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.
your best friend touya has been staring at you for the last couple of minutes. you lay on your stomach, splayed out on his bedroom floor as you paint your nails a dark, shimmery blue—his eyes bounce between the homework and pen in front of him to the arrangement of nail polish bottles surrounding you before eventually getting caught
"you wanna paint your nails too?"
touya's gaze widens a fraction in surprise, the smudged coal lining his sapphire eyes doing nothing to conceal the slight hint of interest in them as he scoffs
"no. 's stupid... doesn't nail polish fade in like a week max, anyway?" he drawls, swiveling his chair to face you with a skeptical look as you shrug, picking up a detail brush to paint a small flower on your pointer finger instead
"sure. but it's still pretty. a bit of customization if you will, mr. todoroki." you tease, and touya rolls his eyes before pulling himself out of his chair and sitting beside you on the ground
"if you wanna do some real customization, you should get a piercing like me." he teases, sticking out his tongue for a moment to show off the glittering barbell—a new addition to his list of piercings—lying on the curve of his tongue. you roll your eyes with a grin and gently nudge his shoulder
"come on, i have so many colors you can pick from! why don't you give it a try?" you pry, and touya lets out a huff before his eyes zero in on all of the small bottles laying beside you. he tilts his head as he inspects them closely, a lock of ivory hair falling in front of his eyes before he moves back
"fine. gimme the same one you were using." he murmurs, rolling up the sleeve of his hoodie as your eyes widen
"you wanna match with me?! yay!" you squeal, immediately reaching for his hand and pulling it into your lap as he lets out a yelp of surprise
"watch it! and we are not matching. it's just... the least mediocre color i see." he grumbles, face warm as he watches you carefully cradle his hand
"right. stay still now, okay?" you say, and touya nods his head with narrowed eyes, watching closely as you apply the polish to his fingernails. your hand is warm and steady, and you apply the glittering blue color with surprising precision
touya tries not to squirm every time your fingers brush over his knuckles or wrist, but each time you do, it feels like he's getting zapped by some invisible force
"—touya! you almost made me mess up again! no more moving." you scold, tightening your grip on his wrist once more as you work on painting his last fingernail
"you're cutting off all my blood circulation with how tight you're holding me!" he groans, head falling back with the column of his throat facing the ceiling as you shake your head with a laugh
"anddd there. all done!"
he moves to look down at his hands a moment later, blinking slowly as he stares at them quietly. he flexes his fingers too before letting out a low hum
"they don't look that bad." he murmurs, and from touya, that basically meant he loved them.
you let out a squeal, kneeling behind him to wrap your arms around his shoulders in a hug as you rest your cheek against the top of his head
"i knew you'd like em! and we're matching nail colors... that basically means were soulmates, touya." you say all matter-of-factly, and he seems to choke on air as he whips around to meet your gaze with comically wide eyes
"does not!" he protests
you giggle, moving forward to ruffle his hair as he ducks away
"touyaaa, your ears are red. ya'know what that means. you're lying," you tease with a grin, and the only response he can muster is an embarrassed huff and a weak shut up from underneath his breath
"alright, fine! they look nice. and i guess i like the color." he grumbles, almost as if the fact was painful to admit, and you beam brightly before gently knocking your shoulder against his own
"you can paint my nails next time if you want!" you offer, and his eyes flit to yours hesitantly at your words
the way you had held his hand while painting his nails felt oddly... intimate. you'd been sitting so close to him too, close enough where he could smell the soft fragrance of your shampoo and see the flutter of your lashes with each passing moment. your hold was warm, comforting in a way that felt just like home—
so, touya decides, he supposes he wouldn't be against painting your nails sometime too.
he shrugs casually, as if pondering your question before turning to you with a smirk
"since you've already painted your fingernails, how about i paint your toes for you?" he questions, and you gasp before poking his stomach with a sock-clad foot and a burst of laughter
Childhood Best Friend!Touya Todoroki x Childhood Best Friend!Reader and instead of the Nomu giving Endeavour that big scar across his face in the fight, she does.
During Touya's funeral Reader just gets so angry and genuinely distraught at how Endeavour is just using this moment as a way to capitalise off of his own son's death to the point anyone who knows the real Endeavour can clearly tell just how fake it is.
The way he's pretending to be a man mourning as if he hasn't already moved on due to Shoto being his main priority jarrs her so much that she can't help herself.
