A/N- this was just an idea that I got from a friend and decided to give life. hope you enjoy, as it will be short. written in two hours. probably spelling issues. look past it.
Pairing: Seto Kaiba X Reader
Warnings- None- unless you find some.
Summary: you ask for something from Kaiba, but will it be too costly.
You laid on the couch in Kaiba's office, your book propped on your knees. you had noticed the sun beginning to go down, the shadows being cast from the huge window that covered one wall of the office.
you lifted your head to see that Kaiba was still there at his desk the insescent typing noise coming from his computer. how he didn't get tired of it you'll never know. you sighed out and looked back at your book, but not really reading.
you stood from the couch staring at the art on the wall. you heard a brief pause in the typing before it resumed.
you walked from one end of the art wall to the other passing battlecity awards, art works and many other prized pieces.
"see anything you like?" you heard from behind you. you smiled looking down. "I see a lot of accomplishments." you stated turning around looking at him, but his eyes never left the screen.
"They could always be better." you laughed at his response.
you lean on his desk pulling you book back out. you glanced back up at his wall. the blue eyes art staring back at you.
"just say it." he said. "what?" you said looking over at him. "you have that face, you want to say something, or you are just so bored you can't even read a book right." he said grabbing a paper from his desk and looking back and forth from it to his computer screen.
you laughed, "well, I was just thinking about something that I wanted." "Tell Roland, he can get it to you in the hour." you set your book on the desk next to his papers.
"well that's the thing, its rare, hard to get, but most of all its very expensive." his head shot up. he looked you dead in the eyes.
"Expensive." he said looking at you with a scrutinizing stare. "nothing is expensive to me." he picked up the paper again. "and don't talk to me about rare. I found every blue eyes in Japan. nothing is hard to get. you can duel for anything." he said.
you rolled your eyes. "you won't like it." "try me." you looked at your hands fiddling with your fingers.
"W-well." you stammered. "Y/N- I love you, but I am a busy man. that love can only keep my attention for so long." he grabbed your arm. "I want the full art of a duel monsters card." his face was shocked.
you didn't really duel. never could get it down, but you lied to collect. so why did you think that was a crazy ask. "Okay, which card?" he said reaching for his coffee cup.
"Dark Magician." you mumbled out. you heard the coffee cup clank on to the desk, some coffee spilling on to the papers. that didn't matter as all of his attention was on you.
"what did you say?" he said all attention on you. you looked at him holding eye contact. "The dark magician. its super rare, and it is-"
he held his hand up. "I know what it is." he put his cup back on its coaster.
"it is just a cool card." you mumbled out. you looked over, but now he wouldn't even look at you.
he reached over hitting the button for his assistant on his phone. "Lia." "yes mister Kaiba." came Lia's voice back through the phone.
"Fire whoever made that coffee." he said hitting the button ending the connection.
you rolled your eyes standing back up, and heading for the couch again.
Kaiba drove you home that night, and waited for you the get in to your apartment for that night before driving off.
many days passed, and you forgot about the conversation. until you came home from work one day opening your door to see a bouquet on your counter.
you smiled, locking your door before walking over and smelling the roses.
you took out your phone to send Kaiba a thank you when you seen a little blue box with a white bow on the top. you reached out and opened it. looking inside you almost laughed.
it was a full art blue eye white dragon. you smiled, another one for your collection. you were happy with the design looking at it in the light watching the holographics reflect. it was beautiful. better put it in the case before I ruin it.
you pulled it out, and put it in the case. you laughed at the way Kaiba was, but you still loved him. you were very sad that it wasn't the one that you wanted, but you weren't ungrateful that was still a very rare and very valuable card. it also reminded you of him.
you grabbed the box pulling out the paper to out in the trash when you heard a clatter on the floor. you looked down to see a a card face down on the ground. you must have dropped on while putting the blue eye in the case.
you picked it up, set it on the counter before your eyes almost flew out of your head. There it was. the full art Dark Magician. you stood there eyes wide, mouth open. that is very expensive. very rare, and exactly what you wanted.
you looked at it, before looking up at the card in the flowers.
you grabbed it pulling it out of the envelope.
you seen the handwriting and knew exactly who wrote it.
so he didn't have these delivered. He delivered them.
The neat handwriting wrote out
"anything you want is yours.
no matter how ridiculous, or expensive.
every time you see these cards I want you to know
the Blue Eyes was more expensive, therefore more valuable.
the magician was on sale. nothing of value is on sale.
The best duelist, and your love
-Seto
P.S- see you at 8
wear something casual, new duel disk prototype to show you."
you shook with excitement. you have to thank him, and you had the perfect idea how to.
first the perfect outfit that he won't be able to keep his hands off of you.
Sanemi losing his shit after realizing you were dragged into the Infinity Castle
Pairing: Sanemi x fiancé!reader
Word Count: 1,6k
Synopsis: You promised to stay behind. He promised he’d come back to you alive. But when you’re suddenly pulled into the heart of the Infinity Castle, everyhting's turned upside down.
Warnings: ohhh I LOVED that teaser y'all, did you see how Obanai literally sprinted to be on Mitsuri's side? That's exactly what I imagined here hehehehe, go have a lil fluff with your soon-to-be husband <3
His instructions were too clear to ignore.
„Stay right where you are, got it? If I catch you out there, I’ll beat the shit out of you. Promise it, jerk.”
“Fine, I promise. Even though I know you’d never beat me.”
“Don’t count on it.”
And even though you couldn’t help but pout at his rough tone, you did exactly what he told you and waited for him at your estate. After all, he told you it will be over after this night, that he won’t be a demon slayer when he returns.
You believed him. How could you not, given the fact that your fiancé is none other than the wind hashira, Sanemi Shinazugawa? The man you always despised but ended up loving instead. The man who seems as cold as ice on the outside but treats you like a princess when no one’s watching. Never in your life, you imagined quitting your work as a demon slayer to become a housewife. Not in a million years, not for a single person on this planet, you would’ve gave up your independence.
Until that jerk came around.
“Don’t worry, (y/n). I’ll kill enough of them fucking creatures for both of us.”
And you believed him. God, you believed every single word that white-haired maniac said. But somehow, you ended up breaking your own promise.
You went from changing into your sleepwear to finding yourself free-falling without ground in sight within the blink of an eye.
Out of instinct, you hold onto the little knife you always keep on your body for dear life, eyes scanning around the area with no real aim. You’ve never seen a place like this, never felt a more overwhelming aura. After years of slaying demons, the stinging smell in the air alone is enough to send a shiver down your spine.
“What on earth is that place?”
Like you have to ask that question. Your stomach drops below your knees, you can’t help but swallow hard against that tension that builds up deep in your throat. That’s exactly what Sanemi was talking about earlier on, the final battle. And you’re falling straight in the middle of it.
It‘s been years since the last time you’ve held a sword, years since you’ve actually found peace with leaving this part of your life in your past, years since that overwhelming sickness haunted after you. And yet, you have no other choice.
The air is thick with screams, smoke and the stench of blood. Just before you have time to realize it, your body slams into the ground harder than expected, your ankle twisting beneath the impact with a merciless snap. You cry out, barely having time to gather your bearings before a monstrous shriek rips through the darkness.
A demon charges at you with teeth like pointy blades and eyes burning with starvation.
Your fingers fly to your waist, ready to meet the handle of your tiny knife that’s still better than nothing.
Gone.
Your knife, your only defense, is missing.
Panic swells in your chest as you scramble backward, dirt caking your hands, adrenaline drowning your thoughts. The demon lunges. You squeeze your eyes shut. No, this can’t be happening. You can’t just die out here, not like this. Did you really lose your knife like a lousy beginner? What would Sanemi think if he saw you here like this? Would he be sad, disappointed even? Both of you met during your times within the corps, he learned to love that wild and reckless side of yours. What would he say, seeing you standing here with your glossy eyes squeezed shut, desperately grabbing onto the air where your knife would have been?
“I’m sorry, Sanemi…”
You wait for it. The stinging pain of teeth digging deep into your flesh, the lights in your head slowly but surely getting dimmer.
But it never reaches you.
THWACK.
Instead, a gust of wind explodes past you, slicing the demon’s head clean off. Its body crashes beside you with a wet thud. Did you just…dream that? But you didn’t do anything, you didn’t see anyone earlier. There’s no way someone was able to reach you that fast.
And then you hear it - his voice.
“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”
You crack your eyes open. Sanemi’s standing over you, blade in hand, face redder than the blood soaking the ground while he stares down at you. His white hair is wild, his veins bulging, his lavender eyes glow with a fury that chills you more than the demon ever could. Suddenly, your near-death experience fading into the background.
“I told you to stay put! I told you!” he roars, grabbing your arm and yanking you to your feet, almost lifting you off the ground.
“I didn’t-!” you start, but he doesn’t let you finish.
“You promised, (y/n)! What the hell were you thinking?! This isn’t some damn training exercise. This is war!”
His voice cracks slightly and with it, so does your heart.
“You could’ve been killed!”
You’re about to snap back, because yes, he’s right, but his tone still stings and it’s absolutely not your fault you ended up here - until you see the way his hand trembles on your arm. He’s not just angry. He’s terrified. What does all of this look like from his view? Like you decided to go against your promise, like you don’t give a damn about his worries?
“I don’t even know how I got here,” you reply quietly, hand clutching his wrist in order to stop yourself from shooting back at him.
“I changed into my sleepwear, and the next thing I knew, I was falling. I think someone sent me here.”
Sanemi’s eyes narrow, his eyes dart around the area. The fallen slayers, the chaos as far as the eye can see. Those aren’t the demon slayers who agreed on accompanying the hashira on their mission. No, some of them aren’t even able to lift up their sword correctly, get whipped from this earth without even putting up a real fight. You can see the moment it clicks, the moment he slowly but surely starts to realize what’s going on.
"...No," he whispers.
"What?"
“It’s not just you.”
His voice is lower now. Dead serious.
“Everyone’s here. Even slayers who already quit, the rookies who fight like trash... Some of them shouldn’t even be able to fight anymore.”
You swallow thickly.
“You mean…?”
“They dropped every last one of us into this hellhole. They want a final purge.”
Sanemi releases your arm and runs a hand through his hair. He’s trying to stay calm, to think like the hashira he is. But when his eyes meet yours again, that cool command vanishes - replaced by raw fear. This is not a place for his fiancé. Didn’t he promise you that he’ll get home save, that the two of you will live a peaceful life after tonight? What if…what if something happens to you? What if he won’t be able to save you?
No. He can’t let that happen. There’s no way in hell that he’ll let a demon even touch you.
“I’m gonna say this once, and you're gonna listen for real this time.”
He steps closer, resting both hands on your shoulders, firm but shaking. You can’t help but rest your hands against his chest. Usually, his steady heartbeat is what lures you to sleep at night. But his heart is racing, your nerves are tingling and you know there’s only one way to make it out alive.
“You don’t leave my side. Not for a second. Got it?”
You nod, but his eyes blaze harder.
“No. Say it.”
“I won’t leave your side.”
“Again.”
“I won’t leave your side, Sanemi.”
He pulls you into his chest so suddenly you gasp. His arms wrap around you like armor, almost too tight and yet not tight enough. Out of instinct, you wrap your arms around him, crawl your fingers into his back in a desperate attempt to steady yourself. When he cups your chin and presses his lips against yours, you fail to exist for a moment. He brushes over you like he tries to memorize you like a map, like you might vanish into thin air if he doesn’t keep you close. Over and over, his mouth clashes against yours despite the ringing of destruction somewhere far away in your ears, holds you so close to him that you can feel his heartbeat vibrate right through you.
“You don’t get to die here,” he growls into your parted lips. “I gave up everything so you could live, damn it. I’ll carve a thousand demons apart if I have to, but you’re getting out of this with me. You understand me?”
Your fingers curl into the back of his haori. You can feel his heart slamming against your cheek while you press yourself even harder against him.
“Then you don’t get to die either,” you mutter into the fabric.
Sanemi’s silence is heavy until a low chuckle escapes his lips.
“…I won’t. Not if you're watching. After all, dying in front of my fiancé sounds like trash.”
Another demon scream erupts in the distance. Sanemi grabs your hand and though your knife is lost, he places one of his spare blades into your palm.
“Let’s go, princess,” he mutters, trying to mask the shake in his voice.
Summary: When Touya shows up at reader’s door after months with the League, he’s forced to face the life that continued without him. ~ (angst)
After the fight a few months ago, you hadn’t heard a single word from Touya.
The memory still burned in your mind. The shouting, the slammed door, the look in his eyes before he disappeared into the night. You had been so sure the two of you would find your way back to each other, like you always did. But this time was different.
What hurt the most was that he left before he ever knew. Before you could tell him.
You had been so excited the day you found out; hands trembling as you held the pregnancy test, heart racing at the thought of a future you’d both dreamed about. A small house. A family. A chance to give Touya something good in a world that had only ever hurt him.
But the words never reached him.
And as the months passed, your excitement turned into fear, then loneliness, and finally acceptance. Touya was gone.
And now, Dabi had replaced the man you once loved.
The day you saw him on the news, your heart plummeted. There he was; a photograph flashing across the screen, standing alongside the League of Villains.
The same blue eyes that looked at you with warmth, now burned with anger. His face was colder, sharper… but you’d recognize him anywhere.
——-
The soft murmur of the TV filled the room, lulling you into a haze of half-sleep as you gently rocked your son’s chair. His breathing had finally evened out, small fists unclenched, his face peaceful in the dim light.
And then — a knock.
It was faint at first. Three slow taps against the door. You frowned, glancing at the clock. 1:30am. No one visited this late. Were you so tired you were hallucinating?
You froze, listening. A moment passed. Then another knock, harder this time.
Careful not to wake your son, you slipped out of the chair and crossed the room, heart pounding. You peered through the peephole… and felt the world tilt beneath you.
Touya.
He stood on your doorstep, drenched from the rain, hood pulled low, patches of burned skin catching the faint porch light. His breath came in ragged bursts, blue eyes wide and frantic. You were scared. What did he want? Was it safe to have him anywhere near your son? He was a criminal now.
You hesitated, fingers trembling on the lock. When you finally cracked the door open, his voice came out rough and broken.
“Please… just let me in.”
You stared at him, disbelief and anger tangling in your chest.
“Touya? What—what are you doing here?”
He swallowed hard, shoulders shaking. For the first time, he looked small. Not the man on the news. Not Dabi. Just Touya… the boy you used to love, standing in the rain like a ghost who’d finally found his way home.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” he whispered.
And before you could stop yourself, you opened the door.
“Wait here. Let me get you some clothes,” you said, refusing to look at him. Your heart was beating too fast. You had to calm yourself the minute you reached your room. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you couldn’t let him see you like this. You were angry and relieved all at once.
“Here — you know where the bathroom is,” you said, handing him the clothes he’d left behind when this was still home.
“You didn’t throw these away,” he murmured looking down at the neatly folded clothes you placed in his hands.
You didn’t need to answer his question.
As he walked a familiar path to the bathroom, he noticed nothing had changed. There was still a picture of you both hanging in the hallway.
———-
You heard the bathroom door creak open behind you. You turned, half expecting him to be gone; a part of you almost hoping he was, to avoid the conversation to come.
But he stood there, damp hair clinging to his forehead, his oversized hoodie hanging loosely from his frame. For a moment, he just stared at you. Then his gaze shifted past you; to the small chair by the couch.
His breath hitched, and you saw it; the way his entire body froze.
“…Is that—?” His voice broke before he could finish.
You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The quiet hum of the baby monitor filled the silence between you, too heavy to ignore. Touya took a step closer, then another, until he was kneeling beside the chair. He stared down at the sleeping boy—your son — his son. A feeling of guilt washed over you; how could you think he would put your son in danger?
His hand trembled as he reached out, stopping just short of touching the baby’s hair. The faintest smile flickered across his lips, swallowed quickly by something like pain.
“He has your nose,” he whispered, voice raw. “But the hair and his eyes… that’s me.”
You looked away, arms crossed over your chest. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, your voice would be hoarse from holding back the lump in your throat.
“I wanted to come back,” he said quietly. “God, I wanted to. But every time I thought about it; about you, about what I’d done — I couldn’t. I didn’t deserve all this.”
His shoulders shook as he tried to breathe through the guilt clawing its way out of him.
“I’m sorry,” he said — over and over, until it barely sounded like words anymore. “I should’ve been here. For you. For him.“
After a moment of silence — regret and realization came through, “I missed seeing you pregnant… and his birth…You were all alone.” You could hear his voice crack. A bloody tear rolling down his cheek.
You stood there, silent, watching the man you once loved crumble under the weight of his own choices.
When you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper.“You can’t just show up and expect it to be easy.”
He nodded slowly, eyes red, gaze falling back to your son.
“I know,” he said. “I don’t expect forgiveness, but don’t stop me from seeing him… or you. Please.”
You didn’t move for a long time. The only sound was the soft whir of the baby monitor and Touya’s uneven breathing.
Part of you wanted to scream; to tell him he had no right to come back after everything. But another part…remembered the warmth of his hand in yours, your first love.
You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Do you have anywhere to go tonight?”
Touya looked up, startled by the question. His lips parted, but no sound came out. He didn’t need to answer, you could see it in his eyes.
“Right,” you muttered, glancing toward the couch. “You can sleep here. Just… don’t make any noise. He wakes up easily.”
For a moment, he didn’t move; as if he didn’t quite believe your blind kindness. Then he nodded, voice barely audible.“Thank you.”
You crossed your arms trying to seem stern, “Don’t thank me. It’s just for tonight.”
He gave a small, almost bitter laugh, one that died quickly in his throat. “Yeah. I figured.”
You turned away before he could see your expression. You didn’t want him to see the conflict in your eyes; the part of you that still cared, the part that still hurt.
Touya moved slowly, carefully lowering himself onto the couch like he was afraid to break something. His movements were clumsy, exhaustion dragging at every limb. You caught the faint smell of smoke still clinging to him. Sharp and familiar; and it sent a thousand memories back to the surface.
You stood there for a long moment, watching him settle beneath the blanket you gave him, before picking up your son to bring him to his room.
When you finally spoke again, your voice was softer. “There’s food in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
He didn’t open his eyes, just murmured, “I don’t deserve that kind of kindness.”
——-
The night stretched long and silent. You couldn’t sleep — not with him just a few feet away.
When the baby stirred, you rose automatically. But before you could reach the crib, Touya was already there.
He rocked the crib gently, the softest hum escaping him; a tune you hadn’t heard since before everything fell apart.
You stood in the doorway, arms folded, heart aching. Maybe you couldn’t forgive him. Not yet.
But watching him there, whispering to the son he never got to meet, you realized something you hadn’t before.
Touya wasn’t asking for redemption. He was just asking for a chance to be human again. Maybe that was enough.
SYNOPSIS: visiting your late friend’s grave for his birthday leads to a strange meeting…
TAGS: reader was a shiketsu student, childhood friends to strangers, light angst, some comfort if you squint, first meeting kinda?
Your foot sinks into the thick layer of snow covering the ground. It stopped snowing about two hours ago, but grey clouds still hang low in the sky. Another snowfall will probably come soon, hopefully once you’re already in the safety of your apartment.
