the-rabbit-re

[the-rabbit-re]

Dabi x Reader

Drowned

Preview: In which Dabi comes to terms with his feelings, while still managing to never name them. A traumatized king. Otherwise called Dabi's POV of Chapter 3: Siren [Dabi x (Female) Reader]

NSFW/Smut/Alcohol/Explicit Language

Word Count: 6526

Total Original Trilogy Word Count: 45482

Part One: Safety Habits

Part Two: Bad Decisions

Part Three: Siren

Dabi’s POV

Part Four: Habit-Forming

Part Five: Infestation

Keep Reading Below or AO3: Link

Dabi was actually sleeping peacefully for once in his life when he heard a phone ring for what felt like the umpteenth time that morning. He didn’t have the energy to curse about it.

Even half asleep, Dabi noticed you were no longer in the bed, and he wanted you back in it.

“Y/N.” Dabi mumbled as he turned to see you sliding a shoe on. The image was ridiculous; absurd like this had been some one-night stand. This is how you should’ve reacted the first time you fucked. Not now. It almost made Dabi laugh, wondering where you were trying to sneak off to. “Are you trying to sneak off doll? I don’t remember giving you permission to leave.”

But then you turned around and Dabi saw your face. Saw the doe eyed startled look of half panic. Dabi’s stomach dropped, a feeling he wasn’t use to at all and he hated it. He wasn’t one to react to much; but he felt it twist. The unease falling on him like the charred remains of a house as he sat up quickly to take you in. All of you. How your hair was a bit of a mess; how you clutched your phone too tightly in your hand; how your shoes could hardly be called tied. 

The phone was still ringing. You didn’t even look away to answer it. “I’m on my way back.”

And then you hung up, still wide eyed.

“Who was that? Why do you look so panicked?” Evan. It had to be. The useless fucking hero brother. Dabi didn’t trust heroes. Dabi didn’t particularly trust fucking anyone. And he especially wasn’t trusting anyone with you.

Bloodborne was always full of himself. He wasn’t going to overlook whatever he thought you had or hadn’t done. For a moment Dabi felt something like guilt, and it made him mad. It made him mad that he had to feel guilty for being with you. It made him mad that you had the opportunity to hurt him, if you wanted to. And this was that moment.

It wasn’t that you could leave. It was the chance that you might not come back.

“Evan.” You confirmed his fears.

“What did he say?”

“I have to go.”

Dabi didn’t want to get mad at you. He wasn’t mad at you. He just struggled to react to anything with an emotion other than anger. It wasn’t even his fall back; it was just the one mode his heart allowed him to have. Dabi stood, sliding pants on because you still looked like a deer about to be hit by a fucking car; and Dabi wasn’t going to let you charge straight into it.

Dabi made his mind up to get his answers from your phone instead of your mouth. Simply holding his hand out in front of you. You complied. Dabi didn’t like what he fucking saw.

[9:30am] I’m coming over.

[9:52] Why aren’t you home?

[10:00] Where are you?

[11:00] Y/N why were you at the police station with Dabi?

[11:01] Y/N I know it was you; I talked to the officers; it was your quirk. I know it was.

[11:03] I saw the security footage too. All of it.

[11:21] Answer me.

[11:22] I haven’t told them yet. I want to talk to you first.

[12:00pm] Are you okay?

[12:04] Y/N I’m worried. Please answer.

[12:05] I’m still at your place, come home.

Dabi didn’t trust Evan. Didn’t trust that he hadn’t told anyone his suspicions. It felt like a trap. Dabi felt trapped. How could he tell you not to go?

Yet, he would never ask you to stay.

“You can’t go talk to him.” Dabi knew his voice was flat; it always fucking was. But in his mind, it was full of disbelief—denial. 

“I have to.” You replied. Dabi knew that. But you couldn’t. He wouldn’t let you. How did you not know you were just going to get fucking hurt.

“How do you know he’s not waiting there with a hoard of police.”

“He’s my brother.”

“He’s a hero.” Dabi felt his temper snapping; he didn’t have great control over it to begin with. Dabi always assumed it ran in his family. It would explain a lot. 

“And you’re a villain, so what the hell do you care Dabi. So what if he arrests me?” You were yelling.

You grabbed the phone from his hand and turned to leave and you couldn’t. But Dabi couldn’t say why not. He couldn’t even think it. The whole situation was just god damn fucked and he couldn’t stop himself. Dabi grabbed your wrist, trying and failing not to grip too tightly. His face pulling tighter than normal; the sting of the piercings there reminding him to keep a tight leash on his stupid fucking quirk. Dabi heard the sound of his teeth clamping together before he even felt the muscles tense.

“Shigaraki wouldn’t be so happy about losing what is proving to be a very valuable asset.” You can’t leave. That’s what Dabi was thinking. You can’t leave.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t think you were Shigaraki’s little bitch.” You pulled against his grip; eyes void of any familiarity as you glared back at him.

“And then I would have to find someone else to suck my dick clean of cum like a good little girl.” He wasn’t mad at you.

“Maybe Shigaraki can do it, or are you too busy sucking his dick?” You bit back instantly.

“He might, after I finally take care of his Bloodborne problem.” Dabi felt his control over his quirk slipping; his hand on you warming. Dabi knew he was fucking up; his own words bothering him more than yours. He didn’t care what you said to him. Fuck, he deserved it. He didn’t mean any of this.

He just didn’t want you to get hurt. Fuck whatever happened to him.

But then your voice changed as you shouted back. “You don’t give a fuck about me Dabi; just let go of me. Let me leave.”

Whatever anger had worked itself up within Dabi died instantly. It had never been anger—it was worry. Dabi was worried, or he had been. But he couldn’t express it. But now, he felt blank; a confusing fog drifting across his mind as he tried to remember why he even got so angry in the first place. Did he really not care about you at all?

If he had, it didn’t matter at this point. You’d already walked out of the room.

This was bullshit. This whole morning had been fucking bullshit. “Y/N.” Dabi found himself half yelling into an empty room. “Are you fucking kidding me.”

You weren’t going to tell Dabi what he fucking cared about. He could lie to himself all he wanted but he already fucking knew. There was no way he didn’t care about you. Why the fuck else would you be in his apartment, in his shirt, with his fucking cum probably still in fucking side you.

So why couldn’t he just tell you that. Why did he have to fuck everything up instead.

The foggy feeling fell from his mind and Dabi slammed his apartment door open, trying to follow you down all the damn stairs. All the way thinking he didn’t have any right too.

He found you outside. “Did you just use your fucking quirk on me.”

Dabi didn’t even realize his entire left arm was on fire until he got closer to you, until he saw the fire reflected in the watery glaze in your eyes. You looked like shit. Like absolute fucking shit. Dabi’s hand felt warm, and then it felt cold. He was burning himself. It was a familiar feeling. But this was an accident. An accident he couldn’t quite grab a hold of yet; the best he could do was keep his arm as far away from you as possible.

“It didn’t work.” Your voice was breaking.

Something in Dabi was breaking. “Don’t tell me who the fuck I care about.”

He thought maybe the fire was going down—the cold feeling in his palm dissipating. You hadn’t meant any of it. Neither had he. You were both just fucking train wrecks apparently.

“It didn’t work.”

“No. It didn’t.” Dabi didn’t want you to think he was mad at you. Didn’t think you could even handle the thought.

“You didn’t mean to use your quirk, did you.” Dabi knew. He understood. You were just like him and he hated the thought of it. He didn’t want that for anyone, especially not for you.

“No.” Your voice was still breathy, out of touch.

He wanted that awful look to leave your face. “Tell me you’re sorry, doll.” I’m not mad at you.

“I’m sorry. Dabi, I’m really sorry.” The way you were looking at him. The fucking pleading look in your eyes as if he even had a right to be mad at you.

 “The more you fear your quirk, the more it will control you.”

“I can’t always control it.”

“Then practice doll.” He said without another thought, closing the last distance between you as he finally got to explain himself.

He had to know that you were his. He didn’t know how else to express that. Dabi didn’t know what else to do. He just knew he wanted you screaming his name. He wanted everyone to know about it too. Dabi didn’t want to fucking process what you reminded him of. Dabi didn’t want you to fucking apologize to him. So fucking what if you’d accidentally used your quirk on him? It’s not like it wasn’t something he’d done to himself a thousand times over with his own quirk.

The only way Dabi knew how to show you how he felt was to make you feel good.

And then he felt your fingers digging into his waist with the same need he had and just like that he was torn from his thoughts. You. You were intoxicating and he was becoming an addict. His own hands responded in a similar fashion, needily groping your body. Dabi’s hands found your thigh, lifting it, dragging you closer to him. Pushing you back against the car you’d been standing in front of this whole time and yet Dabi had just noticed it. Dabi wanted you to feel it. He wasn’t sure what exactly he wanted you to feel; he wanted you to feel his cock; he wanted you to beg for it. But there was something else he wanted you to know. He just couldn’t put it into words.

Your hand was on his ass, and his mouth was opening yours. He wanted to bite. To tease. He wanted you screaming. Dabi pulled your tongue into his mouth, pressed it into every recess, tasting you. He drug his teeth across the muscle before his mouth left yours entirely, needing to leave a mark somewhere visible. Dabi found your neck, biting and sucking. He had to leave a mark.

Dabi’s hands left your ass, traveling to your jeans instead—specifically the fucking buttons in his way. He wanted to touch you. Your underwear were fucking wet, cool and tempting against the pads of his fingers as he drug them across the fabric. Dabi found your clit, tugging and teasing, rubbing and tempting.

Dabi was kissing you and then your nails were scrapping his back to shreds and he was trying not to moan as he rubbed you off through your underwear. His dick practically begging for any sort of stimulation. He felt like he was throbbing.

“Are you a dirty little slut for me?” Dabi found himself whispering in your ear—wondering if you couldn’t hear the breathy little moans fucking coming from your mouth. 

“Yes.” Every word out of your mouth was fucking enticing.

Dabi pushed your underwear aside, palming the entire wet mess you’d become. “You want me to finger you outside where anyone can see?”

Dabi bit your ear, dragging his teeth across the flesh—listening as a fucking whimper tried and failed to leave your lips as you responded with a simple, yes, instead.

Dabi had enough. He wanted you to come. He wanted to watch. He wanted to feel it and then he would fuck you. Dabi slid two fingers inside you, sliding until he felt you jolt against him, and then devilishly focusing on that spot.

Dabi withheld the desire to just finger fuck you, to slam his fingers so far in you your fucking desire would splatter onto the car behind you. Your nails were in his back again like you couldn’t even fucking stand. Dabi did this. Dabi made you feel this fucking good.

Dabi’s fingers picked up the pace almost unconsciously, reaching further, listening to your pathetic little moans.

“Let me see your face.” Dabi said, smug. He could feel your fucking knees trembling. His free hand on your thigh was keeping you fucking standing at this point. Dabi could feel your cunt threatening to clamp down around his fingers and the fucking delicious look on your face like you were drunk. Like you were on the same high he was.

“Good girl.” He growled.

Dabi never released your thigh, couldn’t let go of it to rub your clit without you falling. So, he had to slide his fucking fingers out of you to rub your clit. And then you were gasping his name.

“Dabi, please.”

He couldn’t deny you anything, pressing harder against your clit, rolling it in circles beneath his soaked fingers. Your vagina practically drooling. “Dabi. Dabi, fuck.”

He loved hearing you say his name.

Dabi heard the car pull up. He just didn’t particularly care. He saw the Uber light in the window, met the man’s glare like a lion in heat. He wasn’t stopping for anything. You were his.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” The man mumbled like he didn’t want to talk. But Dabi could see behind the annoyance was procrastination. He couldn’t see you, not really. But he could hear. “Uber for y/n.”

“We’re a little busy here.” Dabi said, before ruthlessly sliding three fingers into your cunt. Why not make you come right here in front of the Uber. Why not make the man realize he had no chance.

“Dabi.” You whimpered before biting his shoulder like you were going to be able to hide all the sounds leaking from your mouth. Dabi abruptly changed his mind. No one else got to see you come undone. No, that was just for him.

“This isn’t a free show, fuck off.” Dabi found himself glaring at the man in the Uber now. Annoyed he couldn’t watch your face.

The man left, tires squealing.

“Did that turn you on; you like being watched?” Dabi was almost beside himself.

And your voice. “Fuck, Dabi. I’m going to cum.”

Dabi didn’t need to be told twice, fingers picking up the pace immediately.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Dabi brought his face back to watch yours as he felt your vagina clamp around his fingers like they were his cock. Watched as your eyes almost shut and a breathy groan left your mouth too loudly. He didn’t even think you heard it. Your lips parted and moist. He wanted to fuck you. He wanted to fuck you so badly. He’d almost forgotten how hard he was while watching you.

Dabi slid his fingers out, slowly or quickly he couldn’t tell. He just needed to put them in your mouth. He needed you to know how wet you were. He wanted you to taste it. And you started fucking sucking on his fingers; your god damned tongue swirling around them as he all but lost control and ground his cock against your sopping wet cunt. Dabi let go of your thigh; but he didn’t stop pressing against you. His hips moving of their own will as your phone fucking rang again.

“Is that brother dearest?” Dabi remarked. “Tell him you have more pressing matters.”

Dabi didn’t stop grinding into you; his aim getting better as he heard you moan again.

And then he heard the fucking police sirens.

They were all lucky to be alive. Dabi had never been so fucking horny and agitated in his life. Especially after you spread your fucking cunt open for him as the cops came. He quite literally about fucked you then and there. Cops be fucking damned.

He needed to come. And he fucking couldn’t, because he wasn’t willing to put you in fucking danger. So instead, he had to deal with the fucking cops. And was still ragingly hard until some nitwit of a cop said they were there for a suspected kidnapping. Which is fucking hysterical considering that was the one thing he hadn’t fucking done.

And he didn’t even have to deal with the cops because you did and that only started to get him hard all over again. You even told him to stay behind you like he was going to let you waltz away from him.

Dabi wasn’t going to let you get out of arms reach—and he realized vividly in that moment he would gladly step in front of a bullet for you. And now he was a fucking cliché.

Maybe he was finally willing to admit it. And maybe he wasn’t. But he did. He admitted that he was worried about you.

And your mouth fucking popped open like he hadn’t clearly displayed twice now that he would step in front of gunfire for you.

“Close your mouth, you look like an idiot.”

Let’s just say waiting outside your apartment for you to confront Evan wasn’t pleasant for Dabi and leave it at that.

But watching you make Evan forget you wasn’t fucking pleasant either—watching your face stiffen into some uncharacteristic poker face made his skin crawl. And when Evan left the room, you kept staring into the space where he’d been standing.

“Why tell him you’re not his sister?” He just wanted you to look away from that space.

And you looked at him with moist fucking eyes. And Dabi wanted to touch you. “Because he doesn’t trust me, but he would never be able to fight me knowing. He would never really be able to stand on the opposite side from me without torturing himself, and he doesn’t deserve that.”

“Neither do you.” And you do?

You just hummed. It sounded lonely.

“You realize you can’t stay here now. The police are going to realize you brainwashed your brother and come looking here for you, for the Siren.” Dabi continued.

“You’re probably right.” You looked around your apartment and then walked up to your bedroom without another word.

Dabi found himself following you. Following you as you trailed all the way up the stairs, through a door to your bedroom, to fall back on your bed like someone had physically knocked you over. Only to watch the ceiling fan circle pensively.

“You’re not about to start panicking, are you?” Dabi didn’t know if you would get his reference, but he wanted to see any form of emotion appear on your face.

You laughed, eyes lightening for a moment as they glanced toward him and it took some of the leaden weight from Dabi’s stomach; weight he hadn’t even realized was there.

“No. I don’t think I am.” You sat up.

“What’re you going to do?” Dabi just wanted you near him.

“Maybe I’ll join the League.” But he hadn’t been expecting you to say that.

“I’m sure Toga would like that.” I would like that.

“What about you?” You pressed.

How was it even a question? “I could think of a few ways that might be fun.” Dabi felt the tug from his piercings, before he even registered he was smiling.

“So.” You sounded like you wanted something.

“Yes doll?”

“How do you feel about having a roommate?” Your fingers reached down, inching your shirt up over your head slowly—teasingly. You were fucking teasing him. And you weren’t even wearing a bra.

Dabi stepped closer, sliding his knee in-between your legs as he looked down at you; very willing to participate in distracting you from whatever you had been thinking before. That’s what Dabi thought you wanted, a distraction. “Are you willing to pay?”

Dabi trailed his left hand across your stomach to your breast, cupping the skin there none too softly. His dick already getting ideas as you drug your hands from his thighs to the fucking zipper on his jeans.

“I think you’ll find me pretty willing.”

Dabi’s mind was in the gutter. He was picturing his cum all over your face; his cock sliding against your slick fucking folds; his hands spreading your ass cheeks apart—

And you were tearing his pants down, running a hand over his fucking dick through the black boxers he wishes he wasn’t fucking wearing. He was hard. And he was going to fuck—

“Oh, can I join?”

—ing kill Toga. He was going to kill her.

By the time Dabi had his pants back up, you were pulling your shirt back on. “You could not have worse timing.” He replied to Toga.

“Shigaraki wants to see you both.” She pointed toward the black hole. “Or should I invite him in as well.”

Well Shigaraki can go fuck himself, Dabi thought with an additive, like I’m about to have to if someone doesn’t let me fucking come today.

When Dabi’s mind drifted to Shig—he realized he really didn’t want you near Shigaraki, if Shig was going to be in a bad mood. And Dabi had no way of knowing if he was in a bad mood.

Dabi really just wanted to take you back to his apartment. “Don’t let him touch you.”

“Oh, come on, even Shigaraki knows that would be a waste and he’s not sleeping with her.” Toga really needed to learn to keep her fucking mouth shut.

Toga wasn’t wrong though; it would be god damn idiotic for Shig to lay a finger on you, much less all five—for more than one reason. Dabi turned toward Toga and you started to follow him, which left a smirk on his face.

“Grab some of your stuff first; we’re not coming back here.”

Post Evan, post Toga, post Shigaraki, post returning to Dabi’s apartment, he still wanted to know if you were okay. He had to ask. What were you going to do? Leave because he asked if you were fucking okay.

“Are you sure you’re not going to start panicking?”

“Is that your way of asking if I’m okay?”

“Are you?”

“I don’t know.” You replied.

But Dabi had been right earlier. You just wanted a distraction. So, he gave you one. Dabi fucked you into oblivion. Not that he minded to distract you.

Dabi left the bathroom feeling like he was taking his first calm breath in over a fucking week. Shigaraki was finally off his ass and you—Dabi didn’t finish the thought. Wasn’t sure where exactly the thought was going even.

Dabi didn’t bother to do more than find a pair of blue boxers to put on—spending more time to find you a t-shirt, tossing it on the bed along with your bag. Dabi snagged the remote to turn the TV on before heading to the fridge to grab a beer. The sound of some news anchor recounting the events he’d just lived through earlier that day filling the room in a none too pleasant fashion.

“One of the League of Villains well known members, the Blue Flame, was spotted at a well known residence for students, just outside of a college campus earlier this day. While it’s not clear what happened in this residence, one police officer has been reported injured—requiring attention at a nearby hospital.

What really stumps authorities though is the presence of the Siren, as pro-hero Bloodborne is calling her. An unidentified individual who appears to be wiping officers’ minds all across town recently. Including the handful of officers who arrived back at their station this morning, seemingly unaware their cars were burnt to a crisp.

While it’s unclear at this time whether this unidentified female is a part of the League of Villains or may soon be; it is clear to many officers that her sightings seem to strictly revolve around the Blue flame—leaving many to call her the Blue Flame’s Siren.

His Siren—”

His Siren. Dabi felt a smirk spread across his face, felt the tug of his skin against his piercings and he laughed—Dabi laughed and sipped his beer and went to sit on his couch. To sit and listen to the news anchor tell him all about his Siren, because you were his. And he was going to let himself have this, enjoy this.

Dabi was interrupted from his entertainment by the sound of you walking somewhere behind him and suddenly appearing with his bottle of tequila in your hand like it was a water bottle. “Getting drunk, are we?”

“Judge me.” You replied, eyes light as you turned the bottle up to your mouth. The way you drank threw Dabi for a loop—even he couldn’t drink tequila without having some fucking reaction. You set the bottle on the coffee table in front of you both, and Dabi recalled his cigarettes were there as well.

After his day, he could go for a fucking cigarette or fucking you again. “How do you drink liquor like that?”

“Don’t be fooled. It’s only tequila.” Exactly, it was tequila, Dabi remarked in his mind; but you laughed. And then he laughed too—taking one more pull from his beer before he reached to pick up his cigs.

He grabbed the sides of the box, packing the tobacco down away from the filter by force of habit—almost not noticing the tenderness in his hand until he caught you staring. Until he followed the gaze of your eye to the irritated red portions of his palm.

Dabi was waiting for you to say something; but you didn’t comment. And neither did he. Instead, Dabi pulled one from the pack, holding it up to his lips before lighting it with his finger. You didn’t watch; you’d turned back to the TV.

“They’re calling you the Siren. Apparently, that name stuck.” Dabi spoke, offering the cigarette to you, more out of curiosity than anything. You shook your head, picking the bottle of tequila back up. Dabi couldn’t help but wonder if you’d only smoked that first night to mess with him.

You took a swig. “My villain name’s cooler than yours.” You sound like you’re in elementary school.

Dabi fought a smile back, something he only found himself doing with you, before taking another drag of his cig. Holding the smoke in as he mauled over his reply—the best way to tease you. He blew out. “You missed the best part.”

Dabi picked his beer up again, seemingly not in a hurry as he finished the drink before continuing. He didn’t miss that your eyes never left his face the entire time. “They’re calling you my Siren, doll.”

Dabi replaced his beer with the bottle of tequila in your hand, winking as he took a shot or two—immediately noticing that he forgot to put the bottle in the fucking fridge. You were drinking warm fucking tequila like water.

“You like that, don’t you?” You half smiled at him; half mocked.

“I don’t hate it.” He didn’t. He really didn’t. Anybody calling you his was alright by him. Dabi leaned forward just enough to wrap his arm around your waist, only to drag you closer to him.

You didn’t fight it, leaning your head back against his shoulder, pulling your feet up onto the couch. Dabi found his face drifting closer to your hair, to the scent of his shampoo in your hair. He let his arms finish winding their way around you. His hands coming to a rest in your lap while he ignored the TV entirely.

And then he felt your hand on his; your fingers tracing the new burns. They really weren’t bad, comparatively. Better him than you.

“You burned yourself earlier?”

He’d been waiting on you to ask. He didn’t move his hand. He didn’t want to. He liked you touching him. “It happens.”

“The rest of your scars?”

“Yes.” All of them.

You didn’t stop tracing his burns.

Dabi wanted to know what you were thinking. He wanted you to keep talking. “You can ask, if you want.”

“You said your dad was the reason?”

“So, you were awake when I said that.”

Your fingers shifted from his hand to his arm, taking your time to slide through the crevices of burns gently.

“I wasn’t what he wanted; but before that came along, he expected more from me.” I trained every day until I was bloody.

“He made you do this to yourself?”

“He expected me to be able to control it.” I’m not sure he even noticed.

“How old were you?”

Dabi didn’t answer. You don’t want to know y/n.

“So, you have a younger sibling?” You continued.

“I do.” Three. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

You weren’t looking at him and Dabi didn’t care. He just wanted you closer to him, and he slid his hand form your grasp only to achieve the goal of pulling you closer. So he could bury his face in your hair.

In your wet hair. “You don’t dry your hair?”

“It takes too long.” You leaned further into him. 

“Y/N. You joined the League.” But did you really want to?

You hummed in response.

“Bloodborne—” Is constantly a fucking problem. And now he’d going to be fighting with you too. “No one’s going to lay a finger on Evan.”

You shifted slightly beneath Dabi’s arms like you’d just let go of a breath you’d been holding. And he’s not going to lay a finger on you either, Dabi added mentally.

“I don’t regret it.” You replied.

Dabi could never tell what you were thinking—but you seemed to know what he was.

And Dabi wanted you; he wanted you again and it wasn’t for you this time. It was for him. When Dabi’s hands shifted from your waist, drifting just out of reach of your body until they found your face, until he could turn you toward him—it was all for him.

Dabi leaned forward, just letting his tobacco-stained breath dance across your skin as he eyed you. Dabi hovered, just out of reach as you tried to lean in, as your eyes closed hazily, as your nose shifted slightly adjusting to the smell of smoke. Dabi kissed you, hand drifting from your cheek to your neck pulling you closer to him. Fingers tightening against the skin there as he refused to let you go anywhere else, think of anything else. Dabi parted your mouth and relished in the soft feel of your skin against his.

Everywhere Dabi was rough you were soft.

Dabi didn’t let go of the back of your neck, refused to let you even get an inch farther from him as his right hand trailed down your side—finding a purchase on your waist just to urge you into his lap. His shirt on your body ruffling, rising higher on your thighs as you shifted—knees landing on either side of his body.

And you were just like putty, sliding your tongue in his mouth, moving so easily to straddle him—not even needing to be fucking told to grind down against him. No, as Dabi’s nails dug into your skin your fingers slid up his chest lightly. As he bruised, you kissed.

When your hands found their way to Dabi’s neck, his found their way to the rim of your shirt, peeling it from your body, disturbing the sinful fucking way your fingers were digging into his hair. Dabi tossed your shirt, his shirt, to the floor and his lips found your neck. Dabi slid his tongue across the skin there, feeling the way your pulse jumped when his fingers found your hips again—driving you faster against the growing tent in his underwear. Feeling the vibration of your vocal cords as you moaned when his teeth dug into you. Feeling your breath catch as he sucked.

There wasn’t even room for teasing between the two of you.

“Take your pants off.” Your voice was breathy in Dabi’s ear as you shifted your hips up off him to entice him into complying.

Dabi wanted the fabric gone too. Quickly shuffling beneath you to drag his boxers down, to kick the rim off his feet. And you didn’t waste any damn time, lowering your hips back down onto him. Your head tilting back as Dabi felt you envelop him; the slick walls of your cunt fluttering around him as you adjusted.

“Fuck, y/n.” Dabi groaned, mouth returning to your throat, like he was some god damn vampire, as you rode his cock.

Dabi wasn’t very fucking good at relinquishing control, at allowing you to continue torturing him slowly—too fucking slow. Dabi’s fingers slid down your back, only to find your ass, hands cupping and grabbing—pulling your ass cheeks apart as he fondled you. Nails digging into your skin as he pushed you down onto him faster, harder, needing to feel more of you. Needing to be deeper inside you as his cock fucking twitched and his breath sped up.

As needy moans slipped from your lips with his name and he couldn’t keep from thrusting his hips up to meet yours. Your hands on his chest; your head against his shoulder as he truly began to fuck you. The sound of skin meeting skin loud and lewd, not even fucking hiding the god forsaken slutty sound of your cunt practically dripping around him.

Dabi wanted you tighter. His hand drifting, fingers sliding against the rim of your asshole as he got ideas. Dabi brought his left hand up to his mouth without ever slowing his pace for a moment, sliding the digit against his own tongue to moisten it before returning it to your ass. Trailing goosebumps across your skin as his finger teased your second hole—just barely dipping into you as he swirled his finger, attempting and failing to get your muscles to relax before he slid his finger knuckle deep into your ass.

Your slutty fucking cunt convulsing around him like you were about to come at the feel. Just like he was about to come as your walls clenched around him—already so much tighter. His name falling from your lips in a broken way.

“You’re so fucking hot doll.” Dabi praised you. Fucking praised you. “How fucking tight can you be.”

Your lips were on his neck then, preluding bites with kisses. “Harder. Fuck me harder.”

Dabi didn’t need to be told twice; bringing a second finger to your ass, just testing the idea before he started to slide it in—before his hips rocked into yours faster. Dabi would never get enough of the feeling of being inside you; the way his cock fucking twitched every time your breath caught. The way the heat in his fucking cock rivaled the feel of his quirk. You were like his own personal god damned kink.

“Touch yourself.” Dabi turned his head slightly to catch the look on your face; the fucking lewd look on your face. You looked drunk. “Fuck. Doll.” Dabi could feel himself about the come at the sight of you.

He wanted you to come too. “Touch yourself.”

You moaned in reply. Your hand reaching between you both to sloppily rub your damn clit as he continued to bounce you on top of him. Dabi leaned his head forward, biting into your neck as he fought his climax back—fucking refusing to finish before you do. Dabi slowed his pace, exercising restraint as he probed his fingers farther into your ass—waiting to hear your voice change. And it did. It fucking stuttered as Dabi found the right spot, as he pressed into it and you came around him, your cunt clamping around him like a vice as he bucked his hips up into yours one last time. He wanted to come inside you. Wanted that piece of him to be there for the rest of the day.

Dabi wanted you full of him.

Dabi was sure he was moaning; but it didn’t matter because he could only hear you. Your voice. The slutty way you groaned his name, too tired to even get off his lap as you both panted. Dabi slid his fingers out of your ass slowly, only causing you to moan deeply again—Dabi’s dick threatening to get hard again inside you in response.

“Y/N.” Dabi found himself saying, fingers trailing lightly up your back and down again. He just wanted to touch you. He always wanted to fucking touch you.

His hands continued to your face, pulling your lips back to his. You were too high on endorphins to even kiss him properly—your tongue sliding lazily around his. Fuck. You were hot. So god damn hot.

“Were you planning on getting off me, or did you just want to fuck me again?” Dabi commented, pulling his mouth back from yours as you complained vocally, flipping yourself off his lap and onto the couch.

Dabi couldn’t keep his eyes off your cunt, off his cum beginning to leak out of you. Dabi really was going to get hard again. Dabi leaned down, grabbing his shirt off the floor to throw at you to put on before he had to go take a cold shower.

Your face becoming amused as you slid the shirt back on. “What? Can’t even stand the sight of me?” You teased.

Dabi stood up, not even bothering to find his boxers as he moved to lean over you on the couch; one arm coming to a rest behind your head, bracing him above you. The other hand pinching your chin, tilting it up toward him. “Unless you want me to fuck you into next week, I suggest you shut up.”

Dabi leaned forward, kissing you again.

Mmmmh. You hummed, moaned. Dabi couldn’t tell the difference at this point. And as he walked around the couch, giving up and going to take a cool shower, he heard you speak up from somewhere behind him.

“I belong here, Dabi; with you.”

Dabi paused, turning to look at the back of your head. “Then stay.” Stay here with me, Dabi found himself thinking. “I’ll grab you a towel.”

Dabi’s mind was always a fucking mess—distracting and loud. But you, you were just as distracting. You really were like a siren, calling him from somewhere he couldn’t see. Dabi didn’t know what he had been looking for. But he found it.

He found it with you, and your song that drowned him at sea.

#dabi x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #fanfiction #dabi #safety habits

[the-rabbit-re]

Dabi x Reader

Infestation

Preview: In which Dabi channels any ounce of a feeling into sexual frustration. Otherwise called Dabi's POV of Chapter 2: Bad Decisions [Dabi x (Female) Reader]

NSFW/Smut/Alcohol/Explicit Language

Word Count: 3387

Total Original Trilogy Word Count: 33372

Part One: Safety Habits

Part Two: Bad Decisions

Part Three: Siren

Dabi’s POV

Part Four: Habit-Forming

Keep Reading Below or AO3: Link

It didn’t do much to help Dabi’s mood when he was standing in front of Shigaraki, excuses falling flatly off his tongue—and all he could think about was how you’d fallen asleep on his chest. You knew who he was and you fell asleep on his scars anyway. What was this? Some fucked up version of Beauty and the Beast.

Little did Dabi know until he arrived that Shigaraki had been in a shitty mood all morning. A mood that Dabi would’ve normally avoided like the fucking plague—but Dabi was distracted to say the least and Shigaraki was keen on taking his mood out on the member of the League who hadn’t done their mission last night.

It really didn’t help the situation that Dabi had fucked the girl he was supposed to kidnap, at the same time Shigaraki lost one of his freakish playthings in a marble. How did Shigaraki find out that Dabi got some last night? Toga somehow knew the moment Dabi walked into the hideout, like she could fucking smell it on him; and of course, wouldn’t keep her damned mouth shut.

“Listen Shigaraki, I didn’t kidnap her for two reasons. First, did you even fucking hear me when I explained her quirk to you. Second because I’m not your fucking bitch—”

Dabi hadn’t necessarily expected to get to finish his sentence; but he also hadn’t expected for Shigaraki to fucking deck him. He’d never actually seen Shig punch someone before—normally they were just decayed. Which, maybe it was better that he got punched; Dabi still had shit to do before he met his inevitable end.

Dabi took an involuntary step back, blue flame spreading up his arms before he even realized it. He could already feel the fucking bruise forming on his face. The sting of his scarred skin peeling back from the piercings under his left eye. Dabi knew he needed to cool it. Shigaraki wasn’t someone he wanted to fight with—if he didn’t want to meet that inevitable end today. But before he could even send the damn message to his quirk, Shigaraki reached forward, clasping his fingers around one of the loose piercings under Dabi’s eye, pulling it free.

Listen, Dabi wasn’t a stranger to his piercings getting pulled out of his skin. That still didn’t mean it fucking felt great. The pain quick, but sharp, followed by the almost cooling feel of his own blood trickling down his face. Shig was fucking asking for it.

Dabi looked up in time to see Shigaraki turn the silver piercing to dust. “Shut up.”

Fuck it. Dabi was going to kill him. He took maybe a half step forward before Toga pranced in front of him—in-between the fight that was about to break out.

“Couldn’t y/n just help us get the marble back? I mean if her quirk is as good as Dabi seems to think it is. Can’t we just walk into the police station?”

Just like you walked into the middle of a fight? Dabi thought, but he didn’t say anything, wasn’t particularly happy with the suggestion but was awfully tempted by it at the same time.

 Dabi wasn’t sure why part of him was convinced the moment you saw him in daylight you would run screaming; but the reaction you gave him couldn’t have been more opposite. No, for some fucking reason you fell straight back into flirting with him—and it was intoxicating.

Dabi decided you were intoxicating; refusing his plan like you had another option. You did, but you didn’t fucking know that. You should be scared of him, of Toga, not eyeing the fucking bruise on his face like you cared. There was absolutely no fucking way you cared what happened to him. Yet you had that squirmy fucking feeling worming through his gut like a maggot again.

And he was so tempted to have his hands all over you. “You know.” Dabi found himself saying. Taking the chance to slide a hand around your waist—to pull you closer to him. Your body jostled into him; your hands pressing into his chest as he moved to suggest in your ear. “I can make it worth your while.”

Dabi had a feeling he could convince you to do a lot of things, when he felt your fingers dig into his shirt slightly as his tongue curled around the rim of your ear, tasting the barest amount of salt on your skin. Remembering the taste of other parts of your body.

“What’s in the marbles?” You interrupted his thoughts.

Dabi thought about distracting you—pushing you back against a wall, biting your throat, pushing you to your knees and sliding his cock down your throat; instead he stepped away. “You know.”

“My brother told me.”

“Nothing for you to be concerned about y/n.” Why are you getting so involved.

“Even if I’m helping steal them?” You said. And Dabi could’ve swore your eyes were on his face again—on the mark Shigaraki left.

“There’s someone in one, and it’s someone important to Shigaraki.”

“No weapons of mass destruction?”

“Not in the marbles.” Dabi wanted you alone.

“Well I’ve already made enough bad decisions for a lifetime in one weekend, might as well keep them going.” At least you’re aware of it. How incredibly fucking stupid you’re being.

“We’re not going tonight.” Dabi said. “We’re going tomorrow night.”

“I have an exam tomorrow.”

And you were going to come back to the League with me? How many tests do you think you would’ve missed then? “Spoken like a true villain.”

You made a face—it was barely there. Dabi almost missed it, a slight pinching between your brows before you were throwing a phone at his face. Playing with fire even if it might as well have been a stuffed toy, for all the force that was behind it. Dabi snatched the phone before it was anywhere near his face. Fuck, doll. Why weren’t you afraid of him. You should be afraid of him.

“Careful doll.” Dabi took a step forward, wondering if Toga was still downstairs, wondering if she would leave if she heard him fucking you or if she’d try to join. He wanted to make you apologize—for what he wasn’t quite sure. But Dabi felt frustration rising inside him, even as his mouth pulled into a slight smile as he typed his information into your phone—sending himself a text. “I’ll text you tomorrow with details; Shigaraki is waiting for me.” He wasn’t, but Dabi was going to go fucking jack off.

Dabi started to leave, ignoring the desire to do other things as he paused to say. “Oh, and y/n. I hope I’m not included in those bad decisions.”

 Dabi did in fact not get to jack off because every time he started to fucking touch himself all he could think about was the worry on your face as you eyed the blood on his and how fucking unnatural it was for anyone to worry about him. His body was already ruined anyway, he thought as he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror—cleaning his eye with a cotton roll, the fibers getting caught in every piercing beneath his eye. You weren’t a villain.

But Dabi knew one who made mask, who had some quirk that was useful for it, mask making. Dabi had never bothered to ask what it was.

Dabi hadn’t cared to. There wasn’t much Dabi cared about.

 Something about the way you struggled to use your quirk, it reminded him of himself. He barely even let the thought cross his mind before he shoved it back into the dark recesses of his brain that his past existed in; that he refused to acknowledge. Even as he found himself asking you about it—about the way your face fell every time you used your quirk. Every time it led someone to walk away from you.

Dabi would never dwell on something that could hurt him. He’d had enough; but you wouldn’t stop trusting him and he couldn’t stop himself from flirting with you. From touching you.

It was like he was staring at a broken bridge and driving straight toward it anyway.

 There was a lot on Dabi’s mind when he walked into that police station with you—holding your neck. The same neck he’d just been biting a couple nights before. Don’t get him wrong, not getting shot was on his mind too. Or at least it had to be on someone’s fucking mind because all you seemed concerned with was convincing him to rip your underwear down in the middle of a police station.

The cops were barely an issue. You were the real damn issue. How you could go from fully prepared to fuck, to nervously glancing around the room like you were going to get arrested at any moment.

How did the police make you this nervous when you invited a god damn villain over to your apartment to fuck you?

And you were right; he hadn’t been keeping his hands to himself because he couldn’t. The insatiable desire to fucking feel you was becoming all too familiar to Dabi in an all too short period of fucking time.

And then you got on your knees.

Dabi really hadn’t fucking expected you to get on your knees in the middle of the police locker and suck his cock like it was a god damn delicacy. And it made you wet. So fucking wet that he could get hard again.

And maybe there was even a piece of him that thought you looked cute, trying to smooth his grip out of your hair. Emphasis on his. And when he finally got to touch you?

The fucking door opened.

For once in his life Dabi froze; just for a moment, just for a moment while his heart stuttered too fast over its own rhythm as that door opened. Because Dabi had fucked up. He’d driven off that bridge.

“Anybody in here?” He sounded like any other cop. Stupid. Loud. Completely unaware of the concept of surprise.

Dabi didn’t want you anywhere near him. And you looked scared. Your eyes not wide but still, too still as you tried not to look in the direction the voice came from like that could keep it from being real. Dabi found himself holding his finger against his own lips, trying to tell you with his eyes for you not to fucking move. Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing you went stone cold still.

But of course, you didn’t fucking listen. When did you ever do what Dabi expected? Fucking never. No, as Dabi turned to walk toward the edge of the shelving, you followed like a god damn magnet. Dabi wanted to glare at you, instead he just kept his arm out in your way; so you at least wouldn’t go around him.

“Come on out now.” Dabi wasn’t sure who was fucking dumber, the cop for asking or him for actually doing it.

If he didn’t come out, Dabi was pretty sure you were going to and at least he was willing to kill someone rather than get shot. In a last ditch effort Dabi turned to mouth, stay, at you. Knowing you wouldn’t listen; but hoping it would give him a minute.

Of course, the cop was a fucking pig, and the moment Dabi even slightly showed his body a shot rang. It wasn’t a new sound to him—but you flinched. And that pissed Dabi off.

“Hey now.” Dabi spoke up, turning to look at the cop.

“Put your hands where I can see them.”

Everyone has quirks; what the fuck does it matter where my hands are. That’s not even hard to comply too. Dabi stepped farther away from the shelves, hands in the air. He felt fucking ridiculous. And then another fucking cop came in, gun at the ready.

Dabi was fairly sure bullets were going to be faster than fire. He needed a distraction.

“Don’t move.” Cliché.

“Who else is back there?” No one that fucking concerns you.

Dabi wanted to kill them both, could practically feel his fingers aching for it.

“Tell them to come out.”

“No.” Dabi said before he even thought about it. She’s mine. Dabi thought before he could even process why.

A cop shot. The sound none too pleasant in Dabi’s ears. But of course, you flinched again and something hit the floor and Dabi could feel his fingers heating. If they were smart, they would just shoot him. But they weren’t fucking smart, and they weren’t scaring him at all. They were scaring you. And that was by far a more fatal mistake as that same maggot in his gut writhed and twitched—stretching, growing into something possessive.

“If you don’t want your friend to get shot, I suggest you come out now.” They weren’t talking to him anymore.

He just needed a distraction.

You came out from behind the shelves, and it made Dabi violent; the newfound creature in his stomach fluttering it’s razor sharp wings. You getting shot wasn’t the fucking distraction he was looking for. Dabi side stepped in front of you. It only took one step but neither cop looked exactly pleased about it. Fucking shoot me.  

“Now one at a time, get on the ground.”

“No.” Dabi was pissed. He wasn’t even sure why he was so angry. That was a lie, he knew why. He knew exactly why he wanted to kill these fucking cops and every ounce of his anger had to do with you being in the room. He just didn’t want to admit it to himself even as the insect threatened to burst from his mouth.

“Listen punk we don’t want to shoot-” There. For just a moment—the cops stubby finger slid away from the trigger.

The creature found a different release. His fire felt hot even to him as it finally tore free from his hands like a sudden downpour; but then the sound of the gun firing registered painfully in his ears, louder than the rest. Maybe because they actually fucking shot him this time—ringing giving way to a burning pain across his hand. “Fucking a.”

“Dabi?” The tone of your voice sealed Dabi’s tomb. He was fucked. Really fucked. Your voice was so soft. It was the exact opposite of everything his was. Dabi didn’t show his emotions; but your voice bled with them. Fucking bled.

Another shot. More ringing. Your hand pulling against his overcoat. Dabi couldn’t see anything except for you. The way your hand trembled lightly against the leather of his jacket, accidentally tugging against his arm like a heartbeat with each shake.

He was pissed and his hand was burning, and you were scared.

“No.” You screamed, and Dabi didn’t know why because he was watching you. “You’re going to drop your fucking gun.” That answered his question.

