#todoroki touya x smut

[inkykeiji]

i can taste your skin in my teeth

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

notes: waaaaah finally!!! after working on this piece for nearly two years, it is finally finished!! this piece is the second part of my tag you’re it series and it deals with some pretty dark and heavy subject matter, so please heed the warnings carefully! also, there is a LOT of smut in this, all clumped together relatively close to the beginning so beware of that i guess! | part one | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, power play, blood, physical fighting, verbal fighting, manipulation, toxic relationships, size kink/size difference, rough sex, pussy slapping, dumbification, praise, degradation as a form of emotional release/therapy, thigh riding, dacryphilia, cum feeding/snowballing, minimal prep, the faintest hint of mindbreak, marking, implied car crash/accident, physical abuse + mentions of physical abuse, graphic depictions of drug use and addiction, drugs in general, needles (heroin)

words: 25.6k

synopsis:

It’s incredible, the way his body so readily reacts to your confessions—shoulders curling in a protective shield around your trembling frame, palms grabbing fistfuls of your flesh and tugging, lips brushing yours as he sucks the proclamations from your mouth—an instinctual response he’s hopeless to hold any authority over whatsoever; a natural inclination that had lay dormant, slumbering in his soul, patiently waiting to be awoken by you.

Because he loves you, too.

He tells you as much, in a soft, hushed voice, vulnerable and cracking. It’s been a long time since he’s said those words to anyone, and although they feel rusty on his tongue, creaking under the weight of authenticity, of pure truth, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

Dabi has lost all semblance of time.

He doesn’t remember how long it’s been since you called, going through his transactions blinded with rage, nostrils flared and teeth clenched, your quivering words, stuffed full of tears and terror, ricocheting off the walls of his skull and reverberating against the bone, more and more and more until his ears are ringing and his heart is charred with scalding anger and it’s all he can fucking think about.  

He doesn’t remember how the deal went, doesn’t remember if it went well or if he blew it—not that any of it even matters anymore. There will always be another slimy boss looking to recruit a decent and loyal dealer; they’re a dime a dozen.  

You are not.

He doesn’t remember driving to the house you and your brother share, either, but now, somehow, he’s made it here, standing on the small slab of concrete outside that white front door. Trembling hands rifle through his pockets in search of your house key—the one he had persuaded you into giving him a few weeks ago, for emergencies such as these, for fear of the absolute worst.

It’s all been a hazy, fuzzy blur, like his mind is a camera that’s been knocked out of focus, everything feeling slightly surreal, body running on pure instinct until the click of the lock sliding out of place snaps him back into kilter, everything suddenly sharp, crisp, clear.

Something slams—the muted yet colossal bang! of a brass doorknob making it’s mark in cream drywall, sending gentle tremors through the whole structure—and bounces a few times against the small crater it’s created, mingling with heavy echoes of rubber soles colliding with pristine hardwood.

Keigo crowds his vision in an instant, wildly swinging curled fists in Dabi’s vague direction, so messy and uncoordinated Dabi can’t help but laugh.

It’s a callous little sound, nothing more than a few notes playing at the back of his throat, grim and cruel as broad shoulders roll once.

Bone knocks against cartilage half a second later, sharp knuckles striking soft, pliable tissue hard enough that Keigo stumbles backwards, tripping over his own ankles and landing on his ass, blood cascading over his bitten-raw lips, collecting in his cupid’s bow and trickling down his chin.

A large hand, strong and calloused and unlike his own, tangles nimble fingers adorned with flashes of precious metals and stains of gleaming crimson—gold, not silver, yet much like his own—in his hair and yanks, forcing him to his feet through sheer will and power, impelling him to confront, to be condemned with and cornered by, glowing, glaring sapphire.

“Where is she?”

And despite his heaving chest, rising and falling harshly under his sharp, deep breaths, Dabi’s voice is calm, cold, almost serene.

“Y-You’re not taking her,” Keigo manages to spit through the sticky blood flowing into his mouth, staining the lines of his teeth and the curves of his gums.

A rumble behind a cage of ribs, another punch, square in the jaw this time and hard enough to dislocate it, Dabi’s fingers still threaded securely through tousled gold keeping Keigo standing and steady.

“Like fucking hell I’m not,” Dabi snarls, nostrils flaring, that serene mask already beginning to crack as hot lava boils underneath.

“I wo—” he coughs around the word, sentence drowning in blood. “Won’t let you.”

“Yeah?” Another blow, another breath. “You gonna stop me?”

Short nails sink into the flesh of the hand knotted in Keigo’s hair, a pathetic attempt to claw himself free from its grip. But it’s no use, Dabi’s fingers rooted firmly in shimmering curls, keeping him captive as his knuckles collide with Keigo’s mouth, bottom lip catching on top incisors and splitting the skin.

“Please, you—you can’t,” Keigo nearly whines, a rush of tears flooding his eyes, diluting the steadily pouring blood to a watery pink. “You can’t take her from me, Dabi. I need her.”

“Need,” Dabi snorts out the word, eyes rolling in pitiful disbelief. “You wanna talk about needing something? Huh? Which one do you need more: your baby sister, or heroin?”

“What?”

“Either she comes with me, or you don’t get your fix this week. Your choice.”

“I—You can’t—” Keigo sputters, head shaking in jerky little movements, still trapped in Dabi’s grasp, vying fingers coming to scrape at the other man’s wrist again.

“Oh, but I can, can’t I?” Dabi tilts his head in mock question, eyes twinkling as he stares down at his newest masterpiece, a twisted little smirk crawling onto his face. “Make a decision, Keigo.”

Shame sludges through Keigo’s veins, thick and acidic as his chin trembles and his eyes squeeze shut, jaw clenching with a thick swallow.

But he doesn’t need to say anything; Dabi already knows his answer.

Meanwhile, the sounds of their scuffle seeps through the thick white wood of your bedroom door, muted and muffled, words dulled to caustic, rancid lilts that bear little semblance to what they’re supposed to be, your ears only able to discern their voices, their tones—Dabi’s furious, Keigo’s terrified.

You hasten to pack the last of your belongings, fearing that your boyfriend might truly murder your brother if you don’t appear soon.

And it’s hard. It’s harder than you expected it to be.

It’s hard to leave him, bloodied and bruised and broken, gilded curls matted with sweat and scarlet, stray strands sticking to his salty cheeks.

It’s hard to take your Daddy’s outstretched hand, soiled with the blood of your brother much like your brother’s hands are still stained with that of your own, dried streaks of russet painted across smooth skin, tarnishing the once bright silver of his rings.

It’s hard to walk away without a single glance back, to walk out of that little white house with its white door and white windowsills and white panelled walls while Keigo lays in a crumpled heap on the floor, his hoarse pleads of don’t go, sweetheart, please, don’t go, you’re all I have, and cracked whimpers of your name following you on your way out, words clinging to your skin like a sticky film in permanence, soaking through your flesh to poison your blood and permeate your brain as they fuse to the walls of your skull. 

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

They’re uncontainable, those half-stifled sobs that keep shattering to pieces in your chest as you try to hold them back, to push them down, to keep them restrained just until you get to the safety and solitude of the Eldorado.

Dabi’s got both arms wrapped around you as he walks you hastily towards his car, grip tightening with each shredded cry that wracks your body, lips murmuring sweet nothings into your hair as they press endless kisses to the crown of your head.

Any attempt to deposit you on the passenger seat is immediately abandoned as you cling to him with a sharp whine of protest, dainty fingers twisting almost violently in the fabric of his hoodie.

“Okay, okay,” he’s pacifying, nodding to himself before he tucks you beneath his chin, holding you tightly to his chest as he maneuvers the two of you to the drivers side, fluidly sliding into the vehicle with you still tangled up in his limbs and shuffling you into a straddling position on his thighs.

The steering wheel digs into your spine, grinding against each notch of vertebrae as you wiggle on your Daddy’s lap, attempting to smush yourself closer to him. A large hand is roaming your back at once, pressing you against him in an attempt to protect your backbone while his other hand hastily fiddles with the seat adjustment, thighs tensing beneath you as he uses his feet to push the seat back.

For a moment, everything is nearly silent, the full weight of the situation settling into place, dense and suffocating and padded by Dabi’s jagged breaths and your poorly suppressed sniffles.

And then, it breaks.

And, oh, how you cry, chest stammering sobs that send ripples through your flesh, that shudder your bones and stutter your breath, until your eyes sting and your head pounds and your throat aches and your lips crack.

You cry until you can’t anymore, until the tears turn torrid, leaving behind sticky trails of salt to stain your cheeks.

And throughout it all, Dabi holds you, safe and secure against his vibrating chest, palms pressed to your heaving back and nose buried in your damp hair, softly humming, his strong arms keeping your bones from splintering under the weight of your agony.

“Hey,” he whispers after your weeping has calmed to hiccups, leaning back a little and shrugging a shoulder to nudge your face from his chest. “Look at me, precious.”

His features twist into a wince as you obey, peeking up at him from your sanctuary, eyes swollen and lips licked raw.

Calloused palms cup your jaw, more tender than anyone’s ever touched you before, as if you’re physically delicate—one careless action and you might smash to pieces—and tip your head further upward, rough skin contradicting the gentleness of his actions.

Tilting your face to the right, Dabi reveals your injured cheek, a sharp hiss sucked through his teeth at the full, unadulterated sight of it, his grimace deepening.

You can feel it below you, the way tremors of fury course through his veins, can see it in the air around him, the way it pops and crackles with potent energy, ebbing and flowing with the blazing sapphire of his eyes.

“That fucking bastard,” he chokes out, voice fading to a snarl.

It’s obvious he has more to say, the methodical flexing of his jaw and violent bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he repeatedly shoves the words back down his throat serving as a testament to this fact.

And although he doesn’t vocalize them, you can hear them, rattling around rancorously in your head, ghosts of sentiments he’s expressed before—I told you I’d fucking kill him if he put his goddamn hands on you again, baby, and I fucking meant it. I’m gonna fucking slaughter him, gut him from groin to sternum and watch all his insides spill out; a slow, tortuous death for what he’s done to you…

But you’re thankful he refrains from speaking such notions anyway, sparing you the gory, grotesque details of everything he wishes to do to your older brother; now is hardly the appropriate time for such vile things.

Instead, he clears his throat, scrambles the letters around and exhales a singular, shaky breath from his nose.

“Look, I…” he begins, then falters, eyes intently searching your face before they dart away, his front teeth nibbling at the thin skin of his bottom lip. “I wish I could take you hundreds of thousands of miles away from here, so far that this all becomes nothing more than a distant, hazy nightmare. I—I can’t do that right now, because I just don’t—I just don’t have the money yet, but…”

He halts again, sounding truly regretful, gazing at you through his lashes almost as if he’s embarrassed, as if he’s worried it won’t be enough, or it’ll be too silly. A hand, small and gentle, finds its dutiful place on his cheek, cupping his strong jaw; a silent plea to continue. His chest rises with an inhale, and he nods once before continuing, powering through the words.

“But I can offer you an escape, even if it’s just for a little while.” A thumb skims across your unmarred cheekbone, then over your bottom lip, azure eyes tracing his actions before finding your gaze. “Will you let me do that for you, baby girl?”

Yes, your nodding your head in his loose grasp, a fresh wave of tears lacquering your eyes. Yes, of course you will, you always will.

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

The sun has retreated below the horizon by the time Dabi pulls into the nearly empty parking lot, a healthy slice of moon bathing the indigo sky in flares of silver, beams distorted by a veil of clouds.

The Mint Motel stands crumbling and cracked on the other side of the city—far away from that small white house with it’s little white fixtures, far away from Dabi’s dingy little bachelor apartment three floors above the convenience store.

Fog diffuses the flickering neon sign, casting a haloed glow around the bright blue VACANCY, soft and surreal as you both walk back from the front office, the Honeymoon Suite key pressed tightly to Dabi’s palm. The wet, warped asphalt beneath your feet shimmers in the dim light, pitch black catching the waning fluorescent rays.  

The suite’s bathroom—all gleaming black ceramic and shining red acrylic—has you gasping in surprised delight, eyes glittering as they catch on the heart-shaped jacuzzi tub sitting lonely and empty in the corner, encased in a rectangle of black tile and surrounded by mirror-panelled walls.

Your soft noise garners Dabi’s attention, hands halting their rummaging through the cabinets and throwing a glance over his shoulder, a smirk spreading across his lips as he realizes what has you so enamoured.

“We’ll use that later, baby,” he promises as he turns back to his task, pulling a small first-aid kit from the bowels of the cupboard and tossing it on the counter. “But right now,” he begins, grunting a little as he pushes on his knees and stands. “Daddy needs to get you all cleaned up.”

Strong hands snake under your armpits, hefting you up and placing you on the edge of the countertop, sharp hipbones nudging your thighs open wider as he stands between them. A damp, soapy wad of gauze presses gently against your swollen cheek, sending little thorns of pain searing through your flesh, and a low whine catches in your throat, face jerking away instinctually.

“Shh, I know, I know,” Dabi murmurs as his free hand comes to cup the back of your head, holding you in place as he dabs at the wounds again. “It hurts, baby, Daddy knows. But it has to be done.”

The impact of Keigo’s rings has left two large, deep gashes across your right cheekbone, blood crusting around the wounds in ugly, uneven mounds. The bleeding has mostly stopped by this point, dried strokes of rust and crimson smeared across your cheeks and jaw, Dabi being mindful not to displace the scabs as his hands work.

Dark sapphire eyes, turbulent with a storm of fury and contempt raging in their irises, stay diligently trained on his task, angular jaw clenching as molars gnash together behind his lips, grinding all of the hateful words he wishes to speak to dust and exhaling them in sharp breaths out his nose.

But despite the terrifying malice blazing in his gaze, the thumb on the back of your head is tender, loving, rhythmically petting your hair as the other cleans, a small but appreciated comfort.

The pungent stench of alcohol stings your nose a few moments later, after Dabi has completed his initial cleansing, features contorted into a wince as you cower away from the smell.

Such a reaction has Dabi laughing a little—nothing more than a short chuckle, yet still enough to break through the hard emotion coating his face.

“This is going to burn,” he tells you honestly, though there are still glimmers of mirth playing in his eyes, voice morphing into that tooth-rotting condescension you’ve come to know so well. “But I want you to be a big girl and sit still for me, yeah?”

“No promises,” you grumble through a pout, eliciting a snort from your boyfriend.

“Dramatic little brat,” he huffs out through a grin.

Taking your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, Dabi holds you firmly in place, inhibiting you from squirming away as he begins his second round of cleansing.

He’s careful to only apply it to the cuts themselves, avoiding the surrounding sensitive skin while explaining that this isn’t technically necessary—the water and soap should’ve been enough to adequately clean the wounds—but he wants to be safe, he wants to be sure an infection won’t occur.  

Responding coos fall from his lips while he continues with his duty, each an acknowledgement of the small pained whimpers vibrating in your chest, procured by the waves of pinpricks that sprout through the wound with each blot of alcohol.

“Almost done, almost done,” he placates, throwing the soiled gauze on the counter next to your thigh. “Just a little bit longer, princess. You’re doing so well.”

Rough fingertips, pads stained pink with your diluted blood, slather glops of Polysporin over your cheek, glazing the lesions with the substance before taping thick bandages over them.

“There,” he says softly, eyes scanning over his handiwork, that storm dulled to a drizzle as he soaks it all in. Knuckles brush back strands of hair from your temples before skimming the curve of your cheek, gaze following their slow trajectory, their touch featherlight. He swallows thickly, voice coarse when he speaks again. “Good as new.”

This is the gentlest he’s ever been with you—this is the gentlest anyone has ever been with you—and something buried deep and dark inside of you breaks, fractures into sharp shards that pierce your organs, a dense ache radiating throughout your chest.

For the first time in your life, you are the one having your wounds tended to, taken care of, instead of the other way around.

You try to tell him this, but the words materialize into splintered sobs before they reach your lips, nothing more than an incomprehensible jumble of letters on your tongue.

But you don’t need to vocalize it—he knows.  

He knows, because he can see it: in the way appreciation gleams behind a thick shield of tears, in the way your fingers are tangling in his t-shirt, twisting in the fabric and tugging him closer, needing him closer, in the way your ankles are hooking around the backs of his thighs, clinging to him in every sense of the word.

Calloused palms cradle your jaw, heedful of your injured cheek as they drag your lips towards his own, mouths slotting together.  

Despite his tender actions, his kisses are anything but, saliva-soaked lips bruising in their fervour, mouths messily slotting together as they slip and slide, drool oozing from the corners to lacquer your chins and cheeks with shimmering spit. Nimble fingers dig into the back of your scalp, tugging you closer, closer, closer, noses mashed against one another as your tongues grind, hickory and Marlboros staining your flesh.  

You kiss him back just as voraciously, suddenly insatiable for his touch and his tongue, an urgent yearning to submerge yourself in him completely igniting at the core of your body, desperate to feel him surrounding you, intoxicating you, numbing you.

One set of fingers tangles in the tufts at the base of his neck as the other set, already knotted in the fabric of his t-shirt, give a harsh yank. Your teeth suck his bottom lip between their edges and sink into the plush flesh, savouring the groan that rumbles from his mouth into yours, a shiver creeping up the notches of his spine as he drags his lips free of its sharp captors, the ridges of your teeth scraping against it in the process.

The thighs cushioning his hips flex as you attempt to pull him closer, the ankles clasped around his legs tightening, heels digging into firm muscle.

He’s just as desperate to give you everything you’re craving, just as desperate to take away the anguish that has been instilled in you; to suck it from your mouth and soul in the form of precious little gasps and broken little whines, to store it safely in the depths of his lungs and the pit of his stomach and take the strain of its immense weight off your body, to share the burden of carrying it.

“I want this off,” he murmurs against your lips, hands pulling at the hoodie your body is currently drowning in—his hoodie, used to hide your marred face from the motel clerk at the front desk, since you had refused to wait for Dabi in the car, refused to be away from him for even a moment.

You obey immediately, retreating and lifting your arms, allowing Dabi to rid you of the garment, cautious of your injuries.

Taking your face between his palms again, sapphire eyes sweep across your face, gaze trailing after the crystalline tears that continue to drip down your cheeks, watching as they collect in small puddles along the edge of your jaw.

And, for once, Dabi does not find them agonizingly beautiful.

Not when they aren’t solely conjured up by him.

His tongue laves across your jaw in wide, sticky strokes, the muscle pressed flat to the bone as it mops up the salty little dewdrops, swallowing down ounces of your pain.

The repetitive rubbing of denim chafes the smooth skin of your inner thigh as Dabi ruts against it, action almost involuntary while he paints your neck in glistening saliva and blooms of violet, hard cock straining, hot and throbbing, against its confines.

A dainty hand snakes between your bodies to pick at his thick belt buckle, whining softly as nails scrabble against silver.

“What is it, baby?” he asks, a hint of teasing tinging his tone, though his voice holds none of its usual derision, the question soft and sincere. “You want something?”

“Daddy,” you cough around the word, stuttered breath slicing it to pieces. It’s all your able to manage: one word, two syllables, pitched high and full of cracks.

But that’s okay, because Dabi knows, just like he always does.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here,” he whispers, nosing along your jaw. “Daddy’s gonna make the pain go away, okay?”

“Please,” you whimper, and your voice sounds so small, so raw with uncut emotion that it has Dabi nodding in an almost frantic manner, eager to rid you of such distress.

Calloused hands slip beneath your dress, kneading your supple flesh as they travel up, up, up, until fingertips brush silk and lace, delicately clinging to your skin. They trace the trim, following it around the curves of your thighs and along your hips until they locate the waistband, toying with the cute satin bow before hooked thumbs dip into the material and tug.

But you refuse to unlock your legs from his own, unwilling to part with his warmth or his touch for a single second, and Dabi laughs, huffing out something about how fucking greedy you are, the words doused in adoration.

Looks like you leave him no choice, he’s saying as his fingers tear through the lace as effortless as fire licking through a spiderweb, yanking the ruined garment from your skin in one swift motion.

It flutters to the floor in a dainty heap of white—Agent Provocateur, two hundred and forty dollars, destroyed in mere moments—but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care at all, too preoccupied with shoving Dabi’s jeans down his thighs, the balls of your feet aiding his hands, then locking him in place again, ankles hooked together behind his back, heels digging into those sweet little dimples that frame the base of his spine.

His cock bumps against your inner thigh, drooling sticky pre-cum across your skin, another whine, impatient and needy, hiccuped in your throat.

Dabi’s muttering something, low and pacifying as he lines his cock up with your unprepared hole, allowing an impressive dollop of spit to drip from his lips, haphazardly slathering it around his shaft. His eyes stay fixed on the apex of your thighs as he pushes into you slowly, steadily, watching his movements with a sort of fascinated awe as your body stretches and struggles, sensitive skin splitting open for him, welcoming him home.

The pain is immaculate, a sharp hiss slithering from between your clenched teeth, throbbing little spikes searing through your thighs, flesh trembling in their wake.

But it feels so right, being stuffed full of him. It feels so safe, bodies encased in a protective bubble of affection, where nothing can get to you.

“Please, Daddy,”

One final plead, quiet and broken, thick tears dazzling your eyes, continuously escaping the corners like clockwork—two at a time, twin diamonds streaking your flesh, others embellishing your lashes, tiny jewels sewn into fluttering lace.

One final plead is all it takes to have his hips drawing back, charged with dutiful intent, then snapping forward, hard and rough and fast as he builds up a rhythm, one hand braced on the counter, the other pressed against the mirror, fingertips leaving smudges with each thrust.

The consistent bang! of his heavy belt buckle against the edge of the counter acts as a crude metronome, keeping time for the breathtaking symphony of your moans—airy little mewls and pretty little whines, garnished with his own guttural groans and growls.

Every tear that falls, every sob he fucks out of you, every slam of his cockhead against your cervix melding delirious pleasure with delicious pain all diminish the suffocating ache in your chest bit by bit, relieving a deep sorrow knotted at the core of your body.

Together you create something beautiful, something safe, something yours, an ephemeral masterpiece that ebbs and flows and grows and crests before it explodes in tandem with you both, clutching and clinging to one another, bodies shuddering and hips stuttering with the clench and pulse of gushing juices and thick cum, drenching him and filling you.

And, God, you love him. You love him so much, love him more than anything on this planet or any others, love him so tremendously it physically hurts, organs expanding with the sheer density of it, bones straining beneath the immensity, whole body seeming to swell with it, threaded through your blood and brain and barreling up your throat until it’s spilling out your mouth in a single continuous, seemingly uncontrollable stream.

Dabi isn’t even sure if you’re fully conscious of what you’re saying, fucked so good your brain has melted, body pliant and sagging, but he knows it’s true nonetheless, struck by the sincerity in your voice, the urgency in your grappling fingers, pawing at him senselessly.

It’s incredible, the way his body so readily reacts to your confessions—shoulders curling in a protective shield around your trembling frame, palms grabbing fistfuls of your flesh and tugging, lips brushing yours as he sucks the proclamations from your mouth—an instinctual response he’s hopeless to hold any authority over whatsoever; a natural inclination that had lay dormant, slumbering in his soul, patiently waiting to be awoken by you.

Because he loves you, too.

He tells you as much, in a soft, hushed voice, vulnerable and cracking. It’s been a long time since he’s said those words to anyone, and although they feel rusty on his tongue, creaking under the weight of authenticity, of pure truth, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

    ✰          ✰          ✰        

You wake somewhere between Friday and Saturday, the sky still dark and void, the dim motel room blinking in time with the screen of the small television, the only other source of light pooling around a bedside lamp.

Dabi sits next to the puddled yellow glow with his back propped against the wooden headboard, a book held open with one hand and a steadily burning cigarette wreathed between the fingers of the other.

“What are you reading?” you croak, wincing at how raw your voice sounds.

He turns the book towards you, showing you the cover—Brave New World—eyes flicking up to meet yours, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Found it in my car,” he says with a single shoulder shrug.

“You’ve read it before,” you say, not an accusation but merely an observation, gaze scanning the worn, veiny back cover, noting the laminated library sticker plastered around the bottom of the spine.

He nods. “I have, but I don’t mind reading it again.”  

Accepting his answer, you flop onto your back, staring up at the stuccoed ceiling. It’s hard, in the muted silence, to keep those recent memories at bay, the most gruesome events of the past twenty-four hours flickering through your mind—the flash of silver, the sting of the slap, gold matted with crimson and salt, sticking to flushed skin that begs you not to leave—a crudely stitched together montage playing torturously on loop, screened on the walls of your skull.

And the harder you try to force them away, the more vivid they become, binding themselves to the tissues of your brain and ensuring they’ll never be forgotten.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Dabi’s placing his book face down on the nightstand and drawing you into his arms, murmuring out comforts into your hair as he squeezes you tightly, a smothered sob scrabbling at your sternum.

Anger flares in his chest again, bright burning flames of carmine licking up his throat, but he swallows them back down, douses them in his love for you—in your love for him—extinguishing the blaze to a dull smoulder.

Now is not the time for such things, for such hatred and fury. But he will save this fire, keep it kindling deep within the core of his body until he can finally release it to ravage that fucker.

The most important thing at this moment is eradicating all of that pain, all of that suffering and sadness from your soul and replacing it with love, with warmth, with him.

“Oh baby, oh baby,” he’s saying as he cradles you to his chest, bodies rocking back and forth slightly, legs entwined. “Let Daddy make it better, yeah? Do you want Daddy to make it better?”

You’re nodding against his shoulder, a little hiccup stammering the breath in your throat, sweet jumbled pleads spilling from your lips.

“Okay,” Dabi says softly, rolling your tangled bodies so you’re trapped between the mattress and his chest, those jutting hipbones snuggling between your thighs. “I’m gonna take the pain away, princess.”

You’re mewling out little affirmatives beneath him, legs folding on either side of his torso as your feet find his hips, pushing his briefs down his legs as far as you can.

A soft chuckle wafts across your face and he kicks the garment off the rest of the way, ending up in a small heap of fabric near the foot of the bed.

Leaning back on his haunches, he hooks one of your legs over each of his thighs, spreading you wide and bare, vulnerable beneath his stare. Sapphire eyes watch in an almost trance-like state as nimble fingers skim across your skin, outlining all of your curves and all of your contours: the hills of your breasts, the peaks of your nipples, the bends and ridges and slopes of your stomach, down, down, down until they hit the apex of your thighs, thumb brushing against your clit.

It’s beautiful, he’s telling you, still enchanted by your body, how easily you react to him, how readily you react to him, two pads of his fingers pressing down hard on the little nub to accentuate his point, observing with an almost morbid fascination the way it sends jolts zipping through your body, flesh rippling with the force.

His cock is already hard, pink and perfect and leaking against his pelvis, and your hole constricts around nothing, hungry and raring for something to stuff it full.

A gentle laugh, embellished with just a hint of patronization, falls from his lips, index finger tracing the outlines of your pussy—hood, lips, circling your hole—before finally pushing inside, breath exhaled in short pants as you greedily suck him in.

He teases you a little, pumping that singular finger in and out, crooking it at just the right time and pressing a knuckle into that plush spot until the digit is slippery with slick, until your hips are wiggling and whines keep crumbling in your throat, back arching a little in impatience.

It’s not enough, the ache of your cheek beginning to permeate the haze of lust Dabi had veiled over your mind, and you need something else, you need something stronger, you need more.

“Need you, Daddy,” you drool out, words lazy and full of spit. “Need you right now.”

A sharp slap to your cunt with the back of his hand has all of your pain radiating to the core of your body, the sound sticky and wet as it rings out among the room, Dabi speaking over your pitchy cry, strong thighs keeping your legs from instinctively snapping shut.

“There’s never any excuse to be rude to Daddy,” he says, another slap sending pinpricks tingling throughout your inner thighs. “Where are your manners?”

“Please,” you gasp out, lashes fluttering against a torrent of tears, desperate to keep them locked behind your lash line. “Please, please, Daddy,”

“Please what?” His knuckles collide with your cunt a third time, a faint glint of malice glittering in his eyes. “Tell Daddy what you want, sweetheart.”

“Please, your cock!” The words rush from your mouth in a singular huff of breath, tongue nearly tripping over itself in your haste to clarify. “Want you to fuck me with your cock, Daddy, please, want it so bad!”

A coo vibrates at the back of his throat, fingers turned gentle again as they caress your slit.

“That’s better,” he murmurs over the stream of pleads still oozing from your lips. “Okay, baby, okay, hush now, Daddy will give you what you need.”

The stretch is incredible—not that you’ve come to expect any less—delicate skin ripping itself wide to take him, the little sutures created in the bathroom opening again, gleefully, willfully, needing him.

But the pain is welcomed, the pain is familiar, the pain is good, because it numbs your mind, takes your focus off the emotional wound festering in your chest and the intermittent stinging burrowing through your cheek and renders you incapable of concentrating on anything else except for him, him, him.

His hips gyrate for a moment, cockhead grinding little circles into your bruised cervix, inducing a dull ache to take root at the very core of your body. A palm flattens between your hipbones, pressed tightly against your body, softly moaning Dabi’s name as you feel his motions nudging through your flesh.

“I’m gonna fuck you until all you can feel, all you can think about is my cock,” Dabi vows, hips drawing back, unhurried yet purposeful. “I’m gonna fuck you until you go stupid from my cum, baby.”

“Want it, w-wan’it,” you babble out, sentence fragmented by his cock as it slams back into you. “Want it, D-Daddy, please.”

And, fuck, he can’t deny you a single goddamn thing, not when you’re like this, staring up at him with those glazed, starry eyes, glistening chock full with your love for him; not when his name and his title are tangling on your tongue, his cock fucking the most beautiful rhapsody out of you, shards of words infused with sounds of pleasure, sentiments routinely smashed to bits with each pound into you.

So he gives you what you want, thighs straining as he balances on his knees, creasing your legs and crushing them to your chest, using your shins to keep him steady as his hips snap relentlessly.

Tears are seeping through your clamped shut lids, streaking your face with gleaming paths of salt as they roll down the sides of your face. Thick lashes trap a few, shimmering dewdrops that cling to dainty feathers, sparkling in the weak golden lamplight.

