hello, my name is Lex. This is my first time writing so if you read any of my fanfictions, please keep in mind that english is not my mother tongue.
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If you dont like my content, scroll or block, its that easy
Some Infos, please read if you consider staying on my blog â
âł I write smut, angst and fluff.
âł All of my fanfictions are fem!reader or gn!reader!
âł None of my x reader's have any specific appearance except from the sex and maybe height/outfit. If reader has a specific appearance other than from what I've mentioned, I'm putting it in the warnings!
âł[REQUESTS ARE OPEN]
âł if you post my work somewhere else, please ask & let me know first, then give me the credits to it. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK WITHOUT PERMISSION ON ANY PLATFORM!!
âł multifandom!
âł What I dont write about:
-ageplay
-pisskink (and anything else like that)
-anal (I have my reasonsđ)
-male reader
I write for:
⢠Touya Todoroki (Dabi)
-the will to heal (fluff, angst, smut)
-baby, just let me in (fluff, angst, suggestive but no smut)
-positions (smut)
-dry humping (smut)
â˘Satoru Gojo
-curious (suggestive, fluff)
-bound by portals pt.1 (series, fluff, smut & angst)
-bound by portals pt.2
-bound by portals pt.3 (new chapters on ao3 only!)
-clingy!satoru (smut)
-taking him for the first time (smut)
-pull the damn hair (smut)
-brat taming gone wrong! (smut)
â˘Ryomen Sukuna
-to love is to invite death masterlist (smut, angst, fluff)
-cuddler ft. yuuji (fluff)
-to have found you was the world's regret, not mine (smut, angst, fluff)
-freedom belongs to me, it brings me cruelty and love (angst, fluff, smuttish content?)
â˘Natasha Romanoff
-missed you (smut)
-black cat (story, smut + angst)
-Not yours (story, smut + angst + fluff)
-distraction (smut)
â˘Wanda Maximoff
-party (smut)
â˘Daisy Johnson
-dinner with the family (smut)
â˘Hobie Brown
(click on his name for his masterlist, I wrote too much about him to fit it in here)
Iâm coming for your kneecaps after that Touya fic. How dare you make me emotional over smut
(In all seriousness though, that was absolutely phenomenal and my feelings are wrecked)
alright now u canât blame me Iâm a slut for both SMUT and ANGST so whatâs better than angst and smut together𫪠(TY SWEETIE IM SO GLAD U LIKED ITTT)
hello!! i came across your blog reading âbaby, just let me inâ and âthe will to healâ which are just absolute masterpieces by the way đ i love the way you write touya so so much and i wanted to request something hehe đźđź
its a small thought thats always been in my mind and id really love if you could just work your magic because i think your writing is just mwahh and would fit the story so wellâźď¸đ¤đť
i know it might come off as a bit meh but i lovee AUs where touya goes to UA and he just absolutely serves there đđ soo i was thinking, maybe reader could be a childhood bestfriend who touyas alwaysss been hopelessly in love with (whether hes aware of it or is in denial is up to you!) and they go to UA together where reader starts gaining attention (from guys and girls alike). and they also have the dorm system so touyas always sneaking over after curfew. but then reader and some guy (could be anyone really, but one snarky enough to annoy touya) start talking a bit and readers always making plans with him instead of touya and hes just tired of the lack of attention and gets soo jealous about everything. and it ends up in some dramatic love confession and desperate desperate smut (breedingđŤ ) đŤđđť
(side request: functional todoroki family. touya and readerâs families are close, hence the friendship since childhood)
totally okay if youre not up for it though đ¤ looking forward to other touya/dabi works in general đ˝đ˝ thank youuu đ
Iâve been working on this for months now and I gave up mid fic gir Iâm so sorry Iâm telling u Iâm tryingđđI genuinely loved ur request and went straight to work and I rlly wanted it done within a week but here we are.. i fear it might turn out longer than i planned to make it.. be patient with me, I hope youâre still up for this request!! :(
Iâve begun a new story instead given I didnât like the storyline I used on bound by portals. Itâs on ao3, but that too is on hiatus for now.. im SO sorryđđ I wish I could continue writing it but as for now all Iâm fixated on is (shamefully) mha. I rlly want to get back to jjk but I did read the manga but I havenât even watched s3 to gain any kind of motivation and Iâm so lazy to. Iâll try to catch up soon and if thatâs the case then Iâll pick the story right back u
Hii! I come to make a request of you (only if you feel comfortable doing so)
I'm really looking forward to knowing how Dabi would behave, When we met some time after his identity came out. Before that, he had a sort of relationship with you (sexual) and sometimes protected you (though not from him đ¤)
You are a heroine with very grey morals, you are not interested in the world but you are interested in protecting the people who are important to you.
After Dabi's revelation (you didn't know) you separate but meet again before the last war.
I think Dabi would fuck us like crazy as a goodbye. After all, he may have feelings for us, but he'll never give up his revenge...
HIII MLLL!! Im so sorry Iâm answering like.. haha.. 4 months later.. BUT I HAVE MY REASONS. Apart from being a lazy bum, I AM writing around 3 other stories rn and Iâve GENUINELY lost the ability to write something under 4k words. As I was writing once again another dabi fic and ran out of plot ideas, I, damsel in distress, decided to take another look into my inbox and there I found this gem. I thought okay, if I canât finish my other stories which im planning to write over 10k words on, Iâll start this, short little thing then!
It did not turn out short.
But I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope youâll have a lot of fun reading it, even if Iâm a few months too late..
-> all the times Dabi fucks you, and the one time Touya does.
warning/s: extreme smut, pure filth for the whole fic, breeding, dub con (? not sure adding this just in case), angst, possessive touya, filthy touya, cum eating, cream pie, overstimulation, drugging (only at the start), pierced cock, belly bulge, mean dabi, rough sex, fluff, hello i kno this looks too smutty to be angsty but donât underestimate me, ANGST
word count: 8.5k
a/n: enjoy u sluts
Dabi is a vile, sadistic man.
That is the only way you could describe him. Itâs hard not to, when heâs got you drugged and high on his sorry excuse of a bedâ a futon that harshly smells like him amongst other repellent scentsâ and heâs pounding harshly into you.
Youâre not truly against it. If you were, you wouldnât be here. The only thing youâre against is Dabiâs atrocious behavior and his fucking habit of doing things behind your back.
Such as drugging you before pounding your brains out. Not because you wouldnât consentâ you always do when it comes to himâ but because he wants you pliant, wanton, obedient during sex. Youâre not exactly one to give him the upper hand, and you have a foul mouth, too, and the burnt idiot loves nothing more than toâ and you quoteâ âremind you of your fucking placeâ.
Limp. Overstimulated. High off his stupidly perfect cock that just fills you in ways nothing else ever has. Thatâs what stokes his ego and brings him joy the most.
âS-slow dowâ ngh- D-dabiâ!â
Not to mention the way you beg him. Heâs nothing but utterly thrilled each time he has you like this, which isnât often given your attitude, but it happensâ when he takes all his frustrations out on you and goes a little too hard, or maybe when he uses his quirk on you to give you a little scare. Now, that heâs found out he can simply slip a pill into your mouth while fucking with you, heâs overjoyed. You canât resist his kisses, after all.
