his sentence, though it doesn't seem like he'll be stopping you any time soon. His free hand slides along your thigh, coming to wrap around your hip and urge you to roll against his body. You can feel him harden even more beneath you, and the groans you pull from him entice you to move harder, more vigorously, against him to draw out sweeter sounds.
"Mm, shit, baby," he rasps, panting as you trail kisses and bites down the column of his neck. His throat bobs when you suck on his pulse point, lapping as his skin vibrates with the thrill of getting down and dirty in his childhood home. "Wanna fuck you. Can't wait."
He flips the two of you around easily, taking his shirt off before helping you remove your own clothes. It's unfair how hot he looks, glistening beneath a layer of sweat, and your hands glide over his tanned, clammy skin, adoring the hard lines of his abs with uncontained wonder, gently pinching the softness of his hips before he catches your hands and pins them above your head.
He takes his time working over your body. Lavishing nips along your throat before he reaches your collarbone, humming into the crook of your neck just before he bites at the junction, sucking loudly, uncaringly, as your skin darkens from his assault.
"Natsu, please, want you…" you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut as he laps along the curve of your breast. Through the sheer lace of your bra, he latches his mouth over your nipple, teasing it with the pointed tip of his tongue. Impatiently, he pushes your bra up your chest, kneading your breast with a firm squeeze. Little kitten flicks against the hardened bud have you careening up against his body, breathlessly whining for more attention.
He hums around the bud and your body shudders at the sensation, impatiently wanting more, more, more. He's quick to deliver, snaking a hand down to your underwear, stroking ever so gently along the fabric that covers your sex.
"You're so fucking wet already," he groans, parting from your tit to move to the other. "What d'you want, baby?"
"Fin-Fingers," you mewl, rocking your hips in time as he plays with your bundle of nerves. "Please, Natsu, want your fingers."
"Like this?"
"Yeah, yeah, s'good, baby. Fuck."
"Well, what do we have here?"
You can feel the tension mount in Natsuo's shoulders as you both freeze at the intruder.
Natsuo's quicker to react, tearing his hand away from your sex and angling himself over your body to hide you from unwanted eyes.
"Hey, c'mon, I was enjoyin' the view, bro."
"Fuck off, Touya, what're you even doing here?"
Touya. His older brother. Why did you trust Natsuo when he said his family had all left? As soon as you're clothed up and not teetering on the brink of an orgasm, you're kicking your boyfriend's ass. 
"Got bored, thought I'd come home and give my li'l bro some company, but you're doing just fine, aren't ya?"
"Yeah, so get out, man."
Touya snorts at that. "Nah, I'm good right here. If you wanted some privacy, you should've gone to your own room."
Your blood freezes in your veins at that.
"Natsu?" you murmur, and you're so close to him it's impossible to be unaware of how pointedly he's avoiding your gaze. Unfortunately for your boyfriend, you're persistent, turning his face until he's locking eyes with you. "Natsu, are we seriously in your brother's room?"
Still, Natsuo averts his eyes, lips curling into the slightest frown as he mumbles an apology.
Touya laughs and it makes you all the more aware of his presence and your exposed state. Natsuo is broad enough to cover you for the most part, but you still reach for the edge of the thin blanket to hide yourself a bit more. You can see tufts of black hair peeking above Natsuo's shoulder, and you're thankful for the distance his brother keeps, seemingly content with leaning against the doorframe and watching you panic.
"Guess again, doll, ain't my room."
You don't know whether to feel angry, scared or annoyed when the ball finally drops. Natsuo's biting his lip, still evading your eyes, but you can't bring yourself to unleash your rage on him when his brother is right there. You're not too scared right now either, though the fear will fester the longer you stay in this room. Annoyed it is, and you glare with all your might at Natsuo.
"Please tell me he's joking, Natsuo." His silence is enough of an answer, but you try once more just in case. "Tell me you weren't about to— to fucking fuck me in your dad's bedroom."
"Really classy, bro," Touya chimes in and Natsuo's face immediately drops to a scowl.
"Fuck off, Touya, can we fucking speak?"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, 'm hungry anyway." Touya offers a wave that Natsuo glares at as the other leaves, watching until he's sure his brother has fully left the area.
You push his chest, taking out your frustration on his thick body (where it probably does little to no damage), until he finally looks at you.
"I'm sorry."
"I can't believe you," you say, getting one last good hit in before sinking into the bed. "Your dad's gonna kill us—"
"He's not gonna find out, Touya won't snitch."
"He'll know — he will. He'll see his sheets creased and— and his fucking plant an inch out of place. Natsu, he's the number one hero, he can probably smell that we were— stop laughing, you asshole!"
"'m sorry, 'm sorry, ow—! Hey, c'mon." He grabs your wrist before you can continue pounding on his chest, pinning your hand above your head once more. "I'm sorry, okay? Seriously. I should've said something before, you know, bringing you here, but I just— I just want to hold something over his head, you know? Like a— Like a silent fuck you."
"So spit in his coffee or something," you sigh, lifting your hands to mindlessly play with his hair, softly tracing up and down his nape. "What would you have done if he walked in, not Touya, huh?"
He shrugs, lips tugging into a small smirk. "Fucked you harder?"
You yank his hair and he laughs through a pained groan.
"'m sorry, baby," he murmurs, burying his head in the crook of your neck. You know he's up to something when he starts littering kisses there, soft, gentle little pecks that gradually migrate up your neck. "Let me make it up to you, yeah?"
"In your own room?" you ask, tilting your head to give him more room to work over your impressionable skin. He doesn't reply and that has you calling out for him again until he looks up at you with a shaky smile and pleading eyes. "No— no, absolutely not."
"Please, baby?" he practically whines, brows raised in earnest before he gulps. "Just— Just let me go down on you, okay? That's it. That's all I want. Then we can go to my room and I'll do whatever you want, I swear."
He must feel your resolution wavering, sensing the curiosity and want that kindles inside you, as he tips his head down to nibble at your jaw tenderly.
"Please, baby," he murmurs, flicking the tip of his tongue against the edge of your jaw, and the quick little licks so closely resembles the way he mouths at your clit whenever he's down there, it has you gripping the sheets desperately, arching your hips off of the mattress to grind against his growing hardness. "Let me eat you out, yeah? Gonna make you cum all over my mouth, baby, how's that sound?"
"F-Fine." You hiss when he rolls his hips against yours so his bulge pushes directly on your clit, already pulsing with desire. "Fine, but don't— don't tease, okay? Want you…"
"Yeah, yeah, baby, I’ve got you," he groans, trailing his mouth down the curve of your body. He spends a bit of time lavishing kisses over your stomach before he reaches the hem of your underwear.
Just like earlier, his fingers trace the fabric that hides your needy little hole from his thirsty gaze, but he starves no longer. His mouth latches onto the article, sucking at the arousal that seeps into the cloth before his tongue flattens against the curve, lapping at the wetness with a flaring hunger for more. 
"Natsu, please, please—"
He hums against your sex, making your legs quiver around his shoulder before he pulls your panties down enough to slip two fingers into you. You're dripping around his thick digits, careening into the burn that follows as he stretches you out, scissoring his index and middle fingers after each slow pump. Every time he curls his fingers, your back arches, and he thanks the universe for giving you the sweetest voice he's ever heard, revelling in the whimpers and saccharine mewls that escape you.
"Ngh, fuck— yes, yes, Natsu, more— need y'tongue and— ah! Like that, please, please, jus' like that, baby."
"Yeah? Go on, baby, make a mess f'r me," he groans, tongue making its way home into your cunt alongside his fingers. He soaks up your juices, humming at the syrupy taste of you dripping all over him, before he pulls back and sucks your clit into his mouth instead. "Gonna cum all over me, yeah, princess? Cum all over my dad's bed? Fucking drench his room, baby, c'mon, cum for me."
"No, no, fuck, Natsu— can't, can't stop, oh, fuck—"
Both of your minds are lost to the cosmos and you don't hear someone enter the room again until they rip Natsuo's head away from your cunt just as you reach your climax.
You shriek in frustration at the loss, about to whine his name at his tease, until you hear him growl, "What the fuck, Touya?"
Your eyes fly open, arms instinctively wrapping around your chest to cover yourself as your legs snap shut.
Except, Natsuo’s still between your thighs, so you can’t hide your dripping sex as well as you’d like, and Touya’s gaze immediately, brazenly, drops to leer at your exposed sex.
