Hello! If you're accepting requests, may i request a coy whipped brimhat reader x Qifrey who taunts him everywhere he goes? Placing little notes that poses as some sort of lead when in reality it's just reader complimenting his appearance in their handwriting? And even with reader being a brimhat, they'd do ANYTHING for Qifrey.
I thought this would be funny and cute !
Note to self: don't trust brimhats (or maybe do)
Qifrey x reader
cw: slight angst nothing major, it ends in comfort anyway / forbidden romance
AN: Anon I want your brain please. I never thought of this and after writing it I was kicking my legs throughout reading it. I changed some stuff to make it correlate better with the plot but goshhhhh I love that trope, I'd love to write more about it
It started with a note. Not an ominous one, not a threatening one, but a small square of paper folded far too neatly to be accidental, left tucked between the pages of a book Qifrey knew he had not opened since the previous evening. He noticed it immediately, of course he did, because Qifrey noticed everything, and yet when he unfolded it he found not a curse, not a warning, but a line written in elegant, unfamiliar script that read, âYour wards are beautiful, but they sing too loudly at the edges. I wondered if you had noticed.â He stared at it longer than he meant to, his expression unreadable, before carefully folding it again and slipping it into his sleeve as if it were something fragile.
The second time, it was not a note but a presence. Subtle, deliberate, and unmistakably skilled. He was walking through the atelier grounds with Coco at his side, explaining the structure of a spell circle, when a soft flicker of light danced just at the edge of his vision. It was not bright enough to alarm, nor strong enough to disrupt, but it bent the air in a way that only careful, controlled magic could achieve. Qifrey paused mid-sentence. Coco blinked up at him. âMaster Qifrey?â He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction as he tracked the source, but by the time he turned fully, it was gone. In its place, resting on a nearby stone wall, was another folded note.
He picked it up without a word. âYou saw that, didnât you? I was hoping you would.â
âIs something wrong?â Coco asked.
âNo,â Qifrey replied calmly, though there was something thoughtful beneath his tone now, something quieter. âNothing at all.â
From that point on, it became a pattern. Notes appeared in impossible places, tucked into the seams of his coat, slipped beneath teacups, resting on windowsills that had been empty moments before. Each one was different, but they shared the same careful handwriting and the same unmistakable presence behind them. âYou corrected the third line in your lecture today. I liked that.â âYour students trust you more than you realize.â âIf I were less kind, I would have unraveled your barrier just to see how quickly you could fix it.â
They were teasing, observant, and never once cruel.
Qifrey should have reported it. He knew that. A brimhat leaving notes, using magic within reach of his atelier, observing him so closely. It was not something to ignore. And yet, he did not report it. Instead, he began to look for them.
One evening, as the sky dimmed into soft blue, he lingered in the garden longer than necessary, pretending to examine the growth of a particular plant while his attention stretched outward, quiet and patient. He felt it then, faint but distinct, the brush of magic that did not belong to him or his students. He did not turn immediately. Instead, he spoke, his voice calm and even. âYou are careful,â he said. âMore careful than most Iâve encountered.â
There was a pause. Then, a voice answered from somewhere just beyond sight. âAnd yet you still noticed.â
He turned then, slowly, and this time you did not disappear. You stood partially obscured by the trees, your cloak marking you unmistakably as a brimhat, though your posture was relaxed, almost casual, as if you were not standing in direct defiance of everything he represented. Your gaze met his without hesitation, and there was something bright in it, something curious rather than hostile.
âYouâve been leaving the notes,â he said.
âYes.â
âAnd using magic within my grounds.â
âYes.â There was no denial, no attempt to soften it.
âThat is not something I should allow.â
You tilted your head slightly, studying him. âAnd yet you havenât stopped me.â
Qifrey did not answer immediately. He simply watched you, measuring, observing, the way he always did. There was no malice in your magic. No harm had come to anyone. If anything, your spells were⊠elegant. Controlled. Almost playful in their precision. âYouâve been testing my attention,â he said finally.
âAnd your reactions,â you added lightly. âYouâre very interesting to observe.â
âThat is a dangerous reason to approach someone like me.â
You smiled, small and unafraid. âI donât think so. I think youâre kinder than you let on.â
That, more than anything, caught him off guard. Not because it was entirely untrue, but because of the certainty with which you said it, as if it were something obvious. He exhaled softly, almost amused despite himself. âYouâve formed quite the impression.â
âI pay attention,â you replied. âJust like you do.â
There was a quiet stretch of silence between you then, not tense, not hostile, but thoughtful. Qifrey knew what this was. He knew what you were. A brimhat who approached not with violence, but with curiosity. With admiration, even, if your notes were anything to go by. It did not make it safer. It did not make it acceptable. And yet, he did not move to stop you.
âYou should be more careful,â he said instead, his voice softer now.
You stepped back slightly, as if preparing to leave, but your gaze lingered on him. âI could say the same to you.â
And then you were gone again, your presence dissolving into the air as neatly as it had appeared, leaving behind only the faintest trace of magic and, as always, a single folded note resting where you had stood.
Qifrey approached it slowly and picked it up.
âYou didnât turn me in. Thank you.â
He closed his eyes briefly, just for a moment, before slipping the note into his sleeve alongside the others, his expression unreadable but his thoughts far from settled, because he knew this was only the beginning, and despite every rule he upheld, every line he was meant to draw, there was a part of him that was already waiting for the next time you would appear.
----
After that night, things did not stop. If anything, they became softer, more intentional, like an unspoken understanding had settled between you. You no longer hid quite as completely, though you never appeared where others could see you clearly, and Qifrey, for all his awareness, never led anyone else to you. It became a quiet secret that lived between the edges of his days. Notes still appeared, but now they felt less like tests and more like conversations. âYou looked tired today.â âAgott listens more closely than she pretends.â âI tried a variation of your ward. It holds better this way.â
Sometimes, you demonstrated instead of writing. Small, harmless spells that altered the air just enough for him to notice. A flicker of light shaped into something delicate, a ward adjusted by a fraction that made it more stable, a barrier that hummed more quietly than before. You never broke anything. You never crossed into harm. If anything, you improved what you touched, always subtly, always leaving room for him to discover it.
Qifrey told himself he should put a stop to it. Each time he found another note, each time he felt your magic brush against his, he reminded himself of what you were. A brimhat. Someone who had chosen a path he could not condone. And yet, each time, he folded the note carefully and kept it. Each time, he looked for the traces you left behind.
âYouâre smiling,â Coco pointed out one afternoon as they walked together.
âAm I?â he replied, a little too smoothly.
âA little,â she said, tilting her head. âItâs nice.â
He didnât answer that.
It changed slowly, almost imperceptibly, from observation to something warmer. The first time you stayed long enough to speak more than a few sentences, it felt less like a confrontation and more like a meeting. You appeared beside him at the edge of the forest while the others slept, your presence quiet but no longer distant.
âYouâve been keeping them,â you said, glancing at his sleeve where the notes always disappeared.
âI have,â he admitted.
âWhy?â
Qifrey considered that for a moment. He could have given you a careful answer, something neutral and controlled, but instead he said, âBecause I find them difficult to discard.â
You watched him with that same steady gaze, something softer flickering beneath your curiosity. âYouâre not what I expected.â
âAnd what did you expect?â
âSomeone colder,â you replied honestly. âSomeone who would have driven me away the moment you realized what I was.â
âI should have,â he said quietly.
âBut you didnât.â
âNo,â he agreed, his voice just as soft.
The distance between you felt smaller then, not physically, but in a way that mattered more. You stepped a little closer, just enough that he could see the details he had only glimpsed before. âDoes that trouble you?â you asked.
âIt should,â he answered. Then, after a pause, âBut it doesnât, not in the way it ought to.â
You smiled at that, not triumphantly, but gently, like you understood something he was still trying to put into words. âI donât want to cause harm,â you said. âNot to you. Not to them.â
âI know,â he replied, and the certainty in his voice surprised even him.
Silence settled again, but it was not uncomfortable. It felt like something being built, slowly, carefully, the same way both of you approached magic.
From then on, your meetings became less accidental. You still left notes, still teased him with small displays of skill, but you also stayed. You talked. About magic, mostly, at first. About techniques and theories, about the ways your approaches differed and the ways they overlapped. You challenged him, and he challenged you in return, not with hostility, but with a quiet kind of respect.
âYou could do more,â he told you once, watching as you shaped a delicate spell between your fingers. âYou hold yourself back.â
âOf course I do,â you said lightly. âIf I didnât, you might finally decide to stop me.â
He almost smiled. âPerhaps.â
But neither of you truly believed that anymore.
The line between what was allowed and what wasnât never disappeared, but it blurred in ways that felt impossible to untangle. Qifrey made no formal exception. He never spoke your name to anyone else. But he also never turned you away. And you, in turn, never pushed further than he could accept. It became something balanced, something careful, something strangely gentle.
One evening, the air cooler and quieter than usual, you found him sitting alone in his room. This time, you did not hide your arrival. You stepped inside as if you had always been allowed to, your presence soft but certain. He looked up, unsurprised.
âYouâve stopped leaving notes,â he said.
âI thought I might try speaking instead,â you replied.
