The Rabbit:re @the-rabbit-re - Tumblr Blog

Dabi x Reader

Playing with Fire

Preview: Miya’s claws dig deeper into your mind than you ever could have imagined and Dabi wants them out. Dabi doesn’t want anyone else to touch you. Why doll? Because you’re his. [Dabi x (Female)Reader]

NSFW/Smut/Porn with Plot/Slight Degradation/Choking/Language/Blood/Violence/Slight Self-Harm

Word Count: 18122

A/N: This is part four and the end of “Frostbitten Fruit,” the rest of which can be found linked below. I’m just going to act like me posting this at 3:30 in the morning is still Friday because I haven’t gone to bed yet lol. I hope you all like the ending; have fun reading! (Side note: the self-harm tag in this is for a few references to a non-main characters; I just wanted to be safe and tag it!)

Total Work Word Count: 54981

Part One: Frostbitten Fruit

Part Two: Whose Vampire?

Part Three: Oblivion

Master List

Keep Reading Below or AO3: Link

Miya and Sting deposited you in a bedroom without a second thought—the sound of the door locking behind them an insult to your headache.

“What use is she to you like this?”

“Don’t be so bitter Sting. I can’t very well have her running around saying she joined the league, can I? Besides, she’ll remember who she is before long.”

You should forget about Dabi’s theory. He doesn’t know Miya’s quirk. You wished your brain would just shut up. You didn’t want to think anymore.

The room was dark: red carpet on top of dark wood floors, yellow wallpaper, a wrought iron bed. Your head was still throbbing to the tune of rainfall; it was raining here. And you couldn’t help but think you were tired, exhausted. You almost couldn’t get yourself to the bed before you fell asleep—a suffocatingly black sleep. Utterly devoid of dreams or thoughts. Like you’d actually fainted from your headache instead.

You woke up to the feel of the bed shifting beneath somebody’s weight, to the sound of metal springs stretching and rough sheets sliding against one another and you. You woke up feeling entirely out of place even in your own mind.

The room smelt like a hotel, like moth balls and bleach and Febreze trying to cover it all.

“So, I was thinking (Y/N).” Miya spoke cheerily from his position sitting on the edge of ‘your’ bed like you’d never left—like he’d never threatened Dabi. Had he? He hadn’t really threatened Dabi? You left so you wouldn’t hurt him…Miya never said he would?

But that thought felt backwards: you would never hurt Dabi that easily.

You sat up slowly, the same sense of confusion from last night falling across your mind, maybe even across your face before you made eye contact with Miya. His eyes turning steely grey as he watched you for a moment, before continuing. “Really the best excuse for you having so profoundly proclaimed to be a part of the league.” He said the word like it was a joke, like he was half a second away from forming air quotations around the title.

“Would be if I had sent you to be a spy. So, logically the next step would be for us to erase the league.” Miya smiled, patting your leg over the covers. “And you know I’m not very patient about these things.”

Why would you agree to attack the league? Wasn’t the whole reason you came here to keep you away from Dabi? No. If anything you came here to keep Miya away from Dabi. Why did you keep thinking otherwise?

Why would you need to stay away from Dabi.

“I really don’t like that face you’re making doll.” Miya spoke again, his voice turning sour.

The word doll caused you to jump, sounding so very wrong from Miya’s mouth—mocking instead of teasing. The word serving as a sour reminder you weren’t where you wanted to be; you weren’t in Dabi’s apartment. Hadn’t Dabi said something about Miya’s quirk?

“What. You meet one emotionally damaged boy and suddenly you don’t trust me anymore? Or is it that you remember his little theory about my quirk? I thought I told you to forget about that.” Miya sounded uncharacteristically frustrated.

“I don’t trust you.” You finally found your words. The four words that felt the truest to you at the moment. You didn’t trust Miya. Why should you? You came here to protect Dabi for one reason or another. You weren’t sure what the reason was exactly. But you didn’t come here because you trusted Miya not to let Dabi get hurt. You came here because you didn’t trust yourself.

Miya’s eyes narrowed as he stood from the bed. “Don’t make this less fun for me.”

Miya took a step away from the bed; his voice returning to its cheery demeanor. His hands moving animatedly in the air as he spoke. “Besides I have a surprise for you.”

You decided to follow him, either from lack of choice or acceptance you weren’t sure. At the very least, no one you cared about hurting was here. And staying in this room wasn’t going to get you anywhere, even if you weren’t sure where you really wanted to go.

That’s a lie. You know where you want to be.

Miya led you down the hallway, happily discussing his new house like you were his wife. Surprisingly your mind felt your own, and your thoughts were free to wander as you all but ignored what Miya was saying. Your own thoughts were lingering on Dabi, lingering on if Miya would turn you against him, against the league.

If you became a threat to him, would he still not be able to burn you?

And if Miya’s goal was for you to take out the league—why were you even here? Shouldn’t you leave considering you came here to keep Dabi safe? But it wasn’t like Miya was just going to let you leave, you thought. Why did you come here? It didn’t make sense. You mind was running in circles that ended and began on last night, and each lap around your own thoughts left you more and more confused. It didn’t add up.

You remembered Dabi saying Miya was putting thoughts in your head. But that idea only left you more uneasy; how were you supposed to know which thoughts were real when they all sounded the same?

“(Y/N).” Miya snapped his fingers in front of your face. “(Y/N) were you even listening?”

“What happened to the old house?” You replied in a voice that could give Dabi a run for his money for lack of emotion.

“See we’re already past that topic. We were just discussing breakfast, or is it lunch now?” You felt like he was scolding a child. His hand on the small of your back again as he pushed you through two white-sliver doors in front of him.

He didn’t follow, closing the doors between you as he winked.

The room was just your average dining room, except it was startlingly empty. The long mahogany table had one seat, one plate, one glass—all empty. The walls were yet again covered in that ugly yellow wallpaper, darker tan-brown swirls of off-putting paisley dancing around your vision as you sat in the wooden chair with no cushion.

Comfy, you thought sarcastically as you sat waiting for whatever game Miya was playing to start. You had a feeling you knew where this was going. You didn’t want to hurt the league, and you didn’t trust Miya. So, what was there left to do except make you forget and what better way to make you forget than to get you to activate your quirk?

There was another set of doors at the far side of the table, which you hadn’t entered through. You wondered if they were locked. It wouldn’t make sense for him not to lock those doors; Miya wasn’t stupid. But wouldn’t it also be dumb to not check?

Why were you even arguing with yourself over it; any way you looked at it you should at least check the doors? Come to think of it, why hadn’t you even attempted to escape last night before you fell asleep?

Why were you so damn out of it.

You were saved from your train wreck of an internal monologue by Miya walking through that very same set of doors, now in a white tux, leading a man around his age by the arm. Miya walked silently, taking the role of a butler as he finally came to a pause beside your seat.

“For your enjoyment.” Miya bowed slightly and let go of the man’s arm.

The man took a step closer, placing his arm between you and the silver plate on the table—before abruptly sliding a knife down his arm. The limb almost immediately overflowing with the dark crimson color of blood that should really stay in your body.

You jumped back, the sound of blood overflowing onto the plate in front of you reigniting your forgotten headache. Tink, tink tink…tink…tink…

Your chair lay somewhere forgotten on the floor behind you. You didn’t hear it fall over; your mind immediately zoning in on the awful sound of blood dripping. Why were you even surprised? This was exactly like Miya. This was exactly what you’d been expecting. Yet, the violence still startled you from the daze you’d been in all morning, like this had just been a bad dream up until this very moment.

Now you were living in a nightmare.

“Drink.” Miya said one word.

“I’m not thirsty.” You smiled back, not knowing where your sudden bravado came from considering how complacent you’d been all morning.

Miya whistled, and two more people walked into the room—standing in line behind the first.

“Is he not to your liking?”

You wouldn’t know, you hadn’t taken a breath since he cut his arm open.

“The only purpose of these three was to amuse you. If they aren’t to your liking, I can gladly dispose of them for you?” Miya placed a hand lightly on the first boy’s shoulder.

What’s a little more blood on your hands at this point?

“Will you let them leave if I drink their blood?” You countered, ignoring the dark thought that seeped into your brain.

“So guarded.” Miya tsk’d. “You used to be so fun. I won’t kill them if you don’t.”

But you want to kill them. You miss that part of yourself—how carefree you used to be.

You didn’t look at Miya, or anyone for that matter. You didn’t let yourself register their faces, or what you were about to do; sliding back into that dark corner of yourself you hadn’t had to hide within for ages as you moved to drink the blood pooling off the boy’s arm. He had a better chance of surviving if you could control yourself vs. you leaving him to Miya’s whims. At least, that’s what you thought. You could drink his blood and not kill him. You’d practiced this with Dabi.

When you woke up, you and three lifeless bodies were alone in a room.

See. Do you see now? You were wrong. You can’t trust yourself. It will always be the same. No one is safe from you.

Were these your thoughts? Were they Miya’s? Did it even matter whose thoughts they were? They were right. You couldn’t trust yourself.

This continued for six days.

On the seventh day Miya paraded you back to the dining room in a white dress, that was honestly flattering on you. Not that it mattered. It was just nice to think about anything pleasant—no matter how vane.

On the seventh day Miya lead a man with burn scars across his arms and legs, across his whole face even, into the room. For a second, you’d even thought it was Dabi. His name almost leaving your lips like a plea; but there were no staples next to those scars. The color hadn’t even been right. It had only been wishful thinking that Dabi was here.

If you got rid of Dabi, couldn’t you just be yourself? If Dabi was gone couldn’t you go back to not caring—to letting your quirk run free. Wouldn’t that be better for you? Easier. You shied from the thought physically, grimacing into yourself like you’d been burned.

Miya smiled like a politician—full of false promises.

On the seventh day you decided you really did truly hate Miya. You hated the things he wanted you to believe about yourself. You hated what he was enabling you to become.

You didn’t trust him.

But you also didn’t trust yourself. How could you when you were thinking such awful things? When you were so uncertain if you were behaving this way because he wanted you too—or if you were behaving this way because it was you. Maybe you’d just been lying to yourself ever since you left Miya.

You just wanted out of the room. To be free of the implications of the dried blood on the table and floors and walls. You wanted to go to sleep. You wanted not to think. You didn’t even look the burned man in the face before you bit down into his neck—it would all end the same anyway. To the constant drum of dripping blood, you almost didn’t hear the sound of a neck snapping.

You felt awful. You felt numb. You hardly felt the blood drooling down your neck, much less tasted it.

Was killing the burned man not better like this? Wouldn’t it be easier for him to die quickly now rather than leaving him to the fate of your quirk later, when you wouldn’t even remember what you were doing.