You raise your shoulders as a gust of wind brushes past you, burying the lower half of your face in your scarf. The cold seeps into your bones despite the warm clothes you have on and you can only scold yourself for having forgotten your gloves at home in the middle of January. One of your hands is tucked securely into the pocket of your coat, but the other— the one holding the small bouquet of pink camellias— is slowly starting to turn numb.
Silence is your only company. Your steps don’t make a single sound in the snow, if not for the occasional sticks crashed under your boots. There’s no one in sight yet, but that doesn’t surprise you: you suppose most people prefer not going out in this weather, unless strictly necessary.
You have to walk a few more metres before you see the first stone. It’s a familiar one at this point, even tho you still have no idea whose family it belongs to. You lower your head— a subtle nod of respect to the souls resting underneath— and keep walking.
You don’t look at any of the tombstones you pass by. If you did, you’d feel the weight already pressing down on your stomach growing heavier. Somehow, it feels like the air gets colder with each stone you pass by. At the age of twenty-three, you’d think you would have gotten over whatever problems you had with cemeteries.
Clearly, that is not the case. Perhaps that’s why you haven’t visited once those past three years.
You fingers tighten around the flowers, tense. You count the gravestones in your head as you walk past them, head still bowed in respect. Your feet know where to take you and they halt once you hit ten in your head. You inhale, before raising your eyes from the ground.
There, in front of you, a familiar sight. The Todoroki family’s tombstone stands tall, a little distant from the others. It’s exactly as you remembered it, and you’re not sure whether that brings you comfort or unease. Because death stops the flowing of time. It doesn’t allow changes or growth, it only shows something already set, in time and in stone.
You lower your scarf to your neck and exhale, a puff of smoke escaping your lips and disappearing into the air. Your heart beats fast in your ears, filling the silence before your words can. For a moment, you just stare at the stone. Then, you lower yourself to your knees.
“Hi, Tou,” you say softly, your voice barely louder than a whisper, “I-I know it’s been a while, I’m sorry.” You lower your head again, taking a deep breath. Words swirl in your head, but your lips don’t move. It’s the first time in three years you’re even attempting to talk to him and you find yourself at loss for words.
It is painfully ironic. Talking with Touya had always came as easy as breathing to you, for as long as you can remember it. Even back when you were kids and you had a prominent lisp, he was one of the few people other than your parents who could actually understand you and that you felt comfortable talking to. And now? Now you can’t even string two words together for him.
You inhale through your nose and keep your eyes on the stone. It’s so… plain. You shouldn’t expect anything else from a gravestone, but it still feels wrong. Touya, so full of life, reduced to this. A piece of stone with no identity. Your eyes fall on the flowers and offerings on the bottom and your lips curl melancholically. That has Fuyumi’s doing written all over it.
You glance down at your own flowers, sighing. Your fingertips brush against the pink petals, feeling the softness of it against your skin. You had never gave too much thought to what flowers you brought him— maybe because you were younger then. You always brought what you thought looked good that day, as long as it was colourful.
“Flowers are a powerful language, my dear,” the old lady says, her hands gesturing at all the flowers around her, “beautiful things, sure, but they can say so much more, if you know how to listen. Tell me, darling, is there something you wish to communicate to this person? Something you want them to know?”
Your eyes clouds as you remember the conversation with the florist, barely an hour ago.
“Well, if you miss someone…” she trails off, wandering towards the back, “There are plenty of flowers for that. Forget-Me-Nots are a very common choice when it comes to show remembrance. Zinnias too, but…
Can I be honest, dear? I think for your case… these might be more fitting.” As she says that, she moves in front of a wall of pink flowers you don’t immediately recognise and plucks one from an already made bouquet, handing it to you. “Those are pink camellias. They’re also used to express longing for someone, but here’s the thing about camellias… when the flower starts to whiter and the petals fall, the calico falls with them, as if it can’t imagine staying up without them around. It seems silly to you, I understand, but many cultures see it as a sign of eternal love. An expression of desire to always be together, in life or death.”
The words sit heavy on your chest, but you don’t find it in yourself to deny them. After all, it is nothing but a truth you had acknowledged a long time ago— one you’d probably need to live with all your life. If your love for Touya hadn’t diminished almost a decade after his death, you doubted it ever would. It would always live within you, in the little spot it had carved inside your heart and called its home, long before either of you knew what love even was.
“So, how much for a bouquet of those?”
“I’ve been a little busy,” you continue, your voice soft. You slip one flower into the stone vase, careful not to ruin Fuyumi’s own composition. “Hero life is a real pain in the ass, let me tell you that. Always hopping from one place to another. But, well… I thought I’d stop by today. Wish you happy birthday properly.”
Silence falls as you arrange the flowers. The combination of pink and white brings some colour to the dull grey of the stone. You pull back to look at your work and your chest tightens. You really hate looking at this tombstone. It’s like a constant reminder of the wall that separates the two of you, one that you can’t get over.
It doesn’t matter how much you talk to him, you’ll never get an answer.
And yet, you do anyway. Just to keep that flickering hope alive that maybe he can still hear you. And that your voice, maybe, brings him the peace you find yourself still chasing.
“I guess some things changed since the last time I stopped by,” you murmur, feeling your stomach twist with guilt. It’s really been too long since you’ve visited him. It is incredibly stupid, but you can almost picture him frowning at you like he used to. Like he did when you first told him your parents wanted you to attend Shiketsu instead of UA.
“So you’re leaving me? But we said we’d be heroes together!”
“We promised!”
“You don’t want to come with me?”
You shake your head as if physically pushing those memories away, forcing yourself to smile. “The rankings for this year aren’t technically out yet, but… guess who’s finally in the Top 20? About time, right?” You laugh softly, pushing away the bitterness rising in your throat.
You know exactly why it took you these many years to get so high. Every time you got even a little near the top, the familiar sense of insecurity and guilt came crushing down on you. Before you knew it, you were slacking off again, purposely taking less jobs and interacting less with the people. As soon as your ranking dropped, you relaxed and went back to normal.
It had taken you years of therapy to understand the root of this problem, and even more to eradicate it. In your eyes, Touya had been your first failure. Before you even started training to be a hero, you had already failed to save someone dear to you. You had been close to someone who desperately needed a hand and you couldn’t give it to him in time.
How could you be a hero when you couldn’t even save your best friend? How could you deserve to be loved and praised when blame clawed at your heart every single day?
Your therapist had to tell you multiple times you weren’t at fault, but it hasn’t been long since you actually started believing it. Hence, why you were finally able to rank higher in the charts without self sabotage holding you back anymore. You still weren’t convinced you deserved it, but you’d take it. Maybe this was your form of atonement, to finally make things right.
You’re still lost in thoughts when you start to feel it, like a ping in the back of your head. Your back straightens and your ears perk up before your brain can even catch up— hero reflexes, probably.
Someone’s there. You don’t know why it bothers you so much— it’s a public graveyard, it is completely normal for people to come and go. And yet, this presence feels different.
Heavier, somehow.
You slowly turn your head and glance over your shoulder. Like you expected, there’s a figure standing a few feet away. The body structure tells you it’s a man, but that’s all the info you can get: with the hood pulled down and the scarf around his neck, only his eyes are left uncovered.
Uncovered and already set on you.
Your body jolts when your gazes meet, the blue in his eyes making your stomach churn. It’s so painfully familiar. Why did you have to go and see someone with blue eyes today of all times?
“Um, can I help you?” You ask, trying a polite approach— even if your guts are twisting right now.
The stranger doesn’t answer you, nor does he move. He remains standing still, his hands in his pockets and his eyes latched onto your figure. You try to gauge any emotion in them, but it’s a lost battle: they look as blank as ever, just silently observing you.
Weird.
Not wanting to start a fight in a graveyard, you decide to ignore him and return your attention to the tombstone. It’s the first time in years you visit Touya, you’re not getting your time cut short by some random weirdo.
You sigh softly and reach out a hand, your fingertips brushing against the etched writing in reverence. You find yourself wondering how different it would be if you could touch him instead, if your hand was touching warm flesh instead of this cold stone.
“Family?” You get startled by the low voice interrupting your thoughts. As distracted as you were, you hadn’t noticed the man from before stepping closer to you. You look to the side to face him, but he’s not looking at you anymore. His eyes are trained on the grave, still as emotionless as they were a moment ago. And yet, you notice the slight furrowing of his eyebrows.
“A friend,” you respond softly, dropping your hand to your knee. You don’t question why he’s talking to you. Graveyards are strange places: you remember how suffocating the eerie silence felt the first times, how you had to run away as fast as you could to finally be able to breath. “You? Who are you here for?”
The man shrugs, without taking his eyes off the stone. “Someone from my past.”
“That sounds… ominous,” you murmur to yourself. Unfortunately, the stranger hears you and lets out a low scoff of amusement.
“Good, that was the intention.”
You find yourself tempted to ask him more questions, but ultimately decide to keep your mouth shut. Surely it’s not your place to pry into a stranger’s life— or on their weird relationship to whoever they’re visiting in a graveyard. That sounds like an activity for acquaintances, at least.
He doesn’t seem to think the same.
“How old?” You understand he’s asking about Touya.
“He was thirteen when he died.” You reply, “He would have turned twenty three today.”
A slow hum reaches your ears. “Ten years and you’re still grieving him?” It doesn’t sound like an accusation. It’s more of an actual question. If you listen hard enough, he almost sounds… surprised. You look up at him and, this time, your gazes meet.
Once again, you feel your stomach fold in half, but you don't understand why. He's not sporting any particular expression, but the depth in his eyes is threatening to pull you in anyway. And somehow, it doesn't nearly sound as dangerous as it probably should.
You offer him a small smile. “I mean, not like before maybe, but..” you trail off, your voice soft, “I just- I miss him, you know? I might have gotten used to him not being here anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still wish he was. I don’t think that’ll ever change, no matter how much time passes.”
“Why?”
You blink at him in confusion. “Why what?”
“Why do you still miss him?” The man asks, like it’s obvious, “I’m sure most people would have forgotten about him after ten years.”
His words make your frown, mostly because of how sure he sounds when he says them. He’s not judging you, but he doesn’t understand you either. It’s like he never thought possible someone’s memory could be so cherished despite the passing of time. It makes you wonder how this man was raised and what kind of things he’s been told all his life.
“Touya is… not an easy person to forget,” you sigh softly, looking back at the stone in front of you. For the first time today, your lips curl into a genuine smile. Memories of laughters, of scraped knees and silly games are all you can think of. For a moment there, it doesn’t feel like January anymore— not with the warmth blooming inside your chest.
When you don’t get a response, you glance up at the stranger, only to find the spot beside you empty again. Confused, you look around you for any sign of him, but it’s no use. He’s nowhere near, gone as if the whole interaction didn’t happen in the first place.
summary: your boyfriends a fucking maniac, insanely dangerous and reckless— but god, you can’t help yourself, and neither can he.
warning/s: angst, fluff, non sexual nudity, intimacy, ALOT OF INTIMACY, in like, everything, bathing together, arguments, dabis an asshole but so is reader, dadzawa, emotional dabi (eventually), happy ending, oh boy, readers a hero, obsessive behavior, references to depression, stalking,
words: ~13k
notes: !requested! the starts a bit rough, I promise it gets better at the end :(
“But lately, his thoughts haven’t been about Endeavour at all. They’ve been about you. About the future. About what he’s actually chasing. He’s not sure if simple revenge will be enough to fill the rest of his miserable, probably short life. Which is strange, because revenge has been his only motivation ever since he crawled back from the dead. Lately, Dabi’s been having dreams. Dreams where he wakes up beside you again— but this time, neither of you is in danger. In those dreams, he isn’t a villain.”
It feels like the perfect summer, the kind you only ever see in teenage movies. He’s like a summer fling— one that lasts far too long. All the fooling around, the kind you know is going to get you in trouble.
But you just don’t know when to stop, do you?
He is bad. That much is obvious. Raven-black hair, scarred skin held together with staples. His face is decorated with piercings— ears, nose, chin. Yet it’s not his appearance that scares you most. It’s his spite. His anger. The way it simmers deep within and threatens to break out every time something remotely triggers him.
Dabi is an enigma. You’ve known him for a long time, perhaps too long. Long enough that the change in your relationship felt inevitable. Like it had been waiting to happen. Being ‘just friends’ would’ve never worked out. Not with you standing between his legs, gloves on, helping him dye his hair black.
White roots peek through messily, and you can’t help but imagine how he’d look if he actually let it grow out. He never does. And you never ask why.
It’s a mess, dyeing his hair. The smell is awful, sharp and chemical, and it makes your nose scrunch up immediately. You’ve already told him twice that he’s sleeping on the couch tonight. That no, you are not dealing with this smell all night.
But as always, you’re just met with a shit eating smirk, one that says that he knows you’re bluffing.
(You both know sleeping separately won’t happen. He’ll sneak into the bed eventually— or you’ll wake up halfway through the night curled up on top of him on the couch.)
His hands rest on your hips, warm and grounding, thumbs digging in just enough to remind you that he’s not fully grown soft. “Why do you even need me to do this?” you complain, “You know I h-hate—” The smell hits harder, and you sneeze into your elbow.
His hands tighten as he snickers. “—hate the smell of this stuff!”
“Aw, c’mon,” he drawls, “you’re doin’ great.”
You shoot him a glare he can’t see, given he’s too focused on his hands groping and poking into you. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Obviously.” He purrs, “Love havin’ you this close.”
Dabi is cheeky. An asshole. And nothing like the boy he once was— the scared, trembling thing you met all that time ago. Now he’s got that charm that can woo your heart and make you cling to him like a lost puppy.
“Love when you take care of me like this, doll.”
There it is. His words that can make your heart stutter and your resolve melt on the spot.
You squirm, biting back a smile as you get back to work. His hair is split neatly, the brush fully coated in black dye, your gloved fingertips stained dark. One hand stays close to his forehead, careful not to let anything drip into his eyes.
“You mess this up,” he murmurs lazily, “and I’m never lettin’ you live it down.”
You huff. “Hold still.”
“Bossy,” he murmurs, but listens nevertheless.
If it weren’t for the mess, you’d lean down and kiss him. Instead, you settle for leaning further into his hands, letting yourself sink into the warmth he offers so easily.
Softly, carefully, something Dabi had to learn from you, he presses a kiss just above your navel.
You squeak, body jolting. “Stop—! That tickles!”
Of course, he doesn’t. He chuckles lowly. “Cute.”
You pout, tightening your grip on his hair, subconsciously causing his grin to widen.“Unless you think me dyeing your forehead black is cute, I suggest you stop.”
To your surprise, he actually stills. Lets you hold him there. His fingers trail slowly over your skin, down to your waistband, hooking there like he belongs.
Silence settles comfortably. You hum quietly as you focus.
When you finally step back, it’s done. The white strands are gone, swallowed by black once more.
He looks the same. And somehow, entirely different.
You wish you could know more about him. His story. Who he truly is beneath the smoke and heat and stitched skin. But you know better than to ask.
You’re fine, you tell yourself. You’re more than fine. You’ve built something together, something you never thought was possible. You stick together, glued by the hip. He makes your heart warm, makes you feel like a silly schoolgirl crushing on the popular boy— giddy and stupid and far too hopeful.
He’s sketchy. That much hasn’t changed.
You’ve watched him shift over time. Grow sharper and louder and bolder. The spite simmering inside him was always there, even back when he was quiet and awkward, eyes darting around like a cornered animal. Now he leaves without much warning, going places he tells you are none of your concern. He’s not angry when he tells you off, just secretive.
“Just keepin’ my baby safe,” he says, brushing it off like it’s nothing.
He tells you he loves you. Says he loves his life. That he’s happy the way things are.
You believe him. Or maybe you just want to.
But the summer keeps getting hotter, thicker, and you know, deep down, you’ll suffocate by the time it ends.
He’s always warm. Unnaturally so. It’s a curse during the summer. Sleeping without holding each other is out of the question. One of you always ends up draped over the other. He doesn’t mind it— doesn’t sweat (given his condition), doesn’t complain, doesn’t even seem affected by the heat.
You, on the other hand, wake up sticky and restless, his warmth bleeding into you, mixing with the suffocating air until it feels like too much. Like you can’t breathe.
You’ve told him before to stop holding you.
He never listens.
“C’mon,” he murmurs sleepily when you squirm, “you’re fine.”
Sweat doesn’t bother him. At least not yours, as cliché as that sounds. His arm tightens around you anyway, possessive without meaning to be, chin tucked against your shoulder like that’s where he belongs.
The nights are a suffering desert— long and dry and relentless. But the aftermath always makes up for it.
Cold showers, shared in silence. His hands steady on you, the steam curling around scarred skin and bare shoulders. The heat finally breaking, even if only for a moment.
He makes it all look so easy. All the secrets he keeps and deems irrelevant, all the differences between the two of you that he brushes off like they don’t matter— Dabi is no saint, and you know that. His anger scares you, even if it’s never aimed at you. He’s spiteful and dangerous and you’ve always known that, but your foolish heart thought that maybe a different perspective on the world would help him calm the anger, calm his heart, and maybe change the way he handles it.
And maybe it would’ve— if you at least knew as much as his real name.
It’s fine, though. At least that’s what you tell yourself. He’s still your favourite person, and it would take a lot for you to stop loving him, if that’s even possible at all, and you’re positive you know more about him than anyone else ever could.
You don’t know his real name. Or anything about his past. Or anything about his family.
But you know that he loves soba, that he keeps an entire stock of them at home yet refuses to eat them every day, partly because you scold him for it and partly because he’s scared he’ll get sick of it eventually.
You know that he’s good at deflecting, so good that sometimes you don’t even realize he’s doing it until hours later. You know that he hates fish. You know that his hair needs a new dyeing session every month or so, that his piercings and staples need to be disinfected and cleaned regularly— lord forbid he ever gets an infection.
You know that he struggles to express himself properly, that words fail him more often than not, and you know about his strange, deep-rooted hatred towards Endeavour, even if you don’t know where it truly stems from.
You know that after a hard day he likes to smoke by the fireplace after taking a shower with you, and that he loves seeing you in his clothes so much that you make a habit of wearing them at home whenever you’re not out training.
You also know that he doesn’t like your training. Doesn’t like heroes at all.
Still, you’re determined, just as stubborn as he is, and while you love him more than anything, you have a passion you refuse to break for the sake of his nerves. That, more often than not, is what leads to your arguments.
Sometimes they’re quiet, filled with snarky remarks and sharp words that turn venomous even when you don’t mean them to. Sometimes they’re outright loud and nasty, voices raised and tempers flaring, and he leaves with veins visible beneath scarred skin, nerves on edge, going for a walk with nothing but a pack of cigarettes.
He always comes home to you.
And if you’re the meaner one in the argument, he doesn’t let you leave. He can’t. He holds you even when you scream at him, tells you it’s okay to be mad at him but that you can do it while you’re with him. He interlaces your fingers and pulls you into bed, keeping you there, letting your rage simmer and burn itself out in silence.
In any other circumstances, with any other man, you would’ve lost your cool completely. You would’ve screamed louder, maybe even used your quirk just to get his filthy hands off of you— but not with Dabi.
When this happens, he seems more afraid than mad. Of course he hides it well, because he’s good at deflecting, but you’ve already figured it out on your own.
