Burned But Not Gone I Dabi x Reader
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You'd known the Todoroki family for as long as you could remember. Your parents went way back decades, bound by old hero circles and social expectations.
And once upon a time, you had known Toya Todoroki.
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You met Touya because your parents and Todoroki Enji were "old friends."
That was what they always called it, though even as a child you could sense the falseness behind their smiles — the way your mother's eyes would tighten when Enji boomed his laugh, the way your father's posture stiffened whenever Rei Todoroki hovered silently in the background like a ghost.
The Todoroki estate was enormous, cold, immaculate. You always felt small there, like a fragile ornament that might crack if you spoke too loudly.
And Touya... Touya was the opposite of everything that house stood for.
You were only seven when you first saw him cry.
Enji was on the training field, roaring orders like cannon fire. Touya's flames blazed brighter than the sun for a heartbeat — and then sputtered out, leaving his hands red and blistered.
"Pathetic," Enji spat. "Again. You'll never surpass me at this rate."
Rei stood nearby, not intervening, just wringing her hands. Your own parents watched from the patio with polite nods, sipping tea like this was some theater performance instead of a child being broken down.
Your mother whispered, "At least he's pushing the boy to be great," and your father murmured, "We should start [Y/N]'s quirk training soon. Don't let her fall behind."
You remember clutching the hem of your shirt so hard your fingers hurt.
Later, when the adults were gone, you found Touya in the garden behind the koi pond, tears streaking soot down his face. He'd tried to hide them, burying his hands in the dirt like he could smother the fire out of himself.
"I'm not strong enough," he muttered.
"You are," you said, and you meant it.
You remember many of these afternoons in the Todoroki estate's garden, where you and Toya would sneak away from his father's grueling training sessions. When It was just the two of you, he would grin widly at you, showing you how he could make fire dance on his palm. Still being proud to be a fire Qurik user, despite his Father's abuse.
"You won't tell, right? I'm not allowed to heat up the flames this much." he'd whispered once, holding a flame dangerously close to his own skin.
Your parents never screamed like Enji did. They were polished, perfect people. Their cruelty was soft-edged — expectations dressed as compliments, control disguised as care.
"Stand straight. Smile. Be graceful, dear," your mother would chide whenever you laughed too loud around Touya.
"Don't distract him from his goals," your father warned you. "He needs focus, not playmates."
They let you see him only because it pleased Enji to have your families mingle — a networking game. You were a prop in their ambition, not a child with her own heart.
But Touya didn't treat you like that.
With him, you could be messy. Loud. Real. He'd sneak you dango from the kitchen, whisper jokes during stiff family dinners, and light those tiny flames on his fingers just to make you giggle.
In those moments, you both stopped being pawns in your parents' war for prestige.
As the years passed, you saw Touya push himself harder, chasing a father's approval that never came. His skin would crack and peel from burns. His smile grew strained. And still Enji only barked, "More."
Your parents noticed his "instability" and started pulling you away.
"He's becoming... volatile," your mother said, lips pursed. "Stay distant. Don't let his failure drag you down."
"He's not a failure!" you snapped once, earning a sharp slap of your father's voice: "Watch your tone."
So you watched from a distance as Touya burned himself alive for a man who wouldn't even look at him with pride.
Swallowed by an inferno of flames.
The funeral was small and cold.
Your parents said it was tragic, yes — but also inevitable. A weak flame sputtering out.
You stopped visiting the Todorokis after that. You stopped letting your parents tell you who to be.
But you never stopped missing him.
When you turned 18 you immediately moved out of your childhood home, having never looked back since.
After Toya's death, you severed everything — the Todorokis, your own parents, the suffocating world of hero prestige.
They called you ungrateful. They said you were throwing away a "future."
You moved cities. Changed your name on paperwork. Got a small apartment with cracked tiles and a window that stuck when it rained. You worked a simple job at a quiet cafe, keeping your head down, making your own choices.
For the first time in your life, no one was measuring your worth.
You told yourself you were happy.
It was late when you locked up the shop and started home, the streetlamps casting pale circles on the empty sidewalks.
That's when you heard it: the scream.
Then the sky split open with blue-white fire.