“Yeah,” he pants out. “That’s it, baby, cry for me. Cry for me, let it all out, c’mon.”

It’s all so overwhelming, the pain and the pleasure and Dabi, Dabi, Dabi—sweet hickory and spicy nicotine enveloping you, his aura like a thick haze of smoke, candied and intoxicating, burning as it rushes down your throat to ferment in your lungs.

Every stuttered inhale is a shot of novocain to your brain, numbing those memories, numbing your consciousness, every harsh thrust forcing thorns of pleasure searing through your gut, little spikes that melt together in the pit of your stomach, forming a heavy, fluttering ball of blue fire.

It’s all so overwhelming, yet it’s all so fucking good, simultaneously too much and not enough.

“Da-Daddy,” you’re sobbing, little fingers groping at his biceps, trying to grip him, to bring him closer, to find comfort. “Daddy, it’s so much, it—it’s too much!”

You’re really wailing now, whole body juddering with the force of it, nose puffy and twitching with harsh sniffles, a vain attempt to keep it from leaking, spit collecting in the vacuities of your mouth, so much that your words drown in it, coming out mangled and soaking.

“Oh, baby,” he breathes, leaning down so his chest is pressed flush to your folded legs, cupping your face between his palms as his hips slow to uneven rutting, dimming the sphere of fire roiling in your tummy.

“Hey, look at me.”

Your damp lids lift, dislodging some of the teardrops that had been caught by your lashes as sapphire searches your salt-stained face, a glimmer of condescending concern in his irises.

“You can take it for Daddy, though, can’t you?” A rough thumb caresses your uninjured cheekbone, calloused skin contradicting such a tender action. “I know how good you are, princess, I know you can take Daddy’s cock for him, right?”

Your head is nodding before you’ve given it permission to, pathetic little mewls of yes, Daddy and of course, Daddy tumbling mindlessly from your lips, desperately vying for his praise, desperately vying for the mind-numbing high that comes packaged with it.

“Good,” he murmurs softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before he starts fucking into you again, rapidly gaining speed with each jackhammer of his hips and surpassing his previous pace.

The prettiest whimpers are spilling from your throat, gentle little things that break and fade into wispy little whines, each one pushed from your lips in time with his brutal thrusts.

“How’s that, baby?” he breathes, eyes voracious as they sweep across your face, desperate to devour every little change in expression. “Go on, don’t be shy, tell Daddy how his cock’s making you feel.”

Good, good, so fucking good, every drag of his cock against that plush spot buried deep within you sending another flare of scalding sapphire flames licking through your veins, adding to the blaze coiling at your core.

So good, in fact, that you can’t seem to stitch the simple words together, letters turning to ash in your throat, wheezed out as bastardized versions of what they were originally supposed to be.

And Dabi can’t help but huff out a little laugh, strained with pleasure, murmuring something about how fucking cute you are when you get like this, all dumb and fucked out with hedonistic bliss.

“Yeah, yeah, just think about Daddy’s cock, princess, s’all that matters right now,” he rasps, stringy strands of ink, clumped together with sweat, hanging in his eyes. “God, look at you,” he nearly keens, gaze flitting to where you’re conjoined. “Such a perfect little whore I’ve got, taking my whole cock like that, such a—f-fuck—such a good, good girl for me,”

That sphere of fire is curling in on itself, tighter and tighter and tighter with each pump of his hips until finally it explodes in a shower of sapphire sparks, singeing into your flesh and steeped in your blood, lighting your entire body ablaze as your cunt spasms, floods of heat gushing at the apex of your thighs.

“Yeah, baby, c’mon, cream all over my cock,” Dabi says, voice hoarse with passion.

You’re still cumming when he does, only a few pistons later, muscles pulled taut as his cock pulses, spurt after spurt of hot cum stuffing you to the brim, your name cracking in his throat.

He collapses on you a moment later, a heavy heaving mess of sticky skin, cock still buried inside you, twitching with the corollary of his orgasm. You can feel his cum oozing out of you, thick and cooling as it trickles down your skin, thighs tensing as you attempt to keep it inside of you.

“Daddy,” you whimper, the name nothing more than a warped mess on your tongue, weighted with spit. “Daddy.”

“Yeah, baby,” he mumbles into your shoulder, noncommittal, breath still coming in short puffs.

“Daddy, your cum,” your hips squirm beneath him, shoving upwards, trying to use his cock as a plug.

“What about it?”

“S’leaking outta me.”

Dabi pulls back to look at you, eyebrows slightly wrinkled. “So?”

“I don’t want it to,” you whine. “Want it to stay in me forever.”

With a laugh, he shakes his head. “That’s cute, princess,” he says. “But there’s nothing Daddy can do to make sure it stays in you forever.”

Another whine, pitchy and petulant, vibrates in your throat, hips rocking again. “My mouth,” you say. “Feed it to me. Put it in my belly where it’ll stay forever.”

A piece of him, seeping into the floor of your stomach, mouth watering with the thought.

Crystal eyes search your face for a moment, darkening with the sincerity of your expression. You look as though you may cry if he denies you, staring up at him with lust-blown lidded pupils and a spit-shined mouth, high mewls spilling from your throat.

He doesn’t say anything as he disentangles his limbs from your own, body sliding down the mattress to hook your legs over his shoulders, arms crooked around your thighs, big hands splayed on your hips, pushing them down and keeping them still.

Unblinking, his eyes hold yours as his head dips, tongue unfolding from its cavern, tip hooked as it licks into you, gathering glops of his cum. He laps as much of it as he can from your abused cunt, slow and methodical with each lave, each delve into your soaking hole, filling his mouth with his own essence until you’ve been sucked clean.

Only then does he release the grip he has on your flesh, crawling back over you and using a hand to squeeze the hinges of your jaw, popping it open. His tongue sprawls from his mouth, drenched in thick cream, and hangs enticingly above your own, threads of cum diluted with saliva dripping in slow, large dollops directly into your throat.  

You swallow them readily, greedily, both hands clawed around his wrist as your back arches, starved for more. He laughs at you again, after he’s emptied all the viscous substance from his mouth, telling you in sugary condescension that there’s no more, that you’ve eaten it all up, like the good, greedy little girl you are.

The thought makes you giggle, sends a rush of tingling spikes through your veins, whole body buzzing as you nod along to his sentiment, his cum a warm comfort in your tummy.

Placing a kiss on the tip of your nose, Dabi pushes himself up from the mattress, sauntering into the bathroom. You watch as he goes, stretching your sore limbs out across the sheets, catlike, before you roll over, floundering a little until your toes sink into plush carpet.  

Standing in front of the gilded mirror, your eyes skim over your own body. There are traces of Dabi all over your skin, your flesh a map of the past twenty-four hours, of where he’s been and what he’s done, impermanent little artworks that’ll fade by next week—sketches of his teeth, all thirty-two of them, tinctures of their thin red edges etched into your flesh; dark swirling blotches of deep violet and navy-grey, scattered along your neck and collarbone; tiny starbursts of fingerprints pressed into your thighs, hips, ass, periwinkle speckled with scarlet—and it is all so magnificent, physical declarations of your love.  

Eyes drifting back up, your gaze lands on the ugly patch of gauze, the hints of a bruise—lilac, tinged pink around the blotchy, uneven edges—encasing the pads of white bandages plastered across your face.

Dabi joins you then, strong arms wrapping around you from behind, lips pressing sweet kisses to your neck as sapphire eyes catch your own through the reflection.

“You look so beautiful covered in me, baby,” he murmurs into your shoulder, eyes fanned by black lashes. “I think this is the most beautiful you’ve ever looked.”

You smile a little in response, stare breaking from his to find your injured cheek again, grin deflating. Dabi follows your trajectory, the light dimming from his eyes, replaced by something hard, something hateful.

“The bruise will take a few days to show up,” Dabi says pragmatically, as if he speaks from experience. “The deeper the trauma, the longer it takes to show.”

You nod your understanding, hesitant fingertips prodding at the swollen flesh—marks of Keigo, evidence of your big brother and his hands on you, patched up, hidden away behind thick ivory bandages and paper tape.

“Don’t touch it,” Dabi chides halfheartedly, stepping back and latching onto your elbow with a gentle tug. “Here, come. Let Daddy redress the wounds for you.”

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

The sun is hanging high in the sky by the time you rouse on Saturday afternoon, filtering in through the moth eaten chiffon curtains and painting strips of gold across the room, sparkling motes playing between the shadows.

Dabi’s sitting in one of two leather armchairs positioned near the small wooden table, eyes fixed on the flickering tube television murmuring out a staticky version of True Romance to itself.

He looks ethereal, ivory of his bare torso almost glowing in the afternoon rays, the colourful ink sketched into his skin stark and striking, coming alive with each of his gentle breaths, rippling with the rise and fall of his chest.

The sunlight haloes him, encompassing his body in its glowing embrace and outlining all of his sharp edges and contours—the slope of his nose and curve of his cheekbones, the ridges of smooth muscle blanketing his upper body and the prominent hill of his Adam’s apple.

The rustling of sheets alerts him to your wakefulness, gaze snapping to your form immediately, a small grin spreading across his lips.

“G’morning, princess,” he teases, but his eyes are soft, scared, worry etched into the lines of his forehead and the downward curve of his mouth as he observes your form, the skin of your cheeks taut and glazed with dry salt, strands of hair crusted to your face, lids sticky and puffy. Large hands pat his thighs enticingly, his head quirking to the left in indication. “C’mere.”

You’re scampering across the mattress before the word has fully left his lips, already yearning for his embrace and all the comfort and protection that comes along with it, a quiet chuckle vibrating in his throat as you straddle his lap, one of his thighs slotted comfortably between your own.

“Missed you,” you mumble into his neck as a form of explanation.

He snorts, a palm coming to pet your back. “Did you now?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, eyes slipping shut again as you snuggle against his collarbone, haze of drowsiness still dousing your brain. “Were gone for too long.”

“I’ve only been awake for about an hour, princess.”

“Too long,” you assert with a pout.

“Alright, alright,” he soothes, laughing a little around the words. “Are you hungry?”

Shaking your head, you hum in dissent.

“Okay, but you’re gonna eat something a little later for Daddy, yeah?”

His voice is kept light, pleasant in tone as his fingers continue to stroke your spine, a sugared demand folded into his words.

“Of course, Daddy,” you breathe out dreamily.

“That’s my good girl.”

The next hour passes in a fragmented daze as you flit between states of consciousness, Christian Slater’s fuzzy voice twirling through the recesses of your mind, twined with the occasional rumble of your Daddy’s laughter.

But it isn’t long before you begin to grow restless, tormented by sharp splinters of memories once again—sticky scarlet smeared across metal, shimmering topaz lacquered with tears, the tangle of deep, angry, terrified voices growling out muddled words—slashing through any semblance of peace your semi-sentient state had brought you, suddenly desperate for your twisted guardian angel to dissipate the pain, to distract, to push those harsh, hard, hurtful realities back outside that sky-blue motel door and locked away for just a little bit longer.

You squirm a little in Dabi’s lap, clit catching on the ragged denim of his jeans, weak shocks cackling along your spine. A sharp intake of breath stings your throat, teeth sucking your bottom lip between their edges and biting as your pelvis involuntarily wiggles again, pressing down harder this time, grinding the swelling bud into clothed flesh.

“Having trouble getting comfy, baby?” Dabi questions after the third time you shift your hips, bare cunt pressed flush to his thigh. “Or,” his muscles flex, firm and strong between your legs. “Is there something else on your mind?”

The drop in his voice, the way it fades to a rough whisper as his lips caress your ear, has scalding heat unfurling in the pit of your tummy, thick and sticky as it seeps through the floor of the organ, leaking into your gut.

A low whine slips from your lips, embarrassment scorching your cheeks and eyes shutting tightly as you mash your face against his collarbone, answering with a single rock of your hips.

Dark laughter vibrates against your cheek, a large palm connecting with your bare thigh half a moment later, the shock and the sting of the impact forcing your head from its hiding place as Dabi speaks clearly over your resounding yelp.

“When Daddy asks you a question,” he begins, lithe fingers digging into sore flesh and squeezing, gathering a healthy handful in his palm. “He expects an answer, sweetheart.”

His eyes practically glow as they search your face, slow and purposeful, as if they’re trying to singe the sentiment into your flesh.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whimper, nails scraping against his biceps as you cling to him, resisting the urge to bury your face again, wide eyes holding his. “I—I was just—M’horny, Daddy,”

He knows there’s more to it than that, knows you’re using him as a distraction, an escape, from whatever thoughts and memories are currently poisoning your mind, but he accepts your response as satisfactory anyway. Because he’s honoured to be your preferred escape, your favourite escape, ready and willing to do his duty to his baby, to help and protect and take it all away, even if it’s just for a short while.

“Yeah?” he breathes, calloused hands slipping beneath the hem of his t-shirt and curling around your hips. “You wanna use Daddy’s thigh to help get you off?”

“Yes, yes, please,” you squeak, head moving in slow, lethargic little motions against his shoulder as it falls forward again, limp and pliant in his arms. “Want it s’bad,”

“Okay, baby,” his fingers twitch against your skin in anticipation. “Go on, then, hump my leg.”

Pricks of humiliation erupt across your skin at his candidness, but your hips begin moving immediately, snapped into action by a direct order.

It’s slow at first, the rock of your pelvis granting featherlight touches to your already swollen clit, a sudden shyness cascading over you, evoked by his pure, undivided attention.

It isn’t sufficient, of course, these shallow motions only working to frustrate you more, dull flares of the heat in your tummy not nearly enough to ignite the inferno you crave, your thighs clenching around the one wedged between them as annoyed little sounds spill from your mouth, huffed out against his neck.  

But Daddy knows.

And Daddy knows just what to say, too.

“Aw come on, princess, you can do better than that, can’t you?” Dabi’s tongue tuts, as if he’s disappointed in you. “Or are you embarrassed, hmm? Acting like such a shameful little slut, so needy for her Daddy that she’s willing to take whatever he’ll give her, even if that’s just a thigh to hump?”

Usually, such a scathing remark would have lit a fierce fire in your chest, fuelled solely by your stubborn desire to prove that you can do it!, determined to demonstrate that you’re capable and worthy of his praise. But today, those insulting words are exactly what you need.

Because they open up a space where you can be vulnerable, granting you permission to be a fucking baby, to cry and whine and cling and want, to be pathetic.

You’re nodding again, forehead pressed tightly to his collarbone as eyes squeeze shut against the familiar nip of tears, half-coherent affirmations bubbling past your lips. Yes, Daddy, can’t do it on my own, Daddy, need you, Daddy.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, syrupy words dripping off a razor, the normally sharp blade dulled by true emotion, fondness. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s here, Daddy will help you make it feel good, since you’re too stupid to do it by yourself.”

Although the words are harsh, his voice isn’t, insults cracked open and oozing melted sugar, soaked in a sort of playful admiration.

Lithe fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he forces the rolling of your hips to accelerate, blunt nails branding violet crescents into your skin, a low whimper tickling the back of your tongue.

The denim of his jeans is coarse against your sensitive cunt, fucked open and raw from the night before, each grind against the tough material sending little spikes of agony tingling through your gut, promptly devoured by sparks of pleasure.

The pain fades quickly, though, the rutting of your hips morphing into a more sensual grinding expertly guided by Dabi’s hands, sweet little cunt steadily gushing slick all over his leg, fabric rendered sleek and slippery, aiding each glide of your pussy over the strong muscle.

“You’re soaking me, baby,” he nearly whines out, the words airy and infused with awe. “All the way through my fucking jeans; I can feel how wet you are.”

His grasp has gone lax around you now, fingertips merely resting on your skin as he encourages you to keep rubbing and riding, motivating praise panted out in hot breaths, curling around the shell of your ear.

That’s it, baby, that’s it, and There you go, you’re doing perfect, and Look at you, baby, being so good for me; each set of praise that falls from his lips merely inspiring you to go faster, grind harder, do better.

“Keep going, princess, keep going,” his cock strains against his jeans, eager and impatient as it throbs against your waist, each rut of your hips brushing up against it teasingly.  “Yeah, yeah, just like that, use Daddy’s thigh to get yourself off.”

You mewl into his chest, hips beginning to gyrate in purposeful circles, chasing his validation, a high just as potent as an orgasm itself. Flame-charred fingers tweak a nipple through the thin material of his t-shirt, forcing a yelp from your throat, a patronizing chuckle syrupy on his tongue.

Beneath you, his knee begins to bounce, hard, fast little motions that reverberate against your clit, a loud moan escaping your lips. Each vibration sends another flurry of cinders to collect in your gut, torching a flame that burns bright and beautiful, a fire that cleanses, that blazes those memories to ash and whisks them away, replaced with addictive adoration.

“C’mon, baby, stop hiding,” a shoulder nudges your head. “Daddy wants to see that pretty face of yours.”

Your face lifts, forehead knocking against his, exhaling little cries into his waiting mouth—precious sounds that melt like maple sugar on his tongue, sweet and saturating. Azure glitters in the late afternoon sun as half-lidded eyes watch your expressions, ravenous for every little crinkle of pain that flattens to unadulterated pleasure, his breath wafting across your skin as he speaks.

Laughing, a palm cups your cheek, locking you in place. “That feel good?”

An indiscernible noise of pleasure tumbles from your lips in response, head bobbing clumsily, nose bumping against his own.

“Use your words,” he chastises.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,”

“You gonna cum soon for me, huh? Gonna show me how fucking gorgeous you look, creaming all over my thigh?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you gasp, eyes squeezed shut as you nod vigorously against him.

“Yeah? Then make a mess, baby. Make a mess all over Daddy.”

So you do, staining charcoal denim with your cream, a groaned curse falling from his lips, pitched high and cracked with love as he feels your gushing cunt clench and flutter around nothing, his thigh pressed hard into your core, and that’s so hot, that’s so fucking hot, baby.

You’re still in the throes of a post-orgasmic haze, body shivering with sweat and bolts of overstimulation quivering through your veins as he carries you towards the bed, laying you gently on the edge before shoving his jeans down, cock gorgeous and glistening with desire and pre-cum.

The excess of slick and cum, now smeared all over your inner thighs and still steadily leaking from your cute cunt, enables him to slam into you in one swift thrust, cock buried deep inside of you, balls pressed to your ass.

It still stings despite the aid of your wetness, sweet little hole barely stretched out at all now gorging on his thick cock, flesh quavering as it tears into little fissures to accommodate him, an instinctual wail drowning in your throat.

“What?” he pants out, the question embedded in a laugh. “You think you can—can just ride Daddy’s thigh without him needing to fuck you after?”

No, of course not.  

He finishes quick, though, pumping your womb full of burning, sticky cum, a vicious tremor coursing through his whole body as he crumples next to you, cradling your body with his, and he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.  

Later that night, as you lay awake in bed, tummies stuffed full of blueberry pancakes and cinnamon buns, you ask him to tell you a secret.

He wavers for a moment, body turned to ice and then thawed in the blaze of your love, voice low and throaty as he speaks.

He tells you about his mother, a woman with snow for hair and slate for eyes, a woman he hasn’t seen for several years now, a woman he misses deeply. He tells you about his siblings—Fuyumi, Natsuo, Shouto—their likes and dislikes, hobbies and interests, fears and flaws, laughing wetly to himself about how much he still remembers, wondering aloud if any of those things have stayed the same, or if they’ve changed since he left, and how much so.

He tells you about Touya, the boy he killed when he was only a teenager, the boy who was spirited and ambitious and longed for nothing more than his father’s approval, the boy who only exists in memories now, hazy and desolate, nothing more than a ghost of smoke and ash.

He tells you about his father, about his father’s penchant for hitting women and smacking children—his most cowardly habit, according to Dabi—about his father’s precarious favouritism that changed with the wind.

And he tells you about the accident—his father’s fault, as always—tells you about the melting metal and burning leather and scorched skin, the feeling of the flames licking at his body, the heat of the crash, the cries of his baby brother, the firemen who pulled him from the jaws of the car and saved his life, the father who did nothing but stand and watch.  

And by the time the sun begins to rise, his throat is raw from the past, his nose blotchy and his eyes swollen, and you hold him tight to your bosom, dainty little fingers cradling the shards of his old life, placing them piece by painstaking piece back in their proper places.

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

The inevitability of Monday casts a deep shadow over Sunday night, the inescapable threat of reality looming in the near future, but Dabi holds it at bay for a little bit longer, the bubble of your own private utopia kept intact with clementine suds and whirling jets, calloused hands and soft kisses and an old heart-shaped tub.  

His hands are tender, unhurried as they lather soap across your skin, almost lazy in how they clean you, appreciating the way every dip and curve, edge and contour converge to create the masterpiece that is your body.

It’s as if he’s in some state of wonder, sapphire glittering in the low light as it follows after his movements, outlining their trajectory and branding it into his consciousness, admiring the way your flesh yields to him as he pinches and kneads and rolls it between his palms.

“I love you,” he says finally, stare drifting back to yours. “I’m in love with you.”

You giggle a little, suddenly feeling bashful, body curling towards his. “I’m in love with you, too.”

“I’m so lucky you are.”

“I’m the lucky one here.”

“Don’t fight me on this, baby,” he warns. “You know you’ll lose.”

“Alright, alright,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “But it’s my turn to wash you, now, Daddy,” you murmur through a smirk, crawling towards him to straddle his thighs.

He mutters out a few weak protests about how you don’t need to, princess and he can do it himself, but you insist, already pouring out a syrupy dollop of body wash into your palm.

Breaths of chuckles escape his parted lips, eyes gone soft as they watch your delicate fingers trace out trails of suds across the koi fish swimming up his forearms, tiny white bubbles crudely illustrating the art inked into his skin.

You speak as you work, musing softly about which of his tattoos are your favourites.

“Why did you decide on koi fish?” you ask as your fingers wander up his arms.

“Because they persevere. They swim against the current and prosper, no matter how strong the waves are,” he shrugs a little, eyes sweeping across his body. Your gaze follows suit, noticing for the first time that all of the fish swimming up his arms are swimming against tumultuous waves, chaotic and dangerous as they crash into white caps.

“They’re like you.”

He nods, keeping his gaze averted. “And they’re—Well, they’re supposed to symbolize good fortune or whatever, so I figured…” he trails off, and you wait, allowing him a moment to sift through his thoughts, thumbs idly stroking his biceps. “I figured it couldn’t hurt, to carry them everywhere with me.” He looks up suddenly, blue eyes so clear you swear you can see into the depths of his soul, shimmering with bright love for you. “Maybe one day I can get one that reminds me of you, so I can carry you everywhere with me, too.”

“I—I’d be honoured, Daddy,” a rush of admiration, of appreciation, surges through your chest, leaving behind a swell of warmth, fingertips reaching up to draw out his features—his strong brow, the bow of his lips, the jut of his jaw.

He’s so fucking gorgeous it kicks the breath from you, onyx hair slicked back from his face in streamlined rows separated by the grooves left behind by his fingers, a few stray strands falling forward and curling to frame his eyes.

“I’d love to have you—a constant reminder of you—permanently stained into my skin,” he whispers, arms encircling your hips, pressing you flush against his chest.

“Maybe I’ll get one, too,” you whimper, tapering off into a gasp as his hard cock nudges your hole.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, why not? Make sure everyone knows I belong to you.”

He groans in response, nodding as you sink down on him, eyes dark with the thought of branding you as his, forever.

It’s sweet, slow and sensual, each roll of his hips, each rock of your own, dainty hands clasped behind his neck, fingers twining in the wet tufts of hair at the base of his skull, foreheads pressed tightly together.

Lips suck sweltering breaths from each other’s mouths while tongues suck on the sounds that spill from one throat into another, greedily swallowing them down to add to the collections each of you carries within your hearts; slivers of your lover, your soulmate, buried safely in pulsating flesh, never to be removed.

Your movements increase in force, Dabi’s cock pounding against your sore cervix with each pump of his hips, but the pace remains deliberately unhurried, every moment savoured, every moment sacred, almost as if you’re both terrified one vigorous motion—something too brutal, too harsh—will shatter your manufactured peace a little too early.

Blue flames lave over your organs, blazing stronger and stronger, growing larger and larger, until it engulfs you both in its inferno, bright and burning, licks of sapphire rushing through your veins as your cunt clenches around his cock, as his cock stuffs you full of cum, bodies stilling and nails gorging on flesh, clinging to one another like lifelines.

And as you come down from your conjoined high, unclamping your fingers and dislodging your nails, you feel something shift, change, the air suddenly denser, heavier, more substantial than it’s ever been before.

“I don’t know what I’d ever do without you,” you whimper, words loose and languid, the unapproved confession dribbling from your lips.

“Neither do I, baby,” Dabi whispers, hand emerging from the water—fluffy bubbles dissipated to a flat froth that lines the rippling surface—his thumb brushing baby hairs back from your forehead. His eyes glint in the feeble light. “Neither do I.”

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

Finally, Monday comes, bringing with it a slew of texts from your brother, anxious and eager to know when you’ll be returning home.

Dabi laughs, harsh and rancorous, when you timidly ask if he’ll be bringing you back to that little white house with its little white fixtures, shaking his head with audacity, sharp twinkle in his eyes reflected in his gleaming teeth.

“I’m not allowing you to go back to that junkie psychopath!” he says, words infused with an incredulous chuckle, as if he can’t believe you’re even asking at all. “He’s dangerous, and I’d be an utter fool to let you live with him again.”

“But—But then, where will I—”

“You’re coming home with me,” he says, though the humour has faded from his features, replaced with a heavy set brow and slightly narrowed eyes. “I thought I made this clear already.”

He hadn’t—not explicitly, anyway—though you had had a feeling this may be the case.

“Dabi,” you begin slowly. “I don’t think—I mean, do you think me just abandoning Keigo like this is really the right choice?”

“Princess,” he says, the pet name full of condescension. “He hurt you. What man in their right mind would allow their baby to go back to such a monster?”

“It was only one time, though—”

“For now,” Dabi spits. “But it won’t be only once if you go back to him, I can promise you that.”  

“But he—He can’t—I’m not sure how he’ll survive without me…”

“Look,” he sighs, large hands wrapping around your shoulders and forcing you to stare up at him. “You want him to get better, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. But I don’t see how this will help—”

“Keigo needs to lose everything—most importantly, you—because of his addiction before he’ll even start thinking about kicking the habit.”

You shrink into Dabi’s palms, voice small. “He can’t do it alone, though.”

“Actually,” Dabi says. “He can only do it alone.” At your confused look, he continues. “It has to be his choice and his choice only, if he is to seek help and get better.” You begin to protest, but he speaks over you, voice clear and certain. “No one can do it for him, no matter how badly they wish to. This will only ever work if he wants it to.”

“Shouldn’t I at least go home to check on him?”

“He’s texting you, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then he is very clearly fine. He’s an adult, he should have the basic capabilities to take care of himself when left to his own devices.” he pauses, eyes scanning your face thoroughly. “Despite what he’d have you believe, it is not your job to take care of him.”

“We’re family, of course it’s my job to—”

“There is a fine line between helping out family and being taken advantage of by an addict.” Dabi says sharply. “Never forget that.”  

His tone, firm and resolute and chock with experience, startles you, and you look down at your feet, fingers twisted into an unsure knot in front of you.  

“I know it might be difficult for you to understand, sweetheart,” Dabi murmurs, casting your gaze back to him. “But I need you to trust me on this. You know I’d never lead you astray, right?”

Yes, Daddy, of course, Daddy.

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

Your days with Dabi are vastly different than your days with Keigo were, and you fall into a routine quickly, easily, effortlessly.

Gentle forehead kisses and lips caressing your ear rouse you from sleep each morning, flame-hardened fingertips tracing your facial features and brushing back strands of stray hair as your Daddy murmurs that it’s time to wake up.

While you dress and pack your things for your day at university, Dabi prepares you some sort of standard breakfast: cereal and milk, fried eggs and toast, steamed rice and egg yolks, or an omelette. He rarely eats breakfast himself, opting for a single cup of black coffee, but he’s always sure to keep you fed, even if the meals are basic and cheap—it’s all he can afford, at the moment.

You appreciate the gesture anyway, despite the fact that you often go against his wishes, sneaking out to the nearest grocery market during the rare moments when Dabi leaves you alone, armed with one of those pretty platinum credit cards your foster father gave you and arriving home with armloads of expensive meats, fruits, and cheeses. It’s important that he eats, too, you say to him.

Soon you won’t have to do that, he tells you one night, voice soft. He’s moving up the ranks, he says, climbing the corrupt corporate ladder within the underworld. Soon he’ll have his own group of lackeys, he promises. Soon he’ll be able to buy you all of the food and items your heart desires, with his own hard earned cash.

It’s hard to understand why Dabi has such an aversion to you lavishing him with your father’s wealth, even if it’s only in the form of good, fresh food, but you can imagine it has to do with some deep-seated need to care for, to provide for, to protect and nourish and own.

As you munch on whatever breakfast he’s made for you that morning, Dabi busies himself with constructing sweet little lunch boxes for you every day you have class; little snacks to bring along to your lectures, to keep you sated throughout your day, claiming your mind will absorb more knowledge if you aren’t hungry, if you are properly fuelled.

It sounds like something a father would tell their picky child in an effort to entice them to eat their school lunches, but you humour him anyway, being sure to consume every piece of food he packs you, never allowing any of it to go to waste.

He attempts to make the boxes cute and aesthetic, like the bentos you had showed him on Pinterest before, but his hands are too large, his fingers too clumsy, rendering the finished product a grotesque edition of the picturesque meals, grumbling to himself that it doesn’t matter, it’s all going to be chewed up anyway.

But it’s the thought that counts, and you love it all the same.

Some things stay unchanged. You still go to that stupid little run-down drive-in theatre you love so much, still go on your weekly breakfast diner dates every Saturday, still go on those joyrides with him, his little partner in crime.

He takes you with him everywhere he can, actually; everywhere he deems safe. Just like the joyrides, it’s nice to be a part of his life, to be included in some way.