It was a mercy for him to die now rather than later. It was.

Miya snapped his fingers and another burnt man walked in.

You almost didn’t feel the weight of your stomach dropping. This one even had staples.

No. You didn’t want to do this.

Kill him or Miya will or you will later.

This is what breaking felt like.

Whatever you decide it doesn’t matter.

You weren’t in control at all.

You never were.

“How do you have no fucking idea where Miya is?” Dabi’s voice was unhinged for once in his life, loud, angry, anxious. He didn’t like the sound of it.

“Your girlfriend was my source of information.” Shigaraki spoke, much more composed—but no less angry—his hand gripped tightly against the side of his own neck.

Dabi didn’t particularly give a flying fuck how Shigaraki felt about his tone. “So you can break into the U.A to mess with students whenever the mood strikes you, but you can’t find one shitty fucking villain after all this time of bragging about being—”

“It’s been like four days Dabi.” Toga spoke up; forever detached from the mood of the rest of the room, sitting on a bar-stool very far away from Dabi and Shigaraki, who were maybe two words away from coming to blows.

“Try seven.” Dabi corrected her icily. It’s not like he hadn’t tried to find you, he just had no idea where to look—had run out of familiar faces to burn.

“You were there.” Shigaraki continued coolly; his teeth digging into his lower lip. “Why didn’t you stop them from taking her, if you were going to throw—”

Toga jumped up from her seat suddenly, like she knew this conversation was about to take a sour turn. “Just go where the chaos is.”

“Not in the mood for riddles Toga.” Shigaraki turned his attention to her, nails halting their anxious path against his neck.

Toga looked at Dabi instead. “(Y/N)’s not (Y/N) right now. She’s Bloodlust, everything you ever heard and more.”

“How do you know she switched already.” Dabi’s voice was still sharp. It had only been seven days. But even as he told himself that, a week started to feel like a long time. He started to imagine being back in his old shitty situation for a week and his mood turned ever darker.

“It’s got nothing to do with her. Miya’s just good at breaking people and if he really can put thoughts in someone’s head, he only needs her to give a little.” Toga was actually making sense for once.

“And where pray tell, is the chaos Toga?” Dabi rolled his eyes to her, noticing the thick piece of paper in her hand.

“Where the gambling is.” Toga tossed the card from her two fingers to the bar top, watching as it slid to a stop in front of Dabi perfectly like she’d practiced.

Dabi glanced at it, could feel the heat rolling in his palms as he read the words snidely typed there: Miya cordially invites Shigaraki, Toga and the Blue Flame to gamble at his second favorite club. Try not to burn this one down.

The password was even scrawled at the bottom: Miya’s Vampire.

Dabi hadn’t realized he was burning the bar until Shigaraki cursed.

Toga appeared beside Dabi; her hand landing lightly on his arm. “I want her back too, Dabi.”

So what if he cared about you? It wasn’t a fucking crime. Even if it was a crime, was he not a villain. Regardless of his thoughts, Dabi just scoffed, not voicing his opinion on the matter. Not willing to admit a word of his thoughts.

“I’m sure you can get your bullet back too Shig.” Dabi said instead, turning to go back to his apartment and for some reason unknown to him, Toga came with him.

And Toga did not leave either.

No. She stalked him around his apartment all night incessantly talking, until she finally passed out on the couch with a movie playing on his TV—loudly. Dabi didn’t even bother turning it down, much less off. Why bother when he’d never intended to sleep tonight anyway. He couldn’t.

He’d barely slept the past week. It just wasn’t that obvious with the burns under his eyes.

He went to the roof instead, lazily swinging his legs off the side, faking being at ease. The one thing he was good at, Dabi thought. His mind a mess. It was ridiculous, utterly fucking ridiculous that you were so concerned about hurting him, that you were willing to go with Miya. Dabi knew willing was a stretch; you hadn’t really looked like you wanted to go. You just looked like that was the stupid conclusion you came too. How much influence does Miya have over you?

Why go back to something you hate just for him? Where was the fucking merit in that. He was already half a walking corpse and you on the other hand were very much alive.

It’s not like he was defenseless either. Sting didn’t know what was coming for her; she hadn’t truly fought him yet. Even Miya? What good was Miya against him. Miya could try to put all the thoughts he wanted in Dabi’s head; it wouldn’t change anything. And why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t Dabi just lit his whole apartment on fire, tore you out of Miya’s hands and left. Or even before that—he should’ve made you drink his blood. He should’ve grabbed you and jumped out the window; even if Sting was there, she wouldn’t have been able to stop you both. He should’ve set Miya on fire before he had a chance to even step into Dabi’s apartment; he should’ve—

Dabi realized his hands were on fire in the next moment, and then he couldn’t stop from picturing the way you’d grabbed those very same hands in front of Miya like they hadn’t been on fire at all—had nearly given him a fucking heart attack. Hadn’t anyone ever told you not to play with fire?

He had a hard enough time seeing all the scars on himself. He didn’t need to see them on you too, he thought sourly. Not doing anything for his growing frustration. There really wasn’t such a thing as should have—of course it was easy to see a thousand different paths now; but it was too late. You were already gone, and he was stuck here.

No, Dabi wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight.

He would sleep tomorrow, when had you back.

Dabi came back inside and showered before Toga woke up, letting her believe he hadn’t been outside all night long. She hadn’t been hard to convince.

And the rest of Dabi’s day passed in a blur.

Dabi could already tell before he went inside, the club Toga had happily led him, as well as Shigaraki and Kurogiri too, was much nicer than the one (Y/N) had taken him to.

For one, it wasn’t on a dark no name alley; it was on a well-lit street. Which was a pain. There was no bouncer at the clean glass door. The place was a ‘normal club’, on par with the rest of the street.

Dabi didn’t bother to read the sign before he walked in ahead of everyone else. Dabi ignored the disco-ball above the light wood dance-floor, the live band, the whole separate billiards room, the two bars, the actual space to walk—his only goal was to find whatever stairwell led to Miya. He didn’t let himself consider whether you might be here too. How he would deal with you if you were under the influence of blood—under the influence of Miya.

Dabi was halfway across the room when he felt a slender hand on his arm. “Miya’s not ready for you yet. Why don’t you have a drink?”

Dabi let fire crawl across his arm where Sting had touched him, already knowing that voice without turning to look at her. He didn’t particularly care to see her face. Dabi felt the tip of her tail press into his jeans behind his knee in the next moment, a threat. A threat he really wasn’t willing to tolerate—

“Manners.” If anyone else had said this to him, anyone but you, the building would’ve been in flames. Your voice was tight with warning without losing its allure. Dabi couldn’t decide how he felt—part of him was relieved. The other part was tense like a horse fighting against its bit—wanting to run, wanting to follow it’s instinct and being unable too, being held back. You were under the influence of Miya but Dabi was under the influence of you. And he couldn’t decide which was worse.

He glanced to you in the next moment, at the red dress you were wearing. The very short red dress at odds with the forever crawling length of everything Sting wore—her own darker red dress trailing the floor. Who were you right now? Why couldn’t Dabi bring himself to be wary of you.

You stepped between him and Sting in the next moment; your own arm wrapping beneath his—flame stuttering to nothing. Sting moved her tail before you commented on it, although she looked decidedly pissed about it. “Sting you know who you’re supposed to be watching. So watch.”

You paused; Dabi’s arm still in yours as you turned to look—to make sure Sting was listening, Dabi assumed.

“Kurogiri you have to stay with little boy blue over there.” You spoke dismissively like no one was going to disagree with you. Without even looking at him, Dabi could feel Shigaraki tense at the dismissal.

A little boy who looked far too young to be in a club was sitting by the pool tables, not at all wearing blue. Dabi didn’t understand the nickname; he wasn’t an avid follower of the arts.

Kurogiri listened quietly. It didn’t stop you from commenting again. “If you ask me, Miya’s taking Shigaraki’s temper too lightly.”

At least you were aware, Dabi thought—your arm still tucked around his.

Shigaraki may not know how to read a room; but he also doesn’t like to play his cards unless he knows he has the upper hand. You were a wildcard in this. Dabi pondered for a moment before speaking. “And what about my temper doll?”

You didn’t answer, only giving Dabi a look as if to say he knew the answer. That his temper wasn’t going to mean anything with you on his arm. “Let’s all have a drink.” You said instead, stepping toward the bar, never once letting go of Dabi. He didn’t want you too.

“I didn’t come here to drink.” Shigaraki said, refusing to move from his spot by the door.

You appeared behind Shigaraki in the next moment; he didn’t know you were there until you spoke. “If you want to go piss Miya off by all means.”

As soon as the words were out of your lips, your arm was back through Dabi’s like you’d never left, stepping forward once again. He’d never even felt your absence. You didn’t pause to see if your threat had worked, like you were positive no one would challenge you.

Why would they? When you can appear out of thin fucking air. Dabi knew Shigaraki still wanted you in the league, but that leeway was only going to go so far.

Miya wasn’t the threat here—you were. So why couldn’t Dabi see you that way? Why didn’t he pull his arm from yours? Why was he so willing to trust you.

Toga bounced past Shigaraki and Sting lightly, like nothing was tense at all. She even smacked you on the back before prancing the rest of the way to the bar, getting the bartender’s attention. You sat down beside her on her right; Dabi sat on your right and Sting and Shigaraki continued to glare at each other in front of the bar.

“Shigaraki, here.” You turned in your seat, tossing some small object to Shigaraki. It wasn’t until he held it for a moment that Dabi saw what it was—the bullet Miya had taken. “On good faith from Miya.”

That’s right; everything you were doing, you were doing because Miya told you too. You were only hanging on to him because Miya knew it would keep him from starting a fight, Dabi thought.

A beer was placed in front of Dabi without him having to ask for it; he wasn’t sure if it was yours or Toga’s doing. You didn’t talk, swirling a liquid Dabi was certain wasn’t wine in a wine class like you weren’t particularly fond of the taste.

Dabi didn’t need to be this close to you to know something was off; the Bloodlust here, the you here, and the you he’d spent so much time in his apartment with—they were different. Your face now reminded him of his own. You were a ticking time bomb; the question wasn’t whether you would explode, but what would come out when you did.

Dabi wasn’t sure how to help. Dabi didn’t say anything either, just watched you swirl the liquid in your glass again and again with conflicting thoughts.

You turned your head slightly to look at him; a glint in your eyes he couldn’t quiet read as you said quietly. “Do you still trust me flame boy?”

Before he had a chance to respond Toga interrupted, and the slight gleam to your eyes disappeared as you turned from him, tilting your glass up higher.