âThat is a bold change.â
âOnly a small one.â You moved closer, your gaze steady. âYou donât seem to mind.â
âI donât,â he admitted.
There was a pause, one that felt heavier than the others, filled with something unspoken but undeniable. You reached out first, your hand brushing lightly against his sleeve, a simple gesture, but one that made his breath catch just slightly.
âQifrey,â you said softly, his name quieter than anything you had spoken before, âif things were differentâŠâ
He didnât let you finish. Not because he didnât understand, but because he did. His hand came up to rest over yours, warm and steady. âThey arenât,â he said gently.
âI know,â you whispered.
But neither of you pulled away.
Instead, he shifted closer, just enough to close the space between you. It was a quiet decision, one made without words, and when he leaned in, it was slow, giving you time to move, to stop him, to disappear the way you always could.
You didnât.
The kiss was soft, careful, like everything else between you. There was no urgency in it, no demand, only warmth and something deeply, quietly affectionate. It felt like trust. It felt like something neither of you had expected to find in the other.
When you pulled back, your forehead rested lightly against his. âYouâre making an exception,â you murmured.
âI am,â he said.
âFor me?â
His answer came without hesitation. âFor you.â
You smiled then, softer than he had ever seen, and for once there were no notes left behind, no magic lingering in the air as you eventually stepped away. You stayed a little longer, just sitting beside him in the quiet, sharing something simple and unguarded.
And when you finally left, it wasnât with distance, but with the quiet understanding that you would return.
The next morning, Qifrey found no note waiting for him. Instead, there was only the faintest trace of your magic woven gently into the edge of his wards, not altering them, not testing them, but resting there like something that belonged.
He didnât remove it.
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Hi author! I hope your day is going/has gone well. I was hoping you could write an angst Dabi x fem!reader. The reader is a civilian whoâs got a secret thing going on with Dabi. He usually comes twice a week but the reader hasnât heard from him for almost a month. One day, he finally shows up and tells her about the war theyâre planning and that he may not come back. Then, he disappears and two weeks later you see him on tv, on the brink of death.
This seems like a lot to ask this is my first time but thank you for your time!
author's note: I'm so sorry for breaking everyone's heart. I had to stop writing this like five times because was sobbing so hard every time while writing this and I hope to transfer that feeling to all of you <3
Ashes in the Wind
It had been twenty-six days.
Not that you were counting.
Except you were.
Dabi never made promises. He never said when heâd come, only that he would. Twice a week, like clockwork. Until he didnât.
At first, you told yourself it was nothing. Maybe something had come up. Maybe he was lying low. Maybe he was just being an ass and making you sweat. Heâd done it beforeâgone a little longer than usual just to see how youâd react.
But never this long.
The first week, you told yourself to stop being paranoid. The second week, you barely slept. By the third, you were sick with worry, stomach twisting into knots every time you glanced at your phone, knowing full well he never texted. And now, at twenty-six days, you werenât sure if you were more afraid that he was deadâor that he had simply left you behind.
You left the window unlocked, just in case.
You sat up late into the night, staring at the door, at the shadows shifting under the streetlight outside. The city was never quiet, but the absence of him made it feel like a void had opened up inside your chest.
Every sound made you flinch.
A creak in the hallway. Not him.
The wind rattling the window. Not him.
The distant scent of smoke from someoneâs cigarette outside. Not him.
The first time he hadnât shown up, you tried to tell yourself it was fine. But the days stretched, the silence became suffocating, and you stopped pretending.
Something was wrong.
You tried to be rational. He wasnât normal. He wasnât a boyfriend. He wasnât even really yours. He didnât owe you anything. But that didnât stop the sick feeling in your gut, the fear curling inside you every time you imagined the worst.
You imagined a fight gone bad.
A trap he didnât see coming.
His body somewhere in an alley, cold and alone, with no one to mourn him because he had never let anyone close enough to care.
Except you.
And you didnât even know if you had the right to.
Because he had never said it. Never said what you were to him, never said why he kept coming back. But he had. Again and again, until you had let yourself believe that meant something.
You pressed your forehead against the cool windowpane, staring down at the empty street below.
He wasnât coming back.
You whispered his name under your breath like a prayer, but there was no answer. Only silence.
And twenty-six days of nothing.
You had given up.
After twenty-six days of waiting, of aching, of staring at the unlocked window and hoping, you had finally let yourself believe the truthâhe wasnât coming back.
You forced yourself to move on, or at least pretend to. Forced yourself to sleep, even if your body jolted awake at every imagined footstep. Forced yourself to eat, even when the worry curled in your gut like a sickness. Forced yourself to stop looking for his face in the crowd, in the smudges of ash on the pavement, in the distant sound of sirens.
And then, on the twenty-seventh night, he was there.
You didnât hear him come in. You only noticed the change in the airâthe scent of smoke, of something burnt and bitter and so achingly familiar that for a second, you thought you had finally gone mad.
Then a voice, low and rough, broke the silence.
âYou look like hell.â
Your breath caught. Slowly, disbelievingly, you turned.
He was standing by the window, just like always. But he wasnât the same.
He looked wrecked.
His coat was torn, his staples dark with dried blood. His hands were shaking, just slightly, but not from pain. His eyesâburning blue, too bright in the dim lightâwere unreadable.
He was real.
You barely had time to think before you were on him, fists balling into the front of his jacket, gripping tight like heâd disappear if you let go.
âWhere the hell have you been?â Your voice cracked. âI thoughtâyou were gone. I thought you were deadââ
His hands came up, hesitating before settling on your waist. Not pulling you close, not pushing you away. Just holding you there, like he didnât know if he had the right.
âAlmost was,â he muttered. âWouldâve been easier.â
The words sent ice through your veins. You pulled back just enough to see his face, searching his expression for somethingâanythingâthat would make this hurt less.
âWhat happened?â you whispered.
He exhaled, slow and sharp. His gaze flickered to the floor, like he was trying to decide how much to tell you. Then, finally, he spoke.
âThereâs a war coming.â
The words felt heavy. Final.
Your stomach twisted. âWhatâ?â
âItâs time.â His fingers flexed against your waist. âWeâre making our move. Shigaraki, the League. Me.â
He paused, then, quieter, âI finally get to finish this.â
You didnât have to ask what âthisâ was. You already knew.
Endeavor.
His father.
His revenge.
You had always known he carried it like a wound that never healed. That everything he did, every reckless fight, every burned bridge, was leading to this.
But knowing didnât make it easier to hear.
âDabiââ
âThis is what Iâve been waiting for.â His voice was calm, steady. Too steady. Like he had already made peace with it. âI finally get to make him pay. And if it kills me? Fine. Worth it.â
No hesitation. No doubt.
He had always walked the edge of destruction, but thisâthis wasnât just flirting with death. This was throwing himself into the fire and refusing to crawl out.
Your grip on him tightened. âYou donât have to do this.â
A ghost of a smirk pulled at his lips. âYeah, I do.â
You shook your head, eyes burning. âThen what the hell are you doing here?â
For the first time, something in his expression wavered. He swallowed, jaw clenching, before he muttered, âWanted to see you.â
Your breath hitched.
You came back.
âYouâre telling me you might die, and Iâm just supposed toâwhat? Say goodbye?â You bit your lip, trying to keep your voice steady. âLike this doesnât matter?â
His fingers twitched against your skin, like he wanted to pull you in but didnât know how.
âIt does,â he admitted. Barely a whisper. âThatâs the problem.â
Your heart cracked.
You had never asked for anything from him. Never asked him to stay, never asked him to put a name to whatever this was between you. But you had never thought it would end like this, with him standing in front of you, telling you he might not come back.
âI donât want you to go.â
He exhaled sharply, eyes squeezing shut.
âDonât do that,â he muttered. âDonât make this harder.â
Your throat tightened.
You wanted to beg. You wanted to scream. You wanted to shake him and tell him that his life wasnât something he could just throw away for the sake of revenge.
But you knew him.
And you knew that nothing you said would stop him.
So instead, you reached up, pressing a shaking hand against his scarred cheek. His eyes fluttered open, something breaking in them as he leaned into your touch.
âYou donât have to say it,â you whispered.
His breath shuddered out. âI know.â
And then, just for a moment, he let himself have this.
He kissed you.
Desperate. Rough. Like he was trying to carve the memory of you into his bones, something to take with him when he walked into the fire.
And then, just as quickly, he was pulling away.
A step back.
Then another.
And just like that, he was gone.
You didnât stop him. You didnât run after him.
You just stood there, hands clenched at your sides, listening to the sound of the city outside.
And you waited.
Twenty-seven days.
Twenty-eight.
Twenty-nine.
He didnât come back.
You hadnât moved from the couch in hours.
The flickering light from the television cast long, ghostly shadows against the walls. The air in the room felt heavy, thick, like you couldnât breathe properly. But maybe that was just the weight pressing down on your chest.
The news anchorâs voice was a dull hum in your ears, words blending together in a blur of static. The only thing that mattered was the screen.
The footage.
The image of him.
Dabiâno, Todoroki Touyaâcollapsed on the battlefield, his body barely holding itself together, surrounded by frost and blood and the shattered remnants of his own destruction.
The first time you saw him again, it didnât feel real.