"I want in," he says, using his hold on Natsuo’s hair to tug your boyfriend away further. Natsuo has no choice but to follow, hissing in pain as his brother yanks on the white strands, and Touya’s entirely unbothered by Natsuo’s hands batting at his own.
“Like hell you’re joining,” Natsuo snarls, finally elbowing Touya in the gut and freeing himself. “Fuck off, man. This isn’t funny.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Touya rolls his eyes, snorting when he catches you pulling your underwear back up and grimacing at the sticky feeling. “I wanna piss the old man off, too.”
“Then jerk off in here later,” Natsuo supplies, running his hand over your thigh in gentle circles. “Sorry, you okay?”
You nod, but Touya’s still standing there, clearly not done with the conversation like Natsuo is.
“Or,” Touya starts, “you could be a good bro and share.”
“Not happening.”
“Why? Scared your girl’s gonna like me more?”
That gets to Natsuo. You can tell by the way he grinds his teeth together, see it in the fire that blazes in his harsh glare. The tension is so tangible in the air, so suffocating, that you're frozen in place, stuck flitting your eyes between Natsuo's clenching fists and Touya's raised eyebrows.
"I'm not—"
"Worried I'll fuck her so good, she won't want your limp dick anymore?" Touya taunts, rubbing salt in the wound, grinning when Natsuo huffs.
"Piss off," he grumbles, "I doubt you've ever even made a girl cum before."
"Ouch," Touya snickers. "Wanna bet?"
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Fine?" Both men look at you in question. "What, I don't get a say in this?"
Touya snorts. "You really gonna say no to this, sweetcheeks?" His eyes drop to the apex of your legs, where you're helplessly trying to rub your thighs together, impeded by Natsuo's large body. "You can try coverin' up all you want, you're not fooling anyone—" you don't even register that his hand has moved until you feel the elastic band of your panties snap across your skin, making you jolt off the bed "—y'can't hide how fuckin' wet you are, ya little slut."
"That's not because you're here," Natsuo scoffs, finally moving onto his knees, leaning on his forearms so he's towering above you. "That was all me, right?"
He doesn't give you a chance to answer, capturing your lips in a messy, bruising kiss. There's nothing decent about this — not the way he sucks your tongue into his mouth, obscene, wet sounds echoing through the room, nor the way you can feel Touya — his brother — watching the two of you makeout with such rapt attention, eyes unblinking, already aflame with desire.
Natsuo pulls back an inch, broad shoulders covering most of his brother's figure, and if it wasn't for Touya's murmured oh, fuck, you would've forgotten he was even there. You feel as if you're in a little bubble, just you and your boyfriend, kissing, messing around, having fun, but the bubble pops when Natsuo grazes his nose against yours and asks, "Is this okay? I'll kick him out if you want, just say the word." He sounds so sincere, but there's a strained keenness underlying his words, an eagerness to explore uncharted territory lacing each syllable; you can see it in his eyes, that wicked gleam he has to prove himself in front of his brother.
You're scared, naturally, but you can't deny (or hide) the way the possibility of this — of having a threesome with your boyfriend and his brother — has heat simmering in your stomach, sending tingles of anticipation, of lust, all through your body, setting your nerves alight with want. The prospect of a situation like this happening ever again is so low that, before you know it, you nod your head in answer.
"Yeah? You sure?"
"'m sure, Natsu."
"One hundred percent? Don't feel—"
"God, she's sure," Touya interrupts, pushing Natsuo over and stealing his place between your legs.
Just as Touya dips his head to kiss you, Natsuo's hand shoots out to cover your mouth.
"No kisses—" Touya's mouth parts, but Natsuo continues "—no, I'm not scared that you'll be better. I just don't wanna taste you when I kiss her, got it?"
Touya rolls his eyes, grumbling a whatever before tilting his head and nipping at the curve of your neck instead.
His touch is so different to Natsuo's. There aren't any teasing nibbles, no loving kisses, just an intense need to sink his teeth into your skin. You think he's doing this on purpose — riling Natsuo up by marking up your neck with lovebites — but you're in no position to protest when he blows over the stinging bites so gently it sends slow chills down your spine.
Touya revels in the full-body shudder that racks through you, enjoying the gasp that catches in your throat when he bites down a little too harshly on the supple crook of your neck.
"Move over, would you?" Natsuo asks, grunting when Touya aimlessly pushes him away. He's stronger, though, easily grabbing Touya's hand and pulling him back from where he's hunched over your body.
"Fuck, you're so fuckin' annoyin'," Touya complains, yanking his hands back and shooting a glare at his brother. He slaps the side of your thigh, stealing your attention. "Sit up, princess."
You do as he says, nudging his shoulder in complaint when he burns the sides of your underwear to pull it off completely.
"Relax," he dismisses, tossing the singed cloth away. "I'll buy you somethin' prettier, babe."
"Like hell you will," Natsuo cuts him off.
The bed dips when Natsuo settles behind you, curling his hands around your waist, dragging you flush against his body. The fabric of his sweatpants scratches along your lower back, but you're more focused on the swell of his cock as he rocks against your body. His hands follow the outline of your body until he reaches your bra, unclasping it and pushing the straps down before tossing it at Touya's face. He hides his smirk in the crook of your neck, muffling a snicker against the tender, bitten skin just as his hands cup your breasts. He's so big. With his broad chest rubbing against your back as he looms over you. With those large hands that completely envelope your breasts, kneading and squeezing the fat so hard, your skin lightens from his grip.
His touch is tentative, like a live wire hanging over a puddle precariously; you never know when he's going to tease your nipples with a frosty fingertip, tweaking the buds until you shiver, or when he's going to venture down at swipe an icy finger over your aching clit.
It isn't long before Touya's down to his boxers, crawling into the gap between your legs, digging his silver rings into the ticklish skin of your thighs when he pushes them further apart.
“Fuck, c’mere, pretty girl,” he murmurs, hoisting one leg over his shoulder. His warm breath fans across your sex every time he speaks, and you shudder, jolting in Natsuo’s grasp, when he blows cold air in between his words. “Look at you. Shitty Natsu didn’t even make you cum, huh?”
“‘s your fault, not mine, asshole,” Natsuo grumbles, but his words are nothing but white noise to you when Touya spreads your sticky folds and licks a long, languid stripe along your slit.
Your head falls back, a low moan escaping you as he easily slips a finger into you. Gradually, you can feel your release build up once again. Touya drags Natsuo’s hand down from pinching your nipple, and you almost whine at the loss, until you feel a cooler hand rub your neglected clit. It’s unfair how quickly they settle into synchronisation, working together just to reduce you to nothing but whimpers and hiccups; Touya’s tongue squirms in beside his fingers, Natsuo teases your sensitive pearl with slow circles, and you lie there helplessly writhing between the two, back bowing, moans flowing, succumbing to the pleasure they wring out of your tender body.
“Fuck, you gonna cum?” That’s Touya, parting to litter kisses — more biting teeth and spit, than the loving pecks Natsuo lavishes down your neck — across your thighs. You can feel the tremble in your bones, the way your muscles tense and your heel digs into his back as you toe the line of your orgasm. “Can feel ya gettin’ real tight. C’mon, princess, cum f’r me. Let me see ya.”
“Nats— Natsu, please,” you sob. The hand that isn’t holding Touya’s head down reaches back, digging into the thick muscles of Natsuo’s thigh for something to hold onto, something to ground you and anchor you to reality before you lose yourself to the haze clouding your mind. “Fuck, ‘m so close— Can I? Wanna cum, Natsu, please—”
“Cum for me,” Touya growls, and you cry out when he yanks his fingers out to slap a heated palm across your dripping pussy, once, twice, before hammering back into you. “Fuckin’ cum.”
Your thoughts rattle around as you shake your head, burrowing your fingers deeper into Natsuo’s skin, sinking into the mattress as you arch into Touya’s mouth.
“Natsu, please, please, ‘m so—”
“You’re close, baby?” Your head bobs in a fervent nod, and he smirks at the way you cling onto him, at the way you serve up your desperation for his hungry eyes to feast on. “Don’t you dare cum yet.” He ignores you whining his name so wantonly in favour of releasing your clit and tilting your head to his, your lips skimming against his as you try to kiss him, trying to muffle your sweet sounds and failing from squirming too much. “Who’s making you feel this good, hm?”
“Oi—”
“You, Natsuo!”
He pushes Touya’s head back down, holding his brother against your soaking sex, as he gives you a gentle kiss.
