Aki

21 👀 Bi-myself 🙃

[kkunai]

[ ₍ᐢ.◡.ᐢ₎ ] :: dad!toji taking care of megumi while you sleep, except it ends in disaster.

“tch—i’m really regretting buyin’ this thing.”

toji is running out of patience as he reads the instructions on the piece of paper in his hands. it’s all so vague; he’s questioning himself for even trying to figure this stuff out in the first place.

the small coos and babbles coming from megumi sound throughout the living room, the baby sitting in the pillow fort that his dad made him. the correct name would actually be ‘pillow jail’, since the fort isn’t built for megumi’s entertainment—it’s mainly to keep the little boy confined so toji can peacefully work on setting up the playhouse.

your husband is so intensly focused on putting the playhouse together to the point that he doesn’t even notice the little thief escaping his self-made jail.

megumi is crawling on his hands and knees, his palms making soft ‘pat’ sounds as they come in contact with the cold floor, pouty lips forming a smile as he crawls his way over to his dad. toji has his back facing megumi, giving the kid a good opportunity to sneak up on him.

“fuck,” toji curses idly as his hand slips and his finger bumps against his own face. not thinking much about that slip-up, the man continues to put the parts together, until he feels something tugging at his shirt from behind.

toji glances down and spots his son trying to climb up on his back—the journey up to toji’s broad shoulders being like climbing a mountain for such a little thing.

“phack!”

the cute voice from below repeats what it had heard with confidence. megumi uses all of his strength to reach up to his dad’s shoulders, repeating the used swear word proudly, a series of ‘phack! phack! phack!’ echoing louder in toji’s ears with each movement upwards.

the kid eventually reaches his destination, head placed right next to toji’s, chubby arms circling around his dad’s neck—basically hanging on for dear life.

toji isn’t even concerned about megumi repeating that bad word over and over. how his son has managed to break free from his confinement is of more importance. his green eyes land on the destroyed pillow fort behind his back and he can’t help but chuckle. almost proudly so.

“i see y’re already outsmarting your dad, kiddo,” toji grins, one hand coming up to stabilise megumi on his back.

the baby looks over his father’s shoulder, seemingly inspecting what he’s building. toji sighs as his free hand holds onto the piece of paper that included the instructions; “maybe you could’ve even helped me build this shitty thing if ya knew how to read.”

“sjiddy!”

it’s as if megumi is purposefully only picking out the curse words. toji chuckles at this and—unlike any other parent—encourages his child to continue for his own entertainment.

“mhm—tha’s right. repeat after me, son l the dark-haired man nods with a smug grin and points at the half-built playhouse, making sure megumi knew what he’s talking about, “that thing is shitty.”

“sjiddy! sjiddy!” the kid repeats loudly and giggles as his father ruffles his hair afterwards in a ‘job-well-done’ manner.

“good boy,” toji laughs softly, moving megumi over to his lap so it’d be more comfortable for the both of them, “y’r momma is gonna kill me if she hears you say such things, though.”

megumi tilts his head up until it rests against toji’s torso, big eyes glancing at the face hovering on top of his; “mama? mama ‘eepy.”

“no, mama isn’t.”

toji freezes in place, megumi gasps in delight.

you had awoken from your nap and decided to check in on your husband and son whom you had left alone for a few hours.

and, apparently, you can’t leave toji and megumi alone without it ending in your kid picking up on his dad’s bad habits.

you put your hands on your hips and glare at toji. he knows what time it is and he is not about to sit through another lecture. the last time you gave him an earful, he had to sit and listen to you scold him for almost an hour.

“shit.. gotta run,” toji immediately grabs tightly onto megumi, gets up and prepares to flee—not even realising that he cursed. again.

“sjit!” megumi giggles happily, the boy just having fun as his dad runs around with him, unaware of the reason nor of the meaning behind the words he’s repeating.

“mama shjit!”

toji’s eyes widened as he heard megumi combine the two words; mama—megumi’s favourite word—and shit, the bad word your son had just learnt.

your husband knows that that’ll only increase your fury more and thus shushes his kid while running around the house. your quick footsteps are just meters behind them;

“crap. shut it, megumi.”

“crap! dada crap!”

“…”

guess he had it coming.

[mimuju]

sukuna is not happy about piercing your daughters ears :c (reposted from mimuju!)

"no. absolutely not. you're not touching her."

sukuna's voice is a low growl, his massive arms wrapped protectively around your toddler daughter in the piercing chair. the lady with the piercing gun pauses, eyes wide at the tattooed giant glaring daggers from his spot beside you. 

she's tiny, maybe 2, all chubby cheeks and wild pink hair like her dad's, dressed in a frilly dress you picked out for her "big girl day," complete with little mary janes. you've been hyping it up for weeks—tiny sparkly studs, nothing crazy, just simple diamonds to match her eyes. but sukuna? he's been grumbling since you suggested it, muttering about "barbaric customs" and "ruining perfection."

"baby, it's just earrings," you say softly, squeezing his knee under the counter. "she'll look so cute! and it'll heal fast. millions of girls get this done."

he shoots you a look, all four eyes narrowing under those sharp black brows. "she's a baby. babies don't need holes poked in their heads. what if it gets infected? what if she hates it?" but he doesn't move, holding her steady on his lap, her little hands clutching his black shirt, babbling happily at the shiny gun like it's a toy.

the piercing lady smiles nervously, gun ready, trying to lighten the mood. "it'll be quick, sir. one little pop on each side. she's been great so far."

sukuna huffs, his breath ruffling your daughter's hair, but he nods once, jaw clenched so tight you see the muscle tick. "fine. make it painless or i'll make you regret it. i am unlike my wife, i have no mercy for mortals."

you bite back a laugh, watching him brace like he's facing a battlefield. the lady counts down—three, two, one—and pops the first stud through your daughter's earlobe. instant wail. a piercing cry that echoes in the small shop, her face scrunching up beet red, fat tears rolling down her chubby cheeks, little legs kicking wildly.

sukuna freezes, body going rigid, then twitches like he's been shot himself. "what the fuck was that?!" he snarls, his free hand slamming the counter hard enough to make the jewelry displays rattle, tattoos rippling across his skin like living shadows. all four eyes lock on the lady like he's about to curse her into oblivion right there. "do that again and you're fucking dead, you hear me?"

the poor woman stammers, the cheap piericng gun trembling in her hands, face paling. "i-it's normal! just the shock! she's fine, look—the second one's done already, see?" she pops the other ear quick as lightning, and your daughter's tiny fists flailing at the air, her cries turning into quiet hiccups.

you can't help it—you burst out giggling, hand over your mouth, tears in your eyes from laughing. "kuna, oh my god— she's fine! look, sparkles already! she's got her earrings, see how pretty?"

he ignores you completely, scooping her up fully into his massive arms, cradling her against his broad chest like she's made of glass. his glare stays pinned on the lady for a long beat, utterly murderous, promising vengeance, before it softens instantly on his girl. 

"shh, shh, my little princess. daddy's got you. that mean lady's gone forever, i swear it." he rocks her gently side to side, his huge hand patting her back in slow circles, the other stroking her wild pink hair with surprising tenderness. her cries taper to sniffly hiccups, soothed by his deep rumble of a voice humming some ancient, gravelly lullaby from his cursed past, the kind only you know about.

you lean in, kissing his stubbled cheek, still chuckling softly. "she won't even remember this tomorrow. but you'll be telling the story for years, won't you, kuna?"

he grunts, still shooting one last glare over his shoulder at the lady as you pay and gather her things. "no more piercings. ever." but he presses a soft kiss to her tiny forehead, her sparkly new earrings catching the shop lights like stars, and you know he's already melting inside, utterly whipped for his perfect little girl.

tags - babygirl : @sadisticslut666

perm - @whorishminds @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings @grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty @naammiii @liasacountgothacked @annicishana @my-starlights @error-racoon-404 @afreakforyautja @cupidstrace @iam-souless @sindulgent666 @chewiebee @tojisballhair @ex1acy @palanggaaa @yourlocalcatscammer @ehcilhc @gravecyte @restingoasis @satorupi @laburantesdoll @sxpernova @thethyri @lostgeto @lilytrn @mikaari0 @chososballhair @nanamissilkytie @iwasabs @tojis-juicymantitys @laitifly @farylfordaryl @bl1ndv3lvet @booboobear-12 @6arcxm @sleeplessdancer @chloeee20 @deartoru @neptunezxx @ash273819 @sketchbonked @vanillakirstein @valberryboos @itimisu @livviaaaaa @kebablover @babyluvlol @audreytoru

sukuna - @lav4mpira

[rllyobsessedgirlie]

3 times Frat!Kuna clocks misogynistic fratboys

Summary: Dating a women’s studies major has turned Sukuna into the frat house’s most feared feminist. Now the frat boys can’t make a sexist comment without getting a lecture, while you sit back and watch.

A/n: just fun lil thing i thought of :)

The frat house was unusually quiet, no music, no party, no sports discussions.

This was because Ryomen Sukuna was standing in the living room with his arms crossed, looking genuinely disappointed.

“Did you just call her a bitch?”

Satoru Gojo, halfway through stealing someone’s energy drink from the fridge, blinked. “What?”

“You called that girl a bitch.”

“She literally stole my hoodie after our hookup,” he shrugged him off.

Sukuna pointed at him. “And? Speak like a man. Have some respect.”

The room went silent.

Satoru looked around. “Did anyone else hear that?”

“No, seriously.” Sukuna continued. “You don’t get to call women bitches because you’re annoyed.”

Satoru stared. “Who are you?”

“My girlfriend says that’s misogynistic.”

“Your girlfriend also made you stop saying ‘females.’”

“And she was right, it’s disrespectful. Some shit incels say.”

The entire frat house collectively recoiled.

Across the room, you sat on the couch, sipping an iced coffee and watching the chaos unfold. A smile on your face, because god were you enjoying this.

This was better than reality TV.

Satoru pointed at you. “YOU DID THIS.”

You raised your coffee in acknowledgment.“Damn right.”

———————————————————————————————

The frat party was loud enough to shake the walls. Music blasted through the speakers.

Drinking games to your left, a fist fight to your right; and you were just observing from the kitchen.

And in the middle of it all, Toji was sprawled across the couch with a beer in hand.

His girlfriend was standing nearby talking to some friends when Toji waved his empty can in the air. “Hey.”

She glanced over. “Yeah?”

“Grab me another beer.”

A few people looked over.

She frowned. “What?”

“You heard me.” Toji pointed toward the kitchen. “Get me another beer.”

Before she could argue, another voice cut through the room.

“No.”

Toji closed his eyes. “…God.”

Across the room, Sukuna was already walking over.

You perked up immediately, ready for your boyfriend to set Toji straight.

Sukuna stopped directly in front of Toji. “Hell no.”

Toji looked exhausted. “No what?”

“No disrespecting your girl in front of me.”

A few people turned their attention to the potential altercation.

Toji rubbed his forehead. “I asked her to get me a beer.”

“You ordered her.”

“It’s not that serious, right baby?” He said, trying to save his ass.

Sukuna crossed his arms. “If you want a beer, use your legs, or ask nicely.”

Toji stared, “You cannot be real.”

His girlfriend was already trying not to laugh.

Sukuna pointed toward the kitchen, “Go get your own drink.”

“Or what?”

The entire room collectively leaned forward.

Sukuna grinned. “Or I’ll disrespect your face by punching it.”

You giggled. Only Sukuna could point out misogyny while trying to solve the issue with violence.

A guy standing nearby immediately whispered, “That’s the most Sukuna version of feminism I’ve ever heard.”

Toji looked around the room. Nobody was helping him. Not even a little, most probably in fear of Sukuna.

Finally, Toji sighed. “Fine.”

Sukuna nodded. “Good choice.”

Toji turned toward his girlfriend. “Sorry.”

She raised an eyebrow, suddenly she had more confidence than before. “Sorry for what?”

Toji was clearly embarrassed now, “Sorry for talking to you like that.”

“Thank you.”

Sukuna gave an approving nod. “There. Growth.”

“Shut it,” he said staring down Sukuna. “You know what? I’m getting my own beer.”

As Toji disappeared into the kitchen, the room broke into applause.

His girlfriend laughed and shook her head.

Then she turned to Sukuna. “Thanks.”

Sukuna shrugged. “Don’t thank me.”

He pointed across the room toward you. “Thank her.”

Everyone looked.

You were sitting comfortably on a stool in the kitchen; chin in hand, eating chips like you’d been watching a sporting event.

You gave a little wave.

“Kuna’s a women’s studies soldier ,” she said proudly. “I teach him everything I know.”

———————————————————————————————

The fraternity and sorority had gathered in one room to brainstorm ideas for a charity fundraiser. People were throwing out suggestions.

Raffles. Bake sales. Auctions.

Then Satoru snapped his fingers. “I got it.”

Immediately, you looked concerned, because he never had good ideas.

“We do a joint event with the sorority.” Satoru grinned. “The girls wear maid outfits and serve drinks.”

The room erupted into approval.

“That’s genius.”

“People would love that.”

“Easy money.”

Across the room, Sukuna slowly lowered the energy drink from his hand.

“Interesting.”

“NO,” Gojo yelled. “Let me have this one good idea,” he groans.

Sukuna stood. “Let me understand… the women wear maid costumes.”

“Yeah.”

“And serve drinks.”

“Yeah.”

“And what are the men doing?”

Toji shrugged. “We could do some strength challenge.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know. Lifting something heavy.” Several people nodded.

“Classic.” Sukuna stared. Then looked at you, looking for approval to go on a rant.

Sukuna turned back to the room. “The women get assigned a service role. The men get assigned a strength role.”

More silence.

“Based on gender.”

The room collectively sighed.

Sukuna pointed dramatically. “Why.”

Satoru finally spoke. “Because that’s what people want.”

Sukuna gasped.

You smiled proudly at your boyfriend, waiting for him to call out their blatant sexism.

“PEOPLE EXPECT IT?”

“Yeah?”

“So we’re just reinforcing traditional gender roles for profit now?”

The room erupted.

“IT’S A CHARITY EVENT.”

“YOU’RE MAKING IT SOUND EVIL.”

Sukuna ignored them. “Misogyny is evil.” He pointed toward the sorority members.

“Why are they the ones serving drinks?”

One of the sorority girls raised her hand. “Honestly, I don’t want to wear a maid costume.”

“THANK YOU.” Sukuna was fully activated.

You were delighted to see how this was playing out.

“Explain to me,” Sukuna continued, “why the men can’t wear maid costumes and serve drinks.”

The room went dead silent, and you almost spit out your drink.

Toji blinked.

Satoru blinked.

The sorority sisters were stunned. “What?”

“The men.” Sukuna spread his arms.

“No.”

“Why not?”

The room burst into laughter.

“If serving drinks is easy money, then congratulations.” He slapped the table.

“The fraternity is serving drinks.”

The sorority girls immediately started cheering.

“YES.”

“MAKE THEM DO IT.”

Toji looked horrified. “Absolutely not, I’m not wearing a maid outfit.”

Sukuna leaned forward. “Fragile, typical response from men. Toxic masculinity, machismo, societal expectations.” He says pointing a finger at different men around the room.

You had your face in your hands, trying to hide your laughter. You had to show support for your boyfriend, but couldn’t handle him naming every term he could think of.

Sukuna pointed around the room. “If the costumes aren’t degrading, wear them.”

Silence.

The sorority girls were having the time of their lives. One of them pulled out her phone. “I’m ordering maid costumes right now.”

The fraternity erupted in panic.

“STOP HER.”

“WE CAN STILL NEGOTIATE.”

——-

Two weeks later, the fundraiser ended up being the most successful event in frat history.

Mostly because nobody could resist paying money to watch a group of deeply embarrassed frat bros serve spiked lemonade in maid outfits.

Toji looked dead inside.

Satoru refused to make eye contact with anyone.

Meanwhile Sukuna carried a tray through the crowd completely unbothered.

His maid outfit fit surprisingly well, as he served you a drink.

Across the lawn, Satoru was being forced to say “Welcome home, master” for a twenty-dollar donation.

The sorority was making a fortune.

Sukuna took one look at the donation total and smiled. “Look how good we’ve done so far,” he said enthusiastically.

“I’m so proud of you,” you said before leaning in for a kiss.

“By the way, I think you should bring home this costume when you’re done here,” you said; snapping the thigh high sock on Sukuna’s thigh.

“Whatever you want baby,” he winked.

Dividers by: @cursed-carmine

[fre4krena]

you find a grey hair in SUKUNA'S beautiful pink locs

you run your fingers through sukuna’s soft pink locks, gently ruffling them as he melts further into your hold with every passing second. his arm stays snug around you while the two of you lie tangled on your couch, lazily watching reels from his phone.

that’s when you see it.

“sukuna.”

“hm?” he nudges you lightly when you go quiet, shifting just enough to glance up at you. “what’s up?”

“y-you…” you hesitate, fingers brushing through his hair again. this time a little more focused. “you have a grey hair!” you point at it, eyes wide.

he lets out a quiet huff. “so what?”

“wait— wait! there’s more!” your fingers keep searching, and he groans, tossing his phone aside.

“you done? it’s just a few grey strands. what’s the big deal?”

your expression crumples, nose scrunching in that way he knows too well… cute, but dangerous. his hand comes up instinctively, cupping your cheek.

“what are you crying about now, brat?” the “insult” doesn’t stick, it never did even from the moment he met you.

you don’t answer, just sniffle quietly, and he sighs under his breath before shifting. he maneuvers you down beside him on the too-small couch, half his body hanging off the edge, but he doesn’t care. his arms wrap around you, warm and steady.

“love,” he murmurs, voice low and gentle, “you gonna tell me why you’re crying, hm?” his thumbs brush the tears under your eyes.

you sniffle again. “it’s just that… it means you’re getting old…”

he huffs out a quiet laugh. “you worried i won’t be as handsome?”

you lightly swat his arm. “never! i’ll just have more competition…” you mumble, embarrassed, and he chuckles into your hair.

“i’m flattered you’re crying over me getting older.”

“when i get a grey, will you cry?” you pout, and his eyes flicker down.

“yes.” he answers without missing a beat.

“is it because i’ll be ugly—”

he bites lightly at the junction of your neck.

“ow— ow! it was a joke!”

he presses a soft kiss over the spot right after, lingering there as he buries his face into your neck. “no. i won’t cry because of that.”

“then what for?”

you feel the warm puff of his breath against your skin as he pulls you closer, arms tightening just a little.