You had been in the middle of something mundaneâwashing dishes, trying to force yourself through the routine of existingâwhen the emergency broadcast cut in. The words âHEROES AND VILLAINS COLLIDEâ flashed across the screen, and then suddenly, he was there.
Or what was left of him.
He looked like hell. Worse than you had ever seen him. Worse than you had imagined in all your sleepless nights spent worrying about where he had gone. His body was charred, his skin barely holding together, and his breathingâif he was even still breathingâwas shallow, barely visible under the weight of ice pinning him down.
Shoto had stopped him.
You hadnât known much about his brother before. Just bits and pieces, the rare scraps he let slip when he talked about his family. When he talked about the man he hated enough to destroy himself over.
And now, on national television, the whole world was seeing the culmination of his hatred.
The news replayed the footage again. And again.
Him screaming.
Him trying to drag himself forward, even when his body had nothing left to give.
Him standing in the middle of the flames, ready to end it all, before Shotoâs ice swallowed him whole.
You felt sick.
You had known this would happen.
Had he known?
Had he realized, when he stood in your apartment that night, that he wouldnât survive this? That this was always the end he was heading toward?
He had warned you.
âIf it kills me? Fine. Worth it.â
Liar.
If it had really been worth it, then why did he look so lost in those final moments?
Why had he looked like a boy reaching for something he could never have?
A lump formed in your throat, hot and suffocating.
You had spent thirty days waiting for him to come back.
And now, the whole world was watching as he bled out on a battlefield, barely clinging to life.
Your fingers dug into your arms, nails pressing deep, desperate to ground yourself in anything but the crushing weight of helplessness.
He had told you not to make it harder.
But thisâwatching him like this, knowing you couldnât reach him, couldnât do anythingâwas unbearable.
Somewhere, in some hospital or government facility, he was lying unconscious, maybe even dying, surrounded by people who saw him as nothing more than a villain, a monster, a cautionary tale.
But he wasnât just that.
Not to you.
And if he died now, if this was really the end, then he would never knowâ
Never know that you had loved him.
***
The room was suffocatingly silent except for the rhythmic hum of the machines. You sat in the stiff plastic chair beside him, arms wrapped around yourself, eyes hollow from lack of sleep.
Dabi was awake. Barely.
His eyelids drooped, too heavy to lift, but he could hear you. The way your breath hitched every now and then, the soft rustling of fabric as you shifted in your seat. You were still here.
He should have told you to leave.
He wanted to tell you to leave.
But his throat was raw, and even if it werenât, he wasnât sure if heâd be able to say the words. Not anymore.
His body was a wreckâless than human, more of a ruin. The burns had carved him down to nothing, and the restraints bound him like a corpse waiting for burial. Was this all he was now? A barely-living ghost?
âDabi.â
Your voice pulled him from the abyss.
He forced his eyes open. It took too much effort. Everything took too much effort.
But when he managed it, the first thing he saw was you.
You looked worse than yesterday. Dark circles hung under your eyes, your lips were dry, and your hands were clenched so tightly your knuckles were bloodless.
âStill here?â His voice was sandpaper, scraping, worn.
Your lips twitched. âStill here.â
âIdiot.â
âYouâre one to talk.â
A slow, excruciating smirk tugged at his lips. Even now, you could still fight him. He liked that about you.
The silence returned, stretching between you both, but it wasnât empty. It was thick, heavyâchoking you both with unspoken words neither of you had the strength to say.
Then, suddenly, you moved.
You shifted forward in your chair, closer than before, hands trembling as they hovered over the thick glass casing that separated you from him.
Your fingertips brushed against it, ghosting over the transparent divide.
âI want to touch you,â you whispered.
Dabiâs throat tightened.
You couldnât. You both knew that.
There was nothing left of him to touchâonly charred, ruined flesh barely clinging to life. He wasnât the man you used to hold anymore.
But still, your fingers pressed lightly against the glass, as if that alone could bridge the space between you.
Dabi swallowed. âIâd burn you.â
Your shoulders stiffened.
âDoesnât matter.â
His breath hitched.
Didnât it?
You should be disgusted. You should look at him like everyone else did nowâa walking corpse, something to be discarded, pitied, feared.
But you didnât.
Your eyes were wet, desperate, filled with something that burned worse than any flame he had ever conjured.
Dabi forced himself to look away.
âYou shouldnât be here,â he muttered.
You inhaled sharply.
âI know.â
And yetâyou stayed.
Dabiâs jaw clenched. He hated this. Hated that you had to see him like this.
âI donâtââ He stopped, breath faltering.
I donât want you to see me like this.
I donât want you to wait for me.
I donât want you to grieve over something that was already lost.
But none of those words made it past his lips.
You leaned forward, voice trembling.
âWhy did you come back?â
Dabi inhaled slowly.
ââŠDunno.â
A lie.
He knew exactly why.
He could have died on that battlefield. He should have. That was the plan, wasnât it? Heâd burn bright, let himself be consumed, and end it all in the way he always intended.
But at the last second, when his body was breaking apart, when the flames were eating him aliveâ
He thought of you.
He thought of the way your hands used to brush against his scars, unafraid. The way your lips curled when you called him an idiot. The way you waited, even when you shouldnât have.
And suddenlyâdying didnât seem so easy anymore.
ââŠI wanted to see you.â
Your breath caught.
Dabi exhaled slowly, shutting his eyes. He hated saying things like that. It made his throat burn worse than the fire ever had.
But it was the truth.
And right now, he didnât have the time to lie.
You were quiet for a long time. Thenâ
âYouâre the biggest asshole Iâve ever met.â
Dabi let out a weak, breathy chuckle. âYeah.â
Your head dropped, and for a moment, it looked like you might cry again.
But when you finally looked up, determination burned in your eyes.
âYouâre going to make it,â you said, voice shaking but firm. âI donât care what they sayâI donât care if they think you wonât survive. You will.â
Dabi stared at you.
God.
You were still so stupidly stubborn.
He smirked. âYou always were a bad liar.â
Your lips wobbled.
And then, softly, eyes wet with unshed tearsâ
ââŠThen I guess Iâll just have to make you prove me right.â
Dabiâs breath stilled.
Your fingers pressed against the glass again, holding on to whatever of him was left.
And for the first time in a long timeâ
He wanted to hold on, too.
***
The air in the room was the same as alwaysâsterile, cold, empty.
But when Dabi cracked his eyes open, you were still there.
You had fallen asleep at some point, curled up awkwardly in the chair beside his containment unit. Your arms were folded on the edge of the glass, head resting against them, body rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep.
He shouldnât have woken up. He should be dead.
The thought wasnât a new one, but lately, it felt heavier than before.
Dabi turned his head slightlyâjust enough to look at you properly. You were exhausted. It didnât take a genius to see that.
Your skin was dull, dark circles hanging under your eyes, lips chapped from dehydration. You probably hadnât eaten much either, not with the way your body looked thinner than he remembered.
How long had you been sitting here like this?
He should tell you to leave. He should want you to leave.
But he didnât.
Instead, his lips parted, voice rasping through the thick silence.
ââŠYou should go home.â
You stirred, groaning softly as you lifted your head, eyes still dazed with sleep.
You blinked blearily at him, rubbing at your face before straightening up.
âSo are you.â
His lips twitched.
You stretched, bones cracking as you forced yourself to wake up properly. It was obvious you werenât getting enough rest.
Dabi watched you, something unreadable flickering behind his half-lidded gaze.
âYou look like shit,â he muttered.
You exhaled through your nose, giving him a tired smile. âYouâre one to talk.â
Dabi chuckled weaklyâor tried to. His breath stuttered halfway through, throat too raw to handle even that small movement.
You noticed. Your brows furrowed, concern creeping into your expression.
ââŠAre you in pain?â
He didnât answer immediately.
Of course he was in pain. Every second of every day was pain. The flames had eaten away at everything that made him human, leaving behind nothing but a skeletal, charred ruin. He shouldnât be alive.
And yetâ
âIâve had worse,â he finally said, voice hoarse.
You frowned, but you didnât argue. You knew it was pointless.
Instead, you shifted in your seat, leaning forward slightly. Your fingers hovered near the glass, as close to him as you could get without actually touching.
ââŠDo you want me to talk?â you asked quietly. âOr do you want me to shut up?â
Dabi swallowed. His throat burned, dry and sore, butâ
ââŠTalk.â
Your lips twitched, just barely.
âAlright.â
And so, you talked.
You told him about small, stupid thingsâthings that shouldnât matter, but somehow did.
You told him about how the vending machine downstairs ate your money and refused to give you your drink, how one of the nurses had nearly dropped a tray when she saw you glaring at it like you were planning murder.
You told him about the news, the reports, the things they said about him. The way they called him a monster, a villain, a cautionary tale.
But then, softerâ
âThey donât know you,â you murmured.
Dabiâs breath stilled.
âThey donât know anything about you.â
His eyes flickered, something breaking behind them.
ââŠMaybe thatâs for the best,â he muttered.
You shook your head. âItâs not.â
Silence stretched between you again, but it wasnât as heavy as before.
You tapped your fingers against the glass absentmindedly.