He has attachment issues, and he’s terrified that one day, you’ll leave him too.
Still, arguments come and ago.
You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at him before you finally speak.
He’s standing in the doorway of the bathroom, shirt half-unbuttoned, the smell of smoke still clinging to him, and there’s something wrong in the way he won’t quite meet your eyes. Guilt, probably, because he already knows you’re going to hate what comes next and he’s bracing for it.
“You’re bleeding,” you say eventually, because it’s easier than asking the real question.
He glances down at his knuckle and shrugs. “Not mine.”
Your stomach drops.
“You said you were just going out,” you continue, voice eerily calm, “you said you’d be back before midnight.”
“Plans changed.”
“Whose plans?”
That gets his attention. He looks at you now, snarl on display and irritated and it spikes your heart painfully.
“Don’t start interrogating me,” he mutters, “I’m tired.”
“Tired from what?” you ask, taking a step closer. “From hurting people?”
His jaw tightens. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then explain it to me,” you snap. “because I’m standing here looking at dried blood on your hands and you expect me to just— what— pretend this is normal?”
He scoffs. “You live with me. Nothing about me is normal.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
Silence stretches, thick and suffocating, until finally he exhales through his nose like he’s lost patience with the entire conversation.
“I did a job,” he says. “it paid well, and for your information it fuckin‘ mattered. I don’t do useless jobs.“
I don’t kill unless I need to, is what he means and you know it.
“Mattered to who?”
“To people who actually want shit to change.”
Your chest tightens. “You’re serious.”
“Deadly.”
“You hurt people,” your voice croaks, “you hurt them and you don’t see anything wrong with that?”
“Heroes,” he corrects flatly.
Your fist clenches, your own anger rising, “They’re still people— you- you attacked them?”
“They attacked first. Don’t act like they didn’t deserve it just because you want to be one.“
“That’s not— Dabi, that’s not how this fucking works!”
“That’s exactly how it works.” he snaps, temper flaring, “They wear fancy costumes and suddenly they’re allowed to burn cities to the ground as long as the news calls it collateral damage.”
“And killing them, what does that make you?” you shout, “Better?”
His jaw clenches and he pushes past you, seemingly done with the argument. “At least I don’t pretend I’m doing it for the public! Now quit it. I didn’t come home for you to yowl around like an idiot. Go to sleep and get over it.”
Home. He calls this place his home.
You share a home with a murderer.
A shiver runs down your spine as you hold back tears, sniffling quietly instead.
Dabi’s not a murderer. He’s your boyfriend.
But he kills on occasion and calls it a small step into changing the world.
“You’re planning to be a villain,” you mutter, eyes following his form, “you’re really choosing this.”
“Yes,” shamelessly, he changes his clothing, throwing on something clean and maybe the sight would’ve made you blush, but the shake of your body makes it hard. “I am.”
Your eyebrows furrow, heart racing harshly as you walk towards him, “I’m going to UA,” you fire back. “I’m going to teach. I’m going to help kids learn control, responsibility, compassion—”
“Compassion,” he laughs bitterly. “That’s rich.”
“You think this is funny?” you scream. “You think turning into everything you hate is funny? You- you told me you once wanted to be a hero—!”
“Once.” He spits with so much venom you think you have to step back.
“And I don’t hate villains,” he growls, “I hate liars.”
“And heroes are liars now?” you snarl. “Every single one of them?”
“Enough of them.”
Your heart is pounding so hard it hurts. “That doesn’t excuse anything Dabi and you know it.” He sends you a look, but you bare your teeth and glare at him. “You hide behind that hatred as if it explains everything. As if it excuses everything you do and will do.”
His expression darkens. “Careful.”
“No,” you say venomously, the words spilling out before you can stop them, “I’m tired of being careful around that name you won’t even explain. Endeavour this, Endeavour that, like he’s the devil himself and you’re the only one who sees it.”
The room goes very, very still, and you know you’ve strung a nerve. Gone too far, maybe. But so has he.
“The fuck did you jus’ say?” he asks quietly.
“You heard me,” you press on, voice shaking because there’s something building up in your throat, but you force yourself to keep talking, because if you don’t get the words out now, you might as well never do so, “you spit his name like it’s a sin, but you won’t tell me why. You won’t tell me what he did to you, or if he even did anything at all, and yet you expect me to just accept that he’s the reason the entire hero system deserves to burn.”
His breathing turns uneven.
“Watch your fucking tongue.” he warns.
You ignore him. “Is it because it hurts too much to admit you’re projecting? Because it’s easier to hate him than face the fact that you’re choosing violence?”
He says your name in a warning, puffing his chest as his eyes widen and his pupils stick to you like a predator to a prey.
You don’t back down.
“You want to tear everything down and you can’t even tell me why!” you continue, tears streaming now, anger overriding fear, “And instead of dealing with it, letting me or anyone else help you, you’re becoming exactly what you claim ruined you—“ you choke on your own voice, but spite fuels beneath you,
“—A dirty fucking liar.”
That’s what sets him off.
There’s no warning when he approaches you quickly, slams his fist into the wall beside your head, heat flaring instinctively, the plaster blackening instantly, and you flinch despite yourself.
“Don’t you ever,” he roars, and you feel yourself becoming small under his gaze,“compare me to a liar, or talk about him like you know anything of what he’s actually done!”
“You won’t tell me!” you scream back. “You shut me out and then punish me for not understanding!”
“You wouldn’t.” he spits, “You couldn’t.”
“Try me!”
“You’d look at me differently,” he snaps.
“You’re already giving me plenty of reasons to,” you sob.
He freezes, chest heaving, eyes wide like he’s just realized how close he is to losing you.
“You don’t mean that,” he says hoarsely.
“I don’t know what I mean anymore,” you admit through tears. “I don’t know how to love someone who wants to destroy the world I’m trying to protect.”
“I’m not asking you to protect it,” his voice is desperate, maybe even scared, “I’m asking you to stay with me.”
“And do what?” you cry. “Stand by while you hurt people? While you become a villain I’ll have to teach my students about someday?”
He grabs you then, hands shaking, pulling you against him hard enough that it hurts, like if he loosens his grip you’ll disappear.
“Don’t leave,” he pleads, voice cracking despite himself, “you can hate what I do. You can scream at me. Just don’t leave.”
You pound weakly against his chest, tears soaking through his shirt. “This isn’t fair, Dabi.”
“I know,” he admits, holding you tighter.
I know, he said, but he forces you down onto the bed, not rough but insistent, caging you in with his body, arms wrapped around you as you cry and shake and rethink everything you thought you knew.
He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t promise to stop. And he doesn’t let you go.
And somewhere between your sobs and his desperate grip, you realize this argument didn’t change anything at all— that in the morning you’ll be back to kissing and cuddling and smoking together, and soon enough you’ll just argue again, over and over.
The summer heat is getting worse, and it’s already suffocating you as it is, still, you’re too afraid to let go.
It’s not like he’s a bad guy. To you, at least. He’s a gentleman like he claims to be, sometimes he does things that resemble scenes straight out of a movie, and you have to hold back a giggle as you kiss down his throat.
“There’s a beach,” he says, casually as he sits on the couch, “nobody goes there.”
You glance at him. “Why not?”
He shrugs. “Too empty. People don’t like abandoned places.”
You don’t say the obvious— that people also don’t like staring at scars, or staples, or the way strangers tend to flinch when his form comes to view. You just nod, grab a towel, and let him drive.
The road stretches out endlessly, windows down, salt already clinging to the air by the time you arrive. The beach really is empty, pale sand untouched except for wind-swept patterns and some trash lying here and there.
He kicks off his boots, rolls his pants up carelessly, scars fully visible and unhidden, and smirks at you to follow him.
You do.
The waters cold on your bare skin— you’re both equally undressed, you in your bikini and him with his rolled up pants and shirtless, still, he’s got the advantage of his quirk by his side. You shiver, teeth clacking as you glare at him.
He grins.
You know what he wants. He wants to hear you ask him in that meek voice of yours, if you can cuddle into him for some warmth.
But you’ve already decided that the second you step a foot into the water, you’re declaring war on him.
You mean to just splash him, just a little, just enough to wipe that grin off his face, but the second the cold hits his chest, spills up to his neck and brushes against his jawline, he flinches, eyes widening before narrowing with that familiar, dangerous glint, you know you’ve made a mistake.
“Oh, you’re fucked,” he says, already moving.
“Don’t you dare,” you warn, backing up, feet slipping slightly in the sand beneath the shallow water.
He doesn’t listen. He never does.
He lunges, water exploding around you as you shriek, laughing and screaming when his hands grab your waist and you nearly choke on a mouthful of seawater.
“Dabi—! fuck— stop—!” you cough, spluttering as he hauls you closer, your arms flailing uselessly as you try to push him away.
“Language,” he mocks, even as he’s laughing himself, breathless and loud and unrestrained, nothing like the man who came home angry and bloodied.
“You started it!” you yell, kicking water at him, successfully soaking his face this time.
He sputters, scrunching his nose and you resist to kiss him.
Before you can react, he lifts you clean off the ground, arms locked around your thighs, and you scream bloody murder, clutching at his shoulders as the water drips off you both.
“Put me down, you absolute asshole!” you shout, laughing so hard your stomach hurts. “I swear to—“
“What?” he grins up at you, teeth on display, “You gonna arrest me, hero?”
“S-shut up,” you wheeze, pounding weakly against his shoulders as he spins you slightly just to make you yelp louder.
“You love me,” he corrects.
“Right now? Debatable!”
He dumps you back into the water without warning, and you go under with a surprised scream, resurfacing coughing and sputtering, hair plastered to your face as you flip him off instinctively.
“Fuck you!”
He laughs, snorting and looking too proud of himself, “There she is.”
You don’t even think before launching yourself at him, both of you going down in a tangle of limbs and seawater, laughing and swearing and trying to get leverage on wet sand that refuses to cooperate.
“Stop- being- an- asshole!” you gasp, coughing as another wave hits you in the face.
“Where’s the fun in that?” He chuckles, “Y-you look ridiculous—!”
“Oh, you’re one to talk—” You grab into his shoulders and yank him down, kissing him hard and sudden, salt and teeth and laughter mixing together.
He freezes for half a second, surprised, before kissing you back just as fiercely, hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as if grounding himself there.
You pull back only long enough to breathe.
“Shut up,” he murmurs before you can think of a teasing remark, kissing you again, softer this time but just as needy, tongue prodding at your lips for permission.
Another wave crashes into you both and you break apart coughing, groaning, laughing all over again.
“Ceasefire?” you smile innocently, pressing a kiss on his cheek.
You should’ve known better though. Dabi is one to hold a grudge.
“Nope,” he sing-songs, hauling over his shoulder.
“Dabi!” you shriek, slapping his back. “Put me down right now!”
“Nope.” He repeats, like the asshole he is.
“I will bite you!”
“Threatening me with a good time?”
You squirm uselessly as he carries you further up the shore, both of you soaked and breathless, sand sticking to your skin, your laughter echoing embarrassingly loud in the empty space around you.
He finally sets you down, but only so he can pull you back in immediately, arms wrapping around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder as you try— and fail— to catch your breath.
“Idiot,” you mutter, leaning back into him despite yourself.
“Takes one to love one,” he replies, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your neck, then another, then one just below your ear that makes you shiver.
“Hey,” you warn weakly, though you tilt your head to give him better access anyway.
He hums, satisfied, spinning you around so you’re facing him again, hands still warm and steady on your waist. He looks flushed, hair a mess, scars stark against damp skin, and for a moment you think you could forget about everything else.
“You okay?” he asks quietly, just for you.
You nod. “Yeah. Are you?”
He shrugs, then leans in to press his forehead against yours. “Better.”
You kiss him again, slower this time, lingering and affectionate, fingers threading into his hair as he sighs into your mouth like he’s been holding his breath all day.
He steals another kiss. And another. And another, laughing softly between each one when he chases you shamelessly, refusing to let you pull away for long.
“You’re clingy,” you tease.
“Don’t care.”
The wind picks up slightly, cool against your damp skin, and he pulls you closer.
You wish— quietly, selfishly— that the world would let you stay like this. Loud and idiotic and young in love. Laughing too hard and kissing too much and swearing at each other over nothing at all. You wish you could love him without fear, without conditions, without having to choose who you are when the tide eventually pulls you back to shore.
But the summers almost over, and you’ve already made your decision.
It’s not easy. Leaving him isn’t easy. Physically and mentally and emotionally and in every other fucking sense.
Letting go of him is painful. If he actually was a summer fling— one that lasted way too many years, way too many summers, then he was addictive. An obsession, maybe.
You didn’t want to do it. You wished there had been another way— really. But the mere thought of loving a man who killed and was the opposite of all of your morals was sickening. He was sickening.
He’s sick in the head. You’ve known that, you were just too foolish to believe you could change him.
You don’t even know his name.
You always knew he would never let you leave.
Just the way he held you when you tried to step outside during an argument, arms wrapped tight around your waist, chin pressed into your shoulder, voice low and coaxing as he murmured that you could be mad at him here, that you didn’t have to go anywhere, that whatever you were feeling would pass faster if you stayed.
And it always worked.
You’d go limp against him eventually, breath syncing with his, anger dissolving into exhaustion, because being held was easier than being strong, and because some part of you understood— without ever saying it out loud— that if you pushed harder, if you really tried to leave, he wouldn’t know how to survive it. Nor would you.
So you stopped trying.
Until you couldn’t.
You don’t tell him about UA when the email comes in.
You don’t tell him when you accept.
You don’t tell him when you pack a bag and hide it at the back of the closet, or when you call the car hours in advance and memorize the way the confirmation screen looks so you won’t have to check it again.
You don’t tell him because you love him, and because you know that love is the very thing he would use to keep you.
The night you leave, you make dinner like nothing is wrong.
You laugh when he moans about the food, lean across the table to steal his cigarette just to make him scowl, kiss the corner of his mouth when he pretends you’re being clingy. You are careful, soft, gentle in a way he’s never been treated, because you know this will be the last time you’re allowed to touch him without resistance.
Later, when you push him down onto the mattress, your stomach coils and you push the nauseating feeling down.
You don’t want to do this.
He blinks up at you, surprised, amused, suspicion dulled by familiarity, “Oh? What’s this?” he murmurs, hands already settling at your hips like muscle memory.
“Shh,” you whisper, smiling softly as you straddle him, palms warm against his chest, skin scarred and solid and achingly familiar beneath your hands. “Just let me.”
He lets you.
That’s the thing that nearly ruins everything— that he trusts you enough to go still beneath your weight, to tilt his head back and close his eyes as you kiss along his jaw, his throat, your mouth lingering like you’re memorizing him.
It makes you sick.
Misusing his trust like this.
It makes you want to kick yourself. You should be ashamed, you are, for what you’re doing in order to rid of him. For coaxing him and making it so fucking difficult.
You don’t want to do this.
You love him. You love him so much it fucking hurts. It’s not fair. You shouldn’t do this, maybe, maybe you’ll survive a few more arguments then and there, maybe it’s okay.
But then you remember, that you’re a hero and he’s a villain and he hurts those you try to save, and suddenly you’re thrown back into reality.
You want to puke. Say what you want, you’re just as sick as he is, simply alone for doing this.
You kiss him slowly, staggering back your breath because it fucking hurts.
You don’t want to do this.
You don’t want to do this like it’s the last time you ever will— because it is.
But you do it anyway, because you want to steal as much as you want from him. You want to be selfish and bury your tongue into his throat, and you do. He moans, kissing you back just as hard, fingers digging into your skin as you part from him and kiss all over him instead. He chokes back a laugh, because you’re desperate, and quick and passionate at the same time.
Your quirk stirs before you consciously tell it to.
The windows slide open one by one, curtains lifting as the night air pours in, cool and harsh, wrapping around your skin. He notices then, eyes opening, brow furrowing slightly.
“You didn’t tell me you could do that,” he says.
You smile again, thumb brushing over the staple lines at his collarbone. “I know.”
You kiss him once more, letting one, pathetic little sob escape before you rest your forehead against his.
“I’m leaving,” you whisper.
He stills.
It takes a while, like he’s processing what you just said. He stares at you, completely overtaken by shock to notice your quirk working on him. Air and pressure sneaking on his form.
“..What,” he says finally.
“I got accepted into UA,” you continue, voice trembling despite everything, “I’m leaving tonight.”
The silence that follows is violent.
His hands tighten at your hips. “You’re not funny,” he says. “Get off me.”
You don’t.
Instead, you inhale— and push.
The air shifts, pressure blooming outward and then downward, invisible but undeniable, pinning him into the mattress with a weight that makes his breath hitch. His eyes snap wide open, confusion giving way to something sharp and dangerous.
“What the fuck are you doing,” he snarls, flames flickering weakly along his hands before sputtering out under the force.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and you mean it more than anything you’ve ever said. “I knew you’d never let me go.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” he growls, trying to sit up, muscles straining uselessly against the wind pressing him down. “You think this is it? You think this fixes anything—? Hey, don’t you fuckin’ dare—“
You stand, stepping back, the pressure increasing just enough to keep him where he is. Your hands shake as you grab your bag from the corner, the one he’s never seen before.
“You planned this.” he realizes, horror bleeding into his fury, “You planned this behind my back.”
“I had to,” you say. “You don’t listen when I say I need space. You don’t listen when I say I’m leaving. You hold me tighter.”
“That’s because you belong with me,” he snaps. “You think some school’s gonna keep you safer than I do?”
“I don’t want to be safe like this!” you cry. “I don’t want to be loved like I’m something you’re afraid to lose control of.”
He laughs then, and the sound pangs against your heart, makes your insides run cold, “So you’re just gonna pin me down and run? That’s who you are now?”
You shoulder the bag, tears blurring your vision as you snarl, “I’m choosing who I was before you.”
He roars your name, fire flaring uselessly as the air crushes it out, veins standing out in his neck as he struggles against something he can’t see or fight.
“You walk out that door,” he spits, “and don’t ever come back.”
“I won’t,” you say softly.
His heart sinks then, because he didn’t think you would actually go along with it.
And Dabi feels something he never thought would feel again.
He feels the need to beg. Beg and apologize and cry and tell you to stay here because he doesn’t want you gone.
But Dabi’s a coward, and he won’t beg. Or at least, he doesn’t in the moment when he stares at you, separating yourself from him. His jaw hangs open and there’s a pressure on his eyeducts and he realizes if he could cry, he would right now.
You leave, and he weakly, pathetically croaks out your name. But it’s too late.
You release the pressure only once you’re at the door— just enough to run.
The night air hits you like freedom and grief all at once.
The car is already there.
And behind you, inside the apartment, something shatters loudly.
Fuck.
You don’t look back.
You can’t.
The change had felt like the end of the world.
Which, in some ways, it was. For you, at least.
You live in the dorms now.
After the USJ incident, it stopped being optional— students, teachers, substitutes, anyone even remotely connected to hero education were ordered to stay on campus, because UA was fortified, guarded, constantly monitored in ways no apartment building could ever be. Before that, you’d been staying in a small apartment you bought on a whim, furnished poorly and lived in worse, but even then you’d known it wasn’t permanent. Dabi could have found you if he wanted to.