It’s so overwhelming. The cold, featherlight touches across your breasts, the hot mouth latching onto your clit and sucking; the fleeting brush of Natsuo’s lips, the insistent lashing of Touya’s tongue. You don’t know what to focus on, lost in the onslaught of pleasure, skirting the border of overstimulation, torn between chasing after Natsuo’s mouth and careening into Touya’s.
“C’mon, baby, I don’t think he heard that” — you whimper, and it’s music to his ears — “Who’s makin’ you feel this fuckin’ good?”
“‘s you, jus’— jus’ you, Natsu, jus’— ah, please... please, Natsu, please—”
“Alright,” he sighs, and he moves your hand from Touya’s head to his, where you easily weave through the strands and pull him closer to you — close enough that his teeth graze the skin of your neck, close enough that you hear him rumble, for your ears only. You don’t see Natsuo pushing Touya’s head away, but you experience the loss of Touya’s mouth. You feel his fingers still in your quivering pussy, and you revel in the cool fingers that come down to circle your clit until you finally fall over the edge to Natsuo’s deep voice. “Alright, cum for me, baby. Cum for me.”
There’s nothing more you can do than bask in the bliss that follows. Your muscles tighten, your mouth gapes to let out a long cry of Natsuo’s name, your nails dent his scalp until his hair weakens at the roots, but it’s worth it. It’s all worth it when Natsuo stares down at his brother, a cloying smile on his face at his sibling’s annoyance.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a delicate kiss to the side of your neck, still rubbing over your abused clit to coax more arousal, to keep the tremor in your thighs going. “Look at you, s’fuckin’ pretty, hm? Did so well for me, you know that?” He relishes the pleased hum that floats out of you when you finally come down from your high, enjoying the way you nuzzle into his embrace almost sleepily. More than that, though, he gloats in the face of Touya’s sneer, the curses that he bites back just to keep the serene ambience going.
“You’re fuckin’ dead,” Touya hisses, lowering his voice even further when he sees you frown. “You did jack shit, you bastard.”
Each fleck of turquoise is another spark of rage, his eyes burning with spite at the smirk that tugs at Natsuo’s lips. He’s gentle, though, as he eases his fingers out of your tender pussy.
“Didn’t you hear her? That was all me.” He grins, nodding his head to your thighs. “Rub ‘em, would ya? She’s still shaking.”
Touya huffs, but concedes, heating his palms slightly before smoothing them over the soft, smarting skin of your thighs in slow motions.
“You shit at the cool down, Ice King?” Touya taunts, thumbing over the indents he left in your thighs earlier.
“I’ll kick you out if you don’t shut up.”
Touya raises a brow at that. “She can still go? Pretty sure she’s half-asleep.”
Natsuo wakes you with a gentle squeeze of your waist, and you blink to clear out the cloudiness in your eyes before you face him.
“You okay?” You nod, and he continues, “You good to carry on?”
“Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine, I, uh—” you finally notice that Touya’s the one rubbing his warm hands over your legs, and you smile gratefully “—thanks, um, Natsuo’s always too cold.”
Touya shakes his head, a teasing smile on his face as he says ‘s fine. Natsuo pinches your hip with a frown. “Not so great, are you, bro?”
“He uses my own hands to do it.”
Touya snorts. “Seriously?”
You nod your head, giggling when Natsuo grumbles about you siding with his brother.
“Alright,” he huffs, pushing Touya’s hands off of your body and gesturing to the edge of the bed. “Stand there.”
Touya listens without another word, and Natsuo angles your face back to his with a flick of his wrist. His thumb grazes along the swell of your bottom lip, dipping in for the briefest second before resting on the bitten-raw skin.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” You nod again, sweetly kissing his fingertip, so he continues. “You okay to, uh, y’know, to—” he gestures to Touya “—him.”
“Gonna suck me off, babe?” Touya chips in.
“Y-Yeah, that.”
“I can do that,” you murmur. “You sure you’re okay?”
“‘m fine, just—” he faces Touya “— just go easy. Don’t be too harsh, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, treat ‘er like a princess. C’mere now. God, ‘m so fuckin’ hard.”
“Wait, wait!” Natsuo pulls you back just as you turn to Touya. His hands cradle the back of your head and he drags you in for a hungry kiss, capturing your lips between his like he’s been dying for a taste for too long. His tongue tangles with yours desperately, his nose brushes against yours when he angles himself closer, and a line of spit hangs between your mouths when he finally pulls back. He plants a few more rushed pecks on your lips before he sighs. “Okay. Okay, ‘m good now.”
“Fuckin’ finally,” Touya carps, squeezing over the bulge that tents his navy blue boxers.
You understand why Touya is so cocky when he pushes his underwear down, and his cock springs out of its confines. He’s flushed at the top, precum already pearling at the tip and he wastes no time smearing that across your lips when you settle in front of him.
“Finally,” he sighs, prodding your lips with his cock. “Open up, babe.”
You’re about to tease him — make him wait just a little longer so his patience wears even thinner — but Natsuo chooses that moment to slide two fingers into your pussy, and your mouth drops open in a moan.
“Oh, shit,” Touya groans, throwing his head back, enjoying the way your mouth hollows around his length. Your tongue drags across the veins forking up his cock with each pump, and he tests your gag reflex each time he pushes himself a little deeper, revelling in the way your throat tightens around him. “Shit, just like that— fuck, that’s it, babe.”
He allows you a moment to breathe, and you peer up through glassy eyes to see him focused on stroking the spit along his length. There’s a lewd, wet sound that resonates each time his hand moves, and it grows louder when Natsuo wades his cock through your slick pussy, parting your folds casually with just his thick tip.
Just as Touya slips his cock back into your gaping mouth, Natsuo pushes into your hole; they both groan in time with each other, and you feel so full — Touya’s length easily sliding down your throat with short, quick thrusts, whilst Natsuo slowly sheathes himself in your heat. He’s so thick, mere inches in, but already pushing your walls to their limits as he fits himself in snugly.
“Fuck,” he pants when he finally bottoms out, bending over your body. Your skin is balmy, covered in a sheen of sweat, but he cools you down, chest to your back, looming over you. “S’fuckin’ tight, God—” You jolt even closer to him every time Touya hits the back of your throat, and Natsuo curses, lifting a hand and wrapping it around your neck. His grip isn’t tight enough to cut off your air supply in between Touya’s thrusts, but you still whimper at the feel of him holding you in place. “God, I can fuckin’ feel it. Make him cum, baby, fuck—”
His head drops between your shoulder blades, and he can’t restrain himself from pulling out and thrusting back into you, just once, hard enough to make your skin sting with the sheer force.
“Yeah, fuckin’— make me cum, fuck. Jus’ take it— take it— oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Touya pulls out of you quickly, and with one hand on your head, he tips your head back. The other is stroking his length with great fervor until cum spurts from his tip, shooting all over your face in thick, creamy ropes. “Fuck, that’s it,” he sighs, dropping his hand from your hair to tap on your cheek until your mouth falls open. He slips his cock back in, and the last few traces of cum dribble onto your tongue before he pulls out again. He lets out a breathy chuckle, smirking at the mess on your face, but he has little time to enjoy the sight when Natsuo pushes your head down into the mattress, rears his hips, and hammers into you.
“Can’t— Can’t fuckin’ wait,” Natsuo grits, digging his nails into your shoulder and waist as he plows into you with such force, you’d be sent flying if he wasn’t also holding onto you so tightly. “You’re so fuckin’— so fuckin’ tight, god, ‘m not gonna last— ‘m gonna—”
“Nats— Natsu— oh, oh, please, please, please.”
Your throat is already raw from how Touya bullied it with his cock just moments ago, but your voice grows hoarser as you wail for Natsuo, begging him for more and more and more.
“‘ve got you— ‘ve fuckin’ got you. Gonna cum for me?” he asks. Your knees choose that moment to give into their shaking and you collapse, but Natsuo’s quick to follow, curving over your body, just barely keeping himself from drowning you in his full weight, as his pace never yields. “I said, ‘re you gonna fucking cum?”
Your whimpered yes, please, please tapers into a drawn-out whine when he sinks his teeth into your shoulder; pain-laced pleasure bleeds into the syllables as he licks over the bite, only to repeat.
