Ghostblade wants you to know that he loves you, noise and all.
two years later i was once again posssesed by demons. father forgive me but im gonna fuck that man
wc: 2.0k
cw: 90% psychoanalysis 10% piv smut. knives/blood/branding (heart shaped cut)/stalking/voyerism/incest undertones if you squint really hard because its ghostblade. afab sub reader. mentions of ghostblades childhood home and divorce. ghostblade has a panic attack and throws up at some point but nothing graphic. reader prioritizing ghostblade's sensory sensativities and its starting to piss him off
miniplaylist: blood on the sheets by violent vira, souvenir by amava, tonight by amira elfeky
Wang Yi had not been this interested in another human being since he met his ex wife- and even then, it didn’t feel like this.
Maybe it’s because of how his “affection” evolved after Lan left. When keeping an eye on Nuonuo from a distance was the closest thing he could have to a relationship with her. When that became the only thing he did outside of work. When keeping notes on her became an almost compulsive obsession rather than fatherly duty.
He treats you similarly, especially after meeting you under similar circumstances to how he met Lan. When he was that young, that unaffected, he had no idea how horrifying it was supposed to be to someone you care for so deeply go through something so scary, even if he was right there, even if he saved you himself. And since he can’t do anything about this feeling with Nuonuo, he dotes on you instead.
There’s a tracker on your phone, in your purse, and sewed into your favorite coat, not that Yi lets you go anywhere alone. Not that you have much a drive to go out, where the noise is so unbearable for the two of you. One of his favorite ways to waste time during stake outs is to watch you sit in bed or on the couch through the cameras set up around the apartment or flip through his notebook of all his observations and anecdotes about you. He loves finding connections between you and Nuonuo, whether it’s things you’ve both done or common interests. It makes him feel closer to the both of you, and serves as reassurance that Nuonuo would love you, whenever she’s able to meet you.
Though, Yi knows far more about you than he knows about his daughter. For one, you’re able to tell him things. He has pages of notes on your thought processes, notes he wouldn’t get just watching. He also has pages of notes on your more private interests, from both looking through your internet history and participating in them himself.
Since quitting MG, he’s had even more time to indulge these interests of yours.
Yi’s physical libido isn’t the highest, but he does relish in the reactions he can pull out of you. Fortunately for him, you’re of a similar disposition. You’ve told him your favorite part is how all his attention is zeroed in on you (as if it ever isn’t, he thinks to himself). Being the sole focus of such a deadly hero makes you feel safe but on edge. He’d never truly hurt you, you both know this, but “who knows what Ghostblade is capable of?”.
Some of your most endearing reactions are when he’s fucking you with one of his dull knives to your throat. Your legs always wrap around him so tightly he can barely move. He finds this helps him, incidentally. The pressure of your body is grounding against his anxieties of all the noise that accompany sex. Even with the little noise canceling wireless earbuds you got him, the prospect of sound is always intimidating.
He likes to hold the knife in a way that lets him rest his arm on your chest, so he can feel the pound of your heart under your skin. It’s always so intense and erratic. He’ll put all his weight on his other arm, use it to pull your hair to make you bare your neck to him. There’s never any fear in your eyes. Like you trust such a ruthless killer to keep you safe.
He always starts slow, so he can wait until all he can hear is the blood rush in his head to lax control a little bit. It muffles the sound of the skin hitting wet skin, so he can focus on way you feel and look until he can hardly hear anything but your occasional sharp breath or cut off squeals.
It’s cute, the effort you put into being silent for him. You dont want to add to the already polluted air. The look on your face is always downright adorable when you lose control over it. You go from scratching at his back and arms to slapping a hand over your mouth as your body drowns in pleasure while your mind stays focused on his wellbeing. Your eyes always look concerned for him when they aren’t rolled back in your head.
It always draws him back to all the footage he has of you touching yourself when home alone, when you allow yourself to be as loud as you want; your expression is always so blissed out like that. Not a care in the world.
He wants you to look like that with him. he wants to feel you like that.