He snorts, listening to your whines and cries, but does nothing to slow down. His pelvis smacks harshly against your ass, and he grunts as he doubles over to make sure you feel just every inch of his pierced cock.
You shriek, crying out as you try and fail to escape his grasp. He holds you tightly by your hips, fingers digging into your skin, and he almost fucking growls when you squirm to the point his dick slips out of your abused hole.
That earns you a spank, and him a loud squeal from you, which basically is all you can do in a state of haze.
âFuckinâ drugged ya and youâre still a dumb bitchâ stay- the- fuck- still-! Shit!â He emphasizes on each word with a spank to your ass, the pain spreading all the way down to your thighs and you nearly give out. He holds you tightly, sloppy dick thrusting into you over and over again as slick drips down on both of you.
Dabi licks his lips at the sight, the way each time he pulls back your slick pulls with him, the way thereâs a near white ring around your hole, his pre-cum having done the job of getting you wet prior. Your clit is puffy and neglected and he has no intention of touching it until youâre begging like the whore youâre supposed to be, and his fingers glide through your folds to spread you as much as possible.
Heâs vile. Cruel. Loves to make you feel vulnerable and weak beneath him.
Itâs not long until he realizes your face is tear-stained, and he laughs at that too, bending over so his front comes in contact with your back and his face is near yours.
The flat of his tongue drags all the way up your cheek, licking the salty substance away from your skinâ and you huff, furiously craning your neck so youâre turned away from him.
He doesnât like that.
âWhat do I have to do to get you to comply, princess? Why canât you justââ he groans, burying himself inside of you and completely stopping his cruel abuse to your hole.
That, more than anything, is even worse. You whine as his weight overtakes you, and your thighs finally give out as you collapse flat into the bed, Dabi laying comfortably on you with his dick all the way up your cunt.
You swear you feel his tip poking your cervix.
Reflexively, you clench down on himâ (and gosh does it feel goodâ partly because his girth stimulates you and partly because he moans out, obviously weak for pussy).
Nevertheless, he laughs almost breathlessly, nuzzling his nose into your neck.
âWhyâre you beinâ a bad girl, hm?â
Because you fucking drugged me.
Because youâre a fucking asshole.
Because youâre a villain and Iâm a hero and youâre ravishing in the thought of humiliating me.
Because I keep coming back to you.
âDonât you want to be my good girl? Câmon, Iâll even eat your pussy afterwards, howâs that sound?â
Youâll do that anyway.
âFuck you, Dabi.â
He huffs, already having expected that answer. Honestly, it thrills him even more. He enjoys to be mean anyway, in bed and in general.
âFine. Thatâs on you, then. Donât blame me if you have to take a few days off.â
Your greedy cuntâ traitor that she isâ welcomes his mean thrusts with loud squelches as he sits up, dragging your hips with him and your weak knees plant into the sheets again. He makes sure to still within you each time he bottoms out, moaning and letting pleasure overcome him as he tries to go beyond any limits and bury himself even further into the warmth of your walls. His cock twitches, his piercings barely noticeable with the amount of slick thatâs between you and him.
You regain just the right amount of feeling in your fingers to fist them into the sheets, a high shriek erupting from you.
Dabiâs mercilessâ youâve known that from the very beginning, from the first time he talked to you because he claimed he was curious about you. You knew back then, too, that he was a crude, cold-blooded villain, one who had no problem with blood on his hands, but somewhere in the very back of your mind curiousity spiked despite yourself, and you found yourself wondering if said villain had a heart big enough to actually feel something.
(And you found out; he could feel, alright.)
He flirted even back then, even when you were supposed to be hero and villain, when there shouldnât have been any interactions between the two of you except for fighting, for making sure neither would block the others way ever again. And Dabi was quite charming when he truly wanted to be, when he let that lazy smirk curl just right and his voice dip low enough to make you forget what he was.
And you, with your hope long lost in hero societyâ because recently, all youâd been doing was fighting to save the few people you loved, and hero society had long since collapsed, if it had ever truly existed at allâ had seen no real wrong in letting one of the most dangerous villains fuck you from time to time.
With a mean snap of his hips, youâre brought back to the current.
âStay with me, doll. âBoutta fill you upâ you want that? W-want me to ruin ya so the next bastard who lays his hands on you only finds me inside of you? Kehââ
He barks out his usual mean laugh, and tears slowly emerge from your eyes. You feel so fucking helpless, so weak and vulnerable and just like he loves it.
And youâre so, so desperate.
You do want him to fill you up. You need it.
His hips stutter as he continues his assault, dick pushing in and out your soft cuntâ he thinks itâs beautiful, the way you take him and reject him at the same time. Squirming away like you donât want his dick to be the only presence up your fucking pussy.
âMy sweet little cumdump. Whyâre you beinâ so difficultâ someone piss you off earlier so now you gotta be a little whore?â
You mewl, shaking your head as you thrust your ass back, earning you his chuckle that easily causes your heart to skip a beat. He pulls out, and you almost, almost thrash out at the loss of contact, but the second his tip pokes at your folds, you calm down, despite it not being inside you like it should be.
He spreads your folds once more, dragging his leaking tip all over your labia before circling your fluttering hole, snickering at the way youâre trying desperately to spread yourself moreâ to invite him within your snuggly, warm insides.
When his cum is spread perfectly, all over your clit and folds, he goes back to pounding you meanly.
This time, youâre already embarrassingly close, as if your pussy is taking the opportunity to release before he changes his mind and pulls out, edging you for god knows how long.
âFeel ya gettinâ tighter. Gonna cum?â
You nod, because you know itâs always best to answer Dabi.
The consequences if you donât are something youâre truly not up to deal with today, âPleaseâ D-dabi- wâna cum-!â
He laughs, speeding up his pace until you feel the familiar coil in your abdomen. It heats up similar like the rest of Dabi, and you have a hard time focusing on it when his hands grip into the flesh of your hips and warmth spreads all through your body.
âF-fuck, gonna fill you up s-so good- shitâ cum goddamnitâ fuckinâ cum-!â
With his demand, you release, thighs and hands and every other part of your body you can practically feel despite the drugs trembles as your pussy gushes all over him, and he buries himself all the way inside of you, grinding in a way to stimulate friction without having to pull out even at the base.
You think itâs cute. Somehow, that he wants to be all inside of you and cuddled into you while unloading his hot, sticky cum and painting your walls white.
He grinds against your ass, riding out his and your orgasm at the same time, though itâs you who gives in first and you feel the hints of your overstimulated pussy begging him to stop.
He doesnât, though, âcause Dabiâs too busy making sure his cum is all the way deep inside of you while his dick is still hard, and he throbs painfully against your velvety wallsâ to the point, youâre worried he didnât even soften and heâs up for another round.
Luckily, he does soften eventually, after your cunt milked every bit of him and heâs tired grinding and circling his hips into you to get bits of friction.
He pulls out slightly and you hiss at the emptiness, all the while he dislikes the way his cock feels too bare and lonely without your perfect pussy.
âS-stay- Dabi, inside- please.â You cry, because you physically canât straddle him and get him riled up to keep his cock inside. Youâre still mad at him, for that, for forcing you into a role where youâre only able to beg to get what you want and what you donât.