You meet his closest friends—people he never spoke of before, but people he is evidently quite close with nonetheless: people he shares Zippo flames with, two hands cupping the precious little fire with cigarettes secured between sharp teeth, foreheads nearly bumping as they lean forward to light the entwined ends; people whom he can hold entire conversations with through side-eyed glances and quirked heads and private smirks; people that seem to know him���his wants and desires, his fears and traumas, his extended personal history—a hell of a lot better than you do.

There is a special type of intimacy that permeates the air around them when they’re together; something electric, something that snaps and crackles with their loud laughs and sharp quips, yet something that is cozy, homey, almost, akin to the warmth of affection that drapes itself over your heart like a protective blanket, the kind that fills your lungs and seeps through your ribs and into your bloodstream, setting your whole body pleasantly ablaze.

It’s a cherished type of intimacy, a rare and exceptional type of intimacy, forged through the lifelong building of friendships and the bonds of trauma.

Out of the three who are, undoubtedly, the most important to him, Tomura was the one who caught your eye first, who catches your eye often, still.

They were a pair to be seen—sapphire and ruby, a combined force to be reckoned with: Dabi with his vintage Cadillac, all electric blue and shimmering chrome; Tomura with his Mercedes Maybach, all glossy crimson and white leather—parked perpendicular to each other in the diner parking lot, owners perched on their respective hoods with glowing cigarettes wrapped up in their lips, huffing out clouds of smoke towards one another as they conversed.

Tomura is handsome in an unconventional sense, with striking, stark features—a sharp, angular jaw, pronounced cheekbones, glowing scarlet eyes—that often knock the breath from anyone he speaks to.

The air around him seems to be infused with a peculiar type of superiority, despite the fact that he is astonishingly apathetic, almost bored looking, toward practically every aspect of his life. When he talks, his voice nearly leaks from his lips, a smooth and unhurried drawl, the words occasionally huffed out in a dismissive drone, or drooled out from his mouth like thick, spoiled syrup.

Nonetheless, you like him, bonding over your shared love of ostentatious banana splits, doused in too much caramel and chocolate and encrusted with stale sprinkles.

“That looks like vomit,” Dabi had once sneered, face screwed up in disgust as he glowered at the colourful concoction shared between the two of you, his comment prompting both you and Tomura to spitefully shovel absurd spoonfuls of mountainous ice cream into your mouths in retaliation.

Yet, irregardless of his clever tongue and his lethargic indifference, he seems, in some way, delicate, with slim wrists and bony fingers and a protruding collarbone, expensive trousers hanging off his jutting, sharp hipbones.

A deep melancholy sometimes shimmers in his eyes, a small sparkle of it glimmering beneath waves of carmine, only revealing itself when Dabi’s voice drops to that low, guttural muttering, so quiet it’s difficult to understand, a raw, vulnerable edge tinging his tone; or when Himiko’s chipper chattering cuts off, sharp and sudden, gasp murdering the sentence in her throat, chopped to pieces so the words that do make it to her tongue and past her lips are stuttered and scrambled and scared; or when Jin makes a remark, then shuts his eyes tightly, face screwed up in psychological pain, a contradictory retort tumbling from his mouth in a seemingly uncontrollable, almost automatic manner, followed by his own paradoxical rebuttal, rushed and breathless as if attempting to suck his previous statement back in past his lips and down his throat and into his stomach.

Himiko—whom you had already been acquainted with at the diner—is lovely, if not a little eccentric, and you admire her dedication, her determination, to hold true to herself. The strength and commitment to wholeheartedly embrace and defend her beliefs and values, regardless of how morally dubious the rest of society considers them to be, is almost inspiring in a way, and you secretly long to covet her carefree confidence and courageous nature.  

The saccharine scent of toffee and tiger lilies clings softly to her skin, mouthwateringly sweet and surprisingly dainty, and she leaves a residual trail of it anywhere she goes, a hazy mist of it hanging dreamily in the air long after she’s gone, ready to daze and entice any who may wander through it.

The owner of the small, shabby convenience store on the ground floor of Dabi’s apartment complex, Jin is the one you see most frequently.  

Kind-natured yet brutally honest, with a large, gouged scar splitting the center of his forehead, Jin spends his days packaging the drugs and frying up fresh homemade donuts, encrusted with sparkling cinnamon sugar.

Best coffee in the Goddamn world, your Daddy had told you one day while depositing you by the front counter, as he often did when he deemed a job too serious, scary, important or dangerous for you to tag along. No one brews it better than Bubaigawara.

You don’t mind spending time with Jin—quite the opposite, actually, with the man frequently frying up your very own batch of mini donuts to snack on as you await Daddy’s return, pages of your homework stained with cinnamon and oil—but you hate watching Dabi go, features coated with a forlorn despondency as he pauses in the doorway, balancing a large paper bag on his hip and patting his pockets in search of that pretty silver gun, the one he had allowed you to adorn with glittery pink hearts, so every time he took it out he’d be reminded of you, reminded of why he does what he does, and who he does it for.

Still, Jin does a fairly good job at keeping you occupied while Dabi works, permitting you to sit crosslegged on the front counter with a knee pressed flush to the old chrome register, a textbook cradled in your lap and a pink, fluffy pen dangling daintily from your fingers, some sort of sweet—donuts or chocolate or lollipops—beside your hip.

As it turns out, he has a very difficult time saying no to you, an issue which often lands him in hot water with your Daddy, sheepishly accepting Dabi’s ruthless scoldings about your sugar consumption yet never making any slight effort to change his ways.

“You spoil her,” you had caught Dabi muttering once, a begrudged grin fighting its way onto his lips.

“I enjoy doing so,” Jin had responded simply, as if he didn’t see any sort of problem, as if the answer was clear as day and he didn’t understand why Dabi couldn’t grasp it.

Himiko visits the shop often, strolling in well past midnight in her impeccable waitressing dress, all pristine white lace and red piping, a cute little cap pinned haphazardly to her blonde curls, with Tomura occasionally in tow.

He doesn’t seem to like the place much, it appears, glowering pretentiously at the shelves surrounding him as two lithe fingers tug at the folded turtleneck of his black cashmere sweater.

This never seems to deter him from stealing bits of whatever sweet Jin has gifted you with that day, though, bony hands plucking a half-sucked lollipop gleaming with your spit from the crinkled wrapper it lay on, or cradling a few of those cute tiny donuts in a large palm and dusting his flesh with warm cinnamon, or snapping off a couple squares of stale chocolate from the bar half-eaten and discarded beside your thigh, always delighting in your sweet squeals of protest with a smug quirk up of scarred lips.

“I like your friends,” you had told Dabi one night, soft and sweet, as you handed him a dish for drying.

“Yeah?” he had smirked, casting you a glance from the corner of his eye, his mouth curving into a lopsided crescent. “We’re a bit of a motley crew,”

“Yeah, but that’s kind of the endearment of it all. You still fit like perfect puzzle pieces, even if you’re all from difference boxes. It’s…nice.”

“Who’s you’re favourite?”

“Trick question. You’re my favourite.”

Dabi had laughed, deep and fond, tossing the dishtowel on the counter and turning towards you, damp palms wrapping around your hips, tugging you to his chest, sapphire glittering with adoration as he gazed down at you.  

“That’s my girl.”

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

The group had an almost ritualistic schedule, routinely and rigidly adhered to, and Thursdays, you found out, are incredibly sacred.

Every Thursday, they gather—you included, Dabi’s protective paranoia already too strong to handle leaving you on your own for a few measly hours—at The League, crammed together in a singular red booth or huddled around the bar, legs swinging off the glittering, cracked stools as they speak in hushed voices and shuffle around crumpled papers, with fraying edges and folded veins.

It’s difficult for you to keep up with their conversations, something you assume they do purposefully, and you find yourself constantly drowning in a sea of numbers—weights and dollars—and foreign language; keys and eightballs, freebasing and black tar.

You’re rarely allowed in the cellar—the lab—but you don’t really mind, much happier to ignorantly munch away on a cookie or lick at a melting sundae, far from the harsh chemical smell and the chalky bricks and the soft mountains of powder.

These meetings span several hours, and often consist of Jin or Himiko periodically checking up on you, delivering a Daddy-approved meal—some sort of soup or salad or satayed meat with steamed rice and seasonal veggies—about halfway through the night.

It is during these moments, when you are finally, truly and completely alone, that you find yourself most frequently texting your brother.

Dabi knows, of course, because Dabi knows everything, has caught you more than once, not only at the diner, but at home too, snuggled up in his bed with your phone pressed to your face, or in his car, with your knees pressed to your chest and the device cradled in your palms.

Truthfully, you hadn’t even tried to hide it from him. In your mind, there really wasn’t a reason to.

Sure, Keigo had lost control and hit you, and yes, Keigo’s addiction has been spiralling into unrestrained depths, but he’s still your brother—still all you have, all each other has—and you thought Dabi would understand that, at least in some capacity.

You’re not sure how you could’ve ever been so stupid.

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

The first time he brings it up is after one of your frequent moviegoing excursions at the drive-in—a double feature of Sunset Boulevard + A Fistful of Dollars this time, the pungent scent of buttersalt popcorn still steeped in the fabric of your dress, mouths smudged with a purple tint—an amalgamation of interspersed saliva infused with candied blue and pink dyes, respectively—your phone screen flooded with messages from Keigo; questions about your opinion on the stupid western you had barely paid any attention to, and suggestions that you come see a movie with him, too, sometime soon.

“I just—I don’t get it,” you’re mumbling through a pout as Dabi guides you through the apartment door, a stifled sigh heavy in his lungs.

You’ve been going in circles the entire car ride home, and you can tell he’s beginning to get irritated, shoulders tight and pinched, voice wavering under the strain of keeping calm.

“It isn’t a difficult concept to grasp, princess.”

“But—I—I’m not living there anymore, anyway,” you attempt to reason, the fact coming out as more of a whiny protest. “Why can’t I at least meet up with him?”

“You seriously don’t get it?” Dabi’s asking, though his voice is soft, large hands finding your shoulders and squeezing, thumbs rubbing lopsided circles into your skin.

Shaking your head, your pout deepens, puckering your chin and crinkling your brow.

“Listen,” he begins, his voice turned sickly sweet, drenched in condescension and encrusted with sugar. “It’s for his own good, and yours.”

“How?” you cry, frantic eyes darting across his face, searching for the answers in his glinting eyes and twitching grin. “How is me just—just ignoring him and forcing him to fend for himself good for either of us?”

With a short chuckle, Dabi shakes his head, pressing down on your shoulders and perching you on the edge of his—your—bed.

“You answered your own question, baby.”

“I’m serious, Dabi.”

“So am I,” he responds curtly, smile melting from his face as his eyes narrow slightly. “I don’t understand why this is so hard for your pretty little head to comprehend. I told you already; Keigo needs to hit rock bottom before he can begin getting better. You want him to get better, don’t you?”

“Of course,” you breathe out instantly, head nodding in short quick motions.

Of course you do; you want Keigo to be healthy, you want Keigo to be ridded of this demon hollowing out his organs and filling his veins with poison, you want to go home, to the only home you’ve ever known, the only home you’ve ever had, warm and golden and bright like the sun.

“Then you have to let him do this on his own. By giving into his demands—any of his demands, even the seemingly innocuous ones, like seeing you for an hour or two to watch a film or have dinner—you are continuing to enable him; you are continuing to give him what he wants,” pausing, sapphire sweeps across your face slowly, allowing your brain to absorb his words. “You are continuing to tell him that it’s okay, that you’ll still be here even after all he’s done to you, even if he doesn’t change or make amends. But, baby,” a rough palm cups your cheek, thumb hooked firmly behind your jaw, inhibiting your gaze from straying from his. “He will never hit true rock bottom if you continue to give him access to you.”

“But—But he—” A hiccup cuts you off, sharp and vicious and startling your body as it hitches in your chest. “He probably isn’t eating, you know. He probably isn’t—isn’t cleaning his track marks, or drinking enough water, either.”

“He probably isn’t,” Dabi agrees simply. “Because you used to do all of those things for him.”

Salt stings your eyes, vision going blurry with thick tears. Sticky guilt, dense and suffocating, unfurls in your chest, engulfing your heart in its tarry embrace and squeezing.

Is that true? Have you been enabling him this entire time by simply taking care of him? Allowing him to live in relative comfort as you cooked and cleaned, nagged and negotiated?

“En—Enabling him?” your face twists, features screwed up and sour, despite the rapidly sinking barbed panic in your stomach. “But—No! I was just trying to help!”

Dabi barks out a short laugh, loud and absurd.

“No, sweetheart,” he begins, his voice turned caustic. “No. Helping would’ve been telling your parents about his rapidly raging addition. Helping would’ve been bringing this to the University’s attention and stripping him of all his false achievements and awards. Helping would’ve been working in tandem with all these authorities to enrol him in a program. Helping would’ve been leaving him, the moment he began to take advantage of you.”

A beat of silence grows, stretches, wavers, hanging heavy in the air between you, Dabi’s eyes following a tear streaming down your cheek with a sort of pitiful apathy, eyebrows drawing together in annoyance as your head shakes to indicate that you don’t understand, or don’t agree, face puckered in defiant confusion.

“Cooking his meals, fucking spoon-feeding him, cleaning his track marks, doing his laundry, keeping the house spotless—including the paraphernalia I’m sure he left lying around—and covering for him by verifying his lies to your parents about where those massive sums of money keep disappearing off to…None of that was helping. At least, not in the way you thought it was.”

Bitter remorse churns in your stomach, crawls up your throat and claws at the back of your tongue, confusion melting into horror as you realize that he’s right.  

Because that’s not all; Dabi doesn’t even know the half of it. Dabi doesn’t know about the papers and assignments you completed for him when he was too high to finish them himself, out of fear of him losing that precious scholarship, or tarnishing his sterling reputation with late work.

Dabi doesn’t know about the money you used to give him, taken from your own monthly allowance when his own ran out a little too early—Just this once, princess, promise I’ll pay you back; though it was never ‘just this once’, and he never did pay you back—when he hadn’t budgeted his habit properly and you were too terrified of the inevitable withdrawal looming in the murky distance, sick with dread at the mere thought of him having to go through that.

Dabi doesn’t know about the times you skipped class to sit in his bed with his head in your lap, feeding him teaspoons of water in an attempt to keep him hydrated on those rare occasions where he did slip into that hellish withdrawal.

“He needs me,” you argue weakly, voice small and shattered, sentiment slathered with spit.

“Clearly, he needs heroin more.”

And that hurts, because it’s true. Because no matter what you say or what you do, no matter how much you shout and scream and cry and threaten, Keigo seems to prefer heroin, every time.

“He has chosen heroin over you many times,” Dabi continues, words echoing your thoughts, calloused palm smoothing your hair back from your forehead, voice snapped back to the Perfect Boyfriend edition, soft and soothing. “Because you continued to stay anyway; because he knew he could get away with it. But now, now it’s different; now you’re gone, and he’s all alone with his prized addiction.”

“I’m so scared, Daddy, I’m so, so scared. What if he—”

“If you truly love him, you’ll let him do this on his own,” Dabi whispers, both palms pressed to your cheeks now, forcing your trembling head still, holding your stare captive.

Something flashes in his eyes, a melancholic glimmer of knowledge that catches in the dim yellow light, vanishing a mere moment later, drowned in a sea of tumultuous sapphire.

Really, you suppose Dabi’s right, suppose what he’s saying makes sense, but it’s still difficult to accept, lodged like a hard, stubborn lump of lead in your throat.

Even if what Dabi says is true, you can’t seem to eradicate the terror that bubbles deep in your tummy at the thought of leaving him to fend for himself and survive on his own, fragments of the most grotesque scenarios slashing through your mind; Keigo bloated and blue with a needle stuck in his arm, Keigo face down in a pool of his own vomit, Keigo pale and cold and hard to the touch, dressed in his best suit and encased in varnished rosewood, surrounded by wreaths of flowers with those topaz eyes closed, never to be bright again.

Nausea swells, boiling up your esophagus, but you shove it back down, coughing around a wrecked little sob that rips itself to pieces in your throat. Dabi clicks his tongue in a sort of patronizing sympathy, strong arms encompassing your form and pulling you onto his lap, cradling you to his chest.

“This is his punishment,” Dabi speaks clearly over your crying, chest vibrating against your ear. “He needs to hit an all-time-low and seek help on his own; you can’t do this for him, no matter how badly you wish you could.”

“Why can’t you just stop giving it to him,” you weep into his neck, fingers tangling in the cotton of his t-shirt, his feigned gasp startling you slightly.

“That would be worse,” he pulls back to look at you, azure eyes serious. “Baby, that would be worse.”

“How?” you whisper, the question wobbling with your bottom lip, the teardrops clinging to your clumped lashes glittering as you blink them away.

“Because my shit’s pure, you know? My shit’s the best. Think about it: if I stop supplying to him, he’s just going to go look for it somewhere else, isn’t he? Would you rather he turn to some unknown dealer? Someone who probably cuts their shit with massive unregulated amounts of fentanyl?”

No, you suppose you wouldn’t.

“That could be so dangerous,” he continues in that same placating lilt, fingers rhythmically climbing the notches of your spine as your face snuggles back against his collarbone. “And besides, I gotta eat too, don’t I?”

You’re pretty sure losing a single client wouldn’t be detrimental to his business, but you don’t know just how much Keigo spends on drugs, so you keep quiet, nodding again.

“At any rate, it’d probably be best to limit your contact with him as much as possible. It does more harm than good, making this whole nightmare more messy and harder on everyone than it has to be, yeah?”

You don’t say anything, can’t say anything, that thick guilt devouring your insides, swallowing down your lungs and heart in its glutinous voracity, acrid as it sludges up your throat.

Is that true, too? Are you inconsiderate for wanting to talk to him, to be in contact with him, to check up on him? Is it wrong to do these things? To continue to allow him access and attention? Does it really just make it all worse for everyone, Keigo especially? Does it inhibit his potential to get better?

“This is what’s best for both of you, princess,” Dabi murmurs, tender voice pulling you from your sea of thoughts, his familiar voice eliciting an automatic, mindless nod from you. “I promise.”

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

Sitting on that small slab of concrete porch wedged in front of that tiny white house, dismal topaz eyes watch as small rocks pop beneath the tires of the Eldorado, the large car grumbling to a stop with a shudder. Silence. Then: the slam of a car door, the jingling of boot buckles, footsteps stalking, almost catlike, up the paved driveway, coming to a stop a few meters away.

Finally, Keigo stands, gazing at Dabi from beneath grease-matted curls, thumbs hooked in the edges of his denim pockets, waiting.

“Christ,” Dabi snorts around a cigarette, lips curled into a smirk as he scans Kegio’s form. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, well,” Keigo says with a half shrug, a hand floundering aimlessly.

He knows he looks terrible; sunken pools of patchy violet encasing his eyes, hair so dirty it hurts at the roots, grime framing his fingernails in a grotesque grey-green.

His coaches comment on it all, at least once a week or so, and can always manage to coax him into showering at the gym while delivering lecture after lecture about why he can’t let himself slip like this, and how he has to stop being so Goddamn obvious now, but Keigo is finding it increasingly more difficult to care. What’s the point, if you’re not here? Why keep up any semblance of normalcy, why put any effort into the facade at all, if you’re not here to see it?  

Dabi’s still talking, he realizes dully, jabbering on in that infuriatingly apathetic drawl, though there’s something else there, something razored and sharp glinting just beneath the surface, the unmistakable blade of personal offence.

“—Though I suppose it’s what you deserve,” Dabi’s saying, Keigo’s ears finally tuning into his frequency. “Y’know, being a fucking abusive asshole and all that.”

“I’m not—” Keigo begins, then he exhales, eyes closing briefly. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Oh? But you meant to slap her, yes?”

“No, I—I didn’t mean to do any of it at all.”

Dabi laughs, a booming echo that bounces off the cars and the house and reverberates in Keigo’s bones, harsh and brutal and unforgiving. The sapphire flames flickering in his eyes flare, glimmering with hatred.

“What are you talking about, you didn’t mean to do any of it? How the fuck do you manage to accidentally backhand someone so hard you leave scars?”

Scars? Keigo’s forehead crinkles. Had he really hit you with that much force? Were his rings, in that moment of rage and self loathing ringing tinny in his ears, sharp enough to have cut you that deeply? With a frown, Keigo shakes his head a little, swallowing weakly against the thick, slimy saliva that has pooled at the back of his tongue.  

“Listen. I—I messed up, alright? I messed up,” a large hand cards roughly through golden curls, glinting dimly under the overcast sky. “I messed up,” he repeats, quieter. It’s silent for a moment, then his head snaps up, topaz eyes blazing. “It was only one time, goddamn it. You—You can’t tell me you haven’t fucked up before, too, Dabi,”

“One time? One time?” Dabi throws his half-finished cigarette to the ground. “Oh yeah? And those finger-shaped marks encircling her wrist, were those only one time too? The Keigo-sized handprint on her back, was that only one time as well? What about the bruises on her hips, or the blotches on her thighs? The fingerprints on her arms? Were they all just one time? How many one times have you had, exactly, Keigo?”

Keigo’s mouth drops open, closed, then open again, a pathetic, hurt little sound strangling itself in his throat, aggression melting into guilt-soaked shame, humbling the ugly crease between his brows.

Thunder roils in the distance, faint yet menacing, a warning growl of what’s to come.

“And I would never hit her, you bastard,” Dabi continues, his voice sharp and sure, calm and confident. “I would never lay my fucking hands on her precious skin.”

“No, no of course not,” he sneers bitterly. “No, you’re fine with simple emotional manipulation.”

“Better than physical abuse.”

”Is it?” Keigo questions, amber eyes suddenly bright, burning. “Will she still love you as much when she finds out what you’ve been doing? How you’ve been treating me? Treating her? Ping-ponging us around like this, using each other as bait for your sick little game? Because she will find out, Dabi.”

“I mean, she still loves you, doesn’t she?” Dabi retorts, the sentiment soiling his mouth, face screwed up in abhorrence.

A sharp exhale escapes flared nostrils and Keigo looks away, jaw clenching hard as he tries in vain to swallow his words, to suppress his vulnerability, to not hand Dabi yet another weapon to shred and stab and brand him with.

Except, irregardless of his desperate attempt, he can’t seem to keep that ambition locked safe and secure behind a cage of bone, the words prying their way past clenched teeth and pressed lips as if they need to be spoken, as if they need to be heard.

“I hope,” he mutters, so quietly Dabi nearly misses it.

He scoffs with a humorless laugh, appraising eyes raking over Keigo’s hunched form in a way that makes Keigo feel exposed, Dabi’s razor glare tearing him open, slicing through flesh and bone and bearing his soul to the man in front of him.

“She does,” he finally spits in an almost begrudging manner, like he’s upset about it, like the words have bitten his tongue and forced their way out licked-raw lips. “Trust me,”

A reprehensible little spark ignites in the pit of Keigo’s stomach, and he does his best not to douse it in hopeful gasoline.  

Carefully, as if navigating a field of land mines, Keigo speaks, aiming to keep his voice placid, that despicable little tremor sewn into his tone imbuing his words with a certain type of pleading.

“Listen, I—I need her back, Dabi,”

“Oh, need, huh? It’s a need now, is it?”

“It’s always been a need.”

“No,” Dabi shakes his head with a tut of his tongue, a sinister smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “No, it hasn’t. It’s always been a want; heroin has always been the need here, Keigo. Don’t kid yourself.”

“I—” his voice splinters, and he clears his throat, hacking up the words. “I need her, too,”

“Not badly enough to quit, you don’t.”

An eyebrow raises in mocking question, daring Keigo to refute his statement, but his azure eyes look bored, as if they’ve been through this a million times already, as if Keigo’s some stupid child who just can’t seem to grasp a simple concept.

Maybe he is.

“It’s more complicated than that and you fucking know it.”

It’s supposed to come out strong, firm in it’s conviction, but the sentence wavers, a mirage in the desert, translucent and unstable.

“There’s absolutely nothing complicated about it,” Dabi snorts, and although there’s mirth playing in his eyes, sapphire shimmering with amusement, his features are anything but, his brows lifted ever-so-slightly and his mouth set in a slant as he digs through his coat pocket. “You love her, right?”

“Of course,”

“More than heroin?”

“More than anything,” Keigo says instantly.

“Prove it.”

Tugging his hand free from the depths of his jacket, Dabi’s fist unfurls, long fingers stretching out to reveal a bulging baggie stuffed with white powder, sitting prim and perfect in his palm.

China white.

Keigo hasn’t used China white in a long time—it’s purer, as pure as it comes, really, as pure as you can get it on the street, and a hell of a lot more expensive because of it. It’s the fucking best, the warmest, safest paradise he’s ever had the pleasure of experiencing, but Keigo’s had to resort to the sugary brown smack when his father had noticed the large sums disappearing from Keigo’s bank account a little too frequently, his suspicion growing when he discovered Keigo didn’t actually own any of the expensive sports equipment he had claimed to spend it on.

The blood in his veins itches, having sprouted tiny little thorns at the sight of his beloved, eager to scratch their way through the capillaries, to puncture tiny little holes and welcome an old friend home.

“What—” he begins, swallowing stickily, his throat dry. “What are you—”

“Prove it,” Dabi repeats, irritation bleeding into his tone, fingers wiggling a little in enticement. “I’ll give you this entire bag, free of charge, if you want it.” A pause, a moment for Keigo to digest the offer. “Or,” he continues in an amicable nonchalance. “You can choose to have your sister return home.”

Blinking several times, Keigo shakes his head as if he doesn’t understand, a frown toying with the corners of his lips. “You’re—You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not,” Dabi assures him, shuffling his palm a little, the baggie jiggling happily.

The head shaking has become more vigorous now, his dirty golden tufts bouncing with the motion. “Bullshit,” he says, but his voice is weak, wobbling with the quiver snuggling into his chin. “There’s no way you’re giving that up for free. That’s—”

“I am,” Dabi cuts him off, impatient. “Make a decision. Dope, or your baby sister. You can’t have both, Keigo.”

Unblinking honeyed eyes stare at the bag, his nose twitching twice, large hands curled into tight, trembling fists. The fragment of a memory slashes through his mind—this same situation, this same offer, this same mistake, the afternoon Dabi took you, cautious sun hiding behind misty clouds.

But it’s beautiful, white as powdered sugar and infinitely sweeter, its plastic housing glinting in the grey light, comforting and familiar. Its allure envelopes him, soft caresses like a precious old friend, whispering enchanting promises of the most potent bliss, phantom as it twines itself through his blood, rushes through his body and sets it all at ease, makes it all alright, devouring all of his problems like the most delicious corrosive, melting his brain to a euphoric mush.

Finally, his glassy gaze meets Dabi’s, eyes shielded thickly with salt water, balancing precariously on his lash line.

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t need to.

It’s only when Keigo’s walking away, hand cupped protectively around the large bag in his pocket, shoulders caving in as they shudder with half-swallowed sobs, that Dabi calls out to him.

“Hey, Keigo, don’t shoot your regular amount, yeah? That shit’s more potent than what your body is accustomed to.”

His steps falter at the sound of Dabi’s voice, the soft mud molding to the soles of his sneakers, the smooth muscles of his back tensing as he listens. It’s difficult to tell whether Dabi’s concern is genuine or mocking, his tone seeming to fall somewhere between the two, wavering on the line of distinction and blurring it significantly.

After a moment of hesitation, he nods, just once, wordlessly and without a glance back.

Keigo knows how to fucking use it.

A jaded flush of revulsion courses through his body, hands trembling with the enticement of a fix: beautiful, breathtaking, jumping daintily just out of his reach, calling to him with a soft smile and pretty eyes, come catch me, come catch me, I’m here, I’m yours.

He feels fucking disgusting.

He feels disgusting as he shuts the door on Dabi, disgusting as he collapses on the couch with his little wooden box of paraphernalia, disgusting as he holds a warped, blackened spoon over a tiny flame, substance bubbling delicately.

He feels disgusting, but it’s okay, his true love vowing to make it go away, to take the pain and turn it into pleasure tenfold, to wipe his mind free of anything other than a sick paradise.

He can hear his own breath, shaky and urgent, echoing around him, eyes intent on his methodical actions. Anticipation rises in his chest as he draws the liquid into the syringe. Rubber cuts into his flesh, tied tight, tighter, veins popped and prominent, inner elbow embellished with pinpricks of red. The welcomed sting of the needle puncturing skin—press, push, pull—a gush of warmth surging through his veins a mere moment later.

And everything’s fine, everything’s fine, everything’s fine.  

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

Irregardless of your Daddy’s stern warning, and how you, for the most part, agree with it, you struggle to find the strength, the conviction, to fully cut ties with your brother. It’s too much, too scary to lose contact with the only person who shares your blood, to purposefully allow him to aimlessly flounder on his own without an anchor. You’ve drawn back drastically, of course, taking care to text him only every few days, just to check in on him, to make sure he’s still breathing, and to reassure him that you are safe.

But you hadn’t truly realized the severity of your actions, and how much it genuinely upset Dabi, until one dreary night in October, with the constant drizzle of rain from an impossibly cloudless sky, deep navy and glowing with the silver light of a nearly full moon.

The steady drool of raindrops paint the whole atmosphere in a sort of dreamy haze, softening edges and blurring lines until its all kind of melted into one another, the void sky dripping into the neon city line dripping into the muralled concrete.

It’s wistful in a way, and it makes you ache for home, for your brother and his stupid buddy-cop films and 1950s westerns, and the roar of your antique fireplace, harmonizing with the splash of rain against stone.

Swallowing past the dazed memory that has lodged itself in your throat, you pull your phone from your bag, thumb hovering over Keigo’s name.

You know it’s wrong, you know you shouldn’t, you know Dabi would be absolutely furious if you did, but you can’t quell the deep, dull pulsating twinge burrowing in your chest, a specific type of gnawing that isn’t sharp or quick but prolonged and painful, a tender pang that seems to grow with each passing second until it engulfs you entirely, until your whole body hurts, and you want nothing more than to be back in the haven of that small white house, back in the safety of your brothers arms.