“Here.” Toga remarked casually as you finally decided to finish the liquid in your glass—lips stained red. Toga rolled a beer can sized vial of blood across the counter. “On good faith from Shigaraki.”

Well that was bullshit. Shigaraki didn’t have anything to do with the blood Toga carried around like a serial killer—not to mention Dabi had seen her slide countless objects across a counter and not once until today did she ever miss. Yet the vial fell short of you, falling to the ground and shattering instead—blood splattering against your leg. Your face changed violently; so quickly Dabi almost missed it before it was gone.

Even if only for a second after blood landed lightly against your leg, your lips tore back, eyes flaring wide, nose wrinkling like you were trying to avoid the smell. And then your face fell back into a cool smirk—but the violent tint didn’t leave your eyes, almost like panic.

“Sting, go see what’s taking Miya so long. I’m bored.” You drawled, glaring at her like you were tired of seeing her. Dabi knew he was but what he really wanted to know was what that reaction had been.

“Why don’t you clean that up while I’m gone. You can even lick it up if you want.” Sting replied before turning to leave—taking Shigaraki with her.

You registered the sound of breaking glass before you registered the smell of blood—the sweet allure of Dabi’s blood thick in your nose. The smell ripping you from whatever recess of your mind your consciousness had been hiding in—fear tearing through you even more violently. The fear that you’d hurt Dabi. Your nose flinching back like it could keep the smell from coming in; your eyes widening as if they were going to be able to see what you’d done faster this way; and then your lips snapping back angrily when you realized what had actually happened. You were too busy pushing this expression back under the surface of your face to even realize the saliva pooling in your mouth.

Toga was out of her damn mind breaking a vial of Dabi’s blood on the floor in front of you. On purpose. You were beyond angry. What had her fucking goal been? It’s not like Dabi’s blood was some previously discovered magic recipe to wake you up. She had no way of knowing the God awful week you’d had. No way of knowing the only reason this little ploy of hers even worked was because Miya so thoroughly scarred you a day ago. What kind of shitty gamble had that been?

But you shoved all that down just long enough to say behind a bored façade. “Sting, go see what’s taking Miya so long. I’m bored.”

“Why don’t you clean that up while I’m gone. You can even lick it up if you want.” Sting replied before turning to leave—thankfully taking Shigaraki with her. You’d barely even heard her, much less cared about the jab.

You were going to have a few words with Toga.

You sat extremely still, waiting, just waiting for Sting to step into that back hallway and the minute she did you snapped. You sent the empty wine glass in front of you flying into the sink behind the bar where it shattered into a million pieces.

In the next moment, the sound of shattering glass still ringing around the bar, you had two fistfuls of Toga’s shirt—her chair somewhere forgotten on the floor and her back uncomfortably pressed against the bar counter.

“You have about 3 seconds to explain to me why you thought that was a great fucking idea.” You seethed, mouth drawing closer to Toga’s face. “One—” You started, fingers digging deeper into the fabric within your fist.

Toga flinched but you were too angry to care. Too angry for it to bother you. You probably deserved it. “Two—”

“I took a gamble.” Toga’s hands clasped yours like she was going to be able to pull you off her. “I thought it might give you some clarity.” Toga kept her voice calm, but her face gave everything away.

You didn’t keep calm at all. “And if I had just attacked him instead? If he was now just a bloody mess on the floor?” If I had killed him? You were pressing Toga harder against the bar when you felt Dabi’s hands slide around your waist from behind like they’d been trying not to all night—like you weren’t currently snarling at Toga like a rabid dog.

“Doll.” Dabi hummed against your ear. The sound of it chasing shivers down your spine; it was nice for the word not to be coming out of Miya’s mouth for once. Nice to have him here, you even let yourself think before you shut yourself down. You can’t trust yourself. Not after the week you’d had.

You still couldn’t stop your body from relaxing into his touch against your will. He needed to leave. You let go of Toga and she immediately made herself scarce.

“Don’t.” You said against your body’s wishes, stepping out of Dabi’s grasp to turn and look at him. Your goal was to make him listen—for him to see you were serious. But his face made you pause.

Dabi looked awful, even the burns under his eyes couldn’t hide the dark circles peeping around the skin there. The sunken look to his blue eyes glaringly obvious to you. The face of someone who hadn’t slept in days. Your original train of thought died and instead you found your hand on his face, thumb tracing the purple bruise like hue peaking out from beneath his staples. “Dabi…Have you not slept?”

His eyes widened like no one else had noticed—like he didn’t think anyone would notice. He didn’t say anything. He grabbed you again instead, tucking you against his body. And while his nose pressed lightly into your hair, your nose pressed into his neck, into the pulse of the artery there. You closed your eyes and tried to ignore the sound that tried to lull you back to oblivion.

Closed your eyes as you tried to ignore the image of your teeth tearing into similarly scared skin only a day ago. You didn’t want to push Dabi away. You’d missed him.

“You can’t trust me.” You said anyway, pushing back lightly for you, but firmly enough with your quirk that Dabi had to listen and let you go. Let you back away from the sound of his pulse. “I don’t even trust me.”

“Do you really still think you’re capable of hurting him?” Toga spoke casually from a few seats down at the bar.

You turned darkly to her. “It wasn’t even 24 hours ago that Miya had me killing a handful of people that looked just like him. I can still hear their necks snapping.”

You weren’t sure why you remembered it. Each one. Every single Dabi, not Dabi, that Miya had marched into that God forsaken dining room—watching gleefully as you turned back into his pet. And now it was just fuel for your fucking nightmares; it was better to wake up not knowing. The only thing that had kept you sane was that none of them smelt like Dabi. None of them tasted like him. But Miya got what he wanted—at least until Toga shattered Dabi’s blood on the floor.

“You know what kept me sane?” You continued, old anger returning. “The fact that none of them smelt like Dabi. And then you rip me out from behind the curtain of my quirk by spilling his blood in front of me—making me think I finally slipped up.” Even recalling this now you felt the allure of oblivion pushed aside in your mind, felt how easy it would be to sink back in. To forget. You were getting tired of the ever growing list of shitty things you’d done; but you didn’t have time to process that right now. And you couldn’t slip back into oblivion with Dabi right here.

Dabi didn’t hesitate before pulling you back against him. If you really wanted to you could have kept him from touching you at all, much less hugging you. But you needed this. Even if you were just being selfish—you needed this.

“I still trust you.” Dabi spoke softly—his arms tightening around you like he wasn’t going to let you push away this time.

You needed someone to trust you.

You couldn’t stop your arms from snaking around him, couldn’t stop from pressing your face into his chest—breathing in the familiar smell of him. It wasn’t smart. You should make him leave. You should steel yourself and make them all leave. Do whatever you had to, to make them go. Miya wanted them all gone. But Dabi’s dark eyes were still in your mind, and you weren’t sure making him leave would actually be better for him. Much less you.

And you trusted him too. You couldn’t deal with Miya by yourself. “Dabi I don’t trust Miya. I don’t trust him at all—but if he’s putting thoughts in my head—”

“He is.” Dabi interrupted.

“It’s hard to tell. They feel like my own thoughts even when they sound wrong. They sound wrong and I question them and then more thoughts come, and it gets confusing. And then when they don’t sound wrong, it has me guessing if any of my thoughts are my own. Which is just as confusing.” You weren’t sure how to explain, to really tell them the mess your mind had become. You weren’t even sure what you said had made sense. But you were unwilling to pull back from Dabi to see his face. You just wanted to stay here—face hidden.

“If it’s so confusing just say them out loud and I’ll help.” You weren’t sure if it was because you hadn’t seen him in a minute, but Dabi’s voice was unnaturally pleasant in your ear.

“Dabi offering to help? That’s a first.” Toga muttered to herself.

“You don’t think Miya will find that the least bit suspicious—” You started to argue.

“I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned Miya’s a fucking child playing with a wildfire. Me, you, Shigaraki all our quirks are stronger than his. You (Y/N), you’re the wildfire. What’s he going to do when he starts to feel the heat?”

Why do you think he hasn’t done much for the past three years was the unspoken sentence behind Dabi’s words. As you were now, you could hear the door open at the top of the stairs.

“Get off me, Sting’s coming.” You elbowed Dabi lightly, letting him pull back this time because you couldn’t do it again. Your resolve to stay away from him was pathetic—and your mind was in too much turmoil to place why. You had too many things to worry about.

The bartender passed you another glass that you took a sip from as Sting returned. Toga joined you and Dabi in standing. There wasn’t anything you could do about the chair knocked over on the floor—but Sting didn’t comment. She hadn’t brought Shigaraki back down either.

“He’s ready.” Sting said.

“What was he even doing.”

“Feeling important.”

You eyed her. “Liar.”

She just smiled.

You pushed Dabi forward in front of you, motioning for him to follow Sting as she turned. You glanced to Toga to make sure she followed as well. Sting went ahead of you all up the stairs, like she was trying to demonstrate something. You didn’t care. You weren’t joining in on a pissing contest. And when you all entered the private room upstairs, you went to Miya’s side—exactly where you didn’t want to be.

“You still haven’t drank that?” Miya inquired, motioning for you to sit on the couch beside him.

“It’s a new glass.”

Miya made a sound that indicated he hadn’t really cared to begin with, turning to Dabi instead. “Sit.”

Dabi glared, but he sat.

You were on one black couch in a rather plain room, and across from you sat Dabi on another black couch. A beaten up old coffee table in between you both. Toga was on Dabi’s right, closest to the door, looking as carefree as ever. Shigaraki was on Dabi’s left with a scorpion tail at his throat—somehow degraded from leader to hostage. Not even a hostage, but just outside of Miya’s current desire to deal with.

You could only imagine what was going through Shigaraki’s head right now.

You weren’t even sure why Miya had told him to come, just to give him a bullet back? Did Miya think that was all it would take for Shigaraki to go back to where he came from. Miya was the one who poked the hornet’s nest.

You were startled from your thoughts by Miya’s hand landing casually on your knee. That was new and probably directed at Dabi. You leaned back into the couch like you didn’t care, taking a silent sip of the blood in your glass. The blood had an acidic twang to it, like chewing on grass.

You wanted to smack Miya’s hand off you.

Instead you rolled your eyes lazily from Miya to Dabi. Dabi was leaning forward on his knees, fist pressed into his face like he was trying to restrain himself. His eyes were on Miya’s hand.

“You have questions?” Miya remarked casually like you were all having tea.

“What the fuck did you even call us here for?” Dabi was significantly less polite. You had to look away to keep from reacting; Sting was on the other side of the couch after all. And her and Miya both still thought you were out of it, so to speak. So, you were left to act. To keep them from knowing.