Dabi heard the cops gun hit the ground; but he saw the way your face changed abruptly like you’d been smacked. The realization painfully spreading across your face; your quirk was stronger than you thought it was. Dabi didn’t want to see the look on your face, didn’t want to be reminded of himself on that mountain, so he looked away and you continued stepping in front of him—out of his reach.

“Neither one of you know what my face looks like; neither one of you remembers what happened here; you’re both going to sit here quietly as we leave.” Something shifted in your voice and Dabi realized you were mad.

“You want to go sit next to your friend.” Why were you mad?

Some innate part of Dabi wanted to be closer to you—so he walked forward and found himself talking to your back, trying to decipher what it was that had you so angry. That had him so drawn to you. “I thought you had to be touching them?”

“So did I.” There was a pause as you turned around and Dabi just watched you—watched as your eyes immediately fell to his arm. Worry?

“Did you get shot?”

“Yes.” Are you okay?

“Show me.” Your voice was tight.

“Are you worried about me doll?” He should be mocking himself. Not you. He was the one who had been worried about you. Was worried about you; you and that awful look he’d seen on your face—eyes too wide yet half hidden under the furrow of your brow pushing your eyelids down, mouth twisted ever so slightly open. Dabi hated it.

Because he was fucked; for some reason, he did care about you. He didn’t know if it was how you were afraid of your quirk, in the same way he had been; or if it was the easy way you turned him on, the easy way you touched him, his scars; how you didn’t take shit, not from Toga, not from him, not from those fucking cops. But he was fucked. He couldn’t get enough of you, didn’t want to; he could spend the rest of his life fucking you.

And he wanted to know. He wanted to know why you were mad at those cops because it couldn’t be because one shot him.

“No.” You replied; but you didn’t look him in the eyes. Your gaze shifted.

You grabbed his arm and Dabi watched as you peeled his sleeve back. He studied the contrast of your skin on his scars as you stared in silence. It wasn’t anything new to him, blood, missing piercings.

But everything was new to you.

And then you reached down, tearing part of his shirt off to tie the fabric sloppily around his wrist. Dabi decided the maggots in his gut were multiplying, twisting uncomfortably with some emotion he refused to identify and he didn’t comment, didn’t mock—because you couldn’t care about him.

“Thank you.” Dabi said without waiting to see the reaction on your face as he moved around you, finding your mask and sliding it over your head. He didn’t want to know the truth. He was fucked and he didn’t want to know. He didn’t even want to think about it.

“We need to go.” He didn’t trust people, but you—

It scared him. It pissed him off. It made him want to pin you beneath him and have you screaming his name. Dabi needed to get a fucking grip. But he was still taking you with him.

The idea of letting you out of his sight right now had the maggots writhing.

 Dabi could hear the sound of your boots somewhere in his apartment over the running water of the sink. He couldn’t feel the sting on his wrist—he’d burned himself earlier. Dabi turned the water off, grabbing a fistful of paper towels to shove against his wrist. It would stop bleeding eventually.

And then you were back beside him; on the counter, with a look of authority on your face as you forced him to properly clean his ruined skin. “Here.”

“Really?” Dabi couldn’t help himself from mocking even as he took the wipe, paper towels forgotten on the counter.

“Just clean your damn gunshot wound.” This hardly counts doll, Dabi thought at the same time the maggots squirmed, tiny teeth scrapping into his insides.

Dabi had had real gunshot wounds. But this, the burnt skin on his wrist, the drool of blood still refusing to stay put—Dabi couldn’t feel a thing as he ran the antiseptic back and forth, more thoroughly than he would’ve bothered otherwise.

You handed him a piece of gauze, then tan medical wrap, and with every new piece of bandage Dabi fought to ignore the feeling in his gut. Dabi’s hands followed the same path they’d traveled a thousand times before wrapping his wrist closed. But that wasn’t going to stop the spreading ache in his gut.

Dabi made his way in front of you—between your legs, tossing the medical kit in your lap somewhere out of his way as he said. “I didn’t bring you here to be my nurse.”

What else was he supposed to do with the infestation in his gut except to pour it into you?

Part Six: Drowned

#dabi #my hero academia #bnha x reader #dabi x reader #bnha #safety habits

[the-rabbit-re]

An update on what I’m currently working on:

A new round of grammar editing on Siren as I go back through working on Dabi’s POV.

Part one has been edited and Dabi’s POV Posted.

The phone call mentioned in Fine Line is in the works as well as Dabi’s little promise from Safe Word;)

[the-rabbit-re]

Dabi x Reader

Habit-Forming

Preview: In which Dabi goes through the mortifying ordeal of feeling an emotion other than anger. Otherwise called Dabi's POV of Chapter 1: Safety Habits [Dabi x (Female) Reader]

NSFW/Smut/Alcohol/Explicit Language

Word Count: 2179

Author’s Note: This started off as a couple paragraphs I wrote before the third chapter of the original fic, just to personally gain an understanding of where Dabi was coming from. It snowballed drastically as I decided to practice writing from a different point of view. And I recently saw the 22 rough draft pages of his point of view as an old save file on my computer and I thought, why not edit this and post it before I start a new long fic?

I'm posting these as I finish editing them; and should have them all up by the end of this week!

Total Original Trilogy Word Count: 33372

Part One: Safety Habits

Part Two: Bad Decisions

Part Three: Siren

Keep Reading Below or AO3: Link

Dabi was getting really tired of Shigaraki’s shit. He could name at least ten people better suited than him to go and kidnap some stupid girl; fuck anyone else in the League would have been better suited to go kidnap a girl. It’s not that he wasn’t capable of doing so; it’s that it was fucking insulting, an utter waste of his time. It wasn’t his job to suck Shigaraki’s dick every time he told him to go do something. Shigaraki might as well have told him to go babysit. Who the fuck does he think he is?

The only thing Dabi wanted to do less than babysit was go to a college town bar, or even a college town for that matter. Sure, college girls were hot; but they were also horrendously annoying. Not to mention they couldn’t drink anything stronger than a seltzer without throwing up. Any bar in a college town was a far cry from where Dabi liked to hang out; his bars typically had less drunk crying bitches and more bloody fights over who was cheating at pool.

 Dabi’s distaste for Hannah’s was solidified the moment he walked in the bar door. The bouncer not even giving him a second look as he walked in; Dabi caught sight of a girl crying over her ex just to the right of the door almost immediately. It wasn’t even midnight yet.

Dabi couldn’t even get drunk to deal with it because he had to find your dumbass.

But Dabi hadn’t exactly been expecting you either, hadn’t expected you to waltz into the bar like you owned the damn place; your god damn shoes smacking against the floor like you wanted him to look at your ass. He hadn’t expected to have to flirt with the crying girl, who looked absolutely terrified of him, to hide from your too alert gaze when you realized he was watching you.

Too observant, that’s what you were. The only other person at the bar who noticed a girl getting cornered by some wasted bastard, and the only person who bothered to go and do something about it. Dabi sure as hell wasn’t. But then you didn’t even try and console the girl before you had her leaving the bar like nothing happened. He couldn’t hear what you said to her, and it annoyed him. How’d you even scare the bastard off anyway? The man could’ve easily taken you, yet he ran off like he was about to pee himself. What in the hell was that about?

And yet again, he had to hide from you when you felt his gaze on you.

Then came the icing on the fucking cake. Just when Dabi thought he saw a chance to swoop in and “save” you from the creep hitting on you, you didn’t even flinch, didn’t so much as look phased when the old man slid his hand across your ass. You just looked like you were bored the whole time, like the moment you wanted him gone he would be. Dabi prayed you just weren’t into the old bastard.

Not to mention you weren’t phased when Dabi about broke the man’s arm.

And then Dabi couldn’t figure out what the fuck you were thinking as you took his cigarette like a seasoned mob boss, blowing the smoke back at him like something out of a damned movie. Dabi had at least assumed you’d recognize him; but you didn’t so much as blink at the sight of him. Was it a poker face? Dabi had no fucking clue and it pissed him off.

And Dabi had to admit, you were hot—your jeans hugging your ass like a second skin as you led the way back to the bar.

Dabi amended his plan to just getting you drunk and taking you back to Shigaraki with ease then; but you took tequila shots like they were water, completely fucking his plan, prolonging his presence on the god damned college campus.

Then again, at that point Dabi didn’t give two fucks about Shigaraki’s kidnapping orders. He decided he wanted to dance with you, and it wasn’t a question.

“Dance with me.”

 Dabi hadn’t been prepared for what happened next; for the way you slid your thigh across his dick like you were so innocent you didn’t even know it was there; how you didn’t shy away from him almost fingering you in public. Didn’t shy away from how fucking hard he was as you palmed his dick with a coy little smile on your face as his dick jumped. Dabi was painfully aware of how badly he wanted to lay you out and fuck you.

Not thinking of much else than the blood in his dick as he growled, fuck, in your ear and forced your mouth open beneath his. Not that you resisted at all; tongue playing along with his as he explored your mouth hungrily. Fuck it, fuck Shigaraki. Dabi had more pressing matters. Like the feel of his dick through his jeans pressing against you as you bit his god damn lip.

Your hands in his hair keeping him from retaliating as you whispered. “My place is just a couple blocks away.” Who the fuck did you think he was.

God, he was going to fuck you into next week. Dabi grabbed your hand—walking with a purpose past the bouncer and to the street outside, ignoring you entirely as you pointed the way to your apartment like he was about to walk there pitching the fucking tent he was.

No Dabi drug you to his motorcycle as you asked. “Is that yours?” Sounding a little out of breath, which left Dabi smirking.

“More or less.” Of course, he fucking stole it earlier; but you didn’t need to know that.

Your presence was a little too consuming; the light pressure of your hands on his hips—making an all too confident path to his cock. Dabi refused to moan at the feel of you rubbing his dick through his pants like a high school boy who pumped twice and came.

Resisted the urge to buck his hips into your touch when your slutty fucking mouth found his ear to rasp. “I want you to fuck me.”

Fuck. Dabi was all too aware of the timing of your words and the teasing removal of your hand from his crotch. This bitch is begging for it.

Dabi slid his motorcycle to a stop popped up onto a sidewalk. Let them tow the motorcycle it wasn’t his anyway. You were leading him to a door. A very unlocked door.

No fucking wonder you were leading a villain into your home, you didn’t even lock the damn door, Dabi thought. “You don’t lock your door?”

“I forgot.” Are you fucking kidding me. How are you even alive.

“How do you forget to lock your door?” He replied. But then you started undressing and Dabi decided he didn’t particularly give a fuck if someone broke into your apartment or not.

“Do you want to talk about my safety habits, or do you want to take your clothes off?” You replied.

This was going to be fucking habit-forming.

 Then there was the sex. The way you told him to fuck you, to come inside you. Dabi would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it; fuck he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to happen again.

And the sleepy way you ran your hands across the piercings on his chest like you were counting them instead of sheep—like the cool texture of metal was soothing. You even fucking asked what happened like it was any of your business. Like you had a right to know just because he fucked you.

But no one ever asked. No one ever cared.

And you fell asleep on his chest like he could never possibly hurt you and that bothered him. He just didn’t know why.

 But the real kicker came when he found out you knew. The whole time you knew he was the “Blue Flame,” knew he was a villain. You knew exactly who he was in the bar and he had had no idea. Dabi couldn’t read you at all, and that drove him crazy. One of the things Dabi thought he did well was fucking read people. And here you were, pretending you had no idea he was a villain and taking him home and telling him to fucking cum in you?

It was almost more infuriating than it was hot.

And what the hell was that with your brother?

When Dabi first saw Bloodborne standing there at the bottom of the stairs he was pissed. Immediately assuming you’d called your brother over to arrest him after he fucked you. The stupid fucking sword in Bloodborne’s hand dripping blood all over your floor as he stood in-between you and Dabi. The possessive fucking stance somehow managing to piss Dabi off more than the fact there was a hero in your apartment.

Dabi was in the middle of convincing himself he was fully prepared to kill you and your brother both; cut his fucking losses and leave, before you brought your damn quirk into play. Your brother walking out of the room like a puppet.

What the fuck was that about?

And your quirk; it was the reason for everything, your confidence, the way you handled yourself, the way you handled him. It only made him want you more. It was like you were asking him to lay you out and fuck you all over again. But he had to get back to Shigaraki—unless he wanted Shigaraki to come looking for him.

And then you relinquished the details of your quirk far easier than Dabi was expecting, because why the fuck would you be that open with a villain—your defensive stance across the room somewhat endearing as you snarkily told him you hadn’t seduced him into a trap the night before.

It wasn’t like Dabi didn’t know he had trust issues. But he also just didn’t fucking know you. Sex had nothing to do with trust.

Dabi didn’t understand what you were thinking at all. He made poor decisions on a day to day basis, but he was a fucking scary looking man who was entirely willing to kill someone. You were neither frightening nor physically imposing and yet here you were, standing across a room from him with your arms crossed and brows pulled tensely down like you were in fact about to beat the shit out of him.

The temptation to fuck with you was more than enough for Dabi to act on it. Standing up straight to walk closer to you, not that you fucking resisted at all as he gripped your chin with his hand. Your lips fucking parting. You were really that willing to fall back into bed with him.

But Dabi wasn’t going to kiss you. “Shigaraki wanted me to kidnap you to lure Bloodborne into a trap. No, he didn’t tell me to fuck you. I decided that one on my own.” Not that you weren’t actively trying to get me to fuck you.

And then Dabi did kiss you, because how could he not when you were standing there like you could take him in a fist fight if you needed too.

“You’re not worried about touching me now?” You asked, your voice not carrying a shred of the confidence your posture did and it made Dabi pause. Oh. Oh.

“Doll, you were touching me all last night and I’m still alive.” Dabi felt something, he wasn’t sure what because he refused to put a name to the barely there twinge in his gut. “The better question is why you’re not concerned that I was supposed to kidnap you.”

And you just held up your hand—so at odds with how you spoke about your quirk.

“Right.” Dabi started to turn—to grab his clothes and leave, but you kept talking.

“What happens if you go back without me?”

“Take a wild guess.” Dabi was sliding his shirt on. He needed to leave.

“What happens if I go with you.”

At this point Shig would probably just kill you. Rather than risk trying to deal with your quirk while holding you hostage, while waiting for Bloodborne. That was a lot of variables, was a lot of loose ends. “I would say you had a death wish. Stay here. Consider this me paying back my debt for sending your brother away.”

Dabi didn’t know why he didn’t just fucking kidnap you. Had to figure out what the fuck he was going to tell Shig because he definitely wasn’t kidnapping you.

He could tell himself it was your quirk, but he was halfway convinced you would’ve come with him if he asked. And that set the twinge in his stomach to writhing uncomfortably again. It pissed Dabi off. That fucking feeling. And he didn’t want to fucking deal with it.

He needed to leave.

Part Five: Infestation

#dabi x reader #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #dabi #smut #safety habits

[the-rabbit-re]

Dabi/Touya x Reader

Fine Line

Preview: You knit Dabi a scarf and he thanks you with orgasms...multiple of them. [Dabi/Touya x Reader]

You pulled back, hands running up into his hair to keep him from following you. His own fingers silently digging into your ass in protest. “I take it you like the scarf. Is this really any way to say thank you? How improper.” You teased.

And then Dabi had you pinned on your bed—eyes far from appreciative. Unless “I’m going to fuck the ever living shit out of you,” in the form of glaring eye contact could be taken as appreciative. Which maybe with Dabi it could.

NSFW/Smut/Dom/Sub/Pleasure Dom Dabi/ Praise and Degradation/ Established Relationship/ Multiple Orgasms/ Sex Toys/ Language/ Todoroki Touya is Bad at Feelings/ So Bad He’ll Have Sex About it Instead/ Anxiety

Word Count: 5151

A/N: Did I name this after a Harry Styles song, absolutely not.

Is there a strong possibility I add a chapter to this to explore that phone call Dabi mentioned, absolutely.

Master List

Keep Reading Below or AO3: Link

You were sitting on your couch; the dark browns of worn leather bleeding to caramel hidden under your blanket—the smooth texture of the leather still cool against your skin. The blanket was heavy; a somewhat comforting weight against the unease rolling silently in your stomach.

The TV was on, solely so you wouldn’t have to be alone with your own thoughts. Some reality TV show allowing you to laugh at someone else’s ridiculous problems, rather than thinking about your own. How anyone thought getting engaged to someone they’d spent 10 days with, in pods where they couldn’t even see each other, was a good idea. Much less proceeding to actually marry them within a Month. A Singular Month.

You’d known Dabi for years. And Touya for less. Watched as the scars from his burns spread, crept further across his face and arms and chest—

You wrapped the ombre blue yarn around another neon green plastic peg absent mindedly. Fingers deftly following a pattern they knew by heart, winding from one end of the loom to the other in a simple e-stitch; quickly followed by hooking the loops on the peg over one another. You were almost done—the trail of the dark blue to black scarf trailing off the green of your blanket and into the floor. The yarn was thick—woolly but not rough.

It was too cold for the window to your right to be open. The nearly 40 degree air stifling the movement of your fingers. You couldn’t feel the texture of the yarn anymore.

You didn’t live with Dabi, not really; but the nights he spent with you far outnumbered the nights he didn’t. And you always left the window open for him—because he refused to take a key.

It was close to 3am when you knotted off the end of the scarf, pulling the stitches even before folding it up gently in your lap like it might tear. Your hands coming to a rest on top of the pile of knitted yarn, like it was some little creature in need of comfort, right when the soft metallic sound of the fire escape being disturbed drew your attention to the window. Dabi’s stark blue eyes meeting yours the second you looked over, before his eyes disappeared as his head ducked down to step through the square of open space. The messy black spikes of his hair swept flat for a moment by the raised windowpane. “You’re still awake?”

That uneasy feeling in your stomach ebbed as your eyes trailed his body—looking for any new damage and finding none. Dabi looked down, using only his feet to drag his boots off, leaving them by the window with a flat thud as he walked closer to the couch, shrugging his trailing leather jacket onto the other arm rest.

“Mn.” You said dismissively, hand reaching for Dabi’s wrist—to pull him down to you.

But he’d already beat you to it, his knee pressing into the couch as he leaned down into you. One arm bracing himself on the armrest behind you, the other sliding across your cheek lightly as his lips pressed against your forehead for only a moment—like it never even happened before his nose pressed into your hair. Like being around you calmed him even an ounce of how much being around him calmed you.

Your hands were still folded into the scarf in your lap as he spoke against your hair—the movement of air causing your hair to tickle against your scalp slightly like a small bug had landed there. “What’s wrong?”

Really nothing was wrong. You’d just woken up today feeling a little more anxious than you normally did; granted you already felt more anxious than the average person on a normal day. Anxiety disorders and all that. So, you’d just really wanted to see Dabi before you went to sleep.

Needed that part of your brain that assumed that little cut would get a staph infection; that assumed every stomach bug was stomach cancer; that assumed your friends got into a car accident whenever they were too slow to reply; that assumed every time Dabi left he’d never come back through that window again. And you would never ask him to stay.

When you didn’t answer right away Dabi moved; his fingers ran underneath your chin, while his thumb drug across your lip—tilting your face up to look at him.

I wish I could keep you safe, you found yourself thinking. “I made you a scarf.” You blurted instead. Reaching into your lap to grab it, to wrap it around his neck.

The deep blues covering the dark purple of the scars on his jaw—his ears. His eyes widened ever so slightly with humor, as his eyebrows rose at your deflection. You used to miss these little changes in his expression. You tugged on the ends of the scarf lightly, which had somehow managed to both come out black, so Dabi would come closer. Close enough for you to kiss the seam between the scars on his cheek and those beneath his eye that use to be smooth skin.

“Promise me you won’t burn it.” Promise me you’ll stop hurting yourself.

Dabi’s hand left your cheek to grab the hand still clutching the edge of his scarf—only for his eyebrows to furrow so drastically you would’ve noticed even years ago. “Your hands are freezing y/n.”

Dabi stood back, retracting himself from your grasp to stalk over to the window and close it with more force than was really necessary. “I wish you would stop doing that. What if someone else came in here?”

“Nobody’s going to break in here when they see you coming in and out constantly.” You replied easily. Dabi had reappeared in front of you, grabbing your wrist to swiftly tug you off the couch with no warning—only to turn around and fall down onto the couch himself, promptly pulling you into his lap instead.

He pinned both your hands beneath his on his chest—the temperature of his skin rising noticeably as he spoke. “What if that’s exactly why they break in.”

You didn’t bother looking at his face, choosing to press yourself into the crook of his neck instead, breathing in the firewood smell of him—with just a hint of cigarette smoke, maybe a touch of something similar to moss. “Then a piece of glass isn’t going to stop them anyway.”

Dabi didn’t like that answer—you could tell without looking at him; his entire body had tensed up. You frowned, realizing the scarf was in the way of you kissing his neck; instead having to resort to tipping your head further down, nuzzling the v of his white t-shirt farther across his collarbone to kiss the skin there. “I’m not entirely helpless you know. My quirk will confuse their train of thought precisely long enough for me to escape into the hallway and call you.”

“Besides.” You added; shifting your legs out from beneath you to sit them on either side of Dabi’s hips, so you could actually sit back and look at him. Hands still firmly grasped beneath his. “Out of the two of us I think I have way more reason to worry about whether you’ll be coming home or not versus you worrying about me getting kidnapped.”

Dabi’s grip on your hands tightened slightly and it took you a minute to figure out why. To realize you’d just called your apartment his home. But before you could try and back track, he replied uncohesively as fuck. “I promise.”

“What?” You replied, slightly confused, head tilting to the side.

His gaze softened. “I won’t burn the scarf.”

“Oh.” You replied quietly, blinking. You hadn’t expected him to actually promise. “But you know, if you do; I’ll make you another one.”

 You weren’t sure what happened between that moment and the next—weren’t sure how Dabi had managed to get you and him both off the couch so quickly, with his tongue against your lips like the worlds sexiest battering ram.

You opened your mouth, lips forming the syllables of his name that you quickly swallowed as his tongue delved into your mouth. Your own tongue curling up beneath his suggestively as you sucked.

You pulled back, hands running up into his hair to keep him from following you. His own fingers silently digging into your ass in protest. “I take it you like the scarf. Is this really any way to say thank you? How improper.” You teased.

And then Dabi had you pinned on your bed—eyes far from appreciative. Unless “I’m going to fuck the ever living shit out of you,” in the form of glaring eye contact could be taken as appreciative. Which maybe with Dabi it could.

He leaned back slightly; both your hands pinned above your head easily with only one of his. His other hand lazily dragging his white t-shirt, because when did you ever wear your own clothes to bed, upward. His fingers threateningly warm and yet leaving a clear trail of chill bumps as they drifted across your skin. His knee pressed farther between your thighs, spreading them apart without any resistance from your end.

Neither of you breaking eye contact.

“I should really knit for you more often.”

“Shut up.” Dabi rasped, leaning back down. The scarf you’d made dangling from his throat and brushing your now bare stomach as he returned to kissing you. His tongue lazily trailing the suggestive scrap of his teeth against your lower lip; just before he huffed a breath of a laugh against your mouth, like he’d just thought of something incredibly entertaining. You took the opportunity to catch his lip roughly in between your teeth, dragging across the skin there as he pulled his face farther away from yours. You hoped it left a mark.

Dabi sat back on his knees, releasing your hands only to unwrap the scarf from his neck. At first you just thought he was stripping, which was a logical conclusion considering the current state of your clothes or lack thereof. You honestly had no idea when he’d manage to pull the underwear off your body. But instead, he leaned forward, wrapping the scarf around both your wrist and knotting it with ease before securing the other end firmly to the dark wood of your bed frame.

“Green?” Dabi whispered against your ear.

“Green.” You replied, running your foot up his leg. “Take your clothes off.”

“You don’t get to make demands doll; only good girls get to see my cock that easily.” Dabi said against your throat; this time as he bit down with no goal other than to leave a mark. The goal didn’t matter, the pain chased arousal into your gut as he moved to your shoulder digging his teeth in and rubbing the pain away with his tongue.

And even if the pain didn’t turn you on—being marked—being owned would.

“You’re going to tell me to be good and you haven’t even taken your shirt off.” You sniped, moving your knee up beside him to push the edge of his shirt up ever so slightly.

“Don’t act like you need anything other than my voice and a little friction to get off.” Dabi removed his teeth from your skin to reply, before returning to his task. Sucking a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue roughly around it before dragging it into a harden peak with his teeth. He was only slightly gentler here. “Like you haven’t called me in the middle of a fight to get off.”

Dabi’s hand moved from somewhere on the bed beside you to your throat, pushing your head down into the mattress, the soft sound of skin rubbing against sheets loud in your ears. Dabi’s fingers pressed into your jugular as his lips lightly danced against yours. “Remember? How you begged me over the phone to let you come. How long did I make you tease yourself before every hero in that building heard you moaning my name. I didn’t even have you on speaker. I’d hardly call that a good girl y/n.”

“Fuck, Dabi.” You groaned. You could feel yourself unconsciously clenching around nothing. The memory making the presence of your clit, and how nobody was fucking touching it, incredibly obvious to you. You pulled down against the scarf, which only gave so far as the stitches stretched before snagging solidly against the bed frame, followed by the sound of wood groaning.

Dabi pressed his knee against your cunt—letting you grind against him, only so long as to let the nerves there jump painfully awake. “God, I can feel how wet you are through my pants. You’re such a fucking slut y/n.”

Dabi ran the flat of his tongue up your neck, rimmed the cartilage of your ear before adding. “And dirty little whores don’t get to see my cock until their cunts absolutely begging for it.”

You moaned pathetically for no real reason other than to let Dabi hear it. To watch his eyes darken a little more. “Dabi, please.” You ground down against his knee again, moaning louder. “I’m your slut—.”

“You think you have what it takes to be my slut, doll?” Dabi’s hand left your throat to push his t-shirt up your body further, revealing more of your skin for his eyes to torch.

Dabi shifted his knee out of your reach. His hands shifting course—fingers trailing, feather light around your breast, down your sides. So lightly it almost tickled, before he reached your hips and grasped the skin there roughly—rolling his thumbs deep into the muscles around the bones of your hips.

Dabi himself followed the movement of his hands down your body, moving away from your throat to press a soft kiss to your hip. Hands sliding around the place you so desperately wanted them to be, and to the insides of your thighs—shifting back and forth between soft caresses and a rough massage, leaving you squirming beneath him.

“Stay still.” Dabi said, now against your thigh. He bit down like it was a punishment, when you both knew how badly it turned you on. How much you loved him marking every inch of your skin. How you wanted everyone to see—to know. You’d let Dabi brand you if you thought it wouldn’t traumatize him.

Dabi’s hands found your hip again, pushing you down to keep you from squirming. “Still.” He growled against the bruises you were sure were forming on your thighs. His right hand drifting from the outside of your hip to your knee—the electric trail of his fingers keeping you anything but still. His fingers dug into the skin under your knee, pushing your leg farther out of his way before smacking the inside of your thigh in a sharp, stinging reprimand that left you moaning.

“It’s so fucking hard not to fold you over and fuck you when you’re like this.” Dabi’s left hand kept your hips firmly in place, as the nails on his right hand left an angry red trail up your thigh.

You tipped your chin down to look at him between your legs. He had already been watching you; his eyes leaving yours only to press a kiss to the portion of your thigh closest to him. He was never this gentle with anyone else. And the thought of it; the meaning of it, left you aching. “Then do it Touya. Fuck me.”

“I thought you were my slut, doll?” Dabi ran his tongue across the mess between your legs—the muscle flattening out to press against your clit for a moment, rolling it once before it was sucked between his lips. In all honesty you were about to come. Which was ridiculous. “And I want to see you come; I want to see you soaked and quivering before I’m even inside of you. Because that’s what whores are for. To be used.”

“Green.” You said before he could even check.

Dabi responded by sliding a finger into you—too easily. You were so fucking wet. You could already feel the mixture of your own fluids and Dabi’s spit sliding down your ass. Dabi liked to fuck you with his fingers, liked the sound it made. And watching how much it turned him on was more than enough for you on the average day. But this wasn’t about him. No, Dabi was making this about you. And his finger curled too perfectly upward into you—into that spot that would have had your hips bucking off the bed if his freehand wasn’t pressing into your hip.

Your head fell back against the pillows. Eyes half lidded as you let your mouth part open—let Dabi hear what a good fucking job he was doing. He responded by adding another finger, leaving them curved as he slid them back and forth out of you a few times. Stretching you before teasing his fingers against your g-spot, with a consistent pattern, as his tongue continued to play with your clit. You didn’t have to see his face to know he was smirking, entirely too pleased with the fact you were already clenching around his fingers. His name a mess on your lips as he sucked harder. There was simply no way your neighbors didn’t hear you when you came—wrist yanking against the scarf above your head in a desperate attempt to grab Dabi’s hair, to hold him against you. To keep him from stopping.

Dabi moved anyway. Your eyes blinking shut as you tried not to pant. The all too familiar sound of wood scraping against wood alerting you to your nightstand being yanked open. Oh. Dabi wasn’t playing.

You heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor, before a vibrator kicked to life at a setting that was far too loud not to be the strongest. You opened your eyes just in time to watch Dabi press the purple vibrator against your already swollen clit—the overstimulation jolting through you almost painfully as you jerked against the scarf, hips bucking upward.

It was too much, and not enough at the same time.

The moan that left your mouth couldn’t be described as anything other than slutty; but you were too busy moaning to comment on it like evidence. Like you needed to make a case that you were a whore for Dabi. You only caught a moments glimpse of the curve of Dabi’s cock, the slight glint of precum against his tip before your eyes were traveling the expanse of his abs—of the purple scars that marred the skin there with twist and valleys. He was so fucking beautiful. His eyes were on your face, watching as you stared at him like you’d never seen him before.

Like it was the first time you’d convinced him to take his shirt off during sex.

“Have I ever told you—” A quick intake of your own breath cut off your sentence as Dabi rolled the vibrator harder into your clit. “What a fucking sight you are with your clothes off Dabi, because damn.” You managed to finish speaking intermixed with moans and loss of eye contact as your head rolled back with the movement of the vibrator against you.

You were well aware of the fact that your legs were shaking; Dabi’s hand soft on your hip, only to now encourage you down against the vibrator. He wanted you to fucking grind against it. “Dabi, I—” Can’t. Your sentence was cut off once again by a whimper of a moan.

Every slight touch against the vibration had your entire body jolting. “You can do it doll.”

His hand soft and insistent on your hip, sliding to grip your ass, encouraging you to grind upward into the vibrator. It felt good, so good. “You’re always go good for me.”

It never ceased to amaze you, how Dabi played every damn nerve in your body like a puppeteer.

Dabi was praising you, encouraging you—moaning with you like his dick was what you were grinding against; until you were chasing your own orgasm again. “Can you look at me y/n.”

You hadn’t even realized your eyes were closed, mind in a haze and every horny fucking nerve in your body on fire as your eyes flitted to his and then to his to his parted lips, and his hand on his dick—the way he stroked himself in time with your bucks. A short raspy groan leaked from your lips. Your second orgasm curling your toes as Dabi held the vibrator against you through it—until it would’ve almost been painful if you weren’t so fucking turned on.

More. You wanted more. You just didn’t have the voice to ask anymore.

You didn’t have too. The vibrator didn’t turn off, no, Dabi slid the silicone from your clit to your entrance—plunging into you too quickly, too easily. The vibrator disappearing inside you as his knuckles pressed roughly against your skin.

You found your voice, or more accurately it found you, bursting from your lips as you groaned; a tear sliding from the corner of your eye as you called Dabi’s name. The vibrator didn’t still. If anything, the movement inside you became rougher, more uncoordinated as you felt Dabi’s weight on your chest.

His lips pressing lightly against yours. “One more time, doll. Come for me one more time.”

You were whimpering. Your voice outside of your control as the vibrator began to take a slow purposeful path in and out of you. “Didn’t you want to prove what a good slut you could be for me?”

“Can you feel how wet you are? You’re so fucking dirty, letting me use you like this with that lewd begging expression on your face. I wish you could see yourself right now.” Dabi nipped at your earlobe.

“Y/N, just let go. Come for me. I know you can do it.” Dabi was moaning low in your ear, sounding like a beast purring.

Your chest was racketing wildly, breath uncontrolled and as loud as the wordless sounds dancing across your lips. You were going to. You could feel it; the dance of your arousal reaching a crescendo at Dabi’s deft direction—

Your entire body pressed up into his; mind entirely blank as the heat leapt over again—white hot and persistent. A blissful fucked out haze settling over everything as the vibrator clicked off.  

Some part of you distantly registered Dabi moving—shifting his weight off you as his lips found your jaw, your eyelids, your nose, your lips. “Hey.”

“Mmnh.” You were fairly certain you groaned a non-committal sound. But maybe you were just silent.

“Doll.” Dabi’s voice sounded ever so slightly humored. “Can you tell me what color?”

You didn’t, but you shifted your face closer to him—an attempt at nuzzling his neck.

Dabi rested his forehead against yours lightly. “Red?”

You grumbled, shaking your head no against his forehead—sweat allowing skin to glide smoothly.

“Are we still green?” Dabi asked, the hard length of his cock pressing into your thigh.

You nodded your head yes this time, no less lazy than before. If this were new, he’d make you verbally say it. But it wasn’t—nobody was making you come three times in a row without a little practice.

And you trusted him, trusted Dabi to have control of this. Of you.

“Doll.” Dabi said coaxingly, thumb running across your lower lip. “Spit in my hand.”

Fuck, you loved watching him touch himself. You peeled your eyes open against the increasing grogginess, tilting your head to spit into Dabi’s waiting hand. “Good girl.”

He watched your eyes trail every movement of his hand as it curled roughly around his dick. The angry purple head of it—how long had he been denying himself. The silver piercing at the tip sinfully shinning with precum as he stroked down his length languidly. “Yeah, just like that y/n—watch me.”

You moved one, oddly heavy leg up around his waist—an invitation. Your hands tugging against the scarf above your head in a silent complain. The muscles in your arm throbbing slightly.

Dabi stroked himself a few more times, rougher, before lining the head of his cock up with your entrance—using his hand to slide his head up and down the absolute mess of you. His mess. Every time the pressure of his dick pressed against your clit your whole body jolted.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this.” Dabi groaned. He followed this statement by leaning forward to release the scarf from the bed frame. He didn’t untie your wrist though, opting to hold them pinned against your stomach instead, as his other hand gripped your thigh to push your leg back and down beside you.

Dabi let go of your wrist only long enough to line his cock up to you—burying himself to the hilt in the next moment with a deep moan. His voice. The cool glint of metal as he languidly pumped in and out of you. Everything about him. “Fuck y/n; how are you still so fucking tight.”

“It’s like you were made to take my fucking cock.” Dabi stilled; His voice dipped deeper, teasing. “Any whore of mine should be able to take this. To come as many times as I want them too; and still eagerly watch my cock disappear inside them. Isn’t that what you did all this work for doll?”

The teasing brought you out of your overstimulated haze only enough to catch his eyes, every bit as blown out and wide as you were sure yours were, as you purposefully clenched tighter around him—the increased pressure causing your hips to buck with the spike of fire in your nerves. Plunging Dabi deeper.

Dabi snapped, eyes losing focus as he pulled back to thrust into you roughly. “So, fucking lewd. Watch me fuck you, slut.”

“Dabi.” You groaned.

Dabi let go of your wrist—giving up on restraining you to grab your other thigh, to fold you over. To give himself better leverage to truly rail the shit out of you. It was unfair how well he knew your body; how even when he was absolutely fucking you with no restraint, he still knew where to angle himself to have you nearing a fourth orgasm. Your mind glazing over to the sound of his skin against yours and the beautifully overwhelming feel of pleasure curling in your gut again. The feeling Dabi had yet to let truly wane.

Dabi’s moaning got louder, voice breaking as his pace shifted; finally losing control. The sound of his voice breaking had you falling off the cliff again—muscles in your calves clinching too tight as you gasped for breath. Truly letting go of conscious thought as waves of pleasure rolled through, stronger with every wild thrust of Dabi chasing his orgasm. His moans becoming shorter, higher pitched—incredibly fucking sexy to listen to before his hips snapped into yours once more, pushing as deep as they could as he fucking whimpered. The hot rush of Dabi’s cum spilling into you and around his cock.

Neither of you moved, the sound of panting smacking into the walls around the room too loud, too unhinged. Dabi’s hands slid from your thighs, letting them fall on either side of him as he worked to undo the knotted scarf. Granted your eyes were closed, so you didn’t see any of this.

Dabi’s cock softened inside you as he unraveled the scarf, presumably setting it off to the side as he slid out—followed by a soft sound of complaint from you.

Suddenly you were incredibly sleepy; breathing evening out as Dabi wiped your legs clean.

“Y/N.” Dabi said, tugging you toward the edge of the bed by your ankles.

You groaned in complaint—fully prepared to succumb to sleep, even surrounded by the smell of sex and feel of sweat drying on your skin.

“Give me your hand.” Dabi spoke with more authority than he had in the last hour. You complied.

He pulled you into a sitting position, while you still firmly refused to open your eyes. He tugged your, his, t-shirt back down over your body, before pulling you all the way standing—hands easily coming to a rest on top of your hips. “Go pee.” Dabi said before kissing you lightly.

“Mn.” You wrapped your arms up around his neck to deepen the kiss; not entirely helpful, but it was fun.

“Doll.” There was an amused level of warning in his voice. He wasn’t the one who’d just came four times.

Dabi wrangled you into his arms, taking it upon himself to deposit you in the bathroom without you ever once having to open your eyes. You relented however, when his hands left your body—if only as a silent complaint.

“Go pee.” He said as he left the room.

 When you exited the bathroom, you found Dabi’s discarded boxers on the floor and drug those over your lower body. Dabi wasn’t in the bedroom anymore. And the apartment wasn’t big enough for him to hide—meaning he had to be in the living room.

Dabi was in fact on the couch; a blanket waiting beside him and a beer in his hand. You made your way into his lap—head against his chest and his arms curling around you, soon after followed by a blanket.

Your eyes were already closed again—but you could hear the sound of one of your favorite movies starting outside of where you’d thoroughly buried your face into Dabi. You said something incomprehensible even to your own ears.

“Do you want me to rub your legs?” Dabi asked because he knew you.

But you shook your head no without looking up, squirming around to kiss his neck lightly instead. You didn’t want to move.

Dabi coaxed you into moving anyway. Handing you half a sandwich to eat before you thoroughly buried yourself against him again, like a stubborn animal refusing to wake up for spring. He was so warm. Safe.

His breath a slow repetitive lullaby as his fingers carded through your hair, absent mindedly removing the knots there as you fought against the threat of sleep.

“Go to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.” Dabi murmured.

That was good—he wasn’t always. You pressed further into him, fingers intertwining themselves with his clothes like you were asking him if he promised.

“Y/N—” Dabi whispered fondly into your hair as sleep welcomed you into its quiet embrace, leaving the rest of Dabi’s sentence to fall unheard in the space around you.  

#dabi x reader #bnha x reader #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #dabi #my hero academia #tw: anxiety #fine line

[the-rabbit-re]

Okay but hear me out. I may be sitting in a bar rn; but, Dabi gets so fucking tired of his neighbors complaining about how loud you scream when he’s rearranging your guts—that he decides to put a shock collar on you. Every little Yelp you make he rewards with a shock until he’s got you silently whimpering beneath him; the sound of his cock pounding in and out of you loud enough to cover the sound…

“What was that doll? Whine a little louder for me.” His voice is less than saintly, curling towards you with his smile.

“Dabi—“ a shock rifles across your neck, only driving your arousal further as you moan under your breath.

“Louder.” He mocks in your ear, tongue sliding across your cheek shortly after. “Come on. You know you want me to shock you.”

#dabi x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #todoroki touya #dabi #nsfw

[the-rabbit-re]

Not me studying in a coffee shop right now, thinking you know why haven’t I written any ;);) lately.

Dental school, that’s why.

#if you can’t read smut with a straight face in public do you even read smut

[the-rabbit-re]

Dabi x Reader Headcanons

Dabi doesn’t know how to say I love you.

Preview: Headcanons for Dabi not realizing/not knowing how to say I love you to his significant other. [Dabi x Reader]

Fluff/Angst/Hurt&Comfort/Soft Dabi

Word Count: 537

A/N: I for sure feel like I've subconsciously kept the vibe of these alive in all my Dabi fanfics. There's just no way Dabi wouldn't have a detached relationship with his own emotions.

Master List 

Keep Reading Below or AO3: Link

Dabi doesn’t know how to say I love you.

When you first meet him, you think the relationship is all about sex. Even if he never said it was, it was just something you assumed. But the relationship was never just about the sex for Dabi; he just didn’t know how else to show you he cared—didn’t know what else he could do other than make you feel so good you screamed his name.

That doesn’t mean Dabi’s only sleeping with you for you; no Dabi loves every inch of you, every scar, every blemish. He wouldn’t even call them blemishes; I mean who the hell is he to talk? Dabi loves the way you never blinked twice at his skin. Loved how you scratched and bit and kissed with ease.

Dabi doesn’t know how to say I love you. Dabi just wants to be near you; he wants to touch you. When he’s at a bar with you he wants everyone to know that hickey on your neck is from him. He wants everyone to know you’re his, even if he doesn’t realize it fully himself.

Dabi’s always using his quirk around you: heating the sheets, your jacket, his jacket for you, your hand. Dabi doesn’t even think about it when he does it. He just knows your always cold and he’s always hot.

Dabi doesn’t know how to say I love you. Doesn’t know how to ask if you made it home okay. He’d rather you just stay in his apartment; so he knows; so he doesn’t have to ask. Dabi doesn’t know why it makes him smirk when you wear his clothes. Doesn’t know why he loves to watch you sleep so soundly beside him. He doesn’t understand how you trust him so much. He doesn’t understand why it means so much to him.

Dabi’s a vengeful mess and wants to be left alone, but he can’t seem to tell you to go away. He can’t tell you he doesn’t want you. He can’t tell you anything that would break that sad smile on your face. Why do you smile at him like that?

When Dabi comes home from another mission, another fight, you clean the wounds on his skin like you’re afraid they’ll leave another scar—like another scar would ever matter. You fuss and clean and cover and kiss and Dabi feels safe. Dabi feels calm.

When Dabi’s around you he feels so calm. So calm, it would almost be heartbreaking if he thought he still had a right to a heart. Even as he smirks and jokes and brushes off any ounce of emotion, his walls are really down with you.