As it turns out, though, he saves you from having to make that difficult decision, just as he always does, just as big brothers are supposed to, the gentle vibrations of your phone jolting through your palm.

You fumble in your haste to answer, his name flashing in large white letters across the screen procuring a rush of thick tears to flood your eyes, his honorific a jumbled mess of letters on your tongue.

He breathes your name into the receiver, and it’s so heavy you swear you can feel his breath caressing your ear.

How long has it been since you’ve heard him say your name? Since you’ve heard him say anything at all?

That ache digging through your chest finally hits your core and cracks it wide open, clean in two, releasing a sob so ferocious it rattles your ribs and shreds your throat, your free hand slapping over your mouth in a pitiful attempt to muffle it.

The torrent of tears is so dense now you can barely see at all, the watery shield rendering your vision nothing more than an incoherent blur, and you blink rapidly in an attempt to clear it, crystalline drops streaming down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Keigo is saying, his voice cracking on the other line, full of static and emotion. “I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t be calling, but I—”

“I miss you so much,” you inadvertently finish his sentence, the words weeped out. “I miss you so, so much, Kei,”

“I miss you too, sweetheart,” he whispers, and you can almost see him with his eyes squeezed shut, with his phone clutched tightly to his head. “The rain made me think of you.”

The sentiment conjures up a wet laugh, and you brush more tears from your eyes, little droplets clinging to your lashes and clumping them together in large spikes.

“It made me think of you, too,” you admit. “And your dumb cowboy movies,”

“They aren’t dumb,” he shoots back, semi-defensively. “I know you secretly love them,”

“In your dreams! They bore me to death,”  

“And yet, you still watch them with me,” he hums in mock contemplation.

“Yeah, because I love you, stupid,”

Your laughter twines together, sharp thorns of longing stabbing at your lungs. For a moment, you can almost trick yourself into thinking everything is okay, everything is back to normal—that you’re just out on a date with Dabi and will be home to your peppermint pink room and loving nii-san before the night is over—the effortless banter the two of you settle into lulling you into a second of complacency before reality tears through it, with sharp claws and gnashing teeth.

“How are you?” You ask, your tone suddenly more urgent, the words flying from your mouth at a rapid pace. “Have you been eating? Have you been—Have you been cleaning them?”

The heaviness of the situation seems to weigh on Keigo, too, and he clears his throat roughly.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he coughs around the words. “‘Course I am,”

“I’ve known you my whole life, Keigo. Don’t you think I can tell when you’re lying?”

The line goes silent, embellished with the occasional pop or hiss of static, and your tongue withers in your mouth, saliva gone pungent and sour.

“I’m trying,” he finally responds, his voice tiny and tired. “I’m doing the best I can. It’s hard when…” his voice fades into nothing, but you know what he was going to say.

It’s hard when you aren’t here.

“Hey,” he begins after several prolonged minutes of silence, in that soft, sweet, coaxing voice you know so well. “Why don’t you come back home, yeah? I promise I’ll—” his voice cuts off abruptly.

He promises he’ll what? He’ll stop? He’ll get help? He’ll get better? Get clean?

If there’s one thing you know for certain about your brother, it’s that he never makes a promise he can’t keep.

The thought inspires a flash of sharp, scalding anger to slice through your chest, but you stuff it down, contain it in the recesses of your belly, to smoulder and simmer, teeth grinding together as you exhale a slow breath and try to keep your voice from trembling.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

The question is whiny and petulant, and that fury blazes in your stomach, another deep, controlled breath shoving it down again.

“I can’t, Keigo,” you repeat, this time stronger, this time firmer, the words searing your tongue, red hot from that bubbling rage blistering your insides. “I-I won’t. I won’t sit there and watch you kill yourself,”

“No,” he spits bitterly, so harshly the word bites your ear. “No, you’ll just leave me to die, and let your boyfriend do it,”

The accusation, and the fierce brutality of it, stuffed full of venomous hatred, causes you to sputter for a moment, an indignant noise catching on the back of your tongue.

He isn’t pushing that needle in your vein! You want to scream, the words turning to vaporized ghosts in your throat, murdered on sight by Dabi’s sudden emergence from the cellar.

“Who are you talking to?” Dabi asks, his voice calm and cold, the blood roaring in your ears simulating alarm bells.

You don’t even need to say it.

Frost coats your veins, extinguishing your anger and freezing your blood, rendering your body immobile save for the gentle quivering of your puckered chin, the sweet trembling of your jutted bottom lip, the infinitesimal shake of your head.

With a heavy sigh, one that heaves his chest and rolls his eyes, Dabi stalks towards you, rubber soles of his boots colliding with the tiled floors echoing the throbbing in your head, and pries your phone from your fingers.

Keigo’s talking, you think, just an unintelligible mumble of his voice flowing through your speakers, but you can’t make out what he’s trying to say, his stream of words cut off bluntly as Dabi’s thumb jabs the red END button.

He places the device on the table in front of you, eyes cold as concrete, actions slow and deliberate, before turning, almost mechanically, to continue his discussion with his friends.

You aren’t sure how much longer you stay at The League, brain nearly comatose with the situation that just occurred, limbs feeling numb and stiff as your watery eyes stare at the speckled table top, not daring to touch the incessantly vibrating device until it’s time to leave.

Finally Dabi’s hoisting you up, one large hand wrapped tightly around your elbow, and dragging you out towards his car, your feet stumbling as your toes trip over the shining asphalt.

The rain feels refreshing on your skin, the sensation restoring some calm to you, but it is a short-lived relief, strong calloused hands shoving you into the passengers seat only a moment later before slamming the door so hard the entire car shakes.

The drive home is terse with silence, sharp and suffocating, your breathing laboured yet soft, as if you’re afraid that too large, too loud a breath may shatter the thin veil of serenity cast across his face.

You steal glances at him as he navigates the city streets, unblinking eyes glaring at the road, jaw methodically flexing and unflexing, undoubtedly flowing with his thoughts.

He doesn’t speak as he hauls you from the car, doesn’t speak as he drags you up four flights of stairs, doesn’t speak as he pushes you into the apartment, exhaling a slow, controlled breath as the door bangs shut behind him.

And then, he begins.

The air around him has changed, dense with anger. You can feel it radiating off him in thick, cresting waves, fumes of fury that lave over your body with pinpricks of terror.

“Alright.” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his forefinger. “Give me your phone.”

“What?” you breathe, clutching the device to your chest.

“You heard me,” Voice icy with a stony resolute, Dabi holds out his palm expectantly, fingers crooking in enticement when you don’t immediately obey. “Give it to me.”

“Why?”  

“Why?” he repeats in disbelief, eyes widening, as if it’s astonishing that you are this stupid. “Because you are still giving him fucking access to you!”

“Dabi!” you cry, phone cradled tightly in both palms, the screen digging into your collarbone. “I can’t just—I can’t just give up on him! I can’t just cut him off entirely! What if he needs me? What if it’s an emergency!”

“You’re fucking ridiculous, y’know that?” Huffing out an incredulous laugh through a sharp smile, he shakes his head, as if he cannot believe your audacity right now. “No wonder he chose heroin again. It’s because you won’t fucking leave him—it’s because he knows you won’t fucking leave him; he’ll never actually lose you, so why bother giving up his true love, right?”

His voice is so mean, so vicious and dripping with venom, acidic words that burn holes through the atmosphere before they sink into your skin and erode.

“You just—You don’t get it,”

“I don’t get it?” Calloused fingers press to his chest, accentuating himself. “I don’t get it? Really?”

“Yeah, you don’t! You—You could never understand what this feels like, what it’s like to have—”

“My mother was an addict,” he cuts you off calmly, and you choke on your own words, slathered in spit and tears. “Yeah, didn’t know that one, did you,” he snaps. “My father drove her to do it—merciless brute of a man—looking for any sort of escape she could grasp. Except that didn’t work so well, because then she got reliant, needed higher and higher doses to function, to feel okay, and then the psychosis kicked in, and she poured a kettle-worth of boiling water on her youngest child.”

“I—” blinking in quick succession, your head shakes in short little motions, apologies evaporating in your throat. “Dabi, I—”

“The day she left—the day they took her—was the day I ran,” he tells you, voice strong. “The moment she was gone, there was nothing left to tether me to that family.”

His voice holds its conviction, but something flickers in the sapphire of his eyes, a dash of quicksilver, a puff of white.

It’s gone before you can inquire, blinked away with a willful forgetfulness, and then he’s continuing.

“The only one who doesn’t get it is you, sweetheart,” he seethes. “But, I mean, hey, you wanna continue to enable him? Be my fucking guest. You’re only accelerating his date with the reaper,”

“I—I just—” the words hiccup in your throat, thick with emotion. “I just don’t understand why it’s necessary to cease all communication with him!” Your head throbs, eyes shut tight against overwhelming confusion. “I get why I can’t see him, but—but can’t I leave just a thread of communication open? The thinnest, slimmest little line? Just so we can check up on each other every once in a while; just so I can make sure he’s still alive!”

“But that’s exactly the problem! He hasn’t truly lost you if you’re still bothering with him, if you’re still showing him you care!” He shakes his head, irritated. “Look. I’m not going to explain it to you again. I really don’t know how much clearer I can make it; I can’t fucking understand it for you. You are the only thing he has to—”

His voice stops suddenly, a clean cut, the type that occurs when a new thought, a better thought, slices through the previous one. Annoyance melts from his features, revealing something cold, something calculating beneath.

“Actually, that’s not exactly true, is it? You may be the most important thing he stands to lose, but you aren’t the only thing he has to lose, are you?”

Keigo’s scholarship.

Your head begins to shake—a small, automatic motion—as you blink furiously, watching as Dabi paces.

“They hide it pretty well for him, don’t they? My father, all those coaches and trainers and doctors.” He says this casually enough, but you can hear it, that sharp malicious edge of a threat buried beneath his amicable tone. “He must be making them a helluva lot of money, huh. Only a matter of time until someone slips up, though. Only a matter of time until the truth comes out.”

Sapphire glints with the implied threat, blood turned frigid in your veins.

“You wouldn’t.” You say, and although the words are supposed to be strong, assured, but they come out brittle and quivering.

“Oh, but wouldn’t I? He has to lose everything, remember? Don’t you think that includes his cherished sports scholarship?” Blinking, his head tilts, as if he’s expecting an actual answer. “Honestly, it’s a miracle he can even perform in such a condition.”

“Well—He only shoots just enough to keep from being sick on race days,” you mumble, eyes fleeing his blazing stare, nails ruthlessly picking at your cuticles. To be honest, you had wondered the same thing, several times in the past. “And I think…The coaches, they give him something. Something else; little tablets. Uh, orange.”

A look of recognition glazes Dabi’s features, smirk curling in on itself.

“Interesting. So he’s got a whole system set up and figured out, does he?” Dabi shrugs. “Well, it’s just a matter of time anyway. No addict can keep up the facade of normalcy forever. I mean, wouldn’t I be doing him a favour? Ripping that bandaid off hard and fast, forcing him to—”

“No, Dabi, please,” you breathe, head snapping up. “Not—Anything but the scholarship. Anything. I—Racing is so important to him.”

“All the more reason to—”

“Please,” you hiccup, glassy eyes pleading with him. “Don’t take this from him.”

Racing is the last—albeit light—anchor that’s keeping Keigo from floating away entirely. The thought of Dabi ripping it out from under him all because you were too selfish, all because you refused to give up the luxury of being able to contact him, hurts more than you can bear.

Dabi’s smirk turns sinister, creeping out from edges of his expertly crafted mask of concern. “Give me your fucking phone, then.”

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

Over the next few weeks, you only see your phone once—despite knowing Dabi keeps it on his person at all times—in the subdued twilight of the autumn nights, fuchsia haze painted across Dabi’s walls diluted by the pollution of the city, Dabi’s shadowy figure crossing through it as he fishes the tirelessly vibrating device from his pocket.

“Hello?” he had answered, calm, composed. “No, she can’t come to the phone right now…No, she won’t be able to come to the phone for a long while; I think it’d be best if you’d stop calling.”

Tap, click, silence.

And, just like that, the vibrating ceases.

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

“You’re a fucking bastard, y’know that?” Keigo’s growling the moment Dabi’s Cadillac pulls into the empty high school parking lot, soles of his sneakers stomping across the cracked concrete, the slaps echoing among the vast, empty space, pinched face illuminated by Dabi’s headlights. “A deranged fucking psycho,”

“Oh yeah?” Dabi questions, voice calm and flat as he climbs out of his car. “And why’s that?”  

“Taking her fucking phone away, as if you have any authority at all to do such a thing,” he spits, features twisted in abhorrence, acid dripping off his tongue. “That’s her only line of communication—”

“To you. I know.” He taps out a cigarette from a veiny Marlboro box. “That’s why I had to confiscate it; she’s made it very clear to me that she cannot handle having access to it.”

“Cannot handle having access to it—what the fuck?”

Dabi fixes him with an unimpressed glare, face blank. “She doesn’t know how to obey simple rules. Seems like the two of you have that in common.”

“You better give it back.”

Finally, Dabi cracks a smile, half-stifled snort scrunching his nose. “Oh? Or else, what?”

“I’ll get my father involved.”

A scornful laugh twines around the cigarette perched between his teeth, Dabi nodding as he cups the flame of his zippo, words slightly muddled. “You’re a comedian tonight, aren’t you,”

“I’m serious,” Keigo snarls, but his voice tremors ever-so-slightly, and Keigo can practically see Dabi’s ears perk up, eyebrows raised a trifle in falsified surprise.

“Oh?” he asks, question exhaled with a puff of smoke, Dabi squinting at the blonde through the cloud. “Are you? And then, what? You think you’ll get off scot-free just because you’re the Chief’s son?” With a tsk, Dabi shakes his head in mock sympathy. “Nah, nah, nah, pretty boy. It doesn’t work that way. You’re just as guilty as I am, and I’m sure your sterling father would be devastated to discover he has such a pathetic junkie for a son.”

“Maybe I don’t mind sacrificing myself, too, if it puts you behind bars,” Keigo growls, eyes flashing with topaz sparks.

“Don’t be stupid, Keigo. You do something like that and I might just do something equally as idiotic: I might just replace those pretty pink pills she takes every day—you know the ones, taken at the same time each day—with a pack of sugar pills, because Christ, wouldn’t she look so beautiful with a cute round tummy stuffed full of my spawn?”

“You wouldn’t,” Keigo says, though he doesn’t feel nearly as confident as he sounds.

“Why not? Our baby would be gorgeous, don’t you think?” Dabi muses, almost wistfully, sapphire eyes turned to mist. “My eyes, her hair; my nose, her lips…Perfection.”

“You’d ruin the rest of your life with a kid,” he hisses, words sharp but raspy with desperation.

“Ruin?” Dabi questions, and he sounds genuinely surprised, blinking twice. “How would having a child with the love of my life—and binding her to me for at least the next eighteen years—ruin anything at all?”

Keigo’s breath is coming quicker now, harsh and uneven as it rushes down his raw throat, vision beginning to blur with stinging salt. Dabi’s calm is infuriating, head quirked to the side as if he had asked Keigo a sincere question that demands a sincere answer, eyes glinting smugly, something like arrogant satisfaction tugging at a corner of his lips.

A half-baked response sputters on the back of his tongue, lead sinking toxic and heavy in his stomach as he realizes that he cannot win this game against Dabi, whole resolve crumbling to ash.

“I just—Please, Dabi, for God’s sake, I just want to talk to my sister,” the words are whiny and cracked, not a request but a plead.

“You can,” Dabi responds with a shrug of indifference, juxtaposed by the rapidly growing grin on his face. “It’s simple, really. All you have to do is stop being a fucking addict. But you can’t even do that, huh? Not even for your precious princess of a baby sister. Pathetic, that’s what you are.”

A forceful exhale, sharp and strong, halts the twitching of Keigo’s nose, his chin puckered with the trembling of his bottom lip, jaw flexing as he swallows down the excess saliva collecting on his tongue.

The world has turned into a quivering, blurry haze, objects turned to abstract, avant-grade versions of their former selves, with wiggling lines and blurred edges, lights diffused to massless, shapeless entities.  

He refuses to blink, determined to keep the tears obstructing his vision safely behind his lashes, though every word that falls from Dabi’s lips drives that stake of disgust further into his soul.

Because regardless of whatever personal qualms Keigo has with Dabi and Dabi has with Keigo, he’s right. It’s true, it’s all true, and why can’t Keigo quit already? Why is he having so much trouble with this? Everything has always come so easy for Keigo, why isn’t this the same? Why can’t he quit?

“You clearly love heroin a hell of a lot more than you love her,” Dabi continues in that same insouciant lilt, though sadistic amusement sparkles in his eyes. “If you didn’t you would’ve already quit by now, right?”

Keigo shakes his head, choking on his own tears. “I’m trying.”

“Are you? Then why’d you meet me tonight? Why’d you call me two days ago, asking for another two fucking grams?”  

Why? Why is Keigo in love with such poison? Why can’t Keigo kick the habit? Get help? Be better? Why can’t Keigo find the strength, the motivation, the willpower to go through with it for good? Why does the thought of never shooting up again fucking terrify him, crack his heart in two and devour the pieces in a bottomless black hole?

“Do you know how much she cries over you?” Dabi spits, eyes narrowed, throwing his cigarette at Keigo’s feet. “Do you know how much fucking pain you put my baby through? Why do you want to see her, when all you do is upset her?”

“I need to see her,” Keigo croaks, the words mechanical at this point, tears streaming down his face.

“Why would I ever allow you access to her again? Why would I subject her to that? She doesn’t deserve that, does she?”

So many whys, all echoing through his head, all in your voice. Why did he do it? Why did he start? Why didn’t he quit when it was early, when he was ahead? Why can’t he quit now? Why can’t he switch to something else, something less lethal, something more controlled (as if such a thing has ever existed for a drug addict)? Why does he still want to do this, when it’s destroying his body, destroying his life?

“Does she?” Dabi presses, sharp.

“No,” he weeps. “No, she deserves a good, sober big brother,”

“Exactly,” Dabi seethes. “But her big brother only cares about this.”

He pulls from his car a large ziplock bag, full of small white squares.

Forty little baggies, prim and pretty and perfect, the headlights of Dabi’s car casting a sick, haloed glow around them.

“I took the liberty of separating it into dime bags for you,” Dabi says, though his sounds revolted, face screwed up in bitter disdain, as if his own kindness has left a horrid flavour on his tongue. “So you don’t shoot too much at once and fucking kill yourself.”

Voice evaporating to smoke in his throat, Keigo blanches, gaze glued to the plastic clutched in Dabi’s fist.

It’s hard to believe Dabi’s done such a thing, hard to believe Dabi’s capable of thinking about anyone but himself at all. Keigo’s always thought all of this—this whole act he charades, about caring for you, about caring for Keigo, in some backwards sense—as something for Dabi’s own selfish benefit, some sort of twisted game he’s been playing with some sort of goal or gain in mind. He never thought Dabi actually meant anything he said—the man known to be a stellar actor when he wants to be, not unlike Keigo himself—never thought there was any sort of true emotion or feeling behind those sentiments.

But this—this is something else, this is something different. This is action, effort, separate from mere words.

He coughs on his shock, stuttering out sticky words of thanks, but Dabi merely rolls his eyes, shoving the bag into Keigo’s chest so hard he nearly falls over.

“Don’t fucking thank me,” Dabi snaps, not bothering to look back as he walks towards his car, keys jingling in his palm, fidgety, nervous. “You’re dancing on glass, Keigo, and it’s starting to crack. This shit will kill you one day; there’s no way around it.”

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

Christmas comes and goes, your foster parents’ impromptu trip to the Bahamas saving you from having to explain why your boyfriend will not allow you to attend the family Christmas Dinner this year. We’ll have a celebration and exchange gifts in the new year, they promise, but you know it will never come, expensive presents wrapped in luxurious golds and reds doomed to lay in wait for a whole extra twelve months, collecting a fine film of dust in your parents’ basement.

New Years comes and goes, too, the eve of the next year spent surrounded by Dabi’s friends, with the lifeline to your kin held safe and secure in your boyfriend’s pockets.

Idly, you wonder what Keigo might be doing for New Years—he had always taken you and your friends out with him to one of those extravagant parties he always seems to be invited to; will he be going this year, alone for the first time in how many years?

Probably not.

Don’t kid yourself, Tomura had told you, in his special blunt nature, the words somehow simultaneously soothing and stinging. He’s getting high like every other year. Only this time, he’s doing it without you.

He’s probably right.

The thought makes your chest ache, wavering images of your big brother blissfully fucked up on opium, head thrown back against the couch as lidded eyes flit and flutter delicately, a needle still stuck in his arm slithering through your mind. Is he feeling as miserable as you are, right now? Is he feeling as alone, as lonely, as hopeless as you do? Does he miss you nearly as much as you miss him?

These questions grow louder and heavier with each passing day, weighing on your conscious until, finally, something breaks.

It was inevitable. You had both known it was. It was only ever just a matter of time; a matter of when, of how, but never of why.

Everyone knew why.

It’s been building for a while now, chipped bricks stacking atop one another in some sort of sick, precarious game of Tetris, another added with each freedom snatched from you, another added with every panged memory of Keigo.

It’s something innocuous that does it, that finally sends those decaying bricks tumbling down in a heap of dust and rubble, shattering to pieces upon impact and releasing the monster it had housed.

Dabi’s old television flickers idly, murmuring softly to itself as you sit cross-legged on his bed, a textbook between your thighs and a highlighter cap between your teeth. It bathes the small bachelor apartment in faded blues and washed out purples, casting long shadows across the warped wooden floorboards.

You’re barely paying attention, the screen set on some borderline decrepit channel that cycles through old game shows and sitcoms from the 90s, but you’d know that jingle anywhere.

The first few cheerful notes leak through the television’s weak speakers, distorted with the hiss of static, and your head snaps up, a razored little gasp slicing your throat.

It’s a commercial for some sort of gummy fruit snack—a snack that you and Keigo were, admittedly, not usually allowed to have, though your foster mother indulged the two of you on select occasions: when you had been exceptionally well-behaved, or when you had managed to ambush her in the snack aisle at the grocery store, a bright box clutched tightly to your chest as Keigo expertly listed all of the reasons the both of you should be allowed such a treat.

But despite how desperately you wanted to indulge in the treat, the advertisement had mortified you as a child; a sort of grotesque scene consisting of children’s heads exploding into a variety of terrifying fruits subsequent to ingesting the snack. Keigo had teased you about it at first, remarking that someone would have to be a real idiot to think that such a ridiculous thing would actually happen in real life.

Right, you had agreed with a shaky nod, desperate to be as smart and brave as your big brother. Of course, how silly. You were just kidding about being scared, duh.

It wasn’t until he finally got a packet in his palm for the very first time—something he had managed to sweet talk another student into giving him—that he realized how afraid you truly were.

Hey, he had said, golden eyes rippling with worry, such an expression much too serious for a child of his age. It’s alright, it won’t actually happen, he pinky swears.

You had given a small, uneasy nod in response, unable to banish the weariness from your features as you gazed at the colourful little candies.

Look, he plucked one of the gems from his hand, holding it carefully between his thumb and forefinger. I’ll go first, okay?

When nothing happened after he swallowed, his head keeping its normal, human shape, he pushed his palm towards you, gently urging you to try one next.

It’s a sweet memory, one that stings your eyes and burns your throat, fragments of the two of you later joking about the stupid commercial spearing through your mind, Keigo earnestly asking you which fruit you’d want your head to turn into (a strawberry, you had said), this little game becoming increasingly absurd as time went on, answers morphing from strawberries and lemons to gigantic watermelons, too big for your necks to hold.

You glance towards the bathroom door, rendered nothing more than a bleary, wavering rectangle of taupe wood parallel to your spot on the bed.

The shower’s still running, the uneven spray from the old, rusting head hissing against the limestone tiles, symphonic stream interrupted by Dabi’s body as he moves beneath it.

His jeans lay crumpled and abandoned near the foot of the bed, a small mountain of creased black denim on the floor, his trademark white t-shirt curled around them like an ivory reservoir.

Fingers curling in the sheets, you swallow thickly, unblinking gaze trained on the pile of clothing.

You know it’s there, buried deep within the fabric. You know you shouldn’t touch it, know that even if you miraculously manage to get away with using it that he’ll know in an instant, that he’ll be able to tell it’s been moved simply by the way you place it back in it’s cocoon of denim.

But the need to hear Keigo’s voice, even if just for a second or two, is too strong a pull, overriding any sense of judgement or risk assessment.

Your hands tremble while your fingers sift through the jeans, fumbling and unsteady as they dive into the material, finding your phone, at last, in the back right pocket. The screen awakens as you lift it to your face, bright white light straining your eyes.

Quick little pants escape your lips as your thumbs work, hastily scrolling through your contacts until you find his honorific and jab at it three times, rushing blood and ragged breath leaving your ears deaf, muting everything except for the drone that echoes through the phone’s speaker.

It’s halfway through the second ring that the bathroom door swings open and he emerges, steam clinging to his bare chest in crystalline beads, a ratty white towel hanging low on his hips, bones jutting out from beneath the fabric.

Shards of ice form in your veins, sharp and prickly, eyes not leaving his as you wrench the device away from your ear and slam down on the red END button, silencing the voice that was just beginning to answer.

For a moment, everything is still, stiff, silent, your breath held dense and stagnant in your lungs as you wait.

He breaks it with a rancorous little chuckle and a roll of his eyes, scoff dripping with incredulity as he turns towards the small bedside table and pulls open a drawer, rooting around for a pair of clean briefs.

“Whatcha got there, baby?”

He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, but you can see the thorny smirk etched into his face, the corners of his lips twitching with fury. To the untrained ear, his voice would sound painfully indifferent, almost patronizing in a way, as if the current predicament you’ve found yourself in is entirely insignificant. But you can hear it, the notes of anger infused in his tone, boiling just beneath the surface.  

You must take too long to answer, response morphing to frost in your throat, because then he’s turning towards you, flames of sapphire raging in his eyes, his glare scathing your skin.

“When Daddy asks you a question, he expects a fucking answer.”

The fire blazing in his eyes thaws your voice and you sputter, choking on the words in your haste to spit them from your mouth.

“I just—I wanted—It’s not, I mean, I wasn’t—”

Head cocking in mock confusion, he frowns and furrows his brow, the inferno in his stare still scalding.

“You just, what?”

The soles of his bare feet slap against the hardwood as he prowls towards you, each movement slow, steady, calculated.

“You wanted, what?”

The sound echoes out among the small apartment, sick and sharp, and he shrugs, eyebrows raising as if enticing an answer from you.

“You weren’t, what?”

Finally, he reaches you, his thighs mere inches from your face, azure glowering down the slope of his nose.

“Huh?”

“I—I miss him, Daddy,” you nearly wail, harsh sniffles sandwiched between your words. “I just wanted to—to hear his voice, just for a moment, I swear, I didn’t mean to break the rules, I don’t—I’m not trying to be bad, I promise, there was just this commercial, and—”

“Excuses,” Dabi spits, features warped with aversion, squinted eyes and a screwed up mouth. “You know, I do so much for you. I do so much for you, and all I ask is that you obey a few simple ground rules, so I can keep you fucking safe,” a pause, a harsh breath, “and what do you do? You continue to treat me with this—this blatant disrespect: you spit in my face, you sneak around behind my back, you lie to me—”

“I’m not lying!” you squeal, free hand pawing at his denim-clad thigh. “I promise you on my life, on Keigo’s life—”

“Well that’s not worth much,”

“—that I’m telling you the honest truth!” your voice cracks with earnest, and Dabi scoffs, stepping back from your vying fingers as if he’s downright disgusted. The sudden lack of support has your whole body crumpling, shoulders curling in on themselves, ribs rattling with the irregular stretch and compress of heaving sobs.

“The honest truth,” he snorts to himself. “You really expect me to believe that bullshit? After all you’ve shown me time and again is how fucking selfish you are?”

“Sel—” Selfish?

“Yeah, that’s right,” he sneers, twisted triumph infused in his smirk. “Selfish. You’re greedy, craving the artificial comfort familiarity bears, not caring whether or not your brother gets better, not allowing him to truly hit rock bottom and instead teasing him with flitting interaction, like a cat with a string.”

“I—I—” Incoherent static, the fuzz of confusion, permeates your brain, razored little breaths exhaled harsh and uneven as your vision wavers, fat tears racing down your cheeks. “What are you talking about?” Your voice is shattered to fragments, raw in your throat. “Dabi, I can’t just abandon him entirely. He’s the only family I have!”

“Not anymore!” Dabi roars, but the flames flickering in his eyes are full of fear, of hurt. “I’m your family now, too. Aren’t I?”  

Even through your thick tears you can see the heartbreak on his face. It dribbles through that expertly crafted mask he always puts on at times like this; when he wants to hide his truths—feelings and thoughts—from anyone who might be capable of deciphering them.  

It’s in his voice, in the way it wavers on certain words, in the way it fades nearly to a whisper, soft and shattered, before it restores itself to a bellowing roar as his fury overtakes his pity yet again.

“God, if you’d just—just leave him alone, if you’d just let him be to realize that there is something important at stake here and it is worth getting better for then maybe he’d already be in a rehab program.” A hand cards roughly through his hair, fingers tugging at the strands. “But you only keep popping up, reminding him that you’re still there for him, you still care for him, that you’re not going anywhere no matter what he does, even if that thing is killing himself, slowly.”

It still makes no sense to you, how merely checking in on your brother equals any sort of enabling, but you can’t seem to stitch the question together, words welded with spit, emotion overriding your brain.

“I want my brother,” you whimper brokenly, crumpling in on yourself, desperate for Keigo’s arms, Keigo’s warmth, that special type of comfort only a big brother can provide. “I want my big brother.”

“Sorry,” Dabi snarls. “Niisan’s too busy being a Goddamn junkie to give a shit about you. When are you going to realize that he loves that drug more than he’s ever loved you!”