A villain attack — sudden and brutal. A dozen of them flooding the streets like a wave of teeth. Buildings crumbled under explosive blasts. Shards of glass rained down like cruel glitter.
You froze as a pro hero flew past, bleeding from a gash in their side. Another hero was pinned to a wall by a spear of ice, blood painting the bricks in violent streaks. Sirens wailed; people stampeded over each other trying to flee.
A man beside you was crushed under falling debris. His scream cut off like a snuffed candle.
Your ears rang. Your heartbeat roared in your skull.
You obeyed, stumbling into a side alley where a cluster of terrified civilians had already taken shelter — pressed against the walls, hands clamped over their mouths to stay silent. The air reeked of smoke and iron.
Someone whimpered, "We'll be okay here. They'll pass—"
Then the world turned blue.
He stepped into the alley like the embodiment of hellfire.
Tall. Thin. Stitched together like something the fire had chewed and spat out. Blue flames coiled lazily from his hands, lighting the wet brick walls in eerie cobalt.
You knew that name. You'd seen his smirk on the news, painted across crime scenes. A mass murderer. A ghost story the media couldn't stop chasing.
"Found you," he rasped, voice dragging like sandpaper.
It was instant and merciless — a wave of searing blue fire flooding the alley, turning flesh to ash, screams to silence. The smell of burning meat clawed at your throat.
You hit the ground, arms over your head, waiting for the pain to come—
When you dared to lift your head, everyone around you was gone. Nothing remained but scorched black outlines on the walls.
You were still breathing. Still whole.
Dabi stood over you, flames guttering low now, his expression unreadable behind the curtain of shadow and smoke.
For a long, unbearable moment, he just stared. Those eyes — pale, cold, and flickering with some buried recognition — locked on yours.
You forced yourself to stand. Your legs wobbled, your voice broke when you spoke.
His head tilted, just slightly.
"Why didn't you kill me?" Your voice grew louder, steadier with the rising tide of panic. "Why are you just—just standing there? Looking at me like—"
"Like what?" he interrupted, voice raspy.
Your words hung between you, trembling in the smoke.
For a heartbeat, you thought you saw something in his eyes — a flicker of recognition, like a buried ember glowing beneath ash.
He turned his back to you, the motion unhurried, his boots crunching on burnt debris.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said quietly. Not cold. Not angry. Just... distant.
No flourish of fire, no threat, no explanation.
Leaving you alone in an alley full of ashes, your hands shaking and your heart clawing at your ribs — confused, terrified, and more haunted than you had been since the day Toya Todoroki had died.
Todoroki Enji looked older. Those terrifying blue eyes that had once glared like molten steel now flickered with an imitation of warmth.
"[Y/N]," he said, smiling as though the sound of your name wasn't ash on his tongue. "It's been... far too long."
His voice was deep and even, polished like the rest of him. You almost laughed.
Once, you had watched this man crush his own son's spirit under the weight of impossible expectations. You had watched him glare at you for distracting Toya, like children's laughter was poison.
Now he was playing at kindness.
Your fingers dug crescent moons into your palms.
"Sit," he said gently, as if you were some skittish animal. "You've been through something horrible tonight. I just want to help."
You forced your gaze to meet his, steady and ice-cold.
"I didn't ask for your help."
That made his smile twitch, but he didn't drop it. "Still. You're safe now. You've always been... almost part of the family. I take that seriously."
The word family cracked through you like lightning.
"Don't pretend I was ever part of that family," you said, each word sharp enough to cut. "You used to hate when I even spoke to Toya. You hated that he smiled when I was around."
Something dark flashed across his face, quick as a shadow over fire. But then it was gone, replaced by that calm, patient expression he wore now like a badge.
"I've changed," he said quietly. "Being Number One... it forces you to. I've learned from the past."
"No," you said. "You've learned how to act."
The silence that followed was deep enough to drown in.
You could see the muscles in his jaw twitch.
You didn't give him the satisfaction.
"Take my report," you said flatly. "Then let me leave. Because I don't want to breathe the same air as you any longer than I have to."
He said nothing for a long, long time.
Then he nodded once, curtly.
"Fine," he said. "Let's get this over with."