“To play a game.” Miya threw a knife with his free hand onto the center of the table with a startling thud, well at least it was clear how the table had gotten damaged.

“I thought we were gambling?”

“We are, Dabi. Have you never heard of five finger fillet?” Miya’s voice grew in excitement. His hand falling from your leg as he leaned forward too. “If you have the best time of the round you get to ask a question.”

“I’ll play.” Toga perked up from her seat beside Dabi. Toga would be best at this game.

“No. This is between me and Dabi.”

Shigaraki gave a look as if to imply why he was even here then.

Miya turned to Shigaraki like he’d just remembered he was there. “Sting give him a little space.”

Her tail was just as long as she was tall; she really didn’t need to stand so close. She backed away maybe a foot before Miya glared, then she receded further.

“And if you have the best time?” Dabi continued to stare at Miya.

Miya leaned back like he truly had no idea what he wanted from Dabi. “You’ll show me something I’ve been curious to see.”

You didn’t particularly like the sound of that, but Dabi agreed easily. Why was he always so ready to play with fire?

You shouldn’t say anything, a thought leaked into your mind confirming your theory that Dabi shouldn’t have agreed.

“I’ll go first.” Miya said, a genuine smile on his face that made you feel uneasy.

You wanted Dabi to leave. To stay away from Miya. But you also wanted him to stay. To help you.

Miya plucked the knife from the table with his right hand, flipping it up into the air like he was tossing a pancake. He caught the handle in his hand at the same time his left palm landed loudly on the table. You couldn’t help but lean a little closer to watch. Miya placed the tip of the knife between his thumb and index finger before glancing to Sting.

“Sting you keep time.”

“I’m ready.” Sting nodded, a stopwatch in her hand from who knows where.

Miya started, honestly slower than you thought he would. His pace was quick, but not anything impressive, as he continued to stab the knife from its resting position on the right side of his thumb to in-between his thumb and index finger, and then back past his thumb and then between the next two fingers and so on and so forth until the knife reached all the way past his pinky and back.

“How’d I do?” Miya asked lazily, grabbing the knife by the blade to pass it to Dabi.

“Just over six seconds.”

Really that was slow. He was giving Dabi the round. It made you nervous—not knowing what game Miya was playing.

Dabi took the reddish wooden hilt of the knife in his left hand and followed the same pattern as Miya easily.

“Under six.” Sting spoke a bit harsher this time.

Miya fanned his hands in front of himself as if to say, ‘ask away.’

“Your quirk? Explain it.” Dabi leaned back, not even trying to hide the fact that he was now just watching you.

You guessed it didn’t really matter—everyone knew you’d had sex in the bathroom.

Miya half smiled, revealing some of his teeth. “Is that a question for you, or for my vampire.”

Dabi’s hands clenched slightly at his side. “I don’t remember you asking questions being a part of the rules.”

Miya shrugged, uncaring. “Suggestion, that’s my quirk. And yes Dabi, I can put thoughts in someone else’s head. But it’s not that simple. If the person trust me, or is simply willing to listen, I can always suggest something to them. To truly make someone do as I say, they have to be very off guard against other people, specifically me. They have to be too trusting. Or.” Miya smirked. “Or I just have to push so many thoughts into their head it becomes confusing. Of course, if I took that too far the person would faint at the very least. There are exceptions though, like you and Shigaraki. You’re both so naturally distrusting I don’t think I could get a word in if I tried.”

Miya stopped talking. So, what he was saying was what everyone had been telling you. You were too trusting. You’d already figured that much out though. You didn’t trust him anymore.

“Why don’t you start this round.” Miya added after meeting Dabi’s glare for a moment.

Dabi paused. Starting put him at a disadvantage; as far as you were aware this wasn’t a game Dabi played often, and if he sped the time up too quickly he likely wouldn’t be able to win any more rounds—but if he went too slow, he would lose this round.

“Just to clarify, if you stab your finger you have to start over, but the time doesn’t.” Miya mocked.

Dabi placed his hand back on the table, starting the pattern again—position one, position two, one, three, one, four, one, five, one, six, one.

“Just over five seconds.” Sting commented.

Dabi didn’t hand Miya the knife; he just left it stabbed into the table.

Miya ignored the slight, picking the knife up, repeating the pattern.

“Just under five seconds.” Sting smiled.

“Your scars, just how far do they go Dabi?” Miya’s voice was polite, but it made your skin crawl.

“You want me to strip for you?” Dabi drawled sounding bored.

“I’m just curious Blue Flame.” Miya continued. “Take off the jacket and shirt; I can imagine the rest.”

“Why imagine when you could just ask (Y/N)?” Dabi asked coldly, sliding his jacket from his shoulders to the couch before slipping his shirt easily over his head.

Why did they both had to use you to make the other angry? You didn’t look to see Miya’s face.

Dabi’s scars were more extensive than you’d thought they’d be, before you’d seen him without his clothes on for the first time, but you knew how far they ran now. Your eye’s tracing the familiar pattern swooping across his chest and hips—dipping into his pants. There was more.

“You really are a sorry sight.” Miya commented backhandedly, keeping the knife so he could start round three.

“Four and a half seconds.”

And then Dabi clocked in at 4.4 seconds.

“Why does she pass out when she uses her quirk?” Dabi asked—eyes violent. He didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about.

“Because I told her to the day I met her.” Miya replied immediately.

You couldn’t help but react, whirling with inhuman speed to look at Miya. He’d ingrained something like that in you, the day you met. The first day you’d even really used your quirk? You could’ve sworn you heard your mouth fall open, but you closed it quickly. You wanted to glare at Miya, to say anything, but you were just too surprised. You never would have thought his control over you ran that deeply—it made your skin crawl. It made you feel dirty.

He ran the back of his hand across your face like he was petting his dog. “You’ve always been mine.”

“Like hell—” You saw blue fire from the corner of your eye; but Sting was quicker, her tail at Dabi’s throat before he could really do anything with that fire. You were even quicker—Stings tail in your hand before she could do anything. You hadn’t even dropped your glass of wine.

And then you were staring at Miya, who looked decidedly displeased that you’d moved without him telling you to.

It would be smart to let go of her tail. You knew it wasn’t your thought, but you listened. You needed him to think you were still listening. You needed to know more. Now you should take care of Dabi.

When had it become this obvious when he was slipping thoughts to you? Was it because he thought you were out of it? Was he not trying as hard right now?

You placed a hand on Dabi’s shoulder, waiting for the flames to die down. He hesitated, but the flames did die.

“I thought we could all be a little more civil than this.” Miya remarked like he was scolding a group of preschoolers. “(Y/N) come sit down.” You listened.

The knife lay forgotten on the table and Miya motioned toward it, meaning for Dabi to start again.

Dabi’s time was just under 4.4 seconds. As you’d thought, he was new to this. He peaked.

Miya’s was lower.

“Now why don’t you show me how you got those scars?”

You wanted to kill him. You’d never once thought about killing Miya before. Not once, but right now—

Dabi most’ve noticed the way your knuckles turned red against your wine glass, the way your breath was sliding between your teeth, because he spoke quickly. “Easy.”

A clever way of telling you to calm down, but also replying to Miya. Your eyes still turned to Dabi pleadingly; Sting be damned. Let her see. You didn’t want Dabi to do it.

He did anyway. He raised his pinky finger on his right hand between him and Miya like he was flicking him off, only to set his quirk lose on it. The blue flame burning brightly like a torch for a moment before it fizzled out—leaving behind a wearily red finger like someone had wrung it with sandpaper. Dabi didn’t make a sound, didn’t even flinch.

Miya wasn’t going to leave this room.

Hhhhmm. Miya hummed lightly like he’d simply asked Dabi to show him his eye color. But something in Miya’s demeanor changed, like he knew you weren’t really in oblivion right now.

You need to stay calm. Who knows what will happen if you let your anger get the best of you right now? Dabi could get caught in the middle.

“Are you okay doll?” Miya asked sweetly over the sound of Dabi growling at the pet name. He wrapped an arm around you like he was going to comfort you, pulling you closer next to him. “I wouldn’t want you to get out of control in a room full of so many people you care about.”

Toga got caught in the middle before. You can’t trust yourself. You can’t even stay conscious while using your quirk.

Black tinged your vision and you pushed it back, setting your head to throbbing. You didn’t want to blackout, not now. Not with Miya here. Not with Dabi within reach.

You really can’t stop it. It’s just the way your quirk is; the price to pay for the strength, the speed…

Darkness consumed your vision like you’d lost your night vision, and someone turned off the lights. You still fought against it—could feel yourself blinking too fast like that would fix it.

Miya had to move his arms to start the game again. His time even lower. When Dabi picked up his knife, Miya returned to casually touching you, remarking loudly the moment Dabi started. “Maybe I should have had a taste of you. If he’s willing to burn his own finger off over you, you must be good.”

You were too distracted by your fading vision and Miya’s unnecessary comments to see when Dabi had stabbed his middle finger, but blood pooled on the table; and the scent swirled in your nose driving back the darkness while Dabi growled. “Fuck.”

Even with your vision back, the sound of dripping blood started to reverberate in your brain like Miya knew he was losing.

His blood smells so much better than the blood in your glass.

Tink, tink… You want to bite him.

Dabi started over, distracted. And you were distracted from Miya with Dabi, when Miya bit your throat causing you to yelp. Yelp and spill a glass of blood onto yourself.

You could kill him if you want. You’ve already killed so many like him. What makes him any different? It would be easier; you would be so carefree if he was gone.

You could just taste him. Lick his finger. He won’t mind.

“Fuck.” Dabi yelled again, another finger bleeding as he looked up at Miya. His hand leaving the table; two fingers now dripping blood against the wood surface—tinktink…tinktink— “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Dabi threw the Knife at Miya, who had to remove his mouth from your throat to keep the knife from landing in the side of his head—it impaled the couch instead.

Shigaraki spoke up before anything else could happen. “From where I’m sitting, it looks like you cheated to win this hand. Dabi ask a question.”

Shigaraki raised his foot, resting it on the table in a way that felt more like him kicking it.

You wanted away from Miya. You wanted to be next to Dabi. Miya kept a grip on you, around your waist.

Tink, tink, tinktink…tinktink…

You want to drink his blood now. The sight of it—it’s tempting. You need to stay away from him. Unless, you’re finally ready to get rid of the problem?

Your head was starting to throb, to pulse with the pace of blood dripping from Dabi’s fingers.