Fortunately, and very luckily, Dabi actually listens to youâ (and gosh, if youâre not surprised by his tip poking your hole againâ he laughs, âWasnât that what you wanted, sweetheart?â you quickly nodâ âUh-huh!â)
He pulls out rather quickly again, changing his decision and turning you around so youâre laying on your back. He sheathes himself inside of you just then, his own face coming down to lick and nuzzle into the crook of your neck.
If you didnât know Dabi, youâd think this was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you.
But you know him, and you know heâs shameless and blunt and sees no deeper meaning in doing this apart from the pleasure he receives one way or another.
Dabi does as he pleases, and never bothers to put a label on any of these things. Not that you mind, he is a villain, and youâre simply here for a good fuck.
Though, youâd be lying if you said the aftercare wasnât good (which more often than not is just weird, close intimacy where you usually end up cockwarming him or taking a shower together).
Your handâ now finally having fully regained your feelings thereâ comes to cradle his hair, fingers sinking into his soft black tufts as your other arm embraces him.
You donât want to know what the two of you look like. Some lovesick fools, probablyâ him still buried inside of you, grinding faintly against you and sending shocks of pleasure up your body, your hand in his hair as he sucks and nibbles at your neck, his whole weight andâ dare you sayâ affection swallowing you whole.
But you know better by now, that some things should be left alone, that not everything needs a confrontation and a label to keep you somewhat afloat and content.
âStill mad at you, by the way. Donât drug me again or I promise your dick wonât be able to stand hard for a long time.â
He licks all the way up to your jaw, planting rotten kisses all over you and you feel yourself getting sick with something you donât want to acknowledge. Itâs worse than any nauseating feeling, crushing and yearning and wanting moreâ but you donât voice it, even when everything he does makes you feel like a giddy little teenage girl again.
Warm puffs of breath hit your skin as he chuckles, âIâll hold you to it.â
You wish, somewhere in the heart you claim to be nonchalant and independent, that heâd stay in more ways than just physically inside of you.
He doesnt know when or why he started talking to you about his missions, but other than a misbehaving thug here and there, his life was pretty fucking boring.
He also doesnât know when your casual hook ups turned into hang outsâ but he refuses to address that as much as you refuse to look him in the eye every time he stays.
Thereâs times you end up cooking for him, telling him about things heâd personally consider a topic sensitive to most, but youâre not one to back out, he knows that.
ââlike I said, I donât care about any ranks or other heroes, Dabi.â
He scoffs. Everyone cares about their rankâ everyone strives to be the best, and you in particular seem to be just that type.
âBullshit. I donât tolerate liars, princess.â He rasps, and you know heâs trying to lure you into a trap that ends with him punishing you in bed. His voice is a dead giveaway, and so are the thighs he spreads shamelesslyâ it doesnât take you long to realize heâs already half hard, turned on by simply talkingâ or by imagining the nasty things he wants to do to you.
You sigh, reciting your earlier words because apparently heâs having a hard time hearing (intentionally, you assume), âI never said I donât want to be strong. I do, but I donât care about ranks. Or how many villains Iâve caught and left to rot in prison. I care about protecting those close to meââ the plate in your hands is warm, a freshly made dish that has Dabiâs stomach churning, and you bring it to him, slyly tapping his nose before retreating again, âeat up, I made too much.â
Of course.
You always conveniently make too much.
He doesnât waste any time digging in, itâs not exactly easy getting food on the streets and heâs pretty fucking tired of eating the same garbage shit. Your cookingâs much better, obviously.
âWhat about me?â
Heâs a messy eater.
You perk up, closing the tap water in order to understand him better.
Much to your surprise, he stands up, long legs allowing him to move quickly and efficientlyâ and before you know it, heâs behind you, heated hands placed on your hips as his head dips down until his breath hits the back of your neck.
You donât freeze, in factâ you do the opposite, eagerly leaning into his touch and sighing at the warmth he emits by the second. You can practically feel his smirk etched into his face.
âDo you care about protecting me?â
He clarifies, his chest rumbling against your back and heâs met with reality when you turn around, facing him boldly and tilting your head with a tight grin.
âDo you need protection?â
Slipping under his slender arms, you escape the human cage, only to be met with the sight of a clean plate, realization dawning on you that heâs eaten everything within less than a minute.
Your heart hurts, even if only for a second.
When you look back over your shoulder, Dabiâs still there, grinning at you like youâre not riding an emotional roller coasterâ like youâre not struggling and trying to find out what it is you feel about this man. Heâs not a kid. Heâs not weakâ emotionally or physicallyâ but for some reason..
âI care.â You hum, âI care. Iâd protect you.â
And just like that, his grin slips off his face and youâre met with silence you know all too well. You donât dwell on it though, letting Dabi do as he pleasesâ he reminds you of a stray cat, more often than not, coming and leaving whenever he wants to.
Except this time itâs not him fleeing your apartment.
Itâs you.
The next time Dabi spots you, heâs met with a clustering pang to his heart instead of the usual excitement, and his jaw clicks as he drags his tongue over the metal stapled into his skin, because he fucking hates that he even has a reaction like that in the first place.
Youâre outside, wearing your torn hero costume, and thereâs a rip that exposes just about too much collarbone and your cleavage. And it doesnât look pretty given the blood and the dirt covering your skin, smeared across you and he thinks it should make you look ruined and uglyâ but somehow it just makes you look more tempting and vulnerable and his, and itâs enough to have any man keeling over for you and Dabiâs very well aware of that.
But itâs not the injury thatâs causing his emotions to feel all weird and wired up, itâs the fact that thereâs another fucking male next to you, walking just a little too close, and Dabi thinks that alone is a valid reason to kill him. His eyes are glued to your chest, practically eye fucking you without even trying to hide it.
You donât seem too bothered, probably too idiotically innocent to realize your hero friend might not be too much of a hero himself, too wrapped up in your own bleeding knuckles and the praise heâs feeding you to notice the way his gaze burns into you.
Dabi wants to burn him.
He wants to watch him scream and curl in on himself and beg, wants to see that stupid wannabe pro hero facade melt right off his face until thereâs nothing left but the smell of cooked flesh.
Dabi wants to burn you, too, just to teach you a lesson about standing around like that, just to see how youâd look under his flames, writhing and gasping and still looking at him like heâs the only one youâd ever follow, but thatâs something he still debates on doing for reasons he refuses to voice.
He shifts uncomfortably, and before he can think too hard about why the sight of you like that makes him feel like heâs choking, he flicks his hand and sends a sharp burst of blue fire slamming into a dumpster at the end of the street.
You both turn, startled, and Dabi doesnât miss the way the hero beside you immediately stiffens and reaches for you like heâs going to play the protector.
The fire spreads just enough, and Dabi steps back deeper into the alleyâs darkness, letting the smoke draw you in like moths, because he knows youâll follow his flames and he knows that idiot wonât let you go alone.
Sure enough, you rush towards the alley to assess the problem, dragging your little hero friend with you, and the moment you step past the veil of smoke he lets the flames die downâ and then, he steps out.
âWell isnât that cute. A little duo.â Dabi drawls, eyes raking over you first before sliding lazily to the guy at your side, âYou two here to fight me?â
The wannabeâs bravado cracks almost instantly, because everyone knows who Dabi is, everyone knows what heâs done, and the guy wonders just why he followed the blue flames without even thinking who they mightâve belonged to.