When Dabi thinks about someone hurting you, his quirk starts up on its own; he wakes up from nightmares in burnt sheets when you’re not with him. When Dabi thinks about someone hurting you because of him? He never thinks about it because he would never let it happen. He would step in front of anything for you.

Dabi doesn’t know how to say I love you. Dabi doesn’t know what love is.

You tell Dabi you love him every day and he laughs it off with a “doll.” 

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #bnha x reader #bnha headcanons #soft dabi #dabi #todoroki touya #hurt and comfort #angst #fluff #bnha #my hero academia #dabi doesn't know how to say I love you

[the-rabbit-re]

Hawks x Reader x Dabi

Safe Word

Preview: Keigo walks in on you getting off to gangbang hentai, and mockingly tells you he has a friend who'd love to play out your little fantasy for you. Need I say more? . [Hawks/Keigo x (Female)Reader x Dabi]

Keigo continued to ball the black lace in his fist before pushing the fabric with two fingers into your mouth, effectively gagging you. “Don’t worry y/n. I’ll take good care of you. I have a friend I know would be happy to playout this little fantasy of yours.”

You couldn’t tell if he was joking; he didn’t sound like he was joking. His voice dark and domineering as he pulled his phone from his pocket to take an actual picture of you—a muffled question hidden behind the underwear in your mouth as Keigo sent a text and tossed his phone aside.

NSFW/Smut/Dub-con/Referenced Non-con/Degradation/Language/Face-Fucking/Ass Play/Threesome/Double Penetration/Spitting/Light Bondage/Light Dom/sub/Choking/Sex Toy

Word Count: 3825

A/N: I told my friend my idea for this fic when I first thought of it, and ended on "but I think it's too aggressive so I'm not going to write it."

My friend then insisted I write it. This is why we're friends. [One Shot]

Master List

Keep Reading Below or AO3: Link

Dating a pro-hero had its advantages and disadvantages.

One such disadvantage was they were gone often. Like on Saturday nights, when you had had plans with said pro-hero—but some fucking villain had to go cause problems a few buildings over. So here you were, post dinner; post watching Hawks wear a stark black tux all night without you ripping it off his body, disadvantages of eating in public; post expecting to get to peel his clothes off layer by layer when you got home; post him seeing previously mentioned villain on the news and darting off his balcony on top of the damned skyscraper he lived in, with a sheepish apology and cocky smile. Here you were post all your expectations for the night in ruin and now you were on his bed—in an uncomfortable ass dress, fucking horny. Not how you’d wanted your night to go to say the least. Keigo should be fucking you on the kitchen island right now, maybe even the balcony. Or the shower. Anywhere.

Yupp. You’d let your mind wander all night and look where it got you, y/n, you thought. You sighed in a way that was more dramatic than your showoff boyfriend, peeling your dress over your head and throwing it to the floor. Keigo should be ripping your dress off right now. Your bitter thoughts continued.

Who knows how long he’ll be gone. You glanced down, eyeing your matching set of lingerie you’d worn all night even though the stupid black lace itched. And for what? To lay on Keigo’s fucking bed until you inevitably fall asleep before he gets home. Still unsatisfied.

Fuck it, you thought, sitting up and finding the TV remote beneath the burgundy sheets—flipping the giant flatscreen on the wall at the end of the bed on. You were met with the annoying sound of the newscast praising your boyfriend and you immediately flipped the TV to the screenshare option. You were met with silence.

Now it was your phones turn. You quickly pulled open a tab with one of your favorite porn sites, hentai to be exact—you could only watch real men fuck girls obviously out of their league for so long. And pixelated or not, animated men had some nice cocks. Why deny it?

You hit play on the first new upload that didn’t involve an ugly bastard in the tags. Instead, the clip you were watching involved tags like gangbang, rape, and teacher, which told you all you needed to know about the plot before the hentai even started.

You flipped your phone over and turned your eyes to the TV, watching as some oblivious schoolteacher in a too short skirt pissed off a handful of male students in her class. A few minutes later and she was taking more dicks than she could handle.

Animated or not, at least someone was getting dick tonight. You leaned over to Keigo’s nightstand, digging around in the drawer until you found the particular vibrator you were looking for—the kind with a hooked end designed to sit and torture your g-spot.

A cool breeze was drifting in from the balcony on your right; the door which Keigo had failed to close swinging back slightly against the glass walls. The room was dark, aside from the light of the TV and any residue artificial light seeping in from the rest of the city. Just the right wall was glass, the rest of the room was coated in a dark wallpaper. The sound of the vibrator clicking on into a soft hum distracted you from observing your already familiar surroundings. This was Keigo’s apartment, but you lived here too.

You teased yourself shortly before sliding the tip of the lilac vibrator into yourself, turning the setting up as it graced your g-spot, snaking a moan out from your throat. You sounded needy. You were needy.

You peeled your bra back slightly to play with your nipple the way Keigo does, pinching and twisting ruthlessly. The vibrator felt good, torturous even—chasing your arousal but never catching up to it—never pushing it to the finish line. You needed more. You needed Keigo. You needed his breath on your ear. You needed his wings blocking the light. You needed his very real, very unpixelated cock between your legs.

You turned the setting on the vibrator up, sliding it back and forth slightly like someone curling their finger to tell you to come here. You hand moved from your nipple to your clit, refusing to accept defeat. You were going to come with or without your boyfriend. Keigo could not have ruined you this badly.

But just as the defiant thought crossed your mind, you saw a blur of red wings and blond hair land quietly on the balcony—footsteps following close behind as Keigo’s gold eyes landed on you in a way that had your back arching slightly off the bed.

The jacket of his tux was missing; his dark green button down was torn, a glimmer of blood visible on the cut beneath the tear. He walked over, hands in his pockets, wings adjusting to the lack of movement behind his back—shifting slightly like they wanted to be put back to use. When Keigo reached the end of the bed he grabbed your ankles, pulling you down until your legs were on either side of him in one swift movement, before he hooked his hands behind your knees—pulling you closer still. The speed of the maneuver would’ve startled you if you didn’t know him so well. If you couldn’t read the look on his face like it was your own.

His hair was slightly disheveled, dirty blond tuffs blown out of their normal array. One dirty blond eyebrow cocked upward against his forehead, both of his eyes narrowing teasingly before he spoke. His eyes almost more mocking than his tone, the light glinting off his pupils as his gaze shifted. “What’re you doing y/n?” One corner of his lip twitched higher as he smirked at you—blinking in a way that felt like he was taking a picture of you.

The sound of the teacher moaning on the TV echoed around you both to the tune of slapping skin. You didn’t answer.

“I could hear the sound of the TV all the way outside. I bet the neighbors know what you’re watching.” Keigo grabbed your wrist, pulling the vibrator out of you and your grasp. He clicked it off—tossing it aside. “It’s not good enough, is it.”

“You caught me.” You replied finally, anything but embarrassment in your voice. “I was watching porn.”

Keigo let go of your wrist, moving to undo his belt instead—the buckle rattling a metallic sound through the room as he responded. “Don’t tell half the story. That poor teacher’s so full right now she can’t even talk. Does that turn you on y/n? How many cocks do you need in you before you’re really satisfied? How was one little vibrator ever going to do the trick.”

Keigo leaned forward to grab your wrists, wrapping the belt around them and tightening the buckle back into place—dark grey leather biting into your skin as you spoke. “Just yours.”

“Liar.” Keigo responded without a second thought. His hands sliding down your stomach to the rim of your underwear; his fingers tracing fire down your legs as he slowly pulled the fabric from your body. “Liars don’t get to talk.”

Keigo continued to ball the black lace in his fist before pushing the fabric with two fingers into your mouth, effectively gagging you. “Don’t worry y/n. I’ll take good care of you. I have a friend I know would be happy to playout this little fantasy of yours.”

You couldn’t tell if he was joking; he didn’t sound like he was joking. His voice dark and domineering as he pulled his phone from his pocket to take an actual picture of you—a muffled question hidden behind the underwear in your mouth as Keigo sent a text and tossed his phone aside. The taste of your arousal was starting to leak into your mouth, as your saliva seeped into the lace of your underwear. You twisted your hands within the binding of the belt like you were going to be able to squirm free. Really you were just trying to draw his attention. To give him the satisfaction of knowing you were bound.

Keigo’s hands ran up the sides of your thighs, your chest and then landed on either side of the bed beside your face as he leaned closer. “I really want to kiss you right now; but I guess I’ll just have to settle for this.”

Keigo disappeared from above you. His crimson wings stretching out to either side to balance himself as he dropped to his knees at the end of the bed—burying his face between your thighs. Your legs immediately clamped against his head at the feel of his breath chilling the moisture between your legs. His devilish tongue digging into your entrance without any foreplay. Not that you needed any—you were already soaked. You’d already done all the foreplay by yourself.

Your moans sounded like grunts behind the fabric in your mouth. Your eyes shutting as Keigo moved his mouth to your clit, sucking on the bundle of nerves and dragging his teeth against you. His fingers somehow finding their way between your legs to slide into your cunt, thrusting in and out of you to the beat of the woman getting fucked still on the TV behind you. Another of Keigo’s fingers threatened to slide into your asshole; the digit pressing against your second hole as you tried to keep from clenching your muscles. Not that it would’ve stopped him. Keigo’s tongue pressed roughly against your clit. Arousal rioting through your body as his third finger slid into your ass, making your vagina clench around the other two fingers already inside you. That was it—you hit your limit. You came, every muscle in your lower body tensing and relaxing as your toes curled, as Keigo’s name leaked out of your mouth in a strangled fashion, as heat tortured every inch of your body. You came—but it still wasn’t enough. You wanted more. Needy and begging, you whined like a bitch in heat asking to be fucked.

When your legs relaxed against Keigo’s head he slid his fingers free, running his tongue across every inch of you instead. “You’re a fucking mess.”

Keigo stood, dropping his pants in the next moment—his arousal evident through his dark boxers. The next episode of hentai starting on its own on the TV behind him as you panted.

The front door opened. You heard it. The entitled sound of the door slamming open and then back shut.  

“That must be my friend.” He smiled as your eyes widened. “What you didn’t think I was joking, did you?”

You remained frozen on the bed as another man walked into the room. The sounds of moaning already emitting from the TV as he entered. This episode didn’t waste any time. The same group of students manhandling the teacher before class had even started.

But for you, class had just begun.

Dabi. One of the most wanted villains waltzed into the bedroom like Keigo, like Hawks wasn’t the second highest ranked pro-hero. His scars were so much worse in person; the twisted purple red looking painful, and pinned roughly to the rest of his skin by silver piercings that looked like they were struggling to complete their job. His lazy blue eyes drifted to the sight of the animated woman on the TV, at the blurred dick in her mouth, her hands, her vagina, her ass. “Keigo never told me you were such a slut y/n. You get off to this? That’s fucking nasty. But don’t get me wrong, I like nasty.”

Dabi’s face was hard to read. Even his voice was flat, monotone, every word falling less concerned than the last—but his toothy smirk told you everything you needed to know. He was already enjoying this. Dabi stepped around Keigo, who remained silent like he was enjoying the sight of Dabi berating you. You scooted farther back on the bed like it was going to change anything and Dabi laughed—the one sound out of his mouth that sounded like it held some emotion. “Look how fucking wet you are and you’re going to act like you don’t like this?” Dabi ran his hand callously between your thighs, and then proceeded to pull his hand back and rub the moisture now on his fingers in a teasing fashion for you to see.

“Roll over y/n.” Keigo finally spoke up, his voice commanding. He walked closer to the bed, kicking his boxers from his body in the process.

You listened, rolling over and getting up on your hands and knees—which wasn’t the easiest thing to do considering your hands were still tied; the belt digging even deeper into your wrist now. Your ass up in the air, free for Dabi and Hawks to see. Your eyes were glued on the wall. Hawks chuckled. “Turn around. I want you to watch Dabi. I want you to see him watch you get fucked.”

You turned around like a bitch, still on your knees. Dabi’s eyes danced in their own light as the bed shifted, Keigo getting behind you.

“Look at it this way doll. You can still watch your porn.” Dabi smirked. He tossed his leather jacket to the ground like it was too hot. His white t-shirt shifted, revealing more of his burned shoulders. Dabi crossed his arms in a way that felt impatient.

Keigo’s dick bottomed out inside you in the next moment, your head falling forward with the force—a cry stuck in your throat. “You really are a slut aren’t you, y/n. Look at how tight you’re gripping me being watched. It’s like your dirty little cunt can’t stand to be empty—sucking me in like this.”

Keigo rocked in and out of you like he was trying to make this last, like he was going to be fucking you all night long. His grip on your hips tightening in every moment that passed.

“I want to hear your little whore of a girlfriend birdbrain.” Dabi remarked before he fished the underwear out of your mouth—leaving his fingers against your tongue a beat longer than was necessary.

He got what he wanted; you couldn’t hold in the moans. Dabi’s hand fisted into your hair next, pulling your head back so he could watch your face freely. Dabi’s other hand undid his own belt, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down just enough to slide his dick free. His dick was no less impressive than Hawks’. Dabi’s cock was visibly longer than Keigo’s, but not as thick. The head more purple. It was even pierced on the tip. And you couldn’t help but to wonder what he would feel like inside you.

“Open your mouth.” Dabi said like it wasn’t an option, like he was your boyfriend too.

You refused. Your eyes narrowing as you met his—even as you took Keigo’s dick.

Dabi smiled. He wanted you to be difficult. It was funner that way. He pinched your nose shut; watching with a pleased look on his face as the lack of oxygen began to burn your chest—as you finally were forced to open your mouth.

Dabi didn’t give you a chance to breath before he shoved his cock down your throat, immediately causing you to gag. He wasn’t waiting for you to assist him, to do anything fancy with your tongue. No, Dabi just fucked himself down your throat like there was no tomorrow, timing his thrust with Hawk’s behind you to get his dick even deeper.

Your throat hurt; tears pricked your eyes, and a blush burned your face. But you couldn’t deny how turned on you were. How the moans that vibrated Dabi’s cock were unrestrained and very real.

“You’re already about to come again, aren’t you?” Keigo remarked snidely. “Go ahead. We already know how much of a little whore you are.”

Keigo’s pace increased, one of his hands reaching beneath you to rub your clit aggressively—your resounding moans causing your teeth to scrap against Dabi’s cock.

“Fuck Keigo. You need to train your bitch better. You’re expecting me to get off with just her mouth when she can’t even keep her teeth out of the way?” Dabi pulled his dick from your mouth; stroking his hand across it a few times before he grabbed your throat instead, causing your breath to catch as he spit on your face.

“Watch it Touya.” Keigo commented from behind you; his voice doing a poor job of hiding his anger.

“Don’t act like you didn’t invite me over here to fuck her. So what if I get a little rough?” Dabi’s fingers tightened on your throat and your heart racketed against your chest—at the threat of not being able to breath.

Keigo cursed a moan; his dick twitching inside you.

“She got tighter, didn’t she birdbrain. I know what I’m doing.” Dabi didn’t loosen his grip, and breath evaded you as Keigo chased his release with newfound passion. Dabi laughed quietly, slowly releasing his grip—probably just to deny Keigo the pleasure.

“Bend her over on top of you and let me give her what she really wants Keigo. Don’t you need help pleasing your dirty little slut.” Dabi grabbed your bound wrist and pulled you forward against him, practically causing you to fall off the bed before he pulled you back to your feet—only to push you forward again. You barely had the time to register the loss of Keigo inside you before Dabi was giving you an order. “Go ride your fucking boyfriend.”

You looked at Keigo, who looked decidedly pissed, his usually golden eyes narrow and dark. His chest covered in a fine sheen of sweat as he laid on his back waiting for you—his dick covered in precum and curled upward into his abdomen. He ran a hand through his hair as his wings shuffled to find a comfortable position behind him—the true differentiation of colors in his wings hidden in the dim lighting.

The TV finally shut up.

Your clit throbbed with the lack of stimulation; your cunt feeling noticeably empty as you crawled on top of Keigo without a second thought—chasing pleasure, chasing a high. Your knees fell on either side of him as you lowered yourself back onto his cock; already moaning as you rocked against him.

The bed shifted beneath you both not a moment later. Dabi’s hand found the back of your neck, pushing your face down into Keigo’s chest—blinding you. Keigo’s hands dug rather possessively into your back for someone who was letting his friend have a piece, nails trailing a path down your spine as he bucked his need up into you.

Dabi slid a spit soaked finger you couldn’t see into your ass without warning; swirling it around and sliding it in and out as Keigo continued to fuck you. Dabi added a second finger, letting you adjust for not nearly enough time before both disappeared. You weren’t a saint, clearly. It wasn’t like you’d never had anything in your ass before. But none of that prepared you for the sheer feeling of Dabi splitting you open with Hawks already inside you. A cry left your mouth that could’ve been pleasure or pain as Dabi bottomed out too—the cool bite of metal hitting some previously untouched place inside you.

“Look at how easily your ass takes my cock y/n. Keigo’s already fucked your ass before, hasn’t he? I wouldn’t have expected anything less from a whore who likes gang rape porn.”

It hurt. Your teeth dug into Keigo’s shoulder as they both fucked you. It hurt, but that was a pleasure in and of itself. Dabi’s cock soon finding the spot that had you moaning and reaching for it with each thrust. Keigo was no different, already knowing every inch of your body.

You couldn’t differentiate Dabi’s moans from Keigo’s, mind lost in the haze of pleasure and sense of undeniable fullness. “Fuck you’re tight.” Keigo grunted against your ear before a loud moan escaped from the same mouth while Dabi chuckled.

“You like that Keigo?” Dabi commented on something you couldn’t see happening; the sound of them both fucking you too loud for you to concentrate on much else.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Why not? You clearly like it.” Dabi laughed again as Keigo tried to hide a second moan.

Keigo’s pace sped up, so did Dabi’s—like they were racing against each other. Like they were trying to see who could break you first. And you, you wanted to be broken.

Every nerve in your body was so on fire your orgasm almost caught you by surprise; your ass and your cunt clamping down around the cocks inside you causing Keigo to come too. Keigo’s cum spilling inside you as Dabi fucked into the new tightness of you like it was the best part. Like he’d been waiting for it. Keigo’s dick continued to twitch inside you as Dabi pulled out, his cum splattering across your back as he yelled, fuck.

Your entire body felt hot. You were out of breath. Waves of pleasure making it harder to breath as Keigo’s chest rose and fell just as quickly as yours beneath you. You heard but didn’t see Dabi re-buckle his pants and comment. “If you ever get tired of Keigo, come find me. I’ll let a whole slew of men fuck you. Ever wanted to be fucked by the whole League of Villains y/n? Hell, twice could make four more of me.”

Keigo’s arms wrapped around your back as he rolled you off him so he could stand. Your eyes falling on Keigo’s very naked, very firm ass and the entirely clothed Dabi looking like they were about to come to blows. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“I’ll be back.” Dabi said anyway, turning to leave. “Don’t think she’ll forget me that easily Endeavor fanboy.”

Dabi waved his hand dismissively and left the room.

Hawks walked back over; his wings ruffling in an irritated fashion behind his back. What a weird fucking friendship, you thought. Keigo unbuckled his belt from your wrist in silence as you sat up on the bed. When your wrists were free, he kissed the red marks there.

And then, for the first time that night—Keigo kissed you. His lips soft, too light. Almost apologetic.

You finally spoke up beside his ear. “Don’t overthink it Keigo. I never used our safe word, did I?”

#dabi x reader #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader x dabi #bnha x reader #keigo takami #dabi #my hero academia #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon #safe word

[the-rabbit-re]

Hello. Sorry I went a little AWOL there. I made the unfortunate discovery that birth control pills make me ~as dry as the Sahara. And then I moved 8 hours away for dental school.

But alas, I have returned birth control free and in my new apartment, and will soon be posting some fun fics;)

#my life is chaotic round 2

[the-rabbit-re]

Dabi x Reader

Ached for It

Preview: Dabi asked you to prove he's yours, and your way of doing so may surprise you both. [Dabi x (Female)Reader]

Inspiration: Here  @possessive-suggestions

But Dabi’s hand clamped around your wrist like a vice, jerking you back to face him. Dabi scoffed in a way that sounded painful—like it would make his throat bleed. “Really doll? Nothing about us is official; I’ve been fucking you for two years and I’ve not once said you’re my girlfriend. You’re always at my apartment even though you don’t live here. You couldn’t even say I was your boyfriend if you wanted to. The fucking police would be after you. I’m yours? Prove it darling.” Dabi’s voice was violent, his gaze downcast. 

Hurt&Comfort/Fluff&Angst/Blood&Injury/Mild Language/(Old) Manga Spoilers/Soft Dabi

Word Count: 3211

A/N: I totally thought this was going to be smut when I first saw the post that inspired this, and then I started writing and it took a hella soft turn lol. But I think it’s cute, so I hope ya’ll enjoy it too! [One Shot]

Ps. I haven't actually read the manga yet; but some of the information I used for this I got from some old manga spoilers I saw. So I figured I would tag it, jic.

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You didn’t live with Dabi. At least that’s what you told everyone. You didn’t live with him—technically. You had your own apartment. You were just… maybe never there.

You could usually be found at Dabi’s apartment, not that the location of said apartment was well known; so, to your friends you were just never home. You weren’t the only thing that could be found at Dabi’s apartment either, so could half your closet, your toothbrush, your hairbrush… You didn’t officially live with Dabi.

But you were pretty damn close to it.

Meaning, even though Dabi wasn’t home today and you had no reason to be, you were still in his apartment wearing his white t-shirt, your pajama shirt, and a pair of blue and orange athletic shorts. Never mind the fuzzy sloth house shoes that Dabi always eyed like they were an affront to his villainhood. He’d threatened to burn them a few times, but he never had.

You were watching some sitcom absentmindedly, enjoying the simplicity of it when the front door to Dabi’s apartment suddenly swung into the wall; a sound like a car door slamming shut thudding against every wall of the small apartment—startling you from your position on the couch. You almost fell on the floor in the same moment Dabi actually stumbled onto the dark wood floor beyond his entryway just a few feet to your right.

“Dabi?” You jumped up from the couch and onto your feet. Your hands flying up like you would be able to rewind time and keep him from falling. If your uncertain stance didn’t give it away, the waver in your voice would have. You were worried.

He was covered in blood. You’d seen him injured before sure, but you’d never seen him fall to the floor. There was even a bloody handprint on the pastel door from when he’d walked in—if you could really call it walking. You were still faltering in place, taking in his missing jacket, the soaked right corner of his white shirt—his hand clamped over the same spot. Taking in the tear in his jeans, also on the right side—more blood. Taking in the staples missing on his right arm, the blood drooling from his hand onto the floor as he pushed himself back up; feet falling loudly as he made his way over to the fake granite counter by the kitchen sink like he was going to take care of everything himself—before he sat back roughly on the floor instead, head verbally landing against the black cabinets like a knock at the door.

The front door was still wide open.

“Dabi?” You said again, louder this time. You walked forward, toward Dabi, wanting him to say anything. You just needed to hear him speak.

“Close the front door.” Dabi tilted his head back against the cabinet behind him to look at you—there was already a bruise blooming across his cheek.

Right. You walked over quickly, closing the door almost as loudly as it opened, locking it. “What happened?”

“The kids at the U.A. are really starting to become a pain.” Dabi’s voice was breathy like he was trying to hide the fact he was obviously in pain. “Turn on the news.”

For some reason panic made you feel like a robot. All you could do was listen to what he was saying. You turned back to the couch to shift the channel to the news. Sure enough, some lady with short brown hair was retelling the story of how the U.A. students on some internship had managed to uncover a League hideout—which was now shown burning to the ground with blue flame.

“Shigaraki didn’t want them to find anything.”

You started to blindly walk back to Dabi but your mind began to work on its own again, leaving you to realize the first thing you should have done was get his unusually large first aid box out from the bathroom. You jog walked out of the kitchen/living space and into the one room in the back right of the apartment, through another door to the bathroom to get the kit—without a single word. Only using the streetlamps shining in through the bedroom windows to see as you grabbed the black box that looked more like a toolbox than a first aid kit, and a towel. You all but ran back to the kitchen.

You kneeled down on the wooden kitchen floor with him; the plastic black box clattering to the floor like a dropped cup. Your hands immediately trying to peel Dabi’s from his wound so you could see what appeared to be the worst of it. He didn’t move his hand; even injured his arm was stronger than yours.

“I can just burn the wound shut y/n.” Dabi’s eyes were on your face, something soft to be found there—his eyes a little more open than usual, lips a little less tense. A look that had taken you almost a year to notice, to learn. “But don’t watch. You can step outside—”

“No.” You said firmly. Dabi didn’t need any more burn scars. You may not have years of practiced calm under your belt, but you were in nursing college. It wasn’t like you had no idea what to do. “Let me help you.” You met Dabi’s gaze and he finally moved his hand.

You peeled his shirt up, asking him to hold it out of your way. His side was cut open, but it was barely still bleeding—the worse of it already having soaked into his shirt just to scare the shit out of you apparently. The cut had been deep, about the length of your index finger, but not life threatening. You stood up, leaning over him to soak the gray blue towel in water from the faucet, doing your best to make sure the gash was clean before you even thought about sewing it up. When you kneeled back down you squeezed the towel against his side, watching as previously dried blood and dirt dripped onto the floor a muddy red color.

You kept doing this until the water was almost clear—fresh blood still intermingled slightly. You flipped the lid of the first aid kit open almost not hearing the sound; an eerie calm falling over you as you pulled out the betadine, suture thread and a needle. You sprayed the betadine onto him—the brown color turning to a green yellow as it thinned on his pale skin. You threaded the needle, using both hands to pull the neatest stitches you could manage through Dabi’s skin—his skin getting tugged in every direction in the process. The entire time, he didn’t even flinch. You refused to look at his face during the whole process—refused to watch him keep whatever pain he was in from appearing on his facial features.

His hand was still bleeding, but his hands were always bleeding—his staples got pulled out by accident frequently. You shifted your hands to his leg instead, tracking the gashes there as well. His dark jeans were torn enough that you didn’t bother asking him to take them off. His thigh was littered with wounds like he’d been hit with shrapnel, but none of them were as deep as you’d feared. They didn’t need stitches.

“You need to clean these.” Your hands danced feather light across the scared skin on his thigh, before you redirected your attention to his right hand instead—grabbing his forearm so you could count the missing staples. “And this. Go get in the shower and rinse everything out with water really good and then—”

Dabi’s left hand grabbed yours—steadying it. You hadn’t realized your fingers had started shaking against your will. The adrenaline rush of Dabi falling into the apartment catching up to you—the fear of Dabi falling into the apartment catching up to you. “Doll. Look at me.”

You looked up. Dabi was staring at you, his black hair unruly as ever above his stark blue eyes. “I’m okay. I fell because I stepped wrong when I walked in. I twisted my ankle when I got thrown back earlier.” Dabi’s voice grew mildly annoyed as he continued. “Into who knows what, but it cut me to shit.”

“You’re really okay.”

“I’m really okay.” Dabi’s voice was bored, monotone like he was telling a toddler not to fear thunder. But his eyes were still open wider than normal, focused on yours.

Dabi let go of your hands to grab the counter behind him to pull himself up. You followed suit shortly after. “I’ll go shower and then you can spray all the antiseptic on me you want.”

He was teasing you, but you were serious. “Are you lightheaded at all?”

Dabi’s eyebrows rose momentarily before falling; his eyes traveling across you as he turned toward you to grip your chin between his fingers—tilting your face up to his. “Stop worrying. You’re going to give yourself a stroke and then I’m going to have to take you to the hospital and get arrested as a byproduct of showing my face.”

“I’ll stop worrying when all your wounds are clean. Go shower. Well.” You replied stubbornly, shaking your face from his grasp, refusing to laugh at his attempt at a joke.

“Why don’t you join me and make sure I properly rinse my wounds?” Dabi smirked, leaning in like he was going to kiss you. Before you could scold him, his lips only found their way to your forehead—kissing you lightly before he turned and gingerly walked on his right leg all the way to the bathroom.

You sat on the bed, on top of the blue quilt as Dabi stripped, as he stepped into the shower. You watched Dabi’s shadow through the foggy white curtain like a cat watching a canary it was in love with. The sound of the shower water methodically pounding against skin and the tub alike lulling you back from your earlier sense of panic. You didn’t like seeing Dabi hurt. Didn’t like watching him act like nothing hurt when you knew it did. He was always internalizing everything. And you knew why. But he didn’t have to with you.

The scent of cologne smelling soap was wafting over to you by the time Dabi stepped out of the shower—drying off roughly and pulling on a pair of black boxers. His thigh was raw, but no longer bleeding. His hand was another story and he wrapped a white hand towel around it.

You walked into the kitchen to find some pain pills before grabbing the gauze from the medical kit that was still on the kitchen floor, as well as the antiseptic. By the time you returned to the bathroom, Dabi had already replaced most of the staples missing along the seam in his skin. He had too much practice with this.

The humidity from the shower rested against your skin like you were entering a sauna as you stepped into the light of the bathroom. You set the pain medication on the bathroom sink, the pills clinking lightly as you spoke. “Take these. Finish what you’re doing and then sit down on the toilet.”

“Yes doll.” Dabi said, pinching the last ring closed onto his wrist, rinsing his hand again and then taking the pills. Dabi turned to set the toilet seat down, sitting in front of you.

You took his right hand, turning his palm up in yours to gently rub antiseptic against his skin. The usually light-toned skin on his hand was irritated and red—but the burns were still lifeless, showing no concern for the extra damage they had encountered.

Your hands shifted to his thigh, diligently applying the ointment again, leaving your fingers greasy as you wrapped gauze around his entire leg to keep the gashes clean. You never knew when he would have to go out again.

“Who threw you?” You finally spoke again, eyes silently roaming the toned outlines of Dabi’s body for any more wounds you may have missed before.

“A combination of a poorly timed kick from Deku and ice from Todoroki Shoto.”

Your eyes quickly found Dabi’s face as soon as the word Todoroki left his mouth. Dabi just shook his head slightly, not wanting you to comment. “I don’t want anyone to touch you.” You said sourly instead.

“What does it matter y/n; I’m already covered in scars.” Dabi’s voice was self-loathing hidden behind the detachment of his tone. His face was tense, looking oddly vulnerable with his inky black hair damp and almost blocking his eyes from your view.

Without his hair spiking up, you could see the white of his roots.

“It matters Dabi.” You bit back, glaring at him because you cared. Because you cared and he refused to see himself as more than a pile of scars.

“Why?”

“Because you’re mine and I’m tired of you acting like nothing hurts. I don’t care if your entire body is covered in purple scars; it still hurts when you get injured Dabi—don’t act like it doesn’t.” You blurted out without thinking, doing the one thing you always told yourself you would never do—back Dabi into a corner.

Dabi was silent for a moment and you changed the subject, turning back away from him. “You should put ice on your ankle. I’ll go get some.”

You were going to leave; you were going to go get ice; you were going to leave Dabi alone. But Dabi’s hand clamped around your wrist like a vice, jerking you back to face him. Dabi scoffed in a way that sounded painful—like it would make his throat bleed. “Really doll? Nothing about us is official; I’ve been fucking you for two years and I’ve not once said you’re my girlfriend. You’re always at my apartment even though you don’t live here. You couldn’t even say I was your boyfriend if you wanted to. The fucking police would be after you. I’m yours? Prove it darling.” Dabi’s voice was violent, his gaze downcast.

His words sounded like they should hurt you, like you should slap him. But you knew they weren’t directed at you. They were directed at himself—forever internalizing.

You took a deep breath, sliding your hand from his grip. Dabi looked up at you with mild panic showing on his face like he’d finally pushed you away. But you didn’t see it. It was barely there to begin with, and you weren’t watching for it. You bent down, digging below the sink cabinet for the black hair dye you knew was there. You grabbed it, setting it down with more force than necessary on the side of the sink closest to Dabi.

“Your roots are showing.” You replied simply, taking the color from the box, pouring it in the plastic black bowl, stirring it with the brush. The smell of hair dye was just as pungent as bleach, but you didn’t dislike it. You were used to it. You’d been dying Dabi’s hair back black for months.

In silence, Dabi leaned his head forward, hiding his face—letting you silently brush the black dye back into his roots, methodically hiding every inch of white among the black paste. When you were done you tossed the black bowl of dye into the sink, where it spun around in circles before halting at the drain with a metallic clank.

You backed against the wall across from the toilet, leaning against the cool surface as Dabi still stared at the ground. You started talking anyway; the smell of dye soaking into Dabi’s hair still assaulting your nose. “I’ve never called you my boyfriend because I thought it would scare you. But what do you think I refer to you as to all my friends who don’t even know who you are? Do you think I’ve just been calling you ‘the guy I’ve been fucking for two years’? They don’t know your name, but they know you’re my boyfriend. When was the last time I was at my apartment Dabi? I may not officially live here but do you really think I would hesitate to end my lease if you asked me to? I never bring it up because I don’t want you to feel cornered by me. I’m willing to take whatever you give me Dabi.” Your voice wasn’t kind, nor was it quiet. “Dabi what do you want? You might as well just say it because you’re not going to be able to push me away like this.”

Dabi looked up at you; his eyes ever so slightly tighter than normal. His hands clasped in his lap. “I don’t want to ask too much of you.”

“You’re not asking. I’ve already given it to you Dabi.” You stepped forward, sliding your hands across his cheeks. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I’m not going to leave.”

“You asked me to prove it. Who else knows you dye your hair Dabi? Who else would you ever let help you do so?” You continued. You kneeled down in front of him, your hands sliding from his face and onto his clasped hands. “I know more about you than anyone else, Todoroki Touya. Now get up and rinse your hair out.”

You stood, pulling him up behind you and shoving his head under the bathtub faucet. You ran your fingers through his hair, realizing your hands were covered in blood as the dye turned the water an ominous black before disappearing down the drain. Subsequently your hands got rinsed clean too.

You tossed a towel onto Dabi’s head when the water ran clear, and then turned to the bathroom mirror to look at yourself for the first time since Dabi got home. You, in fact, had his blood all over you and you started to try and remedy that with the bathroom sink as Dabi dried his hair.

Dabi dropped the towel onto the side of the tub, leaning against the side of the sink to watch you before suddenly speaking. “End your lease.”

You stilled, trying to fight the smile that threatened to break across your face. “I really am okay with the way things are—”

You tried to give him an out, but Dabi interrupted you. “I don’t care. I’m not.” He moved to stand in front of you. His hands falling on either side of you on the sink. “End your lease. Stay here.”

You really did smile this time, arms snaking up around Dabi’s neck to pull his face closer to you. You let your forehead rest against his before deciding to give him the only answer he needed—the only proof he needed. “Do you know what I haven’t told you for over a year?”

“What doll?” Dabi’s breath drifted across your nose as he spoke; it tickled like hair being blown across your cheek.

“I love you Dabi, Blue Flame, Todoroki, Touya. Isn’t that all the proof you need?”

It was uncertain who kissed who first; but it didn’t matter, you both ached for it. For two years you’d both ached for this moment.

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #bnha x reader #bnha scenarios #soft dabi #dabi #todoroki touya #hurt and comfort #angst #fluff #bnha #my hero academia manga spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #ached for it

[the-rabbit-re]

Red Daddy Riot x Reader

The Humor of It

Preview: Red Riot has been begging to see your quirk and you finally decide to give him a demonstration.

Your Quirk: Cockblock. Sounds like a joke, right?

As long as you’re aware of it, you can kill anyone’s boner—no matter how hard they are. The consequence, if it can really be considered a consequence; you feel all the waves of that arousal yourself like the aftermath of an actual orgasm.

So, just how hard can Red Daddy Riot get? You're willing to find out, after all it's his funeral. [Eijiro Kirishima x (Female)Reader]

NSFW/Smut/Face-Fucking/Spanking/Orgasm Denial/Multiple Orgasms/Daddy Kink/Size Kink/Aged-Up Characters/Pro Hero Kirishima Eijiro/Mild Language/ Teasing

Word Count: 3882

A/N: Me and my friend came up with the idea for this quirk in a McDonald's parking lot at like 3am. Is this a crack post or smut? It's hard to tell; but you're welcome. [One Shot]

Master List

Keep Reading Below or AO3: Link

Your Quirk: Cockblock. Sounds like a joke, right?

As long as you’re aware of it, you can kill anyone’s boner—no matter how hard they are. The consequence, if it can really be considered a consequence; you feel all the waves of that arousal yourself like the aftermath of an actual orgasm.

How did you find out you weren’t actually quirkless? It was mortifying to say the least. While the rest of your preschool class was excitedly showing off their quirks as they developed—you were unsurprisingly in the dark until well after you hit puberty.

You were at your high school homecoming dance when your quirk finally decided to reveal its ugly face. A homecoming dance you hadn’t even wanted to go to you might add.

Sophomore year of high school and your friends managed to convince you to go to a homecoming dance because someone they thought was cute had asked you to come. Not even a real date—he just wanted to know if you’d be there. Your friends were swooning. You were less impressed.

Half an hour into homecoming and supposedly ‘cute’ Eric is awkwardly dancing behind you—you’re both just swaying even slower than the slow song blaring over the shitty speakers. Your friends staring at you from the sidelines; you would have gladly switched places with any of them.

Long story short, Eric pops a semi in the high school gym that’s been mildly stained with the scent of sweat and you feel it brush against you. Sixteen year old you is blushing, fight or flight response rioting in your veins when suddenly the pressure of his boner is gone—but a wave of heat rolls over you just once. Just once, but you were young and inexperienced, and a moan escapes your lips before you have time to register what happened.

It was the single most mortifying experience of your life. And one that decided to haunt you randomly to this day.

 Your quirk didn’t have much by way of real life application. Needless to say, being a pro-hero was never in the cards for you. Aside from the few times a boy at a college party had gotten on your last nerve, or when you hadn’t felt like dealing with that particular piece of anatomy of a few of your ex-boyfriends, you hadn’t used your quirk much. And aside from a couple of your close friends, none of which would’ve thought Eric was cute, everyone just assumed you were still quirkless. You didn’t mind the assumption.

And while your current boyfriend of over a year, Kirishima Eijiro, would love to know your quirk—you’d never used it on him. And while he knew you had a quirk—he didn’t know what it was. And not for lack of trying either.

 “How was work?” You asked habitually from your position sprawled across both Eiji and the pillow like bed beneath you.

When he got home, you’d been on the bed, laying on your belly with your arms propping your head up; some Netflix movie that was failing to hold your interest playing in the background. You were wearing one of his merch t-shirts, something that could’ve passed for a goth team rocket uniform—basically just a big red R on a black shirt—and some neon pink Nike athletic shorts.

Eiji had found a way to get beneath you and now his hips were beneath yours, tilting your ass up toward his face. His hands were resting on your bare thighs; but he was leaning back against the pillows on the bed—probably staring at your ass and not the shitty Netflix film like you were. You’d rather be staring at his ass too.

“Slow.” He replied.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the disappointment in his usually cheerful voice. “Isn’t that technically a good thing?”

Eiji grumbled a response. His hands sliding higher up your thighs like he needed a distraction.

“Awh Eiji, you did too good of a job and now you’ve scared all the villains off.” You started sarcastically. “You’ll have to move to a different city. Or maybe go join Bakugo’s agency? He seems to be doing a great job at challenging villains into coming to attack him.” You finished with a joke, glancing back over your shoulder at your boyfriend.

He’d taken a shower when he got home, and his usual red spikey hair was damp and falling down across his face; honestly making him look a little pitiful while he was pouting. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just a pair of sweatpants. The leftover moisture from the shower still finding ways to run through the grooves of muscles across his chest and down his stomach. A tempting sight to say the least—even if the smell of the axe body spray you’d tried and failed to convince him to stop using was wafting lightly toward your nose.

Eiji smiled brightly, changing his whole face in the span of seconds as his familiar deep laugh bounced easily around you. You really loved his laugh. “Bakugo’s agency had three villains show up on their doorstep today. Three.”

“He should hire the ‘catch me outside how ‘bout dat girl’ to be his sidekick.” They would go together perfectly. You snorted at your own joke, looking back at the TV as Eiji laughing shook your entire body. You could never decide if Kirishima was easy to cheer up, or if your particular brand of humor was just uniquely pleasing to him.

“Does she even have a quirk?” Eiji continued.

“Who knows.” You shook your head.

“And what about you?”

You knew where this was going. “What about me?” Still, you acted like you didn’t.

“What’s your quirk?” Eiji pressed. His hands finally leaving your thighs and gripping either side of your ass roughly instead—he could seriously fit half your ass in one of his hands. His hands were too damn big. The size difference between you two was ridiculous, just the height difference alone was laughable. In fact, Bakugo had laughed at how short you were comparatively.

You pondered Eiji’s question, acting like you were thinking about what your quirk might be. Your head tilting to the side like you didn’t already know what your quirk was. You didn’t have a habit of talking about your quirk; you weren’t ashamed of it or anything. You just didn’t think it was worth talking about.

In the case of a few of your ex boyfriends you’d kept your quirk a secret so you could use it in secret. But with Eiji you never found yourself not wanting to deal with him. He always had you far past willing. You’d kept your quirk a secret out of habit, even for all the times he’d tried to pry the information from you. At some point him prying and you lying became like a game to you.

It was fun to tease him. But the most fulfilling part of teasing always came at the end…

Eiji’s thumb slid up across your cunt abruptly, in a way that promised more. His thumb trailed back down through your folds, on top your shorts which you immediately wished you weren’t wearing, to press against your clit—rolling lazily. “You’re not wearing underwear, are you?” From the tone of his voice you would have never guessed he was saying anything inappropriate.

“Is this your way of trying to convince me to tell you my quirk?” You relaxed your arms beneath you, crossing them and resting your cheek there instead; so, you could halfway see what Kirishima was doing.

“Is it working?” He smirked, revealing his shark teeth—narrowing his red eyes enticingly, one of his eyebrows sliding higher. His voice finally revealing his less than pure intentions like he flipped a switch.

“I think I could still use some more convincing.” You turned your eyes back forward, back to the TV like what he was doing wasn’t the least bit interesting.

One of Eiji’s fingers started to press against your entrance as his thumb continued to roll across your clit. You didn’t let out a sound—leaving Eiji to get bored of teasing you. You felt him shift beneath you. His hands returning to your ass cheeks, spreading them apart so he could lean down and run his tongue across you, still infuriatingly on top of your shorts like he was waiting for you to take them off yourself. His tongue slid across your clit, between your folds, all the way to your asshole where it lapped back and forth—Kirishima’s tongue had never been shy.

He brought his mouth to your cunt, sucking on it. His nose buried in your ass while he lapped his tongue across your clit, soaking your thin ass shorts through with saliva. He laughed when your hips started to squirm—a steady heat building in your stomach. “Still don’t want to tell me?”

