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cryptiql · 3 years

Text

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."

#⛓.dabi #dabi x male reader #dabi x reader #anime x male reader #mha x male reader #touya todoroki x male reader #my hero x reader #my hero x y/n #boku no hero x reader #x male reader #bnha x you #dabi fluff #dabi angst #dabi imagine

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punkscowardschampions · 5 years

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Rio & Buster

Rio: Word to the wise, McKenna, get your missus off the streets unless you want her to get hate crimed Buster: Like I care what happens to her Buster: Hospital bills aren't in the realm of what I pay for unless they're Jay's Rio: I can assure you I care even less so regardless of how little you feel for this one Rio: get her out of my face, yeah, cheers Buster: Handle her yourself Buster: I'm out of the habit of doing favors for you Rio: Why should I? Rio: She's your mess Buster: She's never been mine Buster: Nothing to me, like Rio: Of course not Rio: 'cept the mother of your child, like Buster: Jay's not gonna wake up and scroll Chlo's social feed. I reckon we're fine Rio: Luckily for you too Buster: What the fuck's that meant to mean? Rio: Hardly keeping it PG are you Rio: at least Chlo has the deceny to keep it fake Buster: Why should I? Buster: None of them are sticking around for playdates Rio: Exactly Rio: don't need to keep a catalouge running for anyone but yourself Buster: If you've got something to say, say it Buster: Don't make it about my daughter when it ain't Rio: Well yeah, it is Rio: Won't be that long before she can use an iPhone Rio: put money on her figuring it out before you get a clue, anyway Buster: Fuck you Rio: Yeah, fuck you and all Buster: You wish, babe Rio: Still out here with the same shit chat Rio: a miracle you can keep Chlo invested nevermind the rest Buster: Not trying to keep anyone invested Buster: It's your problem that it still works on you Rio: Please Rio: Just keep all your bullshit out my face Buster: Says the girl in my inbox seeking me out Buster: Block me. It's well easy Rio: I know it's hard for you to process, but this ain't about you Rio: anyway, if you took your own advice, these messages would be falling on deaf ears so Buster: I know that you knew I wouldn't care before you even said her name Buster: But here you still are, like Buster: And it's my bullshit, yeah? Okay Rio. Whatever you say Rio: Yeah, truly my bad for reckoning you still had some decency Rio: How are you gonna blame me for this one? Buster: Never claimed it Buster: Your bad for seeing what you're desperate to see Buster: I can blame you for not playing by the rules you made up to suit yourself and leaving me alone Rio: You mean my bad for seeing through your bullshit Rio: I'll claim that, happily Rio: Come on, there were never any rules, it was the fucking opposite from the jump Rio: and you've hardly been alone Buster: You'd have more credibility at seeing through me if you weren't so full of shit yourself Buster: But go off if you wanna Buster: 'Cause we both know what it's really about, yeah? Buster: You wear that jealousy well though, babe, don't worry Rio: Fuck off Rio: I have standards, unlike yourself Buster: They ain't high enough to brag about though Rio: You've got that covered too Rio: Maturity of a twelve year old Buster: And? Buster: You're so mature, it's all just playground games what you do, but 'cause there's cash in it you tell yourself it ain't Rio: And, you're a grownass man with a child so sort yourself the fuck out Rio: This ain't about my job Rio: which you have no idea about so don't even go there Buster: It ain't about me as a dad either, which you know even less about Rio: Yeah, 'cos not everything you do affects your kid Rio: think on like Buster: She's a baby and she's protected from this as much as her psycho ma will let her be Buster: Catch yourself on and stop trying to cross new lines with me now that I won't fuck you Rio: Sure, that's your thing, wait until everything's totally fucked before getting out your cape Buster: Rather that than stress something that ain't a thing Buster: Life's too short, babe, you gotta calm down Rio: Shut the fuck up Rio: I know how short it is Rio: its you that's acting like that means it don't matter Buster: 'Cause you've got all the answers, yeah? 'Course Buster: Ask yourself why you're so obsessed with my kid Buster: I know exactly what matters Rio: Yeah? Then fucking act like it Rio: reckon you're so smart when it's obvious why the fuck I care Rio: don't recall how this goes when you mess it up? Rio: 'cause none of us can fucking forget Buster: Then act like it your fucking self Buster: If you gave a shit you'd know that I ain't nothing like that cunt Rio: Not me you have to prove that to Buster: And I already prove it to her Buster: So fuck you Buster: She ain't Edie and she never will be Rio: Fuck you there was nothing wrong with her Rio: it was him Buster: And I'm not him Buster: So stop Rio: You stop Buster: What? Having a life Buster: Didn't reckon being a dad meant I have to book myself into a monastery like Rio: You don't have to or get to treat people, women in particular, like shit Rio: and act as if that's never coming back on you, and fucking her up Buster: I've never treated a girl