you read it on the train, the blur of the city whooshing past. you've been resisting this day, resisting the very idea that touya—dabi, you remind yourself, that's what everyone calls him now, ever since that video came out—probably wouldn't survive.
but it doesn't hurt any less to see the years he was alive stand so impersonally on your phone screen.
you dig the palm of your hand into an eyeball. tears form regardless, hot and fat, spilling down your cheeks and into the soft down of your scarf.
they don't mention that he used to leave out cans of food for the stray cats. he'd stand outside shaking the bag if one of them was late, hands on his hips like a disappointed mom.
there's nothing about how much he liked having his hair played with, that whenever he laid on your chest and you stopped fluffing it, he'd pull back and glare at you until you started again.
nothing about how he used to call you 'love' when he was tipsy, 'my darling' when he was drunk.
not a word about how sore of a loser he was in mario kart, or that he told you once that he'd like to be a really good dad.
"might be cool." you can still remember the sly glance he sent your way. "you know. if the world was different."
there's a specific leather jacket of dabi's that you've stolen from him. it smells faintly of smoke, and it's oversized to the point where it's only a couple of inches off from reaching your knees—but you wear it regardless whenever you miss him.
he thought he'd lost that stupid jacket. one day it's in his closet, the next it's not. dabi never did care much about materialistic things like clothes and such—but to you? this jacket was special. you normally hid it whenever dabi came over, but he didn't text you beforehand today, and you weren't awake to hear him walk in nor hide it.
he enters through your back window like usual to avoid being seen before he hears the muffled sound of your tv playing. his feet naturally take him towards your living room, and he pauses in the doorway when he sees you wrapped up in his jacket like it was a blanket instead as you slept peacefully on the couch.
"so that's where it went." dabi drawls, taking a moment to observe the sight in front of him before he exhales quietly through his nose. he walks over to the couch, footsteps muffled and quiet before he stops right in front of you. there's a trickle of drool running down the corner of your mouth, and his lip twitches at the sight before a scarred hand is reaching out to swipe it away. he cradles your jaw for a moment afterwards before pulling away
"you're seriously not awake?"
he waits for something to indicate you might be pretending to sleep, a twitch of an eye or a subtle movement from under his jacket—but you remain still and unaware of his presence.
just for good measure, dabi presses a finger against your nose to see if your eyelids react at all to the touch—a trick he's used on victims before to see if they're playing dead—but still, you remain motionless.
he pulls away slowly. now that he's confirmed you're asleep, he lets himself lean forward and place a gentle, lingering kiss onto your temple.
"missed ya today. can't believe you stole my jacket and never said a word about it... you're lucky you're a pretty thief." he murmurs quietly to no response
he stands up afterwards, tucking his hands into his pockets. dabi could leave a note to let you know he visited your place while you were asleep on the couch, but that would mean acknowledging the fact that you stole his jacket—and that would mean he should rightfully demand you return it.
but, the thing was, the sight of you curled up in it was something that made his chest feel tight. he doesn't want his jacket back knowing you wear it, but outright saying you could keep it made him sound soft—and dabi wasn't soft. he was all rough edges and sharp tongued.
touya... touya was soft, but not dabi.
so, he'll pretend he doesn't know you have his jacket. he'll leave your apartment quietly and show up a couple days later acting as if he has no idea you're deliberately hiding something of his—and you'll never know that dabi came by at all.
dabi—no, todoroki touya has a visitor from the past.
NOTE. slight(ish) spoilers from the new ep! chap 426 and 427 reference.
Dabi—no, Touya wakes up like taffy.
The world stretches around him in slow, sticky strands, pulling him out of sleep with the same reluctant heaviness that clings to his lungs each time the machines get a little louder. The glass of the room reflects back a warped version of him—pale, patched, hardly alive but not allowed to die. The wires coil around him like thin metal serpents, sunk into ruined skin; the monitors blink in faint greens and sickly yellows, the colors of a life forced to stay.