She has a copy quirk except she can hoard up to five quirks as long as she has enough of a quirks 'essence'. Luckily enough, she hoarded Touya's essence shortly before his death after she hugged him and comforted him after Endeavour had done something again, although she doesnt know all the details.
The funeral was recorded for family and pros that couldn't make it, but that never even clicked when midway through his eulogy she couldn't help herself and made her way over to the podium and used Touya's quirk to burn Endeavour's face.
Sadly, the tape got corrupted sometime later and could never be found again 😪 poor Dabi doesn't know what Pro Hero!Reader did to avenge him until he accidentally makes contact in a fight and she recognises his essence. Whoopsie.
This is my first time writing anything, be gentle with me 🙏🏻
It wasn’t supposed to be anything. Just a bored glance while killing time in the a convenience store as he waited for his contact to show. But then you walked in.
At first, he didn’t think much of it - just another face in the endless sea of strangers. But something about you made him pause. The way you casually brushed hair from your face while scanning shelves, the soft hum of a song under your breath, completely unaware of the world around you. You were normal. Unshattered. Alive.
His sharp, turquoise eyes narrowed, lingering longer than they should’ve. He blamed it on curiosity. Something about you felt warm in a way he hadn’t experienced in years - like standing too close to a hearth after a lifetime of cold. It made him uncomfortable. Made him angry.
He should’ve walked away. He didn’t.
Dabi followed you out of the store without even realizing it. At first, it was instinct - silent footsteps slipping through the dark alleys like a shadow as he followed. He told himself he just wanted to see where you lived. Just a quick glance, nothing more.
This one time turned into a shady routine for him. He had to know more.
Within days, he knew your routine - when you left for work, when you returned, where you shopped. He mapped out the weakest points of your flat with practiced efficiency - windows that didn’t lock quite right, a back door that stuck if you didn’t shove it hard enough. Old habits. Necessary. Just in case.
At night, he watched the soft glow of your apartment lights from across the street, imagining what your life must be like on the inside. Warm, ordinary, safe. He hated how much he wanted it.
One day, when he saw you struggling with heavy grocery bags, the opportunity was too perfect to pass up. He shoved his hands deep into his material pants pockets, masking the nervous twitch of his fingers.
"Need a hand?" His voice was rough, casual - but there was something too sharp in his gaze, too focused.
You hesitated for just a moment before offering a grateful smile that hit him like a punch to the chest.
"Thank you! These bags are killing me."
He took them without another word, pretending the weight didn’t bother him. He could feel your eyes on him, curious, a little suspicious but not wary - not yet.
As you walked together, you talked - about nothing, really. The weather, the annoying store line, small, inconsequential things. But every word out of your mouth felt like oxygen to a man used to suffocating.
When you unlocked your door and turned back to him, smiling that same soft, trusting smile, he swore he felt his ruined heart stutter.
"Thanks again... um...?" you prompted, clearly expecting a name.
For a split second, he considered giving his real name - Touya - but killed the thought immediately. Too dangerous. Too personal.
"Dabi," he said instead, voice low, almost daring you to question it.
"Weird name," you said playfully, completely unfazed. How sweet you didn't recognise his villain name. "But thanks, Dabi. I really appreciate it."
Dabi always got what he wanted. He was ruthless, cunning, relentless. He should’ve burned this weakness out of himself the moment he realized what was happening. But he couldn't. He wanted you. All of you. And he was about to make you his.
This was how you two started seeing each other.
Dabi never calls your flat a home. The word sticks in his throat like ash. Home was burned away years ago, leaving only the cold, empty shell of survival. The apartment he crushes in from time to time is just a place where he exists, not where he belongs.
He lives in your home like a visitor overstaying his welcome. His clothes stay packed in a small, battered duffel bag shoved under the bed. “It’s just easier this way,” he mutters when you ask why he never uses the closet.
No matter how much he scrubs his skin, the faint scent of burning flesh never fades. He can see you notice but pretends he doesn’t. It makes him feel disgusted with his own self. It makes him feel guilty because you deserve much better. When you light scented candles or spray room freshener, he flinches inwardly, convinced you’re trying to mask the stench of him.
Every time he touches you, it feels like a silent goodbye. His hands are scarred and trembling, his grip tight like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. When he holds you, it’s never soft - it’s desperate, bruising, clinging. He needs the reminder that you’re real, that he’s still here, that he hasn’t burned you away yet.
He doesn’t say “I love you” because he thinks it’s a lie. People like him can’t love - not properly. Not in ways that don’t hurt. But sometimes, late at night when he thinks you’re asleep, he’ll trace your features with the lightest touch, memorizing every line like he’s carving you into his memory - for when you’re gone.