âTheyâre treating you like youâre already dead,â you whispered. âLike youâre not even worth saving.â
Dabi exhaled slowly.
Thatâs because he wasnât.
But youâyou didnât see it that way.
You never had.
Your fingers pressed a little harder against the glass.
âBut I know better,â you murmured.
Dabi swallowed.
âYeah?â His voice was quieter now, rough but⊠softer.
You nodded, gaze steady.
âYouâre still here, arenât you?â
His breath hitched.
Yeah.
Somehow, he still was.
And for the first time in his lifeâ
He wasnât sure if he regretted it.
You knew this day would come.
But knowing didnât make it easier.
***
The room reeked of antiseptic and scorched flesh. The walls were white, pristineâtoo clean for someone like him, someone who had always been stained with soot and blood. A soft hum filled the air, the sound of the machines keeping him alive. But you knew they were just prolonging the inevitable.
Dabi was dying.
And they wouldnât let you see him.
"You canât go in," the doctor repeated, his tone flat, as if he had said it a dozen times already.
"Why not?" Your voice was hoarse, raw from arguing, from begging. "Heâs dying. What harm could it possibly do?"
"Itâs not about harm." The doctor sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Itâs about⊠making this as smooth as possible. Heâs unstable, and even though he canât use his quirk anymore, his body is stillâ"
"I donât care." You took a step forward, and two nurses exchanged wary glances. You werenât a threat, just a desperate, grieving civilian fighting for the last moments youâd ever have with him. "I need to be there. He shouldnât be alone."
The doctor hesitated. "Heâs a villain."
You swallowed back the lump in your throat. "Heâs a person. And heâs the person I love."
That made him flinch.
There was another long pause, filled with unspoken words. Then, finally, with a reluctant sigh, he nodded.
"Fine."
The nurses moved quickly, unfastening the leather restraints that had been binding him down. They had been necessary beforeâwhen he still had the strength to resist, to struggle, to burn. But now, they were pointless. The pod was the only thing keeping him alive, and the moment they turned it off, he wouldnât have the energy to so much as lift a finger.
You stepped forward as they gently adjusted him, helping him into a slightly more upright position. He sagged into their hands, barely conscious, his breath coming in slow, ragged gasps. His skinâwhat little wasnât already charredâwas pale and stretched too thin over his bones. He looked⊠fragile.
You had never seen Dabi look fragile before.
"Go ahead," the doctor murmured, stepping back to give you space.
With trembling hands, you climbed into the pod. The warmth of it wrapped around you, but it wasnât comfortingâit was suffocating, a painful contrast to how cold he felt when you finally touched him.
"Dabi," you whispered, brushing your hand on his covered cheek.
His eyelids fluttered, unfocused cerulean eyes barely finding yours. His lips were cracked, dry, the staples along his jaw pulling at his ruined skin. It took a long moment before he finally managed to speak.
"Y/N," he rasped. His voice was weak, hoarseânothing like the cocky, self-assured drawl you had fallen for.
You swallowed past the ache in your throat. "Iâm here."
His breath shuddered as he exhaled, his body sagging against you, too weak to hold himself up.
"How�"
You knew what he was asking.
"The doctors let me in," you murmured. "I fought for it. They didnât want me here at first."
The faintest twitch of his lipsâmaybe an attempt at a smirk, maybe just the last of his strength flickering out. "âCourse⊠you did."
Your throat tightened.
Carefully, you wrapped your arms around him, cradling him as gently as you could. His body was unnaturally light, like he had already started fading away. The thought made your heart clench.
"I want to hold you," you whispered. "How⊠how do you want to go?"
His fingers twitched against your arm, a weak, almost nonexistent grip. His head lolled slightly, his breath coming in uneven puffs against your skin.
"Close," he murmured. "Warm."
You swallowed hard and adjusted your position, pulling him fully against you. His head rested in the crook of your neck, and you felt the smallest sigh escape his lips. The weight of him, fragile as it was, settled into you, and you held him like he was the most precious thing in the world.
The doctors stood nearby, watching, waiting. They wouldnât rush you, but you knew they couldnât delay much longer. The pod was the only thing keeping him alive, and once it was turned offâŠ
Your arms tightened around him.
"I love you," you whispered. Your lips pressed to his temple, to his burned skin, to the place where, once upon a time, he had been whole. "I love you so much."
His fingers twitched again, gripping your sleeve as tightly as he could. It wasnât much, but it was enough.
For a moment, you thought he wouldnât say it back.
Then, in the weakest, softest voice you had ever heard from himâ
"Love you⊠too."
A single tear slipped down your cheek.
The machines beeped softly. A hand touched your shoulderâa silent warning.
It was time.
The doctor moved to the controls, flipping a switch. The pod let out a slow hiss as the systems shut down, one by one. The warmth faded. The machines slowed.
i canât start to explain how i randomly thought about this fic and almost cried being unable to find it, but low and behold after an hour⊠this story is my comfort in some sad twisted way
street racer! bakugou x street racer! fem! reader
summary: The crowdâs shouting and cheers flooded your ears as you slammed the car door behind you, stalking towards the bright orange car that had stopped only a couple of feet in front of you. Its driver had already stepped out, illuminated by the headlights of the cars around you. And even through that passing light in the dark, the sight of blonde hair was enough to let you know whoâd just beaten you. Bakugou fucking Katsuki.
contains: street racing, enemies to lovers, creepy dabi (lmao)
word count: 7.1k (lmao x2)
masterlist
a/n: hello world, i am alive!
âOh motherfuckingââ
You were too goddamn angry to finish your sentence before you pushed open the car door with a huff. Angry wasnât right â you were ready to fucking explode. The crowdâs shouting and cheers flooded your ears as you slammed the car door behind you, stalking towards the bright orange car that had stopped only a couple of feet in front of you.
Its driver had already stepped out, illuminated by the headlights of the cars around you. And even through that passing light in the dark, the sight of blonde hair was enough to let you know whoâd just beaten you.
Bakugou fucking Katsuki.
Goddammit you were gonna kill him if you got the chance.
He was standing around with his hands on his hips as if he owned the place, a gleaming smirk directed toward the crowd as the announcer declared him the winner. His stupid ego had gotten larger ever since heâd started winning a couple months ago. Heâd forgotten though, that he was still a newbie.Â
âCome to cry about my win, princess?â he raised an eyebrow at your glare.
âShut the fuck up,â you bit back as you tried to walk past him. âIâm getting my prize.â
âYeah,â he stopped you, dipping down close to your ear, âFor second place.â
You could hear the gloating tone in his voice, and watched the little glint in his eye accompanying the smirk he gave you when he stood back up straight.Â
Heâs playing with you, your mind chants. Donât give into it, donât give into it, donâtâ
âYou only won because you fuckinâ almost smashed right into me!â you exploded. âI wasnât about to go wreck my whole car because you have no idea how to drive.â
âI donât know how to drive, princess? Itâs a fuckinâ street race. None of these idiots have any idea about what theyâre doing besides knowing they have to drive fast.â He dipped down closer to your face. âTheyâre all too drunk anâ high. Yer car getting a scratch should be the last thing yer worried about.â
You didnât bother answering him, just rolling your eyes and turning to face the other way. But he wasnât done.
âYou should be more worried about the fuckinâ creeps that hang around these places. Dâgive their arms nâ legs to get with a pretty girl like you.â
You scoffed at that statement, your arms crossed over your chest as you turned back to respond â yet halted in your tracks when you noticed he was still dipped down to your height, and your noses almost touched. You almost jumped back in surprise, expecting for him to do the same â but he didnât move back, his eyes just scanned your face like he was reading your expression as easily as he could a book. You hated how he acted like he had you all figured out.
âCat got yer tongue, princess?â his cocky smirk was back.
âDonât call me that, newbie,â you spat before staring off to the side. It was hard to meet him in the eye sometimes.
You just heard him click his tongue, a sign that heâd given up, before letting yourself sigh in relief.Â
The road was getting more crowded as everyone whoâd been waiting on the side of the road began spilling out into the street in order to get a glimpse at the cars now standing in the order of first to last. A couple guys had come up to you once they knew the second place car was yours, but you mostly ignored them since you knew they were only trying to get into your pants.Â
And you werenât there to socialize anyways, you were just waiting for the event organizers to hand you your cash so you could leave â unlike someone.Â
You could tell yourself that you werenât looking on purpose, and that it was only because he was standing right next to you, but it was an obvious lie the more you stared. Bakugou was chatting it up with about five girls, all dressed in the raunchiest outfits youâd ever seen.
And the little bits of conversation you could pick up were making your blood boil.
âOmygosh racing cars must be soooo hard. How do you do it?â
âLook at your arms, theyâre so toned. Maybe you could give me private training?â
âYou promised me a ride last time I saw you. When will that happen?â
Godâfuckingâdammit if you hadnât just won 500 dollars youâd stand in the middle of the track and just get run over already.Â
âHey, that was a nice race girly,â a voice drawled in your direction â and just by itâs tone, you knew exactly who it was.
âWhat do you want Touya?â you glared at the face accompanying the blue eyes that had selected you out of the crowd.