A sound escapes your throat thatâs more akin to a hurt animal, and you almost seem irritated by the whole thing (good. Dabi hopes he ruined your little date or whatever that was), âNoââ
Dabi tilts his head, flames flickering in his palm, and the light kisses your exposed skin. He smirks when he sees the other man flinch (and feels weirdly proud when you donât).
âIâll burn you both to ash right here,â he begins, and watches as you roll your eyes because you already know what he wants, âso unless you want to watch her scream while her pretty skin melts off, I suggest you run.â
Itâs not even a real threat to you and you both know it, because even as he says it heâs angling his body just slightly so the flames are closer to the other man, but the hero doesnât catch that, too busy swallowing hard and backing up like the coward he is.
âY-youâre D- youâre Dabiâ,â the guy chokes, already stepping away.
Dabi wants to kill him just for being this pathetic, truly, itâs embarrassing to be here on his behalf, âYou- you- youâ better fucking leave now or Iâll burn your limbs one after the other.â
As much as Dabi truly wants to kill that guy, he doesnât need some fucking department tailing after him for that, much less the attention heâd bring now if heâd do so. He doubts the degenerate would be quiet while he made it hurt.
It doesnât take much more than that for the wannabe to bolt.
His gaze slides back to you, and he clicks his tongue in a disapproving manner.
âGot real friendly with that hero back there,â he speaks as he wanders to you, fingers hooking into the torn edge of your costume, tugging it and itâs enough to remind you how exposed you are, how easy it would be for him to ruin you further, âlettinâ him stare at you like that.â
It isnât a question, and he doesnât wait for an answer anyway, because Dabiâs never needed permission from you beforeâ heâs never been gentle or soft or anything like that, and seeing how heâs not scared you off yet, he can only assume you must be just as a sick as he is.
His thumb drags over your collarbone where it lays exposed, smearing a streak of soot across your skin, causing you to cringe at the mess thatâs covering your body.
âCanât have you forgettinâ who you crawl back to,â he murmurs, and before you can roll your eyes or snap something smart back at him, heâs stuffing his dirty fingers into your mouth, twirling your tongue between his thumb and pointer, watching as you shriek in surprise. He snorts, âDirty girl. Forgot whose cumdump you are?â
The sounds of your gagging is enough for him to pull his fingers out and replace them with his mouth, teeth clashing as his tongue darts out to poison you with his intoxicating presence. His fingers grope harshly all over your body as you mewl and hold into him, enjoying this far more than you should.
He pulls back only when heâs satisfied, eyes hooded and filled with pride.
âPathetic,â he mutters, though itâs unclear whether heâs talking about you, the degenerate hero, or himself.
And then, he finally does shrug off his coat, but instead of immediately handing it to you, he drapes it over your shoulders slowly.
Itâs obvious when you regain yourself, shock melting away as you flash a toothy grin, âWhat was that all about?â
Itâs only then Dabi finds himself in a situation where he canât possibly think.
What was it about?
âYou jealous, Dabi?â
Jealous?
Jealous?
Of fucking course heâs not jealous.
Heâs got no reason to be, not when that idiot punk couldnât even lay a hand on you, not when Dabiâs done that a hundred times before and plans to do it a hundred times more, not when he knows exactly how you sound and how you look when youâre under him instead of standing there smirking like this.
âI donât get jealous, doll.â
Itâs simpleâ heâs fucked you, kissed you, spent days rotting in your apartment and eating your foodâ youâve let him cum in youâ him.
Youâre his. Just like that.
While heâs already marked you up more than once, while youâve already got his bite marks fading into yellow and purple beneath your hero costume, while youâve already carried his seed and fragments and god fucking knows what else inside you without complaint, itâs safe to say that you belong to him and he doesnât want someone elseâs spunk anywhere near you.
Youâre his to ruin.
His to hurt and his to poke at whenever he feels like it.
âThen whyâd you scare him off? He was supposed to help me to the agency.â
Dabi scoffs. You donât need any fucking help. And if you do, then you certainly can take care of your own ass. Heâs seen you in worse positions and youâve crawled out of them just fine.
âHe assisted me on my mission.â
No the fuck he didnât. If he had done that, you wouldnât look like someone let their wolves loose on you.
âHe did a really good job back thereââ
Again, no he fucking didnât. And why are you praising him so much? What are you doing?
Are you trying to rile him up on purpose?
âYouâre right. We could be a good duo.â
And something in Dabi snaps so fast it makes his vision blur at the edges, because he knows youâre playing with him, knows youâre poking at the ugliest parts of him just to see how heâll react, and he hates that it works.
What could he do, though? Youâre a manipulative little shit and somehow always two steps ahead, and for a split second he genuinely thinks youâve put some kind of curse on him, wiggled your fingers and shwoopsâ! suddenly heâs moving before he can stop himself.
His fingers dig into the soft skin of your arms, his stance almost trembling with wide eyes that makes him look like a feral animal. His mouth is twitching, the sharp of his teeth revealing under all the fury.
âYouâre mine,â he spits, and itâs enough to make you take him seriously, âonly mine, got it? Get that through your thick fucking skull.â
He remembers that day perfectly. It plays in his head over and over again, when heâs sleeping, eating, or doing fuck knows what, looping over and over against his will.
He remembers just how humiliated andâ dare he sayâ vulnerable he felt when youâd spoken, much less frustrated than heâd expected you to be, much less angry than heâd prepared himself for after basically snarling ownership at you.
You laughed at him. And he really wanted to set you on fire right then and there, wanted to watch the alley light up just to drown out the sound, all the while knowing he would rather burn himself a hundred times over than never hear you laugh like that again.
Youâd been amused, head tilted slightlyâ the stance that always makes him just a tiny bit weak for you, and you told him that yes, heâs right, and if thatâs how he sees it then fineâ youâre his.
You werenât mocking him, (though, he wished you were. It would make being mad at you easier), and you werenât acting like a clingy, lovesick idiot either, (fuck, if you were, heâs pretty sure it wouldâve made him recoil right away). You seemed entertained, almost like he was a kid and you were indulging into his childish fantasies.
âIf Iâm yours,â youâd spoke, calm in his hold, âthen act like it properly, Dabi.â
You looked too much in control, and it pissed Dabi off to no end.
He remembers the way his throat went dry, how for a split second he genuinely didnât know what to do with himself.
Heâd left after that, because thatâs all Dabi knows how to do.
Heâs no longer Dabi. Heâs Touya now and everyone knows it.
It doesnât feel good, this tightness under his ribs, this awareness that youâve seen the worst of him broadcasted to the entire country, and Touyaâ Dabi either avoids or destroys the things that nearly bother him.
Heâs thought about the latter a few times. Heâs thought about killing youâ because all you are is just a measly hookup he prioritized a bit too much, especially on the days he was assigned to a mission, and once, Compress even ended up having to fight some thugs himself while Dabi fucked the shit out of you in your apartment, not even bothering to answer his comm, and he doesnât regret it, even if Shigaraki swears heâll dust his ass one day for it.
Heâs tried it, too. The killing.
While you slept beneath him, warm and pliant and trusting (and shit, it made something sour twist in his gut), heâd let his mind wander to darker places, imagining what it would be like to press you down harder, to let his weight crush the air from your lungs, to listen to your choking breaths and broken little cries as you realized too late who youâd let into your bed.
A dead man.