“What else have you suggested to her.” Dabi finally spoke up; his voice frightening, even to you—but you didn’t want to run. You wanted to touch him—comfort him. But you couldn’t.

You need to stay away.

Miya had apparently had enough of this as well. There was nothing polite left in his voice. “And what have you suggested to her? Hhhmm Blue Flame? Dabi. What did you do? Three years ago, she was perfect. I made her perfect the day I met her. The day I met her I knew I had to have her; I knew she was the perfect complement to my quirk. You should’ve seen her Dabi; it was beautiful. I’d never seen anything like it. Here I was going to check on the progress of my men and what do I find other than this little fucking girl tossing them across room like they were nothing. What was it? Twelve on one even and not a scratch on her. Her quirk was ridiculous, overpowered. Who could possibly stop her? And then, when I looked in her mind I knew. Oh, it was so easy to manipulate her; it was like she’d never considered before that another person could betray her, she was so easy to suggest. Every thought I slipped to her she did no questions asked. She killed those men because I told her to. Because I wanted to know if she would. And then I thought, but what if she remembers this? What if she remembers all these sudden violent thoughts? Wouldn’t that be a little suspicious? It would; it would Dabi, so I simply suggested to her that when she used this part of her quirk, she wouldn’t remember anything like she was blackout drunk. AND DABI. It worked better than I ever could have imagined. I simply suggested it to her once and to this day, here she is, drunk on blood. And then I thought, well if she’s going to blackout, how will she wake up from it? And really after I’ve had my use of her, I don’t need her to be awake, so why not suggest she simply passes out after as well. Let her wake up with a fresh brain with me to comfort her. And it was brilliant. It worked for years; we were the perfect pair.”

You were stunned. Everything you’d thought about yourself for years…it was wrong? How were you even going to begin to process that?

“That is until you. One shitty fucking boy was all it took to ruin her. Do you know the effort I have to go through now to make her mind? It’s almost fucking useless. Even when I brought her back to my house and she was blackout, I couldn’t get her to kill anyone. I had to do it myself and make it look like she did for six days before she finally fucking snapped and started breaking necks. Even still, here she is acting on her own—concerned about you. So, I figure, I just have to get rid of you. Surely Shigaraki can look past one subordinate with all the resources I could offer him.”

Miya truly sounded unhinged—like a toddler throwing a fit after having had to share his favorite toy.

“You fucking piece of shit.” Dabi stood up, both of his arms on fire; the blue color threatening to encroach across his chest.

Miya stood.

Toga stood.

Shigaraki stood. “It’s two actually.”

You were still sitting in silence. And then your mind was flooded with thoughts, so many it hurt. You couldn’t even keep up. They drowned everything else out. Everything. You could hardly see, hardly hear. But one thought was the loudest, guard Miya.

You were barely aware of anything in the room. Your mind was on the night you’d attacked Toga. Your mind replayed the voice beside you that had helped you heal her, Miya’s voice.

And then you were standing in front of Miya, between him and the league. You thought you saw two people step out from the wall behind you.

And then your mind was on countless nights you’d been with Miya, entirely out of control—endless bloodshed. This is who you are.

All you can do is listen to Miya. That’s the only way to find your way out of this. That didn’t feel true, but before you could ponder it your mind was pounded with thoughts again—thoughts leading to memories leading to…tink tink…tinktinktinktink.

Your head hurt.

“Even if I can’t make her attack you, I can make her do this.” You thought you heard Miya say. How much had you missed?

Guard Miya.

Toga had been caught by one of the people who emerged from the wall; they looked sticky like someone had covered them in tar—you couldn’t make out any features. Toga was caught up in the mess.

Sting and Shigaraki were standing off.

Dabi was staring at you. Why was that? Your head throbbed. You were confused—someone had told you to do something if you were confused—

“(Y/N) if it’s so confusing just say them out loud and I’ll help.” Dabi spoke calmly, reminding you.

“Guard Miya.” You blurted out.

“That’s nonsense doll.” Dabi smirked. “Don’t forget everything he just said.”

Miya had made you think you were a monster, that’s what Miya had just said. You felt Miya’s hand on your back like he was prepared to grab you to hold you there.

Thoughts bombarded your mind again. You should keep Dabi from coming any closer. You both need to get out of here. Everyone needs to get out of here. Miya can get everyone out of here.

“Shut up.” You groaned grabbing the sides of your head as the pain started to intensify. “Keep Dabi away.”

“I can hardly keep you off me.” Dabi replied, managing to laugh despite the situation.

You remembered tugging him by his shirt back into bed.

“Everyone needs to leave.”

“Some of us more alive than others; doll, come here.” Dabi reached his hand toward you. Something about his voice, how it almost broke—you felt a quiet pain in your chest.

You reached your hand toward Dabi as well, only to notice the blood dried there from the glass you’d spilt earlier. Miya took the chance to confuse you, mix images from his house with the blood on you now—trying to convince you you’d attack Dabi.

You’ll hurt him.

You hesitated.

“What’re you thinking.” Dabi spoke.

“I’ll hurt you.”

“That’s right (Y/N).” Miya grasped for control. “You will. It’s not safe.”

Dabi ignored Miya entirely. “Wrong again.”

Don’t trust Miya. You stilled that thought in your head, holding on to it like an umbrella in a storm. Don’t trust Miya. Thoughts still leeched in your brain as you really thought you might just pass out before you got ahold of yourself enough to do anything. What a fucking mess. You glanced at the blood on your hand, raising it to your mouth and running your tongue across it. It wasn’t Dabi’s. You never attacked Dabi. You weren’t going to hurt Dabi.

“You will hurt him.” Miya pressed. He didn’t have control anymore. The thoughts he threw into your mind panicked and nonsensical.

“No. I won’t.” You growled, at your limit with the pain in your head.

You reached backwards grabbing ahold of Miya’s stupid button down shirt before throwing him across the room into Shigaraki—who hit the floor as well. He wasn’t going to thank you for that. You didn’t have time to worry about it, appearing in front of Sting in the next moment, twisting her tail in her grip until you heard it crack, heard her scream in fury or pain one; her tail falling lifelessly to the ground.

The pain in your head continued to grow—almost canceling sound as you roared against the silence. “Just leave Sting.” You pushed her away from you, back toward the one window in the room. “Go.” Your voice wasn’t kind.

Blue light lightened your peripheral vision as Dabi enticed the man with the sticky quirk to remove himself from Toga; but you didn’t look. Your eyes were on Miya and Shigaraki, on Shigaraki looking both angry and maniacally pleased as he slowly latched his fingers around Miya—both of them still on the floor.

Shigaraki’s fifth finger fell against Miya’s arm and Miya’s face was in disbelief, like he never could have imagined this scenario in a million years. Like it was impossible for him to lose his grip on someone’s mind.

As Miya’s color paled, as he turned gray like an old movie, as his skin flaked off like ash in the wind, he grabbed your mind like he was going to take you with him. Suggesting anything and everything he could to make you think your mind was actually splitting apart, to make your head hurt so badly you fell to your knees—someone’s warm, slender hands on your shoulders as you watched Miya turn to nothing. You fell into that touch.

The pain turned to ringing and bright lights and your world turned black to find a moment of relief.

And in that darkness, you dreamed. You dreamed of the first men Miya had told you to kill—the way he smiled and laughed like a worshipper finding their God. You dreamed of countless nights with Miya—like years were passing in moments. You dreamed of Toga, of Miya’s thoughts in your head as he told you to rip her throat out—the way you hesitated. You dreamed of Dabi and you in an alleyway—of him trying to tear your pants down as you sucked the blood from his lip. You dreamed of Dabi on the roof mentioning his father. You dreamed of Miya in a dining room scowling—cutting open throats and yelling: you could have made this easier for everyone.

The darkness started to fade and you felt a hand in your hair, felt fingers tug lightly against knots as they slipped through. You felt your grip on fabric, fingers tightening to keep the person there from moving away.

“(Y/N)?” A low voice murmured.

You simply drew yourself closer to the body, pressing your face into the hard warmth there without opening your eyes—letting the darkness pull you back under. You weren’t ready to wake up yet.

“I’m still here.” The voice continued.

The voice faded and you faded—this time dreaming of nothing like your brain still needed to process everything the darkness revealed before.

The next time you woke up the world didn’t feel quite so far away. The hand that had been in your hair gone like it’d never been there at all. But your hands were still firmly entangled in a t-shirt. Your forehead pressed into someone’s chest.

You could smell him; you knew it was Dabi.

You opened your eyes to find him staring at you—looking no less tired than he had the last time you saw him.

You shifted, wondering if you should move. Wondering if he cared how deeply you were entangled with him; even your legs were curled around his like you’d been horrified he’d leave. Dabi slid a hand back into your hair, keeping you against his chest silently.

You stopped worrying, relaxing back against him, closing your eyes again. At least your head didn’t hurt now. But you remembered—actually remembered every moment of your quirk when you were awake. You didn’t want to talk.

You released your grip on Dabi’s shirt, only to slide your hand across his chest. You wanted to talk. You just didn’t know what to say.

“Miya?” You probed quietly.

“Gone.” Dabi responded similarly—like he also wasn’t sure what to say.

“Dabi?”

Mmmmmhh. You felt his chest vibrate as he hummed.

Ultimately you couldn’t decide what to say, leaving you to fall back on joking. “Did you really try to fuck me in an alley after finding me violently drinking someone’s blood?”

Dabi clearly hadn’t been expecting that and he laughed; his body relaxing under you as he replied. “You’re the one who started sucking on my finger like it was nobody’s business.”

You sat up suddenly, remembering what Miya had made him do. You grabbed Dabi’s hand—his pinky was wrapped in gauze. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be doll.” Dabi sat up too, leaning against the wall and watching you, leaving his hand in yours.

You didn’t reply. To some degree, this was your fault. You undid the tape on the gauze slowly, peeling the fabric back as gently as you could, but it still stuck to his skin. His raw, blistered skin. You didn’t even pause to consider the action before you enveloped his pinky with your mouth, circling your tongue around his finger. Your own hands growing cold with the action. His pinky healed; but scaring was still left behind, angry pink wrinkles. You tracked down the other cuts on his fingers, healing those as well.

“Now your hands are cold.” Dabi grabbed both of your hands, tucking them between his as they heated.

You let your forehead fall forward against his hands between you in silence. You were screwed. You weren’t sure when you fell for Dabi. You really weren’t. It had been sex and fun; but then it became trust and an aching feeling in your stomach whenever he looked at you. And now as he warmed your hands, you couldn’t stop the light feeling that stung your stomach. You couldn’t deny you liked him, maybe even more than that.