As you recounted every bloody detail — the fire, the screams, the way Dabi's eyes had lingered on you — you could feel Enji's gaze on you like a weight. It wasn't concern. It was calculation.
And as they finally released you hours later, you stepped out of that pristine building and into the night, one truth carving itself deeper into your bones:
Enji Todoroki hadn't changed.
He had only learned how to wear a mask.
It had been days since that night, but the memory of it still clung to you like smoke.
The city had already moved on, spinning Dabi's rampage into another headline, another spectacle to gasp at between morning coffees. But the media frenzy only made your skin crawl. His name was everywhere now, burned into every broadcast — DABI, the rising villain, the man who painted the sky with blue fire.
You hadn't left your apartment for three days. You'd sat curled on the couch with the blinds drawn, listening to the sirens wail outside, trying not to hear the echo of crackling flames behind your eyelids every time you blinked.
The worst part was not knowing why.
Not knowing why you were still here.
Enji Todoroki's hero agency had called you several times, asking for more details. Every time you answered, it felt like shoving your hand back into the fire. You gave them nothing new. Because what could you say? That the infamous villain had looked at you like a ghost from his past?
They wouldn't understand.
And even if they did, you didn't want him to.
The way Enji's voice had softened when he saw you, the way he had said "you've always been almost part of the family" like that was something warm — it made bile rise in your throat.
You remembered what being "almost part of the family" had meant back then.
It meant sitting silently while Enji screamed at Toya until his voice cracked, while your own parents sipped tea and said nothing.
It meant being told to stand straight and smile while cried behind the koi pond.
It meant watching someone burn alive under the weight of expectations, and being told to call it ambition.
You would never forgive any of them for that.
By the fourth day, you forced yourself back to work. The café felt like a different world — warm, small, alive with the smell of espresso and cinnamon. Ordinary. Safe.
For a while, you could almost pretend.
Until the bell above the door chimed.
You looked up — and froze.
Shoto Todoroki stood there.
Older now, taller, but unmistakable. His dual-colored hair caught the morning light, and those mismatched eyes watched you carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal.
"[Y/N]?" he asked softly, voice low and unsure. "It's... been a while."
"Yeah," you said slowly. "You've grown."
He almost smiled. "My father asked me to check on you. And... to ask again about that night."
You swallowed. "I've told him everything I know."
"I figured," he said simply. There was no pressure in his voice, no hint of his father's domineering weight. Just quiet. Measured.
It made something in your chest unclench.
"It's not your fault," you added gently. "Any of it. It was never your fault."
His expression softened — just a fraction, like frost melting on glass.
"Thanks," he murmured. Then, hesitantly, "Could I... place an order? For my class. Cakes. A lot of them."
The whiplash made you laugh — really laugh, for the first time in days. "Yeah. Sure. I can do that."
He handed you a list scrawled in neat handwriting, and you scribbled down the order on your pad, your hands finally steady again.
Shoto waited quietly, gaze wandering around the little café. And for a moment, he looked like a boy, not a weapon.
When he left, receipt tucked into his pocket, the bell chimed behind him and the shop fell quiet again.
You stood behind the counter, staring at the empty doorway.
For a few fleeting minutes, it had almost felt like life was normal again.
Later that evening, long after the last customer had left, you closed up the café in silence.
The little shop was dim now, shadows pooling in the corners, the air still fragrant with sugar and roasted coffee beans. You moved on autopilot — tying up boxes, double-checking names, carefully stacking Shoto's order in the back of your little delivery van.
By the time you slid into the driver's seat, the streets were painted in amber streetlight, the city quiet and half-asleep.
U.A. High School loomed softly against the night sky when you arrived, glowing with the warm light of dorm windows. You almost didn't want to step out of the van — the sight of it stirred something deep in your chest, something wistful and heavy all at once.
Inside, the dorms were chaos in the best way.
A wave of students greeted you at the door, voices bubbling over each other when they saw the boxes.
"Holy crap, they smell amazing—"
"Shoto, you're a legend!"
They swept the cakes away with grateful cheers, and for a few minutes, the air was thick with laughter and the crinkle of pastry boxes being torn open. The dorm was warm and alive — so different from the cold, cavernous house where you'd first met this family.