It’s taken a lot of mental effort to get to this point. Yi got a therapist, for gods sake. To learn how to talk now that he’s cut down on hero work and his plummeted trust value shouldn’t hold him back. Relying on text wasn’t cutting it for him anymore, he’d realized, when he found his jaw aching not in the desire to bite you but to speak, something he’d never really wanted before you.
You’d suggested sign language before, after his first attempt to speak to you resulted in an anxiety attack so severe he threw up. It made him feel like a child to be so affected by something so simple.
(The last time he tried to speak, he realized as he heaved over the toilet as you rubbed his back, was when Lan had asked for a divorce. When Lan asked for a divorce because she wanted their baby to have a father that could speak to her rather than recoil at the noise she made. When Lan left him as she concluded he’d never get the words out, hero or not.
He never realized the memory of her leaving their apartment was burned into his mind the same way the memories of his old family’s home was- how speaking only meant frivolous emptiness or heartbreaking rejection- until you stayed with him after.
He loves you, he knows. He loves you the best his disordered mind can. But he loves you so much, he wants to meet you in the middle, for his ‘love’ to reach out and touch yours.)
Today, he has you heaving with both hands slapped over your mouth, elbows incidentally pushing your tits together and accentuating the drying blood smeared across your chest after Yi cut a small, shallow heart into your sternum and ‘encouraged’ you to keep still. The bedsheets under your pretty naked body are drenched from your desperation. Every time Yi’s knife would draw blood he’d counter the pain with fast circles over your clit- but he wouldn’t let you cum. Not yet.
Yi’s thumbs spread the lips of your pussy before thrusting the tip of one in just to fuck with you. The sensation of something inside you after what’s felt like hours has you squirming from side to side, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you work to keep your sounds contained.
He focuses on you. Not his straining cock as he pulls down his boxers, not his real goal for tonight. All he thinks about is the way your legs jump as he pushes his tip in, the tension in your body heightening at the intrusion. His pace is agonizingly slow as he works his way in fully.
Any noise you make is suppressed under your hands when his hips meet yours. You’re looking up at him with big watery eyes and his jaw fucking aches. He spends a long moment staring at you, longer than he intends to, as you break his trance trying to move your hips against his, to get more delicious friction. Your face is pleading with him now, eyebrows curved together.
Yi adjusts his hips and gives one hard thrust against that spot that has your eyes roll back when he hits it just right. The way your knuckles stress under how hard you’re pushing down on your mouth has him gritting his teeth in frustration.
(You’re trying to hard to achieve a goal that has always been unattainable; a goal his constitution pressured you into seeking.
You should’ve never been silent. You accommodate him so much, in ever aspect of your life, and all it does is shrink you down.
Yi doesn’t want you silent. He wants you authentic. Unashamed. Unrestrained. His greatest act of love- and dominance, in this case- could be to keep you from holding back. You wanted his all. It’s time he takes your all, too.)
His big hands grab both of yours and pull them up above your head as he gives you a second delirium-inducing thrust. Your little squeal comes out deliciously clear before you choke down the sound, eyes wide and anxious.
You try to tug your hands back but Yi is much stronger. You can’t keep quiet like this. Both of you know it.
Your expression becomes shocked as Yi’s mouth opens. His throat tightens at the effort to get words out.
The only sound is his panting as he attempts to force his voice to work.
“…You want something?” You whisper.
Yi nods.
“You want-“ your teeth clack from your desperation to close your mouth fast enough at his unexpected thrust.
Yi shakes his head even as your eyebrows turn up in confusion. His other hand pulls at your jaw, coaxing it open, and nodding enthusiastically when you comply.
You’re still confused, anxious even. Another solitary thrust has you choking on air and Yi shaking his head in response.
Yi mouths the words this time, but it’s still empty air.
His urgency is worrying you.
“you hate noise-“ you’re still whispering.
Yi tries the words one last time, pushing his forehead into yours, like his thoughts can transfer through skin and tissue and bone. He presses his thumb into the skin around the cut on your chest.
Not yours. Not your noise.
You are love. You are my heart.
Something must’ve worked because you look stunned. Yi lets you wiggle one hand free to grab the hand pushing on your wound. Your fingers intertwine on your sternum.
“You like my-“ you’re still whispering.
Yi presses his forehead to yours harder.