anything other than how she wants me to Buster: They ain't asking me to get down on my knees with a ring Rio: Whatever, Buster Buster: Not whatever Buster: You know it firsthand don't act like you don't Rio: I'm not accusing you of being a fucking rapist here Rio: but you're gonna sit here and act like you've never turned a blind eye to a girl's feelings just 'cos it suited you Buster: With Chlo, yeah, and I'm still paying for it Buster: Every girl I've been with since knew exactly what was happening and not. I know I'm hot but they are capable of having a convo with me sometimes Buster: If you wanna think different, chat away to my fucking sister, she's been in that camp way longer, properly knows her way around Rio: Jesus Rio: Just get her on the first plane out of here, yeah Buster: If it was that easy she'd already have gone Rio: Yeah well Rio: Good luck Buster: Well, what? Buster: What do you want me to do? Buster: Whatever it is, take more than luck Rio: I'm not here offering solutions Buster: Just saying you care and doing fuck all to prove it, yeah? Buster: I got that Rio: What can I do? Christ, wasn't as if it was a friendly chat Rio: can hardly wave her through customs Buster: You could help me Buster: Instead of being a bitch Rio: I'm not being a bitch Rio: but go on, how? Buster: Whatever Buster: Forget it Rio: No Rio: I'm being serious Rio: Go on Buster: So I am Buster: I'll sort it myself Rio: Alright Buster: Salvage what you can of your night Rio: Whatever Rio: Will she seriously not leave? Doesn't she...do anything in London or what Buster: She can shop and have brunch here too Buster: Swap my parents for hers, with the bonus pair of hands that's me Rio: More tragic than my life and that's saying something Buster: Shut up Buster: You're alright Rio: Don't worry, not looking for sympathy Buster: Not giving it Buster: I don't need to Rio: Hmm Rio: doesn't she have a dog? Rio: could stage a kidnapping Buster: Wouldn't wish that on her parents, they'd get all the blame Buster: They ain't that bad Rio: Alright, just ransom one of her shit friends then Buster: Like she'd actually care Buster: I'm ringing her, once she has enough missed calls from me she'll come running back Buster: Gotta raise the tally to the highest it's been or what's the point, like Rio: Gets her out of town, yeah Rio: but how are you gonna get her out of yours? Rio: maybe your 'rents can Buster: Not your problem Buster: Neither is the fact my parents would have to be around themselves to notice that she is Rio: Guess even their best stern phone voice ain't really going to cut it Rio: Surely there's a social occasion she's missing? Create a fake one, like Buster: Nothing to top her plans to seduce me into playing happy families Buster: But I'm the one who'll mess Jay up Rio: Alright, I didn't compare you to her, come on Buster: Nah, just the biggest cunt, going Buster: Cheers Rio: Not you as a whole Rio: just some behaviour but yeah Rio: said what i said still sorry Buster: Are you? Rio: Don't push it, I ain't gonna repeat the s word Rio: but yes Buster: You can, I won't tell anyone Rio: Yeah? Forgo the social media for that one Rio: Typical Buster: Hardly the first exception I've made for you, babe Rio: Lucky me Buster: Least you can admit that Rio: Idiot Buster: Behave Buster: I clearly ain't as smart as you want me to be but can't go that far Rio: Alright, ain't the first to not be on my level Rio: sure you won't be the last Buster: Shut up Buster: That's the biggest lie you've told me yet Buster: I easily match you Rio: And that's the most defensive you've been Rio: Oh, boy, some things never change Buster: Good. Things weren't that bad how they were Rio: Yeah Buster: You should go, reckon I've got through her thick skull finally Buster: Have some fun Rio: Oh, ain't even thought of a decent plan yet Buster: Don't worry about it Buster: No reason we should both have a shit night Rio: If I was anywhere Chlo could hunt me down, unlikely I was having a rager, isn't it Buster: Yeah well, you were the one trying to say you had standards, babe Buster: You working or what? Rio: Also saying shit was tragic, if your recall's that good Rio: Nah, rare night off Buster: All the more reason to fuck off and do something good then Buster: Ain't too late yet Rio: Do my best, McKenna Buster: Have one for me, like Rio: Done is done Buster: Sláinte Rio: I miss you Buster: Rio Rio: Sorry Buster: Don't Buster: That isn't how I wanted to hear you say sorry Rio: I know Rio: I didn't mean to say it Buster: I know Rio: Okay fuck Rio: bye Buster: Wait Rio: Yeah? Buster: I miss you too Buster: I'm not sorry Rio: Swear? Buster: Yeah Rio: What do we do? Buster: Do you really want me to answer that? Rio: Guess my answer depends on yours so Buster: You already know there's only one thing I can think about doing Rio: Me too Buster: Fuck Buster: Tell me we can't Rio: Can't now Rio: for real Rio: but I can't say never Rio: it feels as shit as it sounds Buster: I know Buster: That's all I'm sorry for, like Rio: I tried Rio: but it just fucked everything else up too Buster: you and me both, babe Rio: Jesus Rio: what's wrong with us Buster: Nothing I wanna fix Rio: Seriously? Buster: I want you Rio: I know Rio: it made me mental Rio: and that's only the shit i saw, never mind all the stuff i could imagine, and couldn't stop myself from