But every time the fantasy shifted wrong.
All he could find pleasure in was imagining you suffocating in him. Just him. Not his weight or hands or whatever would actually bring you pain, just you clinging and gasping because you couldnât get enough of him, because he was too much and you still wanted more.
It ruined the whole thing.
He blamed his dislike for the idea of your death because it just seemed too pathetic. That suffocating to death was not nearly as painful and exciting as he had died.
You, and heâll admit as much, deserve enough respect to die in a battle, not naked and tangled in sheets with him hovering over you like some common creep.
Thatâs just about how he finds himself standing outside of your apartment, hands nestled into his pockets with not a care in the world.
The lock to your door gives in easily, as itâs always done, and Dabi wonders if itâs because all the times heâs snuck into your privacy. Itâs ridiculous, all the damn pay you get and you still choose to live in an apartment with lousy neighbors.
The scent that lingers in your apartmentâ your scentâ fills his sense immediately, and the nervousity subdues almost instantly.
Itâs lateâ and just like the thousand other times Dabiâs found you, he finds you in the kitchen, leaned over the counter, scrolling mindlessly on your phone.
And just like always, thereâs a half full glass of wine, hinting that youâve been drinking once again.
The scenery looks like one from a movie as you look over your shoulder, spotting him closing your door abruptly.
âMiss me?â He drawls, stalking towards you. You turn around fully, hands supporting your weight by the counters as you face him.
His hair is white now.
âDabi,â you say, even though you know thatâs not his name.
His eye twitches.
âItâs Touya.â He corrects you, pathetically eager to hear his name in your tongue, âYou call me Touya.â
He crowds your space, heat radiating and making you lean into him almost immediately.
He finds it fascinating, that with each timeâ no matter what he doesâ youâll always lean into his warmth. His fingers hook into your waistband as he urges you to say his name.
It comes off easy on your tongue, though you still tense slightly and he feels it, âTouya.â
You try, really, to soften in his grasp, to stay relaxed and purr into him like the cat he wants you to be. You want to, but itâs hard and you barely even know why. He feels like a whole new person.
âHm?â He hums, tilting his head down at you, tone almost mocking, ânervous now that you know my name?â
He can tell youâre trying to be a comforting presence but youâre failing miserably, and he soothes his thumb along your hip as he snorts, âOr are you trying to see if Iâll go easy on you?â
âMaybe.â You mutter, your hands trailing to cradle his white hair.
But he laughs cruelly, leaning down until his mouth is just shy of your ear, âToo bad, sweetheart.â His tongue travels up the shell of your ear, and you shiver at the ticklish feeling, âI was never planning to.â
Your hands end up around his neck, his hungry mouth assaulting your neck.
And despite his burns, and the fact that he canât feel anything on them, you leave a trail of kisses along his neck.
âYou watch the broadcast?â He asks, and you nod, âWhole thing. Do you.. want to talk about it?â
Gosh.
He does.
He really does.
But heâs not here to tell you about his sob story, heâs not here to hear you validating him and lovingly cradling his head as you always do, heâs not here to feel the comforting sound of your voice.
Heâs here to take you, to ruin you to his liking.
He wants to hurt you. So badly. He wants to squeeze you until you moan in pain and beg him to stop, wants to fuck you until youâre crying and speaking of him like heâs the only person to have ever existed.
âNo.â He scoffs, thumb dragging under the hem of your shirt, âcanât believe youâre still letting me fuck you after that.â
âWell, youâre lucky Iâve got a high libido, then.â
Itâs meant to be a joke, but Dabiâ Touya growls nonetheless, roughly lifting you to set you on the counter. He pulls your pajama pants down in a swift motion, your panties following, his body slotting between your thighs as his fingers harshly assault your clit. You shiver, moaning his name.
He freezes, blue eyes locking into yours.
âSay it again,â he murmurs, finger dragging down in between your folds and circling your hole, âCâmon. Use it.â
You oblige, âTouya.â
A shudder runs through his body at the mention of his name, and thereâs an obvious sign that he wonât be able to wait anymore as he pulls away, tugging his pants low enough until his cock springs out, muttering under his breath just what a good girl you are.
Itâs your turn to freeze, and you gasp as you realize whatâs wrong.
Youâre not prepped enough to take him like this, and while youâve had tons of times where Touyaâ no, Dabi fucked you like a cockdesprate slut, or mainly just for his pleasure, heâs never done anything without properly prepping you. After youâd voiced your displeasure about his pierced cock hurting too much without enough arousal to lessen the friction, heâs always made sure to make you cum once or twice before taking you. Not that it takes long with his skilled fingers and tongueâ and even the thigh you ride from time to timeâ hell, as far as you can tell, he even enjoys having you writhing beneath him like that.
âWait, wait Dabi!â
âHush. Youâll take it, wonât you?â
Pre-cum is leaking from his tip and you can tell heâs been horny for a long time, unlike you, who hadnât even expected his visit. Heâd been off and gone for a few weeks, and you truly, truly didnât expect him to visit you a few hours after heâd revealed his identity to the entire world, and amongst all of that, almost massacred his own family.
He spreads his cum over his dick, pumping it a few times to reach a thin sheet of gloss all over his length, and eventually (much to your relief) he even spreads you one more time, wetness coating your folds and your hole as he assesses whether youâre wet enough or not.
Itâs truly not all up to his liking, and if it werenât for the animalistic urge to fuck you almost immediately, heâd spend a few more rounds getting you all wet and bothered.
You whine and thereâs not much of a warning when he spreads your legs, sinking his cock into you without much resistance. His piercings graze your wallsâ a mix of pain and pleasure ringing through your body, but all of it gets overtaken when Touya leans down to lovingly kiss your cheek.
It confuses you. So much.
You donât know what this man wants. You donât know what he earns and what his motives are nowâ why he seems to be in such a rush to fuck you desperately and lovingly through the whole night.
Nevertheless, youâre grateful for the kind gesture, even if the un-kinder gesture is almost ripping you open.
âI told you to call me Touya,â he mumbles, having at least the decency of letting you adjust to his size and girth. You moan, hands gripping into his biceps for some kind of anchor, sighing, âAh, TouyaâŚâ
It makes him calmer, you notice, the sound of your sweet voice calling out his name, his birth name, the one he resented and dropped when he realized heâd been forged into a monster.
Itâs still beyond him, that you, sweet girl, are willing to get fucked by someone like him, a man made of patchwork skin and burnt bits.
He works diligently into you, his dick raw against your walls, metal sitting uncomfortably inside of you with the lack of foreplay. He hisses when he bottoms out, and you trap him between your thighs, clenching them as hard as you can around him. It hurts.
But you try so hard to be good for him. You want to. You want to hear his praise and make him feel good as he buries himself inside of you. You want to be the shelter he seeks, even if youâre not the shelter heâll keepâ because Touyaâ (or Dabi, as youâve known him) doesnât settle.
Amongst the pleasure and pain and the ache in your heart from his soft kisses along your neck, you feel an unfamiliar dread brewing in your abdomen.
Having had this much fun with Dabi over the past few months, youâve forgotten what a bad gut feeling felt like.
Thatâs why, even as he pounds into you and the pain fades until youâre moaning for him to give you more, more, more! youâre trying hard to keep the nauseating feeling from rising any further.
itâs horrible, the way it sets in your body and waits to come out in overflowing words, building up and up until youâre spewing disgusting shit thatâll guarantee Dabi leaving you right here and now.