“it’ll just means my dream is coming true…”

he lifts his head, looking at you with so much quiet adoration it makes your chest ache. his eyes soften, almost glassy, like he might cry if he let himself.

“i’ll grow old with you.”

★ yooo i finally got ideas and posted hell yeahhh, it might be shitty but hey at least it's something

[reihimura00]

AWWWWWW 😭😭😭😭

[suksatoru]

CARNATIONS MASTERLIST.

REHAB!TOUYA X READER

The former villain known as 'Dabi' is now your patient. On the road to recovery, you're in charge of nursing him and his broken heart back to health.

carnations symbolize new beginnings, grief, and love. ❦

ᥴһᥲ⍴𝗍ᥱr ᥆ᥒᥱ ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ωⱺ ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ɦ𝗋𝖾𝖾 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿ⱺυ𝗋 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗏𝖾 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗑 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗂𝗀ɦ𝗍 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𐓣𝗂𐓣𝖾 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾ᥣ𝖾𝗏𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ω𝖾ᥣ𝗏𝖾 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ɦ𝗂𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿ⱺυ𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖿𝗍𝖾𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗑𝗍𝖾𝖾𐓣 ❦ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𐓣𝗍𝖾𝖾𐓣 ❦ ᥴһᥲ⍴𝗍ᥱr ᥱіgһ𝗍ᥱᥱᥒ ❦ ᥴᥲrᥒᥲ𝗍і᥆ᥒs ᥒ᥆𝗍іᥴᥱ :)

[suksatoru]

DANDELIONS MASTERLIST.

NO QUIRK AU — FIREFIGHTER!TOUYA X TEACHER!READER

When a hectic morning leaves Touya forced to drop off Shoto at school, he runs into his little brother’s pretty kindergarten teacher and learns just why his mother and siblings are always talking about you. Quite suddenly, perhaps even too suddenly, Touya is volunteering to pick up Shoto from school a lot more.

dandelions symbolize hope, transformation, and steadfast love.

𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 ⱺ𐓣𝖾 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ωⱺ ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ɦ𝗋𝖾𝖾 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿ⱺυ𝗋 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗏𝖾 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗑 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𐓣 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗂𝗀ɦ𝗍 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𐓣𝗂𐓣𝖾 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖾𐓣 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾ᥣ𝖾𝗏𝖾𐓣 ❋

[reihimura00]

Oh how I loved this 😭😭😭

[a-small-lemon]

Imagine being childhood friends with Touya, but having to move away and go into witness protection with your family after a villain attack.

After Touya’s death, the Todorokis try to find you and let you know, but you can’t be found. After a while, they just think it’s better for you to live in peace and never know about what happened to your best friend.

Ten years go by, and you’ve decided to move back into the area. It’s your first day back, and you haven’t met anyone you know yet. You could’ve sworn you’d seen Shoto gaping in confusion at you, but then there was an explosion and yelling, and you’d blinked and he was gone.

You’re just walking through one of the quieter districts when you see him from behind.

It may be fifteen years since you’ve seen him, and for some reason his skin is all weird, but it’s Touya, hair awfully dyed and for some reason dressed all grungy. He’s talking to three other people - is one of them covered in hands? - and you probably should leave him alone.

You do not. Instead, you start running, and do the same thing you used to do to each other as kids.

“TOUYA!” Before he can even react, you leap up and jump on his back, knocking him to the ground. The man with all the hands can only stare in confusion as you squeeze the life out of your oldest friend in a hug.

“Touya! Touya, I missed you so much! Did you know I’d be here? Are these your friends? I think I’ve just seen Shoto! Hello, everyone, I’m Touya’s best friend.” You speak far too quickly, and Touya groans, making sparks flitter in his hand before he finally is able to look at you.

The fire goes out.

“Y/N?”

You nod excitedly. “Touya!”

“Touya?” the hand man repeats in disbelief. “Who the fuck is - holy shit, so that’s your real name, Dabi?” You wrinkle your nose in confusion, and ignore Touya trying to pry you off his back. Whatever. He used to do it to you growing up.

“What’s a Dobby?”

“Dabi,” Touya hisses. “My name is Dabi.”

“Then why’d she call you Touya?” a blonde girl asks. Suddenly, she gasps and claps her hands. “Is she your girlfriend?”

The man with the hands - who looks strangely like a villain you saw on the news - snickers and takes a picture of you casually sitting on Touya like he’s your throne.

“She’s absolutely his girlfriend, Toga,” he confirms. “Look at the way he’s letting her do this. Now I have blackmail. I like you, random girl.”

Finally, Touya manages to push you off, though it’s gentle. You smile expectantly at him. You don’t know why he looks weird or why he’s hanging out with villains, but you’re sure he has a reason. Likely infiltration, as he’s got to be a hero. Maybe Dabi is his hero name?

“Y/N? What are you doing here? How’d you even recognise me?” Why would he question that? Duh, you’d be able to tell it was him. He’s your oldest friend. You shrug.

“I mean, how could I not? Just cause you look and sound a little different, doesn’t mean I’m not gonna recognise you. You’re Touya.” You boop his nose and the hand villain - is it Shigaraki? - applauds you and takes a picture.

“Thank you for the blackmail. I won’t even Decay you.” Oh, so definitely a villain.

You probably should’ve been scared, but whatever. Touya would protect you. He always used to whenever you were scared of a spider or the dark or the coat hung up that looked suspiciously evil.

Touya damn near chokes as you snuggle into his back.

“I missed you!” you chirp. Shigaraki is grinning smugly to the point you think he might ascend. The blonde girl is also giggling, and the gecko mutant next to her is fighting back a smirk.

“So, Touya then?” Shigaraki asks. “Wanna tell us why you didn’t think that was important?”

Touya curses and you gasp and smack him. Rei always said to not swear, and you spent so much time at her house that every lesson she gave you was firmly instilled in your head.

“Fine,” Touya groans, standing up. He looks at you, still clinging to him. The ghost of a smile passes along his face, and you get the feeling that while he might be acting grumpy, he’s actually happy that someone recognised him. “I take it you’re not going to get off me?”

He laughs when you shake your head.

“Got it, weirdo. Guess you’re coming back to the bar.” You jump up and piggyback on him. The gecko mutant finally laughs to himself at the sight. Okay, maybe it is embarrassingly childish because it’s been so long, but you and Touya always used to be like this, and you never got closure from his friendship while away.

“Oh, and Y/N?” You look up at him expectantly. “When you go see the others later, don’t mention that you saw me. In fact, it’ll be better if you didn’t see them at all.” Your face falls. Fuyumi and Natsuo were your friends too. You remember teaching Shoto how to play patty cake and hopscotch, and how to steal cookies from the kitchen without being caught. Heck, you remember being the one to introduce him and Touya to cold soba.

“Why not?” you question. Touya hums and ruffles your hair. In that moment, it’s like nothing’s changed. You’re still enamoured with him, and he eats it up like a starved man.

“Just because. You owe me a ‘no question’s asked’, so I’m calling that in.” It’s annoyingly true. He’d earned it from you after you’d asked him to come over at 2am to film an adaptation of Sailor Moon with your toys - except the furbies were scaring you.

You pout and then sigh. You adore his siblings, but it doesn’t compare to how much you love Touya.

“Alright, alright.”

As soon as he hears your agreement, Touya hoists you up so you get a better grip around his shoulders.

“Well then, Y/N. Welcome to the League. Worst bunch of assholes you’ll ever meet.” With that, a purple portal appears in front you. The other three step through, but Touya waits a heartbeat after they’ve gone.

“Y/N?” His voice is gravelly, but soft, like he’s never forgotten how to say your name in all the years you’ve been apart. “It’s good to see you again.”

[puppyaulait]

Part 3

Previous

[whorexis]

The Will to Heal - touya todoroki

touya todoroki x fem!reader

summary: villains, blood, and a girl who heals. what could possibly go wrong? well, for starters, your neighbor might be a literal human torch with a grudge. and yet, every time he’s near, you can’t stop wondering if this is the first time you’ve felt safe in years.

warning/s: the holy trio; fluff, angst and smut, smut near the end (skipable), healer!reader, blood & injuries implied, touch starved people, idiots in love, character death (not touya or reader), jealousy, p in v, creampie, marathon fucking, cum, a lot of cum, doggy position, missionary, oh golly, riding, fingering, cum eating, just 2-3k words of pure smut, slight implication of alcohol use, intimacy, weird intimacy, genital piercings, following canon plot, I might have some things wrong spare me, lots of biting, touya is a perv, a lot of fluff guys trust me, protective touya :(, a lot of plot I just didn’t know what to tag

word count: ~15k (PLEASEEEE PLEASEE GIVE ME A CHANCE I BEG)

a/n: based on a request except I got lost in the plot. whoops

There was a lot wrong with society— you’d known that since you were a kid.

It was also wrong to push a freshly turned adult into a district crawling with criminals and probably more than a few unregistered rapists. The region was basically hollowed out, apart from the stares and peeks of eyes you caught from broken windows. Some were covered with cardboard, others wide open, where you could spot cigarettes smoldering on crappy desks inside.

Still, luckily for you, you had a pretty amazing quirk. You might not have had a license to use it, but then again, you literally lived among criminals. It wasn’t like anyone was going to sue you for it— much less report you.

That was why, with a low income and a job too sketchy for the city proper, you’d ended up at the edge of Yokohama— where the stares of men lingered longer than they should, and where women looked you up and down as if deciding whether you were worth even a shred of nonexistent respect.

But your quirk was versatile; offense, defense, and— most unexpectedly— healing. It had taken years to discover it was built more for mending than fighting, and since then you’d prioritized healing above everything else. Hurting others had never given you joy.

You’d named it Vital Suture after the first time you stitched your brother’s open wounds closed. Your blood— type O negative— was what you transferred to others. You could manipulate the thick liquid to form stitches that remained until skin fully healed. Flexible, adaptable, the threads could even soothe scars.

The blood threads didn’t just hold flesh together— they released regenerative factors, almost stem-cell–like, reprogramming tissue as they knit. Instead of scar tissue, the wound regenerated as new, healthy skin.

Over time, you’d learned you could soften old scars too, since your quirk regrew tissue as it passed through.

For offense.. well, the threads were sharp enough to kill if they pierced the right artery. So, even if you’d been mad at the world for making your life miserable, at least you’d had a roof over your head— even if it was on the criminal side of the city. Rent was cheap, there was a store that sold everything from food to hygiene products, and a few takeout joints nearby. You’d be fine.

At least that’s what you thought. Because unbeknownst to you, your new apartment happened to sit right next to the most dangerous villains in Japan.

And their leader wasn’t too fond of finding out he suddenly had a neighbor.

Shigaraki prided himself on loyalty— on devotion to his peers. He’d never say it out loud, but he cared about them. And though he wanted the world to rot, his priority was keeping the League safe.

That’s why it bothered him when he first saw you walking these streets— unbothered, snug in a warm jacket, earmuffs pulled tight over your head.

There was no way you didn’t know this area was unsafe— especially for a woman. You were pretty, too. Too easy a target.

But then he’d seen how you brushed off men’s stares, how you spoke business with shady types, how some followed you up to your apartment only to leave with mixed expressions— some grim, some oddly content.

That’s when Shigaraki realized you weren’t just another civilian. Not a villain either, but you knew how to hold your ground. And you’d just happened to move in next to the League’s hideout.

Of course you were a spy. The people you brought inside were probably contacts, bribed or seduced into coughing up information about the League. Well, fuck you. Shigaraki didn’t share information with outsiders.

...Not him, at least. Twice was a different story. And Toga— yeah, she had too big a mouth.

That’s why he called a meeting.

“We’ve got a new neighbor.”

The words sounded stupid out loud, and the looks he got only confirmed it. Dabi and Toga stared at him, bored. Compress didn’t react behind his mask, but his body language said he was waiting for the point. Spinner tilted his head, clearly annoyed he’d had to pause his game for this.

“Well no fuckin’ shit, Sherlock. What, you wanna bake her a pie?” Dabi drawled, voice laced with disdain.

Shigaraki realized he’d let the silence drag too long. He grunted, rolling his eyes.

“She’s a spy.”

That got their attention. Suddenly, all eyes were on him. He resisted the urge to snap at the way they looked at him, like he was always grasping at straws.

“How do you know that?” Spinner muttered, standing from the floor, arms crossed.

Dabi didn’t bother hiding the small, amused curl at the corner of his mouth. For a moment the room went quiet— then, slowly, like someone letting out air after holding their breath he said, “I already saw her.”

“You did?” Toga chirped, immediately bright and hungry for details. “When? Was she cute? Did you talk to her? Ooh— did she let you in? Tell us everything, Dabi, tell us—”

Dabi held up a hand, voice lazy and low. “Calm down. I’m not writing a fucking diary.” He shrugged, “I saw her a few nights ago, walking by the back alley. Nothing dramatic —“

“Spy,” Shigaraki repeated, causing Dabi to scoff at being cut off, “or a resource. Either way, I don’t want her poking around us.”

Toga immediately bounced in her seat. “Dibs on watching her! I can watch! I’m good at being sneaky and—”

“No.” Shigaraki cut her off, flat and final. The room halted. Toga blinked, lips forming a petulant pout. “You’ll scare her off.” He didn’t say the rest. He wouldn’t admit it— not to them, not to himself— but he also didn’t want to send a kid into an unknown that might bite back.

Toga’s shoulders slumped, “But— Shiggy— I’ll be careful! I swear! I just want to peek—”

“You can’t.” His voice was softer only for a blink, and nobody missed the small hitch behind it, “Dabi will do it.”

Dabi blinked, surprised like someone had called on him out of habit rather than expectation. “Me?” He tossed the word out, casual, but the corner of his mouth curved in a way that suggested he’d been waiting for the nudge.

Shigaraki met his eyes. “You’ve already seen her. Keep watching quietly and don’t start anything. Tell me anything odd. If she’s a threat, you tell me first. If she’s useful, you tell me first.”

In all honesty, if Dabi were ordered such trivial mission, he would’ve point and laughed at Shigaraki for even considering he would stalk some random. But you were.. quite the exception. There was no denying of the curiousity Dabi had for you.

“Tch. Fine, bossman. I’ll stalk your little nightfling for you.“ 

At that, Shigaraki had no remark, except for the sneer displayed on his lips, nostrils flaring as he held back his snark. Still, he had to keep it calm, even when Toga had decided that the decision just wasn’t fair.

“Hey no fair! Why does the actual weirdo get to do this?!”

For the next three days, Dabi did nothing but haunt your trail, a shadow you never noticed.

The first day was the roughest. He had no clue about your schedule, your habits, anything— so he moved careful, testing waters. At first glance, you were unpredictable. You did shit no sane person would string together.

One minute, you were stocking up on hygiene products— he counted a ridiculous number of disinfectants— then you were buying five bottles of vodka and pure alcohol.

Either you were a medic, or you were a woman gone mad.

You didn’t walk around wasted, so he leaned toward the first option. Which tracked, considering the steady stream of people shuffling in and out of your apartment. They were almost always bloody, bruised, limping. That hooked his interest more than anything.

So, you patched people up.

But when they left, they were wrapped head-to-toe, careful to hide the work you’d done. And they weren’t heroes. They were bottom-feeders, alley rats, washed-up villains he recognized, maybe even vigilantes judging by the odd costumes.

He figured you were no hero. And if you were no hero, then you most likely didn’t have a license to use your quirk.

Sure, if someone squinted, they could assume what you did were ‘interrogations’. But that didn’t explain why people came in broken and left steadier, lighter on their feet.

On day two, Dabi managed to peek inside.

Your curtains were open for the light, probably because the ceiling fixtures were fried. And that’s when Dabi hit gold.

He hadn’t expected it. One second, he was just looking— the next, his mouth went dry and his eyes went wide, afraid to miss a second.

You were changing.

Your shirt pulled over your head, exposing calloused skin, a back that was more toned and more battered than he’d guessed. Bruises bloomed across your shoulder blades. He wondered, briefly, how you’d earned them— then shoved the thought aside and drank the sight in anyway.

Not like you were naked. The bra kept its line, kept some distance. But still—

It wasn’t that Dabi was some awkward virgin. He’d never fucked, sure, but that was because he had better things to do. And women weren’t exactly lining up for a guy who looked like this. Shoto had gotten their father’s design, all neat symmetry and icefire power. Dabi had burned his share of it away, ruined what little pride Endeavor once had in him.

And just as fast as the glimpse came, it ended— you tugged on another shirt and walked out, none the wiser.

By the third day, he had the outline of your pattern. Still unpredictable, yeah, but there was rhythm buried under the chaos. You left the apartment at least once a day, whether for groceries or just a walk. You let people in no matter the hour. It confirmed what he suspected; your sleep schedule was just as wrecked as his.

On the fourth day, Shigaraki asked for a report.

Dabi scoffed, rattling off scraps of your life— just enough to satisfy him. The rest, the real details, he kept. Shigaraki hadn’t asked about the nightly stalks, or how much Dabi had memorized already. He didn’t mention the things he knew that went past surveillance— how your favorite skirts barely brushed your thighs, or how you seemed physically incapable of turning anyone away, even in the dead of night.

Those were his.

By the fifth day, you proved just how unpredictable you could be.

“Care to explain why you’re following me around like a damn creep?”

It wasn’t even late, though the winter sun had already sunk low, painting the streets with that heavy kind of dusk. You’d only gone out for a quick grocery run— snacks, again. (Dabi had already clocked your sweet tooth.) And then, without warning, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes sharp, locking onto the empty street.

Empty to anyone else. But not to you.

You’d felt it for days now— that presence dogging your steps, silent but constant. At first, you thought it was another patient circling for courage. That theory got confirmed when you caught the faintest glimpse of him a few nights back.

The man in the hoodie.

Head down, hood pulled low, face hidden from the nose down. Sunglasses in the dead of winter. But no disguise in the world could hide the scars. Even at a glance, you’d seen them— mottled purple skin pulled tight, patched by staples. You weren’t quite sure what exactly they were, just that they had already scarred. And by the way he stayed covered, you figured there was more of the same under the fabric.

But he hadn’t approached like the others. He just watched, and watched, and watched.

You’d thought maybe he was cautious. Or shy. Or both.

But that didn’t explain the persistence. And it didn’t explain why he was tailing you now, with nothing but a bag of sweets in your arms.

Dabi wasn’t stupid. He knew when his cover was blown. And honestly? He wasn’t sure he wanted to keep hiding anyway.