Not that he would have hurt you.
That was the cruelest part— knowing, even now, that he never would have.
Still, distance mattered.
And even with all that logic stacked neatly in your head, you still spent too many nights crying over him.
Ugly, body-wracking sobs that left your chest sore and your throat raw, face buried in your pillow so no one in the neighboring rooms would hear you fall apart over a man you were never supposed to love in the first place. You cried over the way he laughed when you annoyed him, the weight of his arm draped over your waist when he slept, the way he always knew when you were about to bolt and held you just tightly enough to keep you there.
You cried because you missed him.
Because you were just as fucking obsessed, just as dependent, and no amount of self-awareness or reframing or internal lectures about morality could change the fact that he had been your home for years. You cried because you hated yourself for missing someone who represented everything you were now actively fighting against.
Some nights, the grief turned into anger.
Anger at him— for never letting you breathe, for loving you like possession, for making you choose between yourself and him. Anger at yourself— for not leaving sooner, for loving him so deeply it still hurt like this. Anger at UA, at heroes, at the world for being so sharply divided that there was no space where both of you could exist.
Other nights, it turned into nothing at all.
Just emptiness.
You stopped eating properly for a while. Stopped answering messages unless they were work-related. You went to class, taught, nodded when spoken to, smiled when expected, and then went back to your room and lay on the floor staring at the ceiling until exhaustion took you. Depression settled over you like a fog that refused to leave.
You felt like you were mourning someone who wasn’t dead, which somehow made it worse. Day by day, the nausea returned, and the feeling of having done something bad was as persistent as ever.
By the time you were officially brought on as a substitute for the hero course, you were drained.
Before USJ, you’d mostly substituted general education classes such as ethics, quirk theory, safety regulations— but after Aizawa was injured, you were suddenly pulled into something much closer to the core of hero work. Assisting, observing, stepping in when he physically couldn’t.
Aizawa hadn’t been happy about an assistant, or a substitute. He’d told you, flatly, that he was very much capable of teaching his class on his own.
You’d wanted to point out that he now had a scar that made the use of his quirk a lot harder, and that between grading tests and making sure his students suffered, he also had to catch up on his sleep.
You’d made it a habit of asking him if you should take over the last few hours of the day so he could get some rest, and surprisingly, after about a month of working alongside him, he’d stopped refusing.
So you got the evening shift.
By then, the kids were exhausted anyway, nerves fried and bodies sore, so you tried to make it lighter for them, something they could breathe through rather than endure.
You guess that’s why they liked you— well, everyone except the angry blonde and the nonchalant candy cone.
Still, the latter always caught your attention more than any amount of yelling ever could.
Todoroki Shoto is quiet. His posture is always straight, his expression neutral, but his eyes miss very little. His hair is split neatly, white on his right, red on his left, like a clean line drawn through his existence. Aizawa had mentioned, once, offhandedly, that Todoroki refused to use his left side for personal reasons.
But it’s his eyes that linger with you. Or rather— his eye.
The stark teal blue of his right eye feels too familiar when it meets yours. Too precise and unsettling.
You care about him, even if he barely speaks.
After lessons end, he usually retreats to the dorms immediately. Some students linger in the common areas, watching movies or talking gossip. Sometimes Todoroki is there. Sometimes he isn’t.
Tonight, though, it’s not you finding him.
It’s him who finds you— standing just outside the main gate, cigarette between your fingers, breaking at least three rules you signed on your contract.
You don’t ask what a first-year is doing past curfew outside the main gate, just let him slowly join you as the wind’s breeze hits your skin.
He watches you smoke.
“It’s not healthy for you,” he says.
You snort softly. No shit.
But there’s no judgment in his voice. Just an observation, stated the same way he’d comment on fighting techniques.
You hum in response and glance at him, only to find his eyes already on you.
“If I’m unwelcome,” he says after a moment, “tell me. I just.. wanted to ask you something.”
That alone is enough to surprise you. Todoroki doesn’t seek people out. He doesn’t ask questions unless they matter.
“You’re not,” you say, “go ahead.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “You’re always looking at me. Why?”
The question hits harder than you expect.
Your eyes widen slightly, heat rushing to your cheeks before you can stop it. You hadn’t realized it was obvious. You hadn’t realized you were doing it at all.
A nervous laugh escapes you. He doesn’t look offended, rather curious.
“I— sorry,” you admit. “You just remind me of someone. It’s strange.”
He nods once, accepting that answer without pushing, and turns his gaze forward, toward the empty street beyond the gate. You take another drag from your cigarette, lungs burning and you think it’s fully deserved.
“Why do you smoke?” he asks.
You blink. “You’re full of questions tonight.”
You’re met with silence as he waits for the answer. Ah, ever the conversationist.
“I picked it up a while ago,” you reply finally, “bad habit.”
“From that someone?”
Your eyebrows furrow. “Huh?”
“That someone you mentioned,” he clarifies. “did you pick it up from them?”
A breathy laugh escapes you as you nod, trying to ignore the small shatter in your heart.
Silence settles comfortably, and it’s finally your turn to start a conversation.
“You don’t like going home, do you?”
Of course, you couldn’t forget the fact that Todoroki was Endeavor’s son. The very man your lover despised with all the hate in his body.
It’s weird— having this connection with him now, when just a few months ago you’d stroked Dabi’s inky black hair, kissed his forehead as you listened to him ramble about how he wanted to destroy that man. You had nodded, told him to go on, coaxed him into letting you in—
You never found out where that hatred stemmed from.
Now, you can’t help the concern creeping up. Dabi wanted to hurt him. And he was Todoroki’s father. You couldn’t let Dabi do such a thing—
“I don’t,” Todoroki says quietly,
“I hate my father.”
Your breath catches.
“Oh,” you say, because you don’t know what else to say.
He grunts, the same way Dabi used to when he got sick of talking about Endeavor. Once again, memories and feelings mix together, and a pang of recognition hits your heart.
“He’s a monster,” Todoroki says flatly. “He’s not nice— to me or to my siblings. I prefer being away. Now that we have dorms, he won’t stop calling me. He constantly wants to see me using my left side.”
His left side resembles Endeavor’s quirk, and he refuses to use it in spite of.. him?
Once again, another thing unites Todoroki and Dabi— their hatred towards Endeavor.
“I prefer being here,” he adds. “Now that we have dorms, I don’t have to see him as much. But he calls. A lot.”
Your chest tightens.
“I’m sorry,” you say. “But you shouldn’t limit yourself just to oppose him. That still gives him control.”
“But that’s what he wants,” Todoroki replies. “Me at my full power.”
“Yes.” You don’t deny it, you wouldn’t want to lie to him, “but what do you want?” you ask gently. “Do you want to be a hero to spite him— or because you want to save people?”
He inhales sharply, like the thought hadn’t fully formed until now.
“..Midoriya said me something similar.”
You smile faintly. “He does that.”
After a long moment, Todoroki nods. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all anyone can ask.”
You hesitate, “Would it be okay if I called you Shoto?” It is his hero name, after all. Still, you think it might be better than calling him the name that connects him to his father.
He blinks, surprised, yet not displeased.
“..I’d like that,” he says.
Your cigarette crumbles in peace, and you take one last drag before letting it fall to the ground and stomping it out.
“Y’know, Shoto,” you hum, the name new on your tongue, “that someone I mentioned could gladly be your brother if I think about it. He may look different, but he wasn’t that fond of Endeavor, either.”
“I do have a brother,” Shoto nods. “I used to have two, though.”
Your head perks up, a frown evident on your face.
He takes it as a sign to continue. “He.. died. I barely talked to him. I don’t even know his favorite food.” His expression hardens, “He died when he was thirteen. I blame my father for his death. We all do—“ he gulps, composing his posture as if that could hide the croak of his voice, “If he hadn’t— hadn’t pushed this far— Touya would’ve— he would’ve been here and—”
Your frown deepens as Shoto’s breathing picks up. His hand comes up to wipe over his eyes, and you can’t help the pain that shoots through your heart. Before you know it, you’re pulling him toward you into a hug.
He stiffens at first, startled, then, as if giving in, he rests his forehead against your shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Shoto,” you whisper.
He doesn’t respond. But he doesn’t pull away either.
The name Touya echoes in your head for the rest of the night, and instinctively, you hug your pillow closer, wishing a certain someone would be here to warm you up.
Eraserhead (or Aizawa, as he’d already demanded you to call him in private) is a strict man. Honestly, you’re lucky he wasn’t the one who caught you smoking.
Still, just like Shoto, it’s Aizawa who follows you once again.
Seriously, what is it with people following you?
The teachers lounge is huge, and definitely a comfortable space to loiter in, but Aizawa wouldn’t step foot in here if he had the option to sleep instead of grade tests. That’s why it surprises you to see him there in the middle of the night, standing a few feet behind you, watching silently as you scroll through recent reports on villain activity.
You’re relieved when you confirm there haven’t been any burn victims in the past few weeks.
“You searching for something specific?”
Someone specific, is what he truly means but refuses to voice it.
You startle at his grumble, glancing over your shoulder to find him already looking at your screen. You bite your lip before sighing.
“No.”
You scroll through a few more tabs aimlessly, nothing catching your interest. You’re painfully aware that he doesn’t believe you, but he also isn’t the type to force an answer out of someone unless it’s absolutely necessary.
“Whoever’s on your mind, I hope they’re not a distraction. Or dangerous.”
Or he is. Whatever.
“What— ?!” You spin slightly in your chair. “I— I don’t have anyone on my mind, and they certainly wouldn’t be a distraction to my job!”
He notes the way you completely ignore the dangerous part. His eyes narrow just a fraction and you notice your own slip up, pursing your lips and shrinking back towards the screen.
“I’m.. sorry, Aizawa..” you mutter, then clear your throat. “Why— um— why would you think I’d have someone?”
“Just a hunch,” he replies, “seems I wasn’t wrong.”
You roll your eyes, resting your chin on your propped-up arm.
“Dick move, bro.”
“Language.”
You snort despite yourself, the tension easing just a bit. You’re not obligated to tell him anything unless it involves illegal activity or something that could endanger the students.
….Which, in your case, technically applies to both, but still— that’s between you and your conscience.
“Don’t get into any trouble,” the man continues, “The students like you. I don’t want to deal with them whining if you accidentally do something stupid.”
You smile softly, even if the wording stings and part of you would really like to punch him in the face. You know this is the closest thing to I’m worried about you you’ll ever get from him.
“I won’t, Eras— Aizawa.”
He hums in acknowledgment, already turning away.
“And you should start being stricter,” he adds, “You’re too soft on them. It’ll go to their heads.”
“They’ll need it if they’ve got you as a teacher.”
A pause.
“..Goodnight.”
He’s not meant to be watching you, that’s for sure. Breaking things off only works if you actually try to break them off, and he’s doing anything but that.
He’s long stopped denying it— that he doesn’t care about you and that he’s only watching to witness your downfall, to find you lying dead in some alleyway and spit on your disgusting, half-dead self. It wouldn’t even be new of him to think like this. You’ve already seen glimpses of his mind before, when he talked about people he didn’t like, when he gave you painfully detailed descriptions of how he’d burn someone’s flesh and make them suffer. He’s always wondered if you were just as insane, simply for staying with him.
Still, the simple imagination of you being in any kind of pain makes something in his chest clench painfully, and he finds himself forcing the thought away instead of leaning into it.
He watches you walk with that stupid fucking frown on your face, groceries hanging off your shoulder. He thinks you look ridiculous, nothing like the woman who used to seduce him into bed almost daily. You look like a mess, and worse, you look vulnerable, and he bets you don’t even notice the men eyeing you, probably imagining getting into your pants.
Well, get this, idiots— he’s been there. And it’s probably the best place he’s ever been in. He won’t ever admit that second part, obviously. Still, he feels a twisted sort of pride watching them deflate when you ignore them completely.
You walk like you’re carrying the world’s problems on your shoulders.
He thinks it’s stupid. You don’t have shit to worry about— not like him, who has to constantly stalk your pitiful ass because he doesn’t want to find you dead in an alleyway.
He wants to catch you himself and make you suffer for what you did.
(But deep down, he knows he wouldn’t. And it pisses him off to no end, because it’s you who softened him into a fucking idiot.)
He doesn’t have much to do these days. Just a few days ago, a man came and offered him a place in a newly formed league. He’s thought about joining— because having allies is smarter than being alone, even with Dabi’s ego. He’ll play it carefully. There’s no way he stands a real chance against Endeavour on his own anymore.
But lately, his thoughts haven’t been about Endeavour at all.
They’ve been about you. About the future. About what he’s actually chasing.
He’s not sure if simple revenge will be enough to fill the rest of his miserable, probably short life.
Which is strange, because revenge has been his only motivation ever since he crawled back from the dead.
Lately, Dabi’s been having dreams.
Dreams where he wakes up beside you again— but this time, neither of you is in danger. In those dreams, he isn’t a villain. He realizes it the moment he pulls you closer and chuckles at your soft snores. Sometimes you make him coffee and kiss all over his skin, and he promises to marry you and do nasty, nasty things to you that he only ever allows himself to dream about.
He thinks he could live with that.
He was never made to be domesticated or some stay-at-home man— he still needs action, still needs fire— but beyond that, he longs for what he keeps seeing when he sleeps.
He watches you and feels something snap in his nerves when he sees you talking to other people. It should’ve been him. But he ruined it.
He finds himself imagining killing these so-called teachers instead, because there’s no reason to be smiling and laughing that fucking much when they talk to you. You’re not even that funny. You’re only funny to him— and that’s because he knew you long before they ever did.
He accepts the offer to the league nevertheless.
You’re not here to stop him, and he can’t truly get you back. He realizes that when you move into the dorms and he’s forced to see you even less now.
(He still watches you nevertheless. The windows of the UA building will do, and luckily you’re often out for a smoke aswell).
The camping trip was sudden. A surprise, really, and a strangely pleasant one at that.
You weren’t supposed to come. You were just the evening teacher, Aizawa’s substitute, the extra adult who stepped in when he physically couldn’t. But the kids insisted, loud and stubborn and too fucking good at convincing. Nezu had agreed, he’d meant your quirk would benefit from open space, from air that wasn’t cramped in the buildings of the school. Wind needed room to move. Forests were better than cities for that.
He wasn’t wrong.
Unfortunately for you, you were a city person through and through. You liked noise. Structure. People around you. Still, even you had to admit that a change of environment every now and then was necessary. Healthy, even.
During the bus ride, you tried to stay awake, but somewhere between all the exhaustion and yelling about snacks and Mineta being escorted three seats away from the girls, your eyes closed. You only realize where you leaned when you wake up to fabric and warmth instead of glass.
Aizawa’s shoulder.
You stiffen for half a second, then decide you don’t have the energy to deal with it and let yourself stay there. The man is a chronic insomniac, permanently exhausted, and yet somehow he doesn’t move. He just sits there, arms crossed, glaring at anyone who dares speak above a whisper.
Anyone who teases him gets shut down immediately.
You wake when the bus halts, your neck stiff and your brain slow to catch up.
“You and Aizawa, huh?”
Sero’s voice cuts through the haze immediately.
You barely have time to process it before Aizawa shoots him a look that even manages to shiver you, and you look away uncomfortably.
The kids are ushered off the bus and made to walk the rest of the way, complaining loudly. You and the other teachers get driven in, and by the time you arrive at camp, everything smells like dirt and pine and impending chaos.
The first evening is surprisingly normal.
Bakugo is cooking.
Well. ‘Cooking.’
He’s standing aggressively over a pot, sleeves rolled up, surprisingly decent at making food but also at screaming.
“I swear to god if you touch this—”
“It smells good!” Kirishima chirps, and Bakugo softens slightly. Over the time, you’ve learned that the blonde had managed to get himself some friends, well, allies as he calls them, and Kirishima was one of the few people he actually respected to a certain extent.
Said angry boy pauses, scowling, “..It’s supposed to.”
You watch from a distance, feeling mildly amused by his change in attitude.
“He’s gonna be a househusband one day,”
Aizawa hums noncommittally beside you, and you take that as a hum of agreement.
The sudden attack, or rather, the kidnapping, throws the entire camp into chaos.
Before you can even process it, two students are in danger of being taken, the clearing reduced to a battlefield crawling with the so-called League.
As a hero (and more than that, their teacher, their caretaker) you don’t hesitate. You move on instinct alone. Somewhere behind you, Aizawa is shouting your name, barking orders for you to stay back, to think, reminding you that your quirk is built for destruction, not defense, that it leaves you wide open.
You ignore him.
You don’t play around when it comes to your kids.
Midoriya, shaken and barely steady on his feet, manages to choke out that Tokoyami and Bakugo were marbled, taken by the masked man calling himself Compress. You don’t waste time responding. You just nod and go, your quirk already roaring to life.
It’s ugly. Violent. The ground tears itself apart beneath you, dirt and debris exploding outward in a blinding wave that forces villains to shield their eyes. You snarl—
—and hands grab you. Portals bloom around you, warped and dark, purple-black edges snapping open midair. You grit your teeth, pour everything into your quirk, and blast yourself free, launching straight at the masked man.
“—?!”
Compress yelps as you reach for the marbles.
He lunges for you, fingers stretching out— trying to marble you too, but you twist away, sweep his legs out from under him, and send him crashing down.
His mask slips, clattering to the ground, and a marble spills free from his mouth.
Your breath catches. Oh.
You scoop up every marble you can see and shove them into the hands of the nearest ally just as Compress recovers. Too fast. He slams you down hard—
Hands everywhere. Voices overlapping. Shouting, swearing, someone screaming your name. You’re grabbed, yanked, dragged in opposite directions, overwhelmed and outnumbered. Your chest tightens. You bare your teeth, power surging—
—sudden warmth.
Hands close around you, solid and burning hot, and your body locks up.
You know these hands. You know this heat.
You’re ripped free from the crowd and pulled back, hard, until your spine hits a chest far too warm to be anyone else’s. The chaos fades behind you. It’s just him— real and anchoring you to the place.
His breath ghosts over your neck.
“What the hell are you thinking?” he snarls. “You got a death wish now?”
You thrash, kick back on instinct, tears stinging your eyes as everything crashes in at once. He hisses when your foot clips his shin.
“Knock it off,” he snaps, grip tightening. “I’m not in the mood.”
“I don’t need—” you choke, voice breaking, “—your help!”
A low scoff vibrates against your back. “Yeah? Could’ve fooled me.”
You sniff hard, furious, hurt. “Fuck off—!”
He glances up and locks eyes with the now unmasked man. Something unspoken passes between them, and you shiver at the way his eyes hold a certain glint.
Your stomach drops.
A marble comes flying straight at you.
And there’s nothing more you want to do than kick Dabi where the sun doesn’t shine.
You’ve never had high dreams. In a world full of evil and villains in hero capes, so much as peace would never exist. To a certain degree, you did understand Dabi.
What actually drove you away from him had to be the fact that he was ready and willing to kill those he claims are suffering under fake hero influence, when he could do so much more. It never sat right to you, and still, you stayed for him. You stayed with him.
Your mother had always said you were a stubborn one, and got attached easily.
Well look at where that got you.