You rolled over, out of his grasp, only to crawl into his lap instead—straddling him properly. He was already hard beneath you. He didn’t know what he was asking for. “You really want to know Eiji?”

“Yes.” Eiji’s merlot irises focused on yours. His hands finding your ass again; he rolled you across his erection. “Tell me y/n.”

You continued to roll against him even as his hands changed their focus to groping you instead of guiding you. You didn’t need guidance. “Then show me how hard you can get…” You trailed bringing your mouth to his ear. “Red Daddy Riot.”

You could think of a few ways showing him your quirk could be more fun than keeping him in the dark about it—if he really wanted to know.

Kirishima growled; his teeth biting your earlobe before you dragged his mouth back to yours—kissing him like it wasn’t something you got to do every day. Like he was a delicacy. His lips parted yours, but your tongue slid into his mouth, tracing the sharp edges his teeth. You swallowed each other’s moans between your lips like wine. The sound lewd, intoxicating.

Kirishima was hard beneath you—his cock providing enough pressure against your clit as you ground down against him to leave you cursing. If he wanted to see your quirk so bad, then so be it. It was his funeral, you thought.

Your quirk still felt like an adrenaline rush, like you could run five miles without stopping while using it. And as you heart accelerated his dick diminished beneath you. You on the other hand, you felt the waves of Eiji’s arousal lap over you once, twice, three times as you bit down into his neck to hide poorly what your quirk did to you. You weren’t ready to reveal that fun fact just yet.

You panted slightly, even if you used your quirk it wasn’t like you’d actually came. Paradoxically after feeling like you had climaxed, you really hadn’t. Desire was still burning in your gut, between your legs. Probably in your eyes too, if you had a mirror to see them. You turned your head to kiss Eiji’s chin lightly, lips trailing back to his which had lost their impatience—leaving you to lick his lips coyly.

You leaned back to look at your boyfriend, at the mild worry mixed in with confusion. The way his brow drew together and his eyes unfocused as he questioned. “Babe?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at him, but only softly. You weren’t that mean. “That’s my quirk Eiji. It’s called cockblock.”

Eiji’s face shifted from confusion to sexual frustration to humor in a matter of seconds—finally a smile finding its way to his lips. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do you need another demonstration?” You said coyly, bringing your mouth back to his.

Eiji didn’t protest. He wrapped his arm around your waist to flip your back onto the bed. He pinned you beneath him. His hand sliding under your shirt—only to realize you weren’t wearing a bra either. “Were you waiting for me to come home babe?”

Eiji’s mouth moved from your lips to your neck, worrying the skin there as you tried to grind your arousal against his thick ass thigh—as seeing how his knee was in-between your legs. “What do you think, Daddy?”

Kirishima’s eyes were fiery again when he looked at you. He moved his thigh away, only to make room for him to grind his own arousal against yours. Somehow, he was already excited again. The peak of his dick behind his sweats easy to see—even easier to feel. Kirishima really put all your past boyfriends to shame.

You let him have his fun for a few minutes. You ran your fingers across his sides and up his back, nails digging into his shoulder blades as they flexed to support himself over you as he continued to rut himself against you. It was too tempting, almost sadistically satisfying as you felt your quirk thrum in your veins again—as you killed Kirishima’s boner once again. You bit your lip roughly to keep from moaning as his arousal lapped through you. You even tasted a twinge of blood behind your lips.

As the moment passed your hands found their way to his chest, trialing lazily down his abs and into his happy trail, dipping ever so slightly under the elastic band of his sweatpants that fought the movement. “You believe me now?”

Kirishima only panted against your shoulder; his forehead resting there as you slid one of your hands into his pants and groped him. Even soft Kirishima was huge, making your hands feel tiny—insignificant. “Was that really as hard as you could get Red Riot?”

Your hand fell from his pants, only to pull your own off your body. Bringing your fingers down into the wet mess you were becoming, not even bothering to tease your clit before sliding two of your fingers into yourself—noisily taking matters into your own hands. “I’m so fucking wet Daddy.” You practically moaned. “I can’t wait to have you inside me. You’re so big, my fingers could never be enough.” You couldn’t waste the opportunity to tease the shit out of him.

Eiji knocked your hand out of the way—his mouth silencing you as two of his fingers slid into you in the next moment. A moan achingly leaving your mouth as your cunt clenched around the size of two of Kirishima’s fingers. There was no comparison to yours. His fingers were better than some of your ex’s dicks had been.

“Y/N I want to cum.” Eiji said into your mouth, between your tongue and his wrapping around each other desperately.

“Didn’t I already tell you you were going to have to show me how hard you could get.” You thrusted your hips to meet the pace of his fingers to push them farther inside you. He curled them against your weak spot as he drug them back out—nerves ricocheting the feeling throughout your body.

You pushed on his shoulder, suggesting he roll over on his back instead. Eiji complied. His hands crossing behind his head as he watched you strip your shirt from your body while straddling him—an awfully smug look on his face for someone who’d lost their boner twice. You ran your hands silently down his chest, fingers trailing teasingly across his dark nipples before you got to the point and tore his pants off as well. You had to give it to him. Kirishima had some stamina—already half erect again.

You brought your mouth to his cock, running your tongue across the veins that wrapped around his shaft like a net. You swirled your tongue around his head, pulling it into your mouth before bobbing your head lower—your hand wrapping around the portion of his thick girth you really couldn’t fit into your mouth without him face fucking you. His cock hit the back of your throat and your hand still had room to work him—saliva dripping out between your lips and his dick and down onto his balls as he moaned your name.

Eiji gave up on keeping his hands behind his head, fingers interlacing with your hair as he gave up on self-restraint all together. He bucked his hips—his dick traveling down your throat. “Y/N.” Eiji mumbled as he continued to chase his own release.

You couldn’t stop your throat from rebelling against the sheer size of him; but the sound of your gagging only spurred him on further, harder. Your nose pressing into his rough rouge pubes with each thrust. Saliva spilling from your mouth like a drooling bitch. Tears sliding from your eyes. But the sight of Eiji’s face, of his eyes half closed and lips parted spilling groans that sounded like nonverbal begging, had moisture sliding from your own entrance—down your legs.

“I’m gonna cum y/n. Babe.” Eiji’s voice was rough, a hint of a plea not to do what you were about to do. He knew you too well.

Eiji only got one more thrust in before you set your quirk lose—his dick turning soft in your throat before he had a chance to finish. His fingers gripping tighter in frustration in your hair. You couldn’t hide the loud groans that left your lips against his cock this time. The closer someone was—the harder it hit you. Your own arousal was becoming torture in and of itself, let alone feeling his as well. Fuck it, you were done with this game.

Eiji groaned almost painfully as you continued to suck his soft cock—sliding your lips from him only to catch your breath for a moment before you kissed his thighs instead. You even nipped at the skin lightly, pumping his cock in one of your hands.

“This is torture.” Eiji remarked, hands sliding out of your hair. “But why were you moaning so hard? You’ve never come from sucking my cock before babe.”

He really knew you too well. You sat back on your knees, leaving him unattended for the moment. “You wanted to know my quirk.” You teased. You knew he’d press the question.

Kirishima sat up to yank you into his lap. “Where does all that arousal go y/n? Did you really tell me all of your quirk?”

“I can kill anyone’s arousal I want, if I’m aware of it. But no, it doesn’t just disappear. I feel it, every bit of it. And oh boy were you aroused Daddy.” You licked your lips. “Does that turn you on Daddy? That I’ve felt every bit of your desire for me.” A coy smile spread across your lips as Kirishima’s dick twitched beneath you, threatening to get hard again.

Eiji didn’t answer verbally. He slid a hand between your legs, gathering moisture on his palm before he stroked himself in-between you both. The head of his cock pressing into your stomach with each of his strokes. He returned to kissing you like a man on a mission; his teeth rough against every inch of your skin he could get his mouth on.

“Get on your hands and knees.” Kirishima’s voice lost reason.

You slid from his lap, doing as he said—turning your ass to him as you felt his growing cock slide up between your ass checks quickly. Kirishima smacked your ass as he thrusted; the pain lingering between each strike.

“Red Daddy Riot.” You moaned as he continued to spank you, wanting him inside you. Over the teasing.

Kirishima’s head pressed against your entrance before his hands found your hips, keeping you still as he thrusted into you in one smooth movement. He hooked his fingers into your hips, keeping your ass against him as he set a punishing pace. It didn’t matter. He could of fucked you at any pace at this point and you would be coming within seconds. And you were.

Your climax almost knocking your arms out from beneath you as you yelled. “Eiji. Daddy. Don’t stop.”

Eiji wasn’t going to stop, had no intention of letting you have all the fun as he continued to fuck you—his pace only speeding up as he felt you clench around him—your walls begging him to cum.

Eiji had been edged to oblivion. The only thought on his mind was release. Every inch of his being on fire. Kirishima did more than prolong your orgasm, he sent you over the edge again. This time your arms really did cave beneath you and your face pressed into the mattress repeatedly as he continued to bury himself in you. You could even hear the bedframe protesting.

It wasn’t long after when Eiji followed you over the edge, groaning your name. His fingers digging deeper into your sides as his dick slid all the way out of you, quickly leaving your cunt to clamp around nothing as hot cum splattered across your ass and down your back. If Daddy had it his way, you’d be covered in his cum all the time.

It took him a moment to release his grip on you; but when he did, he plopped down onto the bed beside you, panting. Your breathing was no less erratic as you rolled over, staring at the ceiling.

“Holy shit.” Eiji commented.

“What?” You turned your head to find him staring at you.

“Babe. I cannot stress this enough; I love your quirk.”

You raised an eyebrow like you didn’t believe him—but with the way he just fucked you…you’d be dumb not to. You kissed his chin softly, responding. “I love you too, Eijiro.”

His arms ensnared you, drawing you back against him. “How did you even discover your quirk.”

You groaned, ducking your face into his chest. “It was humiliating Eiji.”

“You say to the person who scarred his own face when his quirk developed.”

“That’s not half as bad.”

“Try me.”

“Fine.” You said, exasperated, tucking your hands against the warmth of Eiji’s chest. “High school homecoming dance. A boy popped a semi. I moaned loud enough for half the stinking gym to hear.”

Eiji’s chest shook as half a laugh left his mouth before he sealed his lips.

“It’s not funny!”

Eiji half laughed again; his chest giving him away once more.

“I’m serious no one would shut up about it for months. I was like sixteen—”

Eiji lost his self-control completely as you tried to protest, holding you tighter against him as he burst out laughing. He struggled to regain composure to speak. “Babe. It’s a little funny.”

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to laugh with him. You smacked his chest. It was the single most awkward moment of your life. It still haunted you. But—you started laughing too.

“How is your luck that awful?” Kirishima half questioned you, half joked.

“I don’t know.” Only you had that kind of luck. Really.

At least Eiji made you see the humor of it. He was always pointing out the bright side to every situation and you loved him for it; because to you, the bright side was always next to impossible to see. But a smile always found a way to his lips.

#red riot x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #red daddy riot #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #smut #my hero academia #kirishima eijirou #the humor of it

[the-rabbit-re]

Hi all! I have three one shots coming your way soon;) Sneak peak, they involve Red Riot, Dabi and Hawks. What do you think that and means?

Ps. Much love to all my followers and everyone and anyone who’s interacted with my fics.

[Update on my life: I was actually planning to post this weekend but believe it or not my horse got attacked by a pack of lose dogs. She’s okay now! But her leg was super infected so I’ve been hella busy for two weeks taking care of her.]

#bnha x reader #coming to a dash near you #my life is very chaotic

[the-rabbit-re]

Dabi x Reader

Playing with Fire

Preview: Miya’s claws dig deeper into your mind than you ever could have imagined and Dabi wants them out. Dabi doesn’t want anyone else to touch you. Why doll? Because you’re his. [Dabi x (Female)Reader]

NSFW/Smut/Porn with Plot/Slight Degradation/Choking/Language/Blood/Violence/Slight Self-Harm

Word Count: 18122

A/N: This is part four and the end of “Frostbitten Fruit,” the rest of which can be found linked below. I’m just going to act like me posting this at 3:30 in the morning is still Friday because I haven’t gone to bed yet lol. I hope you all like the ending; have fun reading! (Side note: the self-harm tag in this is for a few references to a non-main characters; I just wanted to be safe and tag it!)

Total Work Word Count: 54981

Part One: Frostbitten Fruit

Part Two: Whose Vampire?

Part Three: Oblivion

Master List

Keep Reading Below or AO3: Link

Miya and Sting deposited you in a bedroom without a second thought—the sound of the door locking behind them an insult to your headache.

“What use is she to you like this?”

“Don’t be so bitter Sting. I can’t very well have her running around saying she joined the league, can I? Besides, she’ll remember who she is before long.”

You should forget about Dabi’s theory. He doesn’t know Miya’s quirk. You wished your brain would just shut up. You didn’t want to think anymore.

The room was dark: red carpet on top of dark wood floors, yellow wallpaper, a wrought iron bed. Your head was still throbbing to the tune of rainfall; it was raining here. And you couldn’t help but think you were tired, exhausted. You almost couldn’t get yourself to the bed before you fell asleep—a suffocatingly black sleep. Utterly devoid of dreams or thoughts. Like you’d actually fainted from your headache instead.

 You woke up to the feel of the bed shifting beneath somebody’s weight, to the sound of metal springs stretching and rough sheets sliding against one another and you. You woke up feeling entirely out of place even in your own mind.

The room smelt like a hotel, like moth balls and bleach and Febreze trying to cover it all.

“So, I was thinking (Y/N).” Miya spoke cheerily from his position sitting on the edge of ‘your’ bed like you’d never left—like he’d never threatened Dabi. Had he? He hadn’t really threatened Dabi? You left so you wouldn’t hurt him…Miya never said he would?

But that thought felt backwards: you would never hurt Dabi that easily.

You sat up slowly, the same sense of confusion from last night falling across your mind, maybe even across your face before you made eye contact with Miya. His eyes turning steely grey as he watched you for a moment, before continuing. “Really the best excuse for you having so profoundly proclaimed to be a part of the league.” He said the word like it was a joke, like he was half a second away from forming air quotations around the title.

“Would be if I had sent you to be a spy. So, logically the next step would be for us to erase the league.” Miya smiled, patting your leg over the covers. “And you know I’m not very patient about these things.”

Why would you agree to attack the league? Wasn’t the whole reason you came here to keep you away from Dabi? No. If anything you came here to keep Miya away from Dabi. Why did you keep thinking otherwise?

Why would you need to stay away from Dabi.

“I really don’t like that face you’re making doll.” Miya spoke again, his voice turning sour.

The word doll caused you to jump, sounding so very wrong from Miya’s mouth—mocking instead of teasing. The word serving as a sour reminder you weren’t where you wanted to be; you weren’t in Dabi’s apartment. Hadn’t Dabi said something about Miya’s quirk?

“What. You meet one emotionally damaged boy and suddenly you don’t trust me anymore? Or is it that you remember his little theory about my quirk? I thought I told you to forget about that.” Miya sounded uncharacteristically frustrated.

“I don’t trust you.��� You finally found your words. The four words that felt the truest to you at the moment. You didn’t trust Miya. Why should you? You came here to protect Dabi for one reason or another. You weren’t sure what the reason was exactly. But you didn’t come here because you trusted Miya not to let Dabi get hurt. You came here because you didn’t trust yourself.

Miya’s eyes narrowed as he stood from the bed. “Don’t make this less fun for me.”

Miya took a step away from the bed; his voice returning to its cheery demeanor. His hands moving animatedly in the air as he spoke.  “Besides I have a surprise for you.”

You decided to follow him, either from lack of choice or acceptance you weren’t sure. At the very least, no one you cared about hurting was here. And staying in this room wasn’t going to get you anywhere, even if you weren’t sure where you really wanted to go.

That’s a lie. You know where you want to be.

Miya led you down the hallway, happily discussing his new house like you were his wife. Surprisingly your mind felt your own, and your thoughts were free to wander as you all but ignored what Miya was saying. Your own thoughts were lingering on Dabi, lingering on if Miya would turn you against him, against the league.

If you became a threat to him, would he still not be able to burn you?

And if Miya’s goal was for you to take out the league—why were you even here? Shouldn’t you leave considering you came here to keep Dabi safe? But it wasn’t like Miya was just going to let you leave, you thought. Why did you come here? It didn’t make sense. You mind was running in circles that ended and began on last night, and each lap around your own thoughts left you more and more confused. It didn’t add up.

You remembered Dabi saying Miya was putting thoughts in your head. But that idea only left you more uneasy; how were you supposed to know which thoughts were real when they all sounded the same?

“(Y/N).” Miya snapped his fingers in front of your face. “(Y/N) were you even listening?”

“What happened to the old house?” You replied in a voice that could give Dabi a run for his money for lack of emotion.

“See we’re already past that topic. We were just discussing breakfast, or is it lunch now?” You felt like he was scolding a child. His hand on the small of your back again as he pushed you through two white-sliver doors in front of him.

He didn’t follow, closing the doors between you as he winked.

 The room was just your average dining room, except it was startlingly empty. The long mahogany table had one seat, one plate, one glass—all empty. The walls were yet again covered in that ugly yellow wallpaper, darker tan-brown swirls of off-putting paisley dancing around your vision as you sat in the wooden chair with no cushion.

Comfy, you thought sarcastically as you sat waiting for whatever game Miya was playing to start. You had a feeling you knew where this was going. You didn’t want to hurt the league, and you didn’t trust Miya. So, what was there left to do except make you forget and what better way to make you forget than to get you to activate your quirk?

There was another set of doors at the far side of the table, which you hadn’t entered through. You wondered if they were locked. It wouldn’t make sense for him not to lock those doors; Miya wasn’t stupid. But wouldn’t it also be dumb to not check?

Why were you even arguing with yourself over it; any way you looked at it you should at least check the doors? Come to think of it, why hadn’t you even attempted to escape last night before you fell asleep?

Why were you so damn out of it.

You were saved from your train wreck of an internal monologue by Miya walking through that very same set of doors, now in a white tux, leading a man around his age by the arm. Miya walked silently, taking the role of a butler as he finally came to a pause beside your seat.

“For your enjoyment.” Miya bowed slightly and let go of the man’s arm.

The man took a step closer, placing his arm between you and the silver plate on the table—before abruptly sliding a knife down his arm. The limb almost immediately overflowing with the dark crimson color of blood that should really stay in your body.

You jumped back, the sound of blood overflowing onto the plate in front of you reigniting your forgotten headache. Tink, tink tink…tink…tink…

Your chair lay somewhere forgotten on the floor behind you. You didn’t hear it fall over; your mind immediately zoning in on the awful sound of blood dripping. Why were you even surprised? This was exactly like Miya. This was exactly what you’d been expecting. Yet, the violence still startled you from the daze you’d been in all morning, like this had just been a bad dream up until this very moment.

Now you were living in a nightmare.

“Drink.” Miya said one word.

“I’m not thirsty.” You smiled back, not knowing where your sudden bravado came from considering how complacent you’d been all morning.

Miya whistled, and two more people walked into the room—standing in line behind the first.

“Is he not to your liking?”

You wouldn’t know, you hadn’t taken a breath since he cut his arm open.

“The only purpose of these three was to amuse you. If they aren’t to your liking, I can gladly dispose of them for you?” Miya placed a hand lightly on the first boy’s shoulder.

What’s a little more blood on your hands at this point?

“Will you let them leave if I drink their blood?” You countered, ignoring the dark thought that seeped into your brain.

“So guarded.” Miya tsk’d. “You used to be so fun. I won’t kill them if you don’t.”

But you want to kill them. You miss that part of yourself—how carefree you used to be.

You didn’t look at Miya, or anyone for that matter. You didn’t let yourself register their faces, or what you were about to do; sliding back into that dark corner of yourself you hadn’t had to hide within for ages as you moved to drink the blood pooling off the boy’s arm. He had a better chance of surviving if you could control yourself vs. you leaving him to Miya’s whims. At least, that’s what you thought. You could drink his blood and not kill him. You’d practiced this with Dabi.

 When you woke up, you and three lifeless bodies were alone in a room.

See. Do you see now? You were wrong. You can’t trust yourself. It will always be the same. No one is safe from you.

Were these your thoughts? Were they Miya’s? Did it even matter whose thoughts they were? They were right. You couldn’t trust yourself.

 This continued for six days.

 On the seventh day Miya paraded you back to the dining room in a white dress, that was honestly flattering on you. Not that it mattered. It was just nice to think about anything pleasant—no matter how vane.

On the seventh day Miya lead a man with burn scars across his arms and legs, across his whole face even, into the room. For a second, you’d even thought it was Dabi. His name almost leaving your lips like a plea; but there were no staples next to those scars. The color hadn’t even been right. It had only been wishful thinking that Dabi was here.

If you got rid of Dabi, couldn’t you just be yourself? If Dabi was gone couldn’t you go back to not caring—to letting your quirk run free. Wouldn’t that be better for you? Easier. You shied from the thought physically, grimacing into yourself like you’d been burned.

Miya smiled like a politician—full of false promises.

On the seventh day you decided you really did truly hate Miya. You hated the things he wanted you to believe about yourself. You hated what he was enabling you to become.  

You didn’t trust him.

But you also didn’t trust yourself. How could you when you were thinking such awful things? When you were so uncertain if you were behaving this way because he wanted you too—or if you were behaving this way because it was you. Maybe you’d just been lying to yourself ever since you left Miya.

You just wanted out of the room. To be free of the implications of the dried blood on the table and floors and walls. You wanted to go to sleep. You wanted not to think. You didn’t even look the burned man in the face before you bit down into his neck—it would all end the same anyway. To the constant drum of dripping blood, you almost didn’t hear the sound of a neck snapping.

You felt awful. You felt numb. You hardly felt the blood drooling down your neck, much less tasted it.

Was killing the burned man not better like this? Wouldn’t it be easier for him to die quickly now rather than leaving him to the fate of your quirk later, when you wouldn’t even remember what you were doing.

It was a mercy for him to die now rather than later. It was.

Miya snapped his fingers and another burnt man walked in.

You almost didn’t feel the weight of your stomach dropping. This one even had staples.

No. You didn’t want to do this.

Kill him or Miya will or you will later.

This is what breaking felt like.

Whatever you decide it doesn’t matter.

You weren’t in control at all.

You never were.

 “How do you have no fucking idea where Miya is?” Dabi’s voice was unhinged for once in his life, loud, angry, anxious. He didn’t like the sound of it.

“Your girlfriend was my source of information.” Shigaraki spoke, much more composed—but no less angry—his hand gripped tightly against the side of his own neck.

Dabi didn’t particularly give a flying fuck how Shigaraki felt about his tone. “So you can break into the U.A to mess with students whenever the mood strikes you, but you can’t find one shitty fucking villain after all this time of bragging about being—”

“It’s been like four days Dabi.” Toga spoke up; forever detached from the mood of the rest of the room, sitting on a bar-stool very far away from Dabi and Shigaraki, who were maybe two words away from coming to blows.

“Try seven.” Dabi corrected her icily. It’s not like he hadn’t tried to find you, he just had no idea where to look—had run out of familiar faces to burn.

“You were there.” Shigaraki continued coolly; his teeth digging into his lower lip. “Why didn’t you stop them from taking her, if you were going to throw—”

Toga jumped up from her seat suddenly, like she knew this conversation was about to take a sour turn. “Just go where the chaos is.”

“Not in the mood for riddles Toga.” Shigaraki turned his attention to her, nails halting their anxious path against his neck.

Toga looked at Dabi instead. “(Y/N)’s not (Y/N) right now. She’s Bloodlust, everything you ever heard and more.”

“How do you know she switched already.” Dabi’s voice was still sharp. It had only been seven days. But even as he told himself that, a week started to feel like a long time. He started to imagine being back in his old shitty situation for a week and his mood turned ever darker.

“It’s got nothing to do with her. Miya’s just good at breaking people and if he really can put thoughts in someone’s head, he only needs her to give a little.” Toga was actually making sense for once.

“And where pray tell, is the chaos Toga?” Dabi rolled his eyes to her, noticing the thick piece of paper in her hand.

“Where the gambling is.” Toga tossed the card from her two fingers to the bar top, watching as it slid to a stop in front of Dabi perfectly like she’d practiced.

Dabi glanced at it, could feel the heat rolling in his palms as he read the words snidely typed there: Miya cordially invites Shigaraki, Toga and the Blue Flame to gamble at his second favorite club. Try not to burn this one down.

The password was even scrawled at the bottom: Miya’s Vampire.

Dabi hadn’t realized he was burning the bar until Shigaraki cursed.

Toga appeared beside Dabi; her hand landing lightly on his arm. “I want her back too, Dabi.”

So what if he cared about you? It wasn’t a fucking crime. Even if it was a crime, was he not a villain. Regardless of his thoughts, Dabi just scoffed, not voicing his opinion on the matter. Not willing to admit a word of his thoughts.

“I’m sure you can get your bullet back too Shig.” Dabi said instead, turning to go back to his apartment and for some reason unknown to him, Toga came with him.

 And Toga did not leave either.

No. She stalked him around his apartment all night incessantly talking, until she finally passed out on the couch with a movie playing on his TV—loudly. Dabi didn’t even bother turning it down, much less off. Why bother when he’d never intended to sleep tonight anyway. He couldn’t.

He’d barely slept the past week. It just wasn’t that obvious with the burns under his eyes.

He went to the roof instead, lazily swinging his legs off the side, faking being at ease. The one thing he was good at, Dabi thought. His mind a mess. It was ridiculous, utterly fucking ridiculous that you were so concerned about hurting him, that you were willing to go with Miya. Dabi knew willing was a stretch; you hadn’t really looked like you wanted to go. You just looked like that was the stupid conclusion you came too. How much influence does Miya have over you?

Why go back to something you hate just for him? Where was the fucking merit in that. He was already half a walking corpse and you on the other hand were very much alive.

It’s not like he was defenseless either. Sting didn’t know what was coming for her; she hadn’t truly fought him yet. Even Miya? What good was Miya against him. Miya could try to put all the thoughts he wanted in Dabi’s head; it wouldn’t change anything. And why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t Dabi just lit his whole apartment on fire, tore you out of Miya’s hands and left. Or even before that—he should’ve made you drink his blood. He should’ve grabbed you and jumped out the window; even if Sting was there, she wouldn’t have been able to stop you both. He should’ve set Miya on fire before he had a chance to even step into Dabi’s apartment; he should’ve—

Dabi realized his hands were on fire in the next moment, and then he couldn’t stop from picturing the way you’d grabbed those very same hands in front of Miya like they hadn’t been on fire at all—had nearly given him a fucking heart attack. Hadn’t anyone ever told you not to play with fire?

He had a hard enough time seeing all the scars on himself. He didn’t need to see them on you too, he thought sourly. Not doing anything for his growing frustration. There really wasn’t such a thing as should have—of course it was easy to see a thousand different paths now; but it was too late. You were already gone, and he was stuck here.

No, Dabi wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight.

He would sleep tomorrow, when had you back.

Dabi came back inside and showered before Toga woke up, letting her believe he hadn’t been outside all night long. She hadn’t been hard to convince.

And the rest of Dabi’s day passed in a blur.

 Dabi could already tell before he went inside, the club Toga had happily led him, as well as Shigaraki and Kurogiri too, was much nicer than the one (Y/N) had taken him to.

For one, it wasn’t on a dark no name alley; it was on a well-lit street. Which was a pain. There was no bouncer at the clean glass door. The place was a ‘normal club’, on par with the rest of the street.

Dabi didn’t bother to read the sign before he walked in ahead of everyone else. Dabi ignored the disco-ball above the light wood dance-floor, the live band, the whole separate billiards room, the two bars, the actual space to walk—his only goal was to find whatever stairwell led to Miya. He didn’t let himself consider whether you might be here too. How he would deal with you if you were under the influence of blood—under the influence of Miya.

Dabi was halfway across the room when he felt a slender hand on his arm. “Miya’s not ready for you yet. Why don’t you have a drink?”

Dabi let fire crawl across his arm where Sting had touched him, already knowing that voice without turning to look at her. He didn’t particularly care to see her face. Dabi felt the tip of her tail press into his jeans behind his knee in the next moment, a threat. A threat he really wasn’t willing to tolerate—

“Manners.” If anyone else had said this to him, anyone but you, the building would’ve been in flames. Your voice was tight with warning without losing its allure. Dabi couldn’t decide how he felt—part of him was relieved. The other part was tense like a horse fighting against its bit—wanting to run, wanting to follow it’s instinct and being unable too, being held back. You were under the influence of Miya but Dabi was under the influence of you. And he couldn’t decide which was worse.

He glanced to you in the next moment, at the red dress you were wearing. The very short red dress at odds with the forever crawling length of everything Sting wore—her own darker red dress trailing the floor. Who were you right now? Why couldn’t Dabi bring himself to be wary of you.

You stepped between him and Sting in the next moment; your own arm wrapping beneath his—flame stuttering to nothing. Sting moved her tail before you commented on it, although she looked decidedly pissed about it. “Sting you know who you’re supposed to be watching. So watch.”

You paused; Dabi’s arm still in yours as you turned to look—to make sure Sting was listening, Dabi assumed.

“Kurogiri you have to stay with little boy blue over there.” You spoke dismissively like no one was going to disagree with you. Without even looking at him, Dabi could feel Shigaraki tense at the dismissal.

A little boy who looked far too young to be in a club was sitting by the pool tables, not at all wearing blue. Dabi didn’t understand the nickname; he wasn’t an avid follower of the arts.

Kurogiri listened quietly. It didn’t stop you from commenting again. “If you ask me, Miya’s taking Shigaraki’s temper too lightly.”

At least you were aware, Dabi thought—your arm still tucked around his.

Shigaraki may not know how to read a room; but he also doesn’t like to play his cards unless he knows he has the upper hand. You were a wildcard in this. Dabi pondered for a moment before speaking. “And what about my temper doll?”

You didn’t answer, only giving Dabi a look as if to say he knew the answer. That his temper wasn’t going to mean anything with you on his arm. “Let’s all have a drink.” You said instead, stepping toward the bar, never once letting go of Dabi. He didn’t want you too.

“I didn’t come here to drink.” Shigaraki said, refusing to move from his spot by the door.

You appeared behind Shigaraki in the next moment; he didn’t know you were there until you spoke. “If you want to go piss Miya off by all means.”

As soon as the words were out of your lips, your arm was back through Dabi’s like you’d never left, stepping forward once again. He’d never even felt your absence. You didn’t pause to see if your threat had worked, like you were positive no one would challenge you.

Why would they? When you can appear out of thin fucking air. Dabi knew Shigaraki still wanted you in the league, but that leeway was only going to go so far.

Miya wasn’t the threat here—you were. So why couldn’t Dabi see you that way? Why didn’t he pull his arm from yours? Why was he so willing to trust you.

Toga bounced past Shigaraki and Sting lightly, like nothing was tense at all. She even smacked you on the back before prancing the rest of the way to the bar, getting the bartender’s attention. You sat down beside her on her right; Dabi sat on your right and Sting and Shigaraki continued to glare at each other in front of the bar.

“Shigaraki, here.” You turned in your seat, tossing some small object to Shigaraki. It wasn’t until he held it for a moment that Dabi saw what it was—the bullet Miya had taken. “On good faith from Miya.”

That’s right; everything you were doing, you were doing because Miya told you too. You were only hanging on to him because Miya knew it would keep him from starting a fight, Dabi thought.

A beer was placed in front of Dabi without him having to ask for it; he wasn’t sure if it was yours or Toga’s doing. You didn’t talk, swirling a liquid Dabi was certain wasn’t wine in a wine class like you weren’t particularly fond of the taste.

Dabi didn’t need to be this close to you to know something was off; the Bloodlust here, the you here, and the you he’d spent so much time in his apartment with—they were different. Your face now reminded him of his own. You were a ticking time bomb; the question wasn’t whether you would explode, but what would come out when you did.

Dabi wasn’t sure how to help. Dabi didn’t say anything either, just watched you swirl the liquid in your glass again and again with conflicting thoughts.

You turned your head slightly to look at him; a glint in your eyes he couldn’t quiet read as you said quietly. “Do you still trust me flame boy?”

Before he had a chance to respond Toga interrupted, and the slight gleam to your eyes disappeared as you turned from him, tilting your glass up higher.

“Here.” Toga remarked casually as you finally decided to finish the liquid in your glass—lips stained red. Toga rolled a beer can sized vial of blood across the counter. “On good faith from Shigaraki.”

Well that was bullshit. Shigaraki didn’t have anything to do with the blood Toga carried around like a serial killer—not to mention Dabi had seen her slide countless objects across a counter and not once until today did she ever miss. Yet the vial fell short of you, falling to the ground and shattering instead—blood splattering against your leg. Your face changed violently; so quickly Dabi almost missed it before it was gone.

Even if only for a second after blood landed lightly against your leg, your lips tore back, eyes flaring wide, nose wrinkling like you were trying to avoid the smell. And then your face fell back into a cool smirk—but the violent tint didn’t leave your eyes, almost like panic.

“Sting, go see what’s taking Miya so long. I’m bored.” You drawled, glaring at her like you were tired of seeing her. Dabi knew he was but what he really wanted to know was what that reaction had been.

“Why don’t you clean that up while I’m gone. You can even lick it up if you want.” Sting replied before turning to leave—taking Shigaraki with her.

 You registered the sound of breaking glass before you registered the smell of blood—the sweet allure of Dabi’s blood thick in your nose. The smell ripping you from whatever recess of your mind your consciousness had been hiding in—fear tearing through you even more violently. The fear that you’d hurt Dabi. Your nose flinching back like it could keep the smell from coming in; your eyes widening as if they were going to be able to see what you’d done faster this way; and then your lips snapping back angrily when you realized what had actually happened. You were too busy pushing this expression back under the surface of your face to even realize the saliva pooling in your mouth.

Toga was out of her damn mind breaking a vial of Dabi’s blood on the floor in front of you. On purpose. You were beyond angry. What had her fucking goal been? It’s not like Dabi’s blood was some previously discovered magic recipe to wake you up. She had no way of knowing the God awful week you’d had. No way of knowing the only reason this little ploy of hers even worked was because Miya so thoroughly scarred you a day ago. What kind of shitty gamble had that been?

But you shoved all that down just long enough to say behind a bored façade. “Sting, go see what’s taking Miya so long. I’m bored.”

“Why don’t you clean that up while I’m gone. You can even lick it up if you want.” Sting replied before turning to leave—thankfully taking Shigaraki with her. You’d barely even heard her, much less cared about the jab.

You were going to have a few words with Toga.

You sat extremely still, waiting, just waiting for Sting to step into that back hallway and the minute she did you snapped. You sent the empty wine glass in front of you flying into the sink behind the bar where it shattered into a million pieces.

In the next moment, the sound of shattering glass still ringing around the bar, you had two fistfuls of Toga’s shirt—her chair somewhere forgotten on the floor and her back uncomfortably pressed against the bar counter.

“You have about 3 seconds to explain to me why you thought that was a great fucking idea.” You seethed, mouth drawing closer to Toga’s face. “One—” You started, fingers digging deeper into the fabric within your fist.

Toga flinched but you were too angry to care. Too angry for it to bother you. You probably deserved it. “Two—”

“I took a gamble.” Toga’s hands clasped yours like she was going to be able to pull you off her. “I thought it might give you some clarity.” Toga kept her voice calm, but her face gave everything away.

You didn’t keep calm at all. “And if I had just attacked him instead? If he was now just a bloody mess on the floor?” If I had killed him? You were pressing Toga harder against the bar when you felt Dabi’s hands slide around your waist from behind like they’d been trying not to all night—like you weren’t currently snarling at Toga like a rabid dog.

“Doll.” Dabi hummed against your ear. The sound of it chasing shivers down your spine; it was nice for the word not to be coming out of Miya’s mouth for once. Nice to have him here, you even let yourself think before you shut yourself down. You can’t trust yourself. Not after the week you’d had.

You still couldn’t stop your body from relaxing into his touch against your will. He needed to leave. You let go of Toga and she immediately made herself scarce.

“Don’t.” You said against your body’s wishes, stepping out of Dabi’s grasp to turn and look at him. Your goal was to make him listen—for him to see you were serious. But his face made you pause.

Dabi looked awful, even the burns under his eyes couldn’t hide the dark circles peeping around the skin there. The sunken look to his blue eyes glaringly obvious to you. The face of someone who hadn’t slept in days. Your original train of thought died and instead you found your hand on his face, thumb tracing the purple bruise like hue peaking out from beneath his staples. “Dabi…Have you not slept?”

His eyes widened like no one else had noticed—like he didn’t think anyone would notice. He didn’t say anything. He grabbed you again instead, tucking you against his body. And while his nose pressed lightly into your hair, your nose pressed into his neck, into the pulse of the artery there. You closed your eyes and tried to ignore the sound that tried to lull you back to oblivion.

Closed your eyes as you tried to ignore the image of your teeth tearing into similarly scared skin only a day ago. You didn’t want to push Dabi away. You’d missed him.

“You can’t trust me.” You said anyway, pushing back lightly for you, but firmly enough with your quirk that Dabi had to listen and let you go. Let you back away from the sound of his pulse. “I don’t even trust me.”

“Do you really still think you’re capable of hurting him?” Toga spoke casually from a few seats down at the bar.

You turned darkly to her. “It wasn’t even 24 hours ago that Miya had me killing a handful of people that looked just like him. I can still hear their necks snapping.”

You weren’t sure why you remembered it. Each one. Every single Dabi, not Dabi, that Miya had marched into that God forsaken dining room—watching gleefully as you turned back into his pet. And now it was just fuel for your fucking nightmares; it was better to wake up not knowing. The only thing that had kept you sane was that none of them smelt like Dabi. None of them tasted like him. But Miya got what he wanted—at least until Toga shattered Dabi’s blood on the floor.

“You know what kept me sane?” You continued, old anger returning. “The fact that none of them smelt like Dabi. And then you rip me out from behind the curtain of my quirk by spilling his blood in front of me—making me think I finally slipped up.” Even recalling this now you felt the allure of oblivion pushed aside in your mind, felt how easy it would be to sink back in. To forget. You were getting tired of the ever growing list of shitty things you’d done; but you didn’t have time to process that right now. And you couldn’t slip back into oblivion with Dabi right here.

Dabi didn’t hesitate before pulling you back against him. If you really wanted to you could have kept him from touching you at all, much less hugging you. But you needed this. Even if you were just being selfish—you needed this.

“I still trust you.” Dabi spoke softly—his arms tightening around you like he wasn’t going to let you push away this time.

You needed someone to trust you.

You couldn’t stop your arms from snaking around him, couldn’t stop from pressing your face into his chest—breathing in the familiar smell of him. It wasn’t smart. You should make him leave. You should steel yourself and make them all leave. Do whatever you had to, to make them go. Miya wanted them all gone. But Dabi’s dark eyes were still in your mind, and you weren’t sure making him leave would actually be better for him. Much less you.

And you trusted him too. You couldn’t deal with Miya by yourself. “Dabi I don’t trust Miya. I don’t trust him at all—but if he’s putting thoughts in my head—”

“He is.” Dabi interrupted.

“It’s hard to tell. They feel like my own thoughts even when they sound wrong. They sound wrong and I question them and then more thoughts come, and it gets confusing. And then when they don’t sound wrong, it has me guessing if any of my thoughts are my own. Which is just as confusing.” You weren’t sure how to explain, to really tell them the mess your mind had become. You weren’t even sure what you said had made sense. But you were unwilling to pull back from Dabi to see his face. You just wanted to stay here—face hidden.

“If it’s so confusing just say them out loud and I’ll help.” You weren’t sure if it was because you hadn’t seen him in a minute, but Dabi’s voice was unnaturally pleasant in your ear.

“Dabi offering to help? That’s a first.” Toga muttered to herself.

“You don’t think Miya will find that the least bit suspicious—” You started to argue.

“I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned Miya’s a fucking child playing with a wildfire. Me, you, Shigaraki all our quirks are stronger than his. You (Y/N), you’re the wildfire. What’s he going to do when he starts to feel the heat?”

Why do you think he hasn’t done much for the past three years was the unspoken sentence behind Dabi’s words. As you were now, you could hear the door open at the top of the stairs.

“Get off me, Sting’s coming.” You elbowed Dabi lightly, letting him pull back this time because you couldn’t do it again. Your resolve to stay away from him was pathetic—and your mind was in too much turmoil to place why. You had too many things to worry about.

The bartender passed you another glass that you took a sip from as Sting returned. Toga joined you and Dabi in standing. There wasn’t anything you could do about the chair knocked over on the floor—but Sting didn’t comment. She hadn’t brought Shigaraki back down either.

“He’s ready.” Sting said.

“What was he even doing.”

“Feeling important.”

You eyed her. “Liar.”

She just smiled.

You pushed Dabi forward in front of you, motioning for him to follow Sting as she turned. You glanced to Toga to make sure she followed as well. Sting went ahead of you all up the stairs, like she was trying to demonstrate something. You didn’t care. You weren’t joining in on a pissing contest. And when you all entered the private room upstairs, you went to Miya’s side—exactly where you didn’t want to be.

“You still haven’t drank that?” Miya inquired, motioning for you to sit on the couch beside him.

“It’s a new glass.”

Miya made a sound that indicated he hadn’t really cared to begin with, turning to Dabi instead. “Sit.”

Dabi glared, but he sat.

You were on one black couch in a rather plain room, and across from you sat Dabi on another black couch. A beaten up old coffee table in between you both. Toga was on Dabi’s right, closest to the door, looking as carefree as ever. Shigaraki was on Dabi’s left with a scorpion tail at his throat—somehow degraded from leader to hostage. Not even a hostage, but just outside of Miya’s current desire to deal with.

You could only imagine what was going through Shigaraki’s head right now.

You weren’t even sure why Miya had told him to come, just to give him a bullet back? Did Miya think that was all it would take for Shigaraki to go back to where he came from. Miya was the one who poked the hornet’s nest.

You were startled from your thoughts by Miya’s hand landing casually on your knee. That was new and probably directed at Dabi. You leaned back into the couch like you didn’t care, taking a silent sip of the blood in your glass. The blood had an acidic twang to it, like chewing on grass.

You wanted to smack Miya’s hand off you.

Instead you rolled your eyes lazily from Miya to Dabi. Dabi was leaning forward on his knees, fist pressed into his face like he was trying to restrain himself. His eyes were on Miya’s hand.

“You have questions?” Miya remarked casually like you were all having tea.  