You swallow, try again, this time at a normal volume, “You like my noise?”
You’re rewarded with his hips pistoning and hands squeezing yours. Your surprised squeak has the hand he restrained you with shooting down to circle your clit. Any anxious restraint has him bearing down on your body harder, forcing your knees to your chest to bracket his heart that he gave you, narrowing your vision until all you can see is him. Yi is breathing hard, eyes wide, more desperate than you’ve ever seen him.
Yi, naturally, has never been vocal during sex. He hasn’t spoken in over twenty years. Mouthing words felt pointless if there was no voice to complete the action, but now it’s like he can’t stop. It’s hard to read his lips with the way his mouth and hips are moving at a hundred miles an hour, but what you’ve managed to decipher has been a nonstop barrage of praise.
Yi’s life was gray as a child, when Lan left, when Nuonuo was hurt, when all that he thought he had left was the chart topping assassin persona that locked him in the same soulless dynamic from home with Rock.
It brightened when “Ghostblade” offered him a way out of that house, when he met Lan, when she had Nuonuo, when he met you. When you loved him as he was. As you continue to allow him to love you his way.
He needs you to know that.
I love you.
Even if he never gets the words out.
I love you.
Wang Yi will never let something precious slip through his fingers again. He will never let it exist just out of reach. This treasured foreign feeling will be nurtured and protected. He will not make the same mistake twice.
I love you.
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dividers by @/huraxy-dividers and @/carnage-cathedral
You knew this would only hurt when you let it start. You’re both too avoidant. It would be ridiculous to think your negatives could make a positive.
prequel: shared moments (angst) 2.6k
a handful of shared moments between you and your maybe more than friend, touya todoroki, the flame villain.
#ʚїɞ misc!
"You might wanna put a collar on me." (Isagi gift, smut)
this is a gift i made in a horny haze for @/wttcsms while listening to superscar by adela...she served cunt so isagi ate it. that's it that's the blurb.
this is a gift i made in a horny haze for @wttcsms while listening to superscar by adela...she served cunt so isagi ate it. that's it that's the blurb.
cws collaring & cunnilingus send tweet!!!!!!!!!!
He’s watching you like a hawk zeroed in on its prey, cataloguing every minute reaction to formulate the perfect strategy to lead you to a devastating release. The metal clasp on the leash jingles against the rings of the collar as you tug on it, wanting him closer and farther away all at once. He’s fucking ravenous against you. The look in his eye one you can usually only find while he’s in the middle of a match as he analyzes an opponent for weakness and exploits. The waves of pleasure are so overwhelming, you try to take a moment, close your eyes to regain control of your breathing- but this only makes Isagi all but growl into your pussy like a dog on the brink of attack.
He’s acting downright feral as he slobbers all over you and the sheets, hips humping into the mattress at the sight of you writhing in pleasure. Each time you try to curl in on yourself, to run away from him, the leash pulls him up at the same time. He doesn’t think you realize how self serving this is, how he’s given you nothing but the illusion of control. That soon he’ll have you in the same position, drooling all over his dick, whimpering and whining wearing nothing but the very collar he wears now- but he’s getting ahead of himself.
You come first.
*ba-dum-tss*
also u should post the sakusa cannibalism ask i sent purely so i can reread it and get giddy over my own writing bc as much as i support u gatekeeping it...i don't remember what i wrote all i know is that i ate </3
a handful of shared moments between you and your maybe more than friend, touya todoroki, the flame villain.
this is a prequel to the first fic i posted, pheonix, but it could be read as a standalone !
wc: 2.8k
reader is not described but is implied to have a quirk that makes them colder. i also imply that they're a nurse who frequently works with burn patients, including dabi's victims.
cw: 18+ ONLY !!! no smut, just kissing, grinding, and shirts come off but it ends pretty quickly after that. dabi accidentally wounds reader (a small burn from trying to wake him from a nightmare), mentions of abuse, murder, dying, and nausea. soft yet emotionally stunted and avoidant dabi
playlist: maybe by flower face, zombie by everglow, voidstar and longlegs by grim salvo
He’s shaking, head in your lap. You think he might be crying, but his hands are covering his face as he curls up as tight as he can. Dabi didn’t usually spend the night, but on rare occasion you can wrangle him into sleeping a few hours before running off who knows where. Tonight had been fun, daresay cozy, watching bad movies under a blanket so you could use him as a space heater and he could use you as an icepack.