He expects you to leave. He knows you will, eventually. Everyone does. He can’t stop his sharp tongue or bitter jabs when he feels too close - it’s his defense mechanism. If you get too close, you might see him for what he really is - broken, twisted, beyond saving. Better that you leave on your terms than pity him.
Dabi barely sleeps. On good nights, he dozes fitfully beside you, waking at every small noise like he’s still being hunted. On bad nights, he sits by the window until dawn, smoking one cigarette after another, eyes fixed on your soft, relaxed features as you're deep in your slumber.
Late at night, when the world is still, you often find him standing at the window, his eyes tired, staring into the endless dark. His cigarette burns low between scarred fingers, ash scattering unnoticed, staining your floor. "Touya, come back to bed," you ask, improving your silky nightgown around yourself. He doesn’t turn around. His voice is rough, distant, "Tsk. Don't call me Touya. He is long dead."
On his worst days, he believes he deserves the pain. He’ll disappear without a word, returning with fresh burns hidden beneath his sleeves, the acrid smell of charred skin lingering around him. You know better than to ask where he’s been - his hollow eyes tell you everything you need to know.
Dabi doesn’t believe in a future - not for himself. The idea of living a long, peaceful life feels like a cruel joke. He talks about “when” he has to leave, never “if.” He’s already made peace with the fact that whatever this is - you and him - won’t last. Nothing ever does.
He keeps insignificant things - crumbled notes you left on the fridge, your old scarf that still smells faintly of your perfume, a broken hairclip. He stashes them in a small, dented box under his bed in the LOV hideout. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he pulls the box out and runs his fingers over the keepsakes, pretending, for a few minutes, that he’s someone worth remembering.
When you fight, Dabi lashes out like a wounded animal, sharp and cruel. His words are designed to hurt because he expects you to leave anyway - better to make you hate him than to watch you drift away. But afterward, he’s consumed by guilt, curling into himself like a burned-out ember.
He can’t say sorry - not with words at least. But after a fight, you’ll find your favorite snacks mysteriously restocked, the blanket you love folded neatly on the couch, a worn apology scrawled on a crumpled scrap of paper left where you can find it. He’s trying - in the only ways he knows how.
Dabi isn’t someone meant for love - but God, how he wants it. He knows he’ll never deserve you, that this life he’s stumbled into is a borrowed dream destined to shatter. But for now - for however long this fragile, imperfect thing lasts - he’ll hold on with both hands, knowing that in the end, he’ll be the one left burning.
IGNITE THE HEAT [dabi / todoroki touya x f!reader]
thinking about dabi riling you up and giving you all of him for hours, just to stop and grin at you from above seconds before you can release that knot in your stomach. your cheeks are burning from tears and your aching cunt is clenching around nothing, laying in the wet patch trembling and desperate. his hands grabbing your waist and hips down, grounding you into the soaked matress as his mouth stretches into a grin so wide, the metal staples start leaking blood.
“f-fuck, dabi!” you whimper as your cheeks stain with more of the salty liquid. your voice is strained and too weak, your throat is dry from all the restless vocal show you gave him. “why? why are y’ doing this?” it only fuels his desire. feeling a rush of primal satisfaction, knowing that he was the cause of your pleasure and pain, the reason for your weakened state.
“shh, doll.” he presses his lips against your neck, his voice a low rumble. his tongue darting out to flick against the shell of your ear. “you’re doin’ so well f’ me. so fucking good, doll, letting me break you like this.”
dabi’s touch is gentle, his fingers wiping the tears from your cheeks with a tenderness that seemed almost uncharacteristic of him. “don’t cry now, doll. just a little longer, i promise. you can hold on a little more f’ me, can’t you?” you can’t help but nod in silence, eyes pleading at him through wet lashes and heavy lids.
“that’s a good girl.” he murmurs, voice low and possessive. your hands grip onto the sheets again as your voice breaks, feeling him deep inside your sensitive walls.
despite his soft, comforting words, there was a hint of mischief in his eyes, a sly smirk playing at the corners of his lips. you couldn’t catch it when your body ached with need, your mind a haze of desire and frustration. it was as if he knew something you didn't, as if he was planning to keep playing with you, even after he promised to give you the release you so desperately craved.
the night went on, his hands continued to explore your body, touching, caressing, teasing. but instead of bringing you closer to the edge of release, he kept you balanced on that precarious precipice, never pushing you over the edge. he smugly whispered his “just a little longer”’s, kept telling you how good you were being, how patient you were, how much he loved the sound you made when you were on the edge of release, to never give you the relief of it for another couple of hours.
he looks more like a cornered dog than a person right now, and yet against all sense, you approach. even like this, touya would never hurt you. it doesn’t even cross your mind—after all, he’s done this for you.
and what he’s done stains his hands and your new dress. he blinks down at both like he can’t quite wrap his mind around the hue of it.