He hears footsteps sometimes—well, not footsteps, but the sound of his wheelchair as his mother wheels him around.
His father’s are the easiest to recognize—hesitating, heavy, like each step is a punishment he gives himself. Enji always stands just outside the light, hands useless at his sides, breathing hard like words hurt more than burns. Touya lets him talk, if only because silence feels thicker with him around. But today, the steps are wrong—lighter, quicker, less afraid of the echoing hallways. He tries to lift his head, but the neck brace keeps him still; all he can do is move his eyes.
It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
Which means his father isn’t here yet.
He tries not to think about that.
A shadow moves at the edge of his vision—small, hesitant. Not a doctor. Not a nurse. Not the man who visits every day with guilt folded into his shoulders like a second coat.
He lifts his gaze and sees you.
For a moment, memory fails him.
You stood in the doorway as if you’re not sure you’re allowed to come closer. You have grown—taller, sharper, older—but your expression is the same one you used to wear when asking if he wanted to share your snacks after school. Your face is still glowing in a way that makes him feel thirteen again—or maybe that’s just because he may have had a crush on you once, when everything hurts but nothing has yet shattered.
“Touya,” you breathe out, as if the name is both a wish and a question. “It’s really you.”
He tries to speak; it comes out as a rasp too thin to be a word. The nurse adjusts something beside you.
“Only a few minutes,” she warns you gently. “Keep him calm. His vitals spike easily.”
You nod quickly, then step closer, fingers twisting around the strap of your bag. You stop just short of touching the glass, eyes trembling as you take him in fully.
“Nene.”
Ah, that nickname he gave you. It’s familiar in a way—like always on the tip of his tongue.
“You recognized me,” you sighed in relief.
He wants to laugh. Or cry. He’s not sure which wins. “Not that burned.”
A startling puff of laughter leaves you, trembling at the edges. Then you pressed your lips together as if trying not to fall apart in front of him. Touya wants to say how stupid you look right now. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be here long. They said only a few minutes. They said you shouldn’t talk too much.”
He grunts. “Doesn’t stop my old man.”
Your eyes soften, but you don’t comment. Instead, you exhale shakily and look at him like you’d been carrying years of words with nowhere to place them.
“I didn’t get to visit your grave,” you said quietly. “When I heard you died… or they said you died… it didn’t feel real. None of us believed it. Our old classmates—we kept messaging each other, trying to find out if it was true. And I kept thinking, ‘No, that can’t be him. Touya can’t just… disappear like that.’”
Touya blinks slowly down at you. His vision swims.
“Didn’t think anyone… remembered.”
“Of course we remembered,” you told him, voice cracking now. “You were—gods, Touya, you were always loud. And stubborn. And you drew these really ugly comic strips on the back of your notebooks.” A watery laugh spills out. “You told me once that when you became a hero, I should be your sidekick. And I said no because I wanted to build buildings, not blow them up while fighting.”
Touya feels something burn in his chest—not fire, not anymore, but something just as sharp.
His throat tightens painfully, hot air scraping up like fire. “[Name]...” It’s barely a whisper, raw and small. But your eyes widen anyway, as if he’d shouted.
“I’m here,” you said quickly. “You don’t have to talk. I just… I wanted you to know that even when everything fell apart, even when I saw you on the news as Dabi and the world hated you… I kept thinking about that kid who tied my shoelaces because I didn’t know how. I kept thinking—Touya’s not gone. He’s just lost. Like how I did when they told us they didn’t find your body.”
A tear slips down his cheek before he feels it. His whole body trembles, the monitors beeping higher, warning. The nurse steps forward, but you shake your head and speak softly, urgently.
His eyes sting. Damn it.
You saw.
“Touya, it’s okay. Please, it’s okay. You don’t have to cry.”
He can’t stop. His breath hitches in short, painful bursts. He hasn’t cried in years (does crying just a few days ago from seeing his family all together count for him?)—not well, not fully—but the sight of someone who knew him before burns more than the blue flames ever did.