It’s near four in the morning, far past when he usually sneaks out of your tiny apartment, when you awoke to his distress. He’d been squirming on his side of your too-small bed, mumbling and whimpering unconsciously. Even now, you don’t think he’s realized the small burn on your arm from trying to wake him, but you don’t move to soothe it; you’re too busy trying to soothe him. You rub his side over his shirt and pet a hand through his spiky hair even though he’s long since stopped shaking. You pretend you don’t care you have work in a few hours.
Now, he’s completely motionless, arms fallen to the cushion of the mattress. His voice is raspier than normal when he finally speaks, “…Sorry about that.”
“’S okay. I’ve seen worse.”
You both know he’s caused your ‘worse’.
“Do you wanna tell me what’s going on up here?” You tap your fingers softly against his temple. It’s a miracle he hasn’t moved yet.
“You can tell me anyways,” you can practically hear him go over the notion in his head. You met almost a year and you hardly know anything about the man besides his preferred snacks and the types of movies he likes to make fun of.
He thinks for a bit before stating, “you’ve never asked about my scars.”
You hum in agreement. The healed tissue is naturally textured but worsened from insufficient aftercare. The skin grafts look like they were done by someone with medical experience, at least. “Were you dreaming about when you got them?” The scar tissue on his face always made it look like the flames had tried to take him in its hands; like it wanted to soothe him. Console him. You want to do the same.
“Kinda,” he says after another long pause, like he’s trying to find the words, “maybe more like ‘why’.”
He can’t see you frown at that. You don’t like the implication it carries.
He’s quiet for a long time while you brush through his hair. It’s gotten longer- you think you can see blonde roots peak through the inky black.
“My old man…real shit guy,” he takes in a shaky breath and subtly curls deeper into your lap, “I’m gonna kill him one day.”
(You didn’t think he was serious, then.)
“All he cares about is power. He bought my ma so he could create a child more powerful than him. I’m the oldest of four- and his biggest failure,” you wince at the way he chuckles, “It’s funny. He got what he wanted. My youngest brother is a prodigy. He’s one of the top students at U.A.,” Dabi stops again, like he has to prepare himself for what he’s about to say, “I hated that kid for so long. Tried to kill him when he was a toddler, wanted to prove I was better than him. When I was twelve or thirteen I told dear old dad I got stronger,” another pause “He didn’t care,” another pause, like he’s debating telling you the rest at all, “I burned down half a forest, woke up three years later. The fucker who fixed me up showed me pictures of my funeral and everything. Ma got institutionalized not long after…but I gave myself a new name, since I died that day.”
“What was his name?” You ask impulsively. You wish you could take those words back, stuff them in your mouth and swallow them down
“Who’s?” He looks up.
“The boy who died.”
Dabi looks away again, contemplates before relenting, “Touya. Touya Todoroki”
“Touya sounds like a sweet kid. I hope he’s resting easy.”
It’s like the words flipped a switch in him. He shoots to sit up straight. His eyes are angry. Scared.
“You don’t know shit about him.”
“That’s not the point.”
He gets up, paces the length of the bed a few times, stops, looks at the ground, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know shit about me.”
“And whose fault is that?” You really need to learn when to shut your stupid mouth.
He looks up. Sees you fully for the first time since waking. He can see the welt he caused on your arm in his post-nightmare panic. His anger dies. His eyes widen. You reach to slap your hand over it to shield it from view, but he has his jeans on and his jacket and boots in hand before you can find words to say. He’s out the door before you can ask him not to leave.
(You call out of work that day. You won’t hear from him for three weeks.)
Later that day, the search results for Touya Todoroki hurt as bad as you expected them to. There aren’t many paparazzi pictures of him, only a handful of him with his dad at award ceremonies.
His dad. Pro hero Endeavor.
The news coverage of his son’s death is minimal, and it’s mostly about Endeavor taking a leave of absence from hero duties to grieve with his family, but the obituary is public. The white haired boy in the picture looks so young. It’s not very detailed aside from denoting that his funeral was a private ceremony.