“M’sorry, m’sorry, m’sorry,” you’re weeping, nails digging into the flesh of your knees, clutching your legs to your chest, each sob sending violent shivers rippling through your body. “I don—I don’t know what to do, I dunno how to help! It all feels…” Wrong. It all feels wrong. No matter what you do, or what you say, it all feels so wrong, like nothing will ever truly be enough.

Dabi stares at you for a moment, crystal eyes hard and assessing, before finally he sighs, chest heavy with it, and drops to his knees in front of you.

Slim fingers work to uncurl your own, loose and uncommitted, removing the device from your palms. He doesn’t have to use force, doesn’t have to pry it from your fingers or tear it from your grasp as trembling hands offer it up to him, your head bowed, terrified to meet the diluted hell in his gaze.  

He pulls you into his lap a moment later, after the phone is safe and secure on his person, hugging you to his chest as he murmurs out indistinct comforts into your hair.

The words don’t register, voice nothing more than a soothing vibration against you cheek, and you cling to him tighter, desperate for someone to gather up all of your shards and keep you put together—keep you from falling to pieces entirely—his love the only force keeping you here, real, whole.

You have nothing and no one left but him.

Or so it seems.

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

It’s an unassuming Tuesday, when it finally happens.

It’s as if the circumstances had been perfectly tailored by fate himself: your final afternoon class ends just over a whole hour early on this particular Tuesday, following an unfortunate mishap between your professor’s laptop and his coffee, leaving you with nothing to do but time to kill.

Dabi usually converges with his suppliers on Tuesdays—his busiest day of the week by far, comprised of meetings and testings, inventory and accounting—which means Tomura more often than not picks you up from class.

The sky is a blistering blue, the unrestrained sun beaming down on glittering waves of undisturbed snow. It’s blinding, but it’s welcomed; a nice break from the monotonous grey you have come to expect cementing the sky.

Yet, despite the bright sun unhindered by clouds, the day is cold, full of sharp winds and frosty air that gobbles up your clouds of breath nearly as quickly as they form.

You shield your eyes from the harsh light as you step out into the frigid atmosphere, squinted eyes scanning the campus idly, a glint of gold snapping your gaze to the left.

You’d know that head of unruly curls anywhere.

For a moment you’re unable to move, feet frozen to the ground as your lungs fill with ice, each stuttered breath like icicles ripping through your throat, leaving the flesh stinging and raw.

He doesn’t see you—not at first, anyway—jogging around the well-maintained track outfitted in black spandex and red shorts, bounding along to whatever song is currently playing through his headphones.

Even from your distance, you can tell that he’s lost weight, the spandex that used to cling to him like second skin gone sagging and slack, baggy shorts hanging lower on his hips than they used to.

Tears flood your eyes, thickly blurring your vision and you blink rapidly, two mittened hands moving to swipe viciously at them, scratchy wool rough against the skin of your cheeks. A hiccuped sob catches painfully in your chest, heavy and stuffed full of saliva as it tangles on your sternum.

That’s when he notices.

Feet skid to a stop on the track, kicking up a thin cloud of dust from the frozen floor, his shoulders heaving as his body stills, straight as a rod.

Time slows, just for a short instant, seconds dripping by sticky and sedated as the universe allows you a moment to process this, to savour it, before it kicks your body into gear, thawing your limbs and clearing your mind, your legs snapping into action and immediately taking off in the direction of your big brother.

You hurdle into his chest with such force it nearly knocks him off balance, heels teetering a little as he catches you in his arms and crushes you to his body. Delicate hands fist in the fabric of his shirt as you attempt to pull him impossibly closer, gripping him so tightly it feels as though your knuckles are going to slice right through your skin, stretched taut and firm over the bones.

Lithe fingers flex too hard on your waist as he holds you just as firmly, murmured apologies spilling from his lips into your hair.

You can barely make out his words, too slurred with spit and muffled with tears to be properly legible, but it doesn’t matter—you already know what he’s trying to say.

Burning salt leaks from your eyes and you burrow your face into his bony chest, a vicious sob shredding through your torso with such vigour it sends tremors throughout your bones.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, niisan is here, niisan has you,” you feel his voice vibrate against your scalp, but it’s gruff, hoarse, weighed with such heavy sadness it sounds like it’s about to split apart.

“What—What are you—?”

“My training schedule has shifted a little for the new year,” he explains with a wet laugh, squeezing you to his chest again.

Cold fingertips press into jutting bones as your hands roam his back; the knobby vertebrae at the nape of his neck, the sharp shoulder blades in his upper back, the bumpy ribs at the dip of his waist.

He hasn’t been eating.  

Of course he hasn’t; you haven’t been there to make him, to check up—check in—on him, to cook him his favourite meals and coax him into having at least a few bites while he’s higher than heaven.

You aren’t spared a minute to inquire about it, though, Keigo pulling back and cradling your salt-stained face between his palms, peppering you with kisses—your forehead and your cheeks and your nose—as garbled sentiments spill from his lips; God, it’s been months now, hasn’t it? and He never got to give you your Christmas present this year and How are you? How is Dabi treating you? Has he hurt you? and Christ, he misses you so fucking much he can’t stand it, each tumbling from his tongue at such a fast pace the words collide and clash, as if he’s worried you’re suddenly going to disappear, going to be snatched from his very palms before he’s able to get it all out.

“Keigo, Keigo, Keigo,” you’re nearly weeping, fingers aching from the strength of their grip on his shirt. “Please, please, I miss you so much, I’m so —I’m so lonely.”

“I’m here, songbird, I’m here.”

In the distance, someone hollers his name, followed by an order, too muddled by the blood surging in your ears for you to comprehend.

Cursing under his breath, Keigo looks down at you, regret tugging at his mouth. “I have —I have to get back to training now—”

“No!” you gasp, dainty hands tightening in the fabric. “No, Kei-nii, please, I don’t want you to go.”

“I know,” he says softly, nose twitching with the threat of tears. “But it’s okay, alright?” Gloved thumbs run across your cheekbones, mopping up drops of crystals. “It’s okay, because you and I, we’re going to make a plan.”

[dabisqueen]

Pornstar!Dabi (Touya Todoroki) x female reader

⇢ word count: roughly 7K

⇢ plot: as a broke student, you sign up for an assistant job at a movie set. It turns out the job is more than you bargained for.

⇢ warnings: 18+, minors DNI, swearing, size kink, pierced big-cock Touya, fingering, cunnilingus (f receiving), multiple orgasms, loss of virginity, overstimulation, exhibitionism (sex in front of other people (movie set)), creampie, sweet aftercare

⇢ personal note: thank you @/blankexpressions-and-falsefires for bring my beta again! As for what you're all about to read – I have no regrets. Virgin kink goes brrr

"College has always been so crucial, such an essential part of what measures a person’s worth and determines their future."

They say college life is quite challenging. That it can help you come to realize your potential, that you learn more about yourself while in it. That the challenges you experience in university help you grow into a mature person in society.

You have several challenges to face. There's the problem that you focus entirely too much on your studies. In some ways, it’s to secure your future and to compensate for your lack of private life. In other ways, it makes you, because of inexperience, too naive for your own good. Or, as your friends have called it: too innocent. You've never had anyone touch you, never been with anyone in that way. Thus, you never get the hint when someone hits on you or finds you attractive. You have excellent grades – but unlike many of your peers, you’re still a virgin. 

Another challenge you are facing is that you aren't wealthy. One semester into your studies, you are closer to the end than you expected. Leaving your landlord's buro, you take a few steps before coming to a halt and close your eyes as if to gain some semblance of composure. You're broke and desperately need money to cover your rent and living expenses. The bank isn't going to give you another loan, and you find yourself on the verge of having to leave college without a family to support your education.

They say you have to fail first to be successful in the future. But you are beyond failing – you are simply screwed. 

You are very aware of your financial predicament. And you loathe having to live day to day on just pennies. To put it short—you are sick of being a broke-ass, loser virgin.

You sigh. 

Giving up is not a choice. So you do the next best thing: grab life by the horns and start looking for a job. Searching under your bed, clothing pockets, and between couch cushions, you scrounge up enough money to get a local newspaper. In its classified ads, only a few offers deem themselves feasible with your busy school schedule: a late-night shift at a local diner, pizza delivery, or a job doing telemarketing. None of those sound too appealing, but there might not be a choice. Then, your gaze stops at an offer that sounds too good. A movie company is looking for a production assistant on a film set; you don't need prior experience, work hours are during the weekends, and pay is double what the other jobs offer.

You don’t think before hastily grabbing your phone, punching in the number, and waiting while the dial tone rings.

After a distinct click over the other line, a man hisses, "Shimura?"

"Uhm, hi. I- I am calling about the assistant job offer. I was wondering—"

"You're hired. Tomorrow at 5 pm," the man at the other end interrupts in an annoyed tone.

He rattles off the address as you fumble around for a pen, hastily writing it down when you find it.

Before you can reply, he finishes with Don't be late and hangs up unceremoniously.

You exhale, realizing you’ve been holding your breath since he started speaking.

What the hell just happened? 

***

The path to the location is littered with brown leaves, and you struggle to keep from slipping as you walk toward the building. The address given to you is an old warehouse on the edge of town. Its monotonous, featureless walls covered in graffiti make it feel abandoned. There are no visible signs that anything is happening inside at all.

As you walk across the parking lot, you start to see small indications of life: fancy cars—far too fancy for this area- and sensual music permeating through the corrugated steel walls. 

You weren’t sure how to dress for a job you knew nothing about, so you opted for blue jeans, a white blouse, and pointy shoes with heels. Your hair is tied into a neat ponytail, and simple smokey eyes complete the look. 

You aim for a large steel door that the cars are all parked close to. As you lift your head, you take in the old brick building you are standing in front of, lined with large casement metal windows. 

There is a single doorbell, no name on it, and you hesitate before inhaling and pressing it with the tip of your finger.

You hear a clicking sound, and then the heavy door swings inwards. 

Alright, here goes nothing.

***

The set is surprisingly professional—like a luxurious bedroom sliced in half. A row of chairs faces the set on a concrete floor behind multiple cameras and some sound equipment, with the crew standing around talking.

The producer, Tenko, as he introduces himself to you–with tufts of pale hair and seemingly chronic dry lips in dire need of some chapstick – explains that your job will consist of helping around the set, distributing beverages, and handing out the script. Simple work you could do. After introducing you to the crew, he hands you a stack of papers, instructing you to pass them out.

Then you see her—the actress. She is gorgeous, dressed in an ivory-colored silk robe. Her hair is the color of the sun. Her skin is flawless and tanned, and her body is perfect- although almost definitely sculpted by a professional surgeon.

"Where the fuck is he?" You hear Tenko grumble, pulling a phone from his pocket, thumb tapping against the screen.

A flurry of activity breaks your concentration. A door flies open, and a man strides through—the leading actor, you gather, from how everyone else suddenly perks up.

"Fucking finally," the pale-haired director groans, tucking his cell back into the pocket of his jacket.

The man's hair is coal-colored, falling in messy strands into his face. His eyes remind you of the bright ocean, almost glowing in the dim light of the set. His sharp lips pull into a wide grin, his canines peeking out. He is casually dressed, wearing a pair of dark, ripped jeans and a white t-shirt, allowing you to notice just how well-toned his arms are. He is handsome, with delicate yet masculine features and sharp angles set in his face. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and his thin lips form a troublesome grin when his eyes meet yours. 

Shit. 

He holds your gaze before dragging his sinfully blue eyes over your figure and looking away again. Your heart skips a beat because even in the low light, you can see that the actor is incredibly hot. Totally your type. You can't help but stare at him, watching how he moves, the way his muscles ripple under the thin fabric of his shirt, the way his thighs bulge in his tight pants. 

Speaking of bulge. 

It's the biggest one you've ever seen, and the sight of it sends a pang straight to your core. Your cheeks heat up automatically. 

Stop it!

You curse inwardly a few times for thinking lewd thoughts on a professional movie set.

But—you can't help it. He just looks too handsome. It stirs something inside of you you've never felt before. You sigh, knowing that this man has already made his way into your dreams, but in the end, they’ll stay just that— dreams. 

Someone like him would never want to lay a hand on you.

As he approaches the stage, the man stops dead in his tracks, staring at the actress with a bored expression. 

“Not her again.” You hear him groan.

The actress snaps her head around, a stunned expression on her face. “Pardon me?”

"The script calls for an innocent girl." The actor deadpans. "No one's gonna believe that with you in the female role."

The actress jumps to her feet. “How dare you talk about me like that!”

Tenko hisses, “Didn't you read the script? You would have known you film with her today, Touya—"

“I told you not to use my real name on set,” he says with a blase, somewhat impatient gaze.

“And I told you not to let out your frustration on the set, Dabi.” The director retorts.

“Frustration caused by your actions.” Dabi deadpans.

You hold your breath as your eyes dart from the director to Dabi and back to the actress. The rest of the crew acts like this is an everyday commotion on the set. 

“This is not a request— I'm not doing the scene with her, " Dabi says, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

The actress jumps from her chair, visibly outraged, as her cheeks flare red with anger. “You're such a dick!”

“Yeah, you're right. But I’m the best dick in the industry.” He turns around, a sardonic finality in his tone.

You stare at the scene before you, the forgotten papers clutched tightly to your chest. The blonde woman stares at the dark-haired man, infuriated. 

“So, it's either me—or her.” Dabi addresses Tenko, who isn't even trying to de-escalate the situation. “That's my final say.”

“I can't believe you're doing this to me!" The woman wails exaggeratedly.

"Sweetheart, we need someone who conveys innocence. Not some chick as fake-looking as you," Dabi purrs with false care. “Go carry your plastic off the stage already.”

Tenko scratches his neck in annoyance. He watches as the actress slings an array of profanities at Dabi before storming off with quick strides toward the door, slamming it shut behind her.

The dark-haired man stands at ease, reaching into his pants pocket to retrieve a cigarette, lighting it, and taking a deep drag. “Thank god she's gone. What were you thinking, Tenko?”

“Dabi, she's the most requested—” 

“I don't give a fuck.” he runs a free hand through his dark bangs. “She sucks.”

You listen to them bicker, getting more confused by the second. 

“So—what do you expect me to do now?” Tenko's scratching increases as he starts pacing up and down the set. “Production costs will double if we cut and pick things up on a different day. Not to mention the cost of finding a new replacement.”

He jumps off his chair, pacing around the set. Then he grumbles, “We’ll take a ten-minute break. I need to come up with a solution or else—”

“We need someone Pretty, no makeup, normal clothes.” Dabi suggests, "That won't be too expensive. Someone who looks undefiled, innocent.” Dabi's gaze wanders across the room. “Like a student or something.”

Then he sees you, and a smirk tugs at his lips. His stunning sapphire eyes look you up and down. You swallow hard, your shaking hands almost crumpling the papers in their tight grip.

"Like her." Teal eyes narrow as they focus on you. 

You blink back at him dumbly, the room around you completely silent.

"Me?" You answer, his words catching you off guard.

"Yep. You." Dabi's smirk returns, a playfulness in his eyes. 

The director stares at you with the same baffled expression written on your face. "Her?"

"Yep. Her." His grin widens.

"B-But, I can't!" You counter. " I'm a simple student, not an actress—"

"That's exactly what we need." The twinkle in his eyes is still there, "And you have a pussy, don't you?"

"Yes, I—” You catch yourself, your cheeks flaring hot. “W- What does that even have to do with this movie?"

Suddenly, the room goes alive with murmurs and whispers.

Dabi quirks a brow. "You're telling me you don't know?"

"Don't know what?" You helplessly look around.

The dark-haired man turns to his director, "You didn't tell her?!"

Tenko mumbles something about how you would have found out eventually. 

Dabi steps toward you and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Doll, this is an adult film set."

"A what?" You dumbly blink at him.

"An adult film set. You know, where people fuck." He leans forward, deep azures sparkling salaciously. "You know how fucking works, don't you?"

"Yes, I mean—in theory?" A heat washes over your face and flushes down your entire body.

"Yes or no. What is it?" Dabi asks teasingly, raising an eyebrow.

The heat in your face has reached the tip of your ears as you stammer. "It's none of your business."

He steps even closer. "C’mon, sweetheart, tell us."

He smirks, eyes narrowing as he leans closer. He looks at your lips, then back at your eyes. You can smell him with how close he is leaning in. His deep, masculine scent surrounds you, sending a jolt of heat straight through your core. Even though your mind wants to scream at him, to tell him off, you hear a timid voice whisper, "I’ve used my fingers? Maybe some toys?"

It is your voice.

"You're telling me you've never done it with another person?" This time, it is Dabi’s turn to sound baffled as he leans back, taking you in. "That you're a virgin."

"I-I…" You stammer, swallowing dryly.

Looking over his shoulders, he calls over to his director, "It'll break records if we film this. You're aware of that, right?"

"I am." Tenko snaps, scratching at his neck irritably, "You don't need to tell me."

"Ok, then it's a deal.” He nods towards you. “I want her—or I'm leaving."

"You little piece of—" Tenko growls. "That's extortion."

"You won't regret it," Dabi says, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Shouldn’t I have a say on this too?" You ask, but both men ignore your words.

"Ok, it's a deal," Tenko murmurs. "How much do we pay her?"

Dabi turns his gaze back to you. "You need money, right? Or else you wouldn't be here.”

"That’s none of your business."

"C'mon, sweetheart, This is your chance."

“Yes, I mean… " a sound of annoyance bubbles up your throat. "I can't afford my rent anymore, and my landlord will kick me out if I don't pay up soon."

“I sense an opportunity here," Dabi smirks. "Tenko, how much will you pay her if she agrees to do this with me?"

"How much do you want?" Tenko asks you.

“I-I don't know. I've never thought about it." You shyly add.

"Pay her rent plus an allowance," Dabi suggests. "Tenko, you know she's worth it."

"That’s too m—" You swallow hard.

Tenko mumbles disgruntledly: "OK, I'll do it.” 

“You what?" His words leave you stunned.

Dabi interrupts quickly. "What he's saying, sweetheart, is that he'll pay for your rent - if you let me fuck you.”

His lewd words and the deep blue pools of his stunning eyes send a flutter through your stomach. 

“In front of all these people?!" 

“That's what porn is all about, doll.” Dabi chuckles, studying your reaction.

You swallow hard.

"So? What's it gonna be?" He cocks his head, waiting. 

You have always prioritized safety, so common sense tells you to stick to your usual way of life. However, look where common sense has led you: You're almost broke and may need to drop out of college. 

This could be a bad decision. But, it's time to throw safety to the sea.

"OK, I'll do it," you proclaim, and a round of applause and cheers erupt on the set while Dabi nods appreciatively.

“Congratulations, you're hired. Now, get ready before I change my mind.” Tenko waves a hand. “We still have a movie to film here.”

Your heart starts to race, a crushing weight bearing down on your chest. But you know that you have no choice. It's either a free porn loan—or being a forced college dropout. Taking a deep breath, you ball your hands into fists, trying to ignore the signs of panic your body is giving you.

"Okay, everyone, resume positions. And hand her the script.” Tenko moves to his chair, sitting down in it. “Let's do the first take." 

"Hold on," Dabi says. "Why not do it a bit differently this time? No script, no acting— just raw footage. The whole thing.”

“You mean a one-shot film?” Tenko looks surprised. “I suppose that would work. Especially with a new actress.”

“Are you okay with that, doll?” Dabi smiles at you, and there's a warmth in his voice that wasn't there before.

“Do I have a choice?” you sigh.

“Not really.” He winks.

"Are you two lovebirds done flirting over there? " Tenko asks, " Because we're ready to film.”

“We weren't flir—” you protest, but Dabi bridges the distance between you.

"So, sweetheart?" He leans in, his face hovering close, sharing a breath with you. "How are you feeling about being fucked on camera?"

“Nervous.” you bite your lips, your face starting to burn.

"Doll, don't be; just focus on me," he soothes, stroking your cheek. “Forget about everyone else; I'll take care of you.”

He takes your hand and pulls you towards the bedroom set.

“Quiet!” Tenko raises a hand, and complete silence falls over the set as the crew prepares to film you both. 

Tenko calls out a set of commands, which different crew members around the room answer.

“Sound?”

“Set.”

“Camera?”

“Set.”

“Roll sound.”

“Sound rolling.”

“Roll camera.” 

“Camera Speed.” 

“Marker.”

A man with a clapper board enters the scene and calls, "Scene one. Take—uhm— whatever." 

Dabi nods, and that is the cue. The lights dim, and the cameras vanish into the darkness; only the red lights betray their existence. 

You glance around, your stomach in knots, as you realize that this is no game, that this is it. The only thing visibly lit was the bed standing a few feet away. The crew's faces are barely visible as everyone watches you, the man behind the camera tilting it, filming you from bottom to top.

“Hey baby, you alright?” You hear Dabi's voice.

“N-No, not really.” You stammer, your hands trembling, your breathing picking up, as your eyes frantically dart around the dark set. “I don't know if I can do this.”

“Sweetheart, look at me.” You feel a finger hook under your chin when Dabi tilts your head to meet his gaze. It's intense, the turquoise of his irises gleaming almost unnaturally. 

You feel your heart sink into your stomach as his thumb caresses your skin. When he closes the already minimal distance between you, your eyes flutter close in reflex. His lips are sensually warm and addicting against your cheek, and your heart starts thrashing wildly inside your chest in response. Something changes between you, an intimacy blooming as the voices of the people mute.

It's all you need to distract your mind, to make your body heat up. Not with anxiety—

—but in anticipation. 

“Are you ready to give me your virginity?” His low voice rumbles close to your ear.

You nod, like in a haze, every caress of his lips causes your skin to tingle, to burn with passion. He shifts, and you feel him faintly brush your lips, and a zap of electricity courses through your veins. Then, your lips are united in his first tentative kiss. They are so soft, and the way he kisses you is so delicate, almost tender— deliberately slow.

You relax, giving in to how wonderful this feels. His tongue slowly traces the shape of your lips, and you feel your brain short-circuiting. Angling your head to the side, you part your lips, begging him to enter. Dabi reacts instantly, his tongue slipping your mouth, delving deeper, tasting you, consuming you.

You groan—how could a man taste so good?

It makes your knees buckle, and you start panting into his mouth, your instincts taking over, your body reacting to his touch. A desire, a passion, awakens like a wild animal roaring, and you feel a wave of arousal pool in your panties. You can't help it, and you slide your hand underneath his shirt, your other hand circling his neck. You can feel him smirking into the kiss, but the sound carries off into a groan when you rake your nails down the small of his back. 

As he breaks away, a warmth lingers between you and him while he admires your wet, pink, swollen lips, "A little eager for your first time, huh?"

The kiss leaves you dizzy, and you can't seem to form an answer, too stricken by his closeness and intoxicating scent.

The moment passes, and then his lips smash against yours so fast you don't even have time to react. He presses his hips against yours, his clothed hardness grazing against your heat, letting you feel just how hard you’ve made him.

Holy shit.

He's not gentle anymore; he's rough and demanding now. He is taking you, enjoying the shaky gasps that leave your lips. Dabi’s hands trail down your side to find your ass cheeks. He lifts you by the thighs onto his waist skillfully, never breaking the kiss. Carrying you easily toward the bed he releases his hold and you topple onto it, panting heavily.

The lights around you heat the air, and you notice one camera panning across the set while the other tracks toward you on a dolly. Just as your heart starts picking up an anxious speed again, you see a movement to the side. Dabi yanks his shirt above his head, the muscles in his stomach flexing with every movement.

The second the fabric touches the floor, he's on you with his lips pressed to yours and his tongue in your mouth. You feel yourself getting lost in the moment of passion and all you can see is him. Your stomach somersaults and the world around you ceases to exist; it is just you and him— the people around you and the cameras wholly forgotten. The world, right now, only revolves around the two of you.

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes into your mouth, hazy eyes glowing with arousal. "How do you taste so fucking good?”

You feel his hand sneak underneath your shirt to slowly pull it off over your head. Next, he skillfully removes the rest of your clothes off until you are lying below him, sex and breasts cupped by delicate cotton underwear. 

“Look at that,” he muses. “So innocent.”

Sliding his hand behind your back, he unhooks the bra with an expert pinch of his fingers. Your breasts spill out as he slides the straps off your shoulders, tossing it aside. Then his gaze lingers on your soft, round tits.

“Damn,” he cups them and squeezes them gently, “Where have you been hiding, girl? You're perfect.”

He slides his fingers over your nipples and a low moan tears from your throat. Dabi lets out a low rumble as his hands continue to work your breasts, rubbing and plucking at your stiffening nipples. There’s a deep throb low in your body, pulsing between your thighs, and you're startled at the way you’re reacting. You are so turned on—his touch only adds to your body’s cravings, and as his large palms glide over your breasts; it pulls the breath from your lungs as it simultaneously fuels your desire. His thumbs drag over your nipples again, rolling it between his fingers before leaning down to lick at your pebbled nub. He makes you feel breathless with excitement the more he focuses on toying with your breasts, rolling the tips back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. 

It makes you crazy with need until you're aching, shivering throughout your entire body. You're gasping for breath the entire time Dabi has his lips wrapped around your erect nub, sucking it to send a tingling sensation straight through to your core. Then he's biting just hard enough to make you squeal before soothing the puckered nub with a flick of his tongue.

“You’ve got the most amazing tits,’ Dabi murmurs against your skin. “So soft and full. So natural.”

While he switches from pliant nipple to pliant nipple, you feel a stray hand hook its fingers under the seams of your panties. He releases your nipple with a pop and peppers kisses down to your tummy while he adeptly pulls the little piece of fabric down and off your legs. You're now utterly naked below him while Dabi continues revering your body with wet kisses and nibbles, moving downward until you feel his warm breath on your pubic mound. He spreads your trembling legs, his eyes glazing over your pussy, pupils expanding and then retracting into pin slits.

"Look at that pretty pussy." His breath is hot against your soaked folds. "And so fucking wet—you're dripping."

A shameful sound spills from your lips at his words, and you writhe in his hold. But his hands keep you in place. 

"You're seriously telling me,” he slides his fingers up and down your glistening folds, “No one's been here before?"

You squirm below him as a camera zooms in on where Dabi’s eyes are affixed– between your thighs.

“Cause you have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.” He snickers. “And I've seen a lot.” 

His warm, calloused fingers slide up and down your slippery folds, his hot breath fanning over your sex. Then he spreads apart your sweet lips; it makes you shudder in anticipation, and Dabi chuckles.

“I can see you twitching for me.” A finger sinks in, making you arch your back the deeper it goes. 

The camera behind him zooms in on your blushing face, and you cover it with trembling hands. 

"Nu-uh, no hiding. Look at me." He slaps your clit lightly—making you jolt. "Let us see your pretty face."

You whimper softly, because you've touched yourself before—

—but this just feels so much more intense.

“Dabi—” you choke out, flinching in pleasure when he slides a hand underneath your ass, 

raising your hips to have more access to you. 

“Relax, baby, I'll take care of you.” A growl tears from his throat, and then he drags his tongue over your gleaming folds, tasting you. 

You cry out, your body shuddering. Over and over, Dabi licks you with deep, claiming strokes, using his tongue to explore every bit of you. 

“Damn, you taste better than anything I've ever tasted.” He pushes his wet muscle into your core, frantic to have more of you. 

“Oh my God. Dabi!” Your toes curl, and your thighs tighten around him. You're both – startled and aroused at his eagerness. Any worries you have are melting away as he drags his tongue over you again and again, making you squirm with need.

A moan escapes your lips– loud, uncontrolled– when his tongue flicks over your folds. When he grazes your little button, you jolt as if you've been stung. 

He hums appreciatively and buries his face into your warmth, seeking out that sweet nub. Your body jerks as he moves his tongue over it, repeating the action when he does it again. You give a little wail, and your hands curl into the fabric the longer he teases. He eagerly works that spot, and you cry out with little choked gasps.

As his tongue circles your clitoris, your sensations spiral out of control. You can feel the tension increasing in your body with a growing urgency to be released. 

“Dabi,” you pant with every flick of his tongue. But he doesn't respond, does not hear– or pretends not to. He buries his face in your folds, hands holding you down by your hips.

With every quiver that moves through your body, with every shiver of response, every tensing of your muscles, you draw closer to the edge.

You writhe against Dabi, with his face between your thighs, lapping at your juices. All the while, he continues to work your little clit with his tongue in slow, steady strokes. 

Suddenly, the feeling that you’re about to cum overwhelms you. Your pussy clenches, dripping with your juices, and your clit is ready to burst.  

Your hips jerk against him, and then a release explodes in your mind, your thoughts crashing all around you. You come with a slight scream that morphs into a moan, but Dabi does not stop his ministrations—

—no.

He continues to lick and suck as you come and come and come.

It's too much; you feel like exploding. You’re a moaning mess, fingers slipping between Dabi’s strands, pushing and pulling at his roots unsure if you can take it if he keeps going like that. 

Your entire body is on fire. The orgasm continues to surge through you– more intense than anything you’ve experienced by yourself– with Dabi gently sucking and licking at your clit. You are delirious, feel like you are floating with no way to find your path back to earth. 

“Dabi, please—” you choke out.

Dabi’s mouth detaches from your overstimulated nub and straightens up, licking your cum’s sweetness off his lips. Crawling on top of you, he gazes into your eyes. “Doll, tell me—what do you want me to do?”

You see his jeans straining from the bulk of his erection and swallow, your body responding with a flood of hormones. 

“Please fuck me,” you whisper, thinking in ways you never have before.

You want to beg him to be gentle, but you can’t seem to form the words when you see him unbuckle his belt before unzipping his jeans, his eyes carefully watching your expression as he does. His cock springs to life, and you swallow thickly. It's enormous—and pierced. 

You feel a momentary pang of doubt, questioning if that monster will even fit inside you. The previous excitement and adrenaline pumping through your veins gradually turn to panic. Your breathing picks up as you stare at his cock, wide-eyed. 

“You look worried,” Dabi says, stroking it with one hand. His raised eyebrows and amused grin tell you he's used to this type of reaction. 