“I… didn’t…” He stops, chest heaving. “Say… things.”
You leaned closer, both palms gently resting against the glass now. “You don’t have to. I know. I know you didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t either.”
He wishes he could extend his hand to match yours, but the most he can do is twitch his fingers against the restraints. You see this, of course. And Touya notes the way your eyes soften in a way that lights something small and fragile in him.
He tries to lift a hand, but the restraints, the tubes, and the sheer weakness hold him down. His fingers twitch against the metal bed.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
It’s instinct.
His whole life is an instinctive apology.
“For what?”
“For… becoming this.”
You shake your head. “You’re still Touya. That’s all that matters.”
The nurse at the door signals at you—two minutes left.
You wiped your eyes quickly and leaned just a bit closer to the glass. “I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to visit again. But… if I can, I will. And even if I can’t… I’m glad I got to see you. Really see you.”
Touya swallows painfully. “Yeah… me too.”
Your voice softens into a whisper. “You always mattered. Even back then, you know? And I’m sorry too, if I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me what’s on your mind.”
Something warm, something unbearably gentle, unfurls in his chest.
It hurts.
It heals.
It burns.
Fuck, he wanted to say something—to also scold you for apologizing when you’ve done nothing wrong. But the words are at a loss on his throat.
Touya musters what little strength he has and presses his own hand against the metal restraint and imagines what it’s like to match yours that leaned against the glass. Your hands don’t touch—but Touya wants to think they almost do. And somehow, that almost feels like everything.
“Bye, Touya,” you heaved in a heavy breath.
He forces his eyes to meet yours, every ounce of strength funneled into a single look—desperate, hopeful, clinging. He watches you leave, the white lights reflecting in his damp eyes, and for the first time in a while, the sound of the machines doesn’t feel as lonely and annoying.
“Come back,” he whispers after you, voice barely a thread.
you slid the door to your room open slowly, padding through the cold tiles with a burning hot mug of water and pills you had picked up from the local pharmacy near-by while returning from work.
he was sleeping, ofcourse he was. with the AC all the way up to it's highest setting and the curtains shoved closed like he was a century year old vampire allergic to the warmth of the sun.
he hadn't had his breakfast, ignored his lunch, and barely even picked at the dinner you spent so long making entirely clogged nose friendly.
you knew dabi tended to get cranky at times, or all of them for that matter— but right now, he was just being inconsiderate. you had been losing sleep because of the raspy coughs he'd let out after every fifteen seconds each night. and dabi had to stay under his well-contaminated blanket, pretending he was fine and that he could just sneeze it through.
“wake up.” you hushed, setting the mug down on the bed-side table before running your free hand through dabi's scalp before bringing it to his forehead.
he groaned, then coughed, pulling the covers over him tighter.
“this will help you get better.” you persisted, hovering the pills over him as if the weird clinic smell latched onto them would allure him.
dabi didn't know the contents of what was in those pills. but he trusted you enough to not poison him, after he stopped being very much a dick recently atleast.
“no,” dabi's voice is distorted, with his words all over the place, “why are you giving them to me anyways?”
you click your tounge, settling yourself further onto your bed— “baby, this is medicine.”
“why did you take the time do bring them for me? i don't need shit.” he breathes out, adjusting his weight as he pushes himself to the headboard.
“because.. i want you to get better, touya.” that brushes over something within him. not dabi, not baby— or whatever corny name you fish out.
all the times he's gotten sick, which he barely keeps record of, nobody's even thought about knocking on his door for something as small as a salutation.
but now, here you are.
even after all the things he's hurled out, after all the blood that's been smeared across the fingers you're slotting your owns through right now. and that alone makes him sicker than any flu he's caught after his affairs with the outside.
“and i care about you. i want you to get better.” you smile, trying to fill the quite that had just seemingly dawned between the tiny space you both had put amongst yourself.
his fingers reaches out to touch you, to hold you, to kiss your worries away and assure you that he would be alright— but they fall back almost instantly, like he isn't sure if the affection you had so dearly kept out is even meant for somebody like him.
you lean in, and he nudges his face away.