“Wait, fuckin’ wait,” he demands, ignoring your choked I can’t in favour of wedging one hand beneath your body. His wrist will likely cramp up in this position, but he doesn’t intend to stay there long. It’s almost too easy how he finds your aching clit, rubbing over it in furious, firm circles until you’re burying your face in the bed sheets. His voice is like a tsunami crashing right by your ear, wave after wave, grunt after groan, of him telling you to hold it, fucking hold it, don’t fucking cum yet, got it? The water settles and his borderline animalistic growls finally, finally, wane.
There’s a lull where you only hear the clammy smack of his hips against your ass, the heady exhales that tickle your nape. But then his voice breaks through, like sunlight after a cruel storm, and suddenly all you can focus on is the rich timbre of his voice as he says, “cum for me.”
Your cries are muffled by Egyptian cotton; his are cut short as he catches your shoulder between his canines. You don’t know how long it takes for you to come to after that, a bell ringing in your eyes, stars bespattering your vision. There’s an ache that settles deep in your bones, a stiffness in the crook of your neck, a sharp pain that pricks your shoulder when you try to move.
You lie there, instead. Ignoring the uncomfortable, sticky feeling of Natsuo pulling out of you, and scowling when you hear Touya let out a low whistle.
“Didn’t think you had that in you, bro,” Touya laughs. Though your eyes are still closed, you can tell he moves closer to you when he starts poking around on your shoulder. You wince, and he gives a half-hearted oops in reply. “Got a hidden vamp quirk? You made her bleed.”
“Seriously?” you groan.
“Shit,” Natsuo sighs, and you flinch when his cold fingertips press gently around the wound. “Sorry, babe. You okay?”
“Tired. Hurts everywhere.”
Touya snorts. “Yeah, no shit. You looked like a fuckin’ bulldozer, ‘m surprised she can still speak.”
“Guess you did a shit job of fucking her mouth, then,” Natsuo jeers, smirking at the glare Touya shoots him. “You gonna stand there like a perv, or can you make yourself useful now and get her clothes?”
Touya grumbles but listens, tossing your clothes at Natsuo who helps you turn and sit so he can dress you. Your body feels heavy as he clothes you, and all you want is to sink into the bed and fall asleep. It’s hard to drift off, though, when Touya starts running his mouth.
“That was your first threesome, wasn’t it?” he asks, pulling up his trousers, continuing before anyone can even open their mouths. “Can’t believe you did it in dad’s bed. Thought I would’ve been the first to do that.”
You scowl at that. “Just when I forgot about that.”
Natsuo kisses your pursed lips, grimacing at the bitterness that lingers, brushing away the tears that have dried beneath your eyes. “Fun though, right?”
“He’s gonna know,” you groan. “There’s cum all over his bed, he’s gonna know, and then he’s gonna kill us.”
“We’ll blame Touya, it’s fine.” He ignores Touya’s I’m still here, man in favour of fixating on your shoulder, rubbing his thumb over the indents languidly, with the slightest pressure so you feel a little sting. His eyes are darker and a smirk curls at the edge of his lips. “Said I’d make it up to you, didn’t I?”
“Round two already?” Touya jumps in. “I’m down.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” Natsuo says, narrowing his eyes at his brother. “This was a one-time only thing.”
Touya smirks. “We’ll see about that.”
254 notes · View notes
touyaspeach · 5 months ago
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Cliché - Todoroki Touya x Reader
A/N ; for @pocky-writes neighbor!AU collab! Fluffy and a lil angst!
Warnings ; crimes, reader has a healing quirk, todoroki typical trauma, character death but not really
Words ; 2.4k
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It was such a cliche: falling in love with the boy next door. The way his blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight, the stark whiteness of his wild and untamed hair, the intense determination that was ever present. But there was a darkness that lingered there, right behind those shining drops of turquoise, just beneath the surface of plush burned skin. 
It's no secret that the Todoroki's were...dysfunctional. Even you in your young mind and innocent world view could see that things were wrong. That it wasn't normal for children to hide such severe injuries from their parents, or to be so hellbent on that one goal. 
You met Touya when you were too young to remember. You were neighbors of the same age and your mother got along well with his, and so you went on play dates and sleepovers before you could walk. Naturally you were close, you literally grew up together. 
He was such a sweet boy, your mother had said. All wild red hair and bright eyes full of wonder. She'd later joked about how she and Rei had planned your marriage, talked about the two of you being together forever, being soulmates.
It wasn't meant to be. Things...changed when Touya manifested his quirk. The once bright and cheerful child slowly started closing off, bandages appeared where they weren't the day before. Red slowly faded to white. Despite this, fire burned brightly within him. 
Even as your classmates teased him for the changes, he didn't care. He was so hellbent on developing his quirk to make his father proud, to beat All Might. 
"Touya, you're burned again!" You'd exclaimed, tiny voice full of worry as you tugged on his shirt. 
He shrugged you off, "Yeah. My body's not made for my quirk so I gotta deal with it."
"Let me help!" You'd begged, even if your healing quirk wasn't strong, you could at least help with the pain. 
He removed your hands from their grip on his shirt and gently pushed you away. The look in his eyes one of...hatred? Anger? 
"Please, Touya."
But he simply shook his head, "I can't get used to it if I let you help."
But eventually he'd give in, though it wasn't until you were 11. 
Once again things had shifted with the birth of his youngest brother. Touya had grown from determined to desperate, cast aside by his father in lieu of the new heir and degradation of Touya's body. 
It was as if the whiter his hair got, the more furiously he'd train. You only joined him on the side of the mountain a handful of times, mostly out of worry, but truthfully? What you saw up there scared you. 
Bright, hot fire that even from a good distance made your face burn and scorched the earth. So hot you couldn't bare to look at it, though when you did you hurt in another way. 
The expression on Touya's face, the tears that streaked down halfway only to evaporate from the heat, the burns that were inevitable all broke your heart. He was such a gentle, sweet boy before. Now? Now he was….
That was the first night he came to you and the last night you went to the mountain. 
"Dad gets all mad when he sees my burns," He'd said, dejected. 
"Of course I'll help, here-" You took both of his hands in yours, already they were bigger, and focused. Fingertips dancing lightly over his skin as you focused on erasing his pain, erasing the injuries, erasing the reminder that he'd went too far again. 
It took a lot of energy, you were still so young back then, but you'd managed to heal the burns on his arms. It left you panting and exhausted, but you did it.
You collapsed, down to your knees as your body trembled with a cold sweat from the effort. Touya immediately knelt before you, a comforting hand on your shoulder and worry marring his features.
"I-I'm sorry-" he started.
"It's fine," You reassured him, looking up with a strained smile. "You're okay? Right?"
His face dropped along with his hand, "Y-yeah."
This became a routine, you'd help heal the burns on his arms when you could, he'd kept overusing his quirk. 
Everything came to a head when Touya died. You could hear the screaming and commotion from where you were kicking at rocks outside: a shrill shriek from Rei, the loud shouting of your 13-year-old friend, and the boom of his father. 
You could do little but watch as he ran out of the house, into the treeline and up the normal path to his usual training grounds.
You thought about following him, to make sure he was okay but… truthfully? You were scared. He'd changed so much, thanks to his father. No longer the boy you knew, now he was the teen you adored, but feared. 
His fire was just so...hot. He was always so intense, so single-minded. You felt as if you could drown in him, in the worst, most painful way; like if you got too close you'd get burned - literally and figuratively. 
That night blue fire burned the forest, burned your friend, burned the boy you'd loved.
You were 13, you didn't know what love was, but it was the only word you had to describe the feelings swimming in your head and pumping through your veins. It was the only word you had to explain why you'd gone so far for him, why you screamed and sobbed and cried for weeks after his death. 
It was the innocent love of a naive child, one who had no concept of the depths of trauma and abuse the subject of her adoration suffered. Not then, anyway. 
Now, as an adult, you'd seen your fair share of pain, or torture, of the underbelly of society. It left you jaded. Hatred for heroes and all they represented, for Endeavor, for this world which was so unkind. 
You could have been a hero; your quirk was strong, you'd trained it well. Healing quirks were hard to come by, and yours was exceptional by those standards, and you knew this, so you trained hard. You might have been spurred on by Touya's death in your youth, letting his intense determination live on through you as your final testament to him. 
You'd built him up in your mind, admittedly. Childhood memories are subject to twist and morph into different and new shapes with age and maturity. You'd always held Touya on a pedestal, always considered him to be so amazing, and that hasn't changed. 
The boy you knew was gone, but his spirit lived on within you. Even as you carried a wicked smirk, a gun to a civilian's head, a bag of cash and gems in the other. It was a standoff. 