His chest gave one hard kick— something too sharp, too close to excitement— and he didn’t like it. Not one damn bit. He hadn’t felt that in years. The last time, it was when his flames shifted from red to blue, when he still thought he could be more than a failure, when he still thought pleasing his father mattered.

Long strides ate the distance, and then he was there, standing over you.

The sunglasses were gone. And you found yourself staring into eyes so blue it actually stole your breath.

He noticed. Smirked. Then remembered the hoodie muffled half his face.

“So you noticed.” His voice was low and rasped raw, and the sound made your chest skip. No trace of shyness there— just confidence with a smear of smugness.

“I’d be an idiot not to,” you shot back, “you wanna dance around small talk, or skip to the point?”

Right. The point.

For half a second, he realized he hadn’t thought that far. Dabi had been so focused on finally getting to talk to you face to face (why? Fuck. He doesn’t know either. Probably because you were interesting or something), that he had forgotten what kind of stupid excuse he should make up when you actually confront him. So, he did the most logical thing and trusted his gut feeling.

“You heal people, don’t you? What’s a treatment cost?”

With that, he tugged his hood down. And you saw him.

His jaw and neck a lattice of ruined flesh, torn and stapled together, the skin stretched too thin in places, pierced with a row of silver climbing each ear (both decorated by four helix piercings) and down his chin. And that grin— wide, reckless, the corners of his mouth splitting the skin, showing raw tissue beneath.

Dabi knew what people usually did when they saw him up close. He knew it was disgusting. Knew you’d pull back with a grim look and somewhat akin to fear.

But you didn’t.

If anything, you leaned closer.

You looked almost fuckin’ fascinated.

And that unsettled him more than fear ever could.

Because Dabi didn’t do well with surprises. Didn’t do well with people who didn’t react the way they were supposed to. And you— fuck, you were already full of it.

“Yeah. I don’t charge,” you said simply. Then, with a tilt of your head, “come.”

You didn’t bother pointing out the obvious— that he wasn’t here for treatment, that no one shadowed you for days just to ask about a scar check. He didn’t look like he believed you could fix anything anyway. But you liked a challenge.

“What’s your name?”

Dabi barely noticed how soothing your voice was, too focused on your reaction and weird, weird behavior. What a weird fuckin’ girl. Did you have some quirk that made him relax by any chance while you were at it?

“I go by Dabi.”

Blunt. Just like him. He didn’t bother asking yours. But you gave it anyway, because you figured if you didn’t, he’d just cook up some nickname you’d hate.

He shrugged at the reveal, humming low like it barely registered. (It did. More than he wanted to admit. He wondered how your name would sound in his mouth— then shoved the thought down hard. He wasn’t some sappy extra in a shitty romance flick.)

So here he was, striding with you back to your apartment. By now, he’d figured your quirk had to have some kind of offensive side. Because really— no one with half a brain would just invite him in. Dabi didn’t look like a civilian. He didn’t look harmless. He looked evil, and he knew it.

And still, you were letting the evil walk through your door.

Your hands moved quickly, fishing out the key. The chain dangling off it caught his eye—

Seriously? An All Might lego figure?

Well. At least it wasn’t Endeavor. He could live with that.

Before he knew it, he was stepping into the very apartment that had sparked all of this. His eyes scanned everything they could: neat, a little sparse, still in progress. Slowly filling in the blanks, one piece at a time, like the space itself was learning your personality.

And he hadn’t even made it past the hallway.

A sudden shuck at his feet made him glance down— slippers. You’d slid them toward him. When he looked back up, you wore a sheepish smile and mumbled something about not needing a dirty floor.

The burnt man scoffed. Still, he toed off his boots and stepped into the soft grey slippers. They looked absurd on him, and he cringed at the sight. Burnt from the ankles up, stapled together like patchwork, and standing in fuzzy house shoes.

Your eyes trailed over him then, and for the first time in forever, Dabi actually wanted to cover himself. But your gaze held no judgment. No pity either. Just that same damn curiosity.

Another thing he noticed— you had a thing for soft.

The slippers weren’t the end of it. As soon as he stepped into your living room, he was met with pillows and blankets piled up like clouds.

You gestured for him to sit while you disappeared into the kitchen nook that was basically part of the same space. (Honestly, with the rent you were probably paying, you were lucky it came with a kitchen at all.)

“Do you want some tea? Coffee?”

You were always bundled in something— jacket, sweater, whatever you could bury yourself in. Even now, you clutched a cup of tea like it was a lifeline.

Dabi, on the other hand, couldn’t feel the cold. Apart from the fact that he couldn’t feel a lot due to his nerves being fucked left and right, he also constantly burned alive.

An eternal summer burned under his skin.

“M’fine.”

He didn’t need anything else heating him from the inside out.

“You sure? I, um, do you want anything cold?”

That made him snort. Perceptive. A good medic. You actually thought ahead.

“Sure. Cold coffee’s fine.”

You exhaled softly— relief. Then went to work, asking about sugar, milk, all the boring details. He answered with clipped words, short and sharp, but he let you fuss anyway.

When you returned, you sat across from him, balancing your tea while you slid the cold coffee his way.

He took it. And you wasted no time.

“So. Burns?”

He let out a hum, nodding. Honestly, this was all just a waste of time, but what else was he supposed to say when you’d turned out to be less dumb than you seemed like? Hey, my boss thinks you’re a spy, so he’s got me tailing you. Also, I might’ve watched you change the other night. By the way, you looked fuckin’ delicious—

Yeah. No. Not fuckin’ happening.

“May I look at them?”

Dabi leaned back into the couch. His grin was lazy, smug and everything else that caused the weird, fluttering feeling in your stomach. He was attractive for sure, but he was the guy who’d been stalking you for days (and eventually you’d like to ask him why he really did that).

“You’re bold, y’know that? Most people don’t even wanna look at me. Let alone ask polite.”

“Yeah well everyone’s different.”

That made him huff, low in his chest. He tugged at one of the staples on his jaw, a restless habit, “Yeah, no shit.”

Your tea clicked down onto the table as you leaned forward, unbothered, “So? Will you let me?”

For a moment, silence stretched. He thought about saying no. About walking out. About setting the whole damn place on fire and ending this weird detour before it got under his skin.

Instead, for some fucking stupid reason, he set his cup aside and jerked his chin toward you. “Knock yourself out.”

Maybe it was because he had no reason to kill you, but nor did he have any reason killing other people aswell, or burning down a hospital. Maybe it was because you were treating him far differently than anyone ever had, didn’t pity or shy away from him. He felt something akin to where his mother would look at him more like a boy than his father’s dreams and hardwork. Or maybe it was because you were a healer and the League was in need of one.

Yeah. He settled for the latter.

You moved carefully, but not hesitantly. That was worse somehow. Your hands didn’t flinch when they came close to him, didn’t hover like everyone else’s. They just touched.

Fingers brushed his jaw first, tracing the lines where scorched flesh met healthier skin. The staples were cold under your touch, the uneven texture mapped like a puzzle.

Dabi’s breath hitched before he could stop it. His nerves were fried in most places, but there were patches— little cruel reminders— that still sparked when touched.

You noticed. He saw it in the way your brows lifted just slightly, but you didn’t comment. You just kept working, tilting his chin gently as if to catch more light.

“Whoever patched you up did a rough job,” you murmured, more observation than judgment, “crude, but.. effective. Surprised you’re not in worse shape.”

Dabi chuckled, dry and low. “Guess I’m hard to kill. Lucky you.”

You ignored the bite in his tone, eyes narrowing as you shifted your hand to his neck, then his collarbone. More burns. More patchwork. Your fingers were steady, feather-light against tissue that had no right surviving.

Dabi wanted to sneer, to make some crack about you getting your kicks off touching monsters. But the words stuck somewhere between his throat and the back of his teeth.

Because you weren’t looking at him like a monster.

And for once in his life, Dabi wasn’t sure what to do with that.

Your hand lingered at his collarbone, tracing the uneven ridge where ruined skin met what was left of normal.

“Is there.. more?” you asked.

It wasn’t really a question. You already knew. No one carried burns like his in neat little patches. But you wanted to hear it from him. Wanted him to let you in.

Dabi’s smirk sharpened, daring, “What d’you think, doc?”

You rolled your eyes and cracked a smile, humoring him. That alone made something flicker behind his eyes.

When you didn’t back off, he let out a low chuckle and hooked a finger under the hem of his shirt. “Fine. S’not a pretty sight, though.”

The fabric came up slow, deliberate. Black cotton peeled away from scar tissue, baring more of the truth— his toned chest, his ribs, the canvas of purple stitched together with staples and stubborn survival. Burn after burn, old and brutal, mapped across him like a grotesque patchwork quilt.

You should’ve looked away. Anyone else would’ve. But your eyes only grew wide, surprised, drinking him in like you were cataloguing each detail.

His grin widened. It wasn’t pretty— his lips split at the edges, thin skin straining against the staples. “Creeped out yet? Or you enjoyin’ the view?”

Your answer was immediate, “Neither. I’m studying. Seeing what I’m working with.”

That stopped him for half a second. He’d expected disgust. Maybe a laugh, because anyone with half a brain was able to tell that he was beyond fixing.

You leaned closer, the warmth of your breath brushing against his overheated skin. Fingers hovered near his sternum, then touched down lightly, tracing another seam, and Dabi stiffened. He wasn’t used to.. whatever this was.

“This must’ve hurt like hell,” you murmured, and the burnt man barked out a low laugh, head tipping back against the couch. His head titled slightly as he looked down at you, your face dangerously close to his pecs.

“I don’t remember the last time I felt anything, sweetheart.”

When your eyes flicked up to his, steady as ever, he felt the weight of it— the fact that you weren’t pulling away.

With a final sigh, you pushed yourself away from him. Looked him over, and finally, finally placed your right palm on his roughed up chest. 

The other hand, you raised to your mouth.

And you bit. Harshly, right into the junction of your nerves, where wrist met hand.

He barely had the time to look surprised, much less panicked and surprised as blood revealed from your act. It dripped from the corners of your mouth— and before it could hit his skin, it formed together. A needle, from every drop of it— and, don’t underestimate, because there was a lot, considering you’d bit into a nerve. 

And Dabi was left utterly speechless. If you could do half of what you gave yourself credit for, than you should be clever enough to realize that healing him is impossible, and you’re just.. wasting your blood on him. A shit ton of it—

He groaned as he felt the needles poke into his staples. Maybe he shouldn’t let the woman he spied on poke around him, and maybe he should’ve considered that you might as well also be as dangerous as him, but those thoughts quickly faded when the weird feeling of the even weirder textured needles started to evaporate.

Literally.

It felt like your blood went beneath his skin, then evaporated into fucking gas. And the mere thought of it felt absolutely fucking gross, and still, the reality just kept proving him wrong.

It was delicious. That feeling. 

Dabi rarely felt, especially on his upper body, his chest— and now, it just felt like someone had collected all his nerves together and caressed them. Which was even more utterly weird to imagine.

His blue eyes finally looked into yours then, and that’s when he saw your expression. 

Furrowed eyebrows, tip of your pink tongue stinking out in concentration. Messily, there was still a bit of blood on you, but you just seemed too focused on healing a burnt man on your couch. For a woman he deemed strict (not that he really knew you all too well, except for the small glimpses he got of you while spying, which were never enough for him) you also seemed to have a slightly childish side in you. 

That showed when your mouth curled into teeth flashing grin, looking like a kid who’d won a bet for some candy. 

He was so stuck into your expression, he barely realized why you were grinning until he looked down his chest.

His skin. 

His eyes widened and he felt the urge to back away, to push you off and run from this situation. His hands shook and his heart beat quickened— but you left him no choice as you knowingly cooed and whispered a small ‘s’fine’. 

It was fucking weird. His healthy skin started to overlap on his burnt one, and he started to feel. it grew thick, especially the edges that were held together by staples. The staples remained untouched as his purple skin slowly started to resemble his actual skin tone—

And his heart took a toll on him as that sensation faded into his arms, whereas the very wrists that were doomed to be nothing but trash of skin slowly started to regenerate into a healthy one.

And during that, Dabi had never felt as much as he did in this moment. It was as if he’d been thrown into a reality with colours that were beyond human capability to imagine—

And then it stopped. Like a truck hitting a deer in headlight, everything came to a halt, even his way too quick heart.

He looked at you, eyes wide, chest rising quickly. Something was definitely in his throat because he couldn’t speak, and Dabi never had been the one at loss for words.

You looked exhausted. You’d removed your hand, using it to cover your own wound now as you winced and hissed. 

“Too much. M’sorry, I just.. need a break.”

Both your and his eyes trailed over his body. 

Of course, you wouldn’t be able to ever fully heal him, to make him look like he did before.. whatever had happened, but there was a difference now.

The edges of the purple burnts were almost all fully healed with new skin, whilst the heavier, middle part of the damaged skin had only lighten up slightly. 

His staples that once held his skin together now just pierced into raw, healthy skin, and his jaw clenched at the realization. 

He didn’t need them anymore. Not on his chest, nor his wrists. 

You were a fucking angel brought upon the earth, healing the fallen one like he deserved any of this. 

“I’m sorry, you’re probably too exhausted to even move. I guess I should’ve warned you earlier about my quirk. Hopefully you didn’t have any plans for today.”

He’d barely noticed how limp his body had gone. He was tired— no, fuckin’ wasted, but he didn’t seem to care about that all too much.

He much more wondered what you’d do about your wound now.

“Why don’t you heal yourself?”

His voice was hoarse, and he had to hold himself back from cringing. It sounded all too much like the time he woke up from his three year coma and was unaware of how much his body had matured.

You huffed out a laugh, avoiding eye contact. “I’m too tired to. If I heal as much as a scratch right now, I’ll probably collapse.”

Honestly, he didn’t feel any better. And you seemed to notice that too.

“Why did you bite yourself instead of using a dagger or something,” 

At that, you sheepishly looked away. Dabi was good at noticing.

“I don’t like knives.” And that’s all you gave him, mumbling. You didn’t give him a chance of asking more, “If you’re not in the condition to walk anywhere, you can stay over.”

His eyes were droopy, narrowed slightly as if he had yet to figure you out. Eventually he gave in, muttering a “sure”.

That’s how the rest of the night went, and the cold coffee you’d once served lay forgotten.

—

You woke up to an empty apartment. But that was fine. Your unexpected guest hadn’t mugged you, at least not from anything you could figure.

You were aware that he’d been following you, and there was no way he was looking for actual treatment, not after the sheer surprise he showed when you managed to regrow the tissue on his skin.

You knew he could be bad news. Could be dangerous. But seriously— who wasn’t? Your whole family had put your life in danger several times. After you cut them off, you’d tried to live normally, tried to stay out of trouble.

But that had become a part of you. And when rent got too low and an apartment opened up in the sketchy part of the city, you didn’t feel bad going for it. The constant trouble and new things were what kept you on your toes.

Besides, you had a pretty different view of villains than most people. There was no denying that hero society wasn’t exactly heroic— but there was also no acknowledgment of the villains who were good people.

Of the villains who were people. People who also needed help— and that’s what you were here for.

You hadn’t heard anything from Dabi in the days after he’d dozed off on your couch. You hadn’t felt that mysterious presence watching you either, which told you he’d actually disappeared.

That was until, a week or two after the incident, he showed up at your doorstep.

He leaned against the frame like he owned the place, hands shoved in his pockets, his usual smirk half-hidden behind the collar of his jacket.

“My.. friend needs some help,” he said, spitting the word like it physically hurt him, “got hurt real bad. Think you can stitch her up?”

Honestly, for a second you debated slamming the door in his face— his presence aggravated something deep within you. But then again, you’d never refused to help anyone despite their actions, so..

You sighed, pouting because today was meant to be your day. Meant to be a day dedicated of warm showers, warm, fluffy covers and some real good skincare. 

He grinned faintly, blue eyes flicking over you as you sheepishly nodded, snatching your keys before following him.

And then Dabi led you into a building, the one next door. The one you’d assumed was an abandoned bar.

He pushed the door open, and a wave of stale smoke and alcohol hit you. Inside, it was surprisingly well-kept, clean counters, working lights, though the air carried a heavy kind of tension. Six other figures turned toward you at once.

Apparently, they hadn’t been expecting you. And they were much less.. guest-friendly.

Not that they had time to offer tea or coffee, considering there was a teen bleeding out on the couch.

You didn’t bother with introductions— or instructions— as you brushed past Dabi and hurried toward the blonde girl. He scoffed as you pushed past him, acting like the injured kid wasn’t that big of a deal (but really, would he have come for you if she weren’t?)

The girl— maybe eighteen, tops— had a gash on her side, deep and long across her torso. Her sweater was pulled up just enough to show the full wound but still kept some tact to her privacy. You ignored everyone’s stares as you knelt beside her, examining the damage.

A sigh slipped past your lips, “How’d you get that?”

You were met with silence.

Except for the scoff from the one you assumed was the leader— one look at him, and you knew exactly what kind of manchild you were dealing with.

“What’s it matter? Crispy here said you heal with no questions asked, so go ahead and do your thing. We’ll talk payment later.” 

He was scratching at his neck harshly, and there were previous wounds and scars from what you could only assume was from his own assault on his skin. In other circumstances, you would’ve offered to help him out, but the girl obviously needed you a lot more.

You glanced up at Dabi, who only shrugged, lips quirking in a lazy smirk. “Can’t tell you, don’t know any more than you do sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the warmth in your abdomen at the petname. “You bring me into a den of psychos and expect me to guess what happened to her?”

“C’mon,” he drawled, crouching beside the couch, elbows resting on his knees. “you patched me up. Thought you didn’t discriminate.” He was most likely hinting at the fact that his looks just screamed villain and danger. You huffed.

“That was before I realized you come with a fan club.”

A quiet laugh left him, dry and genuine. “You’ll fit right in, doc.”

“Not a chance,” You scrunched your nose, making a show of rolling your eyes as you glared at Dabi (who’d raised his hands in defense, looking absolutely anything but guilty).

“Listen, I know who you guys are,” 

The atmosphere immediately shifted from awkward to uncomfortable, even defensive. You kinda took offense in that. You weren’t that dumb.

“I don’t live under a rock and my TV still works, I’m not stupid. I’ve seen you guys and I know you idiots have been spying on me for whatever reason— frankly, I don’t care. As long as you don’t bother me. But now I’m going to need to know what happened, or at least what caused her this wound, otherwise I won’t be able to heal it.”

For a second, the bar was still. 

Then, the familiar raspy voice of a certain spy was heard, “Just tell her what happened for fucks sake. The girls bleeding out.”