You open a new tab and search for fire related quirk malfunctions or natural disasters from around the same time. Its not hard to narrow down that the forest fire that destroyed Sekoto Peak was Dabi’s doing. The flames had been massive and unnaturally hot, nearly impossible to contain. There was barely anything left besides charred bone fragments from wildlife and the partial jawbone of the only human casualty they could find. The victim is unnamed, but it says the police were able to identify them through dental records and bring closure to the family.
There’s a handful of pictures of Endeavor at the scene. They make your stomach churn.
A third tab. Endeavor. There are news articles about his most recent achievements and a few about his youngest son, Shoto, who recently passed the entrance exams into U.A., just like Dabi said.
You feel nauseous.
It’s so comfy laying here wrapped around him like a koala. He’s cold and hot at the same time. There’s one hand cradling the back of your head to his chest while the other rubs your back over the blanket he draped over you.
You don’t usually let him in when work gets you like this. He’s usually the cause, being the most prolific fire quirked villain in the country, but you felt like you needed him today. A little boy had come in with his parents after his first quirk manifestation. All you could see was a young Touya Todoroki when you looked at him. Now all you feel is the pain you feel for the real thing who has you cradled in his arms like you’re more than maybe a friend.
Dabi is prickly when it comes to touch- despite the nerve damage, his scars are sensitive- but for you, he makes exceptions, especially since this is his first time seeing you since his meltdown last month. When he woke up in his dingy-ass apartment today, he knew he had to see you, knew something was wrong. His gut was right. You practically collapsed crying in his arms when you opened the door.
You’ve barely said anything since he’s settled the two of you down on your bed. Every time he thinks about saying something, you burrow impossibly closer into his chest like if you try hard enough you can crawl in his ribs and clean out all the ash and soot that make him up.
He wants to apologize for how he left. He wants to tell you he was scared, that he’s still scared, because he’s never let anyone get close the way you have, and he doesn’t know why he yearns for you to be closer. It’s the only time he ever wishes things had gone differently. If he was closer to a normal guy, less of one of the most wanted villains in the country, maybe he’d let himself be happy to be known by you.
But the only thing Dabi can do is destroy. He burns too hot to be anyone’s light.
Dabi is ruthless. He’s a monster, a villain, a killer; there’s nothing that could clean the blood from his hands.
That doesn’t stop him from pretending things are different, even if just for a moment. You’re naturally cooler to the touch and he finds it hard to imagine ever choosing to be anywhere but in your arms. It’s such an unfamiliar feeling.
Dabi’s never had to comfort someone before. He’s never really wanted to, either.
He isn’t one to be soft or kind or comforting. It’s all so confusing. How do you drag this out of him? Why is he so content with this moment? Something about you makes him different. He doesn’t know what to do with that.
He’s scared. He’s angry. He’s unhappy.
You pull yourself away from him completely, scooting to lay on your back on the other side of your bed.
“Sorry,” you mumble, “you can go now. That was probably really uncomfortable for you. You can leave now, if you want.”
Your eyes are so empty. He’s never seen you like this. He doesn’t know what to do. He thinks he wants to stay, make his last visit up to you with more time tonight, but would you rather he go? Should he ask about what upset you? This is so new to him.
He leaves.
The next time he’s over, you pretend to not notice the tension in the air. You move around in your usual sync, gathering snacks and scrolling through the worst rated movies you can find. You feign obliviousness to the way his eyes linger on you for longer than usual and curl up on the opposite side of the choice from him, like the months of slowly shifting closer to each other didn’t happen.
The jokes are bored and the laughs are empty.
He doesn’t spend the night. You don’t ask him to. He doesn’t know why he feels so hollowed out when he leaves.
A few weeks later, after watching movies and ignoring elephants in rooms, you fall asleep. Dabi waits, lets whatever’s playing continue to run while he watches you breathe in and out at a steady rhythm.
The credits roll. He turns off the T.V. and welcomes the darkness lit only by the city as he gets up to lay you down on your little couch. He’s never done this for you before- he doesn’t know why he’s doing it now. Your eyes flutter open as he kisses your forehead and tucks you into your blanket you keep out here.