If she were to know you’d hooked up with a villain, much less Dabi— a pierced, burnt freak that quite literally screamed ‘danger’, she’d take your ass to a psychiatrist and pay them to keep you there for the rest of your miserable life.
Luckily, the life of a pro hero and a teacher meant less contact with your loved ones.
Also, the fact that you were tied up in some kind of hideout, wrists bound behind a chair and your ankles secured to the legs.
“You try anything and I’ll decay you to a crisp.”
A rough, raspy voice filled your ears, and you grunt in acknowledgment.
Dangerous quirk. Dust guy threatening you. Okay, you could work with that.
“So. You’re the reason we lost the UA brat. But I guess that’s fine, your quirk’s powerful too.”
Memories overlapped each other as you processed his words, groaning because a headache had crawled up and devoured your brain. Just what had happened?
You’d been at the camp— an attack, right. Two students.. Bakugo. He’d been marbled but you—
“—apparently you’re aware of the false hero society, so there’s a higher chance you’ll understand us.”
Seriously?
“Dih..whut..”
“What?”
“It seems like she’s trying to say something,” another voice says, amused, “let me sober her up.”
A sudden cold splash to your face made you cough out, eyes wide as the ice ran down your collarbone. The smell of damp air hits you right after.
“You dickwads!”
“Ah.”
“Aw, don’t toy with the little thing,” a sing-song voice coos from somewhere to your side. “She’s exhausted.”
Your head snaps toward the sound despite the ropes. You’re much too exhausted to curse and threaten, but you hope your glare does you right.
You can hear chuckling, a girlish giggle as well, some mumbling and indirect talking about you which you chose to ignore.
“Ah. Great. Another fucking brat,” the raspy hand guy drawls, but your heads too fogged to think of his name. Though, you’re pretty sure you know— he lead the USJ attack, didn’t he?
You lean back, throat at full view as your head does a full 180 in order to ease the cramps.
Though, leaning back you catch a figure staring a you. He’s upside down, and you should be way out of it to even recognize him, but your heart does you wrong and you freeze.
Burns. Staples. Black hair.
He looks smug. You want to kill him.
A fury shoots up as you jerk in the ropes, hopeless to actually escape.
“Feels familiar, doll?”
“You two know each other?” the raspy voice asks.
“Something like that.”
“Is that what it is?” you snap, “—you trynna get back at me?!”
“No,” he-who-shall-not-be-named says easily, “but it’s definitely one hell of a nice bonus.”
Yeah. You’re lucky your mother had no idea about him, or the situation you’re in right now.
You might just become a villain yourself, less than hesitant to blow this place up.
“I take it she won’t cooperate, then?” The masked man, Compress, chimes in. The silence that follows is an answer itself, and he continues, “Well, that does make keeping her rather pointless, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t say that like you’re willing to kill her, Compress. Look at that beautiful face!” It’s the redhead from earlier, the charming voice that had stood to your defense.
You scoff, you don’t need someone babying you down.
“Don’ talk about me like ‘m not here you shits..” you slur, nose twitching as you lean forward.
The pale haired man stops pacing like a distressed father, yet his hand continues scratching his abused neck, “You’re not in the position to talk.” he spits, “We want you alive. That doesn’t mean we have to keep you comfortable, though.”
“I’m. not. joining.” You repeat slower, in hopes the toddler antic might get to his head.
Maybe it angered him further, which honestly hadn’t been your goal but it’s satisfying to see nevertheless.
A sudden mist you hadn’t noticed, the accomplice at the USJ incident, speaks calmly, “Then we cannot keep you long-term.”
Even though you knew it was coming, your stomach drops. Just a little. Death is never something anyone could take with little to no panic.
“That’s fine. Kill me, then.”
“That’s boring.” A blonde girl giggles, looking far too young to be here, “And wasteful.”
There’s a moment where you blackout, a loud ringing in your ears as you groan, squirming as if it could get rid of the issue. Movement happens in the background, voices overlap and you can’t tell if everyone’s staring at you or you’re hallucinating.
He stops in front of you, eyes dull with boredom as he tilts your chin up.
“Still doing this?” He mumbles, low enough to make you shiver. With this, you can only assume he means the whole resisting-his-ideology thing. You can only roll your eyes, given you’re too faded for anything else.
“Stubborn as always. Guess I should’ve expected this, even if you’re held at gunpoint.” He snickers, “Literally.”
His thumb settles at the corner of your mouth, and you take the opportunity to deliver a harsh, well-deserved bite.
The pain strikes, but he doesn’t pull away. He barely flinches, smiling stupidly as his thumb rests between your lips and blood suckers into your tongue. You sneer as the tables turn, realizing he’s more enjoying this than you are.
“That’s the face, baby.” He muses, “There’s my girl. How about we take this outside, yeah? Afterall, it’s gonna get hot in here.”
He tells the blonde, Toga, to cut your bindings, which she does happily. You whine as he grips the back of your neck, hauling you up and dragging your nearly limp body toward the exit.
The last thing you hear is the lizard warning him not to go too far.
Dabi never listens to anyone.
Once out the door, you expect the worst.
You expect him to push you up against it and scream at you. To humiliate you and mock you for what you’ve done, to tell you that this was coming for you.
But none of that happens.
In fact, he doesn’t even stop. He just keeps walking, dragging you behind him.
But you’re tired, and your legs refuse to cooperate. You try so hard to follow him, try to please him in such pathetic ways because as much as you try to deny it, you still want his praise and love and all the warmth he can offer.
Your steps stutter, and with a slight acceleration, you fall into his back, yelping. He stops, looks over his shoulder with his cold, blue eyes, the ones that strike you and leave you frozen every damn time.
For a moment, you’re wildly overtaken by guilt. You’re nothing but a mess, so vulnerable to death and pain. You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut at the thought of how he must’ve felt the night you held him down, leaving him all vulnerable as you escaped.
You’re a disgusting person. A bad person. An asshole.
He grunts, turning around to pick you up. You latch onto his neck instinctively, his arms beneath your knees. His warmth seeps into you, and you can’t help but shudder, having missed this more than anything.
You missed him. So much.
It’s too much. You’re not sure what’s going on, much less what he’s up to, whether he’s ready to kill or run. You can feel the cold air hit your skin, meaning you must be outside. And he’s running, speed walking—
He’s protecting you.
You missed him.
There’s something that wants to escape you, and it can’t be your tears because you’re already crying. His soft pants are comforting and grounding, anchoring you to reality.
But you’re fogged up, and you’re sure you’ll pass out any second— you’re scared out of your mind, and you want it out.
You need it out— You can’t— can’t hold it back—
“I-I love you—!..”
And the world fades.
You wake up again, but this time you’re not uncomfortably chained to a chair or sprawled on the floor. Instead, you’re in.. water?
You realize you’re not drowning, much less being tortured. The water is warm and comforting, and you moan as you feel your muscles relax. Your dirty skin is getting washed off, the soot and sweat collected from God knows when finally rinsed away.
You feel better, but it might have something to do with the fact that you’re also in no danger, not fighting for your life.
You’re ripped out of your thoughts when what you can only assume is a shower head nearly drowns you. Your hair blocks your line of sight until a hand wipes it out of your face.
His staples are in no way unfamiliar to you, yet you still find yourself surprised at the ragged change in texture. (You lean into him anyway.)
“What..?”
“Shut it, alright, princess? Save your energy for something more useful.”
You huff, rolling your eyes.
You realize the water’s clear now, so he must’ve refilled it after properly washing you. He’s seen you naked before, has seen you in states worse than anyone else, so you don’t feel ashamed when you catch him taking a peek or two. Still, he’s more focused on getting all the shampoo out of your hair.
“They wanted to keep you as a hostage. Either that, or they’d force you into joining them.” Shamefully, you don’t really process his words. Sure, you’re more present now, but you find yourself craving the sound of his voice more than the meaning behind it. “That’s what they wanted me to do to you. So I dragged you out and— oi—!”
He flicks your forehead, finally making you look at him instead of the clear water where your bare body rests. “You listenin’?”
Sheepishly, you grin, and that’s more than enough of an answer for him.
“Dabi?” you whisper, and his hands tighten slightly in your hair.
“What.”
“Am I dreaming?”
He probably expected something more poetic, because his fingers soften and he groans in annoyance.
“No.”
You hum in response, leaning into him as the last bits of shampoo leave your hair.
“Dabi?”
“What now.”
He’s no longer crouching, now drying his hands on a crumpled towel. It’s only then you notice you’re in a motel— not an expensive one, either. It’s dark, the light flickers, there’s no rug to stand on once you get out of the water, and the soap dispenser is nearly empty.
“Am I dreaming?”
He huffs in irritation, “You hit your head or somethin’?”
It’s only when you look up at him, eyes wide and empty of thought, that he realizes— that yeah, you’re still out of it.
“Dabi?”
“No, you’re not fuckin’ dreaming. Quit askin’ that—”
“Can you join me?”
“…”
He clicks his tongue, and you think he’s attempting to sound annoyed.
“Christ,” he mutters, before shrugging off whatever would get in the way, such as in his huge coat, boots already long gone, and steps into the tub fully clothed. The water sloshes, warm spilling over the edges, soaking dark fabric instantly.
“Move,” he says, low, nudging your thigh with his knee.
You try, but your body’s sluggish, heavy, and you end up tipping back instead. Your balance gives out, and you fall back into him, a soft sound leaving you as your spine meets his shin.
He sighs, dragging you up by your armpits and setting you into his lap, nudeness not being a problem.
You practically purr into him, warmth welcoming as you tip your head back against his shoulder. He hums, his nose burying into your neck as his hands hold into your waist.
“You’re a pain in the ass.”
“I know.” You seem to slowly regain your mind, talking more confident, and for a second Dabi thinks you’ve all but tricked him into thinking you were a damsel in distress.
“Don’t try anything. This ain’t some fuckin’ spa day, and I’m not your personal heater.”
“You are, though.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
“Are t— ouch! You—!!” You cry out as he pinches your thigh, squirming on top of him.
“I’ve long stopped being anything for you when you left me behind, doll. Think it’s too late to be playin’ around like kids, no?”
Reality overtakes you, and you frown. It was selfish, thinking he could all forget about it, and thinking you could just shove the whole thing to the side. You still in his hold, and he notices the brashness on your face as it tips forward, hiding from his sight.
Truth be told, he’s enjoying this.
It’s no secret that he’s evil, and even a bit sadistic, but he’s nowhere near to actually not wanting to be yours. It’s just so he can stoke his ego, watch you break silently because truly, that’s what you deserve for your pussy move.
He grins as you suddenly feel a bit too exposed, watching your arms hug around yourself in order to hide what he’s already seen a thousand times.
And yet, he still craves to see it another day.
Clicking his tongue, he removes your arms, nuzzling his face into your neck, “Now, doll, want to explain to me what you did and why you did it? Since you seem to be finally back in the right state of mind?”
The childish antics he uses on you flares your humiliation even more, and your cheeks heat, feeling far more vulnerable than ever. Shit.
“Cat got your tongue?” He bites your neck, causing you to yelp, “Talk. You better fuckin’ explain why you left me half naked in the middle of the night, not even giving me an opportunity to—“
“What is there to explain, Dabi?!” You strike, huffing pathetically because that’s all you can do on his lap, “You’re a villain, I’m a hero, we simply didn’t work—“
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare finish that sentence.”
His warning is no joke, his hands gripping so hard into your flesh you’re sure it’ll bruise.
“We worked perfectly fine, and you know that. No one else knows or deals with me as much as you do—“
“And how much longer was I supposed to deal with that?! You kept leaving mid arguments or- or you didn’t even let me leave! And I don’t even know your fucking name!”
“Watch your mouth—“
“See? You’re doing it again! Go ahead, Dabi, shush me and go out for a smoke or something. Let me rot here while you’re at it—“
“Touya.”
You still, spine raggedly straight as you refuse to meet his eye.
It’s obvious as to what he’s just told you. His name, idiot. Still, you find yourself at loss for words, because the name itself rings up like an alarm, because it’s familiar and it’s been haunting you, because—
“Touya.. Todoroki?”
It’s his turn to be silent. His chest is the only giveaway that he’s not dropped dead behind you, rising softly and meeting your back.
“Smart girl.”
He’s—
“I- I thought Touya had— you-“
He sneers, “Do I look dead to you?”
Matter of fact, yeah. You do.
“No. Guess not.”
“..”
“…so that explains why you hate Endeavor so much?”
“And what do you know about him, smartass?”
You sulk, “I’ve talked to- um, your brother? He, um, told me that Endeavors not a good father so I just assumed—“
“Yeah. Should’ve known that brat would just tell anyone that.” Dabi— no, Touya seems just about too exhausted to even talk about his.. brother.
You’re not sure if you should take offense at being called ‘anyone’, given you had been one of the most loved and understanding teachers (not to forget the culprits girlfriend herself, but hey, whatever).
Silence settles in, and you lean back, your head turned enough to nuzzle your nose into his collarbone.
“Touya?”
It’s the first time he hears you directly call him that, and he feels his heart spike a beat. No one’s used that name in a long, long time, and you’re as special as it gets for a man like him, so the effect doubles and he feels like keeling over. It’s pathetic, the unease he feels in his abdomen, it’s making him nervous, maybe even a bit excited.
He speaks your name in a murmur, letting you know that he’s listening.
“I’m sorry.”
He thinks he could laugh. What is there to be sorry about?— well, apart from leaving him, that is. But the matters already been resolved, and your apology’s empty as it can be to him.
“What’re you sorry for, sweetheart?”
“For everything. I can’t.. imagine what you’ve went through. Touya.”
He purses his lips at your use of his name once again, and this time, you notice.
“You didn’t deserve any of it. Everything that happened and everything I’ve inflected on you, as well. Touya, I—“
You gulp, and his hands tighten on your waist, “Give me a chance. Please, Touya. Let me make it up to you, and let me—“
You croak, turning in his hold so you can straddle him. His face, the healthy part of his skin is stained with a slight blush, and his eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes are squinted and he looks so incredibly lost that all you can do is cup his face and kiss all over it. His breath hitches with each kiss, and your thumb goes to ease the wrinkles between his brows.
“Touya. Let me help you. Please, Touya. I want– I want you to have a happy life and- and if you as much as allow me to be selfish I want to be apart of that and- and I— I..”
Touya realizes that the wetness on your cheeks isn’t from the water— nothing has splashed up to your face, and the water from earlier would’ve all dried out all by now.
You’re crying.
You’re crying on his behalf. But you’re not pitying him, he knows that by the desperate sound of your voice.
You’re being selfish. Incredibly, incredibly selfish because you want him, want him to stay and accept you as a part of his life.
He thinks he wants that, too.
“I love you.”
Touya can’t cry. Couldn’t, ever since he burnt his tear ducts to bits. Yet, he’s always been quite the emotional boy. He’s had tantrums, breakdowns and whatsnot. He’s cried out of sadness, anger and happiness.
So, it’s no surprise when instead of tears, blood suckers through his eye because that’s all he can do when he gets emotional.
You don’t reel back, nor does your expression change. You choke back a sob, thumb going over to wipe the blood away, changing the colour of the water for a moment.
He growls, not out of anger but desperation, and pushes his lips against yours.
Teeth clash and he’s a starving man, eating and devouring your mouth like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do— until slowly he grows more passionate and slow than desperate, because he realizes you’ll stay— you want him, want to help him.
You kiss him back, accommodate as he wants, letting him do as he wants.
By the end of it, your spit is the only thing holding your kiss together. It breaks, dripping into the water between you.
“I love you.”
He cries, and kisses over your face, too.
“Touya,” you pant, playing with the short hair on his nape, traveling up to fist into his spikes.
He makes a sound nearing a howl, you think, as he places more kisses over you, “Fuck. Fuckin’ love hearing my name roll off your tongue, princess—“
You laugh breathlessly, spoiling him with further calls of his name, drowning in the moment.
It’s all you could wish for. It’s all you want.
Time passes, and Touya’s hair is no longer the black you’d been forced to dye monthly. Now, it’s the white you’d always secretly admired.
He’s left the League behind— for now, as he calls it. He’s got no business with them, not when he’s trying to get better, trying to sort his life out. After all, it’s not easy to wash away the sins he’s committed as a villain. The public doesn’t forget, and therefore neither will he. But he thinks it’s not too bad, because you’ve promised to stay at his side no matter what.
He’s told you all about Endeavor. About Rei and his siblings, how he got replaced by Shoto and then set himself on fire on Sekoto Peak.
You’ve comforted him through it, and he’s still building up the courage to actually talk to his family, to get back at them in a way other than actively killing his father.
Your job as a teacher is on timeout. After being kidnapped and not showing up for months— because Touya had been your priority, because you’d wanted nothing but his absolute well-being— they’d questioned you. You weren’t quite sure how to describe to them that your lover of years was Dabi himself, and that he’d saved you from the League, and that you’d finally resolved your fight to the point where Dabi— no, Touya, son of Enji Todoroki, supposedly dead— was willing to change.
You told them Dabi had rescued you for no apparent reason, leaving out the whole Touya part, because that’s something he should reveal himself. After the rescue, he’d stayed to tend to you, because you were just oh so injured.
It was enough to buy time.
Now, you’re lying in bed with Touya sprawled against your chest, his head tucked just beneath your chin. The room is dim, curtains drawn— a small apartment you two rent, paying only in cash so no one can truly track you. His breathing’s slow and comforting, enough to warm your heart.
Your fingers thread through his hair slowly, absentmindedly, feeling the soft white strands slide between them. He lets out a low hum at that, barely conscious, surprisingly heavy weight sinking into you.
“Don’t stop,” he mutters, voice rough in a way that makes you blush like a teenage girl.
You smile softly, continuing, tracing small patterns at his scalp the way you used to after especially bad nights. He practically purrs into you, your other hand traveling on his back to press into the knots, causing him to moan.
He mutters something about godly hands, and you chuckle, digging your fingers into his hair and tug his face up to yours. He groans, but there’s a smirk on his face, one you can only mimic. A soft kiss is shared before you gently drop his head back on your collarbone, nose breathing in your scent.
You’ve heard this summer is going to be a hell of a worse one, hotter and more suffocating than ever.
Yet you’ve never felt so excited to fall asleep in a bed with your personal heater during the worst of August.
You love annoying your boyfriend, Keigo—better known as Pro Hero Hawks, number two in the rankings. One of your favorite ways to get on his nerves—or, as he likes to put it, “tease” him—is when he’s out on patrol. You always wait until his shift’s just about over, then you strike.
You throw on your best wide-eyed, flustered look and squeal like some fangirl with an obsessive crush, loud enough for the whole city block to hear, “Oh my god, is that Pro Hero Hawks?!”
Then you start gushing. Loud. Profanities fly out of your mouth like confetti. Everyone turns to look—eyes wide, jaws slack—and you can already feel the heat of his stare. Keigo’s there in a flash, hand over your mouth, feathers wrapping tight around your waist as he lifts you off the ground.
He mutters through gritted teeth, “You’re insane,” while trying to avoid the incoming swarm of fangirls—blushing, breathless, and bursting into declarations of love.
And just as he’s lifting you higher, you mumble into his glove in your sweetest, sultriest voice, “Won’t you sign my tits, Pro Hero Hawks?”
He scoffs. Classic Keigo. “Yeah, yeah.”