Please, donât leave me.
Stay. Please, Touya.
Instead, you spread yourself even more, giving him more access because you can tell the way youâre clenching your thighs is slowing his movements and heâs already aggravated as it is.
His brows are furrowed and youâre tempted to soothe the folds out with your thumb, just to remind him that youâre here, that youâre not leaving.
In the end, you settle against it, because heâs mouthing harshly at you now, his fingers digging into your hips and thighs until youâre sure youâll bruise by the end of this. Heâs fucking you with such furiousity that you know heâs fucking you not for your pleasure but for something far deeper.
Itâs not even about his pleasure, either. Youâre sure, because in that case, heâd bend you over and lube you up with his cum or yours until youâre overstimulated, and only then would he give you his dick.
He loves making messes. Loves when both of you are thrashed and disgusting with cum.
âMy girl. Youâre my girl, fuckâ right? Tell me, baby. Câmon use your mouthâ shit!â
You donât know what it is he wants you to sate, you have no clue, because Dabiâs not one for possessiveness over his sluts, and nor did he ever need any kind of affirmation of love during sex, but you canât exactly debate whether to obey him or not when heâs growling and dragging his finger down your slit, rimming dangerously around the hole heâs stretching so good.
The threat is clear, and youâre very sure you wouldnât be able to take a fucking finger while heâs got you dumb on his cock already, you panic instantly, whimpering out his name.
âYours, Touya! Iâm yours!â
âPromise me. Go ahead and promise meâ youâre my cocksleeve, my cumdump, no one gets to touch this cunt âxcept for me!â
The pleasures building up within you, and itâs turning you into the usual cockdrunk bitch as always, the words not quite slipping past your lips. The most you can do is form coherent thoughts when his dick throbs intensively, his tip nudging the same spongy spot over and over again, and his piercings applying pressures all over you.
But he makes sure to remind you with the threatening finger near your hole, slipping the first few bits and it has you crying out, thrashing with your hands as you hit him weakly.
âTouya! Touyaâ ahh, I promise Touya! I promise!! âm yours! All yours!â
Even as the finger leaves your abused hole, and even as he keeps pounding you with his painfully hard cock, you find yourself still sobbing like a mess, tapping more than hitting his biceps as you try to squirm away from his assaulting dick.
When he realizes his strokes arenât quite as deep as they used to go, he becomes aware of the way youâre attempting to get him off, being petty as you are, and he lets out a sound akin to a growl as he uses an ounce of strength by grasping your thighs and pulling your pelvisâ together until heâs flush against you and your jaw drops at the feeling.
To reassure you wonât pull this bullshit again (and to make this all a bit more pleasurable), he places one large hand on your ass, the other under your thigh as he picks you up.
He drags you all the way to your room, and you canât help but clench around him with the way his cock sits still inside of you, throbbing, and he winces before grinding you against him.
Itâs a pleasure youâve never felt before. A ticklish kind of feeling, small bits of joy tingling all over you as the familiar warm bubble builds up in your abdomen.
Heâs gentle as he sets you on the soft sheets, but rough when he lifts your thighs until youâre folded in half and heâs roughing you up. His heavy balls smack against your rear, a loud slapping noise joining the ongoing squelching and moaning.
His pace increased, and soon heâs panting with the way heâs fucking into you. Youâre bucking your hips up desperately, trying to meet him halfway even if you do it every two strokes because you simply donât have that much fight in you.
He fucks like a man starved, and itâs not long until the throbbing and the heat of his dick intensifies and youâre screaming his name. âFuck baby, can feel ya cumming, sweet girl. G-go ahead- make a mess-!â
And as if to make matters worse (better), he presses his large, warm hand down on your abdomen, where he can feel his own cock impaling you by the second, and you scream.
The pressure from getting pounded and your abdomen clutched tight is too much, and you cum with a harsh shudder of your body, Touya following a second after.
He doesnât slow, though, he always makes sure to stuff you full of his cum and man sure itâs deep and engraved within you, even as his flaccid cock barely has any fight left.
He pulls out when you start twitching a bit too much, trying to regain his own breath while prodding at your pussy.
He loves the sight. Loves it so much, he goes all the way down on his stomach, soft dick comfortably against the softness of your mattress (and very much soaking your sheets), and he uses his tongue to scoop whateverâs escaped back into your hole.
Itâs nasty, and it makes you whine as you tug on his hair and shove your cunt into his face.
And as always, itâs not long until Touya hardens, not with the way his cum is leaking out of you, the way youâre soft and swollen and fuckâ itâs almost like your pussy is begging for him to fuck you againâ and who is he to deny you? Heâs been grinding his dick against your mattress, speeding up the process of getting all hard again.
He clicks his tongue when he catches your tears, wondering just why it is youâre sobbing.
(And he knows. Fuck, he knows. He knows youâre hurting and holding back, and itâs not because the sex was a tad more painful than usual. Youâre a smart thing, after all.)
âHey,â he calls out, tapping your hip to catch your attention. He does, his own heart clenching when you tilt your head to look at him with those sad, sad eyes.
âRide me, baby. Let me make you forget.â
Forget that this is the last time.
You both know it, but none of you speaks up on it. Instead, he lifts your body until he can sprawl across the bed with you hovering over his dick.
Youâre overstimulated, and you almost beg him to wait, but Touyaâs brain barely catches the fact that you look more panicked than aroused. He sinks into you slowly, a shrill cry escaping your lips. He fully sheathes himself inside you, the room filled with your foul sounds.
Thereâs so much cum.
So much, trailing out of your hole and wetting him, too. So much, that it has its own sound as you shakily raise your hips and attempt to bounce on him.
So much, but not enough.
Touya wants you overflowing with his cum. Heâs not leaving until youâve milked every drop of him and heâs milked every of yours. He wants to ruin you in ways thatâll remain permanent, thatâll carry his scent and soul and everything you can possibly think of.
And so, he makes you bounce on his dick until youâre out of it and heâs forced to pound his shit up to you, all while guiding your hips to take his length.
He fills you like this, too, and after lightly tapping your cheek and waking you up from your haze (âNot done with ya, princess. Wake up.â), he takes you in countless other positions.
You donât truly know how long heâs been at this, but by the striking pain in your cunt and the non-stopping shudder of your body, you can only assume itâs been hours.
Hours of him fucking you, filling you, you passing out every two to three orgasms, and him waking you to repeat the cycle.
And each time, he tells you that you can take more. That you will take more.
(Though, your bodyâs numb and so is your mind.)
By the time heâs done with you, his dick has long passed any limits within your cave. Heâs panting, and so are you, your recent orgasm having felt more like a force of pleasure you tried to hold down. When you look into Touyaâs eyes, you see heâs already looking at you with an unusual grin.
No, not a grin.
Itâs a smile. Heâs smiling at you, even if it looks strained and inhumane with the way the corners of his mouth split just slightly, and if it werenât for your body being literally shut down, you wouldâve soothed your fingers down his lips.
His smile turns into a toothy grin when he thrusts his flaccid cock into you, more of a nudge than anything you could consider pleasurable, and you cry out. âT-Touya-.. no- no more..â
âRelax, crybaby. Look.â
You follow the line of his gaze, landing straight to where the two of you remain connected.