(He did it without thinking, like it was natural, a habit. He was a big brother, once. He hadn’t realized that part of him survived.)
You look up at him as he stares down at you, eyebrows furrowed at his surprised expression. His eyes flicker to your lips without his permission. He’s already leaning over you, it’d be so easy to crawl on top of you, kiss you, wherever and however you want.
He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it. Maybe it’s Himiko’s insistence he grow up and take the risk, maybe it’s a moment of weakness where he allows himself to forget who and what he is, but he’s pressing a soft kiss to your lips without realizing. The contact makes your head jerk back, eyes wide in shock, surprise, wonder. You look at him like there’s something worthy of being looked at. His mouth moves to apologize, but you’re shooting your hands to hold his scarred cheeks and pressing you lips to his before he can try. Your skin is so cold against his had surprised at the lack of steam. He thinks you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
He doesn’t reciprocate in his shock. His response is even further delayed by the fact that he’s never done this before. He feels like a teenager- or what he imagines what being a teenager under more normal circumstances would allow him. As you move to pull away, afraid you’ve somehow overstepped, Dabi is snapped out of his shock, and he’s pulling you back in. His kiss is messy, wet, spit slick as his tongue licks into your mouth with no hesitation. The taste of his urgency is unexpected but he feels so incredible you can hardly stand it. You revel in the way his dull nails bite into your skin when you whimper at the sensation.
His hands are heavy as they make their way down your body, nearly pushing like he needs a constant reminder that this is real. Before you know it, he’s on the couch, on top of you, pushing at your shirt and you’re pulling it over your head in compliance. Dabi takes the moment to yank off his own; his torso is a marble of normal and scarred skin with a shiny barbell through each nipple. You wonder briefly if the metal is hot like the rest of his skin as his lips crash back into yours. One hand in your hair, the other on your waist- he’s pushing you down, pulling you in, until he's all but crushing you in his desperation.
You moan when he lets up, “Dabi-“
“No, no- don’t call me that. I don’t want to feel like a villain with you,” he’s equally breathless, practically heaving above you.
“…Touya?”
Your uncertainty is immediately discarded when he fully moans at the sound of his given name on your lips, “yes, yes, thank you-“ and he’s kissing you again, cradling your face like you’re porcelain but grinding down like you’re the farthest thing from fragile.
His grip tightens when the pressure of his hips makes you moan.
The weight of his body makes you dizzy. His lips and hands move down your neck, licking, biting, and sucking at all the skin newly exposed to him and it feels so good you don’t now what to do with yourself. You decide on shoving your hands in his hair; you’re pulling it at the root when he bites down next, and he’s moaning into your throat like it might kill him to be quiet.
What does he want from me? The question crashes through your brain like a bullet. You don’t know if you want to actually ask. Would it be so bad to let this happen, just to have him close like this? Is the burden of wanting from afar easier to carry than having him halfway? Yes. Of course it is.
Your sudden unresponsiveness stills him. He pulls away to find your eyes distant and face neutral.
“Touya?” You ask after a silent minute filled with his thumbs rubbing circles in your waist, “what did that mean? To you, for us?”
He gulps, “I don’t know.”
He hadn’t thought this far ahead. He hadn’t thought at all.
“You don’t know,” you echo.
He’s off you before you can decide what to make of his answer.
“Sorry, don’t know why I did that- sorry,” you think you hear as he fumbles around for his coat and his boots. You don’t say anything. You don’t even look at him. Instead, you focus on the ceiling it’s almost too dark to see. You think you hear him pause at your door, but your head is so loud and intelligible you aren’t paying attention.
The static doesn’t block out the sound of your front door shutting, though.
(Neither of you realize he left his shirt behind until after he’s already out the door. You pretend you resist the urge to cuddle it to catch his scent on it, and he will pretend he doesn’t imagine you doing just that.)
Ever the coward, Touya runs. He throws up his shame once he’s in his own apartment. He knows he shouldn’t have left. He didn’t want to- but he didn’t know how to stay either.
He hates himself more than he has in a long time for tonight.