“baby,” you repeat, as softly as you can manage, “look at me.”
he does, after a moment—you watch him come back to you, loyal as he always was. blue eyes find your own, and there’s something about them that is always so unmarred by all of this. touya may do terrible things, but his eyes are those of a child who’s only ever sought out praise.
“did he hurt you?”
it’d been a rare date that he’d decided to take you on, which really was just greasy food shared between you at the dive bar down the street. it mattered little to you—you were just as happy to lean against his shoulder in that torn up booth. the walk home was the problem.
you’d noticed some guy watching you in the bar. that was the thing about dull men—they never noticed touya until it was too late. he was never any bark—only devastating bite. he’d gotten up when you did, and followed you out into the street. he’d reached out to grab you by the jacket you wore—touya’s jacket—and there was no taking back that.
“no,” you murmur, “you’d never let him, touya.”
he nods, stiff. he’s still a little far away—even knowing that you weren’t hurt, it’s the thought of it that will eat at him the rest of the night. you’ve been here before—he’d pull away if you let him.
you don’t. you close the distance between you, tucking yourself under his chin and squeezing around his middle, all but forcing him to let go of the breath he’s been holding on to.
“oi—your dress—“
“don’t care,” you nuzzle into his chest, affectionate and preening. “you kept me safe.”
there’s a rumbling in his chest at that—something animal that keens at the recognition. he is your protector—he’d never let anyone hurt you.
he doesn’t touch you—he doesn’t want to ruin all the effort you took to look so pretty for him—but he lets you hang off his arm the rest of the way home, careful to shield you—from the road, from other people, from anything.
Imagining Dabi just having a touch starved moment. You know those days where you just want nothing more than to be held and coddled and just loved in the most innocent way.
He’d come to your apartment unannounced, he has a key but from what you had known he was busy for the day. He bursts into your room where you’re laying on your stomach doing something on your laptop, in his shirt. Your eyes widen and you smile when you see him. “Hi baby! I didn’t know you were coming over.”
He says nothing, just strips off his jacket and throws it on the floor and sitting against the headboard of your bed. You sit on your knees and look to him. “Touya? You ok?”
He sighed and held out his arms. “C’mere doll.”
You moved over to him, he grabbed you by your hips pulling you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist so you couldn’t go anywhere. He rested his head against your chest.
You wrapped your arms around his head, scratching at his scalp. “What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
You try to pull away to look at him but he doesn’t release his grip if anything he holds you much tighter. You laughed and hold him again. “You sure?”
He nodds, planting a kiss on your neck and resuming his position. “Just wanted you.”
(also send requests! i appreciate them they help smmmm with writers block <3)
never forget that dabi is canonically a crybaby/angry crier and would 100% be clenching his butt cheeks trying to hold back the waterworks while arguing with you if his tear ducts weren’t burnt off. and that’s exactly why despite always packing a punch, his insults are nice and short. he’s gotta wrap it up and run out of there quickly before time is up and the dam breaks.
and you think he might truly be heartless when he leaves you to cry all by yourself but bro is literally somewhere having his own music video. sliding down a brick wall, gripping at his shirt, head in his hands, all while still trying to convince himself he doesn’t care. just ten times more pathetic than whatever you’re up to tbh. bc it’s easier for you to pick yourself back up once you realize he’s just gonna come back like always.
but he mastered the art of being dramatic and emotional before he even took his first steps! it doesn’t matter how many arguments you’ve had at this point; in his head, he’s experiencing doomsday for the trillionth time. after he’s done rubbing his eyes raw and furiously wiping away his snot he’ll straighten himself out and put on his most unbothered expression.
and you’ll cry again when he returns, because he hurt you and he’s an asshole for prancing back in all cool and nonchalant like nothing happened — and perhaps because you missed him, just a little. he’ll kiss your forehead and give you his little half assed apologies that you really need to stop settling for. he’ll wipe your tears away and tease you for being such a softie.
“one day you’ll be the one crying over me,” you sniffle. “then you’ll understand.”