Touya let out a short grunt and scoffed. âItâs Dabi now.â
âWhatever,â you rolled your eyes. âI still donât give a fuck.â
âThatâs what you always say,â he sent you a sarcastic grin. âAnd yet, every two weeks without fail youâre back on my diââ
âFucking hellâŠâ you groaned. âWhat do you want?â
First youâd lost, and now this clown had shown up? Great, what could have been better.
âCanât just congratulate my girl on her race?â
âFor the last time, Iâm not your girl,â you huffed.
 You could hear the organizers start to cut through the crowd and begin to ask for the three winners. You spotted one of them a short distance away in the crowd, a clipboard in hand and a cigarette hanging loosely from the corner of his mouth.
âKeep telling yourself that,â you heard Tou-, Dabi yell from behind you as you shoved past him towards the man with the clipboard.
âFirst, second, third â câmon. Get your asses up here.â
You shoved past a few people to where the small clearing had been made, just a small patch of rough road where the headlights hit the brightest and the crowd could press their noses in on you from every side. Bakugou appeared at your right side a few seconds after the organizer looked up and noticed you standing there. The third place winner was on your left â some random guy youâd never really seen before.Â
The organizer glanced between the three of you and flipped a page on the clipboard with an exaggerated flair of hand. âNames?â
âKatsuki Bakugo.â
Of course he answered first.
âSecond?â You replied sharply and flatly, pretending that you didnât see the sharp grin Bakugou adorned on his face when the organizer had said âsecondâ.
He leaned in suddenly when the organizer turned to the third place man, causing you to jump slightly from surprise as he murmured. âTry not to cry when you count it, princess,â voice low enough that it curled into your ear like smoke.
âGo choke on your own ego,â you bit back.
An almost laugh-like sound suddenly erupted from next to you, and you had the slightest compulsion to turn to Bakugou and punch him.
The organizer shoved an envelope into Bakugouâs hand, who shoved it into his pocket without even taking a peek at the money.
âSeven hundred,â the organizer said flatly, before turning to you and putting a slightly thinner envelope in your palm, hitting it with a satisfying weight. âFive hundred.â
Bakugou slid over to you, a smirk dancing on his lips as he leaned down once more. âFor second place.â
You finally gave in to your impulses, turning to glare at him straight on with a pinched expression. âSay that one more time and Iâm setting your car on fire.â
âNah,â he chuckled lightly. âYouâd miss racing me too much.â
You rolled your eyes, leaving it at that as you walked out of the little âwinnersâ clearing, pushing and shoving through the crowd to get away from the revving of engines back to your car to park her in the side lot and go hang out with your friends.
Youâd not really been expecting to hang out for as long as you did, but Mina and Jirou had convinced you not to sulk about your loss â yes, it was a loss â and had forced you to walk around and look at the various food truck stalls that had been parked nearby. And as much as you hated to admit it, street tacos would always fill in the lack of warmth and comfort in moments like these.
So much so, that you were now mostly enjoying walking around and talking with them.
You would spot Bakugou in the distance from time to time, usually with at least one girl hanging off his arm (which you would roll your eyes at every time â did they really have nothing better to do?), but you would drag your little group in a different direction.
And that had worked, up until now.
Jirou and Mina had found Denki and Kirishima standing by Kirishimaâs car that was near the edge of the whole lot, off to the side where the headlights werenât as harsh and bright and the noise wasnât as sharp and all-consuming. They werenât really your friends, you just knew them through Mina and Jirou and a few other mutual friends.
But you know who else was friends with them? Bakugou.
And even though Mina and Jirou had assured you they would leave the whole conversation,which had actually been very fun to begin with for their credit, when Bakugou arrived â Bakugou had been standing there for a good twenty minutes and no one was budging.
Youâd stopped pretending you werenât sulking about ten minutes ago.
At first youâd tried â you really had. Youâd laughed at Minaâs stupid jokes, youâd made a couple sarcastic comments when Denki started rambling about how his âreaction timeâ was the only reason heâd ever survive a street race (as if heâd ever actually race), and youâd nodded along when Kirishima started talking about how âsecond place is still super manly.â
But the longer Bakugou stood there looking like a smug statue in the middle of the friend group, the more the anger in your chest turned into that slow, heavy kind of irritation that made you want to bite someone.
Preferably him. Specifically in the ass.
So youâd given up on pretending you were fine and pulled out a cigarette instead.
You leaned against the side of Kirishimaâs car with your arms folded, cigarette balanced between two fingers as you stared out at the road like the asphalt had personally betrayed you. Smoke curled up past your face, stinging your eyes just a little â but you didnât care. You took slow drags on purpose, like if you inhaled hard enough you could suck the annoyance right out of your system.
It wasnât working.
Mina was talking with her whole body, like she always did â hands waving, eyebrows lifting dramatically, voice climbing louder over the distant revving of engines and the bass of some music someone had blasting from their trunk.
ââand I swear to god, Jirou, the guy literally tried to tell me he was âa professional drifterâ like that was a job title,â she said, gasping theatrically at her own story.
Jirou snorted, leaning her elbow on Denkiâs shoulder. âPlease,â she responded. âThatâs like when Denki told me he was gonna be a DJ.â
Denki made an offended noise. âI could be!â he argued immediately. âI have the vibe.â
âLiterally what vibe? You have the attention span of a bug-eyed goldfish.â Jirou shot back.
âThatâs not true!â
Mina pointed at him, eyes bright. âIt is! You literally forgot you were talking to me earlier and started watching a dude eat nachos.â
Denki sputtered. âThat guy had insane nachos! Do you know how much beef was on that shit? It looked soooo goodââ
Kirishima laughed, wide and loud, like nothing in the world could possibly be that serious.
âYouâre both wrong,â he said, grinning. âDenkiâs attention span is like⊠a puppyâs.â
Denki nodded like that was somehow better. âExactly! A puppyâs! Puppies are cute.â
Jirou deadpanned. âNo youâre a goldfish. Theyâre stupider.â
Denki looked horrified at that response.
You took another drag, eyes flicking over them, only half listening.
The other half of your brain was tuned in to the fact that Bakugou was standing right fucking there, leaning against the car like heâd been invited to be part of the scenery. He wasnât even talking much â which honestly made it worse. Every time Denki said something stupid, Bakugouâs mouth would twitch like he was fighting a grin. Every time Kirishima laughed, Bakugouâs eyes would narrow like he was amused but trying not to show it. And every few minutes, his gaze would slide to you like he was checking whether you were still mad. Like he was entertained by it.
You stared harder into the distance just to be petty, letting your cigarette hang from your fingers as you exhaled smoke slowly through your nose. Smoke curled into your hair, clinging to your jacket, mixing with the smell of gasoline and hot pavement and whatever greasy food truck scent had drifted over from the lot.
Mina suddenly clapped her hands together. âOkay!â she announced. âIâm hungry again.â
Jirou groaned. âYouâre always hungry.â
âIâm a growing woman,â Mina argued.
âYou are not growing,â Jirou deadpanned.
Kirishima pushed off the car. âI could eat,â he admitted.
Denki perked up immediately. âWait, thereâs funnel cake over there!â He pointed back towards the crowd that had slightly dwindled in recent hours, but was still quite present.
Mina gasped. âFunnel cake!â
Denki looked in the direction of the funnel cake truck as if it were a holy site that had been calling him for his entire life. âCome on. Please. Iâll buy.â
Jirou raised an eyebrow. âWith what money.â
Denki looked offended again. âWith my charm.â
Jirou snorted. âSo⊠no money.â
Mina started walking already, waving her hands. âWhatever, I donât care who pays. I just want funnel cake.â
Kirishima laughed and followed, Denki trailing after them like a golden retriever.
Jirou started to leave with the group, but paused and glanced back at you. âYou coming?â
You shook your head, cigarette still between your fingers. âMânot hungry,â you lied.
Jirouâs mouth quirked like she didnât believe you for a second. But even though you could tell that she had something to say, she simply replied with âSuit yourself,â before turning and jogging after Mina.
And suddenly it was too quiet.
Not actually quiet â the night was still loud. Engines still revved. People still shouted. Music still pulsed. But the little bubble of sound your friends had made around you disappeared, leaving you exposed to the rest of it.
Leaving you with him.
Bakugou didnât say anything at first. He just stood there beside Kirishimaâs car, hands in his pockets now, posture loose like he hadnât noticed everyone had left.
You took a drag, eyes forward. You could feel him looking at you again. And it pissed you off because it made your skin feel too hot.
âYer still sulking?â Bakugou asked finally.
You exhaled smoke slowly. âStill breathing?â you shot back.
He snorted. âSâapparently a yes.â
You didnât answer.
The cigarette ember glowed when you inhaled, bright orange in the dark. You watched it like it was more interesting than his face.
Bakugou clicked his tongue. âYer dramatic.â
âYouâre obnoxious.â
âYeah,â he said easily. âAnd yer still mad.â
You flicked ash again. âBecause you drive like youâve got a death wish.â
ââCause I won,â he corrected.
You finally gave up and looked up at him. His eyes were sharp, even under the dingy street lamp Kirishima had parked his car under.