“What the fuck did you even call us here for?” Dabi was significantly less polite. You had to look away to keep from reacting; Sting was on the other side of the couch after all. And her and Miya both still thought you were out of it, so to speak. So, you were left to act. To keep them from knowing.

“To play a game.” Miya threw a knife with his free hand onto the center of the table with a startling thud, well at least it was clear how the table had gotten damaged.

“I thought we were gambling?”

“We are, Dabi. Have you never heard of five finger fillet?” Miya’s voice grew in excitement. His hand falling from your leg as he leaned forward too. “If you have the best time of the round you get to ask a question.”

“I’ll play.” Toga perked up from her seat beside Dabi. Toga would be best at this game.

“No. This is between me and Dabi.”

Shigaraki gave a look as if to imply why he was even here then.

Miya turned to Shigaraki like he’d just remembered he was there. “Sting give him a little space.”

Her tail was just as long as she was tall; she really didn’t need to stand so close. She backed away maybe a foot before Miya glared, then she receded further.

“And if you have the best time?” Dabi continued to stare at Miya.

Miya leaned back like he truly had no idea what he wanted from Dabi. “You’ll show me something I’ve been curious to see.”

You didn’t particularly like the sound of that, but Dabi agreed easily. Why was he always so ready to play with fire?

You shouldn’t say anything, a thought leaked into your mind confirming your theory that Dabi shouldn’t have agreed.

“I’ll go first.” Miya said, a genuine smile on his face that made you feel uneasy.

You wanted Dabi to leave. To stay away from Miya. But you also wanted him to stay. To help you.

Miya plucked the knife from the table with his right hand, flipping it up into the air like he was tossing a pancake. He caught the handle in his hand at the same time his left palm landed loudly on the table. You couldn’t help but lean a little closer to watch. Miya placed the tip of the knife between his thumb and index finger before glancing to Sting.

“Sting you keep time.”

“I’m ready.” Sting nodded, a stopwatch in her hand from who knows where.

Miya started, honestly slower than you thought he would. His pace was quick, but not anything impressive, as he continued to stab the knife from its resting position on the right side of his thumb to in-between his thumb and index finger, and then back past his thumb and then between the next two fingers and so on and so forth until the knife reached all the way past his pinky and back.

“How’d I do?” Miya asked lazily, grabbing the knife by the blade to pass it to Dabi.

“Just over six seconds.”

Really that was slow. He was giving Dabi the round. It made you nervous—not knowing what game Miya was playing.  

Dabi took the reddish wooden hilt of the knife in his left hand and followed the same pattern as Miya easily.

“Under six.” Sting spoke a bit harsher this time.

Miya fanned his hands in front of himself as if to say, ‘ask away.’

“Your quirk? Explain it.” Dabi leaned back, not even trying to hide the fact that he was now just watching you.

You guessed it didn’t really matter—everyone knew you’d had sex in the bathroom.

Miya half smiled, revealing some of his teeth. “Is that a question for you, or for my vampire.”

Dabi’s hands clenched slightly at his side. “I don’t remember you asking questions being a part of the rules.”

Miya shrugged, uncaring. “Suggestion, that’s my quirk. And yes Dabi, I can put thoughts in someone else’s head. But it’s not that simple. If the person trust me, or is simply willing to listen, I can always suggest something to them. To truly make someone do as I say, they have to be very off guard against other people, specifically me. They have to be too trusting. Or.” Miya smirked. “Or I just have to push so many thoughts into their head it becomes confusing. Of course, if I took that too far the person would faint at the very least. There are exceptions though, like you and Shigaraki. You’re both so naturally distrusting I don’t think I could get a word in if I tried.”

Miya stopped talking. So, what he was saying was what everyone had been telling you. You were too trusting. You’d already figured that much out though. You didn’t trust him anymore.

“Why don’t you start this round.” Miya added after meeting Dabi’s glare for a moment.

Dabi paused. Starting put him at a disadvantage; as far as you were aware this wasn’t a game Dabi played often, and if he sped the time up too quickly he likely wouldn’t be able to win any more rounds—but if he went too slow, he would lose this round.

“Just to clarify, if you stab your finger you have to start over, but the time doesn’t.” Miya mocked.

Dabi placed his hand back on the table, starting the pattern again—position one, position two, one, three, one, four, one, five, one, six, one.

“Just over five seconds.” Sting commented.

Dabi didn’t hand Miya the knife; he just left it stabbed into the table.

Miya ignored the slight, picking the knife up, repeating the pattern.

“Just under five seconds.” Sting smiled.

“Your scars, just how far do they go Dabi?” Miya’s voice was polite, but it made your skin crawl.

“You want me to strip for you?” Dabi drawled sounding bored.

“I’m just curious Blue Flame.” Miya continued. “Take off the jacket and shirt; I can imagine the rest.”

“Why imagine when you could just ask (Y/N)?” Dabi asked coldly, sliding his jacket from his shoulders to the couch before slipping his shirt easily over his head.

Why did they both had to use you to make the other angry? You didn’t look to see Miya’s face.

Dabi’s scars were more extensive than you’d thought they’d be, before you’d seen him without his clothes on for the first time, but you knew how far they ran now. Your eye’s tracing the familiar pattern swooping across his chest and hips—dipping into his pants. There was more.

“You really are a sorry sight.” Miya commented backhandedly, keeping the knife so he could start round three.

“Four and a half seconds.”

And then Dabi clocked in at 4.4 seconds.

“Why does she pass out when she uses her quirk?” Dabi asked—eyes violent. He didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about.

“Because I told her to the day I met her.” Miya replied immediately.

You couldn’t help but react, whirling with inhuman speed to look at Miya. He’d ingrained something like that in you, the day you met. The first day you’d even really used your quirk? You could’ve sworn you heard your mouth fall open, but you closed it quickly. You wanted to glare at Miya, to say anything, but you were just too surprised. You never would have thought his control over you ran that deeply—it made your skin crawl. It made you feel dirty.

He ran the back of his hand across your face like he was petting his dog. “You’ve always been mine.”

“Like hell—” You saw blue fire from the corner of your eye; but Sting was quicker, her tail at Dabi’s throat before he could really do anything with that fire. You were even quicker—Stings tail in your hand before she could do anything. You hadn’t even dropped your glass of wine.

And then you were staring at Miya, who looked decidedly displeased that you’d moved without him telling you to.

It would be smart to let go of her tail. You knew it wasn’t your thought, but you listened. You needed him to think you were still listening. You needed to know more. Now you should take care of Dabi.

When had it become this obvious when he was slipping thoughts to you? Was it because he thought you were out of it? Was he not trying as hard right now?

You placed a hand on Dabi’s shoulder, waiting for the flames to die down. He hesitated, but the flames did die.

“I thought we could all be a little more civil than this.” Miya remarked like he was scolding a group of preschoolers. “(Y/N) come sit down.” You listened.

The knife lay forgotten on the table and Miya motioned toward it, meaning for Dabi to start again.

Dabi’s time was just under 4.4 seconds. As you’d thought, he was new to this. He peaked.

Miya’s was lower.

“Now why don’t you show me how you got those scars?”

You wanted to kill him. You’d never once thought about killing Miya before. Not once, but right now—

Dabi most’ve noticed the way your knuckles turned red against your wine glass, the way your breath was sliding between your teeth, because he spoke quickly. “Easy.”

A clever way of telling you to calm down, but also replying to Miya. Your eyes still turned to Dabi pleadingly; Sting be damned. Let her see. You didn’t want Dabi to do it.

He did anyway. He raised his pinky finger on his right hand between him and Miya like he was flicking him off, only to set his quirk lose on it. The blue flame burning brightly like a torch for a moment before it fizzled out—leaving behind a wearily red finger like someone had wrung it with sandpaper. Dabi didn’t make a sound, didn’t even flinch.

Miya wasn’t going to leave this room.

Hhhhmm. Miya hummed lightly like he’d simply asked Dabi to show him his eye color. But something in Miya’s demeanor changed, like he knew you weren’t really in oblivion right now.

You need to stay calm. Who knows what will happen if you let your anger get the best of you right now? Dabi could get caught in the middle.

“Are you okay doll?” Miya asked sweetly over the sound of Dabi growling at the pet name. He wrapped an arm around you like he was going to comfort you, pulling you closer next to him. “I wouldn’t want you to get out of control in a room full of so many people you care about.”

Toga got caught in the middle before. You can’t trust yourself. You can’t even stay conscious while using your quirk.

Black tinged your vision and you pushed it back, setting your head to throbbing. You didn’t want to blackout, not now. Not with Miya here. Not with Dabi within reach.

You really can’t stop it. It’s just the way your quirk is; the price to pay for the strength, the speed…

Darkness consumed your vision like you’d lost your night vision, and someone turned off the lights. You still fought against it—could feel yourself blinking too fast like that would fix it.  

Miya had to move his arms to start the game again. His time even lower. When Dabi picked up his knife, Miya returned to casually touching you, remarking loudly the moment Dabi started. “Maybe I should have had a taste of you. If he’s willing to burn his own finger off over you, you must be good.”

You were too distracted by your fading vision and Miya’s unnecessary comments to see when Dabi had stabbed his middle finger, but blood pooled on the table; and the scent swirled in your nose driving back the darkness while Dabi growled. “Fuck.”

Even with your vision back, the sound of dripping blood started to reverberate in your brain like Miya knew he was losing.

His blood smells so much better than the blood in your glass.

Tink, tink… You want to bite him.

Dabi started over, distracted. And you were distracted from Miya with Dabi, when Miya bit your throat causing you to yelp. Yelp and spill a glass of blood onto yourself.

You could kill him if you want. You’ve already killed so many like him. What makes him any different? It would be easier; you would be so carefree if he was gone.

You could just taste him. Lick his finger. He won’t mind.

“Fuck.” Dabi yelled again, another finger bleeding as he looked up at Miya. His hand leaving the table; two fingers now dripping blood against the wood surface—tinktink…tinktink— “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Dabi threw the Knife at Miya, who had to remove his mouth from your throat to keep the knife from landing in the side of his head—it impaled the couch instead.

Shigaraki spoke up before anything else could happen. “From where I’m sitting, it looks like you cheated to win this hand. Dabi ask a question.”

Shigaraki raised his foot, resting it on the table in a way that felt more like him kicking it.

You wanted away from Miya. You wanted to be next to Dabi. Miya kept a grip on you, around your waist.

Tink, tink, tinktink…tinktink…

You want to drink his blood now. The sight of it—it’s tempting. You need to stay away from him. Unless, you’re finally ready to get rid of the problem?

Your head was starting to throb, to pulse with the pace of blood dripping from Dabi’s fingers.

“What else have you suggested to her.” Dabi finally spoke up; his voice frightening, even to you—but you didn’t want to run. You wanted to touch him—comfort him. But you couldn’t.

You need to stay away.

Miya had apparently had enough of this as well. There was nothing polite left in his voice. “And what have you suggested to her? Hhhmm Blue Flame? Dabi. What did you do? Three years ago, she was perfect. I made her perfect the day I met her. The day I met her I knew I had to have her; I knew she was the perfect complement to my quirk. You should’ve seen her Dabi; it was beautiful. I’d never seen anything like it. Here I was going to check on the progress of my men and what do I find other than this little fucking girl tossing them across room like they were nothing. What was it? Twelve on one even and not a scratch on her. Her quirk was ridiculous, overpowered. Who could possibly stop her? And then, when I looked in her mind I knew. Oh, it was so easy to manipulate her; it was like she’d never considered before that another person could betray her, she was so easy to suggest. Every thought I slipped to her she did no questions asked. She killed those men because I told her to. Because I wanted to know if she would. And then I thought, but what if she remembers this? What if she remembers all these sudden violent thoughts? Wouldn’t that be a little suspicious? It would; it would Dabi, so I simply suggested to her that when she used this part of her quirk, she wouldn’t remember anything like she was blackout drunk. AND DABI. It worked better than I ever could have imagined. I simply suggested it to her once and to this day, here she is, drunk on blood. And then I thought, well if she’s going to blackout, how will she wake up from it? And really after I’ve had my use of her, I don’t need her to be awake, so why not suggest she simply passes out after as well. Let her wake up with a fresh brain with me to comfort her. And it was brilliant. It worked for years; we were the perfect pair.”

You were stunned. Everything you’d thought about yourself for years…it was wrong? How were you even going to begin to process that?

“That is until you. One shitty fucking boy was all it took to ruin her. Do you know the effort I have to go through now to make her mind? It’s almost fucking useless. Even when I brought her back to my house and she was blackout, I couldn’t get her to kill anyone. I had to do it myself and make it look like she did for six days before she finally fucking snapped and started breaking necks. Even still, here she is acting on her own—concerned about you. So, I figure, I just have to get rid of you. Surely Shigaraki can look past one subordinate with all the resources I could offer him.”

Miya truly sounded unhinged—like a toddler throwing a fit after having had to share his favorite toy.

“You fucking piece of shit.” Dabi stood up, both of his arms on fire; the blue color threatening to encroach across his chest.

Miya stood.

Toga stood.

Shigaraki stood. “It’s two actually.”

You were still sitting in silence. And then your mind was flooded with thoughts, so many it hurt. You couldn’t even keep up. They drowned everything else out. Everything. You could hardly see, hardly hear. But one thought was the loudest, guard Miya.  

You were barely aware of anything in the room. Your mind was on the night you’d attacked Toga. Your mind replayed the voice beside you that had helped you heal her, Miya’s voice.

And then you were standing in front of Miya, between him and the league. You thought you saw two people step out from the wall behind you.

And then your mind was on countless nights you’d been with Miya, entirely out of control—endless bloodshed. This is who you are.

All you can do is listen to Miya. That’s the only way to find your way out of this. That didn’t feel true, but before you could ponder it your mind was pounded with thoughts again—thoughts leading to memories leading to…tink tink…tinktinktinktink.

Your head hurt.

“Even if I can’t make her attack you, I can make her do this.” You thought you heard Miya say. How much had you missed?

Guard Miya.

Toga had been caught by one of the people who emerged from the wall; they looked sticky like someone had covered them in tar—you couldn’t make out any features. Toga was caught up in the mess.

Sting and Shigaraki were standing off.

Dabi was staring at you. Why was that? Your head throbbed. You were confused—someone had told you to do something if you were confused—

“(Y/N) if it’s so confusing just say them out loud and I’ll help.” Dabi spoke calmly, reminding you.

“Guard Miya.” You blurted out.

“That’s nonsense doll.” Dabi smirked. “Don’t forget everything he just said.”

Miya had made you think you were a monster, that’s what Miya had just said. You felt Miya’s hand on your back like he was prepared to grab you to hold you there.

Thoughts bombarded your mind again. You should keep Dabi from coming any closer. You both need to get out of here. Everyone needs to get out of here. Miya can get everyone out of here.

“Shut up.” You groaned grabbing the sides of your head as the pain started to intensify. “Keep Dabi away.”

“I can hardly keep you off me.” Dabi replied, managing to laugh despite the situation.

You remembered tugging him by his shirt back into bed.

“Everyone needs to leave.”

“Some of us more alive than others; doll, come here.” Dabi reached his hand toward you. Something about his voice, how it almost broke—you felt a quiet pain in your chest.

You reached your hand toward Dabi as well, only to notice the blood dried there from the glass you’d spilt earlier. Miya took the chance to confuse you, mix images from his house with the blood on you now—trying to convince you you’d attack Dabi.

You’ll hurt him.

You hesitated.

“What’re you thinking.” Dabi spoke.

“I’ll hurt you.”

“That’s right (Y/N).” Miya grasped for control. “You will. It’s not safe.”

Dabi ignored Miya entirely. “Wrong again.”

Don’t trust Miya. You stilled that thought in your head, holding on to it like an umbrella in a storm. Don’t trust Miya. Thoughts still leeched in your brain as you really thought you might just pass out before you got ahold of yourself enough to do anything. What a fucking mess. You glanced at the blood on your hand, raising it to your mouth and running your tongue across it. It wasn’t Dabi’s. You never attacked Dabi. You weren’t going to hurt Dabi.

“You will hurt him.” Miya pressed. He didn’t have control anymore. The thoughts he threw into your mind panicked and nonsensical.

“No. I won’t.” You growled, at your limit with the pain in your head.

You reached backwards grabbing ahold of Miya’s stupid button down shirt before throwing him across the room into Shigaraki—who hit the floor as well. He wasn’t going to thank you for that. You didn’t have time to worry about it, appearing in front of Sting in the next moment, twisting her tail in her grip until you heard it crack, heard her scream in fury or pain one; her tail falling lifelessly to the ground.

The pain in your head continued to grow—almost canceling sound as you roared against the silence. “Just leave Sting.” You pushed her away from you, back toward the one window in the room. “Go.” Your voice wasn’t kind.

Blue light lightened your peripheral vision as Dabi enticed the man with the sticky quirk to remove himself from Toga; but you didn’t look. Your eyes were on Miya and Shigaraki, on Shigaraki looking both angry and maniacally pleased as he slowly latched his fingers around Miya—both of them still on the floor.

Shigaraki’s fifth finger fell against Miya’s arm and Miya’s face was in disbelief, like he never could have imagined this scenario in a million years. Like it was impossible for him to lose his grip on someone’s mind.

As Miya’s color paled, as he turned gray like an old movie, as his skin flaked off like ash in the wind, he grabbed your mind like he was going to take you with him. Suggesting anything and everything he could to make you think your mind was actually splitting apart, to make your head hurt so badly you fell to your knees—someone’s warm, slender hands on your shoulders as you watched Miya turn to nothing. You fell into that touch.

The pain turned to ringing and bright lights and your world turned black to find a moment of relief.

 And in that darkness, you dreamed. You dreamed of the first men Miya had told you to kill—the way he smiled and laughed like a worshipper finding their God. You dreamed of countless nights with Miya—like years were passing in moments. You dreamed of Toga, of Miya’s thoughts in your head as he told you to rip her throat out—the way you hesitated. You dreamed of Dabi and you in an alleyway—of him trying to tear your pants down as you sucked the blood from his lip. You dreamed of Dabi on the roof mentioning his father. You dreamed of Miya in a dining room scowling—cutting open throats and yelling: you could have made this easier for everyone.

The darkness started to fade and you felt a hand in your hair, felt fingers tug lightly against knots as they slipped through. You felt your grip on fabric, fingers tightening to keep the person there from moving away.

“(Y/N)?” A low voice murmured.

You simply drew yourself closer to the body, pressing your face into the hard warmth there without opening your eyes—letting the darkness pull you back under. You weren’t ready to wake up yet.

“I’m still here.” The voice continued.

The voice faded and you faded—this time dreaming of nothing like your brain still needed to process everything the darkness revealed before.

 The next time you woke up the world didn’t feel quite so far away. The hand that had been in your hair gone like it’d never been there at all. But your hands were still firmly entangled in a t-shirt. Your forehead pressed into someone’s chest.

You could smell him; you knew it was Dabi.

You opened your eyes to find him staring at you—looking no less tired than he had the last time you saw him.

You shifted, wondering if you should move. Wondering if he cared how deeply you were entangled with him; even your legs were curled around his like you’d been horrified he’d leave. Dabi slid a hand back into your hair, keeping you against his chest silently.

You stopped worrying, relaxing back against him, closing your eyes again. At least your head didn’t hurt now. But you remembered—actually remembered every moment of your quirk when you were awake. You didn’t want to talk.

You released your grip on Dabi’s shirt, only to slide your hand across his chest. You wanted to talk. You just didn’t know what to say.

“Miya?” You probed quietly.

“Gone.” Dabi responded similarly—like he also wasn’t sure what to say.

“Dabi?”

Mmmmmhh. You felt his chest vibrate as he hummed.

Ultimately you couldn’t decide what to say, leaving you to fall back on joking. “Did you really try to fuck me in an alley after finding me violently drinking someone’s blood?”

Dabi clearly hadn’t been expecting that and he laughed; his body relaxing under you as he replied. “You’re the one who started sucking on my finger like it was nobody’s business.”

You sat up suddenly, remembering what Miya had made him do. You grabbed Dabi’s hand—his pinky was wrapped in gauze. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be doll.” Dabi sat up too, leaning against the wall and watching you, leaving his hand in yours.

You didn’t reply. To some degree, this was your fault. You undid the tape on the gauze slowly, peeling the fabric back as gently as you could, but it still stuck to his skin. His raw, blistered skin. You didn’t even pause to consider the action before you enveloped his pinky with your mouth, circling your tongue around his finger. Your own hands growing cold with the action. His pinky healed; but scaring was still left behind, angry pink wrinkles. You tracked down the other cuts on his fingers, healing those as well.

“Now your hands are cold.” Dabi grabbed both of your hands, tucking them between his as they heated.

You let your forehead fall forward against his hands between you in silence. You were screwed. You weren’t sure when you fell for Dabi. You really weren’t. It had been sex and fun; but then it became trust and an aching feeling in your stomach whenever he looked at you. And now as he warmed your hands, you couldn’t stop the light feeling that stung your stomach. You couldn’t deny you liked him, maybe even more than that.

What surprised you most was how you were just now thinking this. You supposed you’d been busy—feelings weren’t top on your mind since you’d met Dabi.

But Dabi was the only one who’d never been afraid of you. He didn’t flinch away from you, not once. Even when you had Toga pinned against the bar practically barring your fangs at her—he’d simply called you doll, slid his arms around you too easily. Again, you were screwed.

Why was it the one small act of him warming your hands that had you realizing just how screwed you were?

After all this time of swearing off the underworld. You had to go and fall for a villain.

“Why did you let Sting go?” Dabi asked suddenly, causing you to pick your head up off where your hands were combined. Dabi didn’t let go of you, but he let his and your hands both fall into his lap.

“We were never exactly close. But she didn’t use to hate me so much. What if Miya had something to do with that?” Even if she was awful now, she didn’t really deserve to die.

Dabi was quiet for a moment. “You’re more forgiving than me.”

You shrugged, sliding your hands from Dabi’s only to climb into his lap instead—straddling him. Dabi still watched you; his eyes soft yet falsely uncaring. You brought your hand to his face, sliding your fingers across the dark circles around his eyes. “You need to sleep. When was the last time you slept?”

Dabi smirked. “Worried about me doll?”

You glared at him. “Don’t tell me you haven’t slept since I left with Miya.” You replied dryly, expecting him to scoff, expecting him to confirm the idea as ridiculous.

Instead he glanced away for a moment, almost guiltily like he wasn’t allowed to worry about you. His smirk fell and you felt your heart contract. He really hadn’t slept because of you. Maybe you were both screwed.

“Dabi…” Your voice trailed and you slid both of your hands into his hair, leaning your forehead against his.

“How many people did he make you kill?” Dabi’s voice was still aloof, but his eyes weren’t. His eyes were tight, angry.

“According to my newly revealed memories, I didn’t actually kill anyone until the seventh day.” You tried to keep your tone light—but you hated it, everything you did at Miya’s. “Five.”

You closed your eyes, not looking at Dabi’s expression anymore. Dabi’s hands wrapped around your waist, and he pressed you against him entirely like he could hide you there. He pulled his face back only to lightly kiss you.

“I’m awful, aren’t I?” You said sourly. “He drags one man who resembled you into the room and I snapped. I broke so fast. I just wanted out. Out of the room. Out of my quirk. And then I try to justify it, telling myself it’ll be better for them if I kill them instead of Miya. What a joke.”

You weren’t sure what you expected Dabi to say: that it wasn’t your fault, that Miya caused all this to happen, that it didn’t matter, that you were right. It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d killed people. You didn’t need sympathy. You knew you weren’t entirely to blame; Miya had been manipulating you. Something you’d refused to let yourself believe for years. But it didn’t make you feel any better. It didn’t take the memories away.

“It’s not easy to get rid of years of scarring. It was seven days; but it was seven days with years of history.” Dabi’s voice was rough, his hands tight. You didn’t have all the details on Dabi’s past, but you had a feeling it was similar to yours—in one way or another.

“You don’t have to forgive yourself right now.” Dabi continued, calming his grip on you. “Just as long as you forgive yourself eventually. You’re not awful (Y/N); your situation was.”

“I remembered the night I attacked Toga.” You paused, still hesitant. “She came to convince me to leave Miya for the league. It wasn’t the first time she’d tried; but it was the first time she’d tried while Miya was there. Obviously, Miya wasn’t happy, and he suggested I tear her throat out. This whole time I thought I just snapped, didn’t even hesitate before I almost killed her. I thought Miya was the one who helped me heal her. Miya suggested I tear her throat out and I hesitated. I hesitated before I jumped on her and then after her blood started to pool around me and Miya laughed. I came out of it. Miya didn’t help me at all. I healed Toga on my own. But after that, for months she was on edge. She was on edge around me until I left Miya. She got over it. But even at the bar yesterday, she flinched when I jumped on her. It…bothers me.” You found yourself saying before you immediately jumped to her defense. “I know she has every right to be weary. I almost killed her—”

“But you don’t want her to be afraid of you?” Dabi ended your rambling. You opened your eyes to look at him, leaning back slightly, hands sliding down between you.

“Why were you never afraid of me?”

“Why were you never afraid of me?” Dabi asked the same question.

“Why would I be afraid of you?” You replied without a second thought. What had Dabi ever done to warrant you being afraid of him?

“I could ask you the same question.” Dabi smirked—his hand coming up to your face.

“I bit you. I drank your blood. You caught me attacking someone. You saw me—”

“Don’t be ridiculous doll.” Dabi responded, not letting you finish. “You know I told you to bite me. I told you to drink my blood. And they attacked you? (Y/N), when have you ever done anything that would actually hurt me? How many times have you healed my wounds? You saved my life for nothing. How could I possibly be afraid of you.” Dabi stopped his rant, like he was afraid he was being too soft. Like he shouldn’t show his emotions. Like it was a crime to care. If you didn’t say anything that cool façade was going to snap back into place.

You didn’t want him to be afraid. “Dabi.” You paused, for some reason your heart was beating loudly in your chest. What if you were wrong? “I like you.”

Dabi didn’t look like he believed you, or like he misunderstood one. “I would hope so after how many times we’ve slept together. Do you make a habit of fucking people you hate?”

His thumb ran across your lips before his hand fell.

“Dabi.” You groaned, exasperated. “I have feelings for you, not just the sexual kind and not in a friendly way. I like you.” You felt like you were in high school all over again. Dabi could not be this dense.

Dabi’s eyes widened; his lips parting slightly like it was utterly impossible to believe someone liked him.

You raised an eyebrow at his stunned face. Not expecting him to reply. Even as your heart pounded, you had a feeling you were right. That he liked you too. “Dabi your face is ridiculous right now.” You joked instead, not wanting to push him. You just wanted him to know.

You slid from his lap, moving to get off the bed. Just as you were about to stand up completely Dabi grabbed your hand, having managed to recover—his face had regained its neutral state of boredom. “It’s a mutual feeling doll.”

“I know.” You replied smirking like your heart hadn’t been pounding out of anxiety just moments before; not everyone was as oblivious as Dabi. “I’m going to shower. Go to sleep. Please. You really look awful.”

 Dabi fell asleep while you were in the shower, and he slept like the dead for the entire day. He didn’t even wake up when Toga came through a black portal to bring you to Shigaraki. You didn’t want to just leave Dabi in his apartment, and you didn’t want to wake him up yet—so you left your number for him instead.

You still hated Kurogiri’s portals, feeling wet and dry at the same time, like oil passing through water as you stepped into Shigaraki’s bar for the second time in your life. Shigaraki was drinking a beer slowly from a glass, looking somewhat pleased with himself—probably from watching Miya turn to dust.

If your head hadn’t felt like it was about to split open, you probably would’ve enjoyed the moment too. “Glad to see you’re on your feet again.” You couldn’t stop yourself.

Shigaraki’s head jerked toward you; his eyes narrow and displeased. You laughed, but Shigaraki let the comment go—wasn’t willing to dwell on how you’d knocked him to the ground with Miya like he was a bowling pin. “I have something for you to do.”

You quirked your head to the side. “What?” I guess I am a part of the league now, you thought.

“I want Sting and the blue boy.” Shigaraki spoke like it was simply a matter of finding them—like Sting hadn’t been trying to kill you all for weeks now.

Little boy blue’s real name was Tommy. You didn’t see why he’d refuse to join Shigaraki. Tommy didn’t care about Miya; he was basically a hired mercenary—as long as the price was right. And he wasn’t a fan of heroes. “Tommy should be easy enough. But Sting? You really want Sting?”

Toga didn’t look particularly thrilled about it either.

“She has a good quirk.” Shigaraki’s tone implied the end of the discussion. But you still weren’t convinced.

“And if she tries to kill me?” You said a little incredulous.

“She can’t.” His tone didn’t change; he actually turned away from you back to his beer, leaving you blinking.

Irritation rolled in your stomach. “Shig—”

Toga cut you off before anything unfortunate could leave your mouth. “I’ll go with you.”

You bit your tongue, looking at Toga who was smiling at you. “It’s fine. I’ll just go—you coming will just put her on the defensive. Kurogiri portal me out.”

Toga snorted at that, tossing you a couple vials of blood—still can sized. You caught them before walking back through the portal into Dabi’s apartment.

 You weren’t sure what time it was when you woke up today, but it was dark out now—and Dabi was still asleep. He really hadn’t slept all week. He was also sprawled across the entire bed like someone had dumped him there, snoring lightly. His mouth had even fallen open. You couldn’t help chuckling slightly, resisting the urge to touch him as you changed into some of your jeans and one of Dabi’s t-shirts, as seeing how you didn’t have any of your own here—and maybe because you just liked the way they smelled.

You needed to find Sting first and then she could go find Tommy. You didn’t have any idea how to track him down but Sting you could find. As you left Dabi’s apartment you didn’t leave any indication for where you were going; you figured it would just freak him out for no reason.

You got on a bus to the other side of town, closing your eyes as the streetlights and billboards flashed color like blurry fireworks across the inside of your eyelids. The pleasant feeling of cool glass on your cheek undermined by the constant vibration of the bus. You hadn’t stopped to consider the vials of blood you had in your lap, wondering if anyone was staring—you didn’t bother checking to see.

It wasn’t illegal to have blood. Just odd.

It was maybe an hour later when you were standing at the stairs beneath the door to what used to be Sting’s apartment. She only shared the information with the few people she was required too—so you didn’t imagine she’d moved. At least not yet.

Her apartment was two floors—moss covered gray stone steps led to the door to the first floor from the street. The rest of the building was stone and shared a wall with two similar such apartments. You set one of the vials down slightly hidden behind the first step of the staircase. You probably wouldn’t need it.

The other you drank, the taste actually similar to juice—if someone had soaked pennies in that juice. You had a theory your quirk wasn’t going to be like anything it was before. Since you got your memories back, it seemed like Miya’s suggestions to you were all gone now. You shouldn’t black out. But just in case you did—at least you were just going to be around Sting.

It didn’t take you long to drink the liquid on her doorstep. Part of you wondering if she was watching you, if she was even here. You didn’t see any lights on. The haze that fell over you wasn’t blackening; it didn’t cloud your mind or your vision. The haze of your quirk simply set you at ease. No anxiety, no cares. You were simply free, like someone took a heavy weight off your shoulders. You felt lighter.

Your quirk was activated, but here you were still in your own mind—even if that mind was a little more devious. It felt too good to be true; but it was. And suddenly you wanted to see Dabi—to talk to him.

You walked up the stairs, knocking on the door with normal human strength. “Sting I want to talk.” You waited a moment before adding. “Sting I don’t want to break your door.”

You sighed. Of course, she wouldn’t make this easy. You pried the door open, snapping the locks beneath the unnatural strength in your hand as you opened the door against its will—wood splintering around the frame. “Sting?” You called again as you stepped into the apartment.

“What you told me to leave so you could track me down and kill me later?” Sting’s voiced drawled from the top of the stairs. She didn’t sound happy; but there wasn’t any venom dripping from her voice.

You turned to look at her. She was wearing a light tunic; her hair braided back messily. The tunic wasn’t long, and her tail trailed behind her lazily—partially wrapped in white bandages. “Sting did you know?” You had to know—to know if she knew Miya’s quirk.

“I joined Miya because he suggested I forget something I didn’t want to remember anymore. I asked him to do this; so yes. I knew. But then he became something I didn’t want to remember.” Sting stayed at the top of the stairs, leaning against the railing.

It wasn’t your place to ask what she’d wanted to forget so badly. “Now what?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Shigaraki wants you to join to league.” You didn’t see a reason to beat around the bush; you didn’t come here for personal reasons, even if you had a few questions.

“Do you know why I hated you? Well Miya exasperated the problem. But just me, by myself. Do you know why?” Sting didn’t move from her relaxed position, but her grip tightened on the railing.

“No.” You had no idea.

“Because you left.” Sting’s voice turned violent, icy as she stood up straight. “You were stronger than him and you just left. You never stood up for yourself. Never tried to change anything. You just left.”

“Sting you have no idea.” Your own voice iced over. “You have no idea how hard it was for me to even leave. How deeply he had his claws in my brain.”

“So what, you tucked tail and ran?” Sting snapped.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” You were yelling now.

“You were just scared.” Sting’s voice grew quieter, but no less aggressive.

“Of myself. I was scared of myself. I couldn’t even trust my own thoughts.” You didn’t stop yelling.

Sting joined you. “How do you think I felt? I may have known what his quirk was but that didn’t change anything for me. I wanted to do something to knock Miya off his pedestal, but I couldn’t. I wanted too and I couldn’t because I wasn’t strong enough. But it would have been so easy. So, fucking easy for you to and you just ran away for years.” Sting’s hands were flying around her as she took two steps down the stairs like she was going to come punch you.

You took a breath, calming yourself. Not saying anything for a moment. “It’s easy to blame me from your perspective Sting. But I had no idea. I never thought Miya had anything to do with my behavior until a few weeks ago. Even if I had known, I still needed help.”

You didn’t understand each other at all.

“You needed some other man to fix the problem for you?” Sting remarked snidely, remaining on the steps.

“No. I needed someone to trust me. I just needed someone to trust me.” You weren’t yelling anymore. “Sting I had no idea you wanted out. How could I have known that? We were never exactly close.” Don’t blame me for you own inability, you wanted to say. But you knew that’s not what Sting was saying. And you weren’t here to increase the divide between you both.

“What does Shigaraki want.”

“To rewrite society. To change the rules. I don’t know; you’ll have to ask him.”

“And if I don’t want to.” Sting walked back up the stairs.

“Then you won’t hear from me again.” You’d yet to move.

You walked toward the bottom step, placing a number down. Your number. “If you want to meet Shigaraki call me. And pass the message on to Tommy—or anyone else you think might be interested now that Miya’s gone.”

You turned and left. Sting didn’t say anything more.

 Using the benefits of your quirk, and the second vial of blood you left outside of Sting’s apartment, you ran back to Dabi’s apartment in less than half the time the bus had taken—gliding up the fire escape with ease.

You slid Dabi’s window open, stepping inside quietly. Silently wondering if Dabi had ever woken up. At the very least he hadn’t called you if he had. When you stopped to think about it, maybe you should’ve just gone back to your apartment to sleep? Miya was gone. You weren’t hiding out anymore. But even if there wasn’t a real reason for you to be, you wanted to be here. You liked being around Dabi, were worried about the dreams you might have if you slept alone tonight. You shrugged to yourself; Dabi probably didn’t care if you slept here anyway, so why worry about it.

Dabi was still snoring. You weren’t entirely sure what time he’d fallen asleep. But considering you’d been awake most of the day, unlike him, and it was now either the dead of night or tomorrow morning, considering how you looked at it, Dabi had to have been asleep for over twelve hours at this point. For whatever reason, the thought had you smiling.

You stalked over to the bed, eyeing his silhouette in the light filtering in from the street. Your vision in the night was weird, like a modern day black and white film—you could only really make out colors if there was enough light. You crawled onto the bed—on top of Dabi. Laying on his chest and staring at his face with your arms tucked under your chin as his snoring stopped under your additive weight.

You didn’t say anything but Dabi shifted, looking down at you peering up at him. “Doll?”

“Flame boy.” A certain smile that belonged to the depths of your quirk seeped onto you face. You shifted, getting your knees and hands underneath yourself so you could sit back onto his hips instead. You were still on top of the covers he was beneath, but you trailed your hands across the shape of his chest anyway. “Shigaraki had an errand for me to run and you slept right through it. Tsk.” You clicked your tongue.

Dabi’s eyes narrowed before one of his eyebrows trailed upwards. His hands made their way out from beneath the covers, coming to a rest on your thighs instead—even that light touch had you wanting more. “Weren’t you the one who told me to sleep?” You could still hear how tired he was; his voice raspy—sexy, you couldn’t help but think.

“Not all day and night. I’m not that patient.” You lowered your voice, getting ideas. Or maybe you’d already had those ideas from the moment you’d climbed onto him. You leaned forward, placing your hands on either side of his face as you brought your mouth just above his. “Do you know how long you’ve been sleeping?”

Dabi’s lips parted even before he replied. “No.”

“Neither do I.” One side of your lips curled up as you laughed, sitting back onto his hips—one hand on his neck. You liked touching him—liked the texture of his ruined perfect skin beneath your fingers.

“Where did you go?”

“To ask Sting to join the league at Shigaraki’s request.” You leaned your head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment. “I don’t know if she will.”

Dabi’s hands were warm; his fingers digging a little deeper into your thighs. Always such small reactions. “Do you want her too?”

You looked back at Dabi. “Honestly, I really don’t care what she does. Miya did have some influence over her. I don’t hate her; but I still don’t like her. Well—” You stopped talking, remembering how you’d met Dabi, maybe you did hate her a little.

Mmmmhh. Dabi listened, eyes closing again. You resisted the urge to trace the features of his face—resisted the urge to tell him how fucking pretty he was.

Instead a low chuckle left your lips as you leaned back forward, one hand beside his head—the other traveling from his neck to his chin, tilting his face up toward yours. “Who said you could go back to sleep flame boy?”

Dabi’s eyes opened only far enough for the blue of his irises to barely be visible. You could always see the color of his eyes—like they radiated their own light. You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you brought your lips even closer to his. You ran your tongue across his lower lip because you wanted to, trailed wet kisses from his chin to his ear, biting and sucking on the lobe. As his breath caught, you whispered against the cool piercings on his ear. “What happened to you waking up horny? Is it because I haven’t stripped for you yet?”

You hardly moved off him to peel his t-shirt, you’d borrowed or stolen this morning, off your body and toss it somewhere else—entirely forgotten among the sheets. “Because I can change that.” You continued; your lips just above his—your tongue running between your own lips as you stopped talking, as you imagined all the things he could do to you. All the things you could do to him.

Dabi made a sound that was as close to a snarl as a human could get; his hands grabbing your waist to flip your back onto his bed. The covers falling on you as Dabi swung his knee over you, pinning you beneath him, covers still in the way.

You let Dabi kiss you. His teeth dragging across your lips; his tongue sliding into your mouth and around your own. You let him think he was in control—relished in the feel of his tongue trying to reach the back of your throat.

“Aren’t the covers in your way?” You mocked the moment his mouth left yours.

Dabi didn’t respond, grinding himself into you like the covers weren’t there—like he was trying to make a point. Even through the comforter you could feel the bulge of his cock pressing into you. You wanted to feel more of it. All of it.

You slid the one leg you could out from beneath the covers, wrapping it around his hip. You brought your hand to the back of his neck, bringing his mouth back to yours gently—not revealing the strength of your quirk yet as you slid your tongue into his mouth this time. His tongue moving with yours as you ran a hand beneath his shirt, up his chest—dragging your nails back down to the rim of his boxers.

You parted your lips from his to say, ‘strip for me,’ teasingly; tugging the band of his boxers only to let it snap back against him.

Dabi shifted back onto his knees to yank his shirt over his head in the infuriating way boys do. His abs rolling, pulling on staples. His arm flexing as he tossed the shirt to the floor. “Your turn.”

Dabi’s hand roved up your back to the latch on your bra—his fingers not quite fast enough to achieve their goal before you decided to reveal your cards.

“Is it?” You replied sitting up, shoving Dabi onto his back and beneath you too quickly for him to register. “I’d rather have some fun with you first.” You winked as his eyes widened slightly. His face told you all you needed to know; he realized you were using your full quirk.

“You really think I would go meet Sting unprepared. And here’s the best part Dabi.” You leaned forward, bringing your mouth to his ear. “I’m entirely in control now.” Duel meaning evident in your voice.

You bit the skin of Dabi’s neck below his ear hard enough to draw blood. His answering moan rough, loud and unrestrained—it made him taste even sweeter as you healed your own bite mark. “You really did moan in that alley when I almost bit your lip off, didn’t you?” You weren’t expecting him to answer. Didn’t expect him to admit how much of a masochist he was—the secret knowledge driving heat between your thighs. Toga was right; he was being kinky.

Dabi’s hands wrapped around your thighs as he kissed you in the next moment, entirely unbridled. Lips parting eagerly, tongues meeting in the middle between panted breaths and teeth. This time when you pulled back saliva trailed between you both.

“This really is in the way.” You said before you shifted to tear the bed covers out from beneath you.

This time when you rested back onto Dabi’s hips, his dick was pronounced against you. You rocked across him, wanting your own pants gone, wanting him inside you. But your blood high had another lurking desire, the desire to make him beg for it.

“I think there’s a few other things in the way.” Dabi commented.

“You’re not wrong.” You flipped off Dabi to pull your jeans off, your underwear too. You were already a wet mess; your mind having long sense been in the gutter.

Even if Dabi wanted to flip back on top of you to try and take control, he couldn’t have in the inhuman amount of time it took you to get half undressed. Dabi had barely felt your absence before you were back on top of him, sliding the tent of his boxers across your entrance and through your ass as he hissed.

His hands found your waist like they were going to be able to make you go faster. But you weren’t going to let him get off that easy. No, you ground against his boner slowly, enjoying the frustration in his face as you brought your mouth to his neck—marking him as he had you. Drawing moans from his mouth as you sucked his skin; your mouth drifting lower until your lips found his nipple. You sucked on it roughly, pulling the bud higher with your teeth. Dabi bucked his hips up into you, impatient.

You laughed, biting down harder on his nipple, eliciting a curse from his lips as you sat back onto him—sliding your sloppy cunt across the shaft of his dick with your hands on his chest, changing the hue of his blue underwear with your arousal. You were having too much fun torturing him to pay attention to yourself. Dabi’s head leaning back against the pillows as you moved, his hair a mess.