It’s only then the wincing girl finally spoke up, her voice high pitched and desperate, “U-unlucky encounter.. k-kheh— fell right into a rusty d-dagger—!” 

Jesus. 

“Pure alcohol and some bandages, now.” 

A mist of black with a purple hue appeared at your side, dropping the requested items right into your palms. You startled slightly, eyes flicking towards the portal (?) before refocusing on the task. Dabi almost snorted at the surprised (and weirdly fucking cute) expression you made, but stayed quiet, now standing beside you with that lazy grin.

“It’s gonna hurt. I’m sorry. But I promise I’ll fix you up, okay? You just have to thug it out for half an hour or so.” You spoke softly, pouring alcohol over her wound without another warning. Almost immediately her screeching filled the room, and the guy dressed in a black and grey bodysuit came to hold her hand, flinching at the gut wrenching sounds that left her.

You hummed before raising your wrist to your mouth, biting into that familiar spot again. 

And Dabi watched as you did the same thing over again, except this time your needles started sewing Toga together, her wound closing in just a few seconds. 

The girl seemed to ignore her pain as she watched with fascination at your handy work, her eyes big and dilated. 

You could feel their eyes on you, examining, deciphering you, despite the silence. 

Well, until he spoke up.

“Why’d you have to disinfect it? If you can as much as heal scars then you should be able to heal infected wounds too.”

It was him again. The leader with skin too dry and pale, and his voice matched his look perfectly. Just as rusty as him.

That’s right, Dabi had told Shigaraki about how you’d healed his scars. Or, well, regenerated his skin tissue. He had to, otherwise the freak wouldn’t have let you into the hideout with the deepest, darkest secrets— and as much as Dabi didn’t care about rules, he didn’t want to see you getting decayed by crusty just because something wasn’t right with him. 

He’d also politely threatened Toga earlier— told her to put her daggers away before you arrived. Said if she didn’t, he’d melt them. Every single one. She eventually agreed to let Compress store them for her, though she made it very clear she didn’t like it.

“My quirk allows me to heal almost everything— we can all agree that that’s powerful.” 

“..and powerful quirks have huge drawbacks.” A rich voice finished— a masked man with a fashionable hat. Huh.

You nodded, all while letting your needles poke into her sealed wound to rid of any future scarring, “All I did was spare my own energy by cleaning her wound. Too much use and I’ll barely be able to stand. Sorry, using my quirk probably would’ve been less painful but I don’t feel like passing out surrounded by seven villains.”

The wound on your wrist was still open— just like last time. Dabi had noticed before how it healed, which meant you most likely always healed yourself after a long, heavy nap.

“Then, if you don’t trust us,” crimson-red eyes shifted from you to the burnt man, pausing on him with deliberate weight, “why help us?”

You sighed, your blood moving on its own beneath your skin as it seeped softly under the girl’s flesh, reinforcing the healing tissue. Wetting a few cotton balls with alcohol, you dabbed them carefully over the closed wound.

“Look,” you said quietly, “I’m not a hero or a villain, and I won’t take anyone’s side.”

The crimson-eyed villain scrunched his nose, hands coming to scratch his neck, about to retort, but you cut him off before he could speak.

“I’m just someone on the sidelines, get it? I’ll help anyone— hero, villain, vigilante, or civilian. I don’t believe a title covers all your actions. After all, you weren’t born bad or good. You were born a person. And every person deserves a chance. Deserves help.”

The wound was clean now, no trace of blood left— only a faint, pink scar.

“The scar should be gone by tomorrow,” you murmured, giving the spot a gentle pat before tugging her shirt back down. Straightening, you looked around at your hosts. “Also I don’t take payment. ’S fine.”

For a moment, there was silence.

You barely noticed how Dabi’s expression softened, his eyes losing some of their usual sharpness, his brows easing. Then he gave a low whistle, smirking as he leaned back.

“Wow. We got ourselves a real angel here, don’t we?”

To be fair, you were far too tired to fire back with something witty. You just gave him a soft, almost dazed smile, your eyelids drooping as exhaustion settled in like fog.

The girl was the first to break the quiet, her bright, unfiltered voice cutting through the tension. “I love her! You’re so, so, so cute! Can we keep her, Shiggy? Pretty please!”

“She’s not a pet, Toga. Quit it.” The snarl that followed was pure irritation. The rasp in his voice made him sound perpetually one second away from cracking.

“Aw, look at her,” Dabi murmured, amusement dripping from his tone. “so you did overuse your quirk after all, huh?”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, half-slurring, “wasn’t prepared for this today. Otherwise I would’ve went to sleep early..”

He chuckled lowly, watching you fight to stay upright. The mere thought of a hard working woman like you setting herself a bedtime was beyond amusing to him— still, he felt somewhat kinda bad for tiring you out like this.

“Since the nice lady doesn’t accept payment,” came a smooth, theatrical voice from the hat man, “perhaps she could stay here for the night? You seem very tired, my dear.”

“Compress is right!” The girl, who you learned to be Toga, chirped, practically bouncing on the couch. “She can stay in Dabi’s room! Kick him out and make him sleep on the streets!”

A groan came from somewhere behind you, “Don’t drag me into this,” Dabi muttered, to which the man holding Toga’s hand laughed. “That’s right! The lady deserves the best! No, kick the bitch out!”

You probably would’ve thrown a fit if someone called you a bitch, but the world was starting to blur around you. The light from the bar’s old bulbs seemed to smear across your vision as you swayed slightly. Toga’s bright smile stayed fixed on you, and somehow, it was reassuring— like she genuinely believed everything would be okay.

You knew you were about to pass out. Still, you turned your head, forcing your gaze towards Dabi one last time— only to find that he was already watching you. His eyes followed every movement, his posture more alert now than before.

He’d moved closer, too— close enough that when he spoke, his voice came out low, almost gentle.

“You can rest now.”

And the world faded to black.

—

You woke to the feeling of warmth. 

So, fucking, warm. 

Not that you were complaining. Due to occasional bloodloss, constant use of your quirk and overstimulation you tended to run cold very quick. So contrary to one might believe, the overwhelming heat that consumed you actually felt.. good.

There was a shirtless man next to you. 

You blinked, staring at Dabi‘s (less) scarred chest, then up to his face. He was sleeping. 

You weren’t sure whether to feel violated or not, considering the lack of clothing on him and on you too. You didn’t remember shuffling out of your warm sweater. Not to exaggerate, because you were wearing an undershirt, nothing inappropriate but still weird to think about. 

Next thing you noticed was that your head was laying on your biceps, your whole left arm gone numb from that. Your fingers merely brushed the burn victims jagged scars.

And your wound was bandaged up. A fairly good done job, neatly patched, overlapped around four to five times. The blood was barely visible, but there were a few stains.

Your eyes fluttered close, tiredly fighting to keep them open.

His heat was radiating, attacking your body with intensity. His Adam apple lay exposed, side profile so sharp and perfect. You stirred, removing the weight off your numb arm, sitting up with your knees to your chest and your head rested on them. 

Apparently, Dabi was a very light sleeper, because he grunted, cracking an eye open to look at you. With nothing but a sheer black string top, he could basically see your spine sticking out.

Something about that reminded him that he had an actual human being on his futon with him. Next to him. Breathing. Alive. 

And he had to hold back the urge to run his fingers over the bones, imagining the uneven texture beneath them.

“Ya sleep good, princess?” His raspy voice invaded, making you look up. You looked lost, but not panicked. 

“Why am I undressed?” 

He cracked a laugh, sitting up as well as he stretched his back. 

“Calm down, I didn’t touch you or anything. You were just far too hot and it wasn’t clever to leave you like this with me around as well.” He reasoned, radiating heat to prove his point and watching as your lips fell into an ‘o’ shape. 

This whole thing was weird. You’d both just slept in the same bed, him shirtless nevertheless and you not as clothed as you’d like to be around strangers. The string top did nothing to hide your nipples, which you had caught peeking through the thin material (and so had he, no doubt). Still, it wasn’t.. unpleasant. He hadn’t touched you nor did anything that could harm you. No, he’d done pretty much the opposite, giving you a place to sleep. Still, none of you decided to address how weird the situation was.

“How long was I out?”

His eyes flicked over to his phone, tapping the display to turn it on. 

4pm.

You remembered it being just past eleven at midnight when you’d left your apartment.

“Fifteen hours.”

Good fucking God.

“We were thinkin’ you might’ve died, but then again, you couldn’t stop fuckin’ squirming.”

To be fair, it had been a while since you’d slept that good. Your muscles were aching, your jaw was slack and your wound was basically numb. 

You arched your back, tilting your head  to look at him as you did so.

And gosh, the stretch had been delicious. The sounds might’ve been concerning, but all that was covered up when you let out a breathy moan, causing Dabi to tense up, eyes wide with surprise.

A yawn slipped past your lips and you took your arm to examine your wound, ripping off the bandage to look at it. 

Your bite mark was still there, the edges crusted with dried blood.

All it took for your blood to start leaking again was the removal of a tiny crust, letting your quirk hum and vibrate through your body. The needles slipped from your skin, sewing the wound shut.

And with that, Dabi had watched you do a thing you’d never done in front of anyone else. 

“I lack blood. My quirk is superior and unlimited— apart from my energy— but my blood isn’t. As a normal human with no way to replenish it, all I can do is rest and drink water until I stop dying of blood loss. Yesterday, when I healed..”

You trailed off, humming as you tried to remember her name. You remember the boss man calling her something.. Tiger?.. Tora?..

“Toga.”

“Toga.” You clicked your tongue, nodding, “I transferred most of my blood to her. The needles basically act as pouches to carry it. So.. I passed out and slept for so long. Sorry about that.”

You noticed how his stare had intensified, sticking to the mere image of you. Your own eyes locked with his, wide and curious. 

And he smirked, then grinned, pearly whites showing as the corners of his mouth stretched uncomfortably, showing thin skin underneath. 

It should’ve been disgusting. You should’ve looked away and wished he’d never as much as smile towards you. 

But all you could do was stare and long for that grin again. 

“It’s fine, sweets.” His eyes flickered to your chest for a second, shamelessly taking in your sight. You huffed, looking away with cheeks burning and your bottom lip puffed out. What a pervert.

Without another word, you decided it’s best to stand up, your legs wobbly underneath your weight. 

And there for a second, you had stumbled, almost fell forward right into that pretty face of yours. For some reason, Dabi’s muscles shook and a thought crossed his brain. He almost moved forward, almost wanted to catch you—

But he didn’t. Because his reflexes were too slow, obviously.

Well, get this little miss ‘I Use My Quirk For The Greater Good’, Dabi had never needed any physical training, much less anything to do with his pace and movement. He didn’t need any of that if he had that flaming hot quirk of his, where anyone that came too close to him would simply end up burned into a crisp (himself included). 

So yeah, even if his body was urging him o move forward, to snap and support you right before your knees buckled, he held himself back. 

Because that wasn’t Dabi. That had been Touya. 

So, Dabi (not Touya), grunted as he watched you catch yourself, because of fucking course little miss ‘I Help People Regardless Of Their Reputation’ would get all the support from the universe. Because it favored you, no matter how one sees it. You’re an angel and that just pisses him off. Dabi, that is. Not Touya. 

You didn’t seem faced at all by the fact that you almost, almost ruined your pretty face by slamming into the ground (because maybe then Dabi would finally stop giving a shit about you. You were just another pretty face to jack off to, honestly). Maybe it was Touya, imagining, exaggerating your situation, because all he saw was you huffing and pouting at the small trip incident. 

Well, what fucking ever.

“What’re you doing, hm?” 

“Confirming that I’m alive. I’d also like to check up on Toga.” You picked up your sweater from the edge of the bed, throwing it on and shooting the half naked man a last look.

You blushed. And left.

The rest of the afternoon went smoothly with you checking up on Toga and getting to know the League a bit more. Toga, Compress and Twice were nice to you, and the girl even offered to get you some blood pouches so you wouldn’t lack any blood, but you politely refused (you didn’t even want to know where she’d get the blood from).

Shigaraki was a warning of his own. After yesterday, he didn’t seem as distrustful anymore, but he still kept itching and scratching his neck, making you shiver at the sight. The black mist quirk user was named Kurogiri, and he kept Shigaraki in check. 

You noted to offer Shigaraki something against the wounds on his neck.

And despite Toga’s and Twice’s whines, you left not long after, ready to go home.

Dabi hadn’t come to say goodbye.

—

He told himself it wasn’t stalking.

But if you asked anyone else, yeah, maybe it looked like it.

He just.. wanted to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed. Because knowing you, with that stupid self-sacrificing habit and the ‘I’ll help everyone’ attitude, it was only a matter of time before someone decided to take advantage of it.

So yeah. He followed you sometimes.

Kept an eye out when you walked the darker streets, when you stopped at that ramen stand after sundown, or when you spaced out in the middle of traffic lights like you had no concept of self-preservation.

You were pathetic. And maybe that’s why he couldn’t leave you alone.

When he finally lost track of you that night, he figured you’d gone home. He had better things to do anyway (lay in his bed and jack his shit probably, yeah).

Until the next morning— when something felt off.

He didn’t plan to check on you. He really didn’t. But the moment his feet took him down your street, he was already glancing up at your window.

Empty.

No light. No movement. No shadow pacing across the blinds.

“Where the fuck..” he muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes.

Maybe you’d just overslept. Maybe you were fine. Maybe you—

Yeah, right. As if.

He clicked his tongue, shoving his hands into his pockets as he started walking. One street. Two. He tried not to make it look like he was looking for you, but his pulse was telling on him.

By the time he reached the narrow alleys behind the bar strip, he already knew.

You were slumped against the wall, legs bent awkwardly, head tilted to the side.

Eyes closed.

Mouth slightly open.

Still.

For a second, everything in him went quiet.

He should’ve felt relieved. Maybe even amused. “Guess the universe finally got tired of saving your ass,” he wanted to say.

But he didn’t.

Because his chest had gone tight, and his throat felt dry, and fuck— no. No, that wasn’t happening.

He crouched beside you, giving your cheek a light squeeze tap.

“Oi. Wake up.”

Nothing.

His hand moved to your neck before his brain could stop it. Warm skin. Pulse. Faint, but there.

God fucking damn it.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “Unbelievable.”

You reeked of alcohol, and something else. Burnt sugar. Smoke. Maybe drugs— he wasn’t sure and didn’t care to know.

“Of course,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Course you’d do somethin’ this stupid.”

He stood there for a moment, weighing his options. He could leave you here. Pretend he never saw you. It’d be easy. You’d wake up or you wouldn’t— not his problem.

But his hand was already under your knees.

And his other arm was already looping around your back.

He lifted you, your head falling against his shoulder, your breath fanning weakly against his collarbone. 

Anyone passing by probably thought he was some lunatic panicking and dragging a lost one around, but he didn’t care. So what? Let them think whatever the fuck they wanted.

He reached your apartment building, cursing under his breath as he patted you down for keys.

“Where the hell do you keep— oh. Found ‘em.”

The door clicked open, and he carried you inside, kicking it shut behind him.

He laid you down on the couch, brushing stray strands of hair off your face. Your chest rose and fell— uneven but steady.

He stayed there longer than he should’ve, staring.

Then he muttered, half to himself, half to the universe, “You’re a fuckin’ headache, y’know that?”

He turned, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and headed for the door.

He wasn’t going to stay.

He’d done his part.

That’s all.

Right?

..Right.

He didn’t leave.

He told himself he would— that he’d walk out, shut the door, and pretend none of this had happened. But there he was, sitting on the arm of your couch, watching your chest rise and fall.

You looked like death warmed over.

Eventually, you stirred. A groan slipped from your throat as your eyelids fluttered open, pupils unfocused, searching the ceiling for something that wasn’t there.

“Where… where am I?” you mumbled.

Dabi huffed through his nose, shifting his weight. “Your apartment.”

Your head lolled toward the sound of his voice, eyes glassy and confused.

“What’re you doing here?”

He tilted his head, voice low and grumpy, “Saving your dumb ass, apparently.”

You blinked at him, brows scrunching together like you didn’t understand the words. “Where am I?” you repeated, softer this time.

He stared for a long moment, lips parting slightly. God, you really were gone.

“You’re home,” he said again, slower, enunciating every word like he was talking to a child, “your place. I carried you here.”

You just kept staring at him, lost and small, like you didn’t quite believe it.

He sighed and stood, crouching down next to the couch. “C’mon,” he muttered, sliding an arm behind your back and another under your knees. “you’ll be more comfortable in your bed.”

You didn’t resist. You just leaned into him, head dropping against his shoulder as he lifted you again.

He nudged your bedroom door open with his foot and set you down on the edge of the bed. You blinked a few times, fumbling with the hem of your jeans.

“It’s too hot,” you muttered, voice raspy. You reached for a pair of thin pajama shorts on your bed, attempting to step into them half-heartedly while your jeans were still buttoned.

Dabi stared for a second, watching as you tried to pull the shorts over denim. Then he scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

You tugged harder, grumbling under your breath like it was the jeans’ fault.

“Stop— stop, you’re gonna rip ‘em,” he said, grabbing your wrists to still you. “You gotta take the pants off first, genius.”

You blinked at him again, confused but obedient, clumsy fingers fumbling with the button. You managed half the job before giving up, flopping backward onto the bed with a soft groan.

He rolled his eyes and muttered some curse under his breath, then helped you sit back up. 

“Ass up. C’mon,” his hands were on your hips, and though he commanded you something, it was still him who had to drag your hips in the air, just enough to slide the jeans down past your knees. He turned away the second you started wriggling into your shorts, jaw tight, eyes fixed anywhere but you. 

Honestly, he wasn’t sure why. Most of the time he was already imagining you naked, laying underneath him or sitting on his lap—

“Happy now?” he said dryly once you’d finished.

You nodded weakly. “Mm. Cold.”

He froze.

Of course you were. Of course after all that, you’d still complain.

He sighed— a long, heavy sound— and dragged a hand down his face. “You changed ‘cause it was too hot,” he muttered, “now you’re too cold? Make up your damn mind.”

You just whined softly, curling in on yourself, arms wrapping around your knees. “Too cold,” you repeated, voice small, eyes half-shut.

Dabi stared at you for a long moment, jaw flexing. Then, quietly, he muttered, “Fuckin’ bitch—“ before sitting down on the edge of the bed beside you.

He hesitated— for maybe half a second— then reached out, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against him. Heat radiated off him instantly, heavy and steady.

You sighed, body relaxing like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And Dabi sat there, stiff as hell, pretending he didn’t notice the way your fingers curled into his shirt or how your breathing evened out against his chest.