His burner buzzes in his pocket. It’s Shigaraki. plans in motion.
He doesn’t think you’ll forgive him for doing this, but it’s been building since before he met you. It’s not like he has any sort of life or future to look forward to anyways. It’s not like he gives you much to miss anyways.
Soon. Endeavor’s head. Soon.
dividers by @/issysh3ll and @/thecutestgrotto
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Please REBLOG and COMMENT down if you are BNHA/MHA X READER/OC ! I will be reaching out later on, but if you wish to be promoted and be added or removed from the list of 2020! Please let me know.
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This is going to be the last list I may ever do as a celebration for the MHA ending this year. The last time I did this was in 2020; the list that I have is definitely outdated now.
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References Writer List Below:
Spring and Summer 2020 (Masterlist of all parts)
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welcome to the first thing i’ve posted since i was 12 and on w*ttpad. i got possessed and wrote this.
wc: 1,111
cw: hurt no comfort, gender neutral Y/N (they’re never referred to directly), dabi and his whole deal (fire, domestic abuse, suicide/ideation), Y/N and dabi are both avoidant attachment :(
miniplaylist: It Means Everything from the Omori OST, Cheetah by Deux Visages, Spiricle by Flower Face, Blood on the Sheets by Violent Vira
You knew this would only hurt when you let it start. You’re both too avoidant. It would be ridiculous to think your negatives could make a positive.
The peninsula of your kitchen counter stands in between two people who are little more then scared, angry children. Two people who both grew up in environments too offensive to allow them to live, much less grow up. Two people who are now trapped in older bodies with damaged brains that built more walls than could ever be counted. That’s what you’re thinking about, what’s lingering in the back of your mind, as you stare at Touya.
When he told you his real name, all those months ago, after waking up from a nightmare shaking in your arms and unsure where he was, you looked him up. His obituary was public. There were pictures of him caught by paparazzi in the image tab, but every headline used the same middle school photo as his obit.
You’re staring at the boy from those pictures right now.
He’s holding his jacket, body turned towards the door. He looks at the floor, jaw tense. The aftermath of your explosion is deafening.
“That’s a stupid idea and you know it,” you spit the words out like they’re pure acid. They burn you both.
He pushed you to this point and he knows it. He’d watched you tick closer and closer to detonating every time he came to see you. It seems that today that countdown finally hit zero.
The charred remains of who he used to be gnaw and scratch away at him. I don’t want to leave, they beg. I can be safe here. Please, I want to stay.
Dabi wished he’d really killed that kid on that mountain. Maybe if he’d done it right, finished the job, he wouldn’t have to feel hurt like this. He doesn’t understand why this hurts more than dying did.
He tightens his fist around his jacket until his knuckles are white.
“What, you’re just gonna stand there? What about your conviction? Your determination to kill yourself over a man that never loved you?”
He doesn’t move.
“Did it never occur to you? That you’re already free? That you can do whatever you want without him? That by committing yourself to this egoistic death wish, you’re giving him power again? You act like you burned away that life, and maybe you did- but it never died. You’re trapped inside that godforsaken house, keeping the fire going with your brothers, and pretending that they aren’t right there with you.
“I get it. The heat is comforting. It’s familiar; but there are other ways to stay warm- different types of light. I’ve been trying to show you that for years. I’m tired of trying to get you to see that on your own,” you sigh.
“Whatever,” you pivot and begin walking down the hall to your bedroom, “go kill yourself, again, Dabi. Maybe it’ll make you feel something this time.”
You’re inches from the door when you feel a tug on your wrist. You don’t bother turning to look, “what?”
His grip tightens. He breathes in but doesn’t say anything. He still doesn’t say anything.
“What?” you repeat, tone sharper. Does he need you to drive him away more to feel complete? Is he unsatisfied because you didn’t fight his desire to leave, when his absence is almost as familiar as he is?
You knew this would only hurt when you let it start. You don’t think you’d realized how much it would hurt back then.
He’s hesitant before opening his mouth again, the rasp of his voice so achingly familiar, “You know how long I’ve been-”
“Oh, give me a break!” You whip around to face him, try to yank your wrist free, but his grip holds firm. He wants to hold you more than you want him to let go.