“I can't fucking get you sick., don't be stupid.”
“tell me that when you'll claw at my insides at night to cuddle you then.” you huff.
“it's not even cuddling, just body heat sharing.”
and for now, he'll swallow as many pills as he can take— for the kisses to come quicker. but he probably won't aswell, just for you to care for him like that again.
a/n: phew just barely pulled this out of my ass guys 😭 i really wanna get back into writing.
a/n: ik this has been done before and i’ve seen fanart of it but i want a fic on it - lowk just angst and fluff idk listen to the song 500 miles cus it’s the reason im writing this
t. todoroki and s. todoroki (and not like that u freaks)
it’s been a bad week for touya, he always gets like this near the anniversary of his death as he calls it. he grows more distant, won’t talk much, usually disappears for a day or two but always comes back and you never mind picking up the pieces and putting him back together. so when you hear the front door creek open you leave the room and go to meet him in the kitchen.
“i’m hungry.”
“shush.”
“touya?” you peek your head out from the hall. “i- oh!” your eyes widen when you see his brother.
“we got anything to eat? kids hungry.” he leaves his brother staring at you and walks to the kitchen.
“um.. no but..” you smile at his brother before following after him. “touya what the fuck?” you hiss.
“don’t even ask.” he mumbles.
“did you kidnap him?” you look over your shoulder at the young boy pulling out a chair and sitting at the counter.
“said don’t ask.” he sighs, bringing both hands up to his face. “i don’t know. i just.. i don’t know.” he shakes his head. “don’t wanna talk about it right now.”
“alright.” you place a hand on his shoulder. “um.. we can go to that restaurant a couple blocks away? the one that’s 24 hours?” you slide your hand down his spine watching him slowly exhale. “y’know the one with your favorite soba?”
“soba?” his brother perks up.
“you like soba too?” you turn with a smile.
“mhm!” he nods his head eagerly. “‘s my favorite!”
“then let’s go get some.” you smile. “just gonna go get dressed.” you squeeze touyas hand before leaving them in the kitchen.
your mind races with what he could have possibly done and why his little brother is here but you shake your head and focus on pulling a hoodie on. you grab your wallet and a hoodie for his brother along with one of touya’s old beanies and walk back out to meet them.
“alright, c’mere..”
“shoto.” touya adds.
“shoto.” you hum. “it’s a little chilly, huh?” you show him the hoodie.
you tug it on over his head and he drowns in the fabric as touya looks on with an unreadable expression. you pull the beanie over his hair and tuck his hairs into the sides before pinching his cheeks and standing up. shoto grabs your hand and the both of you turn to look at touya.
“why’d you give him my stuff?” touya tugs the beanie down past shoto’s eyes.
“cause i doubt he’s supposed to be with us.” you pat his chest. “now let's go get some soba.” you fix shoto’s beanie.
the three of you start down the street and shoto reaches for touya’s hand and he sighs but offers it to him nonetheless. you keep glancing at them wondering if either of them will say something. it’s silent until you’re seated at your table with your menus.
“hot?” touya looks over at shoto.
“cold.” he scrunches his brows.
“yeah.” touya nods with a small smile.
touya orders for the three of you and when the drinks come out the three of you act like there’s a test that’s going to be on them before the meal comes out. you glance up and find shoto staring at you and you offer him a small wave and smile.
“so am i gonna live with you guys now?” shoto tilts his head.
“dunno.” touya shrugs.
“if i do can we have soba every night?” shoto blinks at him.
touya laughs and shoto smiles and all the tension drips away. there’s not really much conversation but the silence is comfortable now as the three of you wait for the food to be brought out.
by the time you guys are served, shoto’s eyes are already drooping. he finishes his food with the help of touya and falls asleep at the table while the bill is being paid. touya sighs and scoops shoto up and offers you his free hand.
“‘s nice.” you lean on his arm.