âYou won because you cut in,â you said, voice low. âYou donât get points for almost crashing into someone.â
He leaned closer a fraction, like he couldnât help himself. âItâs a street race,â he repeated exactly what heâd said earlier, though his voice was rougher than before. âYou want clean driving? Go to a track.â
You scoffed. âI donât want clean driving. I want you to stop acting like you own the road.â
Bakugouâs smirk was smaller now. âMaybe you should stop acting like you own the win.â
Your jaw tightened. âI earned it.â
âSo did I.â
You stared at him for a beat. Then you looked away again, cigarette between your fingers like a shield, muttering âwhateverâŠâ under your breath.
Bakugou was quiet for a second. Then, irritatingly softer â âYou didnât back off.â
You blinked, eyes flicking back to him. âWhat?â
His gaze didnât shift. âMost people wouldâve backed off when I cut in,â he said. âYou didnât.â
You swallowed, suddenly too aware of the warmth of his voice. âSo?â you asked, trying to sound bored.
âSo yer not all talk,â he finished.
You scoffed because if you didnât scoff, you mightâve smiled. âDonât start complimenting me,â you muttered. âItâs weird.â
Bakugouâs mouth twitched. âWasnât a compliment.â
âIt was.â
âIt wasnât.â
You rolled your eyes.
He leaned closer again, and you hated that your body noticed before your brain did.
âYou gonna keep smoking over here alone?â he asked.
âIâm not alone,â you snapped automatically.
His eyebrow lifted, and before you could even process what he was doing he snatched the cigarette out of your fingers before lifting it up to his own lips and taking a drag. ââŠRâyou seeing someone else I should be annoyed about?â
You stared at him, unsure of whether or not you were supposed to snatch your cigarette back from him or know what the fuck he was talking about.
âWhat?â
Bakugouâs smirk sharpened like heâd caught something. âNothing.â
You narrowed your eyes. âWhy would you be annoyed?â
âI wouldnât,â he said immediately, too fast.
You stared harder. Bakugouâs jaw flexed. âJust shut up,â he muttered, like he was mad at himself.
You huffed a laugh through your nose, surprised. Apparently you did have some affect on him after all.
âThatâs what I thought,â you let a small smirk peek through, as if you were challenging him.
Bakugouâs eyes flicked down to your mouth for a split second and then back up. âDonât get cocky, princess.â
Your stomach flipped unpleasantly. âDonât call me that.â
âMake me.â
You stepped closer without thinking, and Bakugou didn't even attempt to move back.
For a second, you forgot the crowd existed. You forgot the noise and smell of gasoline that filled the air. You forgot the fact that you had been basically ready to kill him earlier.
That was, until a voice cut through the air behind you. It felt as if a match had just been struck.
âAw,â Dabi drawled â his voice sounded too close to you. âLook at that.â
Your stomach dropped both at the sound, and how close to your ear it was. You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck prick up in attention. You didnât even have to turn around to know that he was smiling â you could just hear it in the lazy drag of his voice, as if he had all the time in the world.
âLeaving your little friends to flirt with some blond pretty-boy now?â He tutted, looking between the both of you, then the cigarette still perched between Bakugouâs fingers. âSharing cigarettes now, are we?â He gave you an exaggerated frown. âI thought that was our thing.â
He was leaning a little too comfortably in your space, looking pleased with himself as if he hadnât already worn out his welcome the first time heâd interacted with you. The blue of his eyes caught the headlights spilling across the lot, bright and wrong, like neon in the dark.
Bakugou, on the other hand, looked like someone had poured gasoline straight into his veins. His posture had shifted instantly â the lazy lean disappearing, shoulders squaring, jaw tightening so hard you could practically hear his teeth grind. That smugness he wore like armor earlier was gone, replaced with something colder and sharper.
Dabiâs gaze flicked over Bakugou, slow and deliberate, like he was taking inventory.
âYou know,â he said, voice dropping lower, like he was letting you in on a secret, âI leave you alone for ten minutes and you end up entertaining yourself with this.â
Bakugouâs eyes narrowed at those words, looking between the both of you as he took another drag of the cigarette before flicking it onto the ground and stomping on it.
âWhat do you want, Touya?â you asked, voice flat.
Dabiâs mouth twisted. âItâs Dabi.â
âYeah,â you waved him off. âWhatever. What do you want?â
He clicked his tongue like you were being difficult on purpose. As if he wasnât the most pretentious, self-centered asshat in the entire world. âI wanted to drop you home pretty girl.â
You snorted. âNo thanks.â
Dabiâs eyes didnât leave your face. âYou always say that. And yet it always ends the same way anyways.â He rolled his eyes, bored. âWhy donât you quit being dramatic so we can move on already.â
You opened your mouth to bite back, but closed it when you noticed Bakugou shifted beside you â just a half-step, but it was enough that his shoulder was closer to yours, enough that he was clearly between you and Dabi without actually touching you.
Dabi noticed immediately, his gaze dropping to the space between you and Bakugou, then back up to Bakugouâs face. His eyes sharpened as he put his hands in his pockets, trying to look unbothered even though his tightened jaw told a different story.
âOh?â he said, trying to make his voice sound light. âSo thatâs what this is.â He made a quick glance back at you as he scoffed. âYouâre whoring yourself out to the winners now because you couldnât get there yourself?â
For half a second the world went very, very still. You felt the heat rise up the back of your neck before your brain even caught up to what heâd said.
âExcuse me?â you snapped.
Dabi shrugged like heâd just commented on the weather. âJust saying,â he drawled. âYou always had a thing for attention.â
You took a step forward before you could stop yourself, but Bakugouâs arm shifted out slightly in front of you without even looking, blocking you like it was instinct.
âWatch your mouth,â Bakugou said flatly, now looking at Dabi as if he were an insect that happened to buzz by at the wrong time.
Dabiâs gaze snapped back to him, his eyebrows immediately lifting as he sized Bakugou up. âOh? You speaking for her now?â
Bakugou didnât blink. âSomeone has to.â
With that the air tightened, and you could almost feel the pressure between them building up in your ears as you stared between them â feeling almost powerless to respond.
Dabi scoffed, but the edge in his smile had sharpened. âRelax, blondie,â he said lazily. âThis doesnât concern you.â
Bakugouâs jaw flexed and he raised his eyebrow in disapproval. âLooks like it does.â
Dabiâs eyes flickered back to you, and then down to your arm. Before you could even react to anything that they had just saidâ
Dabiâs hand shot out. His fingers were immediately wrapped around your wrist, hard and squeezing.
âCâmon,â he said, already tugging. âLetâs go.â
Your stomach immediately dropped as you planted your heels into the asphalt and yanked back. âLet go.â
His grip tightened instead as he glared back at you. âStop acting like you donâtââ
âHey.â
Bakugouâs voice cut through the moment like broken glass â low and dangerously calm. Glancing up at his face though, that was a different story.
âTake your hand off her.â
Dabi didnât even look at him. âYou gonna make me?â
You didnât even have time to blink between the wordâs leaving Dabiâs mouth and Bakugou clamping his hand around your arm, yanking you free from Dabiâs grip â and his other fist connected with Dabiâs jaw.
The crack echoed sharp across the lot as Dabi staggered backward with a grunt, one hand flying up to his face as he stumbled into the side of a nearby car.
You blinked. âWhat theââ
âMove.â Bakugou grabbed your wrist, not waiting for you to argue as he hauled you forward, his feet immediately pounding against the asphalt as he started running. Your brain barely had enough time to catch up as your body followed in suit without thinking â stumbling and tripping as you tried to match his pace.
âHey!â you could hear Dabiâs voice from behind you, exploding from across the lot. âYouâre dead, you fucking asshole!â
You twisted your head just long enough to see him shove off the car heâd stumbled into, fury twisting across his face as he started after the both of you.
Oh shit.
Bakugou just tugged on your wrist as he noticed you slowing down, not leaving any room for you to slow down even as you began to wheeze slightly.
âRun faster.â
âI amââ Your voice cracked as you tried to simultaneously keep up with him and pull your arm from his grip so you could slip away.
His grip tightened as his legs began to pump faster, forcing you along with him. âNot fast enough.â
He suddenly skidded as he slowed down, almost letting you knock into him before he cut between two pickup trucks. The bright orange hood of his car suddenly appeared between them like a beacon.
Your could feel your heart hammering in your chest as your lungs burned. The chaos of the lot blurred past you in streaks of headlights and shadows as you both approached his car.
Bakugou reached first, yanking open the passenger door.
âGet in.â
You didnât argue â or even look back, for that matter â as you practically dove into the seat with the door slamming shut behind you.
You watched as Bakugou sprinted around the hood before jumping into the driverâs seat and immediately starting the car. The engine roared to life instantly, and you could feel the car vibrate around you as you twisted in your seat to look behind you: just in time to see Dabi reaching his own car with a pinched expression on his face.
âHoly shi-â
âSeatbelt,â Bakugou immediately snapped.
You fumbled with it for a moment as Bakugou shoved the car into gear. âIâm trying!â
Through the side mirror, you saw Dabiâs car flare to life as his headlights flashed, his engine already on and his exhaust already roaring.
Bakugou only smirked as he readjusted his center mirror, as if he was confirming what you were seeing. âHold on.â
Bakugou slammed on the gas, and the tires screamed in response as the car launched forward so violently that it made your stomach drop straight into your ass.