“Are you sure…” you nod towards his cock.

“Trust me,” he says. “I’ll make sure you feel good. It’ll be the greatest thing you'll ever experience.”

Your entire body yearns for his touch, and there’s no way you're saying no now. He’s spreading you wide open, hands on your knees, before he moves to hold himself in hand to align his cock with your entrance.  

"Do you want me to fuck you?’ Dabi asks as he drags the head of the tip up and down your slit. 

“‘S not gonna fit,” you whine with a worried expression.

“Don't be scared,” Dabi says, "I know what I'm doing. So, you'll be a good girl and take it all, right?”

“I'm not sure,” you whisper.

“I know you can...” His eyes stare at you with a desire so intense that you almost feel intimidated. 

He’s spreading you wide open, hands on your knees, before he moves one to hold himself and align his cock to your entrance. The pressure between your legs increases as Dabi nudges the pierced tip of his cock against you.

“Get ready,” he whispers.

A mix of a gasp and a cry leaves your lips as Dabi strains against you, feeling like he’s trying to shove a massive pole inside of you. You squeeze your eyes shut as tears gather in your lashes, and Dabi holds back, kissing you, waiting for you to relax.

“Easy,” he says softly, “I’ve got you.” 

The softness of his tone relaxes you and the tension in your shoulders lessens. Then, somehow, something gives way, and he enters you. You gasp, your body opening up to accommodate the massive dick that is now sliding inside of you. 

"Oh my god—” You throw your head back, hands clawing at his shoulders in a weak attempt to push him away.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he hisses, eyebrows furrowing before he hits resistance and then pushes forward.

There’s a sharp pain slicing through your core, and you don't know if it's from the stretch or a tear. Probably both. It hurts, and you squeeze your eyes shut, forcing tears down your cheek. Dabi continues to push his hips forward, only stopping once he’s entirely inside, heavy balls pressed against the crease of your ass. The cameras zoom in on the bulge in your womb, where his dick sits buried deep inside of you. But you don't notice them, your brain too consumed by him filling you up, his whole weight resting against you. 

“You ok?” Breathing heavily, he drags his eyes back and forth over your face. 

“Gimme a sec.” Your lips press into a thin line as the pain from the stretch slowly turns into a dull throb. After a moment, you nod...

"I'm gonna start moving now," Dabi says— and then does precisely that. 

Just as you start to feel your body relaxing, he withdraws, only to plunge himself in again. The sudden shock of the movement is incredible. You feel every ridge, every single thick vein. It feels fantastic, and as he slowly slides back in, you can appreciate every inch of his cock. He starts an even rhythm, rocking inside you gently. 

“Shit, just squeezed me so fucking tight,” he moans in response. "I’m warning you, don't make me lose my composure. You don’t want to see me act up.”

Your mind feels detached from your body; you don't hear him, don't even notice the camera zooming in, focusing on how your face scrunches and your lips quiver because of how good he makes you feel. 

He grabs you by the waist and brings you closer to him. Raising both legs in the air, he pushes them forward until your body is folded in half.

“Oh—shit—” You choke out, the walls of your sex stretching to accommodate him. 

“I’m gonna make you cum,” Dabi is panting hard as he starts driving his cock rapidly in and out of you. “You won't be able to walk for days.”

“I-I can’t—” your jaw slackens as you tighten around his dick again, the ability to form comprehensive answers having left you the moment he breached your walls.

He rams himself deeper while his fingers slip between your strands, guiding your face upward, your mouths colliding in a frantic kiss. 

It starts as a slow burn that gradually builds into a white, blistering heat. A feeling begins coursing through you, making you lose control of your body. You tense and arch your back, your head digging back into the pillow, voice caught in your throat. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, all that tension releases, and you cry out loud, a turbulent wave of pleasure hitting you like a storm. All your nerve endings are seemingly set ablaze while Dabi fucks you through your orgasm. 

His eyes are wide with wonder, hearing and feeling you come undone around him. The way your eyes are shut tightly in pleasure, your entire body trembling and shaking in ecstasy, is the best thing he's ever seen. It makes his chest swell with pride. Still, it feels like it's not enough, though, and he needs more. He wants to own you, possess you, make you his.

Dabi snaps. 

With a suppressed growl, Dabi grabs you by your hips and flips you over onto your stomach. He's not letting you catch your breath before he propels his cock back inside you again. His hand slides from the dip in your spine to the spot between your shoulder blades, pressing down until your face is buried in the sheets. At this angle, he reaches even deeper than before, his piercings rubbing your G-spot just right. Your hands tightly fist the soft duvet with every drive of his hips, knocking the air from your lungs.

Dabi seems delirious, pistoning in and out of you now. Reaching forward, he gathers your hair around his fist, tugging it to keep you in place, forcing your head up from the sheets. You sob out his name, your chin and cheeks covered with your drool and tears. 

But Dabi is drowning too deep in pleasure to notice. 

"I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll never think of anyone but me in your fantasies," Dabi growls while your elbows shake under the pressure of his forceful thrusts.

Slowly, your mind is falling apart with the pleasure pulsing through your body. Dabi starts drilling his big cock into your even faster now. You tremble below him, thighs quivering when you feel another orgasm building up. 

“You gonna cum for me again, princess?” Dabi groans, “I can feel your pussy clenching around me.”

You nod, too exhausted to form any words. Dabi tightens his hold on your hip, fingers digging into your plush skin, holding you still. 

“I’m gonna cum with you,” he tells you. “I’m gonna fill up your tight hole, gonna breed you so good—fuck!”

"Please—" you whimper pathetically, finding yourself trapped in his lewd promises. 

And then you lose it, feeling like the world is disappearing underneath your feet. Pleasure rips through you, leaving you with no strength. It’s an intense tingling pleasure that starts in your core and spreads through your whole body, from your fingertips down to your toes. It's all-consuming and euphoric, your body not knowing what to do with that much sensation at once. 

You feel your body falling off a cliff into a pile of tingling ecstasy as you cum again with a broken whimper escaping your lips. The orgasm is even more potent than the last ones, like a massive burst of pleasure; all that tension explodes and shoots up the back of your legs and everywhere else. You moan and shudder, your pussy clamping around his cock. 

“That’s it,” Dabi lets out a long, shuddering groan. “Just like that.”

You forget to breathe while Dabi keeps fucking your harder and harder, feral with desire, shoving his cock as deep inside you as he can.

“Oh fuck—” You gasp out, arching your back, fingers twisting against the sheets.

No sooner have the words slipped from your lips that you feel your whole body lock tight again—and then unravel. You forget to breathe as an unending cascade of euphoria detonates deep inside of you. You come undone, shaking uncontrollably as juices gush from your pussy, dripping down Dabis balls, drenching the sheets below. 

Dabi groans, his eyes screwing shut, head dropping back. With one final possessive thrust of his hips, he cums, shooting his seed deep inside you. You feel his cock twitch as he moans heavily, eyebrows sewn together. His body is shuddering, his hips hitching while he rides out his orgasm.

You’re faintly aware of your surroundings, buried too deeply in your bliss. Unable to take any more pleasure, you slump backward. Dabi slides his softening cock from you with an obscene wet sound before dropping down onto the bed beside you, taking you with him.

“Fuck…” he breathed out, caressing your skin. “That felt so—”

‘And—cut!’ You hear a voice call, speaking its way into the mush that is your brain, slapping you back to reality.

You open your eyes and look around in shock, having completely forgotten where you are. The lights switch on, almost blindingly bright. People start hustling about the set, and cameras mere inches away from you now pull back into their waiting positions. 

“That was perfect,” you hear Tenko say through the noise filling the set now.

Your breath catches in your throat, an unsettling feeling beginning to well inside you. Your heart starts pounding at an increasingly rapid pace while you feel panic stretch its icy fingers up your spine.

You feel a warm hand cradling your face, angling it to the side. It’s Dabi. He places his mouth over yours without further ado. 

“You are perfect.” Dabi coos into the kiss, and it happens again— butterflies erupt in your gut, the world around you fading until there's only you and him.

Instinctively, you let go, feeling the tension slowly dissipate and your heart calming down. Dabi smiles as he breaks away from you, and you feel it— a lingering warmth, an unseen connection that spins fragile threads between you both.

A man approaches to help you get out of bed, but Dabi, whose face is still dewy with sweat, moves between you both. He takes the bathrobe from the guy and wraps it around your shivering body before getting dressed himself.

Helping you off the bed, he drapes an arm around your shoulder and leads you past the celebrating crew members from the set until you’re backstage. 

Once in the changing room, he closes the door behind him and leans against it. 

“That was something…” he muses. “You’re a natural. Would you ever consider doing this again with me?’ 

You're caught off-guard, his face radiating a tenderness that fills your heart with something joyful. A warmth spreads across your face, your hands gripping the soft belt of your robe as you nip at your lower lip. “I-I don't know.”

“You should,” Dabi kicks off the door frame and saunters over you with a sinful, obscene sway of his hips. His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing in a silent agreement, pulling you into a tight embrace. “Think about it…”

He lets the words hang in the air for a second. When he pulls away, his arms wrap around your neck, lower half still pressed against you as if you’re not a stranger. He looks down at you like the two of you have been dating for years.

“So, I was wondering… what are you doing later on?” Dabi kisses the tip of your nose. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat and get some drinks?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” A new desire for him grows inside of you. You smile back at him, reaching up to gently play with his dark hair.

“Maybe?” His lips curl into a devious smirk.

“Is this even allowed?” Chest to chest, your heartbeat slowly catches up to his, as if your bodies react simultaneously to each other's warm touch.

“Maybe?” Dabi repeats, his thumb gently brushing along your lips.

When you look into his eyes, a tenderness softens the rough edges of his sharp features. It makes you wonder, he’s been so sweet and caring after everything that happened today– you actually believe he’s a genuinely sincere and nice guy. You feel your heart quiet when you’re with him, as if you have found peace. 

“Well…” you consider, “I've just thrown all my morals into the wind. So, might as well go on a date with a pornstar, right?”

“You won't regret it.” Dabis laughs softly. “Even though you might not be able to move after I'm done with you—”

“Is that so…” You are torn between scolding him or laughing because he's so cute. “Ok, big boy, whatever you say.”

[neurthotic]

DABI AS A BOYFRIEND ✫

✫ incurably watches you sleep. you get used to waking up to it eventually. maybe.

✫ neck kisses all the time

✫ his communication skills are shit. you feel like a kindergarten teacher explaining to his expressionless face how to talk about our feelings

✫ he keeps a hand on your back or your shoulder or in your hair when you’re together, absently keeping track of you

✫ “you’re cute when you’re scared.”

✫ warm ass hands

✫ he definitely has a weird and scary thing for pain. “you want to touch the staples? yeah, you can touch them. you can rip them out of my face with your teeth if you like.”

✫ dabi doesn’t do nicknames. pet names are once in a blue moon.

✫ driest texter to walk the earth

✫ the self deprecating jokes are actually mad funny. sir please stop calling yourself crispy

✫ gets very um. creative about degradation.

✫ it’s all “come get in the shower with me” and then you stick a toe in and the water is two degrees away from freezing to ice. sorry not all of us have fire inside okay

✫ he doesn’t like you cautious around his injuries, even treating/tending them: “stop being fucking gentle with me.”

[ramonathinks]

EREN, GOJO, GETOU, TOJI, DABI

[matchamiko]

Teaching Dabi how to eat pussy the way you like it but he’s so desperately sloppy and messy about it that you just hump his face with one hand gripping his hair and the other tight on your own throat.

He’s inexperienced, mostly, he doesn’t give often if not at all to the partners he’s had in the past, few and far between; but then you came along and all of a sudden he’s offering and begging and demanding. He’s so used to seeing pussy eating in porn, in magazines that he’s got no rhythm, no method, no thought behind his guzzling and slurping and biting. So when you anchor yourself to him with a frustrated little whine, lifting your hips and grinding smoothly and sweetly against his tongue and his nose; Touya swears sees new colours and hears new sounds. The wet click of your cunt against his lips and chin, the shuddering of your thighs either side of his head, your mumbles and gasps against your constricted throat, and your encouraging praises of him just staying right there, just like that Touya. He cums loud and wet as he looks up at you through his lashes, half angry that you’re not teaching him like you said but half insane over the state of you, using him to your heart’s content.

[kirbyskisses]

cw: breeding

dabi who practically explodes when you call him his real name while fucking. the revelation that it’s not just the villain you love - it’s all of him - the villain, the tortured child, the man who loves you - every part of him.

your mouth lets out a weak “touya” while he’s inside you and suddenly he loses all control - hips rutting ‘nd bucking into you like a dog. he practically cums on the spot, shaking and grunting loudly through a world-shattering orgasm.

then, he’s practically drooling; doing and saying anything to hear it drop from your lips.

“say it again, babygirl. c’mon, say my name.” he moans - dick as deep as it can go, before sliding out all the way to the tip and shoving back in, kissing your most plush, sensitive spot with every stroke.

“t-t-touya~” weakly rolls its way out of your lips as white cream from just before spills out of you onto the sheets below with every thrust.

“no, louder baby, c’mon… say it for me”

“t-touya-”

“that’s it. who’s making you feel good?”

“you are, touya~” you squeal, his hands gripping the meat of your thighs to push you further into a mating press.

“whose pussy is this, doll?”

“yours, touya. it’s j’st for you!”

“that’s right. all mine. and i’m the one you love right? i’m the whose baby you want - whose cum you need, aren’t i?” his blue eyes stare down at you in a mix of possessiveness, love, lust and desperation.

“yes. yes it’s you, touya - I love you, touya. want you, touya. want to have your baby, touya.”

dabi touya swears he’s never cum harder in his life.

[baby-tini]

This man burns the sheets when he cums. Especially if you're riding him, his head thrown back, tight grip on the soaked sheets as he whimpers... hands always moving. He can never keep still when he's about to cum, especially if you're overstimulating his cock, continously pulling orgasm after orgasm out of him. He panting like dehydrated dog, running his hands over your thighs, slapping your ass, playing with your pretty tits. He just can't. keep. still. So in turn, anytime he tries too touch you, you bat his hands away, so now his only hold on reality is the ruined sheets, pulling so harshly they start to tear at the seams, and that's when you smell it. Burnt cloth filling your lungs as you catch blue flames in the corner of your eyes.

He's shaking, body convulsing as he whines. Thighs shaking as the sheets start to burn, back arching while his eyes roll back. Pleasding for you too keep going, let him fill you up again, tight, wet cunt squeezing him for everything he's worth. Your nails scratching nasty, red marks down his chest. Sweaty strands of white hair sticking to his forehead as cerulean eyes stare up at you, onyx swallowing the blue whole.

"Please baby... fuckkk- keep going, yeah, yeah- just like that. Tightest fucking cunt, you want my cum so bad, don't you slut, huh?... mmhm shit." And of course, "sorry for the sheets babe, I'll buy you new ones pretty girl."

@dabislittlemouse I keep reading and re-reading your "riding dabi" post. He's so fucking pretty, also I feel like he gets tired from over-using his quirk so he'll have you ride him quite often.

[kleftiko]

❦ PRO HEROES/VILLAINS FAVOURITE POSITIONS

cw: mature, gn!reader

—aizawa

you on top. 100%. no debate. not only because he’s always tired, but because he wants to look up to you like the deity you are. he wants you to take control, use him to make you feel good. he does not think he deserves you, but he would do anything to keep you happy and satisfied. that’s his favourite position, but if you want anything else, he moves in a snap.

—hawks

missionary. now, this position is incredible when you’re in love, for hook ups its meh. despite his flirty attitude, he absolutely adores you. he wants to hold you close, admire your pleasure stricken face, and kiss you all over. he wants you all to himself, all day, every day. and when your fingers trail up his back, dragging across his shoulder blades and wings meet, it has him shaking.

—dabi

doggy style. man has trust issues, commitment issues, intimacy issues, you name it, he has it. he can’t look at your face, the haze in your eyes from pleasure and love are too much for him. give him time, be patient, and he will come around. but there’s nothing like the jiggle of your ass as he thrusts into you that will always hold the title of his favourite thing.

[dabislittlemouse]

❝𝙃𝙄𝙎 𝘿𝘼𝘿𝘿𝙔’𝙎 𝘽𝙄𝙂𝙂𝙀𝙎𝙏 𝙁𝘼𝙉.❞

Dabi x Endeavor fan!Reader (+18)

SYNOPSIS : Dabi finds out that his beloved pretty girl is actually an Endeavor fan. Let’s just say, he doesn’t take it lightly~

WARNINGS ‼️: yandere!Dabi , stalking, smut, humiliation, noncon, unprotected sex, Dabi uses his quirk on you, bruises/marks/abuse

A/N: this fic is dedicated to @yanderenightmare , for the Secret Santa event. I hope you enjoy this, I’m a big fan of your work and I was more than thrilled to write this for you. ♡

MASTERLIST

Two months.

That’s for how long he had been around you. At first it was just small glimpses of him on the street, quite too often on your way home, but you didn’t think of it much. Or the times when he’d casually be in the same coffee shop every morning, his jacked zipped and hood covering his face, wearing sunglasses as he stared at you from across the corner. Though he would show his face only during the nights, the beauty he radiated left you breathless, the scars and staples that decorated his face had your eyes popping out of your sockets. He intimidated you, but you couldn’t deny that he was irresistibly handsome. The raven haired man who finally approached you one day and introduced himself as Dabi, he captivated you entirely.

He had set his azure eyes on you this entire time, stalking you on your way home, learning the time when you go to work and come back, your favorite shops and bars, and he would follow you and admire you from afar. Dabi was not a man who would let such distractions mess with his life, but you…

You were a beautiful distraction.

Some fun wouldn’t hurt, right? He knew his main goal, and you were by no means a threat to his plans. How could you? Pretty little thing walking down the street with no care in the world, not knowing the danger lurking nearby, the villain chasing after you. Dabi picked on all your habits, your favorite drinks or food, the people you met, and being good at gathering information and studying people he had already set his mind to make you his. Your charming personality felt like a cure to his dark soul, your beauty was a sight for sore eyes. He was not one to know what love feels like, and he sure as hell knew that he didn’t love you. All he needed was to possess you, the fucked up part of him wanting to have you and break you, make you miserable just the way he is, only to fix you again in any shape he wanted to.

But all he needed was time, time for you to trust him and let him in your life, and once you got to know his true self, he’d never let you go.

Though what he didn’t know was your true self either. Or mostly, what you’d do behind closed doors. Dabi knew your apartment, which floor you lived in, but he didn’t break in. Yet.

And in fact, there was no need to break in. Your little naive self invited him to your home for dinner, a small gratitude since the other day he beat up two guys down the street who were following after you.

“Thank you so much Dabi.. I honestly can’t even imagine what would happen if you weren’t here!” You trembled in his arms, hugging him tight. The two thugs were laying unconscious on the ground.

“Could never leave ya unprotected, dollface” Dabi patted your back, smirking at the way you clinged to him, to your saviour. Little did you know he was in fact, worse than those thugs. After you left, Dabi went back to the beaten up thugs, almost wanting to step on them.

“W-We did as you said! Now give us the reward!” one of them shouted.

“Silence.” Dabi said sternly. “You touched her more than I actually ordered you to. Did ya really think you’d take advantage of the situation huh?”

“What are you talking about?! I swear we didn’t-”

Their talking was interrupted by the scorching heat that melted off their skins, screams of agony and death echoing in the alleyways. Dabi nonchalantly walked past their corpses, leaving behind the wretched scent of burnt flesh, one he was now too familiar with.

And now here he was, in front of you door as your cheerful face appears, letting him in.

“Mm, smells nice in here” he says, walking in your dining room. “You really look good in that apron, like a pretty little housewife. Y’really did all this for me~?”

You blush at his comment, knowing that tonight you gave it your best to cook something delicious just for him.

“Well.. yeah..as a way to thank you, enjoy yourself!”

“Oh, I will enjoy myself alright..” he grins, looking at your figure from head to toe, licking his lips.

The dinner was on the table but your sight made him salivate more than the food itself. He had the urge to tear those clothes off your body and bend you over that dining table, fucking you from behind ruthlessly. The waiting game had him edged for long enough, and Dabi had run out of patience. In one way or another, you would end up with your legs spread for him tonight. Either if you wanted it or not.

As time passed by, you both finished eating, where Dabi praised your cooking skills, claiming he’d never eat something as delicious as your homemade meal. It made you feel giddy, his compliments always making you squeal in your seat.

“Y’have a nice home” Dabi says, wandering and looking around. “Real cozy and decent compared to the shithole I live in…”

“Glad you like it, I was in fact planning to uh..” you mumble shyly. “To have a sleepover tonight.. maybe watch a movie or two..”

A sly smirk formed on Dabi’s face, because both you and him knew where all of this would lead to. He’s been waiting for this moment in anticipation, not that he couldn’t take you by force. Though he enjoyed the chase more, when you finally go willingly to him.

“Sure thing doll, sounds fun” he says. “Which one of these is your room?”

“It’s the one at the end of the corridor, on the left!” you answer, fixing the table. “Please don’t mind the mess, haven’t had much time to clean my room today”

Funny you think I’d mind some mess, Dabi thinks to himself, remembering the kind of places he had to spend his days while he was on the run. The thought of entering your room, your personal and safe sanctuary, has him a bit excited. Would it be like one of those pink girly rooms full of plushies and cute stuff? For sure he’d love to fuck your brains out while you clinged to your plushie for dear life.

A few seconds passed and you heard nothing but silence. You thought Dabi would be throwing comments here and there once he entered your room.

Then you remembered.

As embarrassment crept up your face, you left the kitchen and headed to your room. Dabi was standing there, his eyes focused on that certain Endeavor poster you had put in your wall.

“Um..okay this is awkward” you scratched your neck, laughing nervously. You didn’t talk much of your interests or your idols to other people, preferring to keep them to yourself.

“Yeah that’s Endeavor, he’s actually my favorite hero, he is really strong and inspiring. I’m a big fan of his, sometimes I like buying his merch and stuff..”

Dabi remained quiet, not saying anything in return. His silence was making you worry. His eyes shifted towards an Endeavor plushie you kept near your bed. His hands were itching, he flexed his jaw and turned towards you. He had a dark look in his eyes, the smile on your face faded quickly and suddenly you felt scared. You’ve never seen him look this way, giving you such cold scary gaze.

“A fan huh?” Dabi chuckled darkly, but there was nothing funny about this situation. He felt nothing but anger, the moment he noticed those posters hanging in your walls, that heinous face, standing all mighty and proud, he saw red. Who would’ve thought, the only girl he actually had interest in, was his daddy’s biggest fan?

Dread settled in your gut as you looked back at him, you couldn’t recognise him at all. That Dabi who was always so flirty and kind to you, was nowhere to be seen.

“Is there something wrong? You’re acting weird..” you mumbled, backing away from him.

“Why are ya steppin’ back doll?” he says threateningly, coming closer to you. “C’mere, tell me more about this obsession of yours, like the big loyal fan you seem to be”

He puts his charred hand on the poster, activating his quirk and setting it ablaze.

“What are you doing?!” you gasp in shock, scared of the possibility that your room would end up in flames. Without thinking twice, you head quickly for the door, the situation clearly unsafe.

“You are not going anywhere.”

With a firm grip on your arm, Dabi forcefully pulled you back, throwing you to the ground. You let out a loud yelp in pain, while he went and locked your door.

“Stop it!! Dabi let m-”

Interrupting your whining, Dabi pulled you by your hair, making you face him. A psychotic sinister grin formed on his face, one that sent shivers down your spine, a grin that made you doubt he was even human.

“You fucking piece of trash..” he said through gritted teeth. “How low could you be, really? Endeavor?!”

By now tears were rolling down your cheeks, his sudden change of behaviour not only scared you to death, but also confused you.

“Dabi please- I don’t understand!!” you whined. “P-Please stop and let’s talk! I- I don’t-”

“Shut that filthy mouth of yours.” he spoke sternly, pulling your hair even harder and then throwing you to the bed. You had no time to crawl away from him, he was on top of you in mere seconds, overpowering you and suffocating you.

“Tell me, do you really think that precious hero of yours would even bother to come save you from someone like me right now? Let me tell you somethin’ funny doll…” he cackled, pulling your shirt and tearing it apart. Then his other hand tugged at your pants, the flames on his fingers burning them slowly. You screamed in terror as heat enveloped your body. Those azure flames of his were pretty, you’d always stare in awe as he lit up his cigarette. But right now that was not the case. They were terrifying, scorching hot, you thought he’d burn you alive. But Dabi controlled them just enough that only your clothes would burn, he had other plans in mind.

“A man like him would surely spit on your corpse if it benefited him the pedestal where he stands today.” Dabi whispered, his face inches away from yours. “Just like he’s always done. But you’re a naive little one aren’t cha? You believe anything the TV shows you right? Fuckin’ pathetic..”

As you stared back at him, eyes full of tears while trying to cover your naked body, Dabi had the strongest urge to hurt you. Real bad. Mostly for the fact that you, who Dabi considered his the moment he laid his eyes on you, was idolising the one person Dabi had sworn to take revenge on. The one person who Dabi dedicated the rest of his life, at the beginning to make him proud, and now to just shatter him completely. The same man who ruined his life, whose face was now printed on a poster hanging on your wall, who you apparently considered strong and inspiring, a true hero.

Dabi wanted to laugh. Dabi wanted to scream. He wanted to set this whole place ablaze with you in it, hear your screams of agony like every lowlife he’s killed so far.

“Y’know, it’s been a goal of mine to destroy him” Dabi says, pinning your hands, now your body bare for him to see. “But something that will feel good too is destroying his biggest fans, show them that their favorite hero won’t come save them when they’re in the hands of the villains. Show them what kind of people they idolise, show them how truly pathetic they are, right doll?”

You shake your head, now bursting into tears as he held you down, his body almost crushing you. The word ‘villain’ had you hyperventilating, shaking in fear.

Was Dabi a villain?

“P-please I’m sorry! I don’t know w-what is going on..let me go! Dabi stop!”

“Too late.”

As if your body weighted nothing, Dabi carried you and turned you around so you were laying on your stomach. With one hand he pushed your head further into the pillows, with the other he forcefully brought your hips up, bending you over and almost breaking your back. Your muffled whines and cries fed him even more with the desire to ruin you and hurt you. Heating up his hand, he gave your ass a harsh slap, making you flinch and move forward, screaming in pain.

“That’s gonna leave a nasty scar” he chuckled, looking at the reddened flesh, slowly bruising. “Y’see how his flames feel like, slut? You want more?” he gave your other asscheek a slap too, this time worse than the first one. Your cries and begging fell on deaf ears as he kept smacking your ass over and over again, the heat and pain on your lower back making you feel almost paralysed. With one final grab of your ass, he admired his work on you, but that wasn’t enough.

You were nearly having a panic attack, but Dabi couldn’t care less as he unbuckled his belt and lowered his pants, letting out his now hardened cock, the tip leaking precum and begging to be stuffed on your tight pussy.

“Let’s see how long will it take for your favorite hero to show up hm?” he said, pulling you harshly by your hair and looking at your sobbing face. The look in his eyes was manic, his grin wide and terrifying, you saw nothing but a monster.

“Another soul ruined. Because of him people like me exist dollface. Never forget that.”

“D-Dabi no!!!”

Without any preparation at all, the tip of his cock pushed further between your folds, stretching you open and invading you from the inside. Your mouth fell open but no sound came out, the pain of the burning stretch left you breathless. He slammed his hips hard against you, burying himself to the brim and letting out a low groan.

“F-Fuuuck, so tight f’me” he whispered, leaning closer to your face to lick off the tears rolling down your cheek. “Tell me princess, you ever thought of that scum fucking ya like this hm? You probably have, touching yourself as you looked at his poster. His biggest fan yeah? Fucking disgusting!” Dabi laughed, looking at your reddened face as he humiliated you further.

“But now, you get his hellspawn instead. Ain’t that just wonderful?”

Setting up the pace, Dabi fucked you roughly, slamming his hips into you faster and harder, not leaving you any time to get used to his length at all. The unbearable pain had your legs shaking and your body falling down, unable to keep up with all of this. But he held you near himself, bending you over and keeping your hips in place, huffing and groaning in your ear like a wild hungry animal as he took everything from you. His hand would heat up from time to time, leaving bruises on your hips and back, painting your body with his marks and bites while his teeth sunk on your shoulders. Your choked whines and crying mixed with the creaking of the bed and his groans filled your room, and you wished for everything to end. For this suffering to end.

“Y’wanna hold on to this as I fuck this cunt into oblivion, little bitch?” he cackled, grabbing your Endeavor plushie and throwing it to your face. “Let the hero scum know how much you love villain cock filling you to the brim yeah?”

“P-please stop it! Dabi.. I-I beg you.. it hurtsss!”

“Nngh good- as it fucking should!” he moaned, his eyes almost crossed from how good your cunt felt wrapped around his cock, milking him dry. He fucked you deeply, the tip of his cock bruising your cervix and making your legs tremble. You could feel him twitching inside of you, a sign that he was close to cumming.

“Mmhm fuck- Y’know.. what would probably make the old man happy?” To continue the bloodline” he grinned. “We have the honour, dollface. M’gonna breed you real nice- fuck- and have some other brats running around, making his life hell. Amazing, yeah?”

You didn’t know what sick twisted things went through his mind, nor had you any idea what was even going on as he continued rambling while fucking you ruthlessly. You panicked at the thought of him coming inside of you, you tried your best to move away from him but no avail. Dabi kept you locked on his grasp, his hand wrapping around your neck while he reached his high, his movements now getting sloppy and his breathing heavier.

“N-not inside! Please, Dabi!” you whimpered.

“Shut up n’ take it, slut. F-fuck.. take it all!” With one final slam of his hips he came deep inside of you, painting your walls with his pearly white seed, filling you so much to the point it leaked out. You felt so full, so filthy and violated, so hurt.

A few seconds went by as Dabi sat there without moving, catching his breath while you tried to catch yours, still crying and sniffing. Your body ached terribly, but you sat there without moving or saying a word, making sure to not accidentally anger him further.