“shh.” he squeezes your hand but can’t hide the pink dusting on his cheeks.
“where’s he gonna sleep?” you smile up at him.
“bed with us for now.” he shrugs. “i.. i dunno what i was thinking.” you watch his shoulders tense.
“s’okay, we’ll figure it out.” you rub soothing circles on his hand.
the rest of the walk back is filled with soft snores from shoto and the sounds of the city. when the apartment door seals the three of you inside shoto stirs and wraps himself tighter around touya.
“miss you.” he mumbles into touya’s hoodie.
touya doesn’t say anything, just tugs the beanie off and smooths his hair back. he leads you into the room with him and lays shoto down on the bed and covers him up before taking you back out to the living room. he sits on the couch and looks up at you.
“you can yell.” he sighs.
“why would i yell?” you cup his cheeks.
“cause i’m stupid.” he rests his hands over yours. “and i took my stupid brother. and made you an accomplice. and made you come eat soba this late. and.. i dunno.” he shrugs.
“i’m not gonna yell at you.” you squish his cheeks and sit down next to him. “but.. why did you take him?” you search his eyes.
“i just..” he sighs. “i’m so fucking mad and bitter and.. i.. fuck it, i took his masterpiece cause he’s not just his masterpiece he’s a kid.. he’s my.. brother and..” he tosses his head back on the couch.
“hey, it’s okay.” you brush his hair back. “we don’t gotta deal with it right now.” you curl up next to him.
“touya?” you both turn at shoto’s voice.
“yeah? are you okay?” touya is up and walking over to shoto.
“can you come to bed?” he tugs his shirt. “and you too?” shoto peeks around shoto at you.
“yeah. let’s go to bed.” you nod and get up from the couch.
the both of you lead shoto back to bed and the two of you curl into bed around him. shoto falls asleep and touya stares at you from across the bed, reaching over and cupping your cheek.
“i’ll make you two breakfast in the morning.” he rubs your cheek. “and we figure out what to do with him.” he whispers.
“mhm.” you bring his hand to your mouth and press a small kiss on his palm.
dabi except he wakes up often in the middle of the night from dreams where he's back in that house.
he pants as his sweaty body awakens, heart racing as he remembers where he is. he closes his eyes, forcing himself to calm down.
he then looks at you. his beautiful, sweet girlfriend. the one who he knows he doesn't deserve, and yet you sleep next to him so content, so at ease. at any point, he could turn, have another breakdown or surge of rage.
it doesn't matter. you stick by him anyway.
when the terror passes and the fatigue resettles, he gets back under the covers and pulls you gently to his chest. he falls asleep after a long time of just holding you, his savior.
dabi, who is toxic and shit at expressing his feelings tries to salvage what’s left of you
dabi x reader | nsfw, 18+, smut + angst | wc: 2k
at what point did you get used to it?
the late-night visits for one reason only. the all-knowing smirk when he decided your time with each other was over. the way your heart had chipped away piece by piece so now it barely falters when he leaves.
initially, you thought it was enough.
you thought you were lucky that you could hold him as tight as you can while he’s ruining you, without him pushing you away. that it had to mean something, the fact that he chose you to spend those late-nights with. that when he laid next to you after finishing, he’d let you run your fingers through his hair in the split second before he decided to leave.
you swore—you swore you could see a flash of tenderness in that moment. and sometimes he would even utter something vulnerable, or something sweet, or something painful. and you carried all of it, no matter what. you hopelessly allowed yourself to think that maybe that one moment made him feel like his visits to you were worth it.
you thought you were special. just special enough.
but that was before he made a passing comment. words that were only fleeting to him but stuck devastatingly to you like a fly landing in honey.
it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
“took you long enough to answer the door. if you keep wasting my time like this, i’ll just go to some other bitch to get my dick wet. not that you’re good for anything else.”
your heart plummeted to your feet. it was his nonchalant tone. it was the “some other bitch.” it was the way he took all that you had just to spit it back out. that even after all this time, you still weren’t enough.