You kept rocking your body, signaling that you were falling asleep, so with slow care and a scoff, he guided you to lay down as you were pressed to his chest. Your head hit the pillows, his own right behind yours as he spooned you. 

His breathe was warm down your neck, and you longed for more. Of course, you were intoxicated as well and extremely unaware of your doings, so you didn’t think much when you squirmed and grinded your ass against his groin. 

Dabi let out a sound of surprise, grunting as his hands came to your hips, “Hey, no. Don’t- quit doin’ that.” He’d scolded, iron grip to stop you from any more grinding.

Just like that, you blacked out. 

And Touya was stuck holding your drunk drugged self with a massive boner for the rest of the day.

—

“Too cold,” his ass.

“Too cold” was the reason he’d shown up a whole damn day later at the hideout. “Too cold” was the reason Toga wouldn’t shut up, poking at him with that stupid grin, trying to get him to admit something happened between him and you.

After hours of sleep, he’d woken up first (big surprise). Left you alone in your bed, blanket half tangled around your legs, breathing soft and even. Sure, maybe he hadn’t wanted to move. Maybe, for a second, he’d thought about staying there just a little longer. But Dabi wasn’t your babysitter, and he sure as hell wasn’t your boyfriend, sticking around to nurse you through a hangover.

He should’ve left you in that alleyway. It wasn’t his job to take care of you. It wasn’t his place to drag you home, or patch you up, or watch you sleep like some creep.

And yet he had.

Probably because you’d looked so damn pathetic and sad, propped up against the dirty walls. And Touya, not Dabi, didn’t like seeing you like that.

So what?

By the time you arrived at the hideout later that day, you were still pale but walking steady. You knocked, waiting for an answer.

Shigaraki opened the door.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, smiling despite the way his red eyes flicked over your face like he was trying to figure out if you were a threat. Once again.

He blinked. “What’re you doing here?”

Ah, ever the same blunt, forward person.

“Wanted to check on everyone.”

He stepped aside, letting you in with a quiet grunt. His posture was still tense, and that raw skin on his neck looked worse than before. You almost said something— almost offered to help— when your gaze caught on Dabi, slouched on the couch, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at you.

You shot him a quick, awkward smile. “Thanks.. for, uh, last night.”

He only hummed in response, chin tipping up slightly. The corner of his mouth twitched, something between a smirk and a grimace.

Shigaraki’s attention followed your line of sight, his tone flat but curious. “Last night?”

“Nothing,” Dabi said immediately, his voice sharp enough to cut off any further questions.

You turned back to Shigaraki, still worried. Your eyes flicked to his neck again, and before you could even open your mouth to offer help, Dabi moved— lazy but deliberate— stepping between the two of you.

“Don’t,” he muttered under his breath, low enough that only you could hear.

You blinked. “Don’t what?”

“Whatever you’re thinkin’,” he said, not looking at you, “jus’.. don’t.”

You frowned but didn’t argue. Dabi’s stance was rigid, jaw tight, blue eyes flicking toward Shigaraki— who was still watching you like some fucking virgin eyeing a one night stand candy.

And Dabi hated that look.

He didn’t know why it got under his skin so bad, why seeing Shigaraki’s eyes linger on you made something hot twist in his chest. Maybe it was the way you looked at the guy— like he wasn’t a villain with a criminal record. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you— like you were some fragile, untouchable thing. Something he could satiate with his virgin hunger for a fuck.

Either way, it pissed him off.

The last thing he wanted was Shigaraki touching you. Or you touching him. Or anyone touching anyone, really.

“Go sit down,” Dabi muttered finally, jaw still tight, “you look like you’re gonna pass out again.”

You gave him a look, half annoyance, half exhaustion, but obeyed, heading for the couch.

He watched you the whole way, eyes sharp, shoulders tense.

He didn’t know why.

Didn’t want to know why.

But when you leaned back against the couch cushions and closed your eyes for a second, Dabi forced himself to look away, crossing his arms again.

“Too cold,” he muttered under his breath.

Yeah. Sure.

“Too cold” was a hell of an excuse for whatever this was turning into.

To hell with you. And him. And every last person on this God forbidden earth—

He hated you for how much you affected him. Whether it were the offers to heal him once again, or the quiet acts where your touch had him reeling and longing for more. He’d declined your offers, because Dabi had plans for the future. It wouldn’t look very logical if he showed up, looking better than before while confronting his father. 

And Touya wanted Enji to see what he’d done to him. Wanted Enji to take in the horrible, disgusting, ugly fucking sight of his son. 

He hated you, for you always managed to work him up. He’d jacked off after he left your apartment, and that to the thought of you. So what? You gave him that boner, he should have a right to think of you while his hands furiously work on his cock (not like he wasn’t ever NOT thinking of you, but still).

He hated the way you made him want to feel. Dabi was doing good, had been doing good with the unfortunate news that his pain receptors were absolutely fucking shredded and would most likely never work again. But then you came, did your stupid magic on him and now he was addicted. Thanks, really. That was the least of all things he’d needed.

Still, that day, he couldn’t help but take you up on your offer for another treatment— this time on his face, as he had insisted. You’d been surprised, but you did as he asked.

He’d groaned, loving the feeling. He didn’t even know how to describe it. To others, it was painful. To some, it was uncomfortable. To him, it was pure bliss.

Maybe he had a thing for pain— but could he be blamed, when it was the only thing that made him feel?

Dabi had been vocal during that, not caring about his comrades in the same room. Most of them were out, which just left Kurogiri and Shigaraki. But Shigaraki wasn’t one to taunt, he’d only watched, taking you and your quirk in.

It was comforting, to you, at least— to know that you were soothing his scars while surrounded by people you were learning to trust.

Sure, they were sketchy, but over time, they’d proved their loyalty.

Because week after week passed, and they had been insistent on keeping you over. At first, they claimed you’d be useful— healer and all that. They’d keep you safe in return (though you hadn’t exactly lacked safety, really). You’d laughed at the idea but agreed to it.

And then you found yourself constantly with them. Time passed, and the League was growing.

While you weren’t really a part of them, still keeping your dignity and ideology, still not taking a side of ‘good’ or ‘bad’, you’d certainly grown important to them, too.

You knew that because they’d noticed too much about you. Your stupid, unhealthy eating habits (Twice and Toga almost drowned you in their stolen goods and insistence to cook). Your good, angelic heart that always had you ending up with less blood than necessary (Shigaraki had finally had enough of your good acts and sent Toga out to get you actual blood pouches— he was sick of seeing your weak self).

So, they took care of you. And you took care of them.

You stayed, even when the hideout was found, destroyed and your apartment was torn to shreds. Your things were gone, not that anything was of value to you. Still, you couldn’t help but be angry that your clothes were mostly just torn now and your place was gone (and you made sure to scold everyone for that. To make them feel even the tiniest bit of your anger). Eventually you had to stick with the League in whatever shitty place they chose, which eventually evolved into a nice, big filled villa with people you’d never seen before.

The League (or now, Paranormal Liberation Front) always kept you close. Kept each other close.

You stayed, even when Shigaraki remained awake for one and a half months, fighting that gigantic beast and surviving off three hours of sleep, you’d gradually healed what you could.

You stayed, even after you had set your role as someone who wouldn’t choose sides.

You stayed, even when Dabi revealed himself as Touya.

You stayed, not once even trying to ‘fix’ those people. A few words, a confirmation that society hadn’t failed them and that there were still good people out there, wouldn’t cover up all the sorrow and hate they’d felt for years.

And maybe it was partly your fault that day— when Twice died, and Hawks turned out to be a traitor, and all you did was stand at the sidelines simply because you hadn’t tried talking Twice out of it yet.

Maybe he would’ve listened— if you had really tried, hadn’t shied off to the side and let everyone do their thing while you fixed what they broke.

Not that you had trusted Hawks in the first place. Dabi hadn’t either, and Shigaraki barely interacted with him. He had better things to do.

But Hawks had killed Twice. And that was something you couldn’t fix, no matter how many times you tried to sew and sew and sew as Toga cried and sobbed.

At some point, Dabi— no, Touya, had to pull you off his dead body.

Touya, not Dabi, was now more scars than healthy skin. His face was almost fully purple, the fire having taken the skin off his cheeks, covering his beautiful face. His upper body wasn’t in any better shape. His front hadn’t changed too much, but his back was almost fully purple— fully swallowed by burnt skin.

You knew that because TouyaNotDabi liked to walk around shirtless, exposing the years of torture. Maybe he’d always liked to be shirtless— some men did— and now he was finally able to go around like that. His secret was out, and he could finally get rid of Dabi and pull Touya out from six feet under.

He had white hair now, Touya. To you, he looked like an angel— striking blue eyes, white hair, and piercings decorating his face.

A fallen angel, that’s what he was.

And you blamed Endeavor for his fall— for the burns and the way he’d hidden Touya behind Dabi for years.

“Care to fix me up, princess?”

That’s right. Touya needed more frequent healing now, according to you (though you’re pretty sure he only agreed because he liked the feeling of it— that sick bastard).

You nodded, settling yourself on the couch beside him. Everyone else was out, doing whatever secret things they had going on these days.

He leaned back, watching you with that half-smile that never seemed to leave his face anymore. Touya, not Dabi, was no longer a mystery. More alive, somehow.

You reached for his jaw, fingertips hovering just above the cracked skin that spread across his cheek. Heat pulsed faintly from him.

“I swear, you’re always burning up,” you murmured, trying to focus on tracing his scars, looking what you have to deal with.

He chuckled— (and lord forbid the arousal that shot through your body, slightly squirming), “And you’re always cold. Guess it evens out.”

Your lips twitched. “Maybe I just like your warmth.”

That made him laugh— short and raspy as he eyed you up and down, “‘Course you do. C’mere and I’ll share it with ya, doll.”

Before you could process his words, he’d already placed his scarred hands on the back of your thighs, hoisting you into his warm lap. You yelped, the texture of rough pants invading your pantyhose. 

Of fucking course this happens the one time you wear a skirt.

You ignored the nickname, startled in his hold, “Touya!” 

Gosh. He loved the way you spoke his name. 

See, now that was the best part of revealing his identity. He could finally listen to your voice calling out his actual name, smothering, scolding, shouting it.

He only hoped he’d get to hear you moaning it soon.

He rasped out a laugh, hands settled on your hips as your own ones held into his chest for stability. 

“That wasn’t necessary.”

“Very much was. Now go on, sweetheart.”

You grumbled, putting your wrist near your mouth, ready to draw blood as always.

See now, Touya loved the way your quirk worked on him. And he couldn’t deny that he loved to watch your teeth sink into skin (though he wished it was his skin they were sinking into), but something about how you hurt yourself in order to heal others bugged him in a way he didn’t like to admit.

“You know,” you paused as he begun, “you make this feel a hell of a lot better than it should. The healing, I mean.”

“Maybe that’s because I actually care if you live,” you shot back softly.

He tilted his head, grin crooked. “Yeah.. maybe.”

And right before you could actually bite into it, he grabbed your wrist, holding it firmly.

“Let me?”

Apparently, Touya was just full of surprises today. 

“This your weird way of foreplay, Tou?” 

But so were you. 

“What makes you think we’re fuckin’?”

You rolled your eyes, grinding down to the hard bulge you’d been trying to ignore poking at you. 

Touya’s eyes fluttered for a moment, his head tipping back against the couch.

He let out a quiet sound, somewhere between a sigh and a groan. 

“‘M gonna make you cum so hard. I’m gonna fill you up ‘n make sure my cum leaks out of you for days. Gonna mark you up so h-hard fuck. Shit. You’re so—“

You’d long stopped grinding, but Touya seemed to be.. very.. well. You didn’t think there was a word for that, “Right. Okay.” You held your wrist up to his lips, your other hand resting on his hot (like, warm hot) chest. “Go on,” 

He only stared at you, expression blunt.

“What? You asked.”

“Really. Are you just gonna ghost me while sitting on my fuckin’ lap. If you don’t want this then just say so—“

“I do. But you asked me to fix you up, then requested to bite into my wrist and then proceeded to sex talk me into riding you. So let’s do that, one thing after another?”

“Shiiiiit, fine. Givme—“ 

Eagerly, and with a buck of his hips that caused you to bounce forward, he held into your wrist, hovering his lips over the familiar place that always bled.

His lips were uneven on your skin, the bottom one scarred whilst the upper one was soft as they pressed into you. You exhaled, feeling his teeth dragging.

And then he fucking bit. No warning, completely unexpected. You yelped, hips bouncing into his stoning boner. 

Almost as if to soothe the assault on your wrist, he dragged his tongue over the wound, lapping up the metallic taste of your blood. You huffed, using the hand that steadied you to push him away by his head, feeling the softness of his white hair. 

“You dick.”

“Oh I’ll make sure you’ll receive some—“

“Shutup” you grumbled, letting the blood do its usual routine. Collect together. Needles. Go under his skin—

And Touya groaned, the pinch in his eyebrows not from pain but something resembling pleasure.

“You’re insane.” You muttered, grinding slightly down on him— his big problem was poking you in every right way possible, and you had to shut up to hold back your moans. 

“Keep talkin’ and I won’t last, angel.” He rasped, feeling.

Touya was feeling. Touya was feeling everything, from the way your quirk worked on him, the way your breath hit the back of his ears as you leaned forward, the way your pussy was fucking soft and pulsing right atop of him. 

He was resisting to take you right then and there.

“H-hurry up, w’na fuck you stupid so, s’badly-“ 

Shit. You tried to hurry up, all while letting soft, breathy moans echo through the room.

You’d never finished healing someone so quick.

It wasn’t all too well done, but the scars that creeped up his cheekbones shied away, revealing his natural skin tone, taking back the healthy skin. Luckily, it didn’t take too much energy from you, or blood for that matter.

The wound on your wrist stopped bleeding, and Touya’s hands moved from your hips to your skirt, pulling it up as he ripped your pantyhose. 

“Touya-!” 

“I’ll get you a new one, fuck, fine? Besides you don’t even need it. If you’re so fuckin’ cold then just come to me.” Was all he spat before shoving your panties to the side, revealing your glistening arousal.

“F-fuck.”

Your panties were shimmied off quickly (funny, how he couldn’t have waited for you to rid your pantyhose like that too), thrown somewhere on the floor before his fingers started to rub from your clit down to your hole. You gasped, holding into his shoulders for support. 

His index finger entered you slowly, him musing at the amount of wetness that had collected in between your legs. “Talkin’ bout some ‘one after another’ while you’re dripping, fuck. Y’re such a fuckin’ slut. You get this wet healing everyone?” 

“Shit— f-fuck you T- nghh!” 

He added a second finger, slamming up into your hole until his palm cupped your cunt. The uneven, jagged texture of the burnt parts of his hand rubbed against your clit, causing your eyes to roll back as you moaned. 

“Fuckin’ watch your mouth. Don’t forget who’s knuckles deep inside you.” You grumbled at his words, dropping your head into the crook of his neck. He let you for a few seconds, until his other hand pulled you back by the back of your neck, hot hands wrapped around you. 

His fingers pumped into you mercilessly, his eyes glued on the mess between your legs. 

“Look at you,” he cooed, a grin evident on his face, “look at this.” 

And just like that, he pulled his fingers from your soft walls, shoving them infront of your face. 

They were dripping. 

You whimpered, watching him take his fingers into his mouth, meaning at your taste. 

“Need you now. Let- lemme fuck you.” 

Say no more.

You wasted no time unzipping his pants, and he had to lift himself with you on top to tuck them and his boxers down, tossing them away. He was fully naked, going to remove your top to finally see those tits of yours. 

You could barely hold back your excitement, looking down his dick. 

Pretty pink decorated his tip, swollen with pre-cum running down the length of it. Even there his skin seemed uneven— not burnt and purple like the rest of him, but just a shade cooler than it should be—

and the underside of his had staples on it. 

Your jaw dropped, something akin to panic rising in your heart. You were supposed to take that?

“Surprised? ‘S fine sweetheart, you’re wet enough to take me,”

Hah. Funny of him to say that. He wasn’t exactly the one about to get penetrated by a fucking machine. 

“You could’ve— told me.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You didn’t bother humoring him any longer, pinching your eyebrows together and holding into his cock. Your thumb brushed over his tip, making him shudder, and you slowly explored farther, feeling the cold staples in contrast to his warm fucking dick.

You lined it up with your cunt before slowly sinking down on him. 

Groans, whimpers, sounds of pain and pleasure left both his and your lips—, though really, the pained sounds came from you. 

For a second, you wanted to pull out, to maybe suck him off and leave it as it is— he was already wide enough, and the first set of staples that entered you were just too much. 

But your mama ain’t raised a quitter, so you closed your eyes, sighing and trying to relax.

Until he tapped your cheek, cupping your face with his hands. He tutted, “None of that. Face it like a big girl, will ya? I’m here with you.” 

What a fucker. Tears rimmed up into your eyes as you nodded, taking more and more of him, all the while moaning and clutching into him. He was doing no better—

still, apparently you weren’t quick enough. So Touya took matters into his own hands and gripped into your hips, pulling you down until he bottomed out. 

You screamed his name, nails scratching at his jagged, purple skin— you couldn’t leave any marks, and the skin was too thick to penetrate, so you didn’t hold back as you dug them in. Not like he didn’t deserve it.

And then he was shuddering, eyes rolling back as he choked your name—

He trashed his lips into yours, harshly, kissing you. His tongue invaded your mouth, and he held you close.

Inside of you, you felt a weird sensation, slithering into your walls and—

He came. He fucking came.

You broke the kiss, pulling back surprised as his hands started cupping your tits, moaning, “You—“ 

“Shut up. It’ll get hard again. Fuck.” He exhaled, as if blaming you for his very quick orgasm. 

You laughed softly, tears escaping your eyes at the feeling of his cock hardening inside of you, the staples doing nothing to soothe your velvety walls. He sighed, pulling you into him, trailing kisses all over your face (and you better not tell anyone he ever did that). “Relax,” you thought you could hear him say, his muffled words sending vibrations through your skin, “doin’ so good. All for me, such a good girl.” 

His dick twitched inside of you, making you moan and nod, “Touya..” 

He grinded you atop of him, your pelvic bone brushing his with the way he’s balls deep inside of you— your clit catching into his skin. His cum all but leapt out of you, and soon he was bouncing you up and down his dick, his hands dragging your weight. 