You'd robbed a bank for their safety deposits - even Villains gotta eat - and now you were taking a hostage to secure your getaway. 
Things had escalated far beyond your control this time: a pro hero was on an unscheduled patrol nearby and now you were scared. Usually, it was an easy job. Go for the safety deposits and not the vault, watch patrols closely to secure an easy getaway, have a disguise hidden just beneath your heavy, black coat. It wasn't supposed to go like this, but you your .45 revolver for a reason, and damned if you'd give up without a fight.
Not to a hero.
Not like this. 
"We don't want to hurt you, just put the gun down-" the pro begged, both hands up in mock surrender. You were lucky they weren't equipped to take you out, but that didn't mean you could underestimate them, or even trust them. The moment they saw a weakness, you'd be detained in one way or another. 
A beat. Two beats. 
Then it was hot. Hotter than you've ever been. And bright, so bright you had to cover your eyes as heat coiled all around you. There were screams, cries, and before you had the chance to gather what was happening, you were being hoisted up and carried out. 
And thrown like a ragdoll over broad shoulders, shoulders that obviously belonged to someone. A someone who was hightailing it out of there.
"The fuck are you?!" You shouted.
"Don't get your panties in a twist, little lady, I just saved your ass." A low, gravelly voice replied.
"Whatever, just put me down."
"Not yet, doll. Let's get to safety first. Then we can talk."
Safety, as it were, happened to be in your apartment complex. Specifically the apartment directly next to yours. You wanted to remark on how whoever your captor was knew where you lived - but apparantly he lived right next door. Weird. 
Once you were inside and the door was locked behind you, you were finally set down. Or rather, thrown down onto the raggedy couch rather unceremoniously. The bag of goodies jingled upon impact, drawing the curious eye of your … companion. Neighbor?
The man crouched in front of you, to meet you at eye level, and steadied you with a colour thay felt too familiar. He searched your face, waiting. For what?
"Did you think we were gonna split this just because you saved me?" You asked suspiciously, jingling the bag as if he didn't know what you meant. 
The man tsk'd at you, leaning in and leveling you with his stare once more. Still waiting.
Brows furrowed in confusion, you looked back and forth between the turquoise -
Recognition lit up your face like a Christmas tree. You knew those eyes were familiar, but you never thought you'd see them ever again. Not in a million years. 
He watched as your lip trembled, as hands flew to your face to hide the tears that leaked out between fingers anyway. He watched as your body shuddered with sobs, your shoulders shaking violently as too many emotions flooded you. 
"Touya-" You choked out, and attempted to form other words, though they were unintelligible. 
"S'me, Y/N. Can't believe you robbed a bank." He said with an amused lilt to his voice. 
You dared peer at him through the spaces between your fingers and take in his appearance. No longer was he the white-haired, furiously passionate boy you'd grown up with. Before you kneeled a man, broken and patched together, run ragged by this false hero society. 
The direct result of everything that was wrong in the world, the product of a quirk-marriage, pushed too far, too hard, too fast. Killed by his own ambition to be resurrected as this hollow shape of his former self. Fragments of a dysfunctional and broken life barely held together by gilded staples. 
The fire behind those eyes had long-since been extinguished. The boy you loved was no longer. 
"Damn, didn't expect ya to get so emotional, doll." He tried to keep the mood light, uncomfortable with the palpable tension. 
Before he knew it you threw yourself at him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck, thighs straddling his own, pulling him into you as if he were the last lifeline holding you to this earth. 
His whole body stiffened, arms flying up but not touching you. No, he dare not soil you with these hands. These cursed hands. 
"Touya, oh my god. It's really-really you!" You sob-hiccuped into his shoulder, tears dripping onto the fabric of his coat. 
"In the flesh. Well. Mostly." He let his arms drop to his sides, subjecting himself to your affection. 
He let you stay there, buried in him, for a while before he tapped softly on your shoulder. 
"You good?"
You nodded slowly, pulling back just slightly to look at those beautiful eyes. Even framed by fucked purple skin, dulled by the years of what he went through, they were still brilliant. He was still brilliant.
"Touya, it's you!" You said again, a smile so wide and bright dancing on your features that Dabi couldn't help mirroring it. 
"Yep."
"We have so much to catch up on! I have so many questions!" You started, but a long, slender finger to your lips hushed you.
"Listen, doll. Things have changed. I'm not...I'm not Touya anymore. It's Dabi. And whatever thing was between us back then, it ain't there now. So don't go gettin your hopes up, kay?" 
He hated the way your expression fell, hated the way he could taste the unspoken words just behind your lips as if they were his own, hated himself for…
How unfortunate for you that he was the one who loved you. How unfortunate for you that in all the world, with heroes and Villains and civilians and everything in between, that you ended up here, in his arms. How unfortunate for you that he watched you walk into that bank, watched the hero rush in, watched it go down and decided to help you because of the stupid flip his heart did. 
How unfortunate for you to be reunited - not with the boy you'd been so fond of - but with the man, the villain, the murderer, the monster. 
You deserved better, and yet you were here, and so overwhelmingly happy to see him again. As if he were the only thing that mattered. As if he was the thing most important to you. As if-
"Touya?" Your voice cut through his swirling thoughts, it always had. 
"Mm?"
"Can I be honest?"
A nod.
"When we were kids… I think…"
A quirk of an eyebrow.
"I might have been in love with you. As much as I could have been at that age."
A heavy sigh, and his head fell to your shoulder. Soft black hair tickling your cheek, as he...did he nuzzle closer?
"You're so stupid, Y/N."
"Never claimed to be smart." You grinned, and felt him do the same against your skin.
"You deserve better."
"I don't want better."
When you were 13 you thought you knew what love was. You thought your heart belonged to the boy next door, and you thought your heart broke when that boy died.
But now you're 24, and you know what love feels like. You know the aching pain of loss, the swirling rush of affection, the electricity that sparks in the space between touches. And you're still in love with the boy next door. Your heart still belongs to those turquoise eyes and fluffy hair and intense gaze. 
"Still?"
"I never stopped."
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alani-r · a month ago
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Hi. I really liked your last Dabi fix. How about Dragon Dabi getting a cute sacrifice?
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Dragon Dabi getting a cute sacrifice
TW: Yandere, Implied Killing, Used the word "Slut"
Part 2
Note: Thank you! I'm not good at writing AU but Dragon and Sacrifice sounds so cute. I tried to write it, hope you like it💗
When the world still has gods and monsters, Dabi is not the only dragon to be worshipped, and his family has the same treatment. Even after he had contact with Tomua and other gods and broke off his family, humans still adored him. They regularly offer sacrifices every year, countless gold, gems, clothing, animal blood... but these are not the most precious sacrifices.
The most precious sacrifice is a person's soul. The cart full of sacrifices went up the mountain and transported it into the mysterious cave. No one knows what happened, but they never came back. Gradually, there were rumors: the dragon ate them all. Their flesh and blood flowed on the rocks in the cave, and the afterlife would not receive their souls.
When the lottery is drawn every year, every household prays that it is not their children, their relatives, or their lovers. When the wizard worships, you pray with your family and friends. Your name appears on the note. You closed your eyes. They cried.
On the appointed day, the wizards and elders send you on the train of death.
When you reach the cave, the dragon has already appeared on the sea. He flapped his huge and majestic wings, and every time he stirred up waves. There are purple scales on his abdomen and back, and the splashes of water hit the scales, making them gleam in the sun. Those sapphire eyes are staring at you, but the vertical pupils inlaid in them are shaking with a dangerous light.
Almost at the same instant, you made a choice.
You: (put your hands in front of your mouth and yell to the sea) Hello!!!! I am here to serve you!!!!!
Dabi:?????
In any case, you don't want to die. You want to live. You are the little sacrifice of the dragon. No matter what dreams, goals, or ambitions you have, they are no longer important. When he turned into a human, he listened to your identity and smiled smugly, and announced that you were his little sacrifice ("Ah, it's that day again. I have a little sacrifice").
He doesn't kill you. You have taken on the duties of cleaning the cave and cooking. You cleaned the cave that had not been cared for many years and put new fur on his bed. He caught fish, rabbits, and deer. And you pick fruits and grow vegetables. You don't know whether he is satisfied or dissatisfied with your cooking skills, but at least he didn't criticize. You even counted his treasure, he rewarded you with a gemstone necklace for this, and you blushed.