and the thought festers in you as he pushes his way inside. it’s almost shameless how your body responds to him. because he’s all you’ve known, all you’ve ever wanted, and all that consumed you whole.
it hurt because he doesn’t owe you anything. you shouldn’t expect someone to know how to give when all they’ve done is take.
it hurt because before you knew it, you thought that if he couldn’t give, he could at least just stay by your side.
it hurt because if there’s some other bitch he can take from, why keep expending yourself?
why expend yourself at all? when all he’s done is be cruel, picking and choosing when your heart was good enough for him.
you should take this as it is: nothing more than a quick fuck.
but his words ring in your mind. it overtakes your thoughts.
and you miss the way he seems angrier than usual when he shoves you up against the wall. you miss the way he undresses you with a little more urgency than usual. how his hands riddled with staples lingers a bit longer on your body. how his mouth keeps finding yours even though he says he doesn’t do kissing.
his words whisper in your ear. haunting you even when you’re staring at the pillow next to you, cheeks pressed against the mattress, his cock pounding into your heat relentlessly. you don’t notice that your moans sound a little more empty, your cries a sorrowful mix between pleasure and heartbreak.
but dabi notices. he noticed the lack of passion as he dove into your mouth again and again, trying to reignite it. he noticed how you didn’t look at him and immediately went face down into the mattress, body arching up for him like a used machine. he notices the tears leaking out of your eyes as he fucks your cunt, an odd frustration fueling his thrusts.
he had a shit day. and he came here because you give him comfort. that he can count on your always-willing heart to make him feel whole again. was it what he said earlier? he was just being careless and said something shitty because he’s had a shitty day full of shitty people.
you should know this. you should know that he doesn’t actually mean it. so why are you treating him as if he were a quick fuck to get over with? what happened to the spark in your eyes?
why do your cries sound so broken?
he’s an idiot. he shouldn’t be asking questions he already knows the answers to.
then why did his stomach sink? why is that pesky feeling of emotion akin to guilt creeping up in his chest? why did he flip you over on your back and grab your jaw just to get a glimpse of your face that you refuse to show him?
there’s confusion written in your eyes when dabi places you down and pushes his cock back into you slowly, his strong hips starting a steady slow pace—a complete 180 from five seconds ago.
“you thinkin’ about something else when i’m fucking you, huh?” he snarls.
you shake your head through his tight grip, with cerulean eyes staring unnervingly into yours. you think it’s odd. he doesn’t usually like missionary, he prefers to take you from the back or you riding him. never him on top, with his forehead pressed against yours like a lover.
dabi thrusts into you languidly, suddenly not in a rush like he’s so used to. he stares into your eyes, searching for something—anything, but his brows knit at the blank gaze you give him.
“what’s gotten into you? the fuck you just layin’ there for?”
a surge of frustration spikes through your veins. with the calmest voice you can muster, you respond back, “if i’m not satisfying you, just go to someone else then.”
dabi scowls.
his grip on your jaw is so tight you can feel his staples digging into your skin. his hips stop rocking against yours. he’s quiet for a moment and his palms feel hot. so hot that you have half a mind to be worried that his quirk would flare up and incinerate you in its blue flames.
but you keep your eyes on his, all the turmoil of emotions you’ve felt all night aimed directly at him at this moment.
dabi grits his teeth before crashing his lips onto yours, both of his palms coming up to cradle your cheeks as his tongue entangles against yours. it’s messy. dominating. suffocating. desperate.
his passion surprises you, and you find yourself returning it with fervor. because for once, it feels like he needs you and not the other way around. because you’ve already prepared your heart for when he inevitably leaves later without so much as a glance back.
and dabi savors this moment, that you finally feel familiar again. that the silly emotion in his heart akin to fear finally quells when he feels your hands thread through his hair to tug him closer. when he feels your hips rock just the slightest against his still dick inside.
he doesn’t move his lips from yours when he starts grinding into you again. his tongue moves in tandem as he drags his cock out of you, then pushes it back in slowly, making sure you feel every groove of it.