“Such a good girl. ‘M gonna make you cum s-so good, gonna make you wet my dick properly, until you’re crying ‘n begging— until you’ve lost count of your fuckin’ cunt gushing ‘round me— shiiiiit—!” He threw his head back, your own drool dripping down his chest as you chased to kiss his neck. 

He groaned, feeling you nuzzling into him— and he knew he couldn’t hold it anymore.

Gripping harshly into your plush thighs, he stood up, dick still inside of you, your cunt fluttering around him. You yelped, the shift of his cock making you clench your thighs around his waist. 

He almost yelled— almost dropped you and fucked you into the floor— but managed to sigh and collect himself instead. He walked the short distance to the room he’d claimed as his own, locking the door and throwing the two of you into his bed. 

His dick hadn’t left you once, nuzzled perfectly into the heat of your core, rubbing you deliciously. 

“You’re mine. This cunt—“ he thrusted forward, burying his tip into your deepest parts, making your jaw slack and eyes roll back as he toyed with your clit for emphasis. “‘S all mine. All of it. Shit, waited so long f-for this— fuckin’ had me stroking my shit every night to the thought of you, sweetheart.” 

You whined, bucking your hips up to him, your legs still wrapped around his waist so you could take him fully, “‘m all yours Touya! P-please—  haah— always wanted you s-so much!“

He panted, laughing as he bullied his cock into you, “Waited all this time ‘n you would’ve always spread your pretty little legs for me?”

You nodded eagerly, chasing for a kiss, “Kiss me, please Tou,” 

What cruel man would he be to deny you that? 

He went into the kiss, bit into your lower lip just to tease you before burying his tongue don’t your throat. Your hands buried themselves into his white hair, tugging and pulling for a break. 

After all, you needed to breathe too.

Fortunately he let you, unfortunately you already missed the feeling of his lips against yours. But it was fine, since he was buried deep inside of you anyway, fucking and reshaping your hole to fit his dick—

“So- tight—! Haah!”

He was carving you to his liking, and you were presenting yourself to him. 

“Touya- T- Tou, baby— I’m-“ 

Touya didn’t let you finish your sentence, increasing his speed, smacking his fat cock into you over and over again. He dragged it out, leaving only the tip in as he slammed into you again, leaving you a wailing, moaning mess (as if he wasn’t doing any better—).

Your legs held him closer, heel of your feet pushing into his ass to draw him deeper and deeper—

“Shit- shit I’m gonna c-cum- gonna cum inside ‘n fill you up s-so— fuckin’— shit!”

And with a cry of his name, you came unraveled on his dick, cunt fluttering as he, too, unloaded his cum into you. 

You were panting, and so was he— your legs loosely falling into the sheets as he rode out your climaxes. He remained inside of you for a few moments, emptying his balls properly until he wasn’t cumming and creaming anymore. Your hole was pulsing, one more movement and you’d probably be ripped over the edge of overstimulation. 

You whined at the feeling of his cock slipping out of you, his cum flowing down your hole. 

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.” He tutted, your fluttering eyes melting his heart. Or something like that. Whatever that fluttering feeling was.

He kissed you again, shoving his tongue into your mouth as his fingers trailed down your tits.. stomach.. abdomen and—

“N-no! Tou, s’too much!” 

He paid you no mind, fingers dipping into the mess you’ve made. 

“You can take it. Know you’re a tough girl, c’mon.” 

And he’d fingered you, his fingers stained with your mixed cum— 

You came twice on his fingers until he switched to fucking you on your stomach instead, his hands fumbling your ass— heating up everytime you as much as clenched around him (you were sure he was one degree away from branding you). You mewled, hands gripping into the sheets until you’d willingly placed them behind your back.

It didn’t take Touya long to understand that you wanted to hold his hand. He’d mused, fucking into you even harder as he held you.

At some point, he’d even pulled your upper body up, so that your back was against his chest while he fucked you on his knees. His dick was slippery, and his thrusts were just as sloppy by then, but he’d still managed to make you cum over and over again, leaving you a mewling, whimpering mess as he promised you ‘one more time’.

One more time your ass. Well get this, mister ‘I Stroke My Shit To You Every Night’, if he keeps forcing you to open your eyes and either look at him or the point where the two of you are connected, you are definitely going to squirt.

Which you did, inevitably. You’d just looked down to see his fingers twisting and abusing your nipples when he’d pushed you to spread your thighs wider with his own knee. His cock sank into you too fucking deep, and you could see the outline of it on your abdomen. Moving in, out, in, out,..

You’d moaned, nudging Touya’s head with yours in a way to make him look— but he’d already been looking over your shoulder, grinning widely with sheer grunts and desperation.

“Touya- hngh!— fuck!” You cried, clinging into him, leaning back to kiss him, “‘m gonna cook for you! I’m gonna kiss you ‘n pamper you ‘n I’ll-“ hiccup, “I’ll make sure you’ll never forget to take care of yourself again. Tou- mhngh!-“

His eyes had widened, his thrusts slowing down until he’d fully stopped inside of you.

You could’ve sworn you heard a sniffle before he begun again, grunting.

“I love you.”

“I love you so, s-so fuckin’ much—“

“You never left, never even thought of it— ‘m gonna keep you save, angel, stay with me, I love you I love you—“

Touya wasn’t sure what had come into him, rearranged his heart and feeling, made him so fucking cheesy and soft and desperate—

But it didn’t matter. Not when you said it back. 

“I love you too, Touya. ‘M never g’nna l-leave—!”

He made you squirt. And cry. And sob. 

But most importantly, he’d taken care of you when he’d noticed your desperation. Held you tightly and nuzzled into you from behind as he assured you that ‘s gonna be fine, doll. Doin’ so good.’ or ‘’swear I’ll never leave this cunt. Ah, stay with me baby, hngh—!’

At some point, way past the limits of your sex drive, you had passed out in his arms. He knew that, because he’d been fucking you in missionary, and he watched as you came with a cry and your eyes fluttered close. 

No amount of tapping your cheek could get you to wake up, and that’s when he’d decided it was enough.

There was so much mess. So much cum, drool and your sweat (since Touya couldn’t sweat). But that was fine. Touya had survived years with trash and disgusting motel mattresses. Don’t get him wrong though, none of this was disgusting because it came from you and him. 

He, too, was tired, but he’d been clever enough to get a towel from the closet to clean the mess between your legs (and he’d experimentally scooped a bit of his cum out of your hole— heart fluttering at the sight.

He left you filled up, hadn’t been bothered enough to finger his cum out of you. He knew you’d probably scold him once you woke up, but it was worth it, knowing he’d claimed you and no one else could ever stick their disgusting cock inside of you.)

At some point, he fell asleep in the mess, but more importantly— holding you.

—

“What’re you baking?”

You hummed, feeling a certain white-haired fuck poking at your side, his breath warm against your ear.

“Strawberry shortcake.”

He froze for a second— then blinked, leaning closer like he hadn’t heard you right.

“Strawberry shortcake?” he repeated, voice dangerously raspy.

You nodded, smiling to yourself as you stirred the mix.

And then he was right there, his chest pressed against your back, his breath sliding down your neck.

You squeaked— more of a giggle, really— as his lips brushed too close, the smell of smoke and spice filling the tiny kitchen. His nose dug into your skin, and his lips pressed right into you.

From somewhere behind, Toga squealed like she was watching her favorite drama while Spinner gagged loudly.

Touya ignored both of them. His voice dropped, rough and sincere in that strange, lazy way only he could pull off.

“I’m gonna fucking marry you,” he muttered, “gonna make sure you’re the happiest wife ever. That’s it. You’re done for. You make strawberry shortcake, and I’m done for.”

You laughed, your shoulders shaking, but his hands were already braced on either side of the counter, keeping you there, his head still dipped close to your neck.

The kitchen was cozy— small, meant for you and your team (the original League). Toga, Spinner, Compress, and even Shigaraki had settled down. It had been a while since everyone had been in a room together.

..well, except for Twice. You’d mourned him, and unbeknownst to anyone, so had Touya. He wished he’d done more. Twice had been a good friend— and what Touya would give to pluck each and every feather off that traitor’s back—

But Twice was gone, and there was nothing to be done.

Sometimes, Touya wondered what would’ve happened if he’d been there. He would’ve spoken to him, that much was certain. He probably would’ve admitted hating you, then switched to how much he’d like to fuck you— if only to hear Twice scold and encourage him over and over again.

He’d probably tell him that he was a monster. That he should stay away from you and keep his fucking weirdo tactics to himself.

Then he’d switch again, grin wide, and tell him it was wonderful that he’d found someone. Touya hadn’t wanted to make friends, so the fact that he’d managed to woo you would’ve thrown Twice right off his chair.

“Spinner likes strawberry shortcake, too.”

“Who cares what the lizard likes? He can go have dinner with the rats in the canal for all I care.”

“I’m still here, dipshit! Just because you fucked her doesn’t mean she’s gonna bake for you only!”

Touya scoffed, rolling his eyes at the memory. When they came back and found your clothes bundled together, panties, boxers and everything on the couch. You’d blushed, but he’d been somewhat proud. You were his, and that much was clear now. 

Toga broke into laughter. You giggled again, turning around.

Even old Shiggy and Compress couldn’t hold back their laughter. Even if one was muffled behind a mask and the other behind a hand.

Somewhere in the room, Twice’s laughter bounced off the walls. No one else heard it— but it was there.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, you fuckwacks.”

But Touya was looking at you, eyes brimming with something that shouldn’t exist in a man who’d burned for so long— hope. Fragile, reckless, stupid hope. It clung to him like the smell of smoke that never quite left his skin, like the fire he used to curse and now only used to keep you warm.

And it was Touya, after all. Touya who’d spent his life chasing approval from a man who never saw him. Touya who’d let the flames eat him alive just to feel something real. Touya who’d crawled out of his own ashes, eyes bloodshot and hands shaking, just to find you standing there— not running, not looking away.

It was Touya who’d learned that not everything he touched had to burn.

He watched you now the same way he used to watch the horizon as a kid— like maybe, this time, the sun wouldn’t rise without him. You could see it all in his eyes, the pain, the pieces of Dabi still stitched to his skin.

But then he smiled— small, almost shy, like he wasn’t sure he deserved to.

And maybe he didn’t. Maybe he’d never be clean enough for love like yours.

Still, he reached for you. Because he was Touya, and he’d already burned once. What was a little more fire if it meant feeling something this good?

[starspenxcie]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

fluff - baby!gumi walking in dad!toji's footsteps

it’s snowing softly.

big lazy flakes falling slow. landing in toji’s dark hair. sticking to megumi’s fluffy hood.

the grocery bag in toji’s hand is light - just some milk, bananas, hot chocolate (and lollies) you forgot to grab earlier.

you stayed home to start dinner and said, 'gumi’s been cooped up all day. take him with you. he loves the snow.'

toji grumbled per usual. but didn’t say no.

now they’re walking through the park on the way back. bundled up in scarves and puffy jackets. the world quiet and pale under a blanket of white.

megumi is toddling along behind him.

slow. careful. focused.

toji hears the crunch of his own boots in the snow, steady and deep.

then, he hears the softer pats of megumi’s smaller boots.

and then-

he hears a grunt.

turns around.

megumi is pausing every few steps… and very seriously, very determinedly, very adorably, placing his feet directly in the footprints toji left behind.

toji just blinks.

megumi blinks back. then steps into the next footprint. stumbles a little. adjusts.

“…what’re you doin’ back there?” toji calls.

megumi frowns. “walk.”

“you’re copyin’ me?”

the toddler shrugs, like maybe.

toji watches him.

tiny arms out for balance. cheeks pink from the cold. green eyes narrowed in full concentration. he looks like a serious little snowball. a puff with a mission.

and something about it - makes toji’s chest feel weird.

soft. full. stupidly fond.

he turns back around.

but this time, he walks slower. and he steps a little closer together. so the footprints are easier to follow.

he doesn’t say anything.

doesn’t look back yet.

just walks.

soft step. soft step.

and behind him, megumi toddles forward. a perfect little echo.

boot in footprint. boot in footprint.

every now and then, gumi hums a little tune. softly. distracted. proud.

they pass a family building an ugly looking snowman. a fat dog running in circles, stupidly happy. a couple with their arms linked, smiling. 

toji adjusts the bag in his hand.

then looks back again.

megumi’s still going. a little red in the face now. but still so determined. stepping exactly where toji stepped, fully confident. like he knows he won’t slip. like he trusts that it’s safe where papa’s already been.

and toji’s heart cracks open just a little bit more.

he crouches. waits.

when megumi finally toddles up to him, he plops down into the snow dramatically. 

“my feet,” he says, pointing. “tired.”

toji chuckles and ruffles his spiky hair. “wanna ride?”

megumi nods immediately. lifts his arms. toji hoists him up with one arm, rests him on his hip and holds him close.

“you did good,” he murmurs.

megumi rests his cheek against toji’s shoulder. “i walk in your steps.”

“i know, kid,” he says, voice uncharacteristically soft. “i know.”

and the snow keeps on falling.

A/N: this is heavily inspired by that one amazing artist on x, who makes the CUTEST fushiguro family drawings! @/DDub1618

taglist: @im-a-simp139, @tojiful, @happyberryave, @lisabelhyhn, @mialafavorita, @tet-yy, @sxpernova, @airfyre, @chewiebee, @iquitfindingausername, @anonymous123sm, @justiceforkira, @widaamins, @thejujvtsupost, @inkedbynova, @gypsiegoop, @icebearcucumber

[reihimura00]

AWWWW 😭😭😭❤️

[o6frog]

ST★R — GIRL!

[katsukikisser13]

I have a girlfriend!! / drunk!katsuki

katsuki had went out for a hangout with the guys an hour ago, and right now, you were standing infront of the club they were at in your hello kitty slippers. you watched as kirishima carried out katsuki by his shoulders, a very drunk katsuki

“heya! so sorry to bother you, but— bakugo was yapping about how much he missed you so I just.. I thought it’d be better to give him back to you!” kirishima exclaimed with an almost guilty tone, rubbing the back of his neck. he almost stumbled from katsuki’s weight against him

“hi kirishima, he was talking about me?” you ask, a small smile threatening to spread across your lips as you took katsuki’s hand, gently guiding him closer to you. just as you grazed his arm, he jerked back. “eijirou!! who the hell is this, hah? I have a girlfriend!!” katsuki barked, eyes drooping lazily as he pushed kirishima away

katsuki mumbled more nonsense like “she’s very pretty” you were a bit worried, wondering how much he drank. “hey—! katsuki!! this is your girlfriend!” kirishima grunted as katsuki stumbled into him, “I’m so sorry, yn.. I think I should’ve kept an eye on him” he apologized

you chuckled as katsuki almost tripped into kirishima, “it’s fine” you smile. katsuki stops to take a better look at you and suddenly, his whole face softens. he pushes kirishima out of the way, not even caring that he wasn’t in his way at all and ran towards you

katsuki ran into your arms, completely melting into your touch as he buried his face into your neck. katsuki didn’t even care that kirishima was right behind him, everything but him and you faded from his mind at that moment. he literally picked you up as he held you, arms wrapped around you in a warm bear hug as your feet dangled from the ground

“where were you” he murmured into you neck, his voice muffled by your skin. you couldn’t help but giggle as he spoke, his breath tickling your skin. you wrapped your arms around his neck, palm cupping the back of his head, “at home?” you cooed

“don’t laugh at me” he whispered almost sheepishly, and you smiled. “of course not, baby” you murmured, trying to stifle another chuckle as you look awkwardly to kirishima. kirishima was trying not to laugh, pulling out his phone to snap a photo for blackmail

katsuki was even clingier when you got home. he stared at you like he was falling in love all over again as you scolded him softly for drinking so much, all the while pressing soft and aggressive kisses to his cheek

[reihimura00]

AWWW 😭

[k-aay]

"OOPS... WRONG NUMBER!"

synopsis :: the jjk men accidentally confess their feelings to you over text

featuring :: gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, megumi, yuji, inumaki

note :: IM SO SORRY FOR THE VERY VERY LATE UPLOAD :(( ANYWAYS JACOB SATORIUS IS LOWKEY HITTING.... ALSOO DOES ANYONE KNOW HOW TO CHEAT THE ONLY 10 PICTURES ALLOWED IN A TUMBLR POST?? I CANT USE A BANNER CUZ I MAXED OUT THE LIMIT

credits! :: this work is owned by @k-aay on tumblr. please dont steal my work! (i do not proof read, sorry for any mistakes

[reihimura00]

HELP 😭 I LOVE MEGUMI’S

[creamkissed]

PEACHES & CREAM(PIE) ୨୧

pairings. bowser!sukuna x princesspeach!reader x mario!satoru

summary. you’ve been “kidnapped” by sukuna again—but the castle’s luxurious, you’re not exactly restrained, and every time satoru storms in to “rescue” you, you’re a little less willing to leave. they think they’re fighting over you… but you’ve always liked being in the middle.

content warnings. 7.1k words (super mario if it was peak), explicit sexual content, threesome, sukuna tops satoru AND YES THEY KISS yay!, power imbalance, possessive behavior, jealousy themes, bratty reader, light dubcon/kidnapping roleplay, oral sex, fingering, face sitting, creampie, spit sharing, degradation and praise kink, voyeurism, competitive bickering during sex, mild humiliation, overstimulation, spit roasting, lowkey dom-ish reader?, emotional manipulation played for comedy, lowkey crack so don't take this super srs.

author's note. got violently high last night and watched the super mario movie w my boyfie then this was born (my excuse to write yaoi)

you don’t know how this keeps happening, except you do. it’s always the same: the soft pull of teleportation magic or whatever the fuck he calls it now, the slow blink of disorientation, and then pink silk sheets or marble floors or a three-person bath sunk into the center of the room like a stage.

the castle is always the same, too—lavish in a way that feels intentional, like it’s been redecorated for you, like someone keeps hitting “reset” and changing the theme just enough to pretend it’s not a pattern.

last time it was rose petals. the time before that, champagne on ice. this time it’s cherries. purple and cold and split in half like he knew you’d complain about the seeds. there’s a gold tray floating nearby, embossed with little star motifs that glow faintly when the steam rolls over them.

“open,” he says, and of course you fucking do.

the bath is hot enough to sting. the steam’s curling your hair at the edges. your face is tight with that honey-clay-fancy-shit mask he special ordered from the capital, some absurd royal apothecary with a logo shaped like a mushroom crown, and there are cucumbers on your eyes that you didn’t ask for but now can’t remove without effort, so here you are.

dripping wet. blind. mouth open. being hand-fed by the most dangerous man in the empire. again.

this isn’t a rescue mission. it’s a spa day.

there’s a small brass bell by the tub, too. he told you it was decorative. you rang it once. servants appeared instantly. you’ve never touched it again.

and yet—if satoru gojo kicks down the castle door one more time while you’re soaking in a three-foot-deep lavender salt bath, you are going to commit an act of treason yourself.

