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dabixr · 16 days ago

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⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ a starved breath.

dabi / tōya todoroki x gender neutral reader; fluff ( hurt / comfort if you squint ), mild mentions of abuse, mild suicidal ideation, pre-established relationship, authors hcs used. if you need anything else tagged, please let me know!

i love writing interactions with dabi more realistically, medical wise. please be prepared for that in all of my dabi works! it is a little awkwardly fit in, but that's on purpose. injuries aren't comfortable.

dabi hated being touched. as a child, it was a cruel reminder of things he wouldn't get unless he was crying by his brothers side. as an adult, it was just a safety hazard. fingers slicked with grease, dirt, and blood touching fragile, rotten flesh? it would definitely end in an unplanned death. and believe him, he had a plan to die.

or, he did anyways. there were always exceptions to rules, bumps in the road that took a perfectly crafted plan, one that he obsessed over for years, and made it violently topple down in seconds like it was a house of cards that had just been beaten with a rock.

you were his rock.

if anyone else did this, he would snarl and threaten to harm them. or just raise his fist and set their face on fire. but you? he only flinchs in mild surprise when you come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso like he belongs in your lap.

when dabi leans his head back and presses his nose into the crook of your neck, he finds himself agreeing. he belongs here.

“good morning, baby. you’re up early.” you mutter, twisting both so you can kiss his forehead and give him enough access to your neck that he can inhale against it.

“couldn’t sleep. irritated.” dabi replies with half - answers, lacking the energy and will alike to really put effort into it.

he relishes in the way your hands find their way to the back of his head, carefully avoiding the skin grafts that seem like they're everywhere. itchy on his skin, heatedly harassing what isn't dead as though his mind, body, core, and soul aren't constantly on fire.

...though maybe it isn't so bad right now, when your fingers are icy from the combination of a night under the fan and the disgusting - smelling sanitizer on the counter. when your touch holds him together like dabi is a structure that’ll fall apart if the pressure lets up.

when you hold him together with the little things he’d never let anyone else do.

when you kiss, and dabi lets you hold his face, and you press so gently against it like he really, really deserves to be treated so kindly.

when you help dabi redye his hair, and he really relaxes into it while your fingers card through the whitening strands, careful not to let any dye drip from his hair to his skin. it stains, its not clean, and you know that he wouldn't be able to stand it.

its the moments where dabi comes back to your apartment after a long day of dealing with idiots on the streets to find you there, promising a cold bath and comfort food because its just one of those days where he needs to exist and stop struggling with things he doesn't want to struggle with.

its when he can take care of you like you take care of him, because being useful is something that sunk into his skin and then carved itself into his bones the first time a fist struck his unmarred skin. and while he has since learned you will never be a repeat of those times, it still lingers like a waiting disease.

really, its just you. every touch, every kiss, every mumbled word on the rare occasion he isn't okay with being held or you're just a bit too overstimulated by the horrid - smelling medical supplies that you need just can't apply them onto your body. every unspoken thing that comes with your actions—

‘i still love you’

‘i adore you’

‘just because im overwhelmed right now doesn't mean i dont like you anymore’

he cherishes how easy it is to exist around you, without stressing over something like that. everything you do is a reminder of your love for him, and sparks in his heart a love that moulds him into a person. into something that doesn't only exist to find revenge and then die.

...oh.

thats it, isn't it?

you make him want to live. you make him want to rearrange his plans, make room for a future with you. to, for once in his pathetic fucking life, take care of someone with gentle, kind things instead of with an inferno.

you’ve given him a purpose. and he’ll tell you that when he realizes it, and the day after, and every day that follows that.

but today, he doesn't. today, he basks in your attention, knowing it’ll turn into a domestic breakfast, into a bath, and then a goodbye that’s said like he really, really dreads the thought of being away from you for those six - seven hours of every day when you both depart for work.

today, he loves you. one day, in the near future, he’ll live for you.

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