What surprised you most was how you were just now thinking this. You supposed you’d been busy—feelings weren’t top on your mind since you’d met Dabi.

But Dabi was the only one who’d never been afraid of you. He didn’t flinch away from you, not once. Even when you had Toga pinned against the bar practically barring your fangs at her—he’d simply called you doll, slid his arms around you too easily. Again, you were screwed.

Why was it the one small act of him warming your hands that had you realizing just how screwed you were?

After all this time of swearing off the underworld. You had to go and fall for a villain.

“Why did you let Sting go?” Dabi asked suddenly, causing you to pick your head up off where your hands were combined. Dabi didn’t let go of you, but he let his and your hands both fall into his lap.

“We were never exactly close. But she didn’t use to hate me so much. What if Miya had something to do with that?” Even if she was awful now, she didn’t really deserve to die.

Dabi was quiet for a moment. “You’re more forgiving than me.”

You shrugged, sliding your hands from Dabi’s only to climb into his lap instead—straddling him. Dabi still watched you; his eyes soft yet falsely uncaring. You brought your hand to his face, sliding your fingers across the dark circles around his eyes. “You need to sleep. When was the last time you slept?”

Dabi smirked. “Worried about me doll?”

You glared at him. “Don’t tell me you haven’t slept since I left with Miya.” You replied dryly, expecting him to scoff, expecting him to confirm the idea as ridiculous.

Instead he glanced away for a moment, almost guiltily like he wasn’t allowed to worry about you. His smirk fell and you felt your heart contract. He really hadn’t slept because of you. Maybe you were both screwed.

“Dabi…” Your voice trailed and you slid both of your hands into his hair, leaning your forehead against his.

“How many people did he make you kill?” Dabi’s voice was still aloof, but his eyes weren’t. His eyes were tight, angry.

“According to my newly revealed memories, I didn’t actually kill anyone until the seventh day.” You tried to keep your tone light—but you hated it, everything you did at Miya’s. “Five.”

You closed your eyes, not looking at Dabi’s expression anymore. Dabi’s hands wrapped around your waist, and he pressed you against him entirely like he could hide you there. He pulled his face back only to lightly kiss you.

“I’m awful, aren’t I?” You said sourly. “He drags one man who resembled you into the room and I snapped. I broke so fast. I just wanted out. Out of the room. Out of my quirk. And then I try to justify it, telling myself it’ll be better for them if I kill them instead of Miya. What a joke.”

You weren’t sure what you expected Dabi to say: that it wasn’t your fault, that Miya caused all this to happen, that it didn’t matter, that you were right. It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d killed people. You didn’t need sympathy. You knew you weren’t entirely to blame; Miya had been manipulating you. Something you’d refused to let yourself believe for years. But it didn’t make you feel any better. It didn’t take the memories away.

“It’s not easy to get rid of years of scarring. It was seven days; but it was seven days with years of history.” Dabi’s voice was rough, his hands tight. You didn’t have all the details on Dabi’s past, but you had a feeling it was similar to yours—in one way or another.

“You don’t have to forgive yourself right now.” Dabi continued, calming his grip on you. “Just as long as you forgive yourself eventually. You’re not awful (Y/N); your situation was.”

“I remembered the night I attacked Toga.” You paused, still hesitant. “She came to convince me to leave Miya for the league. It wasn’t the first time she’d tried; but it was the first time she’d tried while Miya was there. Obviously, Miya wasn’t happy, and he suggested I tear her throat out. This whole time I thought I just snapped, didn’t even hesitate before I almost killed her. I thought Miya was the one who helped me heal her. Miya suggested I tear her throat out and I hesitated. I hesitated before I jumped on her and then after her blood started to pool around me and Miya laughed. I came out of it. Miya didn’t help me at all. I healed Toga on my own. But after that, for months she was on edge. She was on edge around me until I left Miya. She got over it. But even at the bar yesterday, she flinched when I jumped on her. It…bothers me.” You found yourself saying before you immediately jumped to her defense. “I know she has every right to be weary. I almost killed her—”

“But you don’t want her to be afraid of you?” Dabi ended your rambling. You opened your eyes to look at him, leaning back slightly, hands sliding down between you.

“Why were you never afraid of me?”

“Why were you never afraid of me?” Dabi asked the same question.

“Why would I be afraid of you?” You replied without a second thought. What had Dabi ever done to warrant you being afraid of him?

“I could ask you the same question.” Dabi smirked—his hand coming up to your face.

“I bit you. I drank your blood. You caught me attacking someone. You saw me—”

“Don’t be ridiculous doll.” Dabi responded, not letting you finish. “You know I told you to bite me. I told you to drink my blood. And they attacked you? (Y/N), when have you ever done anything that would actually hurt me? How many times have you healed my wounds? You saved my life for nothing. How could I possibly be afraid of you.” Dabi stopped his rant, like he was afraid he was being too soft. Like he shouldn’t show his emotions. Like it was a crime to care. If you didn’t say anything that cool façade was going to snap back into place.

You didn’t want him to be afraid. “Dabi.” You paused, for some reason your heart was beating loudly in your chest. What if you were wrong? “I like you.”

Dabi didn’t look like he believed you, or like he misunderstood one. “I would hope so after how many times we’ve slept together. Do you make a habit of fucking people you hate?”

His thumb ran across your lips before his hand fell.

“Dabi.” You groaned, exasperated. “I have feelings for you, not just the sexual kind and not in a friendly way. I like you.” You felt like you were in high school all over again. Dabi could not be this dense.

Dabi’s eyes widened; his lips parting slightly like it was utterly impossible to believe someone liked him.

You raised an eyebrow at his stunned face. Not expecting him to reply. Even as your heart pounded, you had a feeling you were right. That he liked you too. “Dabi your face is ridiculous right now.” You joked instead, not wanting to push him. You just wanted him to know.

You slid from his lap, moving to get off the bed. Just as you were about to stand up completely Dabi grabbed your hand, having managed to recover—his face had regained its neutral state of boredom. “It’s a mutual feeling doll.”

“I know.” You replied smirking like your heart hadn’t been pounding out of anxiety just moments before; not everyone was as oblivious as Dabi. “I’m going to shower. Go to sleep. Please. You really look awful.”

Dabi fell asleep while you were in the shower, and he slept like the dead for the entire day. He didn’t even wake up when Toga came through a black portal to bring you to Shigaraki. You didn’t want to just leave Dabi in his apartment, and you didn’t want to wake him up yet—so you left your number for him instead.

You still hated Kurogiri’s portals, feeling wet and dry at the same time, like oil passing through water as you stepped into Shigaraki’s bar for the second time in your life. Shigaraki was drinking a beer slowly from a glass, looking somewhat pleased with himself—probably from watching Miya turn to dust.

If your head hadn’t felt like it was about to split open, you probably would’ve enjoyed the moment too. “Glad to see you’re on your feet again.” You couldn’t stop yourself.

Shigaraki’s head jerked toward you; his eyes narrow and displeased. You laughed, but Shigaraki let the comment go—wasn’t willing to dwell on how you’d knocked him to the ground with Miya like he was a bowling pin. “I have something for you to do.”

You quirked your head to the side. “What?” I guess I am a part of the league now, you thought.

“I want Sting and the blue boy.” Shigaraki spoke like it was simply a matter of finding them—like Sting hadn’t been trying to kill you all for weeks now.

Little boy blue’s real name was Tommy. You didn’t see why he’d refuse to join Shigaraki. Tommy didn’t care about Miya; he was basically a hired mercenary—as long as the price was right. And he wasn’t a fan of heroes. “Tommy should be easy enough. But Sting? You really want Sting?”

Toga didn’t look particularly thrilled about it either.

“She has a good quirk.” Shigaraki’s tone implied the end of the discussion. But you still weren’t convinced.

“And if she tries to kill me?” You said a little incredulous.

“She can’t.” His tone didn’t change; he actually turned away from you back to his beer, leaving you blinking.

Irritation rolled in your stomach. “Shig—”

Toga cut you off before anything unfortunate could leave your mouth. “I’ll go with you.”

You bit your tongue, looking at Toga who was smiling at you. “It’s fine. I’ll just go—you coming will just put her on the defensive. Kurogiri portal me out.”

Toga snorted at that, tossing you a couple vials of blood—still can sized. You caught them before walking back through the portal into Dabi’s apartment.

You weren’t sure what time it was when you woke up today, but it was dark out now—and Dabi was still asleep. He really hadn’t slept all week. He was also sprawled across the entire bed like someone had dumped him there, snoring lightly. His mouth had even fallen open. You couldn’t help chuckling slightly, resisting the urge to touch him as you changed into some of your jeans and one of Dabi’s t-shirts, as seeing how you didn’t have any of your own here—and maybe because you just liked the way they smelled.

You needed to find Sting first and then she could go find Tommy. You didn’t have any idea how to track him down but Sting you could find. As you left Dabi’s apartment you didn’t leave any indication for where you were going; you figured it would just freak him out for no reason.

You got on a bus to the other side of town, closing your eyes as the streetlights and billboards flashed color like blurry fireworks across the inside of your eyelids. The pleasant feeling of cool glass on your cheek undermined by the constant vibration of the bus. You hadn’t stopped to consider the vials of blood you had in your lap, wondering if anyone was staring—you didn’t bother checking to see.

It wasn’t illegal to have blood. Just odd.

It was maybe an hour later when you were standing at the stairs beneath the door to what used to be Sting’s apartment. She only shared the information with the few people she was required too—so you didn’t imagine she’d moved. At least not yet.

Her apartment was two floors—moss covered gray stone steps led to the door to the first floor from the street. The rest of the building was stone and shared a wall with two similar such apartments. You set one of the vials down slightly hidden behind the first step of the staircase. You probably wouldn’t need it.

The other you drank, the taste actually similar to juice—if someone had soaked pennies in that juice. You had a theory your quirk wasn’t going to be like anything it was before. Since you got your memories back, it seemed like Miya’s suggestions to you were all gone now. You shouldn’t black out. But just in case you did—at least you were just going to be around Sting.

It didn’t take you long to drink the liquid on her doorstep. Part of you wondering if she was watching you, if she was even here. You didn’t see any lights on. The haze that fell over you wasn’t blackening; it didn’t cloud your mind or your vision. The haze of your quirk simply set you at ease. No anxiety, no cares. You were simply free, like someone took a heavy weight off your shoulders. You felt lighter.

Your quirk was activated, but here you were still in your own mind—even if that mind was a little more devious. It felt too good to be true; but it was. And suddenly you wanted to see Dabi—to talk to him.

You walked up the stairs, knocking on the door with normal human strength. “Sting I want to talk.” You waited a moment before adding. “Sting I don’t want to break your door.”