“chew princess,” sukuna says lazily, and you chew, because arguing while topless in cucumber-blindness never works out in your favor. his fingers graze your lips. cold and wet. it doesn’t feel like a fruit offering. it feels like a game. a game you’re pretty sure he keeps winning on purpose.

“i should lock the door this time,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “fucking idiot’s probably already scaling the south wall.”

you snort. inelegant. a sound unbecoming of a captive princess. “you say that every time.”

“and every time, you let him ruin our date.”

you flick one cucumber slice off. barely crack an eye. he’s sprawled by the edge of the bath, arm balanced on the porcelain, hair up, chest bare, tattoos coiling, like this is his personal brothel and you’re the treat he summoned.

there’s a throne in the corner of the room you’ve never seen him sit on. he prefers this instead. he pops a cherry into his own mouth and chews like he invented the concept of pleasure. he probably thinks he did.

“i wouldn’t call it a date,” you mutter, and he tilts his head.

“you’re naked. i’m feeding you. he’s jealous. feels like a date.”

somewhere far below, a pipe groans as magic reroutes through the castle, like it’s bracing for impact.

you roll your eyes and sink deeper, the water sloshing over your collarbones. the tub is too big. the room is too warm. the air smells like fruit and whatever spell he always sneaks in when he thinks you’re not paying attention—the one that makes your legs feel floaty and your mouth dry. the one that makes you stay.

“he’s not jealous,” you lie.

sukuna laughs like you’re adorable. or pathetic. you’re not sure which one is worse.

you hear the splash before you realize he’s serious.

one thick leg, then the other. the water sloshes violently like the bath itself is trying to escape, and you almost lose one of the cucumbers off your eye again, but you don’t move—won’t give him the satisfaction. you lay there, blank-faced, toes wrinkling, cucumber-blind and bath-drunk while the warlord of five provinces and serial homewrecker of your peace slides into the tub like he fucking owns it.

because he does. because this castle was built to keep people out, and redesigned to keep you in.

“you have no boundaries,” you mumble, voice thick from heat and honey-mask goo and emotional exhaustion.

he hums. does not disagree. doesn’t say anything at all, actually—just settles in at the foot of the tub, lounging like it’s a throne, arms spread along the rim like he’s posing for a painting, and stares at you like he’s about to ruin something again.

you’re pretty sure this is how he waits between boss fights.

"this was supposed to be me time,” you mutter. more for yourself than him.

“it is,” he says, “i’m here.”

like that helps.

somewhere, a distant alarm chimes once. not loud. not urgent. just enough to say someone has entered the level.

you feel him hook one finger under your ankle and drag your leg toward him slow, indulgent, like he’s hauling in a catch, like your foot is a prize he won. the water parts, slick against your skin, and suddenly it’s his lap your heel’s resting in. he starts. thumb to arch. palm to sole. pressure applied just shy of pain. and you hate him for how good it is immediately.

"relax," he says, all fake-softness and amused mockery, "you act like i’ve never touched you before."

“you’ve never touched my feet before.”

he squeezes the ball of your foot just right and makes you groan through gritted teeth. “maybe that’s your problem. ungrateful. high-strung. too busy pretending you don’t love it here to let yourself enjoy anything.”

"i enjoy silence."

"never met a brat who didn’t lie for sport."

you hate that he's good at this. hate that you didn't know he could be good at this. hate that you’re not stopping him. that the bath is still hot, that his hands are still rough, that your other foot is already twitching in anticipation and he hasn't even touched it yet.

“yeah,” he mutters, low and satisfied, “there it is.”

"if you're gonna rub my feet like this every time, you should just kidnap me more often," you mutter, trying to sound bored and failing spectacularly.

"princess," he says, digging his thumbs in deeper, "you say that like you're not the one who keeps showing up."

his hands drift.

not immediately. he massages your other foot like he’s not planning anything—like he’s just being generous, like the ache melting from your calves isn’t calculated, like the bath isn’t a trap he set and walked straight into with a hard-on and a god complex.

but then his thumbs start creeping up. past your ankles. into your shins. up the backs of your calves where your skin’s the most sensitive. and you're still laid out, stretched and floaty, letting it happen. he's rubbing slow, like he has all night, like no one's coming to save you.

which they aren’t.

not yet.

you’ve been here enough to know the stages: the soak. the rubdown. the corruption. the bonus round.

his hands slide higher. up to your knees. your thighs. a palm braces against the bend of one leg and eases it open under the water, like that’s normal, like this is a trust exercise and not the prelude to filth. your cunt clenches like it knows what’s coming and wants to pregame the panic.

"i don't think this is in the massage manual," you say, voice dry, throat hotter than the bathwater.

he doesn’t answer. just leans forward. plants one lazy kiss on the inside of your knee like you’re something worshipped. like you’re a feast. like he’s already decided how you’ll taste.

and you—god help you—you don’t stop him.

you should. you know that. you should sit up and slap him and demand to be returned to your kingdom of overpriced skincare and mediocre royal suitors. but instead you let your legs fall a little wider. let him shift forward in the water. let him hook your knees over his shoulders like he’s done this before—has done this before—and let him drag you down the sloped edge of the bath until your ass is half out of the water and his mouth is hovering right there.

"say please,” he says, because of course he does. “go on. be cute for me.”

he grins, and then—boom.

the door slams open with enough force to shake steam off the walls.

the lock was enchanted. doesn’t matter. the hero always finds a way.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER—!”

you don’t even lift your head. just sigh, high and long and put-upon, like your favorite face mask just got interrupted by a meteor. again.

“hello, satoru,” you say flatly. “nice of you to warp in after the cherries this time.”

there’s a faint squelch behind him as the castle seals the pipe he must’ve dropped out of. the scent of ash and ozone lingers in the air.

sukuna laughs. satoru is already halfway into the bath chamber with his stupid sword glowing and his white hair damp from rain and his eyes wide and horrified like he just walked in on a war crime.

and to be fair, he kind of did.

your legs are still over sukuna’s shoulders. your throat is still tight. your cunt is still pulsing like a fire alarm. and sukuna doesn’t even flinch. doesn’t retreat. just flicks his tongue out once, once, against the softest, most humiliating spot of you—as punctuation.

“oh,” he says, lazily. “you’re early.”

“you kidnapped her again,” satoru snaps, storming fully into the room like he pays the rent here, like he didn’t just walk in on you spread open in a royal bath.

“i invited her,” sukuna says.

“you never asked—”

“she never says no.”

“he’s got you under a spell,” satoru gasps, like this isn’t the eighth fucking time. “he’s—he’s doing something to you. you would never stay here willingly—”

“she asked for a refill,” sukuna says, not even glancing up from your inner thigh. “and a massage.”

“that’s not what this looks like.”

you bolt upright, peel the other cucumber slice off your face, dripping and humiliated and pissed off in five different directions now.

“oh my god,” you mutter, voice raw from heat and water and the whiplash of almost getting your pussy eaten into the astral plane. “both of you—shut the fuck up.”

sukuna doesn’t move. still lounging. big and broad like a final boss screen, steam curling around his tattooed chest like smoke from a fire-breath trigger, gold rings glinting at his fingers like coins from a chest you weren’t supposed to open. his shoulders are sharp. his jaw sharper. there’s something beast-shaped about the way he takes up space—even wet and lazy in the bath, he looks like he could wreck half the kingdom if you gave him a reason.

you shove sukuna off and stand. the bathwater crashes back into place. you step out, dripping, glistening, glowing with leftover soap and fresh vengeance, and snatch your robe off the heated hook like you’re the only adult in this cursed castle.

“you’re not rescuing me,” you snap at gojo, tying the sash. “you’re not corrupting me,” you shoot at sukuna. “you’re both just horny and dramatic and in love with the sound of your own arguments.”

satoru sputters. “i—i care about you—”

“you want to win me,” you correct. “like a sword duel or a fucking cake contest.”

“not everything is about your pussy,” sukuna drawls from the water, licking your taste off his lips like a challenge.

his tongue is sharp when it flicks out, forked at the tip like some kind of demon king parody of affection. his eyes glow just slightly—red and cruel—like he’s gearing up for his next form. like if you say the wrong thing, he’ll shift. claws, maybe. a shell. something ancient that drags you into him no matter how many times you run.

the castle hums again, and for a second, you swear the tub jets pulse in sync with your heartbeat.

“but you always make it about that,” you bite back. “so what’s the truth, huh? one of you wants to save me. the other wants to ruin me. but both of you are stuck in this dumb, pathetic tug-of-war and i’m the only one smart enough to say it.”

they’re both quiet now. dripping. wet. steaming in different ways.

you cross your arms.

“you don’t want to fight over me.”

you pause. drop your voice.

“you want to share.”

the silence is heavy.

you step forward, slow. drip across the floor. eyes locked on satoru first, then sukuna. neither of them flinch. neither of them breathe.

“and maybe if you two would stop acting like enemies and admit what you really want,” you murmur, “you’d both get to cum.”

sukuna stands.

and god, it’s a final boss animation.

he rises from the bath like he was spawned, not born—huge and horned at the shoulders with muscle and menace, black tattoos flaring like molten paths across his chest, glowing faintly gold under the water like lava veins. his aura crackles. the air bends. if he roared, you’d flinch. if he laughed, you’d cum. his dick is out like it belongs on a pedestal, and you’re not entirely convinced it doesn’t breathe fire.

you stare. satoru stares harder.

"what the fuck are you doing," satoru blurts, instinctively taking a step back like the sheer audacity is contagious.

“what’s it look like?” sukuna shrugs, climbing out completely, no towel, no shame, not even a flicker of modesty. he walks across the marble like he was born to stalk enemies and lovers barefoot and naked in his own castle. “i’m giving the lady what she asked for.”

he even leaves scorch marks in the water where he stood. not literal ones. just hot enough that your skin remembers them.

“she said kiss,” satoru says, face full panic, eyes full don’t make this real. “not—whatever this is.”

“you scared?” sukuna smirks. “it’s not gay if it’s for her.”

“that’s literally the most gay justification I’ve ever—”

“do you want to fuck her or not?” sukuna snaps, suddenly louder, stepping into his space, wet and steaming and mean. “because if we’re gonna fuck her, we’re doing it my way.”

he’s close enough now to smell like fire. not smoke. fire. heat from the source. it clings to him like sweat, like magic, like a dragon-shaped threat that decided it wanted you instead of treasure.

satoru's mouth opens. closes. twitches at the corners like he’s trying to glitch out of the conversation entirely. like if he blinks fast enough, he’ll wake up in a normal situation where he hasn’t just been pressured into gay chicken by the demon lord of wet arrogance.

"this is coercion," satoru mutters.

"this is teamwork," sukuna corrects.

you lean against the wall. robe loose. "tick-tock," you sing, "someone kiss someone or i’m going back in the bath, alone."

sukuna doesn’t break eye contact.

he steps in closer.

his hand curls around the back of satoru's neck, slow and tight like a threat dressed in silk. satoru flinches. exhales. and stares at sukuna’s mouth like it’s a moving target.

“just a kiss,” sukuna murmurs, voice low. “then you can pretend you hated it.”

his fangs flash. not cute little vampire points. canine. beast. prehistoric.

you’ve seen him bite before. once, during a sparring match, a rival ended up with puncture marks through enchanted armor. that rival never came back.

satoru doesn’t mean to do it. that’s what he’ll tell himself later. he didn’t want to. didn’t plan to. didn’t lean in.

sukuna did. sukuna always does.

but his mouth is right there—wet and hot from the bath, and his hand’s already on satoru’s neck like he owns it, like he could snap it or kiss it or both—and there’s something about the way he says just a kiss that makes it feel like a dare.

so satoru folds.

he doesn’t tilt his head, doesn’t breathe, just stands there frozen while sukuna leans in—and kisses him like he’s trying to win something.

and fuck, does he.

it’s not sweet. not gentle. not curious.

it’s filthy.

it’s tongues first, lips second. teeth clacking, spit everywhere, heat rolling off both of them like a second bath was summoned just from the sheer friction of hate-fucking a kiss into place. satoru grunts, shocked and breathless and already grabbing at sukuna’s arm like he’s going to shove him off, like he should, but his hand stays. fingers digging into wet muscle, other hand on sukuna’s hip like maybe he needs to keep him steady, like maybe he wants more leverage.

sukuna groans into it. obscene. hands everywhere—cupping satoru’s jaw, dragging down his ribs, gripping his waist and pulling like he wants to fuse them. he kisses like it’s combat. like he’s breaking satoru’s mouth in. like he wants you to watch.

and you do.

robe open. chest heaving. eyes wide and wet and locked on the way satoru’s knees are buckling slightly, the way he breathes like he forgot how to, the way he moans when sukuna sucks his tongue just to be mean.

satoru gasps. sukuna doesn’t let him go.

hand in his hair now. tongue deep in his mouth. hips angled forward like if this keeps up he’s going to grind on him, and maybe he is, maybe that’s the point, maybe he wants to be rutting up against his rival’s thigh while you stand there wet and smug and choosing which one of them you’re gonna ride first.

when sukuna finally pulls back—strings of spit between them, both of them flushed and panting and glassy-eyed like they just got head in a thunderstorm—he laughs.

"see?" he pants, mouth red. “teamwork.”

satoru stares at him. you stare at them. no one says anything for a second.

“again,” you say, eyes bright, mouth sticky-sweet with command. “this time—on my bed. chop chop.”

you clap your hands once, like they’re stable boys and you’re the duchess of debauchery, and then turn on your heel like you expect to be followed.

they do. of course they do.

sukuna grabs a towel off the bath hook like it’s a weapon and slings it low over his hips, still smirking, still red in the mouth like he just fed on something divine. the towel looks absurdly small on him. more like a concession than coverage. like if he flexed wrong it’d be gone.

sukuna follows last. heavy footsteps that make the stone beneath the rugs shift like the castle’s recalibrating for his weight. every torch along the corridor flares brighter as he passes, flames bending inward like they recognize their source. the air stays warmer behind him, heat lingering like a warning sign you ignore on purpose.

you lead them barefoot through the hallway, robe swinging open, dripping water on the tile floors of the castle like a trail of sins you dare someone to mop up. the room you step into is ridiculous. all blush pink and soft textures and filigree mirrors. a bed so fluffy it looks like it would absorb a body whole. silk pillows with lace trim. a plush throw with your initials embroidered in gold thread.

sukuna scoffs. satoru blinks. you climb up onto the mattress like a throne.

“both of you,” you say, voice light, like you’re calling dogs to heel. “on your knees.”

they hesitate. for half a second. then obey.

sukuna throws the towel. satoru swallows like his soul’s leaving his body. and then they’re there—crawling up the edge of the bed, one on each side, eyes locked on your legs like they’re being drawn in by gravity.

you spread them.

you don’t even have to say it. they both move at the same time.

sukuna’s mouth goes to your inner thigh, tongue dragging slow and cruel up the softest skin, teeth brushing just enough to make you jolt. satoru kisses the other side, open-mouthed and reverent, like he’s trying to cancel out every filthy thing sukuna’s ever done to you with sweetness.

but it’s not about balance. it’s about devastation.

their mouths meet in the middle.

tongues brushing. lips sticky. spit mixing against your cunt like you’re the altar and they’re fighting for prayer rights. one sucks your clit. the other fucks you with his tongue. and then they switch. again and again. passing you back and forth like a dare, like a game, like if one of them makes you cum first it means something bigger than it should.

sukuna groans when you grab his hair. satoru moans when your thighs twitch around his ears. neither of them can breathe and neither of them care. they’re loud. messy. competitive. syncing up without meaning to.

you whimper. they grunt. you twitch. they dig in deeper.

you are dripping. soaking the sheets. arching into both of them like a spoiled royal, and they like it. they want it. they want to make you cum while staring at each other across your cunt just to prove they can do it better.

and you? you let them.

of course you do.

they’re exactly where they belong.

it hits you all at once, the way you’re being devoured, the way their tongues never stop, the way sukuna grips your thighs like he’s trying to carve his name into the bones underneath while satoru makes these fucking noises like he’s praying into your cunt. they don’t stop. they don’t breathe. they act like this is the final round of a competition neither of them wants to lose.

and you let them go until your hips stutter, until your fingers clutch the sheets, until your voice breaks in that perfect little way that makes them both glance up like they just heard the bell ring.

“switch,” you gasp.

they blink.

“want both of you,” you breathe, dragging one arm behind you, looking over your shoulder, “in me. now.”

it’s not a request. it’s a fact.

and god, do they scramble.

sukuna grabs your hips first. of course he does. palms you like he’s measuring the curve for fit, like he’s already imagining the drag of his cock inside you. satoru moves to the front, eyes wide and stunned and already hard like he knew this was coming and still wasn’t ready.

“on your knees,” you murmur, breath shallow, voice fucked-out and full of authority you didn’t earn but own anyway. “both of you.”

you turn over. press your face into the pillows. arch your back like an offering.

you feel sukuna’s cock drag through your folds first—slow, like he wants you to remember every inch. and satoru’s in front of you now, hand in your hair, cock flushed and leaking and twitching under your breath.

"open up, sweetheart,” he murmurs, just before you do. and then his cock is pushing past your lips, warm and salty and soaked, like he’s been ready to fuck your throat since the moment you told them to kiss.

sukuna sinks in at the same time.

you choke around satoru’s cock the moment sukuna bottoms out.

both of them groan. like your body was built for this. like they’ve been waiting their whole lives to ruin you together.

you can’t breathe.

you don’t want to.

there’s no rhythm, just need. sukuna’s hips slap against your ass, unforgiving, relentless, fucking you deep like he owns you. satoru holds your head like he’s afraid he’ll fall apart if he lets go, fucking your mouth with this desperate, whimpering pace like he’s sorry but also not stopping.

it’s spit. and heat. and suction. it’s tears down your face and drool down your chin and the brutal, gorgeous fullness of being used by both of them at once. your hands grip the sheets. sukuna’s fingers dig into your waist. satoru moans when you gag, tells you you’re doing so good, so fucking good, fuck—just like that.

you are choking. soaking.

and you never want it to end.

you can feel them in stereo.

sukuna buried in your cunt, hips snapping like a weapon, groaning every time you clench down like your pussy’s trying to keep him. satoru fucking your throat in short, desperate thrusts, hand curled tight in your hair, saying your name like a prayer he’s breaking on.

you’re dripping. crying. choking. perfect.

you don’t even have to look up to know they’re watching each other. you can feel it—the tension, the breathless, biting rivalry still simmering under all the moaning. they’re trying to pretend this isn’t what it is.

you ruin it.

you pull your mouth off satoru’s cock with a wet gasp, drool stringing from your lip to the head of him, your voice wrecked and raw and still smug when you gasp:

“kiss again.”

satoru blinks. panting. flushed to his ears.

sukuna doesn’t stop fucking you.