You figured that’d be the end of it, like always—a quick getaway, some grumbling, maybe a feather-flick to the forehead. But not this time.
He’s flying fast. Too fast.
Before you know it, he’s landing hard on some random rooftop, hidden away from the street, pushing you up against a stone wall next to a rusted door that probably leads to nowhere. The air between you turns heavy. His golden eyes are sharp. Hungry.
He peels his gloves off with his teeth, one by one, still staring at you like he’s got something to prove. His hands slide under your thighs, gripping the soft flesh and lifting you like it’s nothing. Then he’s biting at your shirt, bunching it up in his mouth before holding the fabric in his hand—exposing just enough to make your breath hitch.
Then, in that cocky, ego-dripping voice of his, he says:
“Yeah, anything for my fans. I’ll sign ’em alright. Wanna use my mouth or my cum—your choice, angel.”
warnings: he lives on as touya, he lives in the todoroki estate, pet names (baby, ma, brat) , needy touya, shoto makes an appearance at the end..
When you and Touya get intimate, it’s usually in doggy style. So when you ask him to do missionary for the first time, he hesitates.
“uh- you sure we can’t just do it from the back?” he scratches the back of his head and puts out his cigarette. He sits at the edge of the bed you were lying on and you crawl from behind him, hugging him from the back.
“pleasee Touya, we always do it that way!” You pout and rest your head against the bare skin of his shoulder. It was rough and calloused due to the purple burns on his skin. He placed a hand on your head followed by a sigh.
“fine, brat.” He turns around and places a small kiss on your forehead, you were already in your underwear and he already had his shirt off. He then takes off his joggers and throws them onto the floor.
He kisses you on the lips and it slowly starts to grow passionate and needy. You tangle your hands in his hair as he goes deeper making your back touch the mattress underneath.
Touya kisses your neck as he makes his way to your tits, undoing your bra.
“so gorgeous, ma.” He whispered as he kissed your hardening nipples.
“touya.. i need you.” You shyly say and squirm a bit.
After a while of prepping he finally puts himself inside you.
“ah- fuck, you’re so wet.” His head is looking upward and he places his hands on your hips and starts to thrust. He starts going faster and you notice he still hasn’t looked at you.
You put both your hands on his cheeks and make him look at you, and for the first time ever during sex, you two make eye contact. You give him a soft smile as you moan.
“y-you’re soo beautiful, baby.. a-ah!” You close your eyes and can feel the high coming, but don’t let go of his face. Then all of a sudden his thrusting gets slower then comes to an immediate stop and slips out of you. You feel a warm drop fall onto you and you open your eyes.
A sight to behold, Touya holding his face and looking down. You immediately sit up and make your way to him. Removing the hands from his face you see tears falling down his face. Immediately you take him into a hug.
Your chests are pressed together and your skin was slightly itchy due to his. But you didn’t care. You pushed the back of his head into your neck and kiss his hair lightly.
His whole life he has been invisible, the older he grew more of his skin turns scarred, the more staples he inserted into himself, the more villainous he became. Yet, you didn’t care. You stayed, you saw him, you loved him, you thought he was beautiful.
“do you wanna talk about it?” You say breaking the silence. He shakes his head no and stays silent. You don’t poke at him to tell you. He would talk when he was ready. Your naked bodies stayed holding onto each other.
“i love you.” He says barely above a whisper but you heard him. You always do.
“I love you too, Touya.” You pull back and kiss his lips softly. When you part, you press your forehead against his and smile.
“c’mon let’s go get you some water and maybe even something to snack on.” You giggle as put on a black silky robe. Then picking up his forgotten boxers and joggers. You tried to help him put it on but he wanted to do it himself.
“I’m not a baby.” He sighs as he closes the door to your shared bedroom in the Todoroki house.
“You certainly act like one sometimes.” You smile and intertwine your arm with his. Walking to the kitchen together. Touya sits on the kitchen island stools as you talk about stuff that happened recently while watching you boil some hot water.
As you were about to put the noodle packets in, both of you hear footsteps approaching and turn back to look. You were greeted with a half red and half white haired boy.
“thought you were at the dorms this weekend, sho?” Touya turned around and pouted because your alone time together was interrupted.
“sorry, forgot to tell you guys. i’ll leave you two alone.” The highschooler says and was about to turn and walk out.
“wait! i’m making instant noodles, you want some?” you politely ask your future bother-in-law. He turns back around and nods, taking a seat on the left side of Touya.
They make small talk until you serve them their portions and you sit on the right of Touya. That’s how you three spent the next hour or two.
Talking and laughing while eating noodles, and for the first time ever, Touya felt like he belonged. Like he served a purpose in the world, and it was to make the people he loved smile.
He wasn’t Dabi. He was Touya. He wasn’t a weapon. He was a human. He wasn’t a villain. He was innocent. He was loved.
Just saw the new Mando movie! It was everything I wanted and more! It has ignited my want to write for Mando again but I wanted to see if I should wait for everyone for get the chance to watch it or just do a heavy spoiler warning and get to writing!
Simon doesn’t get why you hate him so much.
simon riley x sergeant!reader who hates(?) his guts
tags/cw: nsfw 18+, explicit sexual content, afab!reader, simon kind of corners you for a sec so a smidge of dubcon but there’s verbal consent right after!, male masturbation, light masochism, sexual tension, brat kink, degradation kink, sparring as foreplay, hate sex (kind of), dirty thoughts & dirty talk, teasing, oral, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, creampie, FEELINGS, just hear me out okay. [5k words]
based off of this request!, read on ao3
Simon doesn’t get why you hate him so much.
Doesn’t understand why you’re perfectly polite with Price and the others but look at him like fresh shit smeared on your boot’s sole.
Not that he cares; it’s only mildly irritating to have to listen to you talk shit whenever he’s busy tracking a target down his scope.
Better not miss, Lt.
Would be a really big mess to clean if you fuck this up, Lt.
Don’t tell me you’re getting rusty, Lt?
A right anklebiter, you are. It gets worse when you’re both on base– when the verbal pettiness turns physical.
You’re both on the running track, doing your morning runs at the same time.
“On your right,” Simon grunts, just loud enough for you to hear. He pivots just a bit to your right so he can pass.
But then you also slide a bit to your right, speeding up on the way so that you’re still in front and blocking his way. When he tries going to the other way, you zig zag with him. Left, right, left, left, more left, right.
In the end, you stop when he stops. You turn towards him, eyeing him like a moldy meal you forgot to throw out.
“Oh. Hi, Lt.,” you say. “Didn’t see you there.”
“I told you to move, Sergeant,” he mutters.
“Sorry, Lt., what was that?” You cup your ears. “Couldn’t hear you over my music.”
You’re not even wearing any earbuds.
He turns on his heels and leaves with his fists clenched tight.
It’s been like this since you first joined. He remembers it as clear as day-- a younger, somehow more stubborn-looking you.
Plucked fresh from whatever unit you were in before them, you had greeted them— Price, Garrick, Johnny— with respect: a salute, a handshake, and a smile to boot.
But then you hear his name, see his mask, and it’s like hell freezes over on your face.
Lieutenant Riley, nice to meet you– like it was the exact opposite, like it caused you physical pain to even say his name.
Johnny makes fun of him for it. Dae ye know 'em? Face looked like ye curbstomped a bairn or something.
You drop the filter entirely once you settle into the team months later. Tongue gets looser, no pulled punches, thinly veiled contempt slipping into pure snark.
He needs to grab something from a cabinet you’re in front of? Your hand shoots out, waggling your fingers. Five quid and I’ll move, Lt.
Helping him bandage up on an op? He grunts when your fingers dig just a tad too deep into his skin and wrap the wound just a tad too tight. Maybe if you didn’t get hit in the first place, Lt.
It’s infuriating.
But you don’t stop because there are never any consequences.
No matter how many looks Price shoots him when the old man overhears the blatant disrespect.
No matter how many times other soldiers stare at you like you’re out of your goddamn mind (you are) for saying the shit you do.
Why?
Because the reason Simon never writes you up for insubordination is the same reason he's fisting his leaking cock in bed like some horny fucking teenager.
It's the same reason he lets you snark in his ear over comms, quietly grinding his rock-hard erection into cold dirt, and grunts to hide the pleasure that shoot down his spine when your nails dig into bloody skin.
It's the only thing he can think about when he's like this— your nails tracing the muscle of his back and gripping his cock until his spunk gets all over you.
Simon doesn't remember when it started. Doesn’t remember when the want became a need.
Maybe it was the time you sassed him in front of the others, or maybe it was when you looked him straight in the eye and told him 'you look like a cosplayer, Lt.' Or maybe it was since the beginning, on your very first day.
The one thing he is sure about is how much he wants to fuck you.
Simon wants to fuck you until you're all babbles and wails— bend you over in his bed until you can't think straight and all you can muster is how you want more of his stupid, stupid cock.
He wants you to want him as much as he wants you. But he doesn't want to fuck the fight out of you though, no.
Yeah, a part of him still wonders why you hate him so much, but he doesn't mind you sticking to whatever fucked-up preconceived notions you have of him.
Your fire is what makes it fun, and Simon loves to burn.
He cums like that, mind flush with the thought of you fucking yourself on his cock while telling him how much you can't fucking stand him.
When the haze of pleasure finally recedes, he's stuck with one goal in his mind,
—getting you in his bed.
Your lieutenant's acting strange.
Ever since he walked away from you on the track, Ghost has been... accommodating. Moreso than before.
It's suspicious as fuck.
You're not an idiot. You know your behavior should've gotten you sacked ages ago. Even though Ghost might let it slide for whatever reason, it's still highly disrespectful to your CO. (But you have your reason, as petty as it is. He deserves it.)
So it's strange when he starts acting almost-nice to you.
Exhibit A.
Standing up for you.
The 141 is respected amongst operators and soldiers alike; this is fact. But there's always bound to be a green recruit who thinks, I can do it, I'm special, why not me?
These are the ones you encounter most as the most recent and youngest addition to the 141. It's something you had to grow new skin for, but that doesn't mean it isn't fucking annoying to deal with.
"I bet I could take them in a fight. They don't even look that tough," the recruit prattles. "Do you think the captain will let me into 141 if I beat them?"
The group of soldiers he’s posturing to snicker and laugh. They don’t seem to care that you’re standing ten feet away, or that you can very visibly hear their conversation.
You're about to tell them to drop and give you fifty when a big hulking man steps towards the group.
"Think you got what it takes, corporal?" Your lieutenant drawls, staring down at the recruits who look like they're all going to piss their fatigues.
"L-lieutenant! No--yes, I mean, I--"
Ghost jerks his head towards the training mats.
"Let's see how good you are then."
The recruit gets dropped within ten seconds.
Your lieutenant mutters something to him before barking at the rest of the group. Get your asses on the field. You lot are runnin' laps until you know what it means to respect your betters.
Does he even know how hypocritical he’s being?
Later on during dinner, the recruit who insulted you walks up to 141's table, still ruffled from the nasty takedown and sweaty from running around base. He barely manages to squeak out an apology to you, shooting the smallest glance at your lieutenant before running away with his tail tucked.
(How do you grapple with the way your heart turns?)
Ghost doesn't react, doesn't even look up. Only sips his tea like nothing ever happened.
Exhibit B.
Since when did Ghost start talking back to you on comms?
"If you let me die tonight, I'm going to haunt you and your bloodline forever, Lt."
An undercover mission. Infiltrating some invite-only bourgeoisie gala that's an alleged meeting place for many, many VIPs. Coincidentally, 141's newest target happens to be invited and you are the one who's thrown into the lions' pit.
"My bloodline? Not happening."
He's somewhere out there, watching. On the roof of a nearby building probably.
There’s a sense of comfort in that. You may not like his guts, but you’ve never doubted him on overwatch.
"Why? Got no game, Lt.?"
"Got plenty," he says.
The soft rumble of his voice tickles your ear. It's unusual-- weird-- to hear him banter with you over comms like this. He usually only ever does it with Soap.
"Well, make it happen then," you mumble.
A waiter passes by with a tray of champagne. You smile politely, shaking your head ‘no’.
It’s not the highest risk mission, but the amount of armed guards you’re seeing is a bit annoying. That, and your target is still nowhere to be found.
If you have to send another flirty smile to another grimy man while waiting, you're telling Ghost to aim the crosshair at you instead. And then you're going to haunt him.
"You volunteerin'?"
Your brain short-circuits.
What?
Your mouth bobs open, then shut, and then open again. Hoping to whatever deity out there that your lieutenant's scope isn't actively trained on you right now.
Shit hits the fan faster than you can gather your thoughts.
Screams ring out through the ballroom as windows shatter and gunfire fills the air. Chaos quickly spreads through the masses as people run for cover. Ghost's voice flickers in over the noise.
"Sergeant, take cover, now! Go!"
You don't need to be told twice.
There'll be time to think about what he said later, when you aren't actively in danger of being hole-punched.
And then, Exhibit C.
This is how it culminates.
Outside, on the fields with your fellow sergeants and Ghost. The four of you toss sticks to decide sparring partners; it's sheer dumb misfortune that you end up pairing with Ghost.
You've sparred with him before. He's relentless. There's always a bruise or two on your body when he's done with you. Never once have you won against him; you don't expect this time to be any different.
“Let’s see if you’ve improved, Sergeant,” Ghost taunts.
“I swear I won’t accidentally kick your balls, Lt.,” you reply.
The two of you grapple at each other, swiping and pushing, body on body. Ghost is wearing a tight compression shirt today. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't somewhat distracting with the way it hugged the planes of his muscles— no! Keep focusing!
It's never easy to wrestle a man as big as him. But you have to try.
Your hands can barely wrap around his biceps, but you use what you have to your advantage. Nails nearly break skin as you dig deep. He grunts, grip tightening on your arms.
A man's strength can sometimes be his undoing.
You let your weight shift, using his hold on you as an anchor. Tilting back, you let your legs swing forward, grappling around his waist. The momentum has Ghost stumbling back, and you make your final move.
Ghost lets out a surprised grunt as you let go of his arms and force your way through his grip. You push through, pressing your forearms against his throat until his whole body tilts and falls back onto the mat.
Oh, you're gasping out breaths. Holy shit.
You did it.
Ghost is, like you, breathing hard through his nose, eyes lidded. His hands no longer wrap around your arms. Instead, they're settled on your hips, holding you firmly in place.
It occurs to you then the position you're in.
Legs spread over his waist, sitting right on his belly. You're bent forward, hands splayed across his chest and next to his head. Practically laying on top of him.
He's so warm.
An involuntary jolt rolls through your body as you jerk backwards, an attempt to get some distance from his face.
Big mistake.
Holy fuck, this is not happening right now.
You feel it beneath your ass. Unmistakably big, undeniably hard.
A shiver makes it's way down your spine. Your legs clench tight, squishing his abdomen and grinding deeper against him. With the way Ghost's fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, you know he feels it too.
There's a fog closing in on your mind. The sight of your lieutenant under you shouldn't turn you on like this— and yet, the growing dampness between your legs tells you otherwise.
Panicked, you rip yourself off of him and get on your feet. A look over at Soap and Gaz, but they're still in a grapple of their own. It's only a temporary relief that runs over you when you realize they hadn't seen what happened.
"Sergeant," your lieutenant calls out. He's propped up on his arm; you look anywhere but him.
"Sorry, Lt. Feeling a little sick," you say, licking your lips. "Going to freshen up a bit."
You don't wait for him to dismiss you before you're jogging back to your quarters.
Standing in front of your little bathroom sink, you splash cold water onto your burning face. It barely helps.
How did you end up here?
Was it when he started being nice to you, even though you were never anything but rude? Was it when he defended you against egotistic recruits?
Or has it been doomed since the start, when he first looked at you through his stupidly long lashes, like he was trying flip you inside out with his stare?
You weren't lying when you told him you felt sick.
It's a creeping feeling in your gut that's been burning low for a while now. Don't want to call it denial, but what else could it be?
(Betrayal, maybe. You shouldn't feel anything else. Shouldn’t be feeling anything but spite for your lieutenant. It isn't fair to your friend who—)
Knock knock.
The sound breaks you away from thought. A part of you dreads opening it, because you know who stands behind the heavy door. The other part of you is who turns the knob.
Ghost stands there, towering over you.
"Alright, Sergeant?"
His composure is unfair. It's like before never happened. You take a deep breath before replying.
"Yes, sir," you say. It comes out all crackly and rough. "Nothing to worry about."
The silence that falls between you is unsettling.
“If that’s all.” You start to close the door, but his hand catches it.
“Need to talk to you ‘bout something,” he says.
You feel your heart drop somewhere into hell. “Sir, there’s nothing—”
He pushes the door back, pressing into your room. “D’you have a problem with me, Sergeant?”
Eyebrows scrunched, you back up into the wall behind you. “What?”
“I repeat, do you have a problem with me?”
Ghost tilts your chin up. His hand feel like a brand on your skin. Your gaze moves back and forth from his eyes to where his lips shift under the mask, all of a sudden taken back to the picture of him lying beneath your legs. He follows your stare, searching.
“Yes or no, Sergeant?”
His voice is all guttural and deep, like he’s holding himself back from something.
“…N-no, I—”
“Good,” he hums. “Won’t have a problem with this then.”
He moves faster than you can process. Hand slipping his balaclava up, just enough to expose thin scarred lips and a crooked nose. You blink, and suddenly they’re pressing against yours.
Any semblance of self-control melts away after that.
He kisses you like a man deprived of oxygen. Feels more like he's eating you up rather than kissing you. Like he's trying to drink up the air you breathe and more.
But after all he's been doing these past few weeks, the contact feels like a deep reprieve in your bones— a relief you don't want to admit to needing.
You chase him when he pulls back.
“Do you hate me?” He asks, thumb tracing your swollen lips.
"I just let you kiss me," you say, breathless and incredulous. "And you're asking me if I hate you?"
He smirks-- it's stupidly attractive seeing a real expression on him.
"Can't be sure when it comes to you, Sergeant."
You furrow your brows, annoyed. "What's that supposed to mean— mmph!"
Ghost cuts you off with another kiss, hands moving down to your hips. You yelp when he pulls your legs up to wrap around his waist, hauling you up by your ass.
"Arms around me, love," he grunts between pecks.
Once your arms wrap around his shoulders, he pushes off the wall and carries you over to the bed. With surprising care, he drops you on the mattress and settles on top of you.
"Tell me to stop," Ghost growls against your neck. "And I will."
You should say no. No to fraternization, no to betraying your morals.
Stand strong in the face of evil temptation!
"More," you plead instead, because the devil lives inside you. "Want more, Lt."
He groans into your skin. It excites you infinitely more. Leaning back, he pulls his shirt off, revealing firm muscles and a soft belly.
Fuck, he’s so stupidly hot. Your own top and pants comes off a moment later, left forgotten on the floor.
The two of you are a mess of tangled limbs in your little bed made for one.
Ghost kisses down your body, latching onto your soft skin and sucking bruises down your chest. He says things that make you burn a fever pitch— fuckin’ gorgeous, sergeant, knew you needed me, isn't tha' right?
It’s unbearable how turned on you are.
Whines bleed through clenched teeth as you paw at his body. He bites, eliciting a sharp flinch from you.