Dabi groaned, looking back at you as he attempted to unlatch your bra again; you let him. His hands palming your breast as you continued to rock against him. One of Dabi’s hands slid down to your waist, still attempting to drive you faster against him. His other twisted your nipple between his fingers. You moaned softly. The desire to touch yourself growing stronger; a better idea crossing your mind.

You stopped moving; Dabi’s fingers digging into your side in protest as he watched to see what you were doing. You shifted off him slightly to bring one of your hands down between your legs, rubbing your clit as Dabi watched. Dabi took this chance to smack your ass loudly. The sting chasing heat to your groin as you continued to tease yourself—moaning Dabi’s name lasciviously.

You leaned forward, bringing your mouth to Dabi’s as you spoke—one hand on the V between his hips to keep him from bucking up into you. Maybe there was a benefit to the rest of your quirk—being able to dom Dabi.

“Why don’t you be a good boy and finger me? Maybe I’ll give you a ride after I come.” You smiled in a way that felt devilish.

“(Y/N).” Dabi’s voice was rough. He sounded like he was saying no, like he was angry; but he slid his finger into you in that same moment.

Dabi barely started before he slid a second finger into you; the wet sound echoing around you both as you let your forehead fall against his. Your mouth parting as your arousal built—nerves chasing excitement through your entire body. Your breath dancing across his nose as he started to push the heel of his palm into your clit, as he fingered you faster—harder. Fingers curving in just the right way. You didn’t even have to ask. He knew what you liked, what you wanted.

“Fuck.” You gasped, a moan leaking from your lips. “You’re too good with your hands.”

“That’s right doll, no one else can make you feel this good.” Dabi’s voice was no more saintly than yours had been. His fingers scrapped against your g-spot roughly; but he held his speed there. “No one else knows your body like I do.”

Your knees shaking on either side of you as your climax lingered just out of reach. “Faster. More. Give me more.”

Dabi listened. His pace increasing; he added another finger. “More? How much more, doll; you want my whole hand inside you?”

You bit back a moan; his three fingers sliding in and out of you more than you could stand when you were this close to coming. And shortly after you came undone, walls clamping down around Dabi’s fingers uselessly as you groaned. Your climax burning between your legs as Dabi left his fingers inside you; his palm digging against your clit to keep you from coming down. You wanted his dick inside you. You wanted him to cum in you. You wanted him.

“Now let me fuck you. Or would you rather I start fisting you now instead?” Dabi said icily before he kissed you, teeth dragging against your lips as he slid his fingers out of you—moisture running down the inside of your legs. Even with your quirk activated your legs didn’t want to support your weight anymore, leaving you to sit back against Dabi’s cock that twitched beneath you.

You still wanted to tease him—tired legs be damned. You wanted to tease him to the point that he broke—to the point that he fucked you so hard you couldn’t walk tomorrow. You wanted to play with fire. His fire. Your fire.

“Maybe.” You replied coyly, smiling as Dabi’s face grew tighter and more frustrated.

You smirked, shifting farther off Dabi to pull his boxers off his legs. His dick barely having time to spring free before he grabbed himself, pumping his own cock as you trailed your tongue up the inside of his thigh—lazily kissing, eagerly tasting. Dabi continued to jerk himself off to the sight of you. His eyes firmly on you as you trailed your mouth everywhere except where he wanted it to be.

When you finally brought your mouth to the head of Dabi’s cock, he didn’t stop touching himself. His hand continuing its movement as you let spit slid from your mouth down his shaft, as you kissed the tip gingerly—running your tongue around it as you made out with the head of his cock.

You still didn’t want him to cum yet.

You grabbed the wrist of his hand on his cock, pinning it to his chest instead. “(Y/N).” Dabi practically cursed. “Give me a fucking break.”

He reached his second hand down too, but you grabbed it as well. Soon pinning both of Dabi’s hands beside his head as you laughed. He struggled; but it didn’t amount to much. A smirk growing across your face as you lowered your hips to slide his dick against your entrance. Dabi’s eyes tightened as his head leaned back, a small moan leaving his mouth at the stimulation. Dabi bucked his hips upwards, causing his dick to press into you for a moment before it slid back through your ass cheeks instead. Dabi clearly just wanted to cum.

“So impatient.” You commented, moving your hips out of his reach for a moment before lining his head back up with your entrance, sliding him into you slowly, taking the full length of him inside you. And then you just sat there—leaving his dick to twitch pathetically.

Dabi tried to buck his hips into you, to make you move, but there wasn’t much he could do against the full strength of your quirk. “Doll. Please.” Dabi spoke up.

Your grip on his wrist tightened; but you didn’t move. “I liked the sound of that.” You said quietly, running your tongue across his parted lips. “Why don’t you beg me to fuck you?”

Dabi’s hands struggled beneath yours like he was testing to see if your quirk had faded yet. It hadn’t. After trying to escape, Dabi finally looked at you, eyes fiery. “Fine.”

Dabi paused before he continued, his voice turning soft, seductive. “I’m begging you.”

“Good flame boy.” You replied, letting go of his hands. Your voice turning callous as you continued. “Now I want you to fuck me Dabi—hard.” You said the last word into his ear.

His hands found your waist immediately, flipping you both over so he could be on top of you. His dick sliding out of you in the process, causing you to moan. Dabi grabbed the back of your knees in the next moment, pushing both of your legs back against the bed beside your face—your ass up in the air as he eyed your cunt. Dabi let go of one of your knees to grab his cock, quickly sliding himself into you as he hissed. Your newly freed leg draped across his shoulder as he violently pounded into you—his pace quick and unforgiving. The sound of skin smacking skin loud and lewd in the quiet room. Dabi didn’t bother to hide his moans, didn’t bother to start slow. Far past waiting to cum, Dabi fucked you—just like you asked. Your hands twisting into the sheets on the bed.

Dabi leg go of your other leg, leaving it to drape across his shoulder as well so he could grab your throat instead. Fingers tightening around the skin there as he growled. “You’re mine.”

You were. You were all his.

A groan left your lips, eyes fluttering shut as Dabi had his way with you—hand pressing harder against your throat as his release neared. “I’m going to cum inside this pretty little pussy of yours.”

“Fuck.” Dabi moaned loudly, voice frenzied, excited as his grip grew even tighter on your neck—threatening to keep you from breathing. “I’m so damn close.”

You couldn’t have spoken if you wanted too. And you didn’t. You didn’t want to speak at all. You left your eyes closed and listened to Dabi, listened to him coming undone. Listened to him claiming you. Your stomach burning with more arousal than you thought you could bare.

Dabi’s breath grew heavy and then faltered. His release spilling into you hot and urgent as he loosened his grip on your throat—letting you take a deep breath as he left himself buried in you.

Your clit was throbbing, begging for stimulation.

“I didn’t feel you come doll.” Dabi’s voice was sinful. “I want to feel you come around my cock. Touch yourself.”

Dabi’s hands wrapped around your thighs, keeping your legs pinned to his shoulders—keeping himself buried in you as he waited. You eyed where your bodies met, the very sight of it eliciting excitement in your nerves. You watched his face, his eyes as you released your grip on the bed sheets—bringing you hand to your clit. You rolled the bundle of nerves sloppily, quickly—no gentler than Dabi would be. You didn’t look away, refused to close your eyes as your thighs squeezed against him and he watched you greedily. Like he would never get enough of this. It wasn’t long before you came too; Dabi’s name falling from your lips as your walls clamped around his softening dick. Dabi groaned, leaving his dick inside you until you relaxed, until your entire body fell limp against the bed.

Only then did Dabi slide out of you—his dick no longer entirely soft.

You were both still catching your breath—hearts hammering in your chest as he laid down beside you, dragging you back into his chest. You tucked your face into the center of his chest, the cologne like smell of him still on his skin. You kissed his chest softly and he buried his face into your hair.

And then, because you felt like being a brat, you reached your head up to his shoulder, biting down into his skin, once again drawing blood. It didn’t bother you anymore—now that you had control. Dabi grunted, trying to hide whatever sound was actually about to come out of his mouth. You licked the blood off his shoulder lazily—relishing in the sight of it; but you didn’t heal his wound. For reasons unknown to you—you wanted to leave it there. So, you did.

“Dabi.” You said innocently like you hadn’t just bitten him; your voice was soft. You kissed his neck lightly—almost like an apology. “I’m yours.”

Dabi stilled beneath you, like you hadn’t already told him you had feelings for him. And you kissed his neck again.

“I don’t want anyone else.” You continued—your mind trailing. “But. You still owe me a couch.” A snarky smile spread across your face—even if Dabi couldn’t see it.

Dabi only pressed you further against him as he laughed once. His fingers trailing lazily down your spine as he replied. “What about an apartment instead?”

Now it was your turn to pause. You hadn’t expected him to say that—to imply…For what, you to move in? What else could that mean.

“I’d rather have you here doll. Where I can do this—” Dabi’s hand gripped your ass roughly. “Whenever I want.”

You had a feeling it was more than that—Dabi didn’t just want you here to fuck you. Honestly, he could do that anywhere. You would let him.

You kissed the corner of his chin, reached up to grab his face, to pull his mouth to yours. You kissed him softly, no tongue, no teeth. Just a kiss. A light feeling dancing in your gut—an ache of desire throbbing in your stomach. You were screwed. How were you ever going to leave his bed? Much less his apartment.

“I don’t know.” You said jokingly. “I really liked that couch.”

Dabi rolled on top of you, pressing you back down beneath him.

“But I’m glad you ruined it.” I’m glad I met you. You added mentally, wrapping your arms up around his neck to keep him there even as your quirk faded from your body like a caffeine let down.

Dabi didn’t respond, but he kissed your jawline, your neck. The snarky bastard even bit into the skin just above your collarbone, leaving a mark of his own. In the end, Dabi’s mouth found its way back to yours.

Dabi was a forbidden fruit you were never meant to taste; but he didn’t exile you from paradise—he drew you back in.  

#dabi x reader #dabi #my hero academia #bnha x reader #smut #bnha fanfiction #bnha #mha #frostbitten fruit

[the-rabbit-re]

Hi all! Just to give an update on part 4 (the final part) to my current Dabi fic, Frosbitten Fruit. My original goal was to post this Monday; but as seeing how the ending came out ten pages longer than I thought it was going too I’m going to post the finale on Friday 2/26/21. Sorry for the delay!

#oops #I couldn’t get myself to stop writing #and now I have to edit 35 pages of grammar #love you all #frostbitten fruit

[the-rabbit-re]

Dabi x Reader

Oblivion

Preview: Shigaraki gets impatient leading you and Dabi to Miya’s club. And Dabi gets jealous leading you and him to the bathroom. What better way to draw Miya out than making more than one mess in his club? If you catch my drift;) [Dabi x (Female)Reader]

NSFW/Smut/Porn with Plot/Slight Degradation/Semi-public Sex/Creampie/Throat-F**king/Language/Blood/Violence/Alcohol/Slight Self-Harm

Word Count: 13599

A/N: This is part three of “Frostbitten Fruit,” which can be found linked below. The final part of this piece should be out by Monday (2-22-21); I’m going to aim for Saturday, but I’m giving myself a few extra days jic because endings always take me longer. Have fun reading! (Side note: the self-harm tag in this is for a quick reference to a non-main character; I just wanted to be safe and tag it!)

Ps. I’m feeling some Red Daddy Riot brewing, along with some Hawks, for after I finish this piece;)

Part One: Frostbitten Fruit

Part Two: Whose Vampire?

Master List

Keep Reading Below or AO3: Link

You were going to have to get over your complicated relationship with your quirk if you wanted to be free of Miya; you knew that. This line of thought even brought you and Dabi both to the roof of his apartment building in the lackluster streetlight, in which no one would be able to see the two wanted villains on the roof. At least the police didn’t know your face. That only made one of you though. Dabi on the other hand; you’d seen his face on TV a handful of times.

Regardless, your earlier conclusion didn’t stop you from second guessing yourself now; after all it was literally just you and Dabi. There was no third party “bad guy” here to take the heat of your quirk. No one to piss you off and keep you from thinking about the possible consequences of this.

Or maybe you just couldn’t stand the thought of you slipping up, of Dabi joining the line of people who flinched around you—who were afraid of you. Even Toga for all her nonchalance now had had a phase. You didn’t want to hurt Dabi, or any of your friends for that matter. But the fear was so much stronger with Dabi.

You hadn’t given him a reason to distrust you yet. And the longer you were around him the less you could stand the thought of it—of him not trusting you.

Dabi could tell you were hesitating. Anyone probably could—you were one step away from pacing in circles with the thoughts in your head. But he didn’t immediately say anything.

You were rolling the dice every time you used your quirk.  

“If you think I’m going to kill you can you light your entire body on fire?” You blurted out, half stalling, half serious.

Dabi almost laughed, an amused expression playing across his face. “I could.”

“Will you promise me that you will?” You pushed, still standing an obscenely far distance from him, like he was going to force blood down your throat.

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe I also don’t cherish the idea of hurting you?” Dabi raised his eyebrow, crossing his arms. His weight even shifted between his two feet as he watched you.

“Dabi. I’m serious.”

“And I’m not?” Dabi’s voice lost its carefree tone, his eyes narrowing slightly.

When you didn’t respond Dabi cursed beneath his breath, glaring at you as he added. “I promise I’m not just going to sit here and let you kill me. I feel like that goes without saying.”

Mmmhhh. You hummed. In reality you were barely paying attention to what he was saying, mind still on your own worries. You’d never really thought he’d agree to light himself on fire. You were just more comfortable being hurt by Dabi, rather than doing the hurting.

“I’m not setting you on fire.” Dabi’s voice grew colder—finally bringing your attention to him. The uncomfortable way he was standing.

You walked up to Dabi then, hand sliding up his arm, realizing you’d hit a nerve. “Dabi, I don’t really think you would set me on fire that easily.” You said quietly. “I just—.” Would rather you hurt me than the other way around. You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence.

His face softened somewhat, arms uncrossing, voice returning to its usual bored tone. “Stop stalling.”

For some reason you felt weird just biting him for no reason, even if he was fully intending for you to. You continued to hesitate, not knowing where to bite.

Dabi huffed a sigh, sliding his shirt off his left shoulder, clearly offering the scared skin there to you.

Your fingers tightened on his arm subconsciously as you brought your mouth to his shoulder. Even with your mouth open above his skin, even with the memory of the sweet taste of his blood that set your teeth to aching—you hesitated.

Dabi grabbed your waist pulling you against him. His hands sliding into the pockets on the back of your jeans as he said from somewhere above your head. “Just bite me (Y/N).”

You took one more breath, stilling yourself before biting down into his shoulder; the icy sweet taste of his blood immediately hitting your mouth easing away your previous fears. He tensed against you for a moment; his hands pulling you closer against him just as you bit into his shoulder.

You found yourself wanting to apologize even though he was silent.

Aside from your guilt, the majority of your mind was giving way to your quirk, not worrying much about anything other than the taste of his blood in your mouth as you drank your way to oblivion—Dabi’s hands trailing from your pockets to your waist and then up your back lazily like you were being slow.

You thought you felt Dabi’s nose press into your hair as your world faded to black once again.

 Dabi had heard about Bloodlust for years prior to meeting you—and there was a reason he’d never even once suspected that Toga’s benevolent healer friend would be that very same Bloodlust. He’d heard stories. He’d seen the proclaimed scars; some of which looked significantly more bestial than human.

The Bloodlust he had always pictured was a nightmare; more chaotic than even Toga, someone with an utter lack of regard to anyone—anyone other than Miya. The Bloodlust he imagined was nothing short of a feral vampire like something out of a novel. He’d never questioned whether those ugly scars had all been from Miya’s vampire, until he’d met the real you.

Even now it was hard for Dabi to connect you with Bloodlust, with your villain alias. It’s not that he didn’t believe you. But he had never met anyone so absurdly concerned with injuring a man covered in scars. Had never met anyone who thanked him so easily. Dabi had never met anyone like you.

For all the time he’d ever been around Toga, for all the times she’d taken his blood with her too large syringes for one disguise or another—not only had she not asked before shoving the needle into his arm, but there was no fanfare afterwards. There was no band-aid. There was no appreciation; and Dabi had never expected there to be. They were both in the league; it was business.

And then there was you. You trailing your fingers down his arms like you’d never touched anything softer—like his skin was smoother than silk. You running your tongue across the God awful scaring on his shoulder like it was a fucking delicacy you’d never have a chance to taste again.

There was you, yet again immediately chasing the pain of your bite away with your tongue. And your tongue didn’t stop there either; it slid across his neck up to his ear and across the piercings like you were counting them one by one.

“Has anyone ever told you your blood is delicious?” You spoke, your voice barely a whisper in his ear before you all but disappeared from in front of him.

And then your hands slid around his waist from behind as he stared across the roof—across the space you had previously occupied. You really were too damn fast.

Your mouth was back on his ear. “It tastes like strawberries.” Your tongue flicked out again, sliding behind his ear. “Nobody’s blood has any right to taste that fucking good. It even smells sweet.”

Dabi didn’t have the time to reply before your hands were gone again—the heat of you against his back replaced by empty space once more. He turned, looking across the roof to try and see where you went; but unlike you he didn’t have fucking night vision. So, instead he was left to squint in the shitty lighting available on the roof of his apartment complex, before he gave up entirely—just waiting for you to talk again.

But he was only met with silence and darkness. “(Y/N)?”

A laugh resounded from the roof edge on his right and he turned to see your silhouette perched exceedingly carefree on the very edge of the roof. For some reason the stance made him nervous. He could never place his feelings with you.

“Over here.” You sang back, your head turning toward him. “Don’t worry I won’t fall.”

Your comment had Dabi wondering what expression was on his face. He wasn’t even aware he was making one. “You seem—”

“Not like I’m about to go on a rampage killing people?”

“That’s one way to put it.” Dabi responded.

You stepped backwards off the roof ledge and onto the roof at a normal speed, waltzing back toward Dabi. “Maybe. But I am quite tempted to bite you again.”

Dabi watched as you stopped just out of his reach. He couldn’t stop himself from saying: “Why don’t you?” Implication heavy in his voice.

You laughed again, this time without any humor. “Because I don’t want you to faint.”

Dabi hadn’t thought about that. It had never even crossed his mind that you could drink too much of someone’s blood. It’s not like he knew the rules—he’d never donated blood before. Well, other than to Toga. Anyway, he felt fine.

“I probably shouldn’t drink your blood for…” You counted across your fingers amidst your sentence. “I don’t know? Four weeks at least. Before you ask, I googled it a long time ago.”

“Bloodlust was concerned about drinking too much of someone’s blood, was she?” Dabi mocked lightly, taking a step toward you. “Seems out of character.”

You took an equivalent step away from him. “Well, sometimes I drank my subordinates’ blood and I couldn’t have them all passing out on me, could I? Not that they were ever really much help anyway. Maybe I should’ve just let them faint.”

Dabi couldn’t help but smile at the idea of you needing Miya’s lackeys to help you do anything—the picture of them passing out one by one around you as you drank their blood causing him to laugh. Dabi stepped forward again just to see if you’d keep moving backwards. You did. “How could you possibly measure how much blood you’re drinking?”

You shrugged. “Trial and error. Miya doesn’t care for most of the people he’s in charge of.”

“And you?” Dabi gave up trying to walk toward you and moved to go sit on the edge of the roof instead—watching as you came closer, somehow reminding him of a wild animal.

“I think I was convenient. Irreplaceable even.” Dabi watched you smirk. “But I wouldn’t say he actually cared about me. We never had sex if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

It wasn’t. But he would be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered. He couldn’t decide if he would have cared; what he would have said if you had. “I wasn’t asking.”

“I know what people use to say.” You shrugged casually. “What about Shigaraki?”

“What about him?”

“Did ya’ll ever sleep together?” You smiled maniacally, a laugh peeling from your throat at your own joke. “What do you think I meant. Does he actually care about any of you, or are you just a means to an end?”

“He’s not a very heartfelt guy.” Dabi paused, not thinking too much about your joke. “But I don’t think he’d be unfazed if one of us died.”

“Toga cares about all of you.” You remarked offhand.

“Looking out for your friend?” Dabi felt his eyebrow rise as he spoke, felt the shift of staples on his skin. It was a familiar feeling—one he could write off like how you can always see your nose, but your brain tells you you can’t.

“I owe it to her.”

“What happened exactly—” Dabi stopped talking when he suddenly felt your forehead on his shoulder.

“It’s not worth talking about.” Dabi felt you take a breath against his shoulder before you spoke again. “How exactly am I supposed to be practicing my quirk here.”

“I just wanted you to see you didn’t have to do anything violent.”

“Point proven flame boy.” You hopped back up from your seat beside him at a normal speed, pacing toward the other side of the roof.

Dabi just watched your outline move.

“What do you think Miya’s quirk is? I know you’ve thought about it.” You spoke again as you walked back toward Dabi.

“Something that can influence people’s actions.”

“You have that much faith in me?” You spoke like it was a joke like you wanted to make light of anyone thinking you weren’t a murderer. You aren’t Miya’s vampire, Dabi found himself wanting to say. Not at all.

“When we met with Miya and the shitty scorpion chick—”

“Sting.” You interrupted like it mattered.

“Sure whatever.” Dabi couldn’t care less what her fucking name was; he wanted to kill her. “Before the shitty bug bitch made her move, Miya kept grimacing like he was annoyed by something. Makes me wonder—especially after meeting you—if he was trying to influence us and it wasn’t working; so, the bitch Sting stepped in instead.”

“You make his quirk sound unreliable.”

“Every quirk has its weak points.” Dabi gestured to his scars for emphasis.

“What happened there?”

Dabi didn’t see what it hurt to tell you; it’s not like you would remember anyway. Even if you did remember, Dabi wasn’t sure that he would mind. “My father had unreasonably high expectations for a five year old.”

“Is he a hero?”

Dabi didn’t immediately answer, but he could see you took that as an answer in and of itself. So, he didn’t respond at all. Instead he stood up, closing the space left between you two. This time you didn’t move away. “Did you get over your temptation to bite me again?”

“Not really. But the leftover taste finally faded.” You smiled and Dabi laughed once.

“What’s the timer on you passing out?”

“That we won’t know until it hits, I’m afraid.” You smiled teasingly. “Not much for you to work with is it?”

You grabbed the waistband of his pants—pulling him toward you with enough force he couldn’t have kept from moving those few inches closer if he’d wanted to. And then you disappeared from in front of him again causing him to stumble a step.

“If you wanted to kill me, I really wouldn’t stand a chance. How in the hell do you even move that fast?” He wasn’t really asking, but you answered anyway.

Your voice suddenly behind him. “How do you light yourself on fire?”

Poorly, Dabi thought as he turned to face you again—only to have to catch you as you fell forward; the timer on your quirk apparently having come to an end. Dabi found himself thinking, at least I caught you this time. It was becoming harder for Dabi to tell himself he didn’t know why he thought these things.

He still refused to put a name to it.

Dabi picked you up, mentally wondering how he was going to carry you back down the ladder; while all the while being distracted by how peaceful your face looked. How your eyes looked like they were closed without any force—there wasn’t a single wrinkle on your face.

Dabi couldn’t help but wonder if you passed out this peacefully no matter where you were. Couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had ever taken advantage of that. But the thought riled his temper, and he had to push it aside in the same moment, realizing his hands were heating beneath you.

Instead, Dabi tucked his nose into your hair—breathing in the quiet smell of you before taking a step back toward his apartment.

I’m too comfortable with you, Dabi thought to himself like it was derogatory, like it was only a matter of time before it bit him in the ass. Like he didn’t deserve to be at ease.

 For once in your life you finally woke up from your quirk in your same clothes without having blood somewhere on your person. It had to be some sort of miracle…or absence of Miya.

You’d barely even shifted to look at your clothes when Dabi wrapped his arms around your waist—tugging you back against him mumbling. “Go back to sleep.”

You were in jeans; how were you supposed to sleep in jeans?

You writhed in his grasp, trying to peel your too tight skinny jeans off your body when Dabi groaned again, more awake this time. “Could you stop stripping in my bed.”

“What a weird thing to complain about.” You remarked lightly, acting like you didn’t know he was joking, kicking the offending article of clothing off your body.

“How would you like it if I woke you up by taking my pants off?” Dabi’s chin moved on top of your head.

“Are you offering?”

Dabi laughed once, quietly. Clearly, fully intending on going back to sleep.

“What happened?” You asked, nudging your elbow lightly into his stomach since his grip around your waist didn’t allow you to turn.

“Nothing doll. You wouldn’t let me anywhere near you the whole time because you didn’t want to drink any more of my blood than necessary.” Dabi’s voice remained tired, but it retained a trace of amusement.

“Really I shouldn’t drink—”

“My blood for another approximately four weeks?” Dabi tucked his face behind your head. “I know, you told me. Go back to sleep.”

Had it really always been Miya?

You stayed quiet listening to Dabi breath. Your mind revolving around this thought for what felt like hours; but the next thing you knew you were back asleep—floating in a dreamless darkness.

 The next time you woke up, you were cold. The sheets having long since fallen off your body; the comforter wasn’t even on the bed anymore—like you’d been trashing around in your sleep. Dabi was also nowhere to be seen.

You weren’t that concerned about it, assuming he’d went to talk to Shigaraki. You decided to get out of bed—rolling from the mattress to the floor, stepping over to your haphazard packing job you’d done while under the influence of blood. You’d already been re-wearing outfits and it’d only been a week; part of you was debating making another trip to your apartment. You were trying to find Miya anyway.

Even if the thought sent a shiver down your spine.

If you were going to go start shit at his club today, you were going to have to push the feeling aside. You dug a short burgundy skirt out of your bag along with a sheer black shirt that was tighter than your damn jeans had been last night. What were you even thinking when you’d packed this bag—clearly you weren’t?

You showered, changed clothes, ate breakfast, fixed the mess on the bed, flipped through a variety of channels on the TV; you even rummaged through Dabi’s meager book collection that didn’t look like he’d ever touched it; yet, Dabi was still nowhere to be seen. On the other hand, Toga had sent you the oh so informative text: Deku still thinks I’m Uraraka. And you weren’t even sure what that meant, other than the obvious. That she was having too much fun stalking Deku.

Maybe Dabi had something else to do other than talk to Shigaraki?

The thought even crossed your mind to text him, that is, before you realized you’d never bothered to get the man’s phone number. Granted, you hadn’t really needed it considering you’d been in his apartment the whole time.

After this was over, would you go back to your old apartment? The thought appeared in your mind without your approval, leaving you to immediately dash it. Of course you would; why would you stay here. Just because you and Dabi were sleeping together?

And then your phone lit up on the coffee table in front of you, good ole’ J, your boss checking in again. You slid your thumb across the screen.

“Listen (Y/N) I know you got mugged and that’s awful, really; but you’re going to have to get your ass back into the office. The interns are useless, and all the columnist are losing their minds not being able to ask you stupid questions all day long.” J didn’t even sound mad, just tired. At least he knew the questions were stupid.

You started to say you couldn’t come in today, but J cut you off. “Like hell you can’t (Y/N). I’m not taking no for an answer today.”

You frowned; wondering if your job was even worth it when you’d never needed it in the first place. It wasn’t like Miya hadn’t paid you well—too well. It was already around two, technically the office closed at five. “I—”

You started to reply, to say you’d come in but only till five; but then the phone disappeared from your hand in the same moment. You turned to look behind the couch, seeing Dabi in his classic villain attire and a closing black hole behind him.

He spoke into the phone; saying simply, “find a new editor,” before hanging up, tossing the phone behind him onto the bed.

“Your boss is a dick, just get Shigaraki to pay you.”

“I don’t really need the money.” You replied honestly.

Dabi’s eyebrow edged upwards as he leaned against the back of the couch, looking down at you.

“Miya may not care about anyone, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t pay well. If not everyone then at least the people who were valuable to him.” You rested your head onto the back of the couch; part of you was happy not to have to listen to J yell anymore. The job had really just been something to do. Dabi still didn’t say anything, so you added. “What? Do you want me to pay rent.”

He smirked, his eyebrow relaxing. “I don’t need the money either doll. Shigaraki wants us to go to that club tonight. He’s getting impatient.”

“How does he just suddenly decide to be impatient after being silent all week?”

“Easy, Toga sends him a useless text.”

“Deku still thinks I’m Uraraka.” You repeated the text you’d gotten that morning.

“How’d you—” Dabi started to ask.

You went ahead and answered. “She texted me that too.”

 Surprisingly J didn’t call you again for the rest of the day, maybe Dabi had scared him. You hadn’t thought Dabi sounded threatening when he’d taken your phone; but, thinking back on it maybe that wasn’t the case for someone who didn’t know him. Really Dabi had never scared you.

You didn’t bother changing to go to the club, just throwing on some heeled black boots before you left. Dabi, however, had felt the need to change out of his villain uniform. Not that his normal clothes were much different—a loose white shirt that draped below his collar, a shorter black leather jacket, almost black blue jeans.

“Do you own any clothes that aren’t one of those three colors?” You joked as you both walked toward the alley the club was in. It wasn’t just for villains; it just wasn’t for the faint of heart.

“Should I wear a pale pink button down next time? Maybe some khakis. Are we going to a dive bar or a country club?” Dabi mocked dryly, glancing downward at you without halting his movement.

You jabbed an elbow into his side that he didn’t even try and dodge. Honestly, you would pay to see him in that outfit like some frat boy—maybe even with a sweater tied around his neck.

“Your quirk may give you super strength but hate to tell you I’ve had high schoolers hit me harder than that.”

You tried to trip him after that. It didn’t work either.

The alley you’d walked into wasn’t necessarily grimy. There were no unknown pools of liquid on the ground, or dumpsters overflowing with trash. But it wasn’t exactly a welcoming alleyway either. It was narrow, the bricks covered in what could be moss or ash. The only lighting the red glow of the sign above the club door that read, Alibi.

It wasn’t a door you would ever approach if you didn’t know what it was. There was a bouncer by the door, one which didn’t look all that threatening—but you’d seen Miya’s criteria for selecting bouncers and knew his looks couldn’t be anything but deceiving.

The man’s hair was slicked back with either grease or hair gel; you wanted to believe it was hair gel. His features were thin, his nose upturned. “Bloodlust.” He spoke as you neared, paying no attention to the villain standing behind you.

“Finch.” You replied before adding. “I couldn’t have killed Miss Scarlet with a candlestick. I was out of town you see.”

“Who told you the new password?” Finch asked without expecting a reply, knocking on the door twice behind him—the sound echoing dully in the alley.

The door opened silently, and you walked past the bouncer trailing a finger across his chest. “My name still goes a long way.”

Dabi followed you into the bar without commenting on the bouncer. You glanced around casually, eyeing the dance-floor, the excess of bodies inappropriately close to one another; eyeing the pool table, the innocent looking boy in the corner watching the game. The bar was close to the pool table, blocking off the far left corner of the room—leaving the right half to the dancers and the front left corner to the gamblers. Although pool wasn’t the real game here. The real money was in the rooms upstairs, on the poker tables, on the women and the drugs they slid into men’s pockets.

But the boy in the front corner didn’t even look you in the eye, like he’d never seen you before—like you didn’t know his real age even if you’d forgotten his name. You stopped in front of the bar, sliding easily into a chair as you grabbed the lapel of Dabi’s jacket. The leather pliable under your fingers as you tugged his face down to you.

You kissed him slowly, sliding your tongue along his lip as his hand slid behind your back. You moved your mouth to his ear briefly, saying quietly: “Miya’s ears are here. Don’t say anything you wouldn’t want him to know.”

Not a second later you pushed Dabi back from you lightly, turning to the half-dressed girl behind the counter. “Whiskey neat and…”

You trailed off looking to Dabi, whose eyes were ever so slightly wider than they normally were. After all, you’d never drank around him. But you had appearances to keep up; everyone here knew who you were.

Dabi had already said he’d follow your lead. “A shot of tequila and a beer.” He added.

You slid three hundred dollar bills across the counter when she returned, causing her to pause as she slid the drink toward you. “Is there a game tonight?”

When she didn’t respond you kept talking.

“You’re new here. Aren’t you?” Your voice took a dark turn; your words coming out clipped. “I’m bored and last I heard Miya was welcoming his vampire home. Or can you not even recognize his favorite weapon when you see it.”

You felt bad for the girl as her face paled. But it really wasn’t your problem, and you needed her to follow the instructions under that last hundred dollar bill. You needed no one to watch too hard. Look too closely.

“Wow (Y/N). No need to attack the help. What’s got you so on edge tonight?” A familiar voice spoke up from a chair at the other end of the bar. You hadn’t exactly been quiet.

“You still hang around here Noah?” You turned to face the man at the other end of the bar, his light hair was longer than you remembered, tucked behind his ears as he downed the Guinness in front of him. He was harmless; his quirk nothing to talk about. He was just the bored son of a CEO that liked to lose at poker. “If you’re here there has to be a game.”

On your left you saw Dabi slide an empty shot glass back toward the bartender, taking his beer and walking off. Unlike Shigaraki, looks like Dabi can read a room. It didn’t change the fact that part of you wanted him to stay, even if you needed him gone for now.

Noah took Dabi walking off as an invitation to move to the seat next to you. “There might be.” Unlike Dabi, Noah’s smile coated his entire face. After spending so long around Dabi, Noah’s smile felt fake. “I’ll let you in on the password for a dance. Maybe that will help you loosen up.”

Noah had always been a shameless flirt.

“There’s a whole dance-floor full of girls and you can’t find anyone better to ask?”

“That floor full of drunk girls would be too easy. You’re a challenge.”

“Fine.” You remarked, drinking your whiskey in three gulps. The bartender who’d long since taken your money didn’t hesitate before refilling your glass.

You took the second glass with you to the dance-floor, not bothering to see if Noah was following as you headed for one of the few empty spaces on the sticky pale wood floor; a spot too close to the speakers for anyone’s comfort.

You didn’t know the song that was playing, didn’t particularly care. This was only a means to an end. You tipped your glass up, ignoring the rolls in the liquid to the pace of the harsh bass reverberating from the giant black speakers behind you. You imagined your eardrums looked similar. The whiskey was good—like something Miya would’ve kept set aside for himself. The bartender had to know who you were; maybe she’d just been too frightened to admit it. You wondered what she made of your note, if she would listen.

You had a feeling the boy in the corner had already told Miya you were here. But you didn’t think he would come. No, he’d wait to see what you did—even if he knew Dabi was here. For a fleeting moment you wondered where Dabi had walked off too—if he was watching you—before you heard Noah yell over the sound of the speaker behind you.

“There’s a reason no one else is standing here.”

“Are you going to fight your way into the middle of the floor then?” You sure weren’t planning on it.

“Yeah. I think I will.” Noah replied self-confidently, grabbing your hand without a second thought. His fingers sliding through yours, too short compared to Dabi’s, to drag you through the tightly packed bodies farther from the harsh drum of the speaker.

The beat dropped again and most of the girls around you dipped lower, and lower. For some reason it made you feel competitive. You finished the rest of you drink hoping for a light buzz, handing the empty glass to Noah to at least keep one of his hands off you. You didn’t really care; but you also didn’t want him getting the wrong idea.

You were going to a poker game, not his bed.

Noah’s freehand grabbed your waist turning your back against him, and you once again found yourself wondering where Dabi was—and how serious his comments about your hickeys had been. To be fair, you’d rather it be Dabi behind you right now. But you weren’t here for fun.

You followed the queue of those dancing around you, grinding against Noah to the beat that was loud and hard to follow like the music was turned too loud for the speakers to enunciate properly. Your mind wandered the whole time; the song ended, and another began. Noah’s hand never venturing too far from its original stance on your waist.

It was hot in the middle of fifty moving bodies, sweat sticking your hair to your neck and face like glue. You brought your hands up momentarily to slide your hair farther behind you—trying to let a breeze cross your neck.

Noah spoke up from behind you. His voice close to your ear. “You know I would try and kiss you, but between the very intimidating man you walked up to the bar with, and the multitude of hickeys on your neck, it really doesn’t feel like a great idea.”

You couldn’t help but laugh; intentional or not, Dabi’s plan had worked. “Was he really that scary?”

“The man looks like he walked into a burning building without blinking an eye.”

“You never tried before so why now?” You asked turning your head back toward him.

“You never danced with me before so why now?” He replied in the same tone.

“I need the password.” There was no way anyone could hear what you both were saying.

“Welcome home. That’s the password.” Noah said quietly like he didn’t realize how loud the music was.

That password was meant for you. “Don’t play in the game tonight Noah.”

Neither of you had ever stopped dancing; there was no way anyone of importance had heard what you were saying. Noah had kept up the act just like you had, although you had a hard feeling Noah hadn’t minded the act at all.

“I’ll just push my luck here instead.” Noah said, somehow managing to pass the empty glass off to someone else on the dance-floor. They’d probably thought the melted ice was vodka—not knowing what a whiskey glass looked like. Even you were thankfully feeling mildly tipsy from the alcohol in your system.

Noah’s hands now drifted lower to your thighs, pulling you tighter against him ruffling your skirt farther up your legs in the process. You’d already gotten the information you needed, so there was really no reason to keep humoring him. Noah had apparently grown bolder over the last three years; or maybe he realized you weren’t as threatening as you once were. The bartender definitely hadn’t gotten that message.

You were about to break off from him and go find Dabi when a very different hand slid behind your back, slender fingers curving into your side to pull you off Noah. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. A light laugh left your throat at the turn in Noah’s facial expression, as he saw his wrist grasped in one scarred hand.

You didn’t stop dancing, wrapping your fingers into Dabi’s at your waist to keep his hand there as you dropped lower, bending your head forward so he could watch as you ground your ass back into him. You were teasing him, but you were also distracting him for Noah’s sake.

“Mind if I cut in.” Dabi said icily, letting go of Noah’s hand. You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined it wasn’t pretty.

Dabi’s newly freed hand slid up your stomach, sliding across your breast to your neck. His fingers pressing against the skin there possessively, bringing your body back up against his in the process.

“I see my luck has run out.” Noah’s voice was full of good nature as he nodded his head to you winking, probably to mess with Dabi as he slid through the rest of the bodies on the dance-floor, disappearing from sight.

Dabi’s mouth was on your shoulder in the next moment, sucking on the skin there suggestively. You pulled his hand from your waist to your inner thigh as you continued to rub your ass back against him. What you were doing really couldn’t be considered dancing, even the other people on the dance-floor started to give you both more space as they moved.

“Jealous?” You teased, leading his hand even further between your legs—off your skirt. Dabi’s fingers felt hot on your bare skin even after having been dancing; even after already having your body covered in a fine layer of sweat from the heat of everyone around you.  

Dabi’s grip on your neck tightened in response as he bit down on the skin he was previously sucking, causing a poorly hidden moan to stutter from your lips as he now ground himself against your ass. You could feel your skirt rising higher with the movement; his dick starting to make itself known through his pants. You slid your hand from Dabi’s meaning to turn around, but he wouldn’t let you. His thumb instead sliding lazily away from the rest of his hand, running across your cunt through your underwear like he was debating fingering you right there on the dance-floor. The very thought of it had heat pooling in your groin. His hand slid closer to your folds; his thumb finding its way to your clit above your underwear still. He pressed down teasingly, rolling the bundle of nerves to the beat of the music.

You bit your lip to stay silent. Your skirt anywhere but where it needed to be as the growing tent in his pants made its way beneath the fabric of your skirt. His fingers at your throat only growing tighter as he slid a teasing finger beneath your underwear—just brushing the moisture at your entrance set your nerves on fire.

“Dabi.” You said half in warning, half in desire.

He brought his mouth to your ear, biting down harshly on the lobe of it without any forewarning—another moan seeping from your mouth with the consequent wave of arousal. Dabi laughed. His thumb stopped its movement on your clit; and you were really starting to worry about where your skirt was when Dabi pushed your underwear aside, sliding his hand across your heat, bearing his palm against your clit as your knees wobbled. Dabi’s dick now fully hard between the cheeks of your ass.

Nobody was looking your way, a solid two feet of space around you on all sides.

Dabi slid a finger inside you in the next moment, curling the digit against your sweet spot with practiced precision—dragging the palm of his finger back and forth across it.

Dabi’s hand left your throat as you cursed loudly. He grabbed your stomach instead, keeping you standing upright as he continued to finger you; the digit sliding back out before he slid it even deeper into you.

You used the chance to glance down, thanking God that your skirt was still providing some cover from any prying eyes. Dabi laughed in your ear. “You really think I’d just let everyone see that cute little cunt of yours?”

Dabi slid his finger back out of you, using his other hand to turn you around toward him—to let you watch him suck your arousal off his finger, a self-pleased smirk on his face. Your clit throbbed at the lack of stimulation between your legs, begging for more.

Dabi leaned down to kiss you; the taste of you still on his tongue as he slid it quickly into your mouth. Your hands were pinned between you both on his chest; his grip on your ass keeping you from moving at all. Dabi slid one hand from your ass to your thigh, hiking the leg up over his hip so he could press his own arousal against your heat.

“You’re mine.” Something about the way he spoke sent shivers down your spine.

You could only imagine what anyone else in this room was thinking right now. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care when your whole body was on fire—all you wanted was Dabi. You didn’t care who saw. Who knew.

You wrapped your fingers around the opening of his jacket, using the leverage to grind against the bulge of his cock—putting pressure on your clit.

“That’s a good girl.” Dabi whispered against your mouth as you bit down on his lower lip, keeping him from saying anything more.

“Unless you want to fuck me on the dance-floor and let everyone watch, why don’t we go to the bathroom?”

“You don’t want everyone to see how good I make you feel?” Dabi replied, releasing your thigh so you could stand again.

“I’d rather they just hear it and be jealous.” Your replied.

Dabi’s eyes were on fire. “Fuck, doll.”

You backed away, intending to lead him to the bathrooms and he followed silently.

There was a line of three or four girls along the wall in the small hallway in the middle back of the bar that contained both stairs and the bathrooms. As you stepped into the hallway you slowed, not really intending to wait on the girls, but hesitating none the less.

The black door to the bathroom swung open in the same moment, two girls walking out and Dabi grabbed your hand, entirely ignoring the girls along the wall to drag you into the bathroom with him. The three girls hardly had time to complain before Dabi had kicked the door shut again, locking it.

The bathroom actually had two stalls, both of which were currently empty; a floating counter held two sinks that were surprisingly white, although the counter was wet and covered in paper towels. The mirror that lined the wall behind the sinks was cracked on the corner.

That was all you saw before Dabi dropped his jacket to the floor, tearing his shirt over his head. You smiled, pulling your own shirt off as he watched; his eyes sliding across your chest, across all the fading marks he’d already left there. You walked toward Dabi, backing him against the sink counter as some girl pounded on the bathroom door.