Thereâs so much slick and cum all over the two of you, you could consider bathing in it.
But thatâs not what he wants you to look at when he slightly pulls out only to bury himself inside again and suddenlyâ
Fuck.
Your eyes widen as you sputterâ a clear outline of his dick right in your abdomen. And you wish you could control your bodyâ but it acts upon its own when your cunt clenches down on him at the sight and you whine loudly.
Youâre not quite sure, but you think you came alone from this.
He laughs, rubbing and grinding his pelvis for a bit of friction.
âYou cum from this, doll?â
Dignity is something youâve lost along the way. You nod, using your last bits of strength to wrap your arms around his neck.
He leans down to you, chest to chest, settling on top of you and weighing you down.
You sigh, the feeling comforting after hours of rough fucking and claiming. He lazily grinds into you, and you think, if thatâs how he wants to put an end to this, then youâre not against it.
The slightest spread of your legs gives him more access, and he takes it as he breaths heavily against your neck, kissing and biting with pants that get heavier on each thrust.
Itâs your lips he goes for when he empties himself inside of you, rubbing out his orgasm before finally, finally going limp.
You donât question the drops of liquid that slide down his face and into the hollow of your neck, and nor do you particularly care about the dark red stain they leave behind.
Instead, you linger on the last words you heard before the world went black beneath you.
âWatch me when Iâm out there, doll. Let me show you just who you let into your life.â
You wanted to, gosh, you wanted to correct him. The words scraped the back of your throat. Maybe somewhere in the haze of your dreams, you whispered them, a soft, trembling sound he couldnât catch. Maybe he didnât hear them at all. Or maybe he did, and it didnât matter.
You wish you couldâve corrected him, that he not only carved himself into your life, but into your heart, too.
And the same heart he destroys when you wake alone, the only thing left from him are the cum stains all over your body.
a/n: this was supposed to be like 3k words. I got lost somewhere along the way.
I got a few dabi fic requests and I started one and Iâm like 6k words in and I feel like the plots ASS and I donât even know how to continue but Iâm in love with the plot but I have this very annoying habit of building each character deeply within the story which puts me in a state where I write TOO many words and Iâm trying to write LESS but itâs impossible because I want to voice out each fucking emotion of every character help me Iâm losing it
Omg, I relate so much to that feeling. Like we study so hard n all, then get the worst grade, its like in the next text u dont get the motivation AT ALL. Cuz its like whats the use if u gon fail anyway kinda feeling. And expectations from others are even worse, im feeling shitty rn and they be trying to comfort me but I can see the disappointment in them(im talking abt parents). Ughhh, I hate that so much, and then u ask why I hide marks. Like they think its only cuz of hiding from scolding but its actually from their disappointment, my fragile heart cant handle that much, im a crybaby and I hate it.
But in a recent Science test I did good tho I studied for one day, I think the tips is that start with the hardest ones first but not detailly, study like whats most important by seeing the previous years questions and then at last see the easiest chaps. If u studying one page do that thoroughly, im not telling detail cuz that wastes a lot of time, if u wanted to do that kinda detail u should have started weeks back not day before, so more like just the important stuffs in it memorize like the names n units or n what its for like that, dont half ass, and make sticky notes to like remember stuff for next time. Dont study too hard, like that just makes u go mental, try the pomodoro sessions. And thats it.
YOU GET IT DUDEđđ the disappointment of getting a bad grade after wasting so much TIME on studying.. like I couldâve done sm more during that, and donât even get me started on the whole disappointment thing.
Thank you for your advice, though, Iâll definitely try it. Have a test in 2 weeks and itâs my first one this semester, if I get at least this right for once I might get my motivation up again.. besides winters fading and so is my winter depression đââď¸ I believe in u anon, u can do it𩷠academic comeback for the both of us
Im failing school (not rlly but itâs the worst Iâve ever been) does anyone have tips I genuinely been learning so hard all week and still got the worst grade. help pls Iâm crying
Tired Touya will find a way to fuck youâ even if his dick isnât filling you to the brim!
Touya is as shameless as he can get.
Heâs got no problem coming home, plopping down on the bed with his head on your lap and his face conveniently facing your crotch. He grins like an idiot as you gasp, putting your phone to the side to properly look at him.
There he is, his perfect white hair and his ragged scars that feel familiarly comforting to your bare skin, given your pajamas shorts. Heâs fully clothed, so you know it mustâve been a hard day, because in any other circumstances he wouldâve wasted no time getting naked to lay next to you.
He must be exhausted, with the way his eyes are droopy and heâs groaning as your hands work in his hair.
Though, apparently heâs got enough energy to nuzzle his face into your crotch, sniffing and causing you to pull him by his hair.
âTouya!â You squeak as you attempt to crawl away from him. He brushes you off, tugging you back by his hold on your thighs as he sighs in relief against you.
âYâknow youâre the highlight of my day, right, sweetheart?â The rasp of his voice coaxes you to relax, because lord does he sound sexy.
You nod, and he grins smugly, scooting up so he can settle his face into the crook of your neck. His breath hits your skin in warm puffs as your arms embrace his neck, his rough tongue licking a stripe along your sensitive skin. He goes all the way up to your jaw, until his lips ghost over your ear and the sound of his breath is blocking every other noise in the room. He licks his lips, teeth nibbling on your lobe.
âSo do me a favor and stop complaining, âkay?â
You barely have the time to process his words before you feel the hard bulge of his cock dragging against your clothed cunt, the ridge of his jeans pushing up against your clit. You jerk up, the stimulation unfamiliar but not unwelcoming.
âTouya!â You call out again, burying your face into his neck, nails digging into his coat. His scent hits you hard, a mix of bonfire and smoke, and you drown yourself in the comfort of it.
He cackles, âCalm down, crybaby. Never humped a dick before?â
The question goes unanswered as he drags his boner over your pelvis, causing you to mewl out and buck your hips in return. He cooes, pleased by your reaction, âFeels great, doesnât it? Go on, pretty, a-ah- mhmm, fuckâ!â
Grunting, he continues grinding down on you, his heavy weight keeping you from crawling away. Heâs sucking hickeys into your skin, all the while rutting into you like a horny teenager. You canât help but laugh at the thought, given Touyaâs most favourite thing to do is bury his cock deep within youâ
Hell, heâs a sadistic freak, even. More often than not, he makes you bounce on his dick until you canât anymoreâ heâll keep it in, for the night or so, because thatâs what he likes, having you cockwarming him until your holes carved in the shape of his fucking dick.
Sex with him always ends up messy. Cum, sweat and spit is something youâve grown accustomed to. So having this, him rutting into you dryly all while overstimulating your untouched bud, is new to you.
You canât say you hate it.
Not really, and he knows that too, by the frantic way you chase to feel his bulge piston into your cunt.
He grinds against you until he needs to take a break from marking you, panting instead as he licks into your mouth. You moan loudly, spreading your legs farther as you feel your panties drenching with arousal.
Heâs painfully hard against you, and if it werenât for his two full layers of clothing, heâd be slipping right in between your folds, and you clench at the thought of his tip nudging your hole.