âBakugouâ!â you shouted, your back slamming into the seat.
Wind blasted through the cracked window, whipping your hair into your face as the lot blurred behind you â headlights and bodies and spilled beer and that greasy food-truck smell all smearing into one ugly streak behind the glass. You twisted around in your seat, adjusting to take a peek through the back window.
You spotted Dabiâs car just a little ways behind you â already tearing out of the lot with his headlights blazing, engine howling as he shot onto the street after.
âHoly fuck,â you breathed, heartbeat stuttering. âHeâsâ Heâs actuallyââ
Bakugouâs laugh was short and sharp, like he couldnât help it.âYeah, he is.â
You whipped your head toward him. âWhy are you laughing?!â
âBecause,â Bakugou said, eyes locked on the road ahead, ânow itâs fun.â
Your stomach flipped again as he whipped the wheel and shot through a small, empty intersection without even tapping the brakes. The car lurched sideways as the tires screeched against the pavement, and the sudden shift sent your shoulder slamming hard into the door with a jolt that rattled through your teeth. Your brain immediately supplied a very unhelpful image of bright orange paint getting scraped clean off against the curb.
You immediately grabbed the sides of the seat so hard your fingers hurt, not because you were scared of speed â speed was familiar â but because the idea of Bakugouâs stupid, obnoxious, shiny orange car getting a scratch made your skin crawl in a way that was honestly humiliating.
âThis is not fun!â you snapped anyway, because you refused to let him have the satisfaction.
Bakugouâs grin flashed in the dim light. âGive it a minute.â
Headlights suddenly flared in the rearview mirror â almost blinding from how bright and close the light had reflected into the car. Dabi was already way too close to the both of you.
âHeâs not going to just let us go now,â you said, voice going tight.
Bakugouâs grin only widened with those words. âGood.â
âBakugou, what the fuckââ
âHold on,â he cut in before he slammed on the gas again.
The car surged forward like it had been waiting for permission as the streetlights ahead stretched into long, blurry streaks of white and gold.
The fear hit first â not about the driving, not really â but about how personal this was now. Dabi wasnât chasing just a car â heâd done that before based on whims. He was chasing you and Bakugou. He was chasing whatever stupid possessive idea he had in his head. Then the adrenaline followed: hot, electric, and addictive.
The speed pressed you into the seat, dragging a laugh out of your throat that you didnât mean to make.
Bakugou glanced sideways at you for half a second, eyes gleaming like heâd been waiting for that. âSee?â he said, voice smug. âFun.â
You swallowed hard, still gripping the seat. âShut up,â you breathed â but it didnât sound as convincing as you wanted.
And behind you, Dabiâs headlights stayed locked on like a threat that refused to blink. In response, Bakugou quickly threw the car into another turn, the wheel jerking hard under his hands as the entire vehicle swung sideways for a heartbeat before the tires caught the pavement again with a loud thunk.
You slammed into the opposite side this time, hissing as you grabbed the handle on the door to keep yourself from tumbling over straight into Bakugouâs lap.
âBakugouâ!â
âRelax!â he barked, eyes locked forward.
âRelax?!â you shrieked. âYOUâRE DRIVING LIKE A PSYCHOââ
âAnd?â He shot back, shifting gears without even glancing at you.
The engine roared louder as he accelerated again. The street ahead of you stretched out long and dark, headlights cutting a bright tunnel through the night as the city whipped past in fragments â brick buildings, street signs, the occasional parked car that flashed by too fast for your brain to process.
You twisted in your seat again â Dabiâs headlights were still there, bright and relentless.
âFuckerâs still there,â you muttered under your breath.
Bakugou glanced at the rearview mirror for half a second before his grin returned. âNot for long.â
You stared at him like heâd just announced he planned to rob a bank.
âYou sound way too excited about this.â
âBecause I am.â
The car surged forward again, the engine churning as he pushed it harder.
Your pulse thundered in your ears, more from the situation than anything else â because part of you couldnât stop replaying the crack of Bakugouâs fist on Dabiâs face, the way Dabiâs hand had been on your wrist like you were something he could just take. And now you were in Bakugou Katsukiâs car, flying through the city with Dabi chasing your taillights like a psycho.
If you told Mina this later she would actually explode.
In a small moment of pure amazement, you laughed. It burst out of you before you could even stop it: short and breathless. You almost sounded half hysterical as you could feel small tears form at the corners of your eyes.
Bakugouâs eyes flickered sideways for a split second. âYou losing it over there?â
You gripped the seat harder, a grin spreading across your face despite the adrenaline buzzing under your skin.
âThis is insane." You couldn't stop yourself from saying something.
âTold you.â
Behind you the headlights flared again, closer now.
âFuck heâs gaining!â you snapped, your eyes flickering between the road in front of you and the side mirror.
âPersistent bastard.â
The car tore through another intersection, the light overhead flashing red just as you blasted through it. Somewhere to your right a horn blared in protest, and a flash of movement â a car creeping forward, then jerking back like the driver realized at the last second they didnât want to be part of this.
Bakugou didnât even flinch. He just turned the wheel sharply, and the car drifted into a narrow street, rubber screeching against the asphalt as the back end slid before snapping back into place.
Your stomach lifted â not with fear, but with that familiar, wicked thrill of perfect control right on the edge of chaos.
Bakugou laughed again, peeking at the grin that had now taken over your entire expression, your eyes light and happy.
âYouâre having fun.â
You were snapped out of your enjoyment almost immediately with his smug comment, instead snapping, âIâm annoyed,â as you tried to hide your glee.
Bakugouâs smirk deepened. âSure.â
Ahead of you, the street opened up in front of you â long and empty, with a long line of streetlamps lining the sides. It was basically perfect.
Bakugou floored it, and the car lunged forward once more, causing the seatbelt to bite into your shoulder as you slammed back into the seat. The buildings blurred past in streaks of shadow with streetlights flickered overhead like a strobe. The air pushing through the cracked windows howled and screeched as it whipped both yours and Bakugoâs hair around your faces.
Dabiâs headlights still flickered behind you, but began to fall back after a few seconds.
âAlmost,â Bakugou muttered under his breath before suddenly veering left into another side street, fast enough that you barely had time to grip onto the seat before you smashed into the door again.
The tires slid against the pavement as the car skidded through the tight alleyway. But Bakugou corrected like it was nothing, snapping the car straight with a precision that made your throat tighten.
Your eyes quickly flicked back to the side mirror, but your breath suddenly hitched when you realized that the road behind you was empty.
There were no headlights behind you anymore, and no roaring engine right at your tail. Only the faint glow of streetlamps falling behind you like spilled coins filled the darkness of the road.
Bakugou began to slow down slightly, coasting through the short street like he wanted to be sure.
One second. Two. Three.
Still nothing.
Bakuogu let out a satisfied exhale through his nose, letting his shoulders un-tense as he sank further into his seat. âFinally lost âim.â
Then the tension in your shoulders finally snapped, and you laughed â full-body, shaking, the kind of laugh that felt like your ribs were too small to hold your adrenaline.
âHoly fuck,â you breathed, wiping at your face like you could physically remove the rush. âHoly shit.â
Bakugou glanced over at you, smug grin still there but softer now, like heâd won a different kind of race.
âTold you.â
You huffed a sound that was half laugh, half scoff. âDonât,â you muttered. âDonât start.â
Bakugouâs eyes flicked over your face like he was taking you in again, cataloging. âYouâre smiling.â
âIâm not.â
âYou are.â
You glared at him, simply muttering âShut up.â
He chuckled and kept driving, slower now, weaving out of the tight streets and into quieter roads where the city lights thinned out and the air felt cooler through the window.
The silence that followed wasnât awkward. It was⊠loud in a different way. It was the kind of silence where you suddenly realize youâre alone with someone in a way you didnât plan for. You glanced at the dashboard, then out the windshield.
The horizon ahead was starting to lighten â not full sunrise, but a soft bruised gradient of dark navy bleeding into gray, like morning was creeping in reluctantly.
Bakugou drove up a winding hill road, the city dropping lower behind you with every curve. His headlights cut over the asphalt, briefly illuminating patches of cracked pavement and scattered gravel before swallowing it again, before finally pulling into a small overlook. There was a rough patch of gravel and dirt at the edge of the hill, a place where many cars had definitely parked before to enjoy the view. The tires crunched as he parked, leaving the engine idled as he shifted into park. The engine was much quieter now, but still rumbled: low and steady, as if it didnât want the night to end.
For a moment neither of you moved.
Your pulse was finally slowing, but the adrenaline was still there, humming under your skin as you stared out at the city below. It looked unreal from up here â lights, streets, and chaos reduced to a glittering sprawl. The sky at the horizon had started to glow faintly, the first hint of sunrise pulling color into the bleeding dark of the night sky.
Bakugou leaned back in his seat, one hand still on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. He didnât look so smug now, justâŠawake. Present.
It was as if the night had peeled a part of him open.
You swallowed before speaking, your throat dry. âYou bring all your groupies up here?â
Bakugou seemed almost taken aback for a second, giving you a slightly squinted look before he shook his head. âFuck no. Just come âere sometimes to get away.â
You just nodded, suddenly feeling like an idiot. Why did I have to say it like that?