“One last thing.”

Dabi turned you around so you’re laying on your back, then taking his cock out and smearing it all over your tits, covering them with his cum. Then he handed you the Endeavor plushie.

“W-what are yo-”

“Shut up and hold it. This moment shall never be forgotten” he grinned, taking out his phone for a picture. There you were, laying down with your body all naked and bruised, tits smeared on villain cum while you held the hero plushie near yourself. His scarred hand reached to grab your neck, then he took the picture, humiliating you fruther.

“Very artistic, don’t cha think?” he chuckled, showing you the nasty picture of you he took. Your face heated up in embarrassment, tears forming in your eyes again.

“M’gonna keep it for myself, but who knows. Maybe I will make it public, show those hero fans that they will never be safe from the villains.”

And with that, Dabi stood up, dressed himself up and prepared to leave your room, leaving you there, ruined.

“I will be back. Make sure to search my name on the internet, you’ll find some interesting stuff~” he smiled menacingly.

“You’ll soon be my biggest fan.”

🏷️ tags: @scariusaquarius @holydayaria @bubblegumsblog @daniidil @arinexeisnotworking @cherryflavoredkisses @madsttx @syrenkitsune @cyberdazetragedy @dabislittlebeaniebaby

[yanderenightmare]

i saw this thing a while back that i thought you’d be able to write quite well. it was responses to darling saying “it hurts” but it gets meaner and meaner. love ur work 🦋

Todoroki Touya - Dabi

TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, hints of forced piercings, piercings in general

fem reader

Dabi doesn’t really need an excuse to be cruel to you. He just likes the way you sing his name – how it comes out in a sticky whine, filtered with hurt and something else, something sweet.

“Dabi, please – it hurts.”

“Yea? I bet~" He drawls with a simper. "You’re really tight when I don’t prep you.”

He's got a lazily loving expression on his face – looking down at you. Brows cinched, lips curled cutely up into a pretty pout – eyes wide with tears, pleading for any pity he might feel for you.

But mercy is a distant thing he doesn’t remember the taste of. So instead, he musters up some mockery of it and flicks your clit right above where he's skewered his fat ribbed self inside you.

He'd gotten some new piercings he wanted to try out – a ladder of pins running up the spine of his shaft – as well as a stud at the very tip that poked your cervix when he’d sunk all the way inside you.

“Please, Dabi – take it out,” You cried, twisting against the sheets – whole body worming for comfort – but no matter how you shifted, the thickness inside stayed stored all the way up to the hilt. His free hand pinning yours above your head as he pressed his hips flush against your ass.

“Come on, angel-tits~” He cooed with a toothy grin – sapphire eyes drunk while enjoying you, chittering at your whimpers while he kneaded himself inside the coziest depth of your cunt. “I got ’em for you~ least you can do is say thanks~”

He pinched your clit, and it tightened you up as he started rocking against you. Whistling at the grip, he chewed his lip in a smirk whilst pumping the wet out of you one deep thrust at a time.

“Actin’ so coy on me – but you’re fuckin’ soaked like always, angel…” 

Your whining turned to moaning, though still a little teary. Squealing when he dipped to suck your tit – running his tongue piercing over the pretty silver beads he’d given your nipples some while ago – making them so sensitive, so eager for the warmth of his mouth – having you all but coil your legs around his torso, pulling him as close as you could with hips stuttering – squeezing him tight in flutters. 

“Tch – would you look at that…” He scoffed lightly, face both amused and endeared, kissing your cheek as though in praise. “Looks like you like ‘em after all.”

You’re chagrinned beneath him, still with a few after-thrills simmering between your thighs, causing you to clench on him still.

He gave your pearl another swirl, pulling another whine from your throat. “Dabi-” But he caught it with his mouth, giving you his tongue with a groan while starting up his pace again – keeping his mouth locked on yours until he dumped his load in deep.

You cringed some at the warmth. You wished he’d use a condom – not that he’s ever bothered to, but you guess even the option is gone now that he’s all but armed his cock.

He gives you a goofy grin while looking down at you. Giddy from cumming. Still with two digits on your pearl.

The cheekiness in his eyes tells you he’s thinking about something – and something about it makes you not want to know what.

 “Maybe this little clitty is due some silver next, hm?”

[kelin-is-writing]

+18 MDNI

dabi x fem!reader; he’s so needy in this one my god, breeding kink, stomach bulge, creampie, oral (f!receiving), blow job. BE AWARE.

pussydrunk!dabi who just can’t help but let out a throaty dragged groan whenever he’s balls deep inside of you, tip kissing your cervix, and your walls clench around him like a vice making his turquoise eyes roll all the way back into his skull “f-fuck... it feels so damn good inside of you baby–!”, it’s what comes out of his gaping mouth all slurred, the warmness and wetness of your pussy around his cock making dabi’s brain become all mushy, no thoughts whatsoever, only him quivering at how blissful he was feeling in that moment, dick practically molding your walls into his shape, sending him in cloud nine.

he looks down watching how his cock disappears inside your pussy and then coming out covered in more juices he inhales a sharp breath from between gritted teethes “shit–!”, he would fuck you all day if it was for him, your cunt felt way too good to leave it empty.

when dabi’s eyes roam up and he sees the shape of his dick’s tip in your belly his breath hitch inside his throat, he secures his hold on your waist and lifting himself a little on his knees he angles his hips higher and then picks up pace, groaning along with each thrust while getting high on the feeling of your cunt clenching around him, the loud moans coming out from that pretty mouth of yours making the whole thing even better “aah fuck–! cumming! fuck fuck fuck. fuck–! i’m gonna cum so hard...”, he whimpers while resting his hands at the sides of your head, holding onto the sheets underneath you for dear life as his hips starts pounding inside your pussy at a speed that made you let out a choked moan; dabi stares your way dazed before he leans down looking at you with pleading eyes and cheeks tainted of pink as he panted, leaving you totally speechless at his state “lemme cum inside of you princess, please. i need it so fucking bad, wanna fill up your pretty pussy to the brim with my kids... allow me...”, the raven-haired boy spoke an inch away from your face with a needy low husky tone that was so hot and sexy, those butterflies inside your belly went crazy to say the least, how can you even say no to a request made in such an endearing way?

when dabi spills his seed into your cervix and long your walls, the both of you were in pure ecstasy, mind totally empty. you were panting at the fantastic sensation of his hot cum inside of you, body trembling uncontrollably from the aftermath of your own orgasm, while dabi is glancing down where you two are connected watching his cum pooling at the base of his cock “nnh... so fucking good... wanna stay inside of you forever baby.”, as he pushes his hips flush into yours mumbling about how he can’t let any of it spill, your pitiful whine because of the overstimulation making him groan before he thrusts slowly once into you for the sake of pushing as much seed as he can inside your hole.

pussydrunk!dabi who would seriously eat you out for breakfast, lunch and dinner, tongue flat on your cunt licking between your folds with long stripes or slurping on it loudly and languidly like a starved man eating a full course meal for the very first time.

dabi’s favorite position to eat you out is you sitting on his face, the smell of your arousal is enough to make him hard but the moment your pussy rests on his mouth he’s in heaven, eyes rolling back as his arms go to encircle your thighs to push you down even more on him, because that wasn’t enough, he needed more “ahh yeah... pure fucking bliss...”, he groaned while starting to makeout with your cunt, tongue teasing your entrance a few times deluding you into thinking he was gonna put it in before he goes to lick in circles your throbbing clit “shit... you taste so damn good doll, would devour you all day.”, comes a muffled praise from dabi that makes your pussy clench around nothing and that made such a sinful moan come out of his lips that got you now let out an especially loud one, his palms going to fondle your ass before they slid up to your waist rubbing circles on them and then higher, cupping your breasts gently before squeezing them. when you started grind your cunt against his mouth, you could feel a grin curl up dabi’s lips in satisfaction as he glanced intensely and feverishly at your pleading needy face “i got you baby.”, before he fluttered his eyes close to savour every second while pushing his tongue past your fold and inside your pussy, starting to slurp on it while tongue-fucking you and feeding off of your tasty juices and sublime moans not caring one bit about the fact that you were pulling on his hair whilst crying out in pleasure.

when you come all over his face, dabi groans along your moan with his cerulean irisies leaving space to pearl white, arms plopping wide open onto the mattress loudly as he drank every single drop of your juices like he hasn’t had something to drink in ages, his own cum dripping long his shaft and plastered all over his pelvis.

“thank you for the meal.”

[touyasdoll]

Scream 2

this is a follow up to a fic I wrote last year for kinktober, but it’s not necessary to read that one before this one. it can stand alone <3

pairing: ghostface!Dabi x f!reader x ghostface!Hawks

warnings: DARK CONTENT, please be advised. CNC, dubcon, fear play, knife play, home invasion, threesome, double penetration in one hole, eiffel tower for lack of a better term, oral (m!receiving), oral (f!receiving), backshots, also Touya is 6'4 idc what the canon says, au where Hawks actually double crosses the HPSC bc a girl can dream, rough sex, not exactly hair pulling but hair grabbing, face sitting, thigh riding, size kink, dirty talk, biting, marking, overstimulation, mild degradation, praise, impact play (barely), nipple play, breeding, let me know if I missed any please <3

word count: 5.3k

notes: Happy Halloween! 👻🔪🖤

“You’re absolutely sure about this?” Keigo asks as he narrows his golden irises at the white haired man before him on the rooftop. 

The sky is dark, especially in this part of the city. The few lights from the rundown buildings and buzzing street lamps provide the only meaningful illumination, as the moon is hidden behind a thick blanket of dark, heavy clouds that promise a storm is coming. 

“I’m sure. Don’t sweat it, feathers. Just stick to the plan and everything’ll be fine. Scout’s honor,” Touya replies, flashing a sardonic smile. 

“Your honor isn’t exactly worth much,” the hero scoffs. “But I guess I’ll have to take you at your word.”

Keigo’s dressed in his civilian clothes; an all black ensemble consisting of jeans, boots, and a well-fitting hoodie. He’d clearly heeded Touya’s instruction to dress for stealth, while the villain is still dressed in his stitched ensemble. 

“That’s a good little bird,” Touya says as he heads for the stairs. “Good luck. You might need it, hero.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, heaving an anxious sigh before he takes off into the cool night air.

You’re just getting ready to turn in for the night. It had been a successful Halloween. You and Touya were able to watch a few spooky movies and take turns passing out candy before he had to leave for whatever PLF business he’s up to tonight. 

He actually seemed to enjoy himself whenever it was his turn to answer the door. Maybe it was because he got a kick out of seeing the kids’ reactions to his Ghostface mask, but you have a feeling it was more about seeing your reaction to the mask. 

He hasn’t pulled it out since last Halloween, much to your disappointment. He just looks so good in it. You could even do without the theatrics. Just being able to ride him or get railed while he has that damn mask on would be enough.

You were hoping that he’d give you an encore tonight. He did use the code the two of you had established. You vividly remember him slowly lifting off the mask after closing the door on another round of trick-or-treaters and sauntering over to the couch with a mischievous grin on his face. 

“Hey, doll. What’s your favorite scary movie?” He’d asked, the question so full of promise, just as it had been last year. 

But it was well past midnight now. He’d said that he might be back late tonight, which is usually how it goes when he’s working. Maybe you two could have your fun on another night, you suppose as you retreat to your bedroom. 

You change into one of Touya’s t-shirts before you slip beneath the covers and just before you rest your head, your phone rings. Seeing that it’s your boyfriend, you pick it right up. 

“Hey, baby,” you greet him, sitting up against the headboard. 

Unfortunately, you don’t hear a word that he says. What you do hear is much more terrifying. A loud, sudden thud reverberates throughout the house and you swear it must be coming from your kitchen, but you were just in there hardly a minute ago. Surely, you’d notice someone creeping around your house, right?

Then again, you hadn’t noticed last year. Maybe he was keeping up the tradition after all. Trying to pull the wool over your eyes again to give you a scare. Well, not this year. You know better. 

“Sorry, baby. You were breaking up,” you say calmly as you slip out of bed and creep into the hall. “What did you say?”

You’d play along with his little game, but you know that you have no reason to be truly afraid. He’s probably hiding behind a corner somewhere, watching you as you pad about the house in nothing but his t-shirt and your underwear. The thought actually turns you on quite a bit. 

“I said I’m about to head home. Sorry things took so long, but I should be back soon. M’not far,” Touya says as he jingles his keys in his hand. 

“Okay. I was just about to turn in to bed, but I’ll wait up for you,” you say as you head into the kitchen to turn the light on. 

There’s a large duffel bag in the center of the floor and you can’t help but wonder what might be inside. Seems like he’s really trying to up the ante this time. Your insides start twisting with a heady mixture of both excitement and desire, but then you see a figure who seems too short to be your boyfriend step into the other entrance to the kitchen and your heart stops. 

“You don’t gotta wait up if you’re tired, doll,” Touya says on the other end of the phone, confirming that it’s definitely not him staring you down in that familiar Ghostface costume. 

“Babe,” you whisper, your voice trembling in fear as you take a step back and the masked intruder takes one with you. “S-someone’s in the house.”

“What?” Touya asks and you can hear the fear in his voice as well, which sends your blood pressure through the roof. “Doll, just stay hidden. I will be there as soon as I can. I’m on my way, okay? Where are you?”

“O-okay,” you respond meekly, your voice cracking as you continue to walk backwards. 

The intruder keeps at your pace, tilting his head to one side as he studies you. Your eyes are drawn to something glinting in the light as he reveals a blade from behind his robe. 

“Doll, where are you? Do they know you’re there?” Touya asks frantically as he fires up the car and takes off. 

You only faintly hear his voice and the tires skidding in the background of the call as you freeze up. Everything slows down for just a moment and then the adrenaline kicks in. 

You bolt for the front door, only to find that it’s locked from the outside somehow. You try again in vain to jiggle the handle, praying that maybe it’s just stuck, but it’s definitely fucking locked and that causes you to panic all over again. 

“Doll? Doll, answer me,” Touya yells loud enough for you to hear it even though you’ve since dropped your phone to your side. 

You don’t hear the stranger coming up behind you, but when you look over your shoulder, he’s right there. Close enough to kill you if he wanted. 

You scream in fright and drop the phone in your haste to bolt for the back door, but he jumps in your way. He’s on the smaller side, but he seems especially nimble. You aren’t sure you stand much of a chance getting away from him, but you have to try. 

You just have to last until Touya gets home. That’s what you keep telling yourself. A mantra that you repeat over and over in your mind as you scramble down the hall and into the first open door. 

The slam of the door knocks some sense back into you. You keep your hands pressed against it and take a look around the guest bedroom, eyeing the dresser nearby. It’s mostly empty and it’s not very big, but it’s better than nothing. 

A loud bang that sounds like a heavy fist thudding against the wood startles you and you let out a scream before you lurch towards the dresser to start sliding it across the floor. 

“Doll? Doll, where are you?” You hear Touya’s voice call out from down the hall. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. Do you come out? Touya’s more than capable, but you don’t know what this intruder is capable of. What’s his quirk? What if it’s deadly?

Your heart thumps wildly in your chest as you listen for sounds of a struggle, but your fear of something happening to your boyfriend wins out over your fear of something happening to you. 

“Babe?” You call as you burst out of the door, frantically scanning the dimly lit house as you creep down the hall once more. 

The kitchen lights have been turned off and it’s quiet. It’s silent. Eerily so. Just when you feel like you might have made a mistake, the stranger turns the corner from the kitchen and holds a voice changer up to his mouth. 

“Yes, doll?” He says, tilting his head in a mocking fashion as he slowly stalks closer to you. 

Your eyes go wide as you realize that you’d definitely fucked up and you attempt to retreat back to the relative safety of the guest room, but you hear footsteps right behind you. He’s moving too fast. He covers twice the distance that you’re able to and throws himself across the doorway before lifting the device to his concealed mouth again. 

“Fooled ya,” he says in the familiar, raspy distorted voice of Ghostface. 

Tears well in your eyes as you turn tail and run straight for the backdoor. You aren’t thinking, just moving. Hurtling towards freedom, which you are hoping against hope you are able to find, but all hope is lost when you suddenly collide with another figure in the kitchen. 

You slam into their firm chest and tilt your head back to look up at the imposing new intruder, who is also dressed as the masked fictional killer.

“Fuck,” you mutter, gaping up at the taller of the two in horror as you turn on your heel, only to find the other one right behind you. 

Both of them begin closing in, sauntering towards you silently. All that you can hear is the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears as you back yourself up to the island. The shorter stranger looks between you and his companion in crime, who nods in response as your heart sinks into your stomach. 

“Please. Please don’t hurt me,” you whimper, shrinking against the cool marble countertop. 

The shorter of the two lifts the voice changer to his lips and uses his other hand to brandish the knife once more, using the blade to lift the hem of your shirt and press the flat of the cold steel blade to your stomach.

“We’re not gonna hurt you, gorgeous. We just wanna play,” he says as he leans in closer. 

“I thought you liked playin’ like this, doll?” The taller one asks as he tilts his head to one side. 

You whip your head towards him, because you could swear that’s your boyfriend’s voice, but you’ve already been tricked once tonight. He flashes his palms, revealing no voice changer in his hand. No knife either. He snaps his fingers together and a brilliant blue flame burns away the glove concealing his hand to reveal familiar scars and staples. 

“T-Touya?” You ask shakily, blinking in surprise. “Then who the fuck is..?”

Your heart rate finally starts to slow as you trail off and shake your head, looking at the other Ghostface in confusion. You reach out to rip the mask off and are stunned to find Keigo’s wilder than usual blonde hair and disarming golden gaze beneath the disguise. 

“Happy Halloween, doll,” Touya purrs as you stare at Keigo’s handsome smirk. 

“I-I don’t understand,” you say quietly, not wanting to assume that what you sincerely hope might happen is actually about to happen. 

“Sure ya do,” Touya continues, his large hands finding your hips to draw you closer and bring your back flush against his chest, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as Keigo sets the knife down on the counter without taking his hungry eyes off of you. “You remember us having this conversation, don’t you?”

Your brow furrows and you look away from the hero as you try to remember just what in the fuck Touya is on about when you recall him prompting you with an unusual question a few months ago.

You were sitting on the couch, curled up watching a movie. Sleep was beginning to tug at you, trying to beckon you to bed, but you were stubborn and insisted on staying up to see the end of the film, even though Touya was making it that much more difficult by rubbing his unnaturally warm hands along your back. 

“Say, if we were ever to have a threesome with one of our friends, who would you want it to be with?” He’d asked you seemingly out of the blue, but unknown to you, he’d been ruminating on how to top his Halloween escapade for some time already. 

“Hmm?” You ask as you tilt your head back to look at him and shrug. “I don’t know. You don’t exactly have a whole lot of friends. No offense.”

“None taken. I’d consider that a compliment,” he says, shrugging. “But seriously. Well, hypothetically, I guess. If ya had to pick one, who would it be? There’s plenty of hot people in the PLF.”

You hum curiously, taking a moment to think it over as you tuck your face back into his chest and nuzzle into him. 

“Keigo. He’s hot and I’d trust him,” you reply bluntly, a yawn escaping you a moment later. 

“Good choice. You’re right on both counts,” he murmurs, a plan already coming together in his mind. “That could be fun.”

“I didn’t think.. I mean–I–,” you balk, looking between them in disbelief. 

“I wasn’t bein’ hypothetical, gorgeous,” Touya says as he spins you around to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently tilting your head back so that his blue eyes can bore into you while Keigo switches on the kitchen light. “So whaddya say?”

“We’re gonna need a clear answer before the real fun can begin,” Keigo says sensually as he steps close enough that you can feel his body heat behind you. 

“Yes,” you eek out, nodding your head as you try to wrap your brain around this unexpected turn of events. 

The bastard had gotten one over on you again after all, but it’s not like you can even stay mad about it, considering what’s in store for you.

“I hope you’re hydrated, doll,” Touya chuckles, fisting a hand into your hair to carefully tug your hair back and kiss you like his life depends on it. 

He sighs through his nose, groaning against your lips as his hand drops to your ass. He gives it a firm squeeze as he shifts his hips against yours, letting you feel how hard he is already. 

Keigo steps closer to press his toned chest against your back and tilts his head to start kissing along your neck as he grabs your waist and grinds against you from behind, revealing that he’s also sporting a raging hard on. 

You moan, working your tongue and your mouth against Touya as your hands explore his chest, searching for an opening in the black robe he’s wearing. 

“You wanna just cut to the chase already, doll?” The villain smirks, lighting his palm for just a second to reduce your scant clothing to ash. “I think we’ve been through enough foreplay and I’ve been waiting too damn long for this.”

He does the same to his clothing, pressing a hand to his chest and the other to Keigo’s. You feel another brief flash of tolerable heat before you’re hyper aware of the feeling of both of their bare bodies writhing against your own. 

“Oh fuck,” you sigh, tilting your head to one side as Keigo begins nipping at your sensitive pulse point, laving his tongue over it to soothe the subtle ache. 

You reach a hand back to work it into his hair and tug gently as you arch your back, grinding your ass against his stiff cock, which coaxes a gorgeous moan from him. You slip a hand between you and Touya as he captures your mouth again. Your fingers wrap around his length to guide the bead of precum along his shaft, drawing out a beautiful noise from him as well. 

Both of them suddenly pull away and you’re afraid that you’ve done something wrong until Keigo steps in front of you to grab your hips and effortlessly lift you up onto the kitchen island. 

“I’ve been thinkin’ about this for a long, long time,” he says, smirking as he leans in to kiss you and parts your legs. 

Touya stands back, stroking himself as he watches Keigo crouch down between your thighs. The blonde keeps his eyes on yours as he trails kisses and love bites along your inner thighs, slowly and steadily working his way up to your glistening pussy. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs as he sets his sights between your legs as dives in, his tongue parting your folds before it spears inde of you. 

He certainly knows what he’s doing and it immediately drives you crazy. You keep yourself supported and sitting upright with one hand, so that you can watch him feast on your pussy while you keep a hand in his hair. He alternates between bathing you with his tongue and sucking on your clit with just the right amount of pressure, drawing moans and whimpers from you with ease. 

You look up to seek validation from Touya, almost feeling guilty for enjoying yourself so much, but he seems to be just as into it as you are. He nods, grinning wickedly as he comes closer. 

“You enjoyin’ yourself, doll?” He asks as he stops stroking himself to instead reach beneath Hawks’ chin and slip two fingers inside of you. 

“Y-yes!” You gasp, your eyes crossing as your head tips back. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby.”

“I know, gorgeous,” he purrs and you can hear the smug smirk on his face. “Go ahead and cum all over my friend’s face. He’s dying to taste it.”

His words send you over the edge and you cry out, sending your release gushing into Keigo’s mouth as your hips gyrate on top of the counter. The hero wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you still as he continues ravaging you with his tongue. He noisily cleans up your arousal, sending you into overdrive as you whine and beg for him to show you mercy when it just gets to be too much. 

He eventually lets you catch your breath, but when he stands up to wipe his chin, the look on Touya’s face tells you that you in for much worse if you thought that was too much. 

“S’my turn to taste that sweet pussy, gorgeous. C’mere,” he says, nodding towards the hall as he scoops you up off the counter. At least he doesnt expect you to walk after that. 

He carries you into the bedroom and switches the light on before he lays you down on the bed and lumbers over you. 

“First things first, clean up the mess you made,” Touya practically coos as he offers his slick fingers to you. 

You hold his gaze as you slowly take the digits into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them and moaning quietly when you taste yourself on his skin. 

“Good girl,” Hawks praises you as he crawls onto the bed and Touya repositions, laying flat on his back. 

“You know my favorite number, doll,” he says as he delivers a swift smack to your behind, just enough to make you jump a little. “Assume the position.”

You look between him and Keigo curiously and do as you're told, straddling Touya’s face to wrap your hand around his cock and begin stroking, but before you can take a seat, he tuts his tongue. 

“I want your mouth on him, baby,” Touya says before he hooks his arms around you and forces you to sit. 

His mouth starts working wonders between your legs and you think you might just cum in record time after what Hawks had done to you, but then you remember that your mouth is needed elsewhere than just filling up the sticky air with filthy noises. 

You shift forward as Keigo comes closer, his swollen cock bobbing in front of your face. You lift your eyes to his and take great pleasure in watching the watch his head dips back and his Adam’s apple bobs when you take him into your mouth. 

“Fuck,” he groans, struggling to keep still as he lets you slowly bob along his length until you’re comfortably taking him in and out of his mouth while working your hand along his shaft. 

You keep your other hand wrapped around Touya’s cock, focusing on trying to please both of them while feeling like your brain is going to break thanks to what Touya’s doing beneath you. The moans that you drive from him send vibrations straight into your pussy that only drive you closer to the edge. 

You hold on for as long as you can, but it soon becomes to much again and you pull your mouth and hands away from both of them to sit up and support yourself with your hands on Touya’s thighs, gripping them tight. 

“C-can’t,” you practically sob, squeezing your eyes tight as you hang your head. “Holy shit.”

“Yes, you can,” Keigo coos as he reaches out to cup your breasts, massaging them with care before he starts tweaking your nipples, which sends you cascading into oblivion for the second time tonight. 

You nearly collapse, slumping forward as you’re overcome with pleasure, but Keigo catches you, loosely holding you in his arms as he rubs his hand along your back, which only heightens the sensations you’re feeling. 

You whimper in his ear and he presses a kiss to the side of your head as he and Touya gently ease you off of the latter, so that Touya can sit up. 

“You’re doin’ so well, beautiful,” Hawks croons, peppering kisses along your jaw until he finds your lips. 

“Mm,” is the only response you can muster at the moment as you slowly come down from your high. 

“So well,” Touya praises, moving behind you to rest his hands on your hips as he kisses along your shoulder. “Such a good girl. Can you keep bein’ a good girl for us, gorgeous? If we give you what you really want? Hmm?”

“Yes,” you say breathlessly, nodding your head as your eyes fall closed. “I’ll keep bein’ good. I’ll be so good.”

“That’s our girl,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck before he places a chaste kiss to it. 

Keigo moves aside and then Touya presses a hand to your back, keeping the other firmly planted on your hip as he forces you onto all fours. He groans as he grinds himself against you, his cock gliding through your folds, nearly penetrating where you need him the most. 

“Please,” you whine softly, shaking your ass as you drop your hips back against him. 

“Since you asked so nice,” he purrs, smirking as he slips inside of you, letting you feel him enter you inch by glorious inch, his piercings sliding against your walls and making your eyes roll back. 

Keigo starts stroking himself as he watches Touya set a steady rhythm, fucking you just hard enough to make you gasp now and then as you fist your hands into the sheets and meet him thrust for thrust. The sound of your bodies colliding fills the room, mixing with the euphoric noises pouting from each and every one of you.

“Just gotta stretch you out a bit, gorgeous,” Touya pants, draping himself over you as he slows his pace. He reaches a hand around ti gently guide your face towards Keigo, who’s abs are drawn taut as he continues stroking himself, his eyes now fixed on your face. “You think you can take both of us? He’s not exactly small either, but I believe in you, doll.”

Your eyes widen, but you find yourself nodding. You aren’t sure if you can do it, but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try. 

“I want to,” you breathe out, nodding as you reach out towards Keigo to take over stroking his cock, tugging very gently to guide him closer as you smirk up at him. “We should get you nice and lubed up though, yeah?”

His eyebrows raise and he looks extremely pleased as he nods and cradles your head in the back of your hand as Touya straightens up. 

“So fucking good,” Touya marvels through grit teeth as he picks up the pace again. 

He lets you adjust to having Keigo in your mouth, but he starts pushing your further, driving into your hard enough to make you deep throat the hero, which makes both of them groan sinfully as they watch you swallow their cocks at either end. 

“Fuck,” Keigo sighs as he suddenly backs away. “Anymore of that and I’m gonna be done way too soon.”

“Let’s see if you’re ready then, doll,” Touya says, smirking as he pulls out and kneads the fat of your ass before giving it a light smack. “Lay down, Kei. You should her pussy for yourself first.”

Hawks lays on his back and Touya cups your cheek to guide your face towards his one, giving you a passionate kiss before he lets you go and nods towards the blonde. 

“Give him the ride of his life,” he says as he wraps his hand around his own cock. 

You climb on top of Keigo, leaning in to give him a kiss and slip your tongue into his mouth, teasingly tracing it around the entrance of his mouth as you wrap your hand around his length. You suddenly sink down and he lets out a choked groan as he seizes your hips. 

You rest your hands on his chest, smirking with satisfaction as you start riding him, moving your hips slowly at first as your walls clench around him, hugging his cock tight. 

“You feel so good, Kei,” you say breathily. 

His eyes widen and for a moment, he feels like he might just cum and pass out right there. He lets you set the pace, watching you intently as you bounce up and down on his length. His hands glide over your body, exploring every inch of you that he can reach before they settle on your breasts. He massages them as gently as he had earlier before tweaking your nipples. 

He seems to get a better idea as he sits up and wraps his arms around you, grabbing your ass to start guiding your hips more forcefully while he takes your nipple into his mouth to suck. He expertly moves his tongue across the sensitive bud, flicking and swirling it around as he applies more pressure to your hips and encourages you to quicken your pace. 

“Just like that, doll,” Touya pants, struggling to stave of his own end as he senses yours coming. 

“Keigo,” you whimper, grasping onto his shoulders as you squeeze your eyes shut and throw your head back, your hips bucking as you come undone again. 

“Oh fuck,” he groans loudly, panting for breath as he continues fucking you through your end while fighting off his own. 

Touya pulls his hand away from his cock to take a few deep breaths, watching you contort with pleasure until you’re through the worst of it. He moves behind you and kisses along your shoulder again, sending delicious shivers down your spine. 

“You sure you wanna do this, doll?” He asks quietly, his tone sincere. 

“Yes. Yes, please,” you whisper, nodding weakly nodding your head. 

“You don’t have to do any of the work this time, baby,” Keigo says as he runs his hands along yours arms and lays flat on his back. “Just let us make you feel good.”