There’s no light in his eyes when you face him. He looks like the criminal they catch on security cameras and CCTV, not the man you’ve grown to- that you’ve grown too attached to.
He takes another deep inhale before starting again. “Endeavor-”
“This isn’t about Endeavor! This is about you!” You crack, “killing Endeavor won’t undo the damage he’s done! It won’t change anything!” You’re breathing hard, seething, splintering, breaking apart. His eyes are empty but the weight of his hold on you is a constant reminder that his presence. His hands are like freezer burn. So cold they’re hot, so hot they’re cold- they’re comforting in their discomfort.
You knew it would hurt. You knew it would hurt. You knew it would hurt. You knew it would hurt.
“What do you want me to say? What else am I-“
“You act like your hands are tied. Like you don’t have any other choice but to follow through with this. Like a life outside of this isn’t possible for you.”
“It isn’t-”
“Then what the fuck is this, Touya? Are you just playing house when it’s convenient?” He flinches like you’ve struck him and you aren’t sure what caused it: the usage of his real name or the accusation.
His grip is like iron. He’s silent again.
I hate this, he’s begging himself to say, I hate hurting you but it’s all I’m good for.
Once upon a time you told him you saw him as a phoenix- magnificent, reborn ablaze- but he feels like a tornado on fire; the kind that leave irreparable damage behind- ruin lives. He can feel your fire extinguish under his storm. He sucks the air out of you, can’t you feel it? How can you tolerate him? He can see your lip quiver from how hard you’re trying not to turn tail and slam your door in his face.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” your fight goes out with your flames. You attempt to free yourself again but there’s no force behind it.
Too avoidant. Ridiculous to think your negatives could make a positive.
He’s looking at the floor, “You had to know this was coming.”
“You had to know I was never going to beg for you to stay,” you snap, but you fizzle out just as fast as you’d sparked, “I tried. It wasn’t enough. Arguing won’t change that.”
The strain in your voice makes him ache. It was enough. You were more than enough. It isn’t your fault I’m only capable of destruction. I wish I finished the job, I wish I finished the job, I should’ve finished the job-
Maybe this is better. I want to stay. Maybe he can offer you the first piece of kindness he’s ever wanted to provide. I want to stay but this is all I've ever known. Maybe he’ll finally be good for something, be worthy of the way you look at him like he isn’t the filthy, rotten thing he knows himself to be.
He lets you go. He swears he can hear your heart crack, and he’s memorizing your face while your eyes well up in tears at his fatal determination before he’s gone like he was never there in the first place. Your front door shuts softly and you almost hear three forbidden words on the wind he leaves behind.
You forgot how cold your apartment is without him in it.
tagging @stunies i hope their suffering lived up to your expectations 🙂↕️
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♡ Doctorate in yapping.........bachelors in accounting
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♡ Special Interests ♡
Omori | Madoka Magica | PJO+HOO | Kpop
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♡ Shortlist of Anime I've Watched ♡
Vanitas no Carte, Haikyuu, JJK, Horimiya, Blue Spring Ride, Windbreaker, KNY, Noragami, School-Live!, Soul Eater, FMAB, Frieren, Demon Slayer, Madoka Magica + Rebellion + Magia Record, Magi, Death Parade, Fire Force, Blue Lock, Yona of the Dawn, Needy Girl Overdose, Hell's Paradise, To Be Hero X, Silent Witch
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♡ Music ♡
Stray Kids and LOONA (+redebuts) stan
Semi-casual to casual listener of TXT, CNEMA, All (H)ours, Chung Ha, Aespa, Twice, Everglow, Dreamcatcher, PIXY, Purple Kiss, Ateez, TripleS, Le Sserafim, &team, WOODZ, One Pact
Frequently listened to non-Kpop artists: Ashnikko, Slayyyter, XG, Zheani, Scene Queen, Lil Mariko, defsharp, julie, Defttones, Softcult, Clem Turner, Devon Again, Daughter, Tiffany Day, Pierce the Veil, Violent Vira, Char, Cherry Glazerr, Loathe, Moon Walker, Grim Salvo, Zand, ELSEE, rillrail
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