You sighed. Of course, she wouldn’t make this easy. You pried the door open, snapping the locks beneath the unnatural strength in your hand as you opened the door against its will—wood splintering around the frame. “Sting?” You called again as you stepped into the apartment.

“What you told me to leave so you could track me down and kill me later?” Sting’s voiced drawled from the top of the stairs. She didn’t sound happy; but there wasn’t any venom dripping from her voice.

You turned to look at her. She was wearing a light tunic; her hair braided back messily. The tunic wasn’t long, and her tail trailed behind her lazily—partially wrapped in white bandages. “Sting did you know?” You had to know—to know if she knew Miya’s quirk.

“I joined Miya because he suggested I forget something I didn’t want to remember anymore. I asked him to do this; so yes. I knew. But then he became something I didn’t want to remember.” Sting stayed at the top of the stairs, leaning against the railing.

It wasn’t your place to ask what she’d wanted to forget so badly. “Now what?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Shigaraki wants you to join to league.” You didn’t see a reason to beat around the bush; you didn’t come here for personal reasons, even if you had a few questions.

“Do you know why I hated you? Well Miya exasperated the problem. But just me, by myself. Do you know why?” Sting didn’t move from her relaxed position, but her grip tightened on the railing.

“No.” You had no idea.

“Because you left.” Sting’s voice turned violent, icy as she stood up straight. “You were stronger than him and you just left. You never stood up for yourself. Never tried to change anything. You just left.”

“Sting you have no idea.” Your own voice iced over. “You have no idea how hard it was for me to even leave. How deeply he had his claws in my brain.”

“So what, you tucked tail and ran?” Sting snapped.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” You were yelling now.

“You were just scared.” Sting’s voice grew quieter, but no less aggressive.

“Of myself. I was scared of myself. I couldn’t even trust my own thoughts.” You didn’t stop yelling.

Sting joined you. “How do you think I felt? I may have known what his quirk was but that didn’t change anything for me. I wanted to do something to knock Miya off his pedestal, but I couldn’t. I wanted too and I couldn’t because I wasn’t strong enough. But it would have been so easy. So, fucking easy for you to and you just ran away for years.” Sting’s hands were flying around her as she took two steps down the stairs like she was going to come punch you.

You took a breath, calming yourself. Not saying anything for a moment. “It’s easy to blame me from your perspective Sting. But I had no idea. I never thought Miya had anything to do with my behavior until a few weeks ago. Even if I had known, I still needed help.”

You didn’t understand each other at all.

“You needed some other man to fix the problem for you?” Sting remarked snidely, remaining on the steps.

“No. I needed someone to trust me. I just needed someone to trust me.” You weren’t yelling anymore. “Sting I had no idea you wanted out. How could I have known that? We were never exactly close.” Don’t blame me for you own inability, you wanted to say. But you knew that’s not what Sting was saying. And you weren’t here to increase the divide between you both.

“What does Shigaraki want.”

“To rewrite society. To change the rules. I don’t know; you’ll have to ask him.”

“And if I don’t want to.” Sting walked back up the stairs.

“Then you won’t hear from me again.” You’d yet to move.

You walked toward the bottom step, placing a number down. Your number. “If you want to meet Shigaraki call me. And pass the message on to Tommy—or anyone else you think might be interested now that Miya’s gone.”

You turned and left. Sting didn’t say anything more.

Using the benefits of your quirk, and the second vial of blood you left outside of Sting’s apartment, you ran back to Dabi’s apartment in less than half the time the bus had taken—gliding up the fire escape with ease.

You slid Dabi’s window open, stepping inside quietly. Silently wondering if Dabi had ever woken up. At the very least he hadn’t called you if he had. When you stopped to think about it, maybe you should’ve just gone back to your apartment to sleep? Miya was gone. You weren’t hiding out anymore. But even if there wasn’t a real reason for you to be, you wanted to be here. You liked being around Dabi, were worried about the dreams you might have if you slept alone tonight. You shrugged to yourself; Dabi probably didn’t care if you slept here anyway, so why worry about it.

Dabi was still snoring. You weren’t entirely sure what time he’d fallen asleep. But considering you’d been awake most of the day, unlike him, and it was now either the dead of night or tomorrow morning, considering how you looked at it, Dabi had to have been asleep for over twelve hours at this point. For whatever reason, the thought had you smiling.

You stalked over to the bed, eyeing his silhouette in the light filtering in from the street. Your vision in the night was weird, like a modern day black and white film—you could only really make out colors if there was enough light. You crawled onto the bed—on top of Dabi. Laying on his chest and staring at his face with your arms tucked under your chin as his snoring stopped under your additive weight.

You didn’t say anything but Dabi shifted, looking down at you peering up at him. “Doll?”

“Flame boy.” A certain smile that belonged to the depths of your quirk seeped onto you face. You shifted, getting your knees and hands underneath yourself so you could sit back onto his hips instead. You were still on top of the covers he was beneath, but you trailed your hands across the shape of his chest anyway. “Shigaraki had an errand for me to run and you slept right through it. Tsk.” You clicked your tongue.

Dabi’s eyes narrowed before one of his eyebrows trailed upwards. His hands made their way out from beneath the covers, coming to a rest on your thighs instead—even that light touch had you wanting more. “Weren’t you the one who told me to sleep?” You could still hear how tired he was; his voice raspy—sexy, you couldn’t help but think.

“Not all day and night. I’m not that patient.” You lowered your voice, getting ideas. Or maybe you’d already had those ideas from the moment you’d climbed onto him. You leaned forward, placing your hands on either side of his face as you brought your mouth just above his. “Do you know how long you’ve been sleeping?”

Dabi’s lips parted even before he replied. “No.”

“Neither do I.” One side of your lips curled up as you laughed, sitting back onto his hips—one hand on his neck. You liked touching him—liked the texture of his ruined perfect skin beneath your fingers.

“Where did you go?”

“To ask Sting to join the league at Shigaraki’s request.” You leaned your head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment. “I don’t know if she will.”

Dabi’s hands were warm; his fingers digging a little deeper into your thighs. Always such small reactions. “Do you want her too?”

You looked back at Dabi. “Honestly, I really don’t care what she does. Miya did have some influence over her. I don’t hate her; but I still don’t like her. Well—” You stopped talking, remembering how you’d met Dabi, maybe you did hate her a little.

Mmmmhh. Dabi listened, eyes closing again. You resisted the urge to trace the features of his face—resisted the urge to tell him how fucking pretty he was.

Instead a low chuckle left your lips as you leaned back forward, one hand beside his head—the other traveling from his neck to his chin, tilting his face up toward yours. “Who said you could go back to sleep flame boy?”

Dabi’s eyes opened only far enough for the blue of his irises to barely be visible. You could always see the color of his eyes—like they radiated their own light. You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you brought your lips even closer to his. You ran your tongue across his lower lip because you wanted to, trailed wet kisses from his chin to his ear, biting and sucking on the lobe. As his breath caught, you whispered against the cool piercings on his ear. “What happened to you waking up horny? Is it because I haven’t stripped for you yet?”

You hardly moved off him to peel his t-shirt, you’d borrowed or stolen this morning, off your body and toss it somewhere else—entirely forgotten among the sheets. “Because I can change that.” You continued; your lips just above his—your tongue running between your own lips as you stopped talking, as you imagined all the things he could do to you. All the things you could do to him.

Dabi made a sound that was as close to a snarl as a human could get; his hands grabbing your waist to flip your back onto his bed. The covers falling on you as Dabi swung his knee over you, pinning you beneath him, covers still in the way.

You let Dabi kiss you. His teeth dragging across your lips; his tongue sliding into your mouth and around your own. You let him think he was in control—relished in the feel of his tongue trying to reach the back of your throat.

“Aren’t the covers in your way?” You mocked the moment his mouth left yours.

Dabi didn’t respond, grinding himself into you like the covers weren’t there—like he was trying to make a point. Even through the comforter you could feel the bulge of his cock pressing into you. You wanted to feel more of it. All of it.

You slid the one leg you could out from beneath the covers, wrapping it around his hip. You brought your hand to the back of his neck, bringing his mouth back to yours gently—not revealing the strength of your quirk yet as you slid your tongue into his mouth this time. His tongue moving with yours as you ran a hand beneath his shirt, up his chest—dragging your nails back down to the rim of his boxers.

You parted your lips from his to say, ‘strip for me,’ teasingly; tugging the band of his boxers only to let it snap back against him.

Dabi shifted back onto his knees to yank his shirt over his head in the infuriating way boys do. His abs rolling, pulling on staples. His arm flexing as he tossed the shirt to the floor. “Your turn.”

Dabi’s hand roved up your back to the latch on your bra—his fingers not quite fast enough to achieve their goal before you decided to reveal your cards.

“Is it?” You replied sitting up, shoving Dabi onto his back and beneath you too quickly for him to register. “I’d rather have some fun with you first.” You winked as his eyes widened slightly. His face told you all you needed to know; he realized you were using your full quirk.

“You really think I would go meet Sting unprepared. And here’s the best part Dabi.” You leaned forward, bringing your mouth to his ear. “I’m entirely in control now.” Duel meaning evident in your voice.

You bit the skin of Dabi’s neck below his ear hard enough to draw blood. His answering moan rough, loud and unrestrained—it made him taste even sweeter as you healed your own bite mark. “You really did moan in that alley when I almost bit your lip off, didn’t you?” You weren’t expecting him to answer. Didn’t expect him to admit how much of a masochist he was—the secret knowledge driving heat between your thighs. Toga was right; he was being kinky.

Dabi’s hands wrapped around your thighs as he kissed you in the next moment, entirely unbridled. Lips parting eagerly, tongues meeting in the middle between panted breaths and teeth. This time when you pulled back saliva trailed between you both.

“This really is in the way.” You said before you shifted to tear the bed covers out from beneath you.

This time when you rested back onto Dabi’s hips, his dick was pronounced against you. You rocked across him, wanting your own pants gone, wanting him inside you. But your blood high had another lurking desire, the desire to make him beg for it.

“I think there’s a few other things in the way.” Dabi commented.

“You’re not wrong.” You flipped off Dabi to pull your jeans off, your underwear too. You were already a wet mess; your mind having long sense been in the gutter.

Even if Dabi wanted to flip back on top of you to try and take control, he couldn’t have in the inhuman amount of time it took you to get half undressed. Dabi had barely felt your absence before you were back on top of him, sliding the tent of his boxers across your entrance and through your ass as he hissed.