And at the edge of it all stood Shoto, quiet and composed, a soft thread of calm amid the noise. When he caught your eye, he nodded toward the porch.
You followed him outside into the cooler air, leaving the party glow behind.
"You've really grown up," you said softly, leaning against the railing. "You seem... steadier. Like you know who you are."
Shoto's gaze stayed on the courtyard lights below. "I'm trying," he said after a pause. "To be better. Not just strong. Better."
You watched him in profile — so much of Enji in his sharp jawline, and yet... none of him at all.
"I hope you become a good hero," you murmured. "The kind that makes people feel safe. Not the kind that makes them small."
Something flickered across his face, fleeting but real — relief, maybe. "I want that too."
You hesitated, then added, "You know... I don't hate you. For being his son."
His head turned sharply toward you, eyes widening just a fraction.
"It was never your fault," you said firmly. "Any of it. What happened to Toya. What Enji did. You were just a kid."
He blinked once, slow, like letting that truth sink in. Then his shoulders eased, and he nodded.
"Thank you," he said quietly. Then, after a beat, "We should... keep in touch. If that's okay."
A soft smile tugged at your lips — small, but real. "Yeah. I'd like that."
And for the first time in days, the weight on your chest loosened.
As you stepped off the porch, the chilly night air hit your face. A piece of your past, fragile but real, had returned: Shoto.
You let yourself smile faintly, savoring the warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with your parents, nothing to do with Enji. For once, it was just...hope.
And then everything shattered.
A rough hand clamped over your mouth and another wrapped around your waist, yanking you backward.
Blue fire flared behind you, painting the shadows in cruel, flickering light.
"Dabi," you hissed through the panic, struggling against the iron grip.
His eyes — those pale, piercing eyes — bored into yours. Recognition. Pain. Something...familiar.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said quietly, just as he had in the alley weeks ago.
Then chaos erupted around you.
Shouts. Crashing. Explosions.
The villains — dozens of them — had stormed the school grounds.
Students screamed, scattering in every direction, and alarms blared, echoing through the night. Blue fire hissed across the asphalt, searing the edge of a nearby dumpster. You twisted, straining against Dabi, but he didn't hurt you. Not yet.
"Get... back," he muttered, almost to himself, eyes darting over the chaos as he scanned the grounds.
You could see Shoto in the distance, already moving with practiced precision, deflecting a blast from one of the intruders. Your heart twisted in your chest.
"Why are you doing this," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Why do you want to hurt people, CHILDREN!"
He didn't answer. Only tightened his grip for a second, then released you, stepping back into the shadows.
The alley behind you suddenly erupted in flame as another villain charged at you. You ducked instinctively, heart hammering, panic clawing at your ribs.
And then Dabi moved — not toward you, not to strike — but to intercept the villain, blue fire carving through the darkness like a blade.
You froze, your chest heaving as Dabi tore through the chaos, every movement precise, deadly. And yet, he wasn't attacking you.
"Why...?" you yelled, voice cracking over the roar of fire and screams. "Why are you protecting me?!"
For a heartbeat, he didn't answer. Then his raspy, cocky voice cut through the chaos, carrying that same edge you remembered from years ago.
"Don't play with fire," he said, and the words weren't a warning—they were a claim, a memory, a confession all rolled into one. "or you will get burned. I'm the best example for that"
Your eyes locked with his, and for a terrifying, suspended moment, everything else disappeared. The screams. The flames. The chaos. It was just him. His pale, flickering blue eyes, sparkling in the firelight, familiar yet haunted.
Something inside your chest twisted. Recognition hit you like a lightning bolt, and your lips trembled as the truth clawed its way out.
"Toya..." you whispered, the name trembling in the dark.
He didn't answer. He gave a brief, almost imperceptible nod, then melted back into the shadows, moving with lethal grace, leaving you standing there amid the chaos, heart pounding, trembling from more than just fear.
And for the first time in years, you believed he might still be alive.
But alive didn't mean safe.
And as you watched him disappear into the night, blue flames flickering in the distance, you realized something else too: you had no idea what part of him remained... or what part of him you might still know.
After that night, you didn't sleep. Not really. Every evening, the city streets called to you, tugging at some thread you couldn't ignore. You wandered alleys, rooftops, and empty side streets, ears straining for the hiss of cobalt flames. Every report on Dabi made your chest tighten, every newsflash a spark of hope—or terror—that he might still be out there.