Buster: Good Buster: 'Cause you gave me nothing to go on Rio: Not good Rio: I could fill you in if that's what you want Buster: Is it gonna be worse than what's in my head? Rio: Safe to assume if it was I wouldn't be in your inbox now, would I Buster: No telling with you Rio: Charming Buster: Well, can't be, can I Buster: Not now Rio: I got this far resisting you, sure I can manage a few more days Buster: You reckon? Rio: No but you know Rio: if I ain't got a choice I ain't got one Buster: You could race Chlo to my door Rio: You'd love that, twat Rio: though doubt she's gonna be fast in those heels Buster: How pissed is she? Not gonna love that, am I Rio: Completely white girl wasted Buster: 'Course Buster: Come over a few minutes after she gets here then Rio: We can't do that Buster: I know but I really wish I was being serious Rio: Same Rio: Just have to see you around, like Buster: I'll call you when she gets mad enough at me to go Rio: Sounds like a plan Rio: She's determined but you're annoying as fuck so Buster: Fuck off Buster: You love it Rio: For my sins Rio: I give Chlo 3 days tops Rio: she's fake and we know it Buster: I'll get her to leave tomorrow Buster: You'll see Rio: You talk a big game, babe Buster: If it was all talk I wouldn't be saying it Buster: The proof'll come Buster: I'm determined too Rio: You're cute Buster: You won't be saying that when I'm right Buster: Then I'll be hot as fuck Rio: to yourself or me, like? Buster: Hilarious Rio: You know I got jokes Rio: and you know you're always hot as fuck to me too Buster: Tell me what else you've got for me Rio: Only all of me and whatever you want Buster: I'll take that Rio: Good Rio: not got the holiday home and yacht perks like your usual, soz like Buster: Shut up Buster: You know I don't care about any of that Rio: Giving you some credit, like Rio: Dunno what else you're seeing in 'em Buster: You really wanna talk about them? Rio: Not my first choice but as discussed Rio: not yet Buster: It's easy that's all Rio: You don't need to explain yourself Rio: I'm just jealous Buster: I'm just saying you don't need to be Rio: Not now I know you feel it too Buster: Did you actually think I didn't? Rio: I don't know Rio: Maybe Rio: I told you, couldn't stop thinking all kinds of shit Buster: Idiot Rio: Shut up Rio: said in this very convo that you won't fuck me anymore Buster: And you said you saw through my bullshit Rio: You know, being cocky is your thing Rio: but honestly, always said it, headfuck, yeah? Hardly been here before Rio: don't know what I'm doing or feeling half the time Rio: except I want you, that's all I know Buster: That's all I need you know Buster: It's alright Rio: Yeah? Rio: Good then Buster: It'd be better if you were coming here instead of Chlo Buster: Not to speak of the devil 'cause fuck knows when she'll appear Rio: She did stumble out a while ago so Rio: probably soon, assuming she ain't fallen in the river Buster: I ain't that lucky Buster: Had my share for tonight anyway, like Rio: I won't tell anyone you said that Rio: nothing but god given 🍀 Buster: Cheers Rio: People you don't wanna see are like buses forreal and the 2nd just showed up eurgh Rio: Don't get the wrong idea, Chlo, not following you out but I gotta dash Buster: Who's got you running? Rio: Just someone I owe a second date Buster: Where are you gonna go? Rio: Onto the next bar and hope I ain't been spotted Rio: though no one wants to leave so I'm gonna have to make new friends, cheers lads Buster: You could always come here Buster: Have a drink with me instead of for me Buster: And celebrate Chlo's impending departure Rio: Hmm Rio: How much space can you feasibly put between you and me, whilst still serving me a drink? Rio: 'Cos I don't trust myself at all Buster: Try me Rio: Alright, Tom Cruise 🍸 Rio: no need to try to impress me i'm there Buster: Yeah? Rio: Yeah Rio: Can always just go down on you Rio: Stealth mode Buster: Good to know you've got a plan Rio: Always thinking, babe Buster: Can't deny that I ain't Rio: Then you'll owe me for missed time and then some Buster: Fine Rio: Seal the deal when I get there, like Buster: Promise Rio: Promise Buster: How soon can you be here Rio: Gotta give Chlo time to get in and leave you alone, so you tell me Buster: Just come now Buster: I wanna see you before I have to her Rio: How we gonna explain that one? Rio: Unless you want me to hide Buster: She won't remember Rio: I think she will Rio: Stalker of the highest order Rio: shocked she even knew who I was Buster: You've got a point Buster: Fuck's sake Rio: I know, babe Buster: [An annoying amount of time later] Buster: Okay Rio: Persistent bitch Buster: I don't wanna talk about her any more Rio: We don't have to talk at all Buster: You reckon? Buster: When have you ever stayed that quiet Rio: Sounds like you missed me and all my talk Buster: Yeah Buster: I wanna hear everything you've got to say to me Rio: Okay, work on my whisper Buster: Not that you're gonna have long 'cause you're gonna hurry up, yeah? Rio: Duh Rio: Wish I could say the blue dress has made an reappearance alas Buster: I don't care Rio: Trust, gonna make sure you don't care about anything but what my mouth is doing Buster: Christ Rio: I missed you so much Buster: I can't wait to show you how much I missed you too

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