His hands found your waist like they were going to be able to make you go faster. But you weren’t going to let him get off that easy. No, you ground against his boner slowly, enjoying the frustration in his face as you brought your mouth to his neck—marking him as he had you. Drawing moans from his mouth as you sucked his skin; your mouth drifting lower until your lips found his nipple. You sucked on it roughly, pulling the bud higher with your teeth. Dabi bucked his hips up into you, impatient.

You laughed, biting down harder on his nipple, eliciting a curse from his lips as you sat back onto him—sliding your sloppy cunt across the shaft of his dick with your hands on his chest, changing the hue of his blue underwear with your arousal. You were having too much fun torturing him to pay attention to yourself. Dabi’s head leaning back against the pillows as you moved, his hair a mess.

Dabi groaned, looking back at you as he attempted to unlatch your bra again; you let him. His hands palming your breast as you continued to rock against him. One of Dabi’s hands slid down to your waist, still attempting to drive you faster against him. His other twisted your nipple between his fingers. You moaned softly. The desire to touch yourself growing stronger; a better idea crossing your mind.

You stopped moving; Dabi’s fingers digging into your side in protest as he watched to see what you were doing. You shifted off him slightly to bring one of your hands down between your legs, rubbing your clit as Dabi watched. Dabi took this chance to smack your ass loudly. The sting chasing heat to your groin as you continued to tease yourself—moaning Dabi’s name lasciviously.

You leaned forward, bringing your mouth to Dabi’s as you spoke—one hand on the V between his hips to keep him from bucking up into you. Maybe there was a benefit to the rest of your quirk—being able to dom Dabi.

“Why don’t you be a good boy and finger me? Maybe I’ll give you a ride after I come.” You smiled in a way that felt devilish.

“(Y/N).” Dabi’s voice was rough. He sounded like he was saying no, like he was angry; but he slid his finger into you in that same moment.

Dabi barely started before he slid a second finger into you; the wet sound echoing around you both as you let your forehead fall against his. Your mouth parting as your arousal built—nerves chasing excitement through your entire body. Your breath dancing across his nose as he started to push the heel of his palm into your clit, as he fingered you faster—harder. Fingers curving in just the right way. You didn’t even have to ask. He knew what you liked, what you wanted.

“Fuck.” You gasped, a moan leaking from your lips. “You’re too good with your hands.”

“That’s right doll, no one else can make you feel this good.” Dabi’s voice was no more saintly than yours had been. His fingers scrapped against your g-spot roughly; but he held his speed there. “No one else knows your body like I do.”

Your knees shaking on either side of you as your climax lingered just out of reach. “Faster. More. Give me more.”

Dabi listened. His pace increasing; he added another finger. “More? How much more, doll; you want my whole hand inside you?”

You bit back a moan; his three fingers sliding in and out of you more than you could stand when you were this close to coming. And shortly after you came undone, walls clamping down around Dabi’s fingers uselessly as you groaned. Your climax burning between your legs as Dabi left his fingers inside you; his palm digging against your clit to keep you from coming down. You wanted his dick inside you. You wanted him to cum in you. You wanted him.

“Now let me fuck you. Or would you rather I start fisting you now instead?” Dabi said icily before he kissed you, teeth dragging against your lips as he slid his fingers out of you—moisture running down the inside of your legs. Even with your quirk activated your legs didn’t want to support your weight anymore, leaving you to sit back against Dabi’s cock that twitched beneath you.

You still wanted to tease him—tired legs be damned. You wanted to tease him to the point that he broke—to the point that he fucked you so hard you couldn’t walk tomorrow. You wanted to play with fire. His fire. Your fire.

“Maybe.” You replied coyly, smiling as Dabi’s face grew tighter and more frustrated.

You smirked, shifting farther off Dabi to pull his boxers off his legs. His dick barely having time to spring free before he grabbed himself, pumping his own cock as you trailed your tongue up the inside of his thigh—lazily kissing, eagerly tasting. Dabi continued to jerk himself off to the sight of you. His eyes firmly on you as you trailed your mouth everywhere except where he wanted it to be.

When you finally brought your mouth to the head of Dabi’s cock, he didn’t stop touching himself. His hand continuing its movement as you let spit slid from your mouth down his shaft, as you kissed the tip gingerly—running your tongue around it as you made out with the head of his cock.

You still didn’t want him to cum yet.

You grabbed the wrist of his hand on his cock, pinning it to his chest instead. “(Y/N).” Dabi practically cursed. “Give me a fucking break.”

He reached his second hand down too, but you grabbed it as well. Soon pinning both of Dabi’s hands beside his head as you laughed. He struggled; but it didn’t amount to much. A smirk growing across your face as you lowered your hips to slide his dick against your entrance. Dabi’s eyes tightened as his head leaned back, a small moan leaving his mouth at the stimulation. Dabi bucked his hips upwards, causing his dick to press into you for a moment before it slid back through your ass cheeks instead. Dabi clearly just wanted to cum.

“So impatient.” You commented, moving your hips out of his reach for a moment before lining his head back up with your entrance, sliding him into you slowly, taking the full length of him inside you. And then you just sat there—leaving his dick to twitch pathetically.

Dabi tried to buck his hips into you, to make you move, but there wasn’t much he could do against the full strength of your quirk. “Doll. Please.” Dabi spoke up.

Your grip on his wrist tightened; but you didn’t move. “I liked the sound of that.” You said quietly, running your tongue across his parted lips. “Why don’t you beg me to fuck you?”

Dabi’s hands struggled beneath yours like he was testing to see if your quirk had faded yet. It hadn’t. After trying to escape, Dabi finally looked at you, eyes fiery. “Fine.”

Dabi paused before he continued, his voice turning soft, seductive. “I’m begging you.”

“Good flame boy.” You replied, letting go of his hands. Your voice turning callous as you continued. “Now I want you to fuck me Dabi—hard.” You said the last word into his ear.

His hands found your waist immediately, flipping you both over so he could be on top of you. His dick sliding out of you in the process, causing you to moan. Dabi grabbed the back of your knees in the next moment, pushing both of your legs back against the bed beside your face—your ass up in the air as he eyed your cunt. Dabi let go of one of your knees to grab his cock, quickly sliding himself into you as he hissed. Your newly freed leg draped across his shoulder as he violently pounded into you—his pace quick and unforgiving. The sound of skin smacking skin loud and lewd in the quiet room. Dabi didn’t bother to hide his moans, didn’t bother to start slow. Far past waiting to cum, Dabi fucked you—just like you asked. Your hands twisting into the sheets on the bed.

Dabi leg go of your other leg, leaving it to drape across his shoulder as well so he could grab your throat instead. Fingers tightening around the skin there as he growled. “You’re mine.”

You were. You were all his.

A groan left your lips, eyes fluttering shut as Dabi had his way with you—hand pressing harder against your throat as his release neared. “I’m going to cum inside this pretty little pussy of yours.”

“Fuck.” Dabi moaned loudly, voice frenzied, excited as his grip grew even tighter on your neck—threatening to keep you from breathing. “I’m so damn close.”

You couldn’t have spoken if you wanted too. And you didn’t. You didn’t want to speak at all. You left your eyes closed and listened to Dabi, listened to him coming undone. Listened to him claiming you. Your stomach burning with more arousal than you thought you could bare.

Dabi’s breath grew heavy and then faltered. His release spilling into you hot and urgent as he loosened his grip on your throat—letting you take a deep breath as he left himself buried in you.

Your clit was throbbing, begging for stimulation.

“I didn’t feel you come doll.” Dabi’s voice was sinful. “I want to feel you come around my cock. Touch yourself.”

Dabi’s hands wrapped around your thighs, keeping your legs pinned to his shoulders—keeping himself buried in you as he waited. You eyed where your bodies met, the very sight of it eliciting excitement in your nerves. You watched his face, his eyes as you released your grip on the bed sheets—bringing you hand to your clit. You rolled the bundle of nerves sloppily, quickly—no gentler than Dabi would be. You didn’t look away, refused to close your eyes as your thighs squeezed against him and he watched you greedily. Like he would never get enough of this. It wasn’t long before you came too; Dabi’s name falling from your lips as your walls clamped around his softening dick. Dabi groaned, leaving his dick inside you until you relaxed, until your entire body fell limp against the bed.

Only then did Dabi slide out of you—his dick no longer entirely soft.

You were both still catching your breath—hearts hammering in your chest as he laid down beside you, dragging you back into his chest. You tucked your face into the center of his chest, the cologne like smell of him still on his skin. You kissed his chest softly and he buried his face into your hair.

And then, because you felt like being a brat, you reached your head up to his shoulder, biting down into his skin, once again drawing blood. It didn’t bother you anymore—now that you had control. Dabi grunted, trying to hide whatever sound was actually about to come out of his mouth. You licked the blood off his shoulder lazily—relishing in the sight of it; but you didn’t heal his wound. For reasons unknown to you—you wanted to leave it there. So, you did.

“Dabi.” You said innocently like you hadn’t just bitten him; your voice was soft. You kissed his neck lightly—almost like an apology. “I’m yours.”

Dabi stilled beneath you, like you hadn’t already told him you had feelings for him. And you kissed his neck again.

“I don’t want anyone else.” You continued—your mind trailing. “But. You still owe me a couch.” A snarky smile spread across your face—even if Dabi couldn’t see it.

Dabi only pressed you further against him as he laughed once. His fingers trailing lazily down your spine as he replied. “What about an apartment instead?”

Now it was your turn to pause. You hadn’t expected him to say that—to imply…For what, you to move in? What else could that mean.

“I’d rather have you here doll. Where I can do this—” Dabi’s hand gripped your ass roughly. “Whenever I want.”

You had a feeling it was more than that—Dabi didn’t just want you here to fuck you. Honestly, he could do that anywhere. You would let him.

You kissed the corner of his chin, reached up to grab his face, to pull his mouth to yours. You kissed him softly, no tongue, no teeth. Just a kiss. A light feeling dancing in your gut—an ache of desire throbbing in your stomach. You were screwed. How were you ever going to leave his bed? Much less his apartment.

“I don’t know.” You said jokingly. “I really liked that couch.”

Dabi rolled on top of you, pressing you back down beneath him.

“But I’m glad you ruined it.” I’m glad I met you. You added mentally, wrapping your arms up around his neck to keep him there even as your quirk faded from your body like a caffeine let down.

Dabi didn’t respond, but he kissed your jawline, your neck. The snarky bastard even bit into the skin just above your collarbone, leaving a mark of his own. In the end, Dabi’s mouth found its way back to yours.

Dabi was a forbidden fruit you were never meant to taste; but he didn’t exile you from paradise—he drew you back in.

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