You undid his belt loudly, dragging his pants down to the floor with his boxers and getting on your knees all in one movement. One of Dabi’s hands slid impatiently into your hair as you parted your lips—running the tip of your tongue along the vein under his cock. You braced one of your hands on his thigh; the other you spit into before wrapping it around the girth of his cock and stroking slowly—bringing your mouth to his balls instead, wrapping your tongue around one before drawing it into your mouth and sucking. Your grip on his cock tightening as he hissed like he was going to keep from moaning, like you weren’t on a mission to let those girls hear him curse your name.

Your mouth still on his balls, you parted your fingers across the head of his cock, pushing his cock through your hand like he was entering you. You continued to stroke him until his hips bucked once, and then stopped—bringing your mouth to the head of his cock instead, both your hands on his thighs as you immediately took him all the way to the back of your throat. Your nose buried in his dark pubic hair as a loud moan escaped from his mouth.

You sucked on his cock; wrapping your tongue around him as you brought your lips back to his head, swirling your tongue there as his second hand grabbed a fist full of your hair as well. You moaned, letting the sound vibrate in your mouth as you dipped your head back down.

“Fucking—” Dabi stopped talking as you deep throated him again. “(Y/N).” He groaned.

You only slid your lips back to his head once more before he apparently couldn’t take it anymore. He took control instead. Grip growing tighter in your hair as he forced your head back down—his hips bucking his erection even farther down your throat. He continued his rough pace, having long since stopped trying to hold his voice back as he moaned and cursed; your throat growing numb as moisture began to leak down the side of your leg.

“Shit.” Dabi’s voice was breathless. “I’m going to come doll.”

Dabi’s pace didn’t slow; his grip only growing tighter as he neared his release. Tears leaking from the corner of your eyes as you struggled to keep from gagging.

Dabi groaned at the feeling of you struggling. His head leaning back as he continued; his pace speeding up. “Choke on my cock (Y/N), fucking choke on it.”

Dabi grunted loudly. His breath stuttering from his mouth as he buried his dick as deeply in your throat as he could—hot sperm spilling into the back of your throat, threatening to choke you as you swallowed.

“That’s right doll, swallow my cum. All of it.” Dabi looked down, keeping your nose pressed into his pubic hair as you tried to swallow against his cock. “Just like that, like a good little slut.”

He slid his dick from your mouth slowly, once you stopped swallowing. His hands leaving your hair as he watched you cough once before you leaned forward again, intending to lick his dick clean.

“Shit that’s hot.” Dabi growled as you ran your tongue over his hanging dick, making sure to clean every drop of his release—his dick twitching like he was already going to get hard again.

“Seriously what the fuck.” Some girl yelled from the other side of the door.

“Go fuck yourself.” Dabi replied mildly out of breath.

You stood from your position on your knees, which were now indented and sore from the bathroom tile. You leaned forward, sliding a hand up Dabi’s chest to bring your mouth to his ear. “Think you have another round in you?”

Your other hand found his cock, stroking it roughly causing Dabi to moan again. The sound rough—needy.

Dabi didn’t reply; his hand found your face instead, turning it toward him so he could lick the leftover tear from your eye. His hands sliding up your sides to the clasp of your bra on your back in the next moment—pulling it from your body before he tore your underwear down too. He grabbed your thighs, picking you up to set your ass on the wet counter. Dabi kissed you; his mouth no less urgent than yours had been on his dick as his hands slid up your thighs beneath your skirt, finding the wet mess between your legs. Dabi cursed under his breath.

“You really are such a fucking slut. Did me throat fucking you turn you on this much?” Dabi announced loudly—like the girls outside didn’t already know what was going on.

“I don’t know.” You replied coyly. “Did Noah really make you this jealous?”

“Don’t act like anyone else could make you feel this good.” Dabi replied darkly as he slid two fingers into you easily—not even trying to find your g-spot, just finger fucking you as roughly as he could like he wanted to make you listen to the sound. His thumb clumsily rubbing against your clit with the rough pace of his fingering.

“Dabi.” You moaned teasingly in his ear, wrapping your arms around his neck as he reignited the hickeys on your neck.

He slowed the pace of his fingers, focusing on the spot inside you that had you squirming beneath him; the spot that chased heat through the rest of your body like an electric current. He slid his fingers back from you. His hands found your thighs again, pulling you off the counter and turning you around like he wanted you to watch yourself get fucked in the mirror.

His hands slid up to your ass as your legs hooked around his back and then he plunged into you without warning—the obvious sound of skin smacking skin echoing through the bathroom as the girls outside cried in disgust.

You could hardly keep your eyes opened as Dabi continued to pound himself into you, as your breath and his mixed between moans and gripping fingers. Your nails dragging down his back as your arousal built a fire in your stomach—his fingers digging into your ass as your walls clamped around his twitching still sensitive cock.

You weren’t even aware you were practically screaming until one of the girls outside commented on it like you were faking how good this felt—you weren’t. You bit into Dabi’s neck, not quite hard enough to draw blood to keep from making anymore sound.

“I want to hear you (Y/N).”

You moaned against his neck instead.

“Not good enough doll. Weren’t you going to make the whole bar jealous?”

Dabi paused and in the next moment he had you on the bathroom floor on top of his clothes. Your skirt flipping up against your stomach as he bent your knee beside your head, burying his cock deeper inside you with his next motion.

“Fuck.” You groaned loudly and Dabi smirked at you.

“Touch yourself doll.”

You listened, sliding your hand between your legs to rub your clit as he continued to fuck you loudly. Your movements sloppy and without rhythm as your other hand smacked down against the tile floor looking for something to grab and finding nothing—Dabi grabbed that hand instead, pinning it to the tile floor. You were so close to coming you couldn’t stop from bucking your hips to meet his. Couldn’t stop the lewd sounds leaving your lips—if it could even be heard over the sound of Dabi fucking you.

Your fingers pushed harder against your clit as the nerves there all but threatened to burst, before the waves of your climax rolled through your body like a damn riptide. The walls of your cunt clamping down on Dabi’s cock like a trap as he came too, once again releasing his cum deep inside you.

You were fairly certain you’d yelled his name, but you also had no idea. Dabi seemed reluctant to pull himself from you, reluctant to move at all as you panted beneath him.

“Are you fucking done yet? I still have to pee.” One of the girls sounded again.

“I cannot believe they are still standing there.” You replied.

“They probably got horny listening to you.” Dabi said against your ear before he leaned back, letting his dick slide from you.

He stood, offering you a hand to stand up—your legs were weak beneath you, unwilling. You were going to be sore tomorrow. You had a feeling Dabi would like that if you ever let him find out. Which you weren’t planning on doing.

“How do you know it wasn’t you they were listening to.” You took his hand.

“Because you didn’t hear how loud you were screaming (Y/N).” Dabi pulled you up as he spoke, freehand grabbing your face so he could kiss you slowly, as his hands slid back between your legs to keep your orgasm from waning—causing your already sore knees to wobble. “You can’t even stand straight.”

You felt your face flush as you looked away, only to be met with the mess you’d both made of the bathroom. Maybe I should make Dabi jealous more often, you couldn’t stop from thinking. 

For all the girls’ talk, none of them were still standing there when you both walked out of the bathroom—something you were grateful for to say the least. And while those girls had likely went left back to the dance-floor, you went right up the metal stairs. At the top of the stairs was a small landing, on which you and Dabi barely fit together—leaving you pressed against each other, standing in front of the gray doors you’d yet to knock on.

You turned to Dabi instead, he was already watching you. You wrapped an arm around his neck to pull his face down to yours, briefly meeting his lips with yours before you spoke quietly into his ear. “Don’t think too much on anything I say in this room.”

And then you turned from Dabi, knocking on the door lightly. It opened by an inch maybe; no one to be seen on the other side. “Welcome home.” You said.

The door opened the rest of the way; a man wearing a plan white mask stood silently beside the door—leaving it open for you and Dabi to enter.

Five people were at the poker table, two of which you recognized. All were men of varying ages in formal attire. One which you had seen before, ran a hand through his short black hair. “Well I’ll be damned; Bloodlust is back. I thought I heard wrong.”

You’d never learned his name, only his face. No one said their real name at the poker table. He’d always gone by Noir. “I can’t believe you even have any money left to bet Noir.”

Another man you hadn’t recognized chuckled; he was younger, probably in his twenties—probably around the same age as you. “Is it really fair for Miya’s pet to play.”

“Have you never been here when Miya plays?” Noir spoke up again.

The second man you’d seen before smiled greasily, his teeth stained yellow, his hair grey. “Really what you want is both of them here. Miya bet her one night.”

You couldn’t afford to look at Dabi, not as you were still making your way to one of the empty seats. But you felt him pause behind you, fall behind by a half step. The table noticed, sensed the familiarity behind the pause.  

“Who’d you bring with you Bloodlust.” Another older man you hadn’t recognized spoke, his suit pink.

“Who’d you bring with you?” You replied curtly, nodding your chin toward the scantily dressed blond leaning against the back of his chair.

The man in the pink suit turned, his eyes racking over the blond behind him. “This weeks entertainment.”

Noir spoke up. “I don’t think the Blue Flame is one weeks’ worth of entertainment.”

You sat down, eyes narrowing at the men at the table. “Why only keep a plaything around for a week? I was with Miya for years.”

“But you were his plaything.” The young man spoke.

Sexist bastards. “No, I was his weapon.” You smiled threateningly.

“Was?” The second man you’d recognized finally spoke up, hand sliding down his goatee. He went by Jack.

“I haven’t decided if I’m going to renew that contract.”

“I don’t think it’s up to you.” The greasy man spoke again.

The young man clearly unwilling to let Dabi go, spoke again. “Why is he here.”

“Because he has a nice dick and I get horny when I gamble.” You cut back. You’d never been more grateful for Dabi’s lack of expression than you were in this moment.

Noir laughed, spilling his whiskey. “You act like the man standing behind her is going to be more of a threat than the girl herself. I’ve seen you come in here with a young man or two myself.”

The young man finally shut up.

Jack cleared his throat. “I came here to play, not argue over a piece of ass.”

You had to fight back a smile at Dabi being referred to as a piece of ass, shifting the expression to a smirk instead. “The buy in?”

“A thousand.” The greasy man replied.

“Isn’t that a low.”

“It’s been a slow month.” Noir responded.

You shrugged, sliding the money into the middle of the table.

Another man in a white mask took a seat at the table, shuffling the cards before passing them out. Three rounds passed of you playing poorly, on purpose, after all they were on guard against you. When you had a good hand you folded, when you had a bad hand you bet. You needed to goad them into your plan. Into a bet.

On the fourth round Noir yawned as everyone checked their two cards. “I don’t remember you being this awful at poker; did you just come here to lose some of Miya’s money. What are you having a lovers’ spat; is that why you brought him?” Noir pointed his stubby finger at Dabi, absurd ring glistening.

You turned your head for the first time since you got here to look at Dabi; his eyes trailed lazily over to you as well. “You’re right.” You turned around continuing. “This is boring. The bets have been so worthless I’ve all but thrown away hands. A few thousand dollars really doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“And how do you suppose we make it more interesting for you?” Jack replied sarcastically.

“Why don’t you all bet your blood? I’ve always been curious how you taste.” You winked at the table.

The younger man immediately rolled his eyes like he would leave. The greasy man smiled, as well as Jack.

“I’d be willing to let you have a taste of other things.” Jack smiled back at you.

Noir added. “And what will you be betting? We hardly want your blood.”

“I want information on Miya.” The greasy man spoke boldly—like he wasn’t in the man’s club.

“That kind of comment will get you killed.” Noir spoke lightly, but his eyes held warning. “But I’d be interested to hear what you know about Shigaraki.”

Noir really was the gossip hub of the underworld. He made his living off selling information.

“I couldn’t care less about Shigaraki.” Jack commented.

You knew exactly what Jack wanted; he wanted Miya’s favorite bet—when he would bet you for a night. No one ever won that bet.

“I don’t want your blood Jack, so you can just go ahead and fuck yourself.” You turned toward him, meeting his glare.

Noir laughed. The other three seemed fine with receiving information on Shigaraki as well. Jack sat the round out. The way these bets worked, if you won the hand you got what you asked for—but only if you didn’t win by everyone else folding.

If you folded during the hand the extraordinary bet was off, only the money stood in the middle. Miya thought it was more entertaining that way.

The younger man folded the second the first flop went down, an ace and two kings. And in your hand was an ace and a king. In Noir’s hand was the last king. Looks like the bartender had paid the dealer off—one hundred for her, one hundred for him now and everything on the poker table after. You were Miya’s pet after all, if they got caught who would dare say anything. It would’ve been silly for them not to take the bribe—and risk angering you instead.

Noir smiled and the other two men folded.

“You don’t have a very good poker face.”

“And you have the balls not to fold anyway.” Noir waved his hand. “I don’t need any more money; let’s just leave the bets as is and see the rest of the cards, shall we?”

“Go for it.” You agreed.

The rest of the cards didn’t matter; they were throwaways.

Noir flicked his cards from his hand to the table audibly, three kings and a queen high. His smile grew.

“Good but I have a full house.” You replied tossing your cards down carelessly, covering his.

Noir’s smile faded, but he didn’t frown; he was a betting man after all. He’d never been one to throw a fit. He drained the last of his whiskey, pulling a knife from his pocket. He didn’t even hesitate before he drew the blade across his hand, face bored as he watched the blood run from his palm into the cup. Some women behind him gasped, hurrying to search for a napkin.

Everyone watched silently as he filled the glass to the rim before pushing it across the table. “Hope it’s everything you dreamed of.” He said dryly as the woman shoved the napkin onto his hand.

You were just surprised he was able to cut so deeply by himself.

“Thanks.” You replied gripping the whiskey glass in your hand in the same moment—bringing the class to your lips. Really there were plenty of other ways you could’ve activated your quirk—you just thought this way sent the best message. You didn’t have to take their blood; they gave it to you. Not necessarily willing, but…

You could smell the metal tang hidden behind the musk of his blood before you turned the glass up to your lips, the taste a far cry from Dabi’s blood. You were coming to realize his blood was just going to put everything else to shame.

Noir’s blood tasted like it was alcoholic, the aftertaste a burn enunciated by the heat of the liquid. After you tasted it you lowered the glass back down to swirl the dark liquid like it was wine, wondering how much he’d had to drink tonight.

“Taste nice.” You lied smoothly before downing the rest of the glass, it was quicker to drink blood this way. From a glass. Everyone’s face other than Noir’s was one of distaste.

It wasn’t enough for you to black out; but it was enough for a haze to fall over you—for you to use part of the benefits of your quirk. In the next moment you were behind Noir, teeth biting into his shoulder instead of his neck. You didn’t want to kill him.

Jack jumped up like he was going to attack you only to be covered in blue flame in the next moment. Jack screamed, falling back from the table against the wall.

Dabi remarked. “I suggest none of you try to touch her.”

Noir’s other hand reached to try and pull your fingers from his arm and shoulder, but it was useless. Your quirk was already activated, it was only a matter of seconds before your conscious vision faded to black.

 Dabi wasn’t particularly fond of anyone at the poker table in front of him. Not of Jack who’d he liked to truly light on fire, not just leave with a few burns screaming in the corner. Not of the snarky child that was currently glaring at him from the other side of the table. Not of the man named Noir whose eyes were wide as he tried to peel you off him with one hand. Not of the man who’d fainted from fear the moment you’d appeared at the other side of the table. Not the greasy man whose eyes kept glancing to the door.

“Take the money and get out.” Dabi snapped at the two men in white masks. He hadn’t thought they’d be this easy to bribe, considering there was no way they could ever come back here. Maybe they had another job; Dabi didn’t particularly give a fuck either way.

The dealer didn’t hesitate either, scooping the money and jewels off the table into a duffel bag before he quickly jogged from the room—his friend on his heels.

Dabi eyed the greasy man, a blue flame in his hand. “Don’t even bother.”

Noir hit the ground in the next second; he was still breathing—just finally passed out from blood loss. Huh, guess that was a thing, Dabi thought casually. Dabi watched you run the back of your hand across your face like that was going to do anything the rid the blood from your mouth and neck, all it did was spread it like watered down paint.

Well that was three down, two to go, Dabi thought.

“Just so you know.” You started talking, meeting the scowling kid’s glare. “I’m not Miya’s pet and I have no intention of being his vampire anymore. Actually.” You changed tones lightly appearing behind the greasy man. “I’m a part of the League of Villains now.”

The man slung his arm around like he was going to punch you; Dabi didn’t even bother moving. The greasy man’s hand was in your fingers in the next second, an awful crunching sound filling the room soon after. He barely screamed before he fell to the floor.

Dabi had never seen a group of grown men faint so easily. The random girls had already made their quick exit—leaving the youngest of the group scowling in his seat.

“I guess you’ll do.” You continued cheerfully, walking toward him only to grab the back of his collar and drag him down the stairs.

Dabi followed, flames persisting in his hands.

You waltzed into the main room, biting into the kid’s shoulder just to make him bleed, before throwing him like a bowling ball onto the dance-floor. He’d never even had time to struggle. Dabi decided to enunciate your entrance by setting a wall on fire. The men upstairs would probably wake up and get out; he didn’t really care.

Screams erupted over the music—the scene so chaotic Dabi didn’t even know where to look. At you appearing in front of people covered in blood just to scare them, only to disappear again; or at the people laid out on the dance-floor from the impact of the scowling kid trying to get up again. Or maybe at the multitude of people trying to make their way through one door.

Dabi thought he’d let you have your fun, walking over to the now empty bar to pour himself a drink. You could take care of yourself. Even amidst all the chaos you weren’t callously killing anyone.

You had more self-control than he did.

Miya’s quirk had to be something he could use to influence you. Dabi was convinced of it and convinced of the fact he didn’t want Miya anywhere near you. He’d barely been able to let you dance with Noah. He wouldn’t admit it, but jealous hadn’t been far off.

Mine. You weren’t his, but you were.

Sirens sounded from somewhere down the street and Dabi finished his drink, deciding he should probably round you up.

“Doll.” He spoke teasingly, barely any louder than he normally did, assuming you could hear him over the sounds of the club burning to the ground literally and metaphorically.

You appeared in front of him across the bar in the next moment, wiping fresh blood off your mouth with someone’s discarded napkin—the whole scene looking ridiculous. The scary vampire everyone was running away from wiping her fucking face off with a napkin like she was at a nice diner.

“We need to leave.” Dabi said.

“The front door’s a little clogged at the moment.” You replied.

“I can see that.”

Hmmmm. You hummed before sitting on a bar-stool. “Hey bartender.”

“What can I get for you?” Dabi humored you.

Your eyes roved across his body—gaze traveling lower. “I can think of a few things.”

“You’re covered in blood, and the police are coming.”

“Details, details.” You jumped down from the stool, apparently having had your fun—walking over to the brick wall beside the front door.

You turned back to make a point that Dabi was watching you, like it had ever been a question, like he hadn’t been eyeing your ass from the second you stood from the bar, before kicking a hole in the wall twice the size it needed to be for you to walk though and walking outside. You didn’t see, but Dabi saw everyone still stuck inside stunned into silence as bricks rained down and dust settled.

Dabi wasn’t sure how the building was still standing, much less how the music was still thumping from the speakers. Nobody dared to walk out the hole as Dabi followed behind you.

You all but skipped down the alley, which was mostly clear of people, toward the street before quickly turning down a different alley that led away from the police sirens. You clearly knew the area well. You took similar such paths all the way back to Dabi’s apartment, at which he shoved you complaining into the shower.

But even after he closed the door behind you, he kept listening for you to fall—not being able to shake the fear you would somehow manage to pass out and drown. It was ridiculous; Dabi knew that. But it didn’t stop him from listening.

 You woke up with wet hair in Dabi’s bed, in one of his black t-shirts. You sat up and heard Dabi say from the couch. “I tried Doll. You wouldn’t put any other clothes on.”

You looked down and realized you were in fact, only wearing a t-shirt. You got out of his bed to find a pair of underwear, sliding them on before walking over to the couch. Dabi grabbed your arm pulling you down against him.

“You’re very chaotic.” Dabi remarked as his arms finished ensnaring you, his forehead coming to a rest on your shoulder.

Your eyes were on the TV and the women who was somehow already reporting the bar burning to the ground—your villain name was mentioned along with a list of injuries…

“But no deaths.” Dabi said without picking his head up, like he’d knew you’d be listening for it. “You didn’t sleep very long.”

“How long’s it been?”

“Maybe half an hour.”

Weird. “How do you even keep time there are no clocks in your house.”

“The microwave has a clock.”

“That doesn’t count.”

Dabi ignored you, kissing your neck lightly instead. “You smell like me.” Dabi remarked quietly like he was just talking to himself—only to tense minutely against you afterwards when he realized he said the words aloud.

“I’ve been using your shampoo for how long now.” You replied lightly, letting the comment slide even if you were tempted to tease him. You had a feeling it would bother him—the teasing.

“Not—” Dabi stopped talking when there was a knock at his door. His grip around your waist tightening like he wasn’t going to let you move, much less either of you answer the door.

“Dabi?” You spoke quietly, your own hands sliding on top of his. “Did I lead us back here from the bar?”

“Yes.”

“Down a bunch of random alleys?”

“No one followed.”

“I think that’s Miya at the door.” You said anyway, grip tightening on Dabi’s hands like you were going to peel them from you. Like you would be able to make him leave.

“Why?”

“I just have a feeling.” You said; the hair on the back of your neck having long sense been on edge.

“(Y/N).” A man’s voice called sweetly from the other side of the door; the kind of voice that a car salesman or a phone sex employee has—the tempting kind. The kind of voice you’d come to hate. The kind of voice that belonged to Miya. “Open the door; why don’t you? So we can talk.”

Dabi didn’t hesitate. “Drink my blood.”

“No.”

“(Y/N).” He growled.

“Even if I pass out, you’re going to be better—”

“No. Dabi. This is Miya; wasn’t the whole conclusion everyone has been drawing that I lack control specifically around Miya.” You started to chew on your lip, startled when a bit of blood dripped into your mouth.  

Miya knocked on the door again, louder. “I know you’re in there and with the Blue Flame too.”

Dabi’s grip on you still didn’t lessen.

“Why don’t you leave.” You said instead, only causing Dabi’s grip to draw even tighter around you. “You could go get the rest of the league, Shigaraki, Toga, Kurogiri…”

You had a feeling everything you were saying was falling on deaf ears. “Dabi he’s going to kick your door in. At least let me up.”

“Drink my blood first.” He countered.

“No.” You said again, firmer. What was he thinking? Was he even thinking?

Dabi cursed, standing, bringing you with him. You tried to step in front of him, but he wouldn’t let you—insistent on opening the door himself. You were surprised he didn’t just burn through it. Dabi threw the door open against the wall and you grabbed the back of his grey shirt to keep him from doing anything stupid. The thought that he might get himself hurt, immediately jumping to violence, crossing your mind.

The plan had been to let Shigaraki handle Miya.

Clearly this wasn’t going to go according to plan. Surprisingly Sting wasn’t in the hallway with Miya. Miya didn’t even flinch as the door flew open toward him. Ironically, Miya stood in the hall in a pair of khakis and a light pink button down shirt.

He stepped forward and you stepped backwards, pulling Dabi with you. Miya closed the door behind him. He was barely taller than Dabi, similarly built. His brown hair was undercut, with the shortest part being darker than the rest. His blue grey eyes almost light with amusement as he eyed you standing behind Dabi, with your hand gripped on his shirt like he needed to be kept on a leash. Hadn’t that been what you thought, when you’d pulled Dabi back from the door? That it would be smart to keep him on a leash.

Since when had you ever thought that? Didn’t you trust Dabi, or at the very least he trusted you; which probably said more. Considering you were never particularly that on guard.

Nobody said anything. You could feel the heat radiating off Dabi without even touching his skin.

Miya walked around you both to the bed, like he was observing what you’d been up to. It was only then that you realized you weren’t wearing any pants. “That was quite the impression you two made on some of my favorite customers at my club tonight. Clever bribing the staff. Although I did hear someone made quite the mess in the bathroom.”

Miya turned back toward Dabi. “I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

Blue flame tore across Dabi’s hands, threatening to grow up his arms and then Sting slid open the window, hopping lightly inside. So that’s where she’s been, blocking the other exit, you thought.

“I’m in the league now Miya.” You spoke up from behind Dabi—feeling a little ridiculous.

“Shigaraki always did like to pick up strays.” Miya stepped closer. “But you see I’m not quite done with you yet.”

You should do something about that fire before he gets himself hurt.

Your hand fell from Dabi’s shirt and you grabbed his left wrist in the next moment, barely thinking about the action before you did it. The flames were gone before they even had a chance to burn you. Dabi turned to look at you, his features tight—like he realized something you didn’t. Sting made her way to Miya in the same moment—her tail flicking angrily under today’s silver dress.

He’s not in a good situation here. You’d be better off to just go with Miya, rather than let him fight.

The thought didn’t feel right, it settled awkwardly in your brain like someone placed it there. But they were your thoughts, they kept coming. Dabi wasn’t helpless. Neither were you—

Isn’t that why you decided not to drink his blood? To protect him from you. You’re dangerous when Miya’s here.

“(Y/N)?” Dabi was still staring at you, his hand still in your wrist. Something wasn’t right. You let go of Dabi’s arm, taking a step back.

Dabi was distracted, watching you. Sting was waiting for that. You saw her lunge forward at the same time another thought entered your brain.

It might be better to let her poison him; he won’t die. If he doesn’t have his quirk he might not fight. If he doesn’t fight Miya will probably leave him here.

You hesitated just long enough for Sting’s tail to find its mark in the crook of Dabi’s arm you had previously had a hold of. Blood welled and slid over his elbow.

Dabi cursed.

Sting smirked, pleased with herself. Apparently, her job was done, because she turned back to her position at the window like you might bolt. You wanted too; but Dabi was here.

“You don’t remember who you are at all? Do you.” Miya spoke snidely, crossing his arms across his chest.

Maybe you should just go with Miya.

“(Y/N).” Dabi said again, eyes still locked on you as your mind blanked.

You shook your head lightly, running a hand across your forehead and into your hair. You started to reply, but Miya spoke over you.

“If you come with me now, I’ll leave him alone.”

Dabi will be safe if you leave, but not if you stay.

“Like Hell she should go with you.” Dabi’s head snapped back toward Miya. Your mind was still a mess, growing worse by the minute.

“Of course she should, then you’ll be safe.”

“Safe from who? You’re just fucking standing there.” Dabi’s voice rose an octave.

“Safe from her. You’ll be safe from her quirk.” Miya spoke soothingly as another round of thoughts eased into your mind like smoke through your nose—like some awful scent you were inhaling.

How could you forget? Do you remember Toga? How she was around you using your quirk for so long until one day you snapped. You snapped and almost killed her. You tore right into her neck. She almost bled to death before Miya helped you back to your senses to heal her. That could’ve been Dabi.

The picture of Dabi bleeding out across your couch resurfaced in your mind, except this time you were drinking his blood. “I almost killed Toga.” You muttered, side stepping Dabi. Not toward Miya, just away from Dabi.

Dabi turned back toward you, no longer concerned with Miya behind him. “Toga’s fine (Y/N).” Dabi was doing his best to keep his voice calm—not that anyone other than you would’ve noticed if it wasn’t. “What are you thinking?”

“I have to go with Miya to keep you safe.” You blurted out, the words not sounding right.

“That doesn’t make sense doll; come back over here.”

Did it not?

You’re going to put him in danger?

You stepped away again.

“He’s putting thoughts in your head.” Dabi said almost more to himself, turning to look toward Miya again. “That’s your quirk.”

Miya shrugged eyeing his nails. “Maybe she’s just remembering how she almost killed Toga. How I helped her save Toga. That’s got nothing to do with me feeding her lies. It happened; she almost ripped Toga’s throat out. Her only friend almost dead just like that. How sad.”

That could be Dabi. He shouldn’t trust you like he does. You’ve already bitten him.

“I’m the only person she’s never bit; the only person really safe around her.” Miya continued.

Shouldn’t you go with someone you can’t hurt?

Dabi had apparently had enough of you backing away from him, as he didn’t give you the chance to keep moving—clearing the space between you both to grab your shoulders. “You’re not going to kill me (Y/N).”

Wouldn’t you like to bite him right now?

All you could see was the blood dripping from his arm onto the floor. You couldn’t even look at his face. You could hear the wet sound of his blood hitting the wood floor like rain on a tin roof—but it couldn’t be that loud, could it? Tink, tink, tink…it was rhythmic. Almost like it was telling you to think.

You can’t heal him. You’ll bite him.

“Dabi, I can’t.” Were you talking?

Tink, tink tink…

Dabi growled in frustration.

Why don’t you bite him?

“No.”

“Why not?” Miya said.

Don’t you love the taste of his blood.

Tink, tink…tink…

“It’s right there.” Miya continued.

“No.”

“Then let’s leave.” Tink.

I’ll keep him safe from you.

“Fine.”

“What do you mean fine.” Dabi’s hands slid from your shoulder to your waist, dragging you back behind him.

Your mind was a mess; your head starting to ache to the tune of blood dripping on the floor. You could barely register who was in front of you. “I can’t heal you.”

“It’s okay doll you don’t need to.” Dabi backed you both up like he was going to be able to walk out the front door.

Sting stalked toward you both. Miya didn’t move. The sound of blood falling easing from your mind.

“Dabi, Sting.” You spoke again.

She’s your subordinate; tell her to stop. Come over here; remind her who’s in charge.

Sting’s tail lashed beside her body like a whip. She struck toward Dabi again and he couldn’t move with you behind him—couldn’t let her just hit you instead. Her tail tore into his wrist this time. Your mind clearing just enough to make a decision.

Just go with Miya.  

Your hands were fisted in the back of his shirt. You weren’t sure when they got there. “Dabi...” Your voice trailed off, unsure of what you were about to say.

You’ll both be fine if you go with Miya.

You didn’t know what other choice to make. You unwound your fingers from Dabi’s shirt; stepping around him before he could grab you, walking over to Miya’s side. “Fuck off Sting.”

Even if this hurt you, it would keep Dabi safe.

Safe from you.

“You heard her.” Miya emphasized, his own hand landing on the small of your back with quiet urgency, directing you toward the window where a mirror like portal had appeared. “Welcome home, Bloodlust.”

He led you through the surface that shined, but reflected nothing, feeling like a gust of wind had swept past you as your foot landed on unfamiliar wood flooring. You couldn’t decide if someone had called or cursed your name from the other side—maybe it’d been a mixture of both.

You made the right decision, another thought slipped silently into your aching mind.

It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

Part Four: Playing with Fire

#dabi x reader #smut #bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #frostbitten fruit

[the-rabbit-re]

Dabi x Reader

Whose Vampire?

Preview: Dabi may drive you home, but he still wants his clothes back. [Dabi x (Female)Reader]

“Wasn’t I supposed to give you your clothes back?” You reached down to the hem of his t-shirt you were wearing, sliding the fabric up over your head and tossing it to the side.

Dabi’s azure eyes raked across your body as he responded. “Those boxers are mine too.”

NSFW/Smut/Porn with Plot/Slight Degradation/Spitting/Language/Blood/Violence

Word Count: 11725

A/N: This is part two of “Frostbitten Fruit,” which can be found linked below. This piece is going to be four parts, and part three will come out next Saturday as well. If you want to be tagged in future parts let me know! Have fun reading!

Part One: Frostbitten Fruit

Master List

Keep Reading Below or AO3: Link

Dabi drove you back to your apartment in silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, it just was. Unlike you, Dabi was the picture of indifference; only the way his hand fidgeted against the steering wheel giving away that something was bothering him—but even that was next to invisible. His fingers clenching against the fake leather before his hand readjusted to a new position on the steering wheel, shifting from twelve to two and back again absent mindedly.

Part of you wanted to grab his hand to stop him from fidgeting. You weren’t really sure what would be bothering him.

Dabi drove a black car, with even blacker windows. You weren’t a car person, so you couldn’t have guessed the make if you tried—but it was sleek, even the interior was black. You had a feeling it was a nicer car than you realized. Especially considering the seats all had blue threading holding them together.

You didn’t want to think about Miya, didn’t want to question your decision. But sitting in silence didn’t leave you much other choice. What if you could stand against Miya? If he really had something to do with you going berserk under your own quirk? You didn’t even trust the thought of it.

Your own arms tightened around your chest, brushing the collar of Dabi’s jacket across your cheek and nose; it tickled. You’d never really stopped to consider how he smelt—till you were covered entirely in his clothes. Part of you had expected his clothes to smell like cigarette smoke even though you’d never seen the man smoke. Instead the scent was sharp like cologne, but just enough to be alluring. Unlike his blood, the smell wasn’t sweet.

You wondered if the smell was cologne, or just how he smelt naturally.

“Dabi?”

Hhhmm, he made a sound to let you know he was listening. He didn’t turn his eyes from the road.

“What did Miya do to piss off Shigaraki?”

“Why do you care. Aren’t you leaving?” Dabi rolled his head toward you, his eyes narrowing slightly as they fell to yours. His hand shifted back to the top of the steering wheel.

“If I’m being honest—” You stopped talking. If I’m being honest, I don’t want to leave. The thought finished its course in your brain. “Miya is really—” You paused again thinking, watching Dabi’s hand shift back to two. “Charismatic?”

Was you leaving bothering him? But why. That couldn’t be it, you thought.

“Are you asking me.” Dabi turned his eyes back to the road sounding bored.

“It’s not really charisma. I don’t know what it was, is. I was different around him. I never questioned what we were doing. What I was doing. It’s like I was on an adrenaline high for years—”

“Then why did you leave?”

This time you turned to look at the road only to find the car pulling into your apartment parking lot as you spoke. “I hurt Toga.” And I’m never going to forgive myself for it, your thought finished its course in your mind. Dabi didn’t need all the bloody details.

Why were you trying to explain yourself to Dabi anyway?

“Do you know Overhaul?” Dabi said suddenly, putting the car in park.

“Of him.”

“He made this bullet that erases quirks permanently. Shigaraki had them.”

“Miya took them?”

“Just one.”

“Probably because of Sting’s quirk.”

Dabi nodded without you needing to explain further. Miya wanted to know if he could create something similar with her, was the next logical thought. Even still—it would only be temporary. And Sting was always with him anyway, why bother. No, it doesn’t matter. You’re not going to get involved, you thought.

“You can just wait here. I’ll run up and change and bring your clothes back to you.” You spoke lightly, not wanting to dwell on the mood of your previous conversation.

Dabi didn’t say anything. Hand still on the steering wheel even with the car parked—fingers firmly gripping the pleather. Or maybe it was real leather, you wouldn’t know.

You stood from the car, pausing just before you closed the door behind you. “And thank you, for helping me last night.”

You shut the car door loudly, the door being lighter than you remembered; and jogged up the stairs to your apartment without looking behind you—never pausing to see Dabi’s reaction.

 You opened your apartment door with the spare key you kept hidden in the light by the door. You weren’t particularly sure what happened to the original, but you were willing to bet on it being in that alleyway.

You walked into your apartment with a feeling of unease, like it had somehow been more than a day since you were here last. It didn’t even smell right. Something just felt a little off—causing you to pause just on the inside of the door. Were you just being paranoid?

It’d been a while since you had to check behind your back.

You took a deep breath, feeling more overly paranoid than anything. Back when you were with Miya you’d never felt afraid—it was only after, when you left, that the paranoia set in. People didn’t like you and you no longer had Miya’s name behind you. But no one came after you. It was a while before you realized that Miya being behind you had never mattered, people were scared of you. A fact you’d never decided how to feel about. You said you swore off the underworld—you even told yourself that. But you hadn’t. Not at all. You kept tabs on Miya. You had to, to avoid him. After you left, Miya actually had more people come looking for him—before everyone began to realize you weren’t the whole strength of his gang.

It had only ever been a matter of time before he decided to come looking for you. Was leaving even going to make a difference this time? Surprise was no longer on your side. He was watching now, waiting for you to come back. Like he was positive you would. Like killing all those people had been fun.

Like he thought you’d enjoyed it. Miya had, did.

You dropped Dabi’s jacket onto your couch, immediately feeling cold. You set your phone and key on the coffee table to your right, the dull sound echoing around you. The sound made the apartment feel emptier than it really was.

“And just where have you been (Y/N).” A rather smug voice trailed from your bedroom door. A woman was standing there, leaning against the doorframe; her long black hair braided behind her head leaving only her similarly long bangs to fall across her face—shielding part of her gray eyes from your view. She wore a black dress that touched the floor perfectly, which other than the long slit up her left leg, was rather concealing. You couldn’t see her shoes, much less the tail you knew she was hiding.

Even if you hadn’t looked up when you heard the voice, you would’ve known who was in your apartment. Sting. You weren’t afraid, the paranoia you’d previously felt chasing anxiety into your gut dissipating—being replaced with anger.

You laughed, a sound all but void of humor, leaning back against the couch arm as you motioned toward your current outfit. “Can’t you tell?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Awh, Sting. Are we still so close that you want to keep living vicariously through me?” Like a Venus fly trap, you smiled sweetly. “I’m afraid even my story telling won’t be enough for you to understand.”

Sting stood up straight, arms unfolding across her chest to fall tensely beside her hips. Her eyes narrowed as she spoke. “Your stories always were the worse.”

“No. No.” The smile never left your face as you waved your hand dismissively. “It’s not that. It’s just, well, people actually want to fuck me. You probably don’t know that feeling.”

Sting’s ever so thin patience was already worn through. She made a sound akin to a cat yowling as her tail uncurled violently from her dress like it was its own creature; the faint smell of something akin to crickets drifting toward your nose. The red-brown chitin that coated her tail at odds with the pale color of the rest of her skin—which looked rather soft. You knew from memory the exoskeleton on her tail wasn’t. The tip of it shaking like a rattlesnake’s but armored with a knife like spike instead.

“I’ve always hated you.” Sting stepped forward, and you danced around behind the couch closer to the window.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you.” A smirk destroyed the smile on your face. It was true, you’d missed your sparring sessions—as seeing how you two had always been butting heads.  

She stepped closer to you again; and you stepped back again—the game continuing until your back was against the window on the front of your apartment. The window you’d always noted was rather easy to see into from the parking lot, so you generally kept the curtains closed.

Now, however, you slid them open behind you—letting sunlight wash across the room like fire. The warmth of the light on your back oddly comforting. You hoped Dabi was paying attention.

Sting had never been a match for you. Not once. But that was before, when you were almost always drinking blood. You’d never needed to work out—but Sting always had. And that was going to get you in trouble now.

What was on your side was her awful temper, and the fact that her special brand of venom had no lasting effect on you—after all you were constantly swallowing your own saliva. But like your saliva was constantly in your bloodstream, her venom was constantly in hers. She may not be able to truly poison you, but did it really matter if you can’t activate your real quirk either. You weren’t well matched for fighting one another.

“Miya doesn’t think I can kill you, so he didn’t even bother telling me not to.” Sting brushed her bangs back from her eyes.

“Does that hurt your feelings?” Mock sympathy threaded into your voice. You glanced toward the door, wondering if you could make it outside—but also knowing her tail was longer than anyone ever assumed. Which frequently got people in trouble.

She was well within reach of you now; maybe five feet between you. If she got one of your arteries, she could restrain you before you had time to heal yourself. You wouldn’t bleed out, because you heal faster than the normal human being; but you would also be unconscious by the time the bleeding stopped.

And you could only assume that would end up with you back in Miya’s hands.

You didn’t have any weapons; you needed to stall. You were going to have to make one. You took a deep breath, knowing what you were about to do wasn’t about to feel good. You pressed your dominate hand against your opposing forearm, forcibly making your elbow as sharp as you could before you drove it backwards against the window behind you. It cracked lightly—the sound unpleasant.

“Honestly it’s sad to see you like this (Y/N). Like a cornered rat.” Sting stepped forward again, not seeming concerned enough to stop you from breaking the window. What were you really going to be able to accomplish without your quirk and a shard of glass anyway?

She was probably assuming this was the whole reason you’d pulled the curtains back.

You drove your elbow into the window once more—hearing it finally shatter. More than anything you felt sharp pain as shattered glass tore into the skin past your elbow, immediately followed by the unpleasant feeling of blood drooling down your arm. You ignored the feeling, as seeing how the pain wasn’t your most pressing issue and grabbed a shard of glass with your dominate hand from behind you without looking. You didn’t want to draw attention to anything outside—didn’t want Sting to know the real reason you broke the window. Let her think this was your whole plan—she should know better.

Dabi could overlook the curtains opening, but could he really not notice the window to your apartment shattering? Loudly. Glass sprinkling down on the concrete outside like a cup exploding on a kitchen floor.

You held the shard of glass in your hand between you both, an all but worthless weapon—the glass tearing more into your palm than anything else. It really was a shame your own blood did nothing for your quirk, considering how much of it was running down and across your arm right now.

“Now what are you going to do with that?” Sting laughed, brushing her bangs back out of her face again as her tail curved up behind her, dragging her dress up, revealing the whole of her legs and the tall red boots covering her feet. Practical, you thought sarcastically.

“Why don’t you come closer and find out?” Your arm throbbed.

“I don’t need to.” Her tail lashed out quickly like a snake striking, even knowing it was coming there was nothing you could do to dodge it. The point of her tail slicing across your wrist in the next moment—all but throwing the shard of glass across the room. You really should’ve practiced fighting without your quirk.

You held back the curse that wanted to leave your mouth—multiple places on your arms now burning, becoming harder to ignore as the rusty scent of your own blood filled the room. You didn’t normally notice the smell of your own blood, like your quirk wasn’t interested in it at all.

“Why do you want to bring me back anyway. Won’t that just put you under me again?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Sting closed the remaining space between you two—tail coming to a rest just against your chest as her fingers clasped around your throat, making it difficult to breath as she slammed you back against the window. Broken glass now pressing into your back.

You’d never noticed before how much taller she was than you. You always thought Sting looked annoyed. But right now—right now she looked like she was having fun; the smallest of smiles staining her face.

“If I pump my venom into your heart, do you think it’ll stop your quirk then?” Sting’s lips were inches from yours as she spoke. “Do you still think you’ll heal?”

Honestly you weren’t expecting this much animosity.

You heard your front door slam against the wall at the same moment she finished speaking. Not a second later blue flame covered your field of vision—the heat from the fire hot enough to have you leaning further back against the window, causing the glass to actually tear into your back this time.

Sting was gone—somehow managing to have avoided almost all the flames; only the wrist of the arm that had been holding you looking less than perfect.

Dabi positioned himself both beside you and partially in front of you as Sting backed off and you moved forward from the window; his left arm out like it was going to prevent you from walking any further.