Always pissin’ me off with tha’ smart mouth of yours, he mutters. Makin' me go wank off like a fuckin' teen.
Your mind is blur— everything is happening too fast, too hot, to process what he's saying to you.
Ghost moves down your body, giving your chest a rough fondle before settling in between your shaky legs.
When he drags your underwear down, your pussy is glistening with how utterly wet you are.
"All f' me?" He asks, pupils blown at the sight of his prize. "Fuckin' drippin'."
You squirm, cheeks searing hot. "Shut up—"
He doesn't let you finish, burying his face between your thighs in one smooth motion.
If Ghost kisses like a man starved, then he eats pussy like it's the only thing keeping him alive.
He pulls you close in his arms and drinks you up like the slick dripping from your pussy is his own personal ambrosia. Moans and groans like it's some divine providence to have his mouth on your cunt.
Your hands claw at his neck and shoulders, but it only spurs him on with more fervor. You feel it simmering into a boil in your belly; the telling signs of your orgasm building.
"Hah—Fuck, Lt., I'm gonna—," you moan, squeezing your eyes shut in anticipation.
But then he stills.
Just stops completely as his mouth leaves your pussy cold and shaking. You lift your head to look down at him, eyes in a frenzy from a ruined climax.
"W-why'd you stop—,"
"Never answered my question, love." He blows cold air on your clit, teasing.
"Huh?"
"Tell me why you hate me," Ghost says, staring at you through soft lashes. "Tell me why you act like such a fuckin' brat, and I'll let you come."
Your breath hitches. “You’re such a fucking asshole—“
You try to kick your leg at him, but he's strong and there's nothing you can do with them pinned down. He nips at your clit, making you yelp out in shock.
"Answer the question, Sergeant."
Ghost shifts his arm, bringing his hand over while still holding your leg down. It's sinful to watch it happen-- his tongue flicking out, licking two of his fingers until they're shimmering with saliva, petting your pussy from the clit down to your pulsing hole.
"Mmhh—"
The stretch of his fingers in your pussy makes you tremble with anticipation. But he doesn't move them the way you want. Only teases you slowly and gently.
"Please, Lt.—"
"Not fuckin' you 'til you tell me, pet."
And isn't that simply the most aggravating thing to hear?
You let out a frustrated whimper. Mind running back and forth over what you could possibly say so that he'll make you come. A shock of pleasure flickers through you when he suddenly crooks his fingers inside you.
Keeping your gaze, he flicks his tongue out and drags it slowly, tracing a line from where his fingers fuck into you, all the way up to your clit.
"Promise I'll fuck you right if you tell me."
The words bubble up your throat before you can stop them.
"...myfriendaskedyououtbutyourejectedthemsoI'mobligatedtohateyou— please, let me come, Lt.," you half-beg, half-sob.
It’s embarrassing. Borderline humiliating to say it aloud.
The real reason for why you treat him like trash— how you only really hate him by proxy.
Truthfully, there's never been any real ill intent. Only a sorry moral obligation to be as spiteful as possible for an old teammate who had confided in you after being coldly shot down by the masked lieutenant of 141— the very one that's currently knuckles deep in your throbbing cunt and covered in your juices.
“Wasn’t so hard, was it, love?” Ghost purrs, fingers still slowly pumping in and out of you.
He's still smirking, that fucking asshole. You wriggle your hips, but he keeps you still with an arm and it’s just not enough.
“Fuck you,” you cry out in frustration.
“I will," he hums. "All tha’ sass for what, hm? Someone I don’t even remember?”
He presses his nose into the plush of your thigh and takes a deep inhale.
"Jerk— hngh!"
Broken moans escape you as his lips find your clit once more. This time, he eats you up without mercy, thick fingers curving wickedly into that one spot inside you. A familiar spark beginning its ascent from where it first fell.
You want to tell him that he's mean, a straight jerk for not remembering someone confessing to them. That this was your friend he was dismissing like a nobody.
(Oh, but what would your friend say if they find out you're in bed with the man who rejected them?
It was so long ago though, your mind whispers. Surely, they've moved on by now, right?)
His tongue laps with just the right pressure on your bud, full broad strokes that make you see stars. His fingers work your pussy with focused precision, sinking into the spot that keeps making you cry out in pleasure.
It's all too much for you to take.
When he finally wraps his lips around your sensitive clit and sucks— you come with blinding lights in your vision, hips grinding up into his face uncontrollably.
"Tha's it, just like that, Sergeant," Ghost coos against your clit, sending another jolt through your legs.
He slips his fingers out of you and pulls himself up back towards your neck, nipping and nestling at your throat. His still-clothed cock grinds gently against your pulsating core.
With the crash comes some of your rationality.
"They liked you, you asshole," you accuse softly, boneless.
"Like me?" Ghost says bluntly against your skin. "They don't even know me."
You roll your eyes. "What, like I know you?"
He pulls back, both arms braced at the sides of your head. Something indecipherable in his gaze.
"Don't you?"
Don't you?
Your breath catches in your chest.
And what would it mean to know someone like Ghost?
His name? His face?
Is it to know the same ten jokes he tells on the field? Or how he always makes sure to give his soldiers a once-over before heading out, and is always the last to exfil?
Or maybe it's to know the sound of his voice in your ears, to be able to pick him out from a crowd of blurry faces. To be able to recognize the scarred curve of his lips, the rough callouses on his palms against your skin.
You sink into the deep end when you realize how close the proximity between you and the man-you-tried-to-hate has become.
"You with me, pet?"
Ghost pulls you out of your thoughts with a nibble on your throat.
"Worryin' too much," he nuzzles into your neck, suckling a sensitive spot that makes you whine. "Couldn't care less 'bout your friend."
You frown, opening your mouth to berate him again, but he beats you with a deep kiss.
“Don't care f'anyone else," Ghost utters between kisses. "Copy?"
The thought makes your head go fuzzy. You nod.
"Good, 'cause 'm gonna fuck you now."
Like a switch, Ghost goes back to teasing you. He kisses you hard, still as desperate and hungry as it was before. Your hands slip down his muscly frame, tugging at the hem of his pants.
"—off," you manage to say between breaths.
Ghost obliges, breaking free from you to tug off his pants. You salivate at the sight; you'd felt it before, on the training grounds— knew it would be big.
His cock is fat and heavy on your cunt when he settles back in between your legs. Even against the size of his bulk, he's fucking huge.
"Scared?" He teases.
You break eye contact with his cock to look up at him. The stupid smirk is back on his lips, irritating you in all the right ways. His eyes stare down you, as heavy as his cock feels.
"I've had bigger," you lie.
He tilts his head. "S'that right?"
Grabbing your hand, he pulls it down towards his cock. His own hands guide yours as he drags them up and down his length.
Holy shit, you can barely wrap your hands around him.
He makes you press his cock against your pussy. It squelches with how wet you are, as his cock slides against your lips. Your breath hitches when his fat tip catches on your slick entrance.
"So fuckin' wet f'me," Ghost groans. "Want my cock inside you tha' bad, pet?"
You whine, needy pussy fluttering every time his nudges his cock at your hole. "Please, please—."
"Please what? Use your words." He presses his tip in, just a bit.
"Need you to fuck me, Lt.—," you plead, grinding your hips down in attempt to fuck yourself on his cock.
"Say my name, pet. I know you know it."
Fucking. Asshole!
Frustrated, you dig your nails deep into his arms, earning a pained grunt from him.
"Oh, go fuck yourself, Simon."
You're not ready for the way Ghost absolutely buries his cock deep inside you with a pathetic whimper.
Your own breath is knocked out of you with how fucking big he feels, legs shaking at the sudden intrusion.
"Fuck— so fuckin' tight," Simon grunts out.
His hips shift back just a bit before plunging back into your ruined pussy, drawing a choked moan from you. The stretch is euphoric— combined with the way his tip rubs up against that spot in your pussy, it's all you can do to keep yourself from falling into the haze.
“D'you know—,” he says, sinking again and again into your cunt. “—how much I thought ‘bout this?”
"'Bout fuckin' this pretty cunt—" Thrust.
"Bending you over in my bed—" Thrust.
"Makin' you come over and over—" Thrust.
It's no use; you lose yourself in the pleasure of his cock, eyes rolling back as he repeatedly pounds you further into the bed. His hands squeeze tight around the curves of your ass, pulling you flush against him and stuffing you full with each thrust.
Simon doesn't stop teasing you.
"What's wrong, love? Got nothin' to say?" He taunts you, lifting both your legs over his shoulders and somehow fucking into you impossibly deeper.
"Cock's got your tongue?"
"F-fu-ungh—"
Tears trail down your cheeks as the simmer in your belly grows overwhelming.
He slips a hand between your legs and starts rubbing circles on your clit, coaxing a string of debauched sounds out of you.
"Sound so fuckin' good like this," Simon groans, eyes hazy and looking just as wrecked as you. "Should jus' keep y'here and fuck you forever."
"—mngh, f-fuck... you," you finally managed to choke out, voice raw and scratchy.
It doesn't distract from the way your cunt clenches tighter than before, not with the way you watch his eyes flicker dark.
He bottoms out with a particularly hard thrust at your words, leaving you a sobbing mess as he fucks you relentlessly.
You grasp away at him as your pleasure begins to overwhelm you— now threatening to boil over. Simon, Simon, Simon is all you can muster, but it's enough.
His cock ruts into you with no reprieve, fingers still flittering over your aching clit.
"Come f'me, pet."
And for once in your life, you obey your lieutenant.
Euphoria burns through your nerves as a second orgasm crashes over you from down under. Your cunt pulses in unrelenting waves, the pleasure borderlining too much. Squeezing his cock even deeper as Simon chases his own climax.
When he finally unravels, it's chaotic and frantic. Simon bends you over, covering you with his body and pulling you close as if to keep you under him. His eyes are squeezed shut, panting as sweat drips into the fabric of his mask.
Your pussy flutters one more time— milking his cock dry at the idea of knowing what Simon Riley looks like when he comes balls deep in your pussy.
“I still hate you,” you whisper, once the electricity fizzles out of the air, leaving only faint static remnants.
But there’s no real venom in your voice.
Simon huffs on top of you. You feel it in the way his chest jumps against yours.
“Right.” He relaxes his body onto you, weight squishing the air out of your lungs with a small ‘oof’. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, love.”
You can't describe the silence that falls over the both of you as comfortable, but... it's not bad, either. There's still a lingering sense of guilt in the back of your mind— but it's no longer screaming at you like before.
Simon's head shifts, the mask pulling on your sheets as he turns and mutters into your temple.
"Still plannin' on hauntin' me now that it's gonna be our bloodline?"
You slap his side as best as you can with your pinned arm.
“Left—no, your other left!” Leonardo called, stepping in as your swing went wide.
“I know my left!” you argued, nearly losing your balance as you corrected yourself.
Leo caught your wrist before you could stumble completely, steadying you.
“…You okay?” he asked.
You huffed. “I would be if someone wasn’t critiquing my every move.”
“I’m not critiquing,” he said, releasing your wrist a little too quickly. “I’m… guiding.”
You gave him a look. “That sounded better in your head, didn’t it?”
“…Maybe.”
For a moment, neither of you moved.
The training room in the lair felt quieter than usual—no Mikey blasting music, no Raph complaining, no Donnie tinkering loudly in the corner. Just you and Leo.
Which, lately, had been happening more often.
“Again,” Leo said, slipping back into his stance. “Focus this time. Don’t rush.”
You mirrored him, gripping the practice weapon tighter.
“Okay… but if I mess up, you’re not allowed to give me that disappointed sensei look.”
“I don’t have a disappointed sensei look.”
“You totally do.”
He paused. “…Do I really?”
“Yes.”
“…Huh.”
You smiled a little. “It’s not as scary as you think.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring.”
You stepped forward, attacking again—more controlled this time. Leo blocked, guiding your movement instead of stopping it completely.
“Better,” he said. “You’re actually thinking now.”
“Wow. High praise.”
“I’m serious.”
There was something in his tone that made you glance up.
He wasn’t just focused on the training.
He was watching you.
Your next move faltered, and he caught your arm again—this time closer, more instinctive.
“Careful,” he said softly.
Your breath hitched for a second.
“I’m trying,” you replied, quieter now.
“I know.”
He didn’t let go right away.
Then, like he realized it, he stepped back quickly, clearing his throat.
“Uh—stance,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Your stance is off.”
You blinked. “…You just forgot what you were going to say, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
“Leo.”
“…Okay, maybe a little.”
You laughed, and he relaxed—just a bit.
That was the thing about him. Always composed, always focused… until you threw him off balance in ways no enemy ever could.
“Why do you even bother training me?” you asked after a moment. “I slow you down more than I help.”
Leo’s expression shifted instantly.
“You don’t,” he said, firm. “You just need practice.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He hesitated.
“…I know.”
Silence stretched between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. Just… honest.
“I train you because you want to learn,” he continued. “And because… I trust you.”
You blinked. “You trust me?”
“With us. With me.” He met your eyes, steady despite the faint nervousness underneath. “That matters.”
Your chest tightened a little.
“Leo…”
“And,” he added quickly, almost tripping over his own words now, “it’s easier to focus when you’re around.”
You smiled softly. “Pretty sure I just proved the opposite.”
“…Okay, sometimes it’s harder,” he admitted.
You stepped a little closer. “So why keep me around?”
He exhaled slowly, like he was working through something in real time.
“…Because I want to,” he said finally.
No jokes. No deflection.
Just the truth.
You held his gaze, your heart doing something annoying and noticeable.
“…Then I guess I’ll keep trying not to mess up,” you said.
“You’re allowed to mess up,” Leo replied. “That’s part of learning.”
You smirked. “Good. Because I’m really good at that part.”
He smiled faintly.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve noticed.”
Another beat passed—quiet, but comfortable.
Then Leo stepped back into position, composure snapping back into place… mostly.
“Alright,” he said. “One more round.”
You raised your weapon. “Try not to get distracted this time, sensei.”
He gave you a look—that look.
“…I do not have a sensei look.”
You grinned. “You definitely do.”
He shook his head, but there was a softness in his eyes now that hadn’t been there before.
“Focus,” he said.
But his gaze lingered on you just a second longer than necessary.
Warnings: blood, gore, betrayal, spelling errors probably, honestly just a lot of stuff that I didn't plan until I was in the story so if I forgot something- Good luck.
Summary: once you come to terms with marrying din djarin what happens when a Mandalorian names Axe woves wants to make a stand. Should you be married to a true blooded Mandalorian or a child of the watch?will you stand up for the people of the watch or will you stay where it is safe. Have you already decided where is safe?
You sat next to Din in the council room listening to one of the council members go over the report of agriculture. you absentmindedly fiddled with your gloves in front of you. you always took them off during meeting, needing something to mess with so you don't get so bored you fall asleep.
"we can see a real uprise in crop in the lower levels. clan Leztel has put a lot of effort in to seeing where is best, and I believe that they had finally found it. we still need to try and make a connection with a nearby crop industrial planet until we can get it goi-" you tuned him out after that.
he was talking himself in to circles and you couldn't think straight. you continued to fumble with the leather. it still feels warm from where you wore them. you felt a string sticking out form the seam. I don't remember that being there. you opened you eyes with a sigh ready to examine your gloves and listen to the dead conversation so more, but when you opened your eyes you were met with the sight of a glove in your hand. not your glove. and it wasn't empty.
you seen Dins hand placed so gently in yours letting you map out the seams that you can tell he had fixed himself fin some places. you could feel the warm worn leather under your fingertips. you almost pulled back. it had been a few months since the attack, but you and Din had grown much closer. walks thought he levels on mandalore. you never scouted alone anymore.
you would find yourselves sat on your balcony over looking the planet. you sipping tea, and him watching with contentment. you wedding had been put off many times now. you didn't know why, but you were just ready to have it done so you could be with the man fully. you weren't sure if it was love, yet at least, but you knew that you could be content with him. you looked over at him now seeing his helmet looking at the council member in front of you all.
how could he be so unwavering when it came to this mess. is that why he gave you his glove, because it was unbareable even for him.
you scanned the room still running your fingers along his when you seen Axe Woves. he was also not paying attention to the council member, but what he was looking at was somehow even more concerning.
his eyes were locked on to your hands. the hands that were tracing Dins. what was that look in his eye? was he mad at you for something?
you slowly looked away wondering what his problem was. you would ask him later, but right now it was just about getting through this.
when the meeting was over you stood dropping Dins hand,a nd pulling your own gloves back on. "I'll be heading out to the east side of the mountain to see if I can see an extension of the old city that is supposed to have that press that he was talking about." Din said standing to his full height. what press? you thought. it must have been written on your face, making Din chuckle.
"don't worry I heard it all." he said grazing you upper arm with his hand. "ill see you later." he said rubbing his thumb on your arm, and then stepping past you. you watched him walk out, before picking up you helmet and making you way down the hall way.
you figured now would be a good time to check on Grogu since it was a long and tedious meeting he was probably wondering where you both had gone off to.
you were grabbed by a hand and forcibly turned around. you grabbed the hand pulling it with force making it drop you. you turned around finding Axe standing there. you dropped his hand, rolling your eyes. "what are you doing?" you scolded.
"you haven't been talking to me. we took this planet together. we traveled together for years, and now you are placating with zealots all day." he instantly got right to his point, and it startled you.
"I'm sorry, but I am very confused." you leaned on the wall putting the ball of your hadn't to your brow closing your eyes. "we are good friends yes. what does that have to do with the children of the watch."
"you don't get it, do you?" he said looking at you like you are insane. "get what Axe. you keep talking, but nothing of value is coming out." you snear.
"you will marry a imposter. you will soil the Kryze bloodline with that, and you don't even care." he growled. " what would you father think?" that made you straighten up.
"what did you say?" you took at step forward. "I think my father would be very happy with I took back Mandalore. that I am uniting all Mandalorians. what is the big deal Axe? I'm not the one sitting the throne so it isn't something you need to concern yourself wit-" "and if Bo-Katan dies, what then?" you are thrown off by his statement once again.
"you wish something to happen to my sister Axe?" it was a question, but not really. you knew what he was trying to get at, but you also dint want to guess. you wanted him to say it.
"I don't want the possibility of some pretender sitting on the throne. he would have you killed, and he would seize it from you. you know that, I think you want to deny it, but you of all people should not be blinded by the type of people they are. they abandoned us in our time of need. they will take what they want." He said leaning in.
"you could marry someone of mandalorian decent. then no-one could take it from you. no-one would even question it.... you could marry me, and I would swear my devotion in a way you would never have to worry." you took a step back, while he took one forward.
"you. you've been the one delaying it. how?" you said with disbelief. how could your friend betray you in such a way. "that's not important right now. you are not well enough to make the decision yourself. you are blinded by what you think it love. you need to get your head of straight and understand that I am the better opt-" "Stop!" you yelled at him.
he stopped in his tracks realizing he had quite literally backed you in to a corner. you were pressed against the wall, hands clinched trying to make sense of it all.