Another pause of silence followed, with only the sound of your breathing to keep you company.
âYou punched him,â you said finally, voice quieter than you meant.
Bakugouâs gaze flickered over to you. âHe grabbed you,â he replied, like that was the entire explanation and he didnât need any more.
You blinked as if someone had squirted water in your face.
âThatâsââ you started, then stopped, because you didnât know what the hell you were trying to say.
Bakugouâs jaw tightened slightly. âYou said no,â he added, rougher. âHe didnât listen.â
Your chest did something stupid and tight. "Doesnât mean you have to start swinging,â you muttered, like it was a complaint.
Bakugou huffed. âYeah it does.â
âYouâre insane,â you snorted.
âI know.â
You were fine leaving the conversation at that, but a quieter, âYou okay?â left Bakugouâs mouth.
You blinked again. The question probably shouldnât have surprised you so much, but it did anyway.
âYeah,â you answered.âIâm fine.â
Bakugouâs eyes stayed on you for a second too long, like he didnât believe you. Then he finally looked back out at the horizon.
The sky was starting to get lighter, the gray turning softer, warmer. The edges of clouds were starting to catch a pale orange glow.
You shifted in your seat, suddenly too aware of the fact that your knee was angled toward him, and that heâd taken your cigarette earlier like it belonged to him, and that youâd stepped closer when heâd told you to make him stop calling you princess.
Bakugou spoke again, his voice low. âThat guy â Dabi.â
âYeah?â
âHe yer boyfriend?â
You turned your head to face his sharply. âFuck no.â
Bakugouâs shoulders relaxed just a fraction, like something in him had untethered itself. âGood.â
You narrowed your eyes immediately. âWhy.â
Bakugou didnât answer right away, just staring out at the horizon, jaw flexing as if he was having some secret, internal argument with himself that you werenât allowed to know about. He looked back at you for a moment, his expression sharp and steady. For once, he didnât look cocky.
ââCauseâŠI donât like how he looks at you,â he said simply.
You stared, watching as Bakugou's mouth twitched in response, like he regretted saying it.
âSo,â you said slowly,âYou were annoyed.â
Bakugou clicked his tongue. âI wasnât.â
âYou were,â you pressed, because if you stopped talking you might do something stupid like smile.
He leaned closer a fraction, eyes narrowing. âDonât get cocky.â
âThatâs what I thought,â you snorted a short laugh through your nose.
Bakugouâs gaze flickered down to your mouth for half a second, before he stared right back at your face.
It felt as if the air shifted in that moment, and the world was holding its breath. Maybe it was just you holding yours in response.
âYâstill mad I beat you?â Bakugou asked suddenly.
You scoffed, because it was safer than admitting anything else. âYeah.â
The smugness that was so familiar with his face returned â though it was smaller and sharper than normal. âGood.â
âWhy?â
ââCause it makes you try harder.â
âYouâre so full of yourself,â you muttered, rolling your eyes.
Bakugou leaned in a little more, slow enough that you couldâve pulled away if you wanted to. You didnât.
âAnd you keep coming back,â he stated matter-of-factly.
Your throat went dry, and all you could muster up was a whispered âShut up,â that didnât have any bite.
Bakugouâs hand lifted, fingers warm as they caught your chin and tilted your face toward him â firm, careful, like he was still checking whether youâd tell him to stop.
You didnât.
He paused just a fraction, eyes locked on yours, before he leaned in and kissed you.
It wasnât soft, but it wasnât cruel either. It was controlled in the same way he drove â precise, intense, like heâd decided this was happening and the rest of the world could deal with it.
For half a second you froze, unable to process what was happening or what you were even supposed to be doing at that moment. That was until you grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him closer, like you were still mad and this was the only way to shut him up.
Bakugou made a low sound in his throat â half a laugh, half something rougher â and kissed you back like heâd been waiting for you to do that all night.
When you finally pulled away, your breath came out uneven and your lips tingled from the lingering feeling of his lips on yours.
âYouâre a fucking problem,â you murmured, forehead resting close to his.
âSo are you.â
Outside the windshield, the sunrise finally started to spill over the horizon â pale gold washing across the city below, turning the chaos into something almost pretty.
Inside the car, you decided you didnât give a fuck: not while his hand was still warm against your jaw and not while the night had finally turned into morning and you were still there â breathing and kissing the guy that youâd wanted to kill only a few hours ago.
Bakugou nudged slightly closer again, his eyes suddenly appearing bright. âStill wanna set my car on fire?â
You scoffed, lips still too close to his. âMaybe.â
He flashed a grin as he chuckled. âThought so.â
katsuki bakugo was in love. it was such a strange thingâ both familiar and new, he just wanted this feeling to stay forever in his heart.
itâs just another story of the hero who falls for the side kick, who could get tired of a classic?
you were always around, a background character but he would always notice how your face was never a blur like all the others in this damned agency. one day you spoke to him with a snark attitude that challenged his own and the next thing he knew you were always around.
no matter what he did, you were right there. in the middle of the hot summer afternoons he would look through the crowd of fans and see you, just another sidekick no one even cared to ask directions to but you always stood, tall and strong, with that smile he wondered what kind of secrets or troubles hid behind.
finally the idea of you being anywhere he wasnât just felt wrong. god, what was his life before you? some show off tough guy who only talked to five peopleâ that was still him.
but you were everything he needed, the extra push on his hard days and the one who never dared question what this was or ask for a label. because there really was known (yet), you were just a team.
he figured you felt the same way with how you never questioned him, how he comments on your mistakes and reminds you just why he took you under his wing and you would nod and take the blows or bite back saying he was lucky you stayed.
years of raising and falling through the charts; when your name was always spoken alongside his.
but he never had to say anything and neither did you. katsuki bakugo didnât need to say some cheesy punk-ass confession when he holds himself up and looks into your eyes.
âyou always make that face when youâre thinking about something stupid.â
the bright lights made him dizzy, or maybe that was you. he was quiet tonight. âwhat face? i donât make a face, so fix your eyes.â
belly half full with convenient store food and conversations were always so easy. nights like these where the hours flew by, just sticking to route and keeping an eye out for suspicious persons. this part of the city didnât get much action; a reason why he hated it.
he starts to think about you and the way his heart clenches in response.
the way you look at him makes the hero crack, chest puffing out and he has to look down at the busy traffic to stop from smiling. âjust some shitâs been bothering me lately, i guess.â
âthe great pro dynamight, bothered over shit? the news would have a field day with this one, you should talk to someone about this.â you smile, âthis isnât good for you, katsuki.â
âfuck off. i miss you is all, itâs been a while.â
you touch his cheek, over those faint freckles just peeking from under his mask, and your lips meet, a warm and soft spot for both of you to land. katsuki pulls away, pupils wide and captivated as he stares at you.
âiâll see you again?â he asks.
"yes," you whisper, then lean in to kiss him again, and again.
eventually he opens his eyes when a noise steals his attention, loud commotion and he leans over to see two people running from a shop, shoving random pedestrians as an older man yells for help after being robbed. what a pity, and just as the sun peeks over the horizon.
he was alone on that rooftop.
the hero waits a moment before standing up, cursing under his breath stretching his sore arms and quickly starts to follow in pursuit before dispatch even calls it in.
did i tell u guys i got into an argument on twitter bc i said foxes are dogs and someone tried to bring up their actual fuckin. classification or whatever and i just said âfoxes are dogs cause they are fluffyeâ and they kept arguing with me. the entire time i was like âyou will not survive the immigration to tumblr you are lucky we are not there right nowâ
There's an unspoken rule that gets established early on in your relationship with Bakugo, one that he assumes you know after a few months together.
The rule in question? You need to kiss him three times before you leave his apartment; one for luck, one for the road, and one just because.
One day, you're in a rush to get out the door, running late for a lunch date with your friends. You're bouncing around his apartment to be sure you have everything â phone, keys, wallet â and place a quick kiss to his lips as you pass by him in the living room. "I'll be back in a few hours, love you!"
Bakugo grabs your wrist gently, tugging you back toward him with a pout on his face. "Nuh uh, c'mere." He pulls you over his lap, cradling you while tilting your chin up to face him. "You're askin' for trouble if you think we're done here, sweets."
You blink at him in confusion. He rolls his eyes, no actual annoyance behind it, and shakes his head. "Ya only gave me one kiss, you know better than that."
"Oh, so I owe youâ"
"Damn right you do," he cuts you off with a cocky little smirk that he's too good at doing. "Three â no ifs, ands or buts. And mean it, none'a those quick bullshit pecks, real kisses."
Of course, what were you thinking? You lean forward and press the first kiss to his lips, soft and gentle. "One," you whispers before following up with two more, slow and purposeful. "Two and three."
"Much better," Bakugo whispers with a genuine smile. He lets you get back to your feet, a large palm on the small of your back to support you. He pats the back of your thigh once you're steady. "Love you too. Have fun with the girls, but not too much fun. Don't wanna chase ya down the sidewalk again after you throw back four mimosa pitchers to yourselves."
note: still wanna smooch him 3000 more times. the idea of him pouting about not getting real kisses makes me wanna melt. like oh I'm sorry you want affection? my bad mister anti-touch lol
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