“fuck. there’s no one else,” dabi mutters against your lips, as if it pains him to say it.
you bitterly reply back, “then just leave and don’t come back if i’m not enough. if that’s all i’m good for. i’m done w—mph!”
he swallows everything that comes out of your mouth—words, moans, pants—as if he feeds off it, thrives off of it.
he hits your cervix and humps once—twice—three times, pulling out just to do it again, repeatedly. deeper each time. your eyes roll to the back of your head with every thump.
your lips are wet with spit and you can feel the warm staples on his chin glide against yours, slick with drool. you try to turn your head to breathe but he follows, stealing your every breath.
there’s no other sensation besides him, him, and him.
you ignore the fact that this feels too intimate. that he’s cradling you like you’re something precious. for if you let your poor heart think it means anything more, the chipped pieces might as well blow away like dust.
as if he knows this, dabi starts speaking. because no, he wants to fill your every sense with him and stay there. he wants to stay there like you’ve always let him.
“don’t think about anything else when you’re with me, angel,” he growls in between kisses.
his pace starts speeding up and he presses himself even closer to you when you wrap your legs around his waist, groaning at how he sinks into your pussy, “fuck, you feel so good. so perfect. made just f’ me.”
you moan louder and he rocks harder—harsher—deeper, thrusting into your body with so much force that the bed feels like it's going to break. slick starts smearing onto his thighs.
“you’re mine,” dabi says, and means it. “you can’t just throw me away so don’t say that fuckin’ shit again, you hear me? don’t fuckin’ tell me to leave.”
what a contradicting bastard.
you don’t miss the desperate tone laced in his words but you opt to not say anything—to not dwell on it, because you know better. you steel your heart because how could you be his when he’s never wanted to be yours?
a thrust. “you’re—” another thrust. “—mine.” he drills into you like an animal, as if trying to drill the notion into your mind. you sob out in pleasure as he chases both your highs. all while holding himself up, forearms caging the sides of your face and hands cradling the top of your head as he sucks and bites at your lips.
when dabi feels you coming undone, pussy clenching him to oblivion, he buries himself to the hilt and pours all his cum into you. he doesn’t move until the very last spurt, and even then, he remains on top of you, licking up all your tears and cooing how good you were for him.
you lay there in the aftermath, panting, legs shaking because that’s the hardest you’ve ever orgasmed with him. instinctually, your hand reaches up to thread through his hair.
you know better, your mind echoes.
abruptly, your hand freezes, fingers just an inch from making contact.
you know better, your mind screams.
slowly, your arm falls back down.
you jolt when dabi grabs your wrist and pushes your hand into his hair, your widened eyes darting straight to his cerulean ones that glare at you. he doesn’t say anything. and when you try to draw back your arm, his hold tightens, eyes narrowing at you even further.
you know better, your mind wails. but you can’t stop the minute quiver in your lips as you stare at him with your own frustrated eyes.
it makes your hand grip his hair, and you grip it hard. you tug on it as hard as you can, almost fearing that you might actually rip chunks out of his scalp.
dabi barely flinches. his hand simply comes up and threads his rough fingers into yours, pressing your hand further into his black hair. you can feel the staples on the back of your hand as he holds it tight against you, encouraging you, hardset gaze never leaving yours.
tears start welling in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks and all you can do is pull with all your might. as if that’ll make everything better. as if you’re trying to pull him apart violently just like he did you.
and dabi just takes it.
he takes it because that’s all you can give him right now.
he takes it because it’s a lifeline thrown to him.
he takes it because it’ll give him time—time for him to go back and pick up every piece of your heart that chipped away. with coarse, stapled hands that only knows how to burn and not how to fix.
a/n: sorry these lwk sound the same lol but i wanted to finish this request for my sweet anon!!! now time to go back to my usual fluff and funny jokes because angst makes me sad 🙏