Although he often bullies you, pulls your ears, and says you are a slut, he allows you to sleep with him a month after you come. He often said that he would eat your soul, but it didn't happen. You lie on his lap, listen to the sound of the waves, and secretly think of yourself as his friend...or some deeper relationship.
You don't know that he seriously wants to eat your soul and imprison you in his magic forever.
The day when the secrets were revealed finally arrived. One day, you found the soul he had swallowed. He really killed every sacrifice that came here, including people you know. You sobbed and resisted his touch. This angered him.
He cannot say, "You are special."
Your relationship has developed into a terrible situation. His friends of the gods are visiting at this time. When Toga looked at you curiously and excitedly, Dabi sneered and said that this was his "little sacrifice," and he would kill you soon. Actually, he didn't mean that; he just wanted to irritate you.
What he didn't expect was that you run away that night. As he searched the caves, woods, and vegetable gardens and couldn't find you, he was furious. He immediately followed your whereabouts, but where else can you go? You just went home, right?
You have not seen the breath of the dragon yet. His flames can destroy the entire town in an instant, and before that, he will find out his cute little sacrifice first.
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syds-room · 5 months ago
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COME AROUND
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— dabi
warnings: gn! reader, soft angst, fluff
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dabi glowered at you, but turned his head every time you went to ask what was wrong as if he didn’t look at you like he wanted to spit in your face. he got fed up when your hand came up to your lips. this relationship happened on a whim, but he wasn’t going to let your lips be all dried out and chapped from the sun and simply neglected like that peeling bastard..
yanking you up from where you were sitting beside shigaraki like you weighed that of a kitten as he carried you downstairs to the bar was missing kurogiri. he sat you on the counter, grumbling underneath his breath as he fished out a tube of chapstick.
the soft pads of his fingers coming to gently tilt your head up whilst his thumb tugged your bottom lip down so he could apply the colorless chap to it. the hint of annoyance and full concentration on his face made the corner of your lip turn upwards and his eyes flicked up to you. “keep hanging out with that crusty bastard, see how dry your shit keeps getting.”
a slap to his shoulder didn’t faze him, he rubbed his lips over your cheek, sighing as his hands made a path into your shirt to trace shapes but when your fingers met his wrist he was tugging them off and up his shirt so you could look upwards at him. he was always mildly annoyed at the scarred skin that chaffed and made his body that way and the contrast of your soft skin only seemed to make that annoyance chip more to his insecurity.
“well i like it.” you hummed, pressing a languid kiss to his neck making him jerk away with a disgusted look on his face.
you cupped his face, “that’s fucking gross.”
the way you were looking at him made his nose scrunch up and his eyes narrow even more at the lack of reluctance you had to show the scarred skin affection. “shut up, dabi. you’re not gross. not even this part of you.”
he seemed to glare even harder, only leaning more into you when your thumbs pressed into the softer flesh of his cheek and wrote pretty with your thumb on the scarred skin of his jaw.
“your dumbass has been shunned for too long.” your hands bringing him down for a kiss always made him relax, his arms not so shyly wrapping around you when your soft and freshly revitalized lips found his. “you’ll come around to me loving all of you.”
“my body is a fucking scab.” any of his jokes when said with such a straight face as he did now would normally make you laugh, but not this one and his sappy blue eyes gave to how much he loved you babying him and dousing fires that’s been roaring insecurities about his scarred flesh for so long. your kiss made him sigh and lean further into you.
“you’ll come around.” you hummed, pulling him into you.
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☀︎︎ revisit the playlist? or you want some rules? ☀︎
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© all work belongs to syds room 2021. do not modify, change, or copy works for use.
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rainbowredrobin · 4 months ago
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Yandere!Dabi tinder date from hell. Reader Insert (Y/N or You). Mind the tags!
His voice is deep and smoky, the kind that warms your insides with just a laugh. It’s also the first time he gives you a name, a real name, not a fake alias. The moment the name Touya leaves your lips, he’s moaning.
“Fuck, say it again, pretty thing. I need to hear it.”
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fablesofkitkat · 2 months ago
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pov: keeping it casual with Shiggy and Dabi
warning: suggestive / lime af
DISCLAIMER: this doesn't belong to the [Cherry, I run] timeline nor [can the world cease to exist?] timeline. I didn't want to write this pov because I felt like I haven't done enough character analysis on both Shiggy and Dabi to write them in the same pov; but a friend told me if I keep pussyfooting over writing two characters at once, how can I practice versatility in writing?
everyone is in LEGAL AGE in this pov.
if you want me to tag you on any Dabi povs or Shigaraki povs I'll write, let me know
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"You look like you're the life of a party."
Shigaraki takes a side glance at you and a subtle scan to your body. His eyes lighted with curiousity and appreciation with your choice of outfit: a high neck tank top mesh, a dark indigo fitch lace bralette, a black high waisted skirt that hugged your hips nicely and black stilettos.
"And you look like you're going to church." He gave you a smile, turning his whole body to you.
You and Shigaraki were both seated on the bar stools. There were still alot of seats available, not that it was still early, it's just that it isn't midnight yet and clubgoers were only starting to get in. He takes a sip from his drink, tasting the whiskey followed by a hint of sweetness, mixed with herbal, bitter notes.
You giggled. "Amen to that."
It was always nice to meet someone who understands sarcasm, you thought. Your eyes roamed his form appreciatively, his long sleeved shirt fitted him nicely and there was something so charismatic about the man, you couldn't quite put a finger on.
"Sazerac?" He offered, gesturing to his drink. You nodded and he waves the bartender down, buying it for you. "Tell me something, church little miss. Why me?"
"Hmm?" You distractedly watch the bartender prepare your drink.
"You're planning on sleeping with me. Why?" He takes another sip. "We both know interactions like this don't end as innocent."
You demuredly smiled at him, an enticing provocation when you're dressed ready to f–
"I didn't want those guys at the dance floor who grinds themselves all over me. I want someone different, a little intellectual stimulation." You tilt your head and leaned towards him; your lips curled in a secretive smile.  "A little foreplay, ya think?"
A bolt of heat shoots all over Shigaraki. It must be the sazerac. He's gotta admit that your boldness is quite attractive to him.
"You ever had it good?"
You snapped your eyes back to his. He caught you staring at his groin. To be fair, you were curious with his... package."What?" You asked, smiling seductively.
He cocks his head to the bartender.  "The drink. Sazerac."
You flushed, thinking he was talking about sex. Now you're just embarrassed. "Oh, what do you mean?"
Shigaraki leans close to you like how you did earlier. Like sharing a little secret. His breath smells like whiskey, with hints of cherry and spice. A dry sardonic aroma. Dammit, why does the scent turn you on?
He cups your chin with his right hand, the texture of his thumb sleeve brings goosebumps to you. He turns your head to the bartender. "After mixing the sazerac to one of the glass, the other is rinsed with absinthe before finally pouring the drink to it. If the bartender doesn't do that when you order a sazerac,  hop to a different bar."
You watch the bartender do exactly what he just said. You feel his thumb sleeve coyly touching the edge of your bottom lip, slowly following the curve of your chin, down to the curve of your throat, he pressed the spot aligned with your vocal fold that you let out a little gasp, or a squeak. His other hand is grabbing your thigh, preventing your legs from closing to relieve some of the ache.
"Ah-ah-ah." His voice deep but sing-song. "You don't get to close your legs with me here."
---
Dabi was randomly watching himself blow circles to the ceiling in the smoke room. When he hears the door slide open and you appeared, trying to catch your breath. He took an observation at you and found himself attracted to the way your chest heaved. Not that it wasn't a common sight for him, what with women flocking towards him whichever club he went to. He blew a circle in your direction, meeting your eyes critically. He smiled at the snooty, upturned nose you did and the way you rolled your eyes.
"This is the wrong place to try and catch a breath." He greeted.
"I wasn't trying to catch my breath." You patted your chest, slowly getting your breaths to slow down.
He raised an eyebrow at your reply.
"Yes, I was. But I was trying to run from a creep who wouldn't take no for an answer and you're pretty intimidating, so I was hoping to bum on your presence 'til he's gone." You explained.
Dabi couldn't stop staring at how, despite being seen disheveled just now, you casually primped yourself with a compact mirror. It amused him so since no one really cared what people looked like after spending a few hours at the club, usually everyone would be a hot mess. He found you cute.
"What's in it for me?" He drew a breath from the shisha and blew it again lazily at you.