You checked every corner of the city, followed every rumor, every sighting. You even scoured the police reports and the hero agency dispatch logs. But nothing. No confirmation. No contact. Just silence—and the gnawing certainty that he was somewhere, watching, waiting.
Desperation finally drove you to Enji Todoroki.
The hero agency's office was cold, sterile, all steel and glass, every surface polished to perfection. You hated it instantly. It smelled of authority, of calculated control—the same as the Todoroki estate had, all those years ago.
"Enji," you said, your voice raw with urgency. "I know he's alive. Toya. I saw him. He protected me. You have to know. You have to tell me—"
He didn't even glance up from the papers on his desk. The faint twitch of annoyance at your insistence only made your pulse hammer faster.
"There is no way," he said, flat and final. "Toya is dead. That fire... it consumed him. It's been years. You need to accept it."
You felt a flush of anger, disbelief, and grief rise in your throat. "No! You don't understand! I saw him, Enji. I saw his eyes. He's out there. He is alive, and I—"
"Stop." His voice cut through you, sharp, polished, cold. "You're chasing ghosts. That boy is gone. You're letting your memory twist you, and it's dangerous."
"Dangerous?" you hissed, stepping closer. "You think I care about danger? I saw him! I know it! And I won't—can't—pretend like he's dead!"
Enji pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly, every line in his face taut with control. "You can't change what happened. You weren't there to stop it, and you never will be. Move on."
The words were meant to end the conversation. But something in your chest refused to obey. You wouldn't move on. You couldn't. Not when the boy you had loved—the boy who had been torn from you—was still out there, somewhere, burning in the shadows.
You left without another word. Outside, the city stretched before you, a cold maze of lights and smoke and empty streets. And you knew that, night after night, you would search. You would walk every alley, climb every rooftop, follow every ember of blue fire that cut through the darkness.
Because the boy you had once called Toya was alive.
And you wouldn't stop until you found him.
Even if finding him meant stepping back into the flames.
So you did. You stepped into the flames. Literally.
Sekoto Peak—the hill where Toya had fallen—was quiet under the moonlight, but your chest felt like it would burst. You carried a can of gasoline, hands shaking, and poured it across the familiar slope, watching the liquid coat the grass like liquid fire.
A match struck. A spark danced along the hill. The flames roared to life, licking the trees, illuminating the park in orange and red just like all those years ago. Smoke twisted into the sky, curling into the night as if reaching for him, calling him.
Your heart thumped violently. Maybe this will reach him. Maybe he'll see this.
Then, through the haze of heat and smoke, a familiar chill brushed against your skin.
The rasp of his voice cut through the roar of the fire. You stumbled back as he appeared, moving with effortless grace through the flames, eyes pale and piercing, glowing faintly with blue fire.
"Dabi..." you whispered, stumbling forward, tears streaking down your soot-streaked face.
He didn't answer. His hand reached for yours, guiding you away from the blaze, the heat nearly blistering your skin. You felt the familiar weight of him—solid, real, alive.
For a few heartbeats, you both stood there in silence. Nothing needed to be said. His eyes, those pale, flickering eyes, held the answers you had been desperate for: he was Toya. Alive. Burned, broken, a villain—but alive.
You could see it in his gaze, and you understood without words.
A small, almost imperceptible nod passed between you. Recognition. Confirmation. Connection.
Then, as suddenly as he appeared, he stepped back into the shadows. The night swallowed him, the blue fire fading into smoke and darkness.
You were left standing alone on the hill, the flames still dancing around you, your hands trembling, your chest tight—but your heart was full.
He was your friend. Your Toya. Even if the world called him a villain, even if the blue fire was a warning, even if he had changed in ways you didn't understand... he was there.
And for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to smile.
Even though he was burned, atleast your friend was still alive.
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Am I the only one that H.A.T.E.S. Enji? I don't CARE that he had a change of heart. Once an abuser, always an abuser. The Todoroki's deserv a happy ending but Enji needs some jail time, fr.
Btw, I was called in today to view an apartment so wish me luck. I manifested moving out in 2025.
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