Sting’s glare actually had you taking a step back as she spoke. “Don’t tell me you ran off from Miya only to find a new master.”

“I thought Miya just wanted me to remember how fun it was to drink blood.” You replied ignoring her jab. Not kill me in my own home, you thought.

“He did. But his feelings were rather hurt last night when you didn’t come home. I told him dogs belong on a leash after all, so they don’t run off and get lost.”

“I think you’re confusing the one who’s the bitch here.” You stepped forward again, your chest coming to a rest against Dabi’s outstretched arm.  

Dabi glanced toward you for a moment as you neared him.

“What was your name again? Was it Miya’s vampire? Or was it Miya’s little vampire? Am I remembering that correctly? Or maybe his slut? Oh well, I guess it doesn’t matter; I know I was never Miya’s anything.” She laughed again, somersaulting backward out of the reach of the fire that tore toward her—she escaped yet again unscathed.

The couch was less lucky—fabric holding onto the flames. You tore the curtains down from behind you, tossing the gray fabric over half the couch to smother the start of a fire. Not wanting to draw any more attention to your apartment by setting off the fire alarm.

“Did I hit a nerve lover boy? Is it Dabi’s little vampire now? I’m sorry it really is hard to keep up with who her legs are opening for.”

Sting drew closer again as Dabi’s right hand clenched at his side.

“I’m not anyone’s vampire.” You replied coldly.

Sting’s tail jumped toward Dabi’s leg; he stepped to the right just fast enough to avoid contact—flame flying from his left hand in the next moment. This time the flame was much more controlled. Sting’s black dress came away singed.

You were surprised the fire alarm hadn’t gone off—although the smoke detector was in the kitchen and there really wasn’t any smoke.

It wasn’t going to be long before Sting caught Dabi—or the apartment went up in smoke one. You weren’t particularly fond of the rest of the apartment complex getting caught up in your drama. You also weren’t particularly fond of the idea of Dabi almost dying again.

“Sting cut the shit; what do you want. What did Miya tell you to come here for?” You stepped in front of Dabi this time—attempting to end their skirmish.

“(Y/N).” Dabi said with warning in his voice.

“I want you to be kept on a shorter leash. Miya on the other hand has been rather tense lately; I think he may be wanting a little release.” Sting’s voice was incredibly acidic; her lips peeling back like she was snarling as she spoke. When had she started to hate you this much?

Contrary to popular belief, you had never slept with Miya. But you also weren’t a stranger to comments like these; and consequently, they no longer bothered you. “Maybe you should provide that for him instead; might be a good learning opportunity.”

Dabi shifted behind you, and you shifted with him—preventing him from stepping around you.

“(Y/N).” Dabi spoke again.

Sting smiled sarcastically. “He told me to find you and bring you back.” She clicked her tongue, slowly drawing her fingers up to point to the man standing behind you. “But I think I’ll have a little fun with him first.”

You weren’t sure what she meant by fun; and you also didn’t particularly care, considering either way the comment pissed you off.

Dabi’s hand was hot on your wrist as he pulled you back out of his way. “You’re welcome to try; but I can assure you it won’t be fun, not for you at least.”

Dabi’s hand was full of fire the moment it left your skin. Dabi’s temper was clearly as bad as Sting’s.

You grabbed Dabi’s wrist and the fire went out almost immediately like he was afraid to burn you—even if it left him vulnerable. Or maybe he was just surprised. Either way, Dabi’s eyes fell to yours like he was trying to decide what you were doing as you yelled roughly. “Enough.”

“I see how it is. I can say whatever I want about you, but not—”

“Shut up.” You cut her off, pulling Dabi’s wrist to your mouth as your eyes focused on hers which widened noticeably; the never ending smirk wiped clear from her face.

The whole world knew you stopped drinking blood. It was obvious, how else would you have fell off the face of the earth. You couldn’t have if you were constantly running amuck. But you were tired of hiding from shitty people. If they weren’t going to let you leave in peace—then they weren’t going to have peace.

And Sting had simply pushed you too far.

You bit down into Dabi’s wrist like he meant nothing to you—his arm flinching beneath you as your teeth tore through scars and clear skin alike. Your hands holding his arm pressed against your lips as the cool metal of his staples hit the roof of your mouth. His blood started to seep in—your teeth digging deeper as you closed your eyes, letting the taste of his blood wash over you as you drank a few mouthfuls. It was like sugar water, like blended strawberries and ice—you couldn’t even taste the metallic hint of blood anymore.

No one’s blood had any right to taste this good. To make you salivate this much.

Nobody said a word. Nobody moved. Your eyes opened as a haze fell over you. You didn’t try to press it back, didn’t try to stop drinking. Every last ounce of your mental acuity went to not hurting Dabi anymore than you just had; you didn’t want to hear a bone snap before you blacked out this time. But Dabi didn’t even try and pull his arm away.

He didn’t give you any reason to hold on tighter.

Really you didn’t want to stop drinking. You’d never killed someone by drinking too much of their blood; you weren’t Dracula. You couldn’t even imagine drinking over a gallon of liquid in one go—even the thought made you nauseous. If anything, you can’t imagine anyone had ever felt much worse than they would’ve donating blood. But you also weren’t always coherent enough to know.

Your eyes narrowed, falling on Sting who looked rather uncertain of what to do now—shifting her weight uncomfortably between her feet like she might just run. To think she hadn’t even considered you might drink Dabi’s blood—just because you’d never drank Miya’s.

She really had thought Dabi replaced Miya. You’d only just met Dabi, but he was nothing like Miya.

Suddenly you felt like laughing, a smile tugging at your lips as the haze sealed the last bit of your mind from your body. Then Sting was gone from your view as Dabi’s chest appeared in front of you. He’d stepped in between you and her without moving his arm—leaving his back open to Sting.

And that was the last thing you registered before your world went dark.

 Dabi had no idea what you were thinking.

He hadn’t been a fan of Sting the first time he met her, and he sure as hell wasn’t a fucking fan of her now. Acting like he was just going to stand there while she did whatever the hell she considered fun to be. It was like Sting didn’t consider him to be a threat at all. He thought she didn’t see anyone as a threat. Thought she was too full of herself to.

That was until he saw the way her face changed when you bit his arm. Which hadn’t felt fucking great to say the least. But he let you anyway—relishing in the shitty look of surprise and fear frozen onto Sting’s face. It was worth it just for that. But Dabi knew that wasn’t the only reason he’d let you bite him.

No one had ever helped Dabi before without asking for something in return. When he woke up in your apartment he was waiting for the bill, waiting for you to say he owed you. But you didn’t. Instead you’d all but kicked him out of your apartment. Dabi wasn’t used to having someone look out for him. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

Now here he stood, wholly unprepared to deal with whatever was about to go down; for whatever reason finding himself blocking you off from Sting’s point of view as you finished drinking his blood.

The whole time fighting the urge to touch you. God, all he wanted to do was fucking touch you.

Dabi couldn’t take his eyes off you, off the remnants of his own blood leaking out of the corner of your lips, off the way your pupils dilated, off the way your lips curled into that teasing smile that he couldn’t help but to find sexy.

More than anything, Dabi wanted to know what was going through that fucking head of yours.

He was still staring at you when your arm suddenly reached behind him at an inhuman pace; he turned to see a scorpion’s tail gripped too tightly beneath your fingers.

“Better watch your back flame boy.” Your voice was low, teasing.

Dabi felt a smirk tug on his face as he watched you lift your own palm to your face, dragging your tongue across the cut there before sliding it down to your wrist as well, healing your own wounds. He had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to lick your elbow so easily, not to mention your back. He wondered if your wounds healed faster when you drank blood. Why was he always so curious about you?

Then you grabbed his wrist with your free hand, Stings tail still caught helplessly in the other. Sting was an afterthought to you, barely an inconvenience. You brought your mouth to his wrist so much more slowly than you had your own. You looked more like you were kissing him than healing your own bite.

Even if he couldn’t see it though, Dabi felt your tongue on his arm—felt the sting of the bite mark disappear. Part of him wanted the scar to stay there.

“Thanks.” You said to him once more. Shouldn’t he be saying that to you?

Dabi didn’t understand. He had no idea why you kept thanking him. What had he even done for you? Dabi didn’t think he’d done anything.

You let go of his arm; and Dabi watched as you stepped around him and jerked Sting toward you with your grip on her tail, which was cracking—a clear fluid leaking out like blood. Maybe it was blood; Dabi had no idea. He’d never seen a bug bleed.

“You’re awful silent. What happened to all that venom in your voice?” There was venom in your voice now. But nothing compared to how you had sounded in the alley. What had made you so mad in the alley? Had it been anger.

You didn’t let go of Sting’s tail as you grabbed her throat instead; her fingers tearing at your wrist uselessly. Dabi didn’t like the marks her nails left behind; but he wasn’t about to step in like you needed help either. It was obvious you didn’t.

“Don’t tell me you’re still scared of me.” You laughed like nothing Dabi had ever heard before. It was bitter, cruel. But he couldn’t help but feel like that hint of distaste in the sound hid something. Why was he always so curious about you? The thought wouldn’t leave his mind. Since when did he try and decipher anyone’s emotions. Since when did he care.

Still, Sting didn’t talk like she was trying to piece together how to get out of the situation she got herself in. Her eyes narrowing back to their cool demeanor. Dabi wondered what good her poker face was going to do her now; considering the panic that had been there just moments before, it was too late.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you; who else would deliver my message to Miya?”

“I’m not your errand boy.” Sting spat with the last of her bravado, spit landing on your face.

Dabi felt his temper rile again. His hands clenching absentmindedly at his sides as he watched you smile, hand twisting her tail, causing the cracks in the hard shell there to travel farther.

“No. You’re Miya’s and he’ll want to hear this. Tell him not to worry, that I remember exactly who I am; and he should wish he never reminded me.” Damn.

You let go, pushing her away from you and toward the door where she stumbled.

Dabi saw how you didn’t relax your stance as you eyed Sting. She wouldn’t leave that easily he surmised. Sting stood, dusting her dress off like she still held onto her dignity. Her tail flicking behind her like an angry cat.

“Go ahead, try it.” You said encouragingly as Stings eyes fell on Dabi. “See who’s faster.”

Dabi thought you meant him and her, fire coming to life in his palm, but before he could even try to make use of it you were across the room—kicking Sting into the wall. A collision that shook the entire apartment. Only then did he realize you’d meant you or her.

“Don’t kid yourself into thinking you’re a match for me.”

Shit, Dabi didn’t even think he was a match for you like this.

Sting spit blood onto the floor. “You want to lick that up?”

“Even Dracula wouldn’t want your blood.” You left your foot on her chest as you spoke.

Dabi started to speak up as he saw Sting’s tail sneak around your back, but he saw your head shift. You saw it too. You just didn’t care.

You didn’t flinch as Sting’s tail stuck into the back of your heel.

“It’s not even worth moving.” You said dismissively, stepping off Sting.

Sting smiled in a pissed way, pulling herself up from the ground. “I have missed you, teacher. I’ll let Miya know you said hello.”

And with that Sting left the apartment, jumping from the balcony beyond the front door. The first smart thing she’d done. Dabi followed you as you walked into your room entirely unconcerned with whether Sting left. You dug a bag out from beneath your bed, stuffing clothes into it.

“You’re—” Dabi started to ask but you cut him off.

“I’m not leaving.”

“Then what are you doing?” Dabi took a few steps closer.

“Not coming back here.” You said simply.

Dabi didn’t understand you at all, could barely guess at what you were thinking.

“Take me to Shigaraki.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Dabi said suddenly. He watched as you paused, hands tucking clothes in your bag.

“I’m thinking that Miya doesn’t deserve to be left alone. That if he’s not going to leave me at peace, I won’t leave him be either.”

“Were you really at peace?”

“No.” You replied without hesitation, head turning to look at him. “But it seemed better than walking back into hell.”

“Why?”

“I’m not any better than him Dabi.”

Dabi didn’t agree at all; but he didn’t say anything. How could he when he didn’t know the whole story. He didn’t even know you well enough to ask. He shouldn’t even care.

“I’ll take you to Shigaraki when you wake up.”

You laughed. “Fair enough. He’ll probably want me to remember the conversation we have anyway.”

It didn’t take you long to finish shoving a random assortment of things in your one duffel bag. Dabi questioning the effectiveness of your packing internally the whole time while simultaneously resisting the urge to push you down onto the bed.

You fell asleep in his car as he drove you back to his apartment on the other side of the city. You fell asleep and Dabi finally let himself touch you, not understanding the impulse—the back of his fingers sliding across the side of your face once. You didn’t move.

 When you woke up it was dark outside and you faintly remembered fighting with Sting, which was about as good as your memory ever was after you used your quirk. More often than not you remembered nothing at all. You shifted under a blanket, feeling the pull of what felt like tape on your arm. You flipped the blanket back, surprised to find your left elbow covered in gauze.

Dabi must have cleaned your wound. But the gauze really wasn’t necessary. You were sure the gashes were healed by now. It didn’t stop the light feeling that danced in your gut.

You peeled the tape back, seeing your assumption was correct. The only thing left behind around your elbow was light pink scars—of which you’d had plenty; they always completely faded eventually.

You balled the gauze and tape up, rolling awkwardly out of Dabi’s bed—looking around the dark room. “Dabi?”

You didn’t hear anything. He must not be here. You walked to the bathroom, throwing the makeshift bandage in the trash. Your reflection in the mirror causing you to realize Dabi had changed your clothes while you were asleep, t-shirt free of tears. Walking back into the main portion of his apartment again you glanced around, noticing his window was cracked open. You walked over, finding a fire escape on the other side, dimly lit by the streetlights in front of the building. Even without it you could see fine.

You slid the window up further, stepping out onto the fire escape—realizing your mistake as soon as your feet landed on the cold metal. The night air not feeling much better. Dabi’s apartment was on the top floor—the next portion of the ladder reached the roof of his building. You climbed up the ladder.

“Dabi?” You said again, stepping from the rim of the roof down onto the concrete.

You saw his head turn from his seat at the front of the building. He was sitting on the upper rim of the roof, feet dangling down toward the street. You walked over to him—hoisting yourself onto the ledge and then sitting beside him. The wind blew again, and you found yourself leaning into his side to escape from the cold air. Dabi froze slightly.

“Sorry—” You started to say, but Dabi relaxed, shifting his arm silently around you—his fingers coming to a rest on your bare thigh.

You really should’ve put more clothes on before you came outside. But you had wanted to know where he was.

“I don’t mind.” Dabi said quietly.

You rested your head on his shoulder, sitting there silently for a moment. Dabi seemed to radiate heat and you wondered if he was using his quirk.

“I’m sorry I bit you again.”

Dabi held his left wrist up for you to see the wound was already gone. “Forewarn me next time doll.”

“Next time?”

“You seemed very ready to start a war with Miya earlier.” Dabi explained.

You didn’t reply for a moment. “I didn’t mean to drag you into anything.”

“Shigaraki would’ve if you hadn’t.”

“I didn’t mean to drag any of you into this.” You corrected yourself.

“You underestimate Shigaraki’s ability to shove his nose into things.” Dabi laughed lowly. “You do realize Miya started this. He started it right with Shigaraki.”

“He didn’t need that bullet.” You said quickly.

“What do you mean.”

“He only took one bullet. You don’t think he could’ve figured out a way to put Sting��s venom in a dart a long time ago if he wanted to. Even if he did, what good does that do?” You were thinking out loud. “He never goes anywhere without her. And even if he made a bullet with her venom based off Overhaul’s it won’t be as effective; it’ll just be temporary. So, what was Miya’s real reason in stealing something from Shigaraki?”

Dabi didn’t say anything, the clean scent of him drifting to you on the light breeze in the air.

“Toga.” You said suddenly. Wondering how you never realized before.

“Toga?”

“He knows Toga is in the League of Villains; and he knows Toga is my one friend.”

“You think he started a fight with Shigaraki just to try and lure you out?” Dabi’s voice picked up pace slightly, like he was interested.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You added. “Just after I left, he tried something similar. He kept killing people, making it look like I did it.”

“You didn’t do that?” You thought the slight shift in Dabi’s voice sounded surprised now.

Dabi didn’t need to explain you knew what “that” he was referring too. You, Bloodlust, had always been well known. You’d done a series of horrific things for Miya without ever having gotten hurt in the process. But what really got everyone afraid of you was Miya’s tantrum. The two weeks where “you” tracked down and killed anyone who even muttered a cross word about you. Or at least—that’s what everyone thought the killings had in common. Miya was thorough too. Even the police were trying to find you. But no one really knew what Miya’s vampire looked like when she wasn’t covered in blood.

You turned your head on Dabi’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of him—deciding it wasn’t really cologne. Finding it comforting. “No. I’ve killed people, but never like that. I almost caved and went back too; Toga stopped me.”

Dabi’s finger drifted across your thigh softly like he was trying to comfort you.

“I thought you swore off involvement.”

“I lied. I always knew what Miya was doing.” You said the truth too easily to Dabi. All you’d done for the past three years was feed yourself lies, like you’d never done anything as bad as or worse than Toga and Dabi combined. You acted like you were protecting yourself, but you were just hiding. You didn’t want to deal with everything you’d done.

“Has Toga told you anything about me?” You continued.

“I didn’t even know you existed until a few days ago.”

Toga was a good friend, you thought. “The first time I met Miya was just after Toga joined the league. The only girl in our class to become a villain happened to be my friend.”

“Other than you.” Dabi joked lightly.

“Maybe that’s why we were such good friends.” You replied in the same tone before continuing. “I didn’t realize the full extent of my quirk at the time. I used to heal Toga’s wounds and it occurred to me that the more blood I drank, the less the side effect of healing people took place. One day Toga got in some shit and actually got hurt pretty bad. And you know how she’s always collecting peoples’ blood in those big vials? Well, I drank one before I healed her to see if the side effect really would be nullified. Just curious was all…

Unlike any other time you’d drank blood, you remembered clearly what happened. The haze that took over your mind was intoxicating; you’d never felt so carefree in your life. You felt lighter, stronger, faster, like nothing could touch you mentally or physically. It was a sense of freedom that you’d never known. You healed Toga’s wound and ran amuck with her. Helping her with whatever task Shigaraki had given her, getting revenge on the people who’d put her in that previous state. Toga had left before you, going back to Shigaraki, while you continued to test the limits of your quirk.

And that’s where Miya found you, with a smile on your face throwing men twice your size like ants across the room. You’d found out later those were his men; but he couldn’t have cared less at the time.

And then your quirk took a turn for the worse. You lost control, woke up from it surrounded by a pile of broken bodies. Miya had comforted you.

You stopped talking abruptly, remembering the way Miya had held you—convincing you those men would’ve killed you if given the chance. It made your skin crawl. They were his men after all; he should know. Dabi had listened to your story in silence.

“Do you know Miya’s quirk?” He asked.

“He never told me.” I was always by his side, and he never told me. “I’m not even sure why I went with him after that. It was like I thought he could control it, my quirk.”

“Didn’t he want you to use it?” Dabi’s hand paused its movement on your thigh.

“Yes.” That’s why I don’t know why I went with him. “Toga didn’t find out what happened after she left till later; but by then I was in too deep with Miya for her to convince me to join her instead, ‘if I was going to be a villain’ as she put it.”

“Miya’s in with the hero’s too.” You went on. “He pays off the board in charge. That’s one of the reasons I’ve never disagreed with what the league is doing. I don’t think it’s a bad idea to rearrange the hero society. It’s like politics—entirely corrupted.”

“He mainly runs drugs doesn’t he.”

“Yeah. I think it’s just fun for him. He always seemed bored—like he was looking for something new to play with. He liked that I confirmed his position at the top. None of the other bosses wanted to have it out with me. He kept me closer than Sting. He’s always let her go out on her own; but he really did keep me on a leash.”

Maybe you really should be more suspicious of Miya. If he kept you so close all the time…couldn’t he have had something to do with it? With all the violent things you’d done. But it was still you. Your hands. “Does Shigaraki think Miya wants to run the drug Overhaul created?”

“Yeah.” Dabi didn’t sound like he agreed.

“I wouldn’t put it past him; but he also doesn’t have whatever Overhaul had to make the bullets. I don’t think it’d be worth it to him.”

“Shigaraki knows how to hold a grudge. Even if Miya’s done with him, Shigaraki won’t be with him. Shigaraki wants to be at the head of the underworld to accomplish his ever shifting goal, Miya competes with that.” Dabi summarized.

“So, you think he’ll still help me.”

“I think he’s going to see this thing through with Miya until the end whether you’re there or not.”

“So, he’ll just welcome my help.” You corrected yourself. “I should probably talk to Shigaraki. Miya isn’t going to stay out of the picture for much longer—he wants his dog back.”

You leaned back off Dabi. Not expecting him to reply. You had a feeling it was late and seeing Shigaraki wasn’t going to happen tonight. When you looked at Dabi his face was tight, even silent you wondered if Dabi didn’t like you referring to yourself as Miya’s dog.

You slid your hand onto his cheek, turning his face toward you. He gave to the pressure surprisingly easily, like he wasn’t really paying attention. Other than Toga, no one had ever been this off guard around you. You wondered what he was thinking. Wondered if he could read your mind any better than you could his—or if you were just as much of a mystery. You even wondered why he came out here in the first place. You brought your lips to his because you wanted to. Because you were tired of thinking about Miya. Because you wanted to know if he’d let you. And because part of you thought he might like it too.

You kissed him softly, lips only meeting his for a moment before you pulled away, hand falling back from his cheek before he had time to react—his fingers still tracing invisible patterns on your thigh. You stood, leaving Dabi on the roof as you made your way back to his apartment and into his bed.

You weren’t sure when Dabi came down; but at some point, you woke up to the bed shifting beneath you as Dabi climbed into the bed beside you—careful not to touch you.

You wouldn’t have cared if he had.

You woke up with your fingers twisted in a tight grip of what you initially assumed was the bed sheets, something which wasn’t entirely out of the norm for you. However, when your grip tightened absentmindedly as you woke up, you realized what you had a hold of felt more like a t-shirt than sheets and your forehead was pressed against something that felt an awful lot like someone’s chest.

You opened your eyes, releasing your grip on Dabi’s shirt and trying to scoot away from your position curled against his chest—praying he was still asleep. He wasn’t.

“Well good morning doll.” Dabi’s thoroughly entertained voice mocked you. “You know you weren’t clinging onto my shirt until I tried to get out of bed earlier.”

“Your apartment’s cold and you’re like a space heater.” You said without missing a beat, rolling farther away from Dabi. You looked up at him, at the smirk he wore on his face from his position propped up on one elbow. “But sounds like you let me keep you from getting out of bed; you haven’t gone soft on me, have you Dabi?”

Dabi leaned over; his hand finding your waist beneath the sheets—dragging your body back beneath his as he placed his knees on either side of you. His face pausing just above yours. “Why would I want to get out of bed when I have something as hot as you pulling me back in?”

Dabi was harder to trip up than you were.

“Sorry to be a tease; but I was just using you as my own personal heating blanket.” You slid your hands beneath his shirt like you were trying to demonstrate how cold they were—they weren’t.

“Bullshit.” Dabi leaned closer to you like he was going to kiss you; but you kept talking, hands falling back from beneath his shirt.

“Wasn’t I supposed to give you your clothes back?” You reached down to the hem of his t-shirt you were wearing, sliding the fabric up over your head and tossing it to the side.

Dabi’s azure eyes raked across your body as he responded. “Those boxers are mine too.”

You didn’t hesitate, sliding the boxers down your legs in the next moment. Parting your legs slightly beneath him. “You really do wake up horny, don’t you?”

Dabi moved his knee, pressing it down between your legs, spreading them further. His hand shifting from beside your face to your waist, trailing down the side of your body and across your stomach. You knew you were practically begging to be fucked when you moaned the moment his hand barely brushed the heat between your legs.

You smirked, enjoying the almost pained look on Dabi’s face. “Only when you’re fucking striping in my bed.”

“I was just returning your clothes.” You said innocently; but your face was anything but as you moaned again, bucking your hips against his knee—rubbing your cunt across his thigh. You were just enjoying teasing him; but grinding against his bare thigh felt surprisingly good, just enough pressure to tease you. You continued to grind against him; his hand on your waist as you moved.

“And yesterday?” Dabi’s eyebrow raised, but his lips were tense.

“I was just healing where I bit you.” You reached your arms up around his neck, pulling his face closer to you.

“You already told that tale once before (Y/N).” Dabi’s lips neared yours. “Why don’t you just admit how much I turn you on; and maybe I’ll let you come on my thigh like the good little slut you are.”

“Okay.” You said, trailing your tongue across his lower lip. “I admit it. You turn me on Dabi. Just being around you makes me fucking horny. But I don’t think you’re going to be able to sit there and just let me ride your thigh. I think you’re going to cave. I think you’re going to fuck me.”

“It’s a bet doll.” Dabi’s voice was like ice as he slid his knee forward, bringing his thigh closer to you—putting more pressure on your clit as you slid against him, causing an actual moan to leave your mouth as heat built between your legs.

Dabi smirked, kissing you—sliding his tongue into your mouth and along your own. His hand moving from your hip to your breast as he kissed you. His fingers trailing across the bud of your nipple lightly until it hardened. Dabi bit your lip, dragging it down before his mouth moved to your ear. His teeth going to work there next as he pinched your nipple roughly, pulling against it.

You own pace against his thigh quickened. The movement beginning to sound wet as you were unwilling to slow your pace—the pressure feeling too good. “Let me hear that voice of yours (Y/N). Tell me how fucking good my thigh feels. I bet my dick would feel even better inside that cunt of yours. That’s what you really want isn’t it”

“Why don’t you just fuck me then.” You purred.

“You’re going to do it yourself.”

You ignored him, bringing your own hands up between his thighs—dragging your fingers teasingly across the bulge in his pants, leaving him to hiss. You gripped his girth through the fabric of his boxers, stroking his cock once, twice.

“Please Dabi.” You moaned. “I want it.”

Dabi didn’t respond; his hand leaving your breast to grab your wrists, pinning both of your arms above your head. Dabi leaned his mouth to your ear again; the hand which was previously propping him up trailing down across your stomach. “Come on my thigh, and then maybe I’ll consider it.”

His hand gripped your waist, driving you faster against his thigh as he kissed you again—his tongue even sloppier than before, trailing saliva between you both as you started to lose your reserve. The arousal between your legs unbearable. Your breath was falling verbally from your lips as you pressed yourself harder against his thigh, actively trying to find release.

“Now you’re trying doll.” Dabi kept kissing you, even as you lost the ability to kiss him back. Your lips becoming a swollen mess as he continued biting you.

“Dabi, Fuck.” You groaned against his lips as your orgasm teetered just out of reach—all the nerves in your body on fire. You were becoming desperate. “Dabi please, just touch me, my clit, finger me—anything.”

Dabi chuckled, clearly enjoying torturing you. “Weren’t you going to come on my thigh?”

You struggled against his grip on your hands uselessly; and the smirk never left his face as he slid his knee farther back—out of your reach. He trailed his hand from your waist. The tips of his fingers barely running across your stomach from hip bone to hip bone. His eyes on the pained expression on your face as you squirmed beneath him, squirmed under the electric feel of his fingers. He trailed his fingers down, stopping just short of your clit. He brought his thumb down slowly, pressing against your clit lightly as he rolled his thumb across—too slow, far too slow.

Your hips bucked against your own conscious will and Dabi’s smile deepened. “Are you that desperate to come doll?”

“Yes.” You rasped.

“Then do it yourself.” Dabi said, sliding his knee back up into you—removing his hand.

You bucked against his thigh, grinding roughly against him as your body refused to give you release even as you became a panting mess. Dabi returned to biting you, your neck, ears, lips, chest; marking every inch of your body he could get his mouth on.

He finally let go of your wrist, silently giving you permission to finish yourself as he went back to kissing you—seeing how far he could get his tongue down your throat.

Your hips didn’t stop moving against him as you brought two of your own fingers to the slippery mess between your legs, finding your clit and rubbing hard and fast. Desperately wanting to come as you moaned into Dabi’s mouth.

There was no rhyme or reason to your movements as your mind blanked, giving over to the feel of your orgasm as you finally brought yourself over the edge. Your mouth gaping open as you moaned Dabi’s name, eyes closed. You felt Dabi spit into your mouth before he commented, his voice heavy. “That’s a good girl.”

Dabi’s lips trailed to your neck, sucking on your skin there as you lay all but lifeless beneath him, catching your breath, swallowing his spit. Dabi moved back, looking at you. His hand pulling his cock from his boxers.

He stroked himself once before he brought his heated palm down between your legs. His fingers sliding from your entrance to your clit, where he pressed down rubbing the swollen bud in teasing circles—preventing you from coming down from your orgasm. A rough moan rose from your throat as you squirmed beneath him, toes curling as he continued to play with you. Dabi slid his fingers lower, pressing the hilt of his palm against your clit as he easily slid two fingers into your cunt—your walls helplessly clinching around the digits.

He slid his fingers further into you, pressing against your g-spot roughly as you gasped. Dabi slid his fingers back from you; sliding his hand through the wet mess between your legs before bringing his hand back to his cock and stroking it slowly—his fingers wrapping up around the tip.

You just came and you still wanted him to fuck you. You couldn’t take your eyes off him—off him getting off to you. You almost didn’t even want to help him, almost. You wrapped your arms around Dabi’s neck, pulling him back down to you. His hands now on either side of you—his dick sliding against the moisture on your thighs.

“What do you want Dabi?” You said just before another voice sounded from the end of the bed.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Toga said in a way that sounded very far from apologetic. Her sudden appearance causing you to jump beneath Dabi, who was somehow thankfully still under his bed sheet—as his dick about slid into you with the movement, causing Dabi to wince.

“Toga get the fuck out of my apartment.” Dabi growled.

Toga clicked her tongue. “Sorry, can’t. Shigaraki’s waiting to talk to (Y/N).”

She sounded thoroughly entertained by her timing. “Or I could just tell him to come in?”

“I’m going to kill you.” Staying under the covers, Dabi rolled off you before throwing a pillow across the room at Toga, who was still standing in front of an open black hole.

Toga’s hair was up in the usual buns on the side of her head, but she wasn’t wearing a school uniform. Her outfit looking decidedly more casual. “And after I practically saved your life dragging you to (Y/N)’s apartment.” Toga feinted disbelief but didn’t last long before she returned to laughter.

If it was anyone but Toga in the apartment, your face would’ve been beat red. But it was Toga; and she was making you laugh. You turned to the side to whisper in Dabi’s ear. “That’s what you get for not just fucking me.” A sly smile on your face as you slid the palm of your finger up the underside of his cock.

He cursed.

You reached out from under the covers to grab your discarded t-shirt, sliding it back on beneath the covers before you got up—grabbing your duffel bag and going to the bathroom to change while Dabi yelled at Toga to ‘at least turn around’ for him to put clothes on and she fake cried about ‘missing all the fun’.

 Shigaraki had you meet him in what appeared to be a small, normal bar, at least under your first impression when you stepped through the weird black hole—which had a texture that felt like fog clinging to you as you moved. Overall, you weren’t a fan of the black hole travel.

“I feel wet now.” You griped quietly to Dabi who laughed.

You’d made him and Toga walk through first. Toga had reached back to grab you—sensing your hesitation.

“You get use to it.” Dabi commented.

“Use to what?” Toga was oblivious. She’d probably never thought twice about what you considered to be a sketchy black hole.

Regardless, it was over now. You walked up between Dabi and Toga, looking at the blue-gray haired Shigaraki—who was perched rather informally on a bar stool at odds with who you presumed to be Kurogiri behind the bar, standing absurdly well postured—face hidden behind the same eerie fog. You wondered if his eyes were actually yellow.

This was the first time you’d seen Shigaraki without the suspiciously corpse looking hand covering his face; even with the shitty lighting of the bar, which was all but nonexistence, the man looked tired. And not in a way that was fixable by a good night’s sleep. People in Miya’s group had always described him as crusty; something which led you to believe he’d be all dried skin and bleeding lips. But the marks on his lips didn’t look like they’d be fixed by Chapstick—they looked like rather old scars, like he’d been subconsciously biting his lips his whole life.

He still had nothing on Dabi’s scars.

You took another step past Dabi and Toga toward Shigaraki; Dabi took a step forward as well, in a way that seemed subconscious—his face remaining bored. Toga bounced off to another bar stool, talking quietly to Kurogiri who handed her a glass.

“Shigaraki.” You said by way of greeting, nodding your head; your hands still tucked into the pockets of your red leather jacket.

“Miya’s vampire, you’re not what I expected.” Shigaraki’s voice was guarded.

You shrugged. “That’s part of my appeal.” No one ever knew what was coming.

“Your quirk?” Shigaraki leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs.

“Unreliable.”

You felt Dabi’s arm brush yours.

“Then how can you help me?” Shigaraki’s voice took a violent turn as he leaned back again, his hand slapping against the bar counter in a way that felt more like habit than intimidation.

Either way—you didn’t flinch. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not a good look on you.”

Shigaraki’s eyes narrowed. He wanted to be clear he was in charge. He didn’t have to be so testy—you didn’t care who was in charge.

“If you really want me to list the ways I can help: information, familiarity with Miya, the sheer weight of the statement that Miya’s vampire joined the league.” You stopped talking, watching Shigaraki as he smiled.

“Join the league?” He clarified.

“Okay.” You agreed without hesitation.

Dabi spun to look at you, and you turned your head to meet his gaze—which was visibly surprised for once. Enough so that you thought even someone who didn’t know him would be able to tell.

“Nothing would piss Miya off more.” You said to Dabi smiling devilishly. “If I’m entering the game, I’m entering to end it. Miya’s good at hiding and I’m here to lure him out.”

“And then we can deal with him.” Shigaraki was on the same page as you.

“So how do you want to introduce the underworld to your new vampire?” You asked lasciviously.

You could still feel Dabi’s eyes on you.

“Toga, you want to go play with Deku?” Shigaraki smiled.

 Although Shigaraki made it sound like you would be immediately departing to go mess with Midoriya, that was in fact not what happened. Toga wanted everything to be perfect and insisted on planning out every detail of what had previously sounded like a very simple assignment of “playing with Deku.” Over a week had passed and Toga still hadn’t said anything more on the subject, like she didn’t want to share him with anyone else. Shigaraki didn’t seem to care either, or at least you hadn’t heard anything from him. Maybe Dabi had.

You were still staying in Dabi’s apartment; and although Miya hadn’t shown himself in the slightest—Dabi had kept you more than distracted from any thoughts on the matter.

“How is Toga still not ready to go and mess with a hero who’s name literally means useless person.” You threw yourself onto the couch with more force than was really necessary, griping.  

“You know he’s All Might’s student, right?” Dabi said from the kitchen.

“Yes.” You groaned, sitting up straighter to look toward Dabi, who wasn’t currently wearing a shirt. “I know he’s not actually useless. Didn’t he get Overhaul arrested?”

Mmmhhm. Dabi confirmed your guess.

“I can’t sit in this apartment another week.” All jokes and distractions aside, sitting here was putting you on edge—like you were just waiting for Miya to make the first move instead.

“I’m not keeping you here.” Dabi said as the refrigerator door closed, his voice indifferent as ever. He wasn’t even standing up straight—the picture of ease.

He wasn’t wrong, Dabi had not once said you couldn’t go outside. In fact, he had tried to get you to go outside multiple times; but you were worried about leading Miya to his apartment. You said you weren’t going to leave Miya in peace if he wasn’t going to leave you alone, but that didn’t stop the unease you felt at seeing him again—at having to face that part of your past.

Sitting still made you feel uneasy; going to look for him made you feel uneasy. You couldn’t win. Not to mention the unease of what would happen if you used your quirk. And the unease of how much of a sitting duck you would be if you didn’t.

Part of you just wanted to scream. It was easier not to worry about anything when you were angry.

“What you don’t enjoy my company?” You mocked offense, ignoring your actual worries. Ignoring the constant tide of anxiety that had been lulling about in your stomach all week—rising and falling, but never disappearing.

Dabi sat on the couch beside you, turning the TV on with his free hand, a beer in the other. He didn’t even respond; only raising an eyebrow because he knew you knew that wasn’t true—as if the hickeys across your body weren’t evidence enough. Clearly, Dabi enjoyed your company.

Dabi didn’t even look at the TV, not that you were either. He turned the beer up, drinking slowly like he was waiting for you to admit what you were actually thinking. Or maybe he just didn’t have anything to say.

After a moment he spoke. “If you don’t want to wait on Toga, we can just go cause a scene somewhere.”

“Shigaraki?” Would he not care.

“Isn’t going to care. He was just throwing out an idea.”

“Why do I get the feeling that Toga has just been using this as an excuse to follow Deku around for a week.” You could even picture it. Her stalking him for a week.

A smirk played across Dabi’s face. “I have no doubt.” He went back to drinking his beer, the bottle emptying surprisingly quickly.

You found yourself wondering how many bodies Toga had worn in the past week of radio silence. She’d probably be happier left to her own devices—the people whose blood she’d been stealing probably felt differently on the matter though.

“Miya has a club he runs near here…” You trailed off. If you were going to get the ball rolling.

“That would make more of a statement than messing with Deku.” Dabi set his beer bottle down, sounding bored. “I don’t see why Shigaraki would care. He’ll probably like this better. I’ll run it past him.”

Mhhmm. You hummed, staring at the TV absentmindedly. You were going to have to use your quirk or no one would know who you were.

“Why don’t you practice?” Dabi spoke up again.

You turned toward him. “Practice what?”

“Using your quirk.” Dabi said bluntly, never moving from his relaxed position on the couch—one arm draped across the back, the other on the armrest; one leg propped up on the coffee table, another on the floor.

Because I don’t want to accidentally kill you, you thought. “No.” You said stubbornly instead.

“I’ll help you.” Dabi continued anyway, still unfazed.

That’s what I’m afraid of. You didn’t answer.

“(Y/N). I’ve been around you while you used your quirk twice now, and both times not only did you heal me, but you neither killed the person attacking you nor did you attack anyone unprovoked.”

“What’s your point.” You said more sharply than you intended, looking back at the TV screen like you weren’t listening to him. Like you hadn’t also thought about it, about how weird it was.

“You really don’t think Miya has anything to do with you losing control? You said yourself you don’t know his quirk.” Dabi’s voice also grew louder and he grabbed your wrist trying to regain your attention, interrupting his relaxed stance on the couch.

At the end of the day whether Miya was involved or not, your actions were your own. Who’s to say you wouldn’t randomly lose control again; maybe you just hadn’t drank enough blood yet. You looked at Dabi, eyes narrowing, meeting his tight gaze. “Do you have a death wish?”

“You’re not going to kill me.” Dabi said flatly, fingers still firmly around your wrist between you.

“Does Shigaraki even trust me.” You had a feeling you remaining at Dabi’s apartment wasn’t purely for his own entertainment.

“No. But I do.” Dabi spoke in the same icy tone, at conflict with his words which caused you to pause.

It probably shouldn’t have surprised you. After all even if Shigaraki had told Dabi to watch you, he’d been letting you stay in his apartment after you bit him twice—and not once had you seen him so much as flinch near you. Not even when your teeth were rather close to a certain intimate place on his body.

But it surprised you regardless. And you didn’t know what to say. You opened your mouth and then closed it, not having a comeback for once in your life.

“If you never use your quirk when you’re not actually in danger then you’re never going to know how much control you have over it.” Dabi continued, his tone less icy. He let go of your wrist.

He kept watching you, eyes narrowing slightly like he wanted to say something else.

You wanted to ask what he was thinking.

You both remained silent.

“You know when I bit you at my apartment it wasn’t premeditated. My original goal was just to break the window so you would notice something was up and come take care of Sting. I didn’t lure you up there just to drink your blood.” It had all been a spur of the moment decision. You hadn’t stopped to think about the consequences of if you turned on Dabi instead. Maybe that was your problem; maybe you’d just had too much free time this past week to stoke your fears, overthinking everything.

“What made you so sure I would come and help you?” Dabi said coyly, his hand snaking around your waist to drag you against him as he relaxed back onto the couch.

You’d never even thought about it.

“You didn’t think about it, did you?” Dabi continued like he wanted to know what you were thinking. “You didn’t think about what would happen if you drank my blood either, did you?”

“No. I really didn’t.” You started to stand up from the couch, trying to distance yourself from the conversation, but Dabi didn’t let you—pulling you down into his lap instead.

His arms slid across your waist, down between your thighs lightly. Your back to him as he brought his mouth to your ear. “There wasn’t a moment when I thought you were going to attack me (Y/N).”

His thumbs rubbed small circles against your legs as you answered darkly. “I’m sure Toga thought the same thing.” And there it was, the reason you knew you weren’t just overthinking everything. The reason you couldn’t just accept that everything was Miya’s fault.

Even when you were out of control, you’d never thought you’d turn on your friend that easily—like it was nothing.

“And was Miya there for that?” Dabi kissed your neck, biting the bruise that was already there like he wanted the mark to stay permanently.

You didn’t reply, because he already knew the answer. Saying instead. “Do you really expect anyone in Miya’s club to take me seriously if I’m covered in hickeys?”

“No, I expect them to keep their hands to themselves.” Dabi replied smoothly.

“So, instead of Miya’s vampire, I’m supposed to be your vampire?”

“Wrong again.” Dabi’s breath danced against your ear.

You turned your head to look at him; your chin against your shoulder. Dabi was smiling lazily. “Then what do you want them to think?”

“Honestly doll, I couldn’t give a fuck less about what they think.”

“I don’t believe you.” You replied, your own hands sliding on top of Dabi’s on your thighs. Subsequently noting how long his slender fingers were, noting how you wanted to intertwine yours with his.

“You’re your own vampire (Y/N). But aside from that quirk of yours…” Dabi’s voice trailed as he eyed your mouth, mind clearly in the gutter.

You stood, gripping Dabi’s hands to tug him up behind you. “Don’t get distracted.”

“And why shouldn’t I get distracted.” Dabi’s voice continued to dip lower, using his grip on your hands to pull you back toward him—your face now against his chest.

“So, I can test your little theory that I have more control over my quirk than I think I do.” You freed your dominate hand from him just to slide it up his chest slowly, noting the dips of his muscles as you pushed against him—heading to the fire escape, realizing it was already dark out.

You had a feeling Dabi had just been trying to coax you into the idea of quirk practice in the first place. You guessed it worked. You were going to have to stop overthinking your quirk at some point, if you were ever actually going to fight Miya.

Part Three: Oblivion

#dabi x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #dabi #smut #frostbitten fruit