You eye him critically, pursing your lips. "My wonderful company."
"So I get to take you home?"
"No. My company is only available within the duration of my stay here."
"Pity." With mocking a tone, he smirked at you. "But then again, you seem like you're too vanilla anyways. Can't have sex without being in love with someone?"
Dabi watches how your eyes glinted menacingly, a silent vow to prove him wrong. He anticipates how you crossed the room from the door to him, his heart jumped when your fingers brushed his as you took the pipe from his hand. You took a deep long breath, leaned down and blew sweet, sweet smoke in his mouth. He closed his eyes as the tobacco filled his nostrils, along with your scent. It takes everything in him to just let the smoke trail all over his mouth, and not let his lips press against yours.
" Your many piercings seem like you're overcompensating for something. What, you don't want people to know you're the one who's actually vanilla?"
He opens his eyes and a lazy smirk settles on his lips. He grabs the pipe back and blows the smoke to your mouth just hairsbreadth from you. "Why don't we find out then?"
You feel the way the air moved with his lips. It was so close. It was electric. His eyes daring you to close the distance. You took up his challenge of course.
---
"Oh, ffuuuck." You awkwardly stand by the door when you find Shigaraki and Dabi glaring at each other in the living room
"Who the fuck is he?" Dabi demanded
Shigaraki only glares at him and then turns towards you.
"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry. Uhmm Dabi meet Shigaraki, my fubu. Shigaraki meet Dabi, my not-serious bf which basically is just another word for fubu." You awkwardly shuffled your feet. "I guess I had too much to drink, I accidentally texted the other and here you are... two... Hahaha..." Kami, you just made a huge awkward mistake. Dammit, you're gonna lose them both.
"Which one of us did you text first?" Shiggy asked.
"Which one does it better?" Dabi asked.
They exchanged glares at their simultaneous questions.
"Um–"
Suddenly, they are both on you; Shiggy cups your face, kissing you angrily, biting your lips til they bleed while Dabi is behind you, cupping your chest as he slowly takes off your clothes. Dabi kisses the spot behind you're neck, nipping your skin 'til there's all but teeth marks on your shoulder blades.
"I'm not stopping–" Both glared at each other for saying things at the same time again.
You moaned when Dabi starts press his hips on you while Shigaraki's hands unbutton your jeans, and finally touching you there.
"We're not stopping–" Dabi's hot breath fanned your right ear.
Shigaraki's low quiet rasp on your left ear. "–not until you know which one of us can do you better."
---
AN:
[Cherry, I run] Dabi is screaming betrayal at me rn. Dw Dabi, this version of you has less issues than usual. [can the world cease to exist?" Shiggy is ignoring me, telling me he wouldn't share reader. ever.
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wnters · a month ago
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.ೃ࿐ TO CATCH A DREAM ❜ 🐌
─ 001. A STRANGER IN THE WARDROBE
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PAIRING: dabi x fem!reader tangled au
WARNINGS: swearing, not edited
WORD COUNT: 2.7k
LINKS: serie masterlistㅤㅤprevious chp.ㅤㅤ next chp.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: sorry the ending is rushed !! i didnt have any motivation to write BUT enjoy & happy halloween :)
© wnters — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified
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18 YEARS LATER
A green chameleon came out of the window onto the stone windowsill and hid behind a vase of flowers. Slightly panting from running around the tower, he changed his color to match the ones on the vase. The game of hide and seek has always been taken seriously between you two. Yeah, it was a fun thing to do, but the chameleon wanted to do something, how to say it, more exciting and less boring. For example, there was an opportunity to go outside and explor ─
"Hah!" the sudden yell made the chameleon jump with a yelp and tense. "Hmm, Well ... I guess Pascal's not hiding out here."
Pascal sighed and chuckled with a relief, then his breathing slowed down a little. The next thing he knew, he was hanging upside down and his tail was wrapped in few strands of (h/c) hair, while his wide eyes stared into excited ones. The chameleon skrieked with his heart jumping wildly against his rib cage.
"Gotcha! That's twenty two for me. How about twenty three out of forty five?" you put him down on the windowsill and sat next to him, your legs swinging freely in the air while supporting your weight on your hands. Pascal shakes his head in disapproval. "Okay, well, what do you want to do?"
After hearing the words of your question, the chameleon happily squealed and pointed his tail at the green grass, temped to leave the tower and explore the surroundings.
"Yeah, I don't think so. I like it in here and so do you."
Expectedly, Pascal stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry at you.
You picked him up in your hands, his eyes on the same level with yours. With a smile for your frowning friend, you slid from the window back into the tower. "Oh, come on, Pascal, it's not so bad in there. We can do lot of exciting things in here!"
His eyes remain on you, a sarcastic glint of amusement in them. The chameleon has been your friend for several years and spends time with you almost all day (when Mother is not with you). During the whole time, you managed to do almost every activity that was not limited in an enclosed space. Pascal was challenging you.
Now, you were standing in the middle of a one-room tower, a nervous look on your face, trying to convince your friend into spending his free time with you. It's not like he has something better to do, right? "We could do laundry, re-read some books, play on a guitar, or we could bake something if you'd like to!"
Pascal looked into your (e/c) eyes and after a moment of tension, he shook his head while his arms were crossed over his little chest.
You sighed, a little irritated with his stubbornness. You get him, you wanted to go outside, too, but you wouldn't do it without Mother's permission. World is selfish and dangerous, right? Something you won't experience. What you didn't expect was Pascal jumping from your outstretched hands to the ground and ran to the briefcase full of bottles with paints and brushes you were keeping there.
The big smile on your face when you were picking yellow and blue paint colours from the box, made a smile on the green chameleon's face as well.
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A young thief jumped from building to building and from roof to roof with two others following right behind him. With the last jump and slide on the stone wall of the castle, he landed on the lower roof with a thud. The male leaned with his shoulder against the edge of the building, his gaze looking into the distance where the sea was crashing against huge stones.
He was handsome in his own way. The azure eyes that held the picture of determination reflected in the bright light of the morning sun and stood out among his raven black hair, which was pointing in different directions. He was used to the purple colour of his scars, but he was still mad at himself for forgetting his scarf, which protected him from the curious eyes of the people. They would recognize and report him to the royal guards for sure. People only cared about their own asses. You can't rely on someone else if you want to have it your way. 
Sighing, he lazily put his hands on his hips. "The things I would do to see this view every morning."
The leader of the group, Shigaraki, who was pulling a rope from his satchel, called over his shoulder. "Come on, Dabi. We don't have all day."
The raven haired male, Dabi, raised his hand and his posture relaxed. "Hold on. Yeah, I'd do anything. Guys, I want a castle."
"You can buy your own cast ─ ," before the other man could finish his sentence, he was interrupted by the last member of their small group. This time it was a blonde girl with bangs and two buns on the sides of her head. 
"Hurry up, I wanna live in a castle, too! With that pretty crown down here!"
Dabi patted the wall of the castle and smirked. "You're gonna be mine soon," with that, the thief walked to the group. He had no choice but to go down through the roof window into the room with the princess' crown with a help from the rope Shigaraki brought and steal it.
When he was lowered at a height where he could take the crown without unnecessarily reaching, one of the guards sneezed. Since he had his back faced away, fortunately he didn't notice the thief. Dabi supported his elbow in the now empty place of the missing crown and smirked. This is going to be an interesting run. 
"Oh, hay fever?"
"Yeah," the guard turned his face to look at the black haired male, nodding in agreement. The moment he met the azure eyes of the criminal, he panicked. A little later as he planned, because during the time he yelled at him, Dabi started to climb up, the crown secured in his satchel. "Wait, what? Hey, wait!"
The thief made a small sound like laughter and began to run, his company close in his heels. Toga reached for the crown, but Dabi lightly slapped her hand away. He had his own plans. "Can't you picture me in a castle of my own? I mean, I certainly can. Oh, the things we've seen and it's only eight in the morning. Guys, this is a very big day, I'm telling you." 
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"This is it. This is a very big day, Pascal," sighing, you giggled to yourself. Back in the tower, you paced nervously and waited for Mother while holding the chameleon in your slowly sweating hands. Would she let you go? After all, it was your eighteenth birthday, Mother could make an exception for at least this one day. You only have eighteen once in your life.
"Y/N! Let down your hair!"