You nod again and Touya rests a hand on your back to gently guide your forward so that you’re laying on top of Keigo before he situates himself behind you. 

“I’ll go slow,” he assures you as he first works one finger inside of you. Then another. 

You and Keigo both moan quietly, your shallow breaths mingling with one another’s as he drags his fingertips along your back. Touya starts slowly thrusting his fingers and Keigo slowly shifts his hips, working you open further as you rest your head on the blonde’s chest and submit to it. Once he’s confident that you’re able to take both of them, Touya slowly guides the head of his cock inside of you. 

“Shit,” he groans, continuing to gently bully himself inside. “It’s so fucking tight. So fucking good. You feel that, Kei?”

“Fuck yeah I do,” Hawks sighs, holding perfectly still as his face twists with pleasure. “It’s so fucking good.”

You press your nails into Keigo’s biceps as you feel the two of them stretching you open and filling you up in a way that you never thought possible. They’re right. It is so. Fucking. Good. 

“Fuck me,” you beg quietly once Touya’s seated inside of you. “Please fuck me. Wanna feel both of you.”

“You’re gonna, baby,” Touya croons as he slowly draws his hips back and pushes inside of you again. 

The sensation is glorious. It’s mind numbing. It’s like the best drug you’ve ever felt and you know that you need more of it. 

He holds onto your hips and Keigo seizes your waist as they both begin to move in tandem, slowly at first, but working their way to a pace that has you at a loss for words. You couldn’t find any if you tried. None of you can apparently. 

The only noises to be heard are your bodies all grinding against each other. The lewd squelching of fluids between your forms as you trade sinful noises and panting breaths back and forth. Eventually, you do find one phrase, but just one. 

“Cum inside me, please. Please,” you whine, your voice pitching higher as you feel another orgasm building, this one threatening to tear you apart in the best way. “Cum i-inside.”

“We’re gonna breed you so fuckin’ good, doll,” Touya promises without missing a beat. “I promise.”

They seem to have mastered their movements. Together, the two of them drive you steadily towards your end whilst chasing their own. You snap first, of course, howling with pleasure as your writhe on top of them, your walls contracting impossibly tight around both of their cocks. 

Keigo cradles your head and kisses the top of it, whispering praises and Touya hunches forward to do the same, speaking them right into your ear as both of them keep driving themselves inside of you with unparalleled need. 

Keigo finishes next, his eyes snapping shut as he lets out a long, loud moan, his rhythm stuttering just as Touya finds his end. His head snaps up as he leans back and grips your hips with bruising force, delivering a few more good thrusts while letting out a primal groan before his thrusts become sloppy and begin to taper off as he lays himself across your back again. 

The three of you are left a sweaty, blissful mess on the bed. You’re so wonderfully full. So much so that you’re leaking all over both of them, but neither of them seem to care and neither do you. It’s as if the world has stopped for a minute and you’re all floating outside of time and space, suspended in this moment.

“So good for us,” Touya finally murmurs after who knows how long. He gently grabs your chin to guide your face towards his once more, a lazy smile on his lips as he captures yours in a decidedly sweet kiss. “Happy Halloween, doll.”

thank you for reading! I hope you have/had a safe & happy halloween!

[mamayan]

★SWEET★

Yandere! Dabi x Fem! Darling

Secret Santa 2023 Event!

Word Count: 4k+

Welcome to the Secret Santa Event, hosted by @ectologia (thanks for throwing this together ♡)

My Secret Santa is… @wilderuby ♥️ I hope you enjoy your Christmas present even if it’s not really Christmas themed~

cw: NSFW • Obsessive/Possessive Themes • Fem! Reader • Yandere Themes • Stalking/BNE • Dubcon • Dabi • PIV • Fingering • Praise/Degradation • Kidnapping • Psychological • Dacryphilia

It keeps happening.

No matter how many times you’ve visited the local police station, or how often you knock on the door to your neighbor’s home, you keep finding them.

Innocently resting beside your head when you wake up, whether you sleep in your room, the living room, or even your bathroom, is a single red rose.

Never intact either, the delicate scarlet petals singed in one way or another, to the point now it seems to have become an art form. The dark veins running along inside the thin petals blackened until the rose takes on nearly a new color of ashen burgundy.

You went to the heroes, the police, your friends and family, and yet nothing has come about stopping it.

“It is odd but maybe it’s nothing?” Your friends had said, claiming it was seemingly harmless.

How could it truly be though? You locked your doors, all of them, from the front door to your bedroom door to putting padlocks on the windows. You’d awake to everything intact how you left it, not a single thing out of place… except the addition of a single burnt rose.

It was breaking you down mentally and emotionally at this point. Seemingly being haunted by a ghost, faceless and voiceless, no physical form to blame and scream at. You do scream though, after a year of it occurring despite all efforts—even moving to a new home in a different city. No matter what, when you wake up, there’s a rose. Whether you sleep in a hotel, your friend’s home, your parents, even on the damn subway.

There’s always a fucking rose. Every. single. morning.

It’s to the point where you stopped sleeping, staying up to see with your own eyes if you’re truly insane. You blink and it’s just there, even when you search, and search, and search. A rose, a little crispy, rests in front of you without fail.

It was possibly a new method of torture, but soon enough your nervous system no longer perceived it as a threat. You’d awake to the rose, roll over, and start your day. You stopped mentioning it to family and friends, and eventually it became as normal as breathing. You’d place the roses in a vase, comical at this point, and change them out weekly. A few you even preserved, out of sick humor more than actual appreciation. You’d be certain to mention you wanted no roses at your funeral, at least not red ones, and especially not scorched ones.

You became complacent, as you set your keys down upon entrance to your home, to see an entire bouquet of flowers resting on your kitchen counter. Singed red roses, and one singular black rose in the middle… this time there’s a card. A small folded note about the size of your palm, attached to a silken ribbon wrapped around the thin neck of the vase. Condensation slowly slid down the side of the intricate glass, and for some strange reason, your heart felt dread seeping into its core. Your blood felt icy and your farthest appendages chilled as you shakily lifted the delicate paper up. Several seconds ticked by as perspiration dotted your brow before you eventually sighed and unfolded the note.

Ready to come home, doll?

It was motionless in your home. Deathly silent and still but nonetheless your body shook as tears welled up in your eyes while the foreboding words registered with you. You were home, weren’t you? You knew that much. You also knew you’ve never been called the nickname doll a day in your life, at least by no person you knew.

Was it a joke? Your instincts screamed it wasn’t. You did a pathetic job of staying calm, dropping your keys noisily on the floor as you trembled and dropped to pick them up. You’d leave, stay somewhere else tonight and figure it out in the morning—

“Going somewhere?” You hadn’t head even a footstep. You could see in front of you now a pair a beat up leather boots. Dark jeans lazily bunched up around them with a few nicks and tears in the denim fabric. Your eyes continued up until you were staring at a man.

Bright blue eyes, framed by thick dark lashes, stared down at you. His skin was like patchwork, staples actually pierced through healthy looking flesh while connecting what looked like chard leather to it. His skin you realize after a moment. Some healthy, some burnt, while he stood casually over your crouched form with his hands shoved into the dark trench coat he wore over some ratty band t-shirt. You didn’t watch the news often, hardly ever since your stress was high enough dealing with your own issues, but you knew who this was.

What villain this was.

“Dabi…” you barely even breathed his name, almost inaudible despite your close proximity, but it seemed he heard just fine as a slow forming Cheshire grin spread his lips wide open, revealing his white teeth and sharp canines.

“What’s that doll? Y’look like you’ve seen a ghost, speak up, can’t hear ya down there.”

You were right to feel dread. This was likely the worst scenario possible, one you truly hadn’t even thought of. A notorious villain leaving roses for you? Who’d believe such a ridiculous thing? Even you were struggling to believe it.

“Th-the roses…?”

“Hn? Thought I said speak up.” The waning of his smile shouldn’t have your blood pressure spiking as it did, but you scrambled to speak louder as those violent blue irises blazed.

“Did you—uh, a-are the roses from you?” You slid back, nervous as he stepped forward, eye lids growing heavy as he settled for a smirk on his lips.

“Bingo.” He confirms, not a hint of shame or embarrassment in his laxidazical tone.

You heart hammered against your ribcage, eyes briefly leaving him to look at the bouquet on the counter, mind running faster than a hamster in a wheel. He seems fine just staring at you, expression unreadable besides shallow amusement. He’s giving you time to think, and something in your gut is telling you to tread with caution.

What does it mean to leave roses for over a year for you, every single day? No matter how difficult it was made to do?

Someone in love or someone with a grudge. He doesn’t look the part for either, but the bouquet and strange note having you leaning towards some kind of affection for you. However disturbingly he shows it.

Swallowing thickly, nails scraping on the tile floor, you give a wobbly smile.

“T-they’re very pretty… thank you.”

His eyes briefly widen, head tilting as he observes you with a keener interest than before.

“Yeah? Y’like ‘em, doll?” Doll, that nickname again, you wonder if that’s how he refers to you in his mind. You never likened your appearance to a doll.

You nod with a short jerk, smile still plastered even as your bottom lip wobbles minutely.

“I-I do,” it’s more nerve wracking to be staring up at him from the floor, so you make a show of moving incredibly slow, standing on fawn like legs as you reorient yourself with your own feet again. “You gave me a bouquet this time…” even standing you’re forced to tilt your head back to look at him.

“I did.” He confirms, and the sweat sliding down your spine begins to cool as you shiver. You keep wetting your dry lips, struggling to truly grasp how you’re supposed to get the hell out of this situation.

He seems to visibly enjoy your panic and nervous ticks, watching you pick at your nail bed while he makes you stew in confusion and unanswered questions.

What do you do when the country’s top villain stands in your kitchen? You don’t have a quirk that can compete with him and you sure as hell regret squandering the times your friend encouraged learning some self defense.

He’s not in a hurry it seemed either, leaning a hip against your counter while he continues to observe your every movement. His presence made the space around you appear smaller, like he was sucking the energy from the room.

“Are you…” you look down at your feet, “…going to kill me?”

He snickers, catching your gaze again as it flicks up briefly.

“Nope.” He pops the p with a smile.

You don’t feel relieved.

“Are you going to hurt me?” A better question in all honesty.

“Maybe, probably.” He admits casually, shrugging as if it can’t be helped.

Then the best question for the evening, one still festering in your mind, “Why me?”

The air shifts, the scent of smoke like a campfire, wafting over to you.

“Asked myself that question a lot,” he stands up straight, removing his hands from his pockets. He ignores your flinch, coming closer even as you backed up into the counter. “Asked what the fuck is so special ‘bout you,” he jabs a finger into your chest, eyes flaring as he immediately flattens his palm and lays it over your heart. “To make me like this.”

He smells like campfire and something with chemical undertones, his breath held traces of menthol and tobacoo.

“Y’know what conclusion I came to sweetheart?” The way he said sweetheart was laced with venom.

He’s so close you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“W-what?” You don’t really have an option but to ask. He looks manic, languid expression sharpening into something dark and terrifying as he smiles.

“That it doesn’t fuckin’ matter. That I can do whatever the fuck I want, when I want, how I want. Not you, the heroes, or the shitty cops can do a damn thing to stop me.” He leans back, face melting again into something akin to pure satisfaction.

“Why you? It’s your own fault, doll, should’ve tried harder not to catch my attention, don’t’cha think?” It’s like he’s mocking you, eager to get a rise from you as anger and humiliation burned in your soul.

You shook in rage. Fists clenched at your sides as you urged the tears in your eyes away. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry like this.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” He laughs as you bite out the insult, a deep belly laugh, nearly doubling over as if you’d told the funniest joke possible.

“Wrong move,” he fakes at wiping a tear, eyes crinkling at the corners before your scalp is suddenly on fire, a gasp yanked from your lips as you're hauled up and back to the floor. “Said I’d probably hurt ‘ya, didn’t think you’d sass me so early. That’s okay, I’m good at breaking people, fix that mouth real quick.” He murmurs, as if he’s not using your hair like a lead and making the tears you’d fought back so hard earlier fall.

“Hurts!” You grunt, now putting up a decent struggle as you fight back.

He ends that quick with a flick of his palm, blue flames lighting up your darkened kitchen and striking horror into your soul as he waves it around in your face.

“Think I won’t do it ‘cuz I won’t kill ‘ya?” He asks, his eyes matching the flames he produces, filled with a sick sort of glee.

“I’ll make your face look like mine if you keep acting up.” That shuts you down quickly, going limp even as he releases your hair to grip your arm, dragging you through your home with confidence to where everything is, going straight to your bedroom.

“W-wait—! Dabi please, I-I’m sorry,” he stops in your doorway, looking down at you with over-exaggerated sympathy.

“Poor thing,” he coos, no less gentle as he drags you to the bed and pushes you down. It’s a gentle landing, but your panic gives you energy as you try to quickly crawl away. He grips your ankle, his palm heating so quick you hardly realize you’d been burned until you screech, teeth clenched tight as you struggle to even breathe. It hurts so much.

Your will to fight ends as he climbs above you, shrugging off the trench coat and yanking his t-shirt over his head while grinning at you.

“Too early for cryin’ doll, that one won’t even scar.” He looks disappointed by that fact. “Now, I can be nice ‘n sweet if you’ll be good for me…or I can push your fucking face in the mattress and take you like a filthy whore. Pick or I’ll pick for you.” His shift in tone as he tells you to choose how he’s going to rape you instills a strange sort of hopelessness inside you.

He doesn’t care when the water works start up again, rolling his eyes as he watches you weep and tremble like he’s done anything worth crying over yet to you.

“Well babydoll? I’m so fuckin’ hard right now you won’t like the choice I make for you.”

“Sweet…” you’re all curled up like a kitten doused in water beneath him.

He’s unbuckling the belt around his hips, tugging the denim down and his boxers along with it as he grunts.

“C’mere” he all but growls, yanking you up again and pulling at your clothing, quick and efficient in stripping you despite your actions mimicking the nickname he’s given you. Acting like a doll in his embrace as he tosses each article of clothing you wore off to the floor until you were down to your bra and panties. He’s yanking at your bra first, eyes greedily drinking you in as he leaves your top bare finally.

You sniffle pathetically, any attempt at hiding yourself useless as he uses his knees to knock yours open, fitting himself in between as he messily licks two fingers and shoves aside your panties to rub at your folds.

“Hgn!” Your eyes open wide as he crassly works two fingers into your dry cunt, his saliva barely enough to grant him access to the tight confines. “D-Dabi—,” your nails are digging into his arms, tearing at a seam of staples and causing a few small trails of blood to stream, but he’s too focused on you to truly mind.

“Y’asked for sweet doll, means you need to relax and let me in,” he explains, like he’s not stretching you open and jabbing his thick digits inside you despite your weak protests and groans of pain.

Your body gives way to the intrusion after a few minutes, adrenaline fading and leaving you almost exhausted as your cunt lubricates itself to ease his passage.

“There ‘ya go,” he murmurs almost hoarsely, letting you go when he sees you’re being obedient enough and using that freed hand to grip his leaking cock.

Your eyes track his movement, watching him grasp the thick appendage hanging heavy between his legs.

You note before even his size the piercings, not just one or two but a multitude lined his cock like a weapon more than a sexual organ.

Dabi notes the hitch in your breath and where your eyes lay, proudly running his thumb over the ladder of piercings up the spine of his shaft to the tip where two small stainless steel balls rested.

“Scared?” He teases, relaxing himself as he jerks his cock and relieves a little of the ache which had been building in his balls. Curling his fingers up, you gasp in surprise at the pleasant feeling which accompanies the action.

“Nah, you ain’t scared, doll. Not a coward, y’would’ve run a long time ago but you stayed ‘cuz you like this. You like knowing someone is out there willing to do anything to have you,”

“I don’t—,” he cuts you off with a sharp thrust up, pressing into the rough textured spot along your gooey walls.

“Shh, y’should know I don’t like liars, especially not ones who get exposed by their cunt dripping all over the bed.” His smile is filthy, lecherous gaze running along your sweaty exposed skin as he just keeps hitting that spot inside which makes your toes curl.

“P-please stop, Dabi I can’t—,”

“Still lying?” He asks, more amused than angry as you try your best to twist away from the pleasure now wracking your body.

“How’s this doll? You drop the Dabi bullshit n’say Touya when you’re about to cum, okay? Y’listening?” He stops working himself over, freeing his hand again to tap your cheek and catch your clouded watery gaze.

“Try it out.” He orders softly, sweetly, like he’s trying to be gentle but the way his fingers fuck you is anything but sweet or kind. The loud lewd squelching exactly as he said earlier, a confession to how much your body at least enjoyed his careless attention.

You huff, mouth opening to choke on a moan as he adds another finger, fingers wrapping around his wrist where they attempt to halt the sudden oversensitivity inside you.

If anything he jams his fingers inside you harder.

“T-Touya!” You hope he’ll stop. Hope he ends this strange psychological torture as your stomach coils up tight.

He doesn’t, Dabi merely groans in delight and chuckles over you, leaning down to slot his lips over yours in a kiss as messy as he’s making you down below.

His soft top lip is contrasted by the rough feeling of his bottom, but his kiss is hot and you can taste the menthol now. His scent is strong, and you catch a hint of his natural odor beneath the smoke and tobacco. Your cries are silenced by his lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth when you open to complain. You shiver as you feel the drag of a piercing on his tongue, the light touch somehow more erotic. He parts sloppily, saliva connecting your lips for a moment before you flinch as he spits in your mouth.

“Open your fucking mouth.” The tone he uses and language are harsh, and you tearily do as instructed. “Stick out your tongue.” He murmurs a bit more nicely this time, humming in approval as you obey with shaky hesitation.

You won’t hesitate soon enough, if he has anything to do about it. He’ll make his words gospel in your cute brain and have you eager to listen to his every command.

Dabi lets his spit hit your tongue slowly, watching you pant like a dog with your tongue out as he brings you closer and closer to your release. The way your walls clamp around his fingers and constrict makes his cock weep to sink inside you already. “Touya—!”

You cum when he finally allows you to swallow, gushing and throwing your head back while he fucks you through it, laughing as you tense up and beg for mercy and try to escape the pleasure he’s delivering relentlessly.

“Good fuckin’ girl, say my name baby, let me hear it.” Dabi nearly loses it himself watching you shatter, eyes wide and wild as he keeps going. “Touya pl-please…hn!” You keen almost like you’re in pain, fingers digging into his shoulders now while your legs kick out.

“Y’asked for sweet, doll, means you get to cum as much as you want tonight.”

That wasn’t what you’d thought it meant, even as you choke and cum again, this time more softly as he slows his furious pace to something manageable now.

Dabi smiles at the fucked out expression you now wear, pliant in his hold as he maneuvers your body, hoisting your legs up and pressing them to your chest as you whimper in protest.

“You can stay nice ‘n pretty like this doll, doing so good f’me.” He’s not very assuring as he murmurs to you while positioning the weapon he’s armored on his cock at your dripping entrance, tapping his tip a few times on your puffy clit as you moan and twitch, view perfect to watch how he slicks himself up. “T-Touya…” he moans as he catches on your entrance only to slip up, eyes looking at your face as he licks his lips and tries again, enjoying the soft warm feeling of rubbing on your cunt.

“Yeah doll? Need somethin’?” He grins, his cock finally breaching that tight ring of muscle that lets him sink into your hot welcoming depths. “Fuck, been dreaming ‘bout this cunt for so long. Y’know how many times I’ve had to just cum on your sleeping face instead of fucking you? All the times I could’ve just woken you up and had you?” He moans, laughing at the horrified and almost strangled look you gave him, his chest vibrating with a laugh as you mewl like a cat in heat when the first row of piercings sinks into you. “Like ‘em baby? Fuckin’ looks like you do, they feel good in your little pussy?” He moans again when you accidentally bare down on him, the tightness increasing painfully as you whine when his piercings dig in too much.

“Easy doll, let me in,” he murmurs, dark hair falling into his face as he braces above you with one arm, lithe muscles taunt as he works his hips a little at a time into you, enthralled with how you fit around him enough not to slam himself inside all at once.

When the top balls of his piercings kiss up against your cervix, you’re ruined, face a mess as you struggle to adjust to the stretch and sensations.

“S’too much, Touya—” you can only cling to him, eyes drawn to where he’s sunk his entire fat cock into your depths, the way your body contorted giving you the best view.

Your words have the opposite effect though, his groan guttural as he drags himself out, drunk on the feeling of your pussy and lost to it.

“Keep sayin’ my fuckin’ name, lemme hear ‘ya scream babydoll,” you go to protest again, when he slams each inch back into you, the ribs along his cock now working in tandem with his thrusts, effectively shutting you up as you squeal and dig your nails into his shoulders for purchase.

Dabi fucks you hard and deep, speed unnecessarily to keep the air from your lungs as each thrust feels like it’s hitting up in your stomach, the pain and pleasure blending until you aren’t sure if it truly hurts or not.

He sets a steady rhythm, watching your body shake each time he lets his hips fall like a hammer, seeing his cock swallowed each time by your greedy cunt until he’s delirious at the sight.

“Pretty fucking slut, look how your pussy takes me.” He’s spewing filth at you, but when it should offend, it instead makes you burn hotter, his name falling from your swollen pouty lips like a chant.

“This cunt want me to breed it? Fill your pussy full until you can’t take anymore?” You shake your head in denial, unable to truly form words anymore as he picks up his pace, fucking you hard enough to make your headboard slam into the wall. Each thrust accompanied by a symphony of wet slapping, his balls tapping your ass each time his groin kisses your own. “Bet it does, huh doll? This greedy little cunt keeps begging for more.” He loves the dichotomy between your sloppy pussy and the way you shake your head. “No? Y’sure doll? Think it does. Don’t like lyin’ baby, remember? You want me to punish you?” You shake your head again, a bit frustrated when he slows, letting you feel all of him inside you like this, his weight keeping you pinned.

“Shakin’ your head ain’t an answer doll, I’ll be nice ‘n give you another chance, but I expect a fucking a verbal answer this time.” He’s like a light switch. Either on or off but much more terrifying when he flips it on, eyes and voice menacing as you cough and answer in a husky voice. You don’t want to test him on the punishment, truly you don’t, as your ankle still fully throbs in the back of your mind as a reminder of what he’s capable of and who he is.

“I-I like h-how you do it now…” he cocks a brow, sinking deep and then pressing even further so you whine and try to push back further into the bed.

“Y’like how I’m fuckin’ you now? That it, doll?” You go to nod before remembering his warning, swallowing thickly and voicing a soft agreement.

“Hmm… then y’oughta say it, right? Tell me how good I’m fuckin’ this pussy.” He growls, bright blue eyes lighting up as you moan, his pace increasing again as you blabber out whatever nonsense you can to satisfy him. Whatever would make him be sweet, because you have a feeling you don’t want him any other way.

“S-so good! Mhn, f-feels so good Touya, pl-please, ah,” he’s being too rough, your eyes watering and tears spilling as he drills into you, but even still you feel yourself close to coming again as those piercings rub perfectly inside you.

Dabi lifts up, letting your legs fall to either side of him as he grips both your hips tight and fucks you more aggressively. Jackhammering into your gummy walls like he’s eager to imprint the shape of his cock inside you, mouth open and brows furrowed while he groans feeling you tense up again, this time around his dick.

“T-Touya—! M’coming, oh fuck—!” You look painfully suprised when you realize how much it all becomes as you cum, the peircings becoming more prominent as you spasm and clamp down on him, eyes rolling back as your vision slightly blurs.

“Yeah y’are doll, fuck, that feel good? Looks like it did.” He chuckles, chest swelling with a deep satisfaction as he fucks you harder despite your weak whines, overstimulated cunt begging for a break despite how he bullies himself inside you.

“Tell me where you want it,” he’s close, panting and overheating even as he nears his end.

“N-not inside…” he laughs at the soft reply, thrusts only getting deeper as he resorts to simply humping into you for friction after you tighten up so much it hurts to go harder.

“Can’t pull out though doll, look how tight you’re gripping my cock.” You aren’t paying attention, mindlessly moaning as he finally gasps and cums, cock twitching deep inside you and filling you up despite your earlier request.

He nearly collapses on you, chest rising and falling quickly as he regains his breath and relaxes on your soft chest for a moment to recouperate.

When he’s caught his breath, he leans up, slowly pulling out and watching his heavy load immediately spill from your hole.

“Tsk,” he uses two fingers to scoop up what dribbled out, stuffing it back into you as you sleepily huff and press a hand against his chest.

You’re helpless to stop him, too exhausted to fight more and figuring it better to let him have his way than risk his wrath right now.

Once he’s satisfied he’d stuffed you back up well enough, Dabi is quick to leave the bed and begin redressing, speaking casually with you despite your lack of answering.

You watch the villain act as if nothing had occurred, face the same smug arrogant grin when you’d first spotted him.

It’s when he returns his attention to you that fear begins to trickle back into your blood stream.

He seems to notice too, smile growing with your apprehension.

“Now doll,” he crosses back to where you’ve sat up and covered yourself with a blanket, weary gaze locked with his.

“Ready to come home?”

Then it’s dark, your vision going out with your consciousness as Dabi catches you in his arms, dragging your limp figure from the bed and into his arms quickly.

He’s kind enough to wrap you in a sheet as he takes your house keys and phone, shoving them in his pocket as he leaves your place with you in his embrace.

He whistles on his way home, a bit eager to see your expression when you wake.

He figures you’ll learn to like your new home once you realize you’re never leaving it.

He even decorated for the season, the tree a little burnt but he’s sure you’ll appreciate the sentiment.

Dividers/@cafekistune

[chosaya]

1-868-SPOOKTOBER FEST !

you’ve reached 1-868-SPOOKTOBER HOTLINE! where ghouls and werewolves to vampire bats lurk, good luck! try your best to survive…

welcome to kinktober

MURDEROUS MASQUERADE !

— demon toji x reader

synopsis : your invited to a halloween party but thing start getting unpleasant when your friends starts disappearing one by one?

kinks: overstim, bondage, semi public sex.

BLOOD HUNT !

— vampire geto x bounty hunter reader!

synopsis : your hired to get rid of a vampire terrorizing the streets, Geto was cursed many years ago forcing him to become a vampire for eternity..

kinks: mild(blood play), fingering, etc.

THE NEIGHBORHOOD STRIKER !

— ghostface dabi x neighbor! reader

synopsis: uh oh! your neighbor has been acting weird lately, you suspect him as the masked killer known as ghostface?

kinks: manhandling, pussy eating, fingering, etc, voyerism.

THE UNINTENTIONAL PACT !

— incubus choso x reader x incubus toji

synopsis: you accidentally summon two incubus now they won’t leave your home you tried everything to get rid of them which they tell you they only can leave if you fuck them?

Kinks : 3 some, manhandling, fingering, etc, pussy spanking.

@kazushawty @hoshigray @ryukenzz @zarihaaa @vampress7 @omgeto @hqkalon @luvfaries @littlemochabunni @suguruplsr @dprkento @marimogf @dgrymn

[glytrp]

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Touya Todoroki: His Sex Life

headcanons 

❥ he is a sex addict, just to preface.

❥ his libido is ridiculous and once he’s in the mood, there ain’t no stopping him.

❥ hooks up with damn near anyone with two legs and a pair of tits, is not picky in the slightest.

❥ I’d be surprised if he never contracts an STD because he’s sexually irresponsible and disregards protection half the time.

❥ but with all that being said, he’s pretty damn good in bed.

❥ yes he likes doggy style and cowgirl, he’s a simple man.

❥ but oral is his go to. he likes good head, and will be fucking viscous if his partner ain’t doing a good job. total head pusher. degrades the shit out of you. 

❥ the type that makes you look at him the entire time.

❥ I can’t see him being particularly kinky. he just likes good old fashioned sex. hard, rough, and fast.

❥ probably has a thing for inexperienced chicks, but it ain’t a deal breaker at all, just a tiny fetish.

❥ which if you really wanna get him going, you just gotta stroke the hell out of his ego, fix him a cup of coffee or light his cigarette, and he’ll bend you right over. the domestic shit will be his achilles heel. 

❥ surprisingly isn’t a fan of threesomes. It’s too much work and he doesn’t like his partner’s attention getting split.

❥ one of his more perverted habits though is sneaking his hands down your pants or skirt when no one is looking and it always ends with you edged as fuck and him smiling from ear to ear.

❥ also he has a tongue and dick piercings, do with that what you will.

[matchamiko]

Touya getting close to tears when you ride him for the first time, because he’s not used to the gentle touches and affectionate kisses you give to his hands as he’s clutching yours. Laying back against the puffy pillows of your bed, head tipped almost all the way back so you can only see him if you really strain. One scarred hand gripping your waist with yours over the top, and the other arm looped over his eyes, hiding the shame or hiding how emotional you make him. He’s not especially aggressive, he can’t bring himself to when you’re milking his cock for all his worth and holding his free hand as if keeping him rooted to the moment. It’s sweet, it’s kind, it’s gracious of you to keep up such a writhing pace, doing all the work, taking his cock deep in your belly over and over without a complaint.

You know he needs it, needs you creaming all over his lap and shoving his palm over your tits, leaving him be when he chokes out a sob when you ask to cum with a shaky whimper. Touya’s lip is bloody, bitten to shreds and he only looks at you when you caress his stomach and settle into a pulsing grind. Only then do his eyes flash with tears from beneath his forearm and his hand grips the giving fat of your breast, rough palm catching your nipple so deliciously that you call him name.

And that’s what he needs most. Touya, Touya please! Cum with me, I want it so bad Touya ! The slap of your bodies almost drowning out the wretched grunts torn from his chest, his other arm finally coming to wrap round your waist, heaving you up into his chest and swallowing your cries, replacing them with his own. Cumming just like that, wrapped up in you and the touches you lathe over his shoulders, his bulked arms and back, kisses pressed to his open mouth and his tongue. You don’t say anything about the glossiness of his eyes. You pretend to not hear him sniffle when you kiss him properly, lazily after you come. You just kiss him again, and again and ask him for one more, that you think he needs it one more time, that he deserves it one more time.