"you need to contain yourself, sir." you said looking up at him. showing no fear. "I am a Kryze, and you will not try and intimidate me in my own home." you pushed at his chest making him take a few steps back. "if I hear of this again I will-" you looked at the floor. you didn't want him gone. he was one of you best friends. why did he have to do this?
he could see it on your face, you were taken off guard. "very well." he did a sarcastic bow, Turing and walking away leaving you against the wall frozen. what just happened?
later in the night you laid in bed staring at the ceiling thinking over what was to come. was he right? would your father be disappointed? tears rolled down, and soaking in to the pillows below you.
that morning you woke up to Din on your balcony, he was leaning on the rail looking over the city. you walked out looping your arm around him, and leaning on his shoulder. "sorry if I woke you up. we didn't get to see each other last night, and I didn't want another day like that to go by and not try and see you." he said placing his hand on yours on his arm.
"it's okay, you didn't wake me. even if you did I would be content with this." you smiled looking out at the horizon too.
you continued to chat about what you would be doing that day, while he laid his helmeted head on yours. "well, I need to get down to the hanger. they are trying to get that ship that was pulled from the rubble going. they said it could have coordinates of where other mandalorians could have gone to settle." he said placing his forehead on yours, and walking out.
you showered and got dressed for the day, reaching over for your armor you found that it was cleaned and polished. you felt your heart flip. he did that while you slept? you thought. when did he rest? you should have told him about Axe, you know that, but it never seemed like the right time.
you placed in on yourself, and continued with your day. you started with checking in on the foundlings, and then with Bo-Katan. you avoided Axe like the plague, but that didn't mean that you still didn't see him. he would look you up and down, but the look in his eye was one you didn't recognize.
many days went on like this. you and Din having an amazing time together. Axe seeing every interaction you two had together as a direct threat to him.
you ignored him as best as you could. that night, you sat on your bed with Din, as you watch Grogu do flips around the room. obviously showing off. you chuckled at him looking back down at your book. "they say corellia has the best casino's, we could go there for a honey moon." he huffed out a laugh at your statement. "ive been there. its nothing to boast about." he replied simply. "you there to pick up women no doubt." you muse to him. he shook his head at your ridiculous statement.
"I can't believe you haven't been." he said. "oh yes, hiding from the empire, and building an army of hidden warriors can take you right to the heart of civilization." you laughed turning the page.
you seen his shoulders shake little, making it known that he was laughing too. he stood form your bed looking over at grogu. "well I think I should get him to bed." you looked over to see him lying half asleep on one of your chairs. you smiled at him standing, and opening your bedroom door for him. "I'll see you in the morning hopefully." you said pulling him down to rest his helmet of your forehead.
"of course." he mused down at you. you watched as he pulled away, and started walking down the hallway. you pulled your door closed.
you laid in bed, feeling the night breeze coming in through your open balcony doors. you fell in to a very peaceful sleep.
you were startled awake by you bedroom door being broke down. you sat up in bed startled beyond recognition. before you could comprehend what was happening you were drug from your bed on to the floor. you screamed, but it seemed like the guards that were outside your room didn't hear you.
you had a gag forced in to your mouth. you looked up just in time to catch a flash of armor. it was one of Axes men.
you felt tears stream down your face. what is happening? he started to tie your hands when you bandaged to spit the gag out, and yell. "why are you doing this?" his movements stuttered. "for Mandalore." he stated calmly, before grabbing you forcefully again. "one day they will see us as heroes, even if you can't see that they will." it didn't take a genius to put two and two together. he was working with Axe, but if Axe wasn't here that would only mean one thing.
"where is Axe?" you started fighting back, pulling your hands away causing him to growl and hit you across the face splitting your lip.
"he is doing what needs to be done. you were a flight risk. he doesn't want you dead, but he can't leave you free right now." your heart skipped. no, he wouldn't.
you panicked grabbing at anything you could get to which happened to be you vambrace left there. you grabbed it and his him over the head with it. blood splattered on your face and clothes. he fell back. before he hit the ground you were already on your feet, and out of the door.
you ran down the stair, and through the doors. the covert had set up there home outside of the temple that you called home. they wanted there privacy to practice there ways just as much as you did. now it seems like the biggest mistake you condoned.
you don't know why you didn't go to Bo-Katan, but you figured if that who they wanted to run they wouldn't hurt her. Din was another story.
you arrived at the front of the covert to see two guards standing at the door. of course they would have guards outside. that also means Axe isn't here yet. they took at step back when they seen the state you were in.
"my lady, what has happened?" one asked reaching a hand out, hoping you are not injuried.
"the armourer. I need to peak to the armorer." you said trying to push past them. "please there is no time!" you push them off. running in to the covert. there were many winding hallways, but you ran down them banging on doors, and screaming for them to prepare themselves.
you didn't know which room was Dins, he never brought you here. none of the outsiders are allowed in.
you come to a giant room that you figured is used for training, you turn to see the armorer. "child, what has happened?" the armourer asked reaching out to touch your face.
by this point the covert had begun to fill the space. "they attacked." you whispered to her so only she could hear. "they don't want us united!" you turned and yelled at the rest of the covert.
"I was attacked! just now! in my rooms while I slept!" you could see all attention on you. you don't see Din, and you start to worry.
"They fear for our houses to join! it is a group of radicals, who want nothing more than to see you gone!" you seen children step out from around their parents legs. you felt a tear begin to roll down your face. you tried not to cry, especially in front of this group.
"why should we listen to you? you could be one of them? you've been known to have disdain for us." someone yelled back. you felt yourself deflate. they don't believe you.
"I didn't want us to unite, this is true. it's not a secret we have problems between our clans, but when I needed help you were there. I ask you now to help me. I can make a better future for Mandalore, but I cannot do it alone. I have no right to, but I am asking you to plead your loyalty to the Kryze clan so that we can continue with- listen I don't have time- please." you stepped forward pleading.
you seen a flash of silver step out of the crowd running up to you, taking your face in his hands. you sigh out a breath that you didn't know you were holding. one of fear, and relief. "Din." you cried in to his shirt. "shh. it's okay." you felt his warmth below your fingertips again. happy he was here now.
you pulled yourself together to face the covert again. you turned to find them all staring at your interaction.
a mandalorian stepped forward, dropping to his knee. "I will go and defend you both for a better future." he looked over at what you could presume with his daughter. "for us all." then slowly one by one they knelt before you both. you looked at the armourer to see her bowing her head.
you heard what sounded like banging in the doors of the covert until something gave way. "then we must fight now." you yelled taking a step forward. "you don't have your armor." Din said grabbing your arm. "dammit!" you seethed.
"My Lady." a women stepped forward. "I am trusting you with my foundlings she said pushing her children forward. many followed her lead. before turning to run and fight.
Din handed you Grogu, before touching your face. he too turned to run.
you looked at al of the children left in your care. you reached over to a table grabbing a blaster, and huddling the children in to a corner behind a table.
you looked from the children to the door. they had trusted you with their foundlings. that is one of the main pillars of the way. keeping their foundlings safe, and they trusted that to you. you stood guard over them for what felt like hours.
You felt the caverns shake with explosions. all while covering the children from falling rocks, and dust that drifted down. when silence fell you felt like you were going to be sick. that was until you seen Bo-Katan come running in to the room. "Y/N!" she yelled running over taking your face in her hands.
"are you alright? where are the foundlings?" she asked looking over you. she could see trails down your face from tears. she hugged you close.
you point to behind the table to where the rest of the foundlings sat completely unharmed. you both stood by waiting for the parents of the founding to come, while you recounted the event to her. she was shocked by how far they got but not shocked by their motives.
"I knew many of them wouldn't be happy, but I didn't see a revolt." she whispered to you.
you both walked out of the caverns to see prisoners. you seen a few mandalorians standing guard, she tending to their wounds, and there was some still tying the prisoners up.
you seen Din standing watch over them talking to the armorer. you walked over to him not caring how the formalities looked or honestly if he wanted the hug. you needed the hug. you embraced him, and instantly you heard him stop talking and taking you in to his arms. his gloved fingers threaded through your hair, and his other across your lower back.
you sighed heavily. "I can't believe this. you are alright." you whispered up to him. "I'm okay." he said placing his helmet on top of your head.
"we checked everywhere. we seen the scene in your room." he said rubbing his thumb over your scalp.
"I should have been there." he whispered to you. "this is not your fault. I should have told you the second he cornered me, but I was just afrai-" he pulled you away from him.
"he cornered you." he said sternly. a deadly tone in his voice. "he did. I thought it was a friend spat. a concern for the mandalorian people. had no idea you would be in danger." you breathed out.
"you couldn't have known." he said running his hand down your arm.
you looked past Din to the line of prisoners. that's when you saw him. he was tied, on his knees.
you pushed passed Din heading over to him. you felt Din presence looming over you with every step you took. you knew you were safe especially if he was going to be one step behind you from now on.
you stood in front of of Axe as he looked forward, not looking you in the eyes.
Mandalorians are stronger together, and he has broken your trust in a way you know you won't be able to recover from with him. what if he had sent more men to your room? what if you hadn't made it to the covert in time? if you became to big of a problem afterwards? all of these felt like roads to your own death.
you dropped to your knees. broken in front of your friend. you were covered in his mens blood, a split lip, and a broken look in your eyes. all of these where his doing. he had betrayed Mandalore, and other one thought could come to your mind right now.
"what would your father say?"
A/N: I know this might have been a bit of a turn, but I actually love it. I have plans for a part 3 now that I have really thought about this book. if you want a part 3 please just let me know!
Heya can I make a request on Din Djarin and reader? What if when Reader sees how Bo and Din are getting closer and such she gets jealous and insecure thinking thinking din could do better than her because they are in a relationship. She thinks Grogu could have a better mother so she ignores Din and when he finds out why she ignored him *smut* hehehe then he takes all night to show her how he worships her and the ground she walks on and how he would be nothing without her?
Thanks so much love your stories
Hello!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE!!!! I’ve been on a little hiatus, lots of stuff going on. Work is crazy, I’ve got a girlfriend now 👀, life stuff, yknow?
As always, thank you for your request and I hope you like it. Anyways, here’s a thing!
Everything I Wanted
Din Djarin x Reader
Rating: EXPLICIT 18+
Word count: 1.8k
Warnings: smuttttt, reader feeling insecure and sad about their relationship with Din
You and Din have been together about a year now, and while things were good… they could be better.
The last few weeks he’s been spending a lot of time with Bo-Katan Kryze. She’s great, she’s so sweet and gets along with everyone really well. Grogu has even taken quite the liking to her.
You sigh to yourself, rubbing your tired eyes. You’re sat in the kitchen of yours and Din’s new little place on Nevarro. Grogu and Din are both still asleep, Grogu in his own little room and Din in the bedroom you shared with him.
You felt bad, you’ve been acting cold to Din since Bo came into the picture recently. The more you thought about it, the more you believed that she would be better for Din and Grogu than you would. A better girlfriend. Better mother.
It’s early morning, you woke up to use the fresher around 4am and decided not to go back to bed, just make yourself a little breakfast, sit and ponder things at the kitchen table.
It’s almost 6am when you hear footsteps padding from the bedroom towards you.
“Morning, cyar’ika.” Din’s voice is gravelly and sleepy as he comes up behind you, putting his hands on your shoulders and kissing the top of your head.
You shrug his shoulders away and he moves around the chair to look at you properly. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” You shake your head and give a fake smile.
“It’s not nothing.” Din sighs. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks. I thought at first maybe you were just having a few bad days. But now, I don’t know what’s going on.” He sat down next to you and put his hand over yours on the table.
You looked up at him, eyes welling up. “I…” you frown and blink away the tears. “I think that you should be with Bo.”
Din raises a brow at you, then laughs in disbelief. “Wait… what?”
“She’s obviously better than me. Grogu likes her. You like her.”
“Not like that. Not like you.” He says, sad.
You look down into your empty oats bowl. “I just think she’s the better choice.”
“It’s my choice.” Din speaks quietly but sternly. “And I choose you. Always.” He shakes his head. “Can’t believe this whole time you’ve been feeling like this.”
“I just want what’s best for you.” You sigh and look back up at him, staring into his beautiful, brown eyes.
“You are what’s best for me.” He smiles softly and leans in to kiss the corner of your mouth.
You give a weak smile as he moves to stand up, pulling on your hand to have you follow him. “Come on.” He hums.
You nod, following him back to the bedroom. He closes the door and lets go of your hand as you walk to the bed. You sit on the edge with your legs hung over the side.
Din comes to sit next to you, putting an arm around your waist. “How can I prove it to you?”
“What?” You look at him.
“How can I prove that you’re my best choice?”
“I don’t know.” You shrug.
Din thinks for a second and then gets a smirk on his face. He leans in and kisses your cheek. Than your jaw. Then your neck, exactly where you like to be kissed most.
You hum softly and close your eyes, tilting your head back to give him more access. Din is soon pushing you by the shoulders to lay down as his kisses trail down your partially exposed chest, you were just wearing a basic, short, pink slip at the moment. Along with underwear.
“Baby, you don’t have to-“
“I know, sweet girl. I want to. I need to. Need to show you how much I love you.” He smiles up at you and brings your legs up onto the bed, one on each side of him as he settles over you. He kisses your lips one more time before crawling back enough to push your slip up, pulling it until it comes off of you. Next were your panties.
You’re watching him in amazement as his rough, strong hands somehow do it all so delicately. He moves back even further, getting on his elbows between your legs. You instinctually start to close them, always feeling too shy with him to let him eat you out. It’s just… you always squirted when you got eaten out, so it was generally saved for special occasions. You supposed this must be one of them.
He smirks up at you and pushes your thighs apart gently. “Let me see you.” He says softly.
You nod and lick your lips as you let him spread your legs. You soon feel his hot breath on your cunt, making your eyes flutter shut and your head fall back on the pillow.
His mouth attaches to you and his tongue starts to dip into you, gathering your slick and moving it upwards to your clit. His tongue circles your sensitive bud, teasing it and tasting it.
“Baby…” you whine softly.
“Mmm.” He lets out a low rumble that vibrates through your center.
“Din-“ you gasp, reaching down for his hair, opening your eyes again to meet with his.
He’s watching you as his mouth works you over, hands squeezing your inner thighs and keeping them apart. But soon, one of his hands moves down, in, and two fingers start to push into you.
You gasp softly, feeling yourself get even wetter at the action. Din curls his fingers upwards against your g-spot and your hips lift off the bed for a moment as you whine.
“Please-“ you moan softly as you pull his hair harder, starting to grind against his mouth and nose.
He grunts as he sucks on your clit harder, fingering you faster. You’re barely able to watch him, barely able to keep your head up as this intense pleasure fills you.
Your orgasm is quickly approaching, your toes curling and stomach tightening as it does. “Baby-“ you breathe out. “I’m-“
He bites down on your clit and that’s what does it.
“Din-!” You gasp his name loudly as you feel your wetness squirting out of you and into his mouth, dripping down his chin and onto the bed. He groans at the taste of you, eyes closing when you pull his hair even harder than before.
It takes you a good minute or two to recover as Din licks you clean gently. You take a deep breath, looking down at him. “Come here.” You whine.
He immediately does what you ask, moving up the bed and kissing you deeply. You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue and lips, hands settling on his shoulders.
It’s not long before you feel his stiffened cock pressing against your pussy through his underwear.
“Nghh-“ he rolls his hips down against you and you tilt your head back, eyes closing.
“Wanna keep showing you how much I love you.” He groans into your ear.
“Please…” you nod softly, loving the feel of his beard against your cheek.
He maneuvers out of his underwear and then he’s right there again, his lips are on your neck as the head of his cock presses against your entrance.
You shiver with anticipation, it’s only a moment before he’s pushing inside, stretching you in the best way.
He lets out a long sigh once he’s in to the hilt before slowly pulling back out. You can barely handle all the feeling going on at once. His mouth on your neck, one hand on your chest, his hardness moving in and out of you.
Your nails dig into his shoulders as he sets a slow pace, almost torturing. The hand he has on your chest moves down to rub your clit, massaging it in circles.
“Fuck… yeah, j- just like that.” You stutter out, squeezing your thighs around his hips.
“Wanna feel you tighten around me…” he pushes his hips forward as far as he could while still having room to play with your bundle of nerves.
He stills inside you and you feel your second climax building. He rubs faster circles into you, making you moan as your legs start to shake.
“Come on, mesh’la. I’ve got you.” His breath ghosts over your collarbone.
“I’m so close-“ you cry out, hips jerking upwards.
“Let go.” He hums, moving down and taking one of your nipples into his mouth.
All at once it’s too much and you tip over the edge, gripping his shoulders as you whimper his name. He groans as he feels you pulse around him, velvet walls squeezing his cock.
You’re almost sobbing from how good it feels, his fingers gradually slowing down as your body began to relax. “Fuck.” You curse, looking down at him as he pulls his mouth off your breast.
He leans up and kisses your lips as his hips start to pull out before snapping back in. You gasped at the feeling, your sensitive pussy fluttering.
You moan into his mouth as he starts fucking into you at a quicker pace this time. “Love you so much, cyar’ika.” He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours.
“L- love you, Din.” You hum shakily, angling your face upwards to kiss him again.
You spend a long few minutes like this, kissing passionately as he makes love to you. He keeps telling you over and over again how much you mean to him, how he felt like there’d be a hole in his heart without you, that he needs you in his life. You’re truly believing him, his body moving faster with yours.
“Baby, I need-“ you take a breath and grab his hand that’s placed on your waist, moving it upward and guiding him to tease your breast.
“Anything.” He hums, pinching and pulling at your nipple as he pounded into you as fast as he could, his hips slapping against your ass loudly.
Your breathing becomes uneven and fast, you giving a high pitched moan with each exhale.
“Gonna cum for me?” Din tweaks your nipple especially hard to emphasize his words.
You nod furiously. “Y- yes!”
“Want me to fill you up?” He asks.
“Please!” You whimper.
“That’s my girl.” He groans and his hips stutter as he cums hard into you.
His throbbing cock and the nipple play is enough, making you almost scream as your orgasm washes over you. You’re both moaning at each other, pleasure making you dumb.
You’re blissed out, whining softly when he stops and pulls out of you. You feel his cum leak from your cunt as he moves to lay down next to you.
He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in so that your back is against his chest. He noses at the hair next to your ear before kissing the spot just below it.
You hum happily, eyes closed as you feel yourself drift to sleep in his arms. Everything was going to be okay.
Summary: Din Djarin chooses to die rather than remove his helmet in front of you because of his Creed. This brush with death not only changes your relationship but leads him to question his beliefs. Can you help him discover who he is and show him another way to live?
Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x F!Reader (no use of y/n)
Din Djarin is the captain of your father - the king's royal guard and as such is tasked with protecting you. When you leave a child and come back a woman, he sees you in a different light- but he isn’t the only one with his eye on you. Can a Princess and her Knight find a way to be together? (This series has over 40k words)
Din Djarin x Royal F!Reader (Virgin)
Warnings: **Virgin reader* Smut 18+(NO MINORS) smut, language, pining, slow-burn, ✨yearning✨ (each chapter will have it’s own warnings.)
Inspo;
This post
What I imagine the wedding dress to look like
Asks;
Jealousy
Chapters with smut marked with **
Chapter 1
Chapter 2**
Chapter 3**
Chapter 4**
Chapter 5**
Chapter 6**
Chapter 7**
✨Complete✨
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