Even though it was expected, her shout startled you. Without wasting more time, you placed Pascal on the ground, your hand indicating that he should hide. Gothel didn't know about him, and you did not want to risk losing your only company in the lonely tower. When the chameleon put his hand to his forehead with a look that probably said something like 'Be brave and you can do it', you were thankful for him. "It's time. I know, I know. Come on, don't let her see you."
Mother's voice called in a sing-song voice once again. "Y/n, I'm not getting any younger down here."
"Coming, mother."
Throwing your hair over the alcove on the tower that helped you welcome Mother home, you grunted. Gothel loosely wrapped a strand of (h/c) hair around her wrist and made a large loop she put her foot into. The weight that immediately reached your hair made you gasp. Sure, it was a daily thing but you still weren't used to this.
You pulled her up and stepped away from the window to give Mother a place to enter. You smiled, hoping it looked like a happy smile, while you felt nervous inside. "Hi, welcome home, Mother."
As always, her arms were wide open as in a hug and a basket of (probably) fresh forest fruit was hanging on her arm for tonight's dinner. "Oh, (Y/n). How you manage to do that every single day without fail, it looks absolutely exhausting, darling."
You let out a chuckle. "Oh, it's nothing."
"Then I don't know why it takes so long," Gothel laid her coat on a chair and walked over to you. Her palms settled comfortably on your shoulders, her expression taking on a look of playfulness. She booped your nose with a smile. "Oh, darling. I'm just teasing."
A nervous laugh escaped your throat. "All right ... so, Mother. As you know, tomorrow is a very big day ─ ,"
You didn't finish your sentence because you were interrupted by Mother when her hands found their place on your shoulders again, this time turning you towards the mirror in the room. Her voice was close to your ear and resounded in the tower. As you were looking in the mirror that reflected two people, Gothel began to talk. "(Y/n), look at that mirror. You know what I see? I see a strong, confident, beautiful young lady," she was looking at the reflection infront of her. Then her pretty eyes flicked to yours, bumping your shoulder lightly with a laugh. "Oh look, you're here too! I'm just teasing, stop taking everything so seriously, flower."
A step back and fiddling with your fingers. "Okay, so mother. As I was saying, tomorrow is ─ ,"
"Flower, mother's feeling a little run down. Would you sing for me, dear? Then we'll talk," lifting her hands to touch her cheeks, Gothel looked at her wrinkles. They weren't really visible but they made her feel old.
"OH! Of course, Mother!" pulling out an old oak chair, you prepared an armchair for the woman, sat down on the little chair next to her, pressed a brush into her hands and began to sing. A little too fast for Gothel's liking.
"Flower gleam and glow, Let your power shine, Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine," the singing began to take its pace faster and faster, and Gothel finally recovered from the small shock you had given her with your actions. She ran the brush over your long hair you pushed into her lap several times. "Heal what has been hurt, Change the fate's design. Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine." 
At the end of the song, a glow illuminated her and her hair blew into air. Annoyed, her eyes gave you a small glare. "(Y/n)!"
What could be so important that it couldn't wait?
"So, Mother, earlier I was saying tomorrow’s a pretty big day, and you didn't really respond, so I'm just going to tell you. It's my birthday! TADA!" saying as fast as your lungs allowed you to, you had an excited grin in your face while you clutched into the woman's arm.
She shook her head, removing you away from her elbow. "No, no, no, can't be. I distinctly remember. Your birthday was last year."
You began to play with your fingers, your eyes twinkling with joy. Something like that could only mean you were talking about something you enjoyed. "That's the funny thing about birthdays. They're kind of an annual thing. Mother, I'm turning eighteen. And I wanted to ask, what I really want for this birthday. Actually, what I’ve wanted for ... quite a few birthdays now ... ─ ,"
"(Y/n), please, stop with the mumbling," Gothel interrupted you, her hand doing little movements as if she was mocking your talking. "You know how I feel about the mumbling. Blah, blah, blah, blah. It's very annoying," with her little teasing, she pinched your cheeks together, smiling at you. "I'm just teasing, you're adorable I love you so much, darling."
When her hands left your cheeks alone, you opened you mouth to speak. You hesitated. It was just a few words, it wasn't that hard. The worst thing she can say is no. You believed in the best alternative. The only answer you wanted to hear. Yes. You can go. So why were you so nervous?
You looked over Mother's shoulder at the painting you had recently completed with the help of your green lizard friend. Pascal, as if feeling your nervousness, nodded his head, giving you a bit of courage. Be brave.
(E/c) eyes met gray ones. The next words flew out of your mouth almost as fast as the song did. "Oh, I want to see the floating lights!"
The woman raised her chin, the hand she was supporting her head on now rested on her thigh. "What?"
Twirling a strand of hair around your finger, you answered her question, a little afraid now to look in her eyes. "Oh, ... Well, I was hoping you would take me to see the floating lights."
"Oh, you mean the stars."
"That's the thing, I've charted stars and they're always constant. But these, they appear every year on my birthday, Mother. Only on my birthday. And I can't help but feel that they're, they're meant for me. I need to see them, Mother. And not just from my window like every year. In person. I have to know what they are," at the end of the explanation, you still hoped Mother would let you go. Your dream means so much to you.
But Gothel thought something else. "You want to go outside?" Not on her watch. She had already lost you once, she did not plan on repeating the same mistake. You're supposed to learn from your mistakes, not repeat them. And so she did. "Why, (Y/n). Look at you, as fragile as a flower. Still a little sapling, just a sprout. You know why we stay up in this tower, dear."
"But ... ─ ,"
"No but's, (Y/n). Do you not remember the stories I've told you? The ones about dangerous world and selfish people? It's all true. That's why I won't allow you to leave this tower. It's all to protect you, flower. You're a gift I need to keep safe. There are large bugs, cannibals, and scary men who are just running around waiting for people like you. So promise me one thing, (Y/n)."
You looked at her, sadness floating in your eyes. You had no reason not to trust the woman. "Yes?"
"Don't ever ask to leave this tower, again," hands on your shoulders and stern eyes looking into yours, Gothel slowly pulled you into a hug. You knew it was better to obey than to break the rules. Softly whispering, you tightened your grip around her waist.
"Yes, Mother."
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Hiding behind a huge rock, the black haired thief panted from all of the running he just did. The royal horse, Maximus, as he was called, was faster than any of the other horses Dabi has ever been chased by. And even though he was in a good shape, the horse took the words 'chase it until it's yours' too seriously.
After making sure there was no longer any noise, the male ran out of the cave he was in. He liked the sound of crouching leaves but not hearing it right now was much more better sound for his ears. A blessing, like his mother would say. Or so he at least thought.
His eyes widened at the sight in front of him. A tower made of ─ are they bricks? ─ and covered in different kinds of plants gave him a slightest bit of hope. Maybe he has a place to stay in untill it's safe to wander around again. Deciding his next steps, he moved forward.
Was it abandoned? It looked like that. And even if it wasn't, Dabi would make it work. No one will take him back without a fight.
An arrow after arrow, the male pushed himself up, reaching the opened window. It could be a red flag but it's just an entrance to his safety. Jumping in, Dabi closed the window (or should he call it door?) and checked his satchel for the princess' crown while sighing in relief when he found it in its place. He would be dammed if he lost it.
"Alone at last."
Then everything went black.
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d0llygard3n · 8 months ago
Note
Dabi with a reader with Guinea pigs for a pet
warnings: swearing, dabis an asshole and makes fun of ya a little bit a/n: i liked this one. hope you enjoy anon!
♥ dabi with a s/o that has guinea pigs ♥
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he’d make fun of you as soon as he found out
but tbh
wanna know a secret?
he didn’t even know what they were till recently
use that in an argument
if you ever need food or smth just-
“breaking news: a pet store was robbed earlier last night. though it seems the robber only stole toys and food for guinea pigs-”
then you’d just see him crawling through your window with bags
“did you?-”
“don’t. fucking. ask.”
when you’re not home and he’s there he’ll play with them
or, well, the best he could
(he still has no fucking clue what they are-)
at first he thought they “didn’t fit his aesthetic” and were “too cute to be trusted”
then they bit him
now he loves them!
if they ever bit you he’d almost kill them
if you stop him he’d just glare at them
it’s honestly really cute
he’s just sitting on your couch glaring at them like a cat
it’s even cuter when they squeak at him and he squeaks back
though his are *ahem* more aggressive
(he only does the squeaking thing when you aren’t home or when he thinks you aren’t home)
somehow they just sorta
wiggled their way into his heart
like you did!
(he’d never admit it though)
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