“she likes it,” he pants, slamming into you harder. “go on. be a good boy. give her a show.”

satoru groans. confused. humiliated. hard as fuck.

“what, you don’t want to kiss me when your dick’s in her throat?”

you swallow him again on instinct, just to watch him twitch. he gasps.

“you’re such an asshole,” satoru pants.

“then kiss me like you mean it.”

and he does. god, he does.

it’s brutal. hot. confusing and primal and way too much spit, but their mouths crash together over your body like it’s a battlefield, like they’re using each other’s tongues to claim you without saying it out loud.

you’re drooling around satoru’s cock again, the moan in your throat vibrating against him as sukuna fucks into you harder, deeper, one hand tangled in satoru’s white hair now, pulling him in to keep the kiss going.

they’re kissing over you while you’re getting fucked within an inch of your life.

spit and teeth and groans, tongues sliding, lips parted, their bodies rutting into yours at perfect opposite angles and still finding the time to moan into each other’s mouths like it’s a contest.

your cunt is clenching so tight it makes sukuna swear, low and hot, like he’s about to break.

and you? you’re soaking the sheets.

you wanted this. all of it.

and now you’re watching them fall apart for you. together.

you pull off satoru’s cock again with a gasp—spit trailing down your chin, your cunt dripping down your thighs, breathless and soaked and ready to be worshipped—and you look up at him like you’re about to give him his final test.

but before you can say a word, sukuna speaks behind you.

“lay down.”

and satoru does.

no hesitation. no backtalk. just drops back onto the mattress like his bones dissolved, like the command short-circuited something in his brain. his cock bounces against his stomach, red and wet and aching, and he looks up at you like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he blinks.

sukuna catches your wrist. leans in close.

“sit on his face.”

he says it like it’s nothing. like it’s inevitable.

and you move like you were waiting to be told.

satoru blinks up at you, already sprawled on the mattress, already halfway gone, cock flushed and twitching, lips wet from the last time he kissed sukuna like he forgot how to hate him.

“wait,” he breathes. “what are you—”

you crawl up. your knees land on either side of his head, and you hover—just long enough for him to look right at your pussy, glistening and dripping and open for him, so close he could lick it without moving.

“what are you…” he tries again, voice cracking now. “what are you doing—”

and then you sit.

his tongue doesn’t even wait.

it lunges.

like he can’t help it. like you just landed on a pressure point and released something primal. he groans—loud—mouth already open, tongue licking up your slit like he’s parched, like he’s sorry, like he’ll make up for every mistake he’s ever made if you just keep grinding down like that.

you moan. roll your hips. grab the headboard for balance.

and in front of you—you hear sukuna laugh.

a hand wraps around your waist. the other grabs satoru by the hip.

“don’t stop licking,” sukuna mutters again. “or i stop fucking.”

“wait—what—” satoru tries, voice muffled under your pussy, tongue still twitching, mouth still moving, breath already shaking.

sukuna doesn’t wait.

he never does.

sukuna grabs a fistful of satoru’s ass like he owns it. spreads him open. wide. rough. mean. just enough to make satoru twitch under you like he knows what’s coming and it’s already too much.

“you wanna eat her out so bad?” sukuna growls, breath hot across your spine. “do it with my cock in you.”

you hear it more than you see it.

the spit.

wet. thick. dragged right from the back of his throat and hawked down directly onto satoru’s hole like it’s a claim. loud and disrespectful, like he’s not even trying to be subtle about it, like this hole was made for him, and he’s just taking back what was already his.

it lands with a wet splat, stringy and hot.

satoru moans into your pussy. like it turned him on. like he hates that it did.

“fucking tight,” sukuna mutters, spreading his cheeks wider with both hands now, spit glistening on that perfect pink ring, watching it flex like it’s trying to run and take at the same time.

you don’t stop grinding. your thighs are shaking. your cunt’s soaked. satoru’s tongue keeps twitching under you like he can’t focus, like he’s trying to eat you out while processing the spit sliding down his crack, pooling where he’s already so sensitive it hurts.

sukuna spits again. harder.

watches it drip down. watches it stick.

then he lines himself up.

no warning.

just one filthy, stretched-out second of silence—then the slick, press of the head of his cock right against that spit-slick hole.

satoru gasps. tries to lift his hips. can’t. you’re on his face. sukuna’s got his ass spread wide like a fucking offering plate.

then sukuna starts to push.

you feel the way satoru shakes beneath you. feel the tremble in his hands on your thighs. feel the moan rip out of his chest and into your cunt, his tongue fluttering against your clit like he doesn’t know if he’s overwhelmed or about to cum untouched or both.

sukuna hisses through his teeth. forces himself deeper. grabs satoru’s hips and pulls him down onto his cock like he’s shoving the last piece of something perfect into place.

“fuck,” sukuna grits. “you feel that, princess? this tight little bitch clenching around me while he eats you out?”

you moan. it’s not a word anymore. not even a sound with meaning. just a shudder dragged from your ribs because satoru won’t stop licking, won’t stop moaning into your pussy while sukuna ruins him from behind like he was made for it.

sukuna leans in.

his hand comes up your spine, slow and steady, and then across your chest, fingers rough and wet from satoru’s skin, trailing up to your jaw to pull your mouth to his. he’s panting. flushed. still thrusting into satoru in long, brutal strokes. and then he kisses you.

wet. loud. hungry.

he kisses you like he owns the air between your teeth. like he wants to eat the sounds right out of your throat. you kiss him back with your whole body—mouth sticky, tongue filthy, your hips grinding harder on satoru’s face because you want him to feel it while sukuna devours your mouth.

“look at him,” sukuna growls, breaking the kiss, voice wrecked. “fuck, look.”

he grabs your chin. turns your head down.

and you do.

satoru’s face is soaked in your slick. lips swollen. nose shiny. tongue still out. his eyes are wet, desperate, fluttering like he’s already on the edge. you can feel his moans inside you, against you, vibrating straight up your spine.

“he’s gonna fucking cry,” sukuna mutters, grinning. “and he’s still hard.”

you slide off his mouth slowly. his lips chase you for a second—instinct—but you’re already shifting down, dragging your cunt over his chest, your hands planted on either side of his face. sukuna keeps fucking him, cock slamming in deeper, rhythm rougher now that you’re watching.

you lean in.

satoru gasps, eyes wide, and you kiss him.

you kiss him like he’s already lost, like the only thing left is how thoroughly. your mouth is still wet from him, from sukuna, from everything, and when your tongue slides in he makes this broken little sound in his throat like he didn’t expect you to want him after all that.

you do.

your hand slips down between your bodies. wraps around his length. he’s hot and slick and so hard it’s almost embarrassing, like he’s been holding himself together on sheer adrenaline and your approval alone. you jerk him slow at first, thumb brushing the slit just to feel him twitch.

he moans into your mouth.

and that’s when his hands come up—hesitant for half a second, like he’s checking if he’s allowed—and then he pinches your nipples between his fingers, not mean. not gentle. just enough to make you gasp against his lips and grind your hips down without realizing you did it.

“fuck,” you breathe, breaking the kiss just long enough to look at him.

he looks wrecked. pupils blown. mouth open. chest heaving. still being fucked, sukuna’s hips snapping in a rhythm that never stops, never slows, like a reminder that satoru doesn’t get to forget where he is or what he’s being used for.

you jerk him harder now. faster. wrist flexing. spit-slick sounds filling the room. he whines—actually whines—and pinches you again, thumbs rolling like he’s trying to hold onto something, like the sensation is the only thing anchoring him.

“don’t stop,” he says, voice cracked, stupid, desperate.

you smile.

“i wasn’t planning to.”

you kiss him again, messy and open-mouthed, teeth bumping, tongues sliding, your hand working him steadily while sukuna fucks him deep enough to make his whole body rock. he’s trapped between it all—your mouth, your hand, sukuna’s cock—and it shows. his breathing is wrecked. his hips keep trying to thrust up into your grip even though he can’t go anywhere.

you pull back just enough to look at him again.

then you shift.

not fully. not yet. just enough to line yourself up, to let the head of him brush against you, to feel that hot, stupid pressure that makes his breath catch and his fingers dig in harder.

“look at you,” you murmur. “so fucked out already.”

his eyes flutter.

and you start to climb.

you do it like it’s yours to take. like his cock belongs to you, and you’re just coming back for it. you slide up and over him, knees planted firm on either side of his hips, one hand braced on his chest, the other still slick and wrapped around his shaft. you line him up. tease. not because he needs it—but because he can’t do anything about it.

you’re dripping.

you’re still open from earlier, still twitching, still needy, and the second the head of his cock catches on your entrance, you feel him twitch under you.

“fuck—” satoru pants, voice high. “please—i—”

you cut him off with a moan of your own.

and then you sink.

slow. tight. wet.

you feel every inch. you make him feel it. the way you clench down just to see his jaw lock. the way his breath stops in his throat halfway through. he tries to lift his hips—instinct—but he’s still full of sukuna, still being fucked, still being used, and he can’t do shit except take it.

you bottom out.

his eyes roll back.

you sit fully on him, hands planted on his chest, the weight of your body and the stretch of his cock and sukuna’s cock inside him making him shake like he’s about to cum untouched.

and sukuna—he grunts behind you, still buried in his ass, pace faltering just slightly.

“fuck, look at him,” he growls. “he’s gonna cum just from this.”

you roll your hips. slow.

satoru chokes on a moan.

“you like that, huh?” you murmur, leaning in close, your cunt pulsing around him. “being split open, used like a toy.”

he nods. once. quick. like he’s ashamed to admit it out loud. like it’ll make it worse if he says yes and you believe him.

his mouth opens. nothing comes out.

sukuna fucks into him harder.

your whole body jolts from the force of it, your hips sliding down, satoru’s cock pressing deeper inside you just as he lets out this little choked-off gasp against your mouth, like he doesn’t know how to hold it anymore. his hands are trembling where they cling to your waist, his chest rising too fast under yours, his eyes wide and wet and full of it—heat and pressure and disbelief. he’s shaking. so are you.

you kiss him again. open-mouthed and soaking in it, tongue messy, noses bumping, the two of you completely unraveling against each other while sukuna ruins him from behind.

“he’s gonna cum,” sukuna grits out from somewhere close, the sound of skin on skin louder now, sharper, his hand gripping your waist again, fucking into satoru like he can’t stop even if he wanted to. “he’s gonna fucking cum like this. you feel him?”

you do.

you feel everything. the way satoru’s cock kicks inside you, leaking and twitching, every muscle in his stomach flexing like he’s trying not to lose it too fast. the way his moans have gone quiet now—small, desperate, breathless little exhalations against your cheek like he can’t catch a full one anymore. he’s crying a little. you think. or sweating. or just overwhelmed. it doesn’t matter. he’s close. you can feel it in your spine.

you grind down on him harder. not even bouncing anymore—just moving in slow, tight circles, keeping him deep, dragging out the friction, letting the rhythm build slow and cruel and perfect while sukuna keeps fucking into his ass like he owns it.

your voice breaks before you mean it to.

“cum,” you whisper. not loud. not sweet. just necessary. like a spell you know will work.

and he does.

so hard it punches a sound out of him that he’s never made before. his whole body spasms under you, legs shaking, back arching off the bed like he’s trying to crawl out of his own skin. his cock throbs inside you, hot and thick, spilling deep while you’re still pulsing around him, still grinding down, still clenching like you need it to keep going just a second longer.

it’s enough.

your orgasm hits like a wave slamming into concrete.

you shake. full-body. your mouth open but no sound coming out now, not really, not when you’re gushing around him, cunt fluttering, thighs locking up around his waist like you’re trying to drown him in it. your head drops to his shoulder. you don’t even know if you’re breathing.

behind you, sukuna groans. it’s low. fucked-out. the sound of a man hitting the edge with no brakes.

he grabs your hips—hard—and drives into satoru one last time, deep enough to shove satoru back up into you, your body jolting on top of him as sukuna growls and spills inside him with a hiss.

you can feel it. the way satoru flinches. the heat. the mess. the way he groans through it, lips brushing your jaw, body still twitching.

nobody moves.

sukuna stays there, cock still buried in satoru’s ass, chest pressed against your back, breath ragged. satoru is wrecked beneath you, chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut, lips wet and open. your body’s still twitching. your cunt still fluttering every time he shifts under you, too sensitive now, too full.

you don’t say anything.

you just stay like that.

you roll your hips once more. slow. indulgent. squeeze him just to feel him twitch. sukuna hasn’t pulled out yet. satoru’s cock is soft inside you now, slick with his own cum and sweat and whatever’s still leaking out of him from behind. everyone’s breathing hard. everyone’s quiet.

you blink down at him. stretch your spine. adjust your hips like you’re just getting comfortable.

“you’re both so easy it’s disgusting.”

satoru twitches. sukuna snorts.

“the fuck does that mean,” satoru wheezes, voice cracked, hands still shaking on your thighs. “i just got spitroasted for like an hour—”

“and you liked it,” you mutter, already reaching for the nearest towel. “you fucking loved it.”

“she’s not wrong,” sukuna grins, pulling out of him slow, messy, mean, one hand dragging down your spine like he knows he’s about to say something that’ll start another fight. “you were moaning like a little bitch the whole time.”

“you kissed me first,” satoru snaps.

“you came while i kissed you,” sukuna snaps back.

satoru’s whole body jerks like someone slapped him with a wet cloth. “i came because she was riding me—”

“with my cock inside you,” sukuna interrupts, smug. “say it slower.”

“that’s not—no—that’s not what happened, you manipulated the timing—”

“oh my god,” you groan, flopping back against the mattress. “are you seriously arguing about whether or not that was gay now?”

“it wasn’t,” satoru insists immediately. “it was about her.”

“you tongue-fucked me.”

“you grabbed my face.”

you blink at the ceiling. “you literally moaned into each other’s mouths while i came. like.”

“okay but that’s not gay, that’s—” satoru starts, voice a little too high.

“—collaborative,” sukuna finishes, grinning. “a shared project.”

you roll off him.

“oh my god,” you mutter, flat on your back now, towel draped over your stomach, one hand over your eyes. “can you both shut the fuck up.”

they don’t.

you know they won’t.

satoru’s already gesturing with one limp arm, trying to make a point about tongue placement and emotional sabotage. sukuna’s flexing like he didn’t almost fall over two minutes ago. you’re pretty sure there’s still cum drying on the sheets. no one’s moving.

“guess we have to go through this again.”

the room goes quiet.

you peek through your fingers.

they’re both staring at you.

satoru’s mouth is open like he forgot how to argue. sukuna tilts his head, eyes already darkening again.

“totally kidding guys.”

you’re not.

and they know it.

[quackysprouts]

relationship dynamic: fake freak vs. guy who can’t read the room

i don’t know if i have any ships that fit in this, so i made a reference for u guys to insert haha

[buniesuki-deactivated20260420]

𓈒 ࣪ ˖ ♡ ⁺⑅ little yuji is concerned for sukuna's girlfriend.

"uncle kuna!", yuji's little voice echoes through the living room, full of pure panic and concern.

sukuna's lounging on his couch with his legs spread wide apart, taking up more than half of the space and while toji, his friend, takes up the other half as he looks at the little boy with a slightly bemused look. sukuna merely grunts in response to his youngest nephew's desperate cries, not at all bothered.

"uncle kuna!", yuji cries again, running up to him with glossy eyes and a petulant pout on his lips. sukuna just stares down at him, waiting for yuji to say whatever it was he wanted to — which he figured would be something stupid as always.

"what's going on?", choso — sukuna's other nephew — strolls in and plops onto the armchair besides toji. the two older men just shrug lazily, taking swigs of the beer as the boy tries to find the right words to express himself.

yuji begins to sniffle and says in a cracked voice, "uncle, you need to... you need to be nicer to your girlfriend! or else... she will leave you!"

toji chokes on his beer while choso scoffs at his little brother's statement. and sukuna can only look at the boy with a small frown, confused as to where this possibly was going.

"what do you mean by that?", choso pries, trying his best to keep a poker face as yuji turns his head around wearing an even bigger pout than before.

yuji shakes his head, croaking out, "one time i saw him with his girlfriend on the bed!" both toji and choso now are stifling their laughs as they see the sheer horror that's plastered on the boy's face. "and then! then he pushed her on the bed—"

before yuji can even finish his sentence, the two men burst into a fit of laughter, practically gasping for air after what they'd just heard. sukuna's entire body stiffens at that, eyes wide and face turning a faint shade of pink.

"pushed her on the bed?", toji repeats, pointing at sukuna while choso continues to laugh behind him.

"yes!", yuji snivels, the utmost serious and worrisome look in his eyes. "and-and... he even tied her arms to the bed! and called her a 'bad girl'!"

toji and choso cannot contain themselves anymore, guffawing loudly at what the boy had just said and the way sukuna's face has turned a bright red at this point doesn't help one bit. "tied her arms together?", choso asks, in between fits of laughter, wiping a tear from his eyes.

"yes!", yuji cries. "isn't that mean?! won't she leave? i don't want her to leave!"

sukuna lightly flicks his little nephew's forehead as the two men besides him continue to howl and chortle obnoxiously. he brings the boy closer to him and says in the softest voice he can, "she's not gonna leave."

"promise?", yuji sniffs, extending out his pinky finger to his uncle. sukuna sighs in exasperation but ultimately wraps his own finger 'round the pinky finger, solidifying this promise.

sukuna isn't one to get so easily embarrassed but this was really something. his entire body seemed to be burning, cheeks and ears dusted a tomato red. gosh, he was going to have to be much more careful from now on whenever he would bring you over!

inspired by this tiktok❕

[yeagersss]

You're a Cat — Masterlist

Featuring: Cat!Reader, Sukuna, Uraume

Tags: Besides Sukuna being Sukuna, no warnings or anything since well... you're a cat.

Requests for this AU are closed.

Short fics

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5 (Final)

Others

Headcanons

You're a cat. He's a serial killer.