âTouya- Touâ please need you- need you inside!â You cry, but it has no use. If Touya has set his mind into something, then he wonât let go of it. He cackles at your pathetic words, âKeep begging, see if thatâll g-get you somewhere- ah- shit mhh-â
He humps into you quickly, your whole body moving with each thrust, the bed frame creaking as usual. Tears of frustration collect on the verge of your eyes as you thrust up to him, your wetness seeping through your clothes.
He growls, needing more, way more of youâ
His hands grasp into your thighs harshly, and you yelp as he shoves them apart so he can fully fit between you. With his hands beneath your knees, he wastes no time rolling his hips into you, grunting and panting as his cockhead nudges into your warm cunt. Your own clit twitches, neglected, and you whine in frustration.
He huffs, changing his movement so his clothed, painfully hard cock grinds all over you, stimulating your clit. You become putty in his presence, and he knows heâs got you exactly where he wants you.
You mewl, positive your arousal has stained his jeans by now, but he doesnât care as he continues pumping into you like heâs actually fucking you.
Itâs pathetic, but you feel the way your abdomen warms and youâre close, oh so closeâ
âYou like t-that, donât ya? Fuckâ my p-pretty baby loves to get dry fucked like this, right? Mh- go ahead and cum, cum in your pants doll. Fuckinâ cum already!â
With a few more hard rolls of his hips, he stutters, reaching his peak and groaning loudly as he creams his pants shamelessly.
The mere thought, much more the feeling of his thick white cum staining his jeans is enough to push you over the edge, and you release with a scream of his name. He doesnât stop until youâre squirming away from the ridge of his jeans overstimulating your wet cunt.
He collapses on top of you, face back in your neck as he pants.
Itâs foolish of you to think heâs tired enough to fall asleep, to think this alone was enough for himâ
Just a minute after, his fingers creep into your waistband, and he shines his pearly whites at you,
i just wanna say i love how u write touya. only a certain amount of people can write him as perfectly as u do and itâs just MWAH.
STOPđ IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE IT!! I try hard to keep him accurate, even include a lot of red flags heâd have, itâs how he should be portrayed 𫡠THANK YOU, SMOOCHES
summary: your boyfriends a fucking maniac, insanely dangerous and recklessâ but god, you canât help yourself, and neither can he.
warning/s: angst, fluff, non sexual nudity, intimacy, ALOT OF INTIMACY, in like, everything, bathing together, arguments, dabis an asshole but so is reader, dadzawa, emotional dabi (eventually), happy ending, oh boy, readers a hero, obsessive behavior, references to depression, stalking,
words: ~13k
notes: !requested! the starts a bit rough, I promise it gets better at the end :(
âBut lately, his thoughts havenât been about Endeavour at all. Theyâve been about you. About the future. About what heâs actually chasing. Heâs not sure if simple revenge will be enough to fill the rest of his miserable, probably short life. Which is strange, because revenge has been his only motivation ever since he crawled back from the dead. Lately, Dabiâs been having dreams. Dreams where he wakes up beside you againâ but this time, neither of you is in danger. In those dreams, he isnât a villain.â
It feels like the perfect summer, the kind you only ever see in teenage movies.â¨Heâs like a summer flingâ one that lasts far too long. All the fooling around, the kind you know is going to get you in trouble.
But you just donât know when to stop, do you?
He is bad. That much is obvious. Raven-black hair, scarred skin held together with staples. His face is decorated with piercingsâ ears, nose, chin.â¨Yet itâs not his appearance that scares you most.â¨Itâs his spite. His anger. The way it simmers deep within and threatens to break out every time something remotely triggers him.
Dabi is an enigma. Youâve known him for a long time, perhaps too long. Long enough that the change in your relationship felt inevitable. Like it had been waiting to happen. Being âjust friendsâ wouldâve never worked out. Not with you standing between his legs, gloves on, helping him dye his hair black.
White roots peek through messily, and you canât help but imagine how heâd look if he actually let it grow out.â¨He never does.â¨And you never ask why.
Itâs a mess, dyeing his hair. The smell is awful, sharp and chemical, and it makes your nose scrunch up immediately. Youâve already told him twice that heâs sleeping on the couch tonight. That no, you are not dealing with this smell all night.
But as always, youâre just met with a shit eating smirk, one that says that he knows youâre bluffing.
(You both know sleeping separately wonât happen. Heâll sneak into the bed eventuallyâ or youâll wake up halfway through the night curled up on top of him on the couch.)
His hands rest on your hips, warm and grounding, thumbs digging in just enough to remind you that heâs not fully grown soft.â¨âWhy do you even need me to do this?â you complain, âYou know I h-hateââ The smell hits harder, and you sneeze into your elbow.
His hands tighten as he snickers.â¨ââhate the smell of this stuff!â
âAw, câmon,â he drawls, âyouâre doinâ great.â
You shoot him a glare he canât see, given heâs too focused on his hands groping and poking into you. âYouâre enjoying this.â
âObviously.â He purrs, âLove havinâ you this close.â
Dabi is cheeky. An asshole. And nothing like the boy he once wasâ the scared, trembling thing you met all that time ago. Now heâs got that charm that can woo your heart and make you cling to him like a lost puppy.
âLove when you take care of me like this, doll.â
There it is. His words that can make your heart stutter and your resolve melt on the spot.
You squirm, biting back a smile as you get back to work. His hair is split neatly, the brush fully coated in black dye, your gloved fingertips stained dark. One hand stays close to his forehead, careful not to let anything drip into his eyes.
âYou mess this up,â he murmurs lazily, âand Iâm never lettinâ you live it down.â
You huff. âHold still.â
âBossy,â he murmurs, but listens nevertheless.
If it werenât for the mess, youâd lean down and kiss him. Instead, you settle for leaning further into his hands, letting yourself sink into the warmth he offers so easily.
Softly, carefully, something Dabi had to learn from you, he presses a kiss just above your navel.
You squeak, body jolting. âStopâ! That tickles!â
Of course, he doesnât.â¨He chuckles lowly. âCute.â
You pout, tightening your grip on his hair, subconsciously causing his grin to widen.âUnless you think me dyeing your forehead black is cute, I suggest you stop.â
To your surprise, he actually stills. Lets you hold him there. His fingers trail slowly over your skin, down to your waistband, hooking there like he belongs.
Silence settles comfortably. You hum quietly as you focus.
When you finally step back, itâs done.â¨The white strands are gone, swallowed by black once more.
He looks the same.â¨And somehow, entirely different.
You wish you could know more about him. His story. Who he truly is beneath the smoke and heat and stitched skin. But you know better than to ask.
Youâre fine, you tell yourself. Youâre more than fine.â¨Youâve built something together, something you never thought was possible. You stick together, glued by the hip. He makes your heart warm, makes you feel like a silly schoolgirl crushing on the popular boyâ giddy and stupid and far too hopeful.
Heâs sketchy. That much hasnât changed.
Youâve watched him shift over time. Grow sharper and louder and bolder. The spite simmering inside him was always there, even back when he was quiet and awkward, eyes darting around like a cornered animal. Now he leaves without much warning, going places he tells you are none of your concern. Heâs not angry when he tells you off, just secretive.
âJust keepinâ my baby safe,â he says, brushing it off like itâs nothing.
He tells you he loves you. Says he loves his life. That heâs happy the way things are.
You believe him.â¨Or maybe you just want to.
But the summer keeps getting hotter, thicker, and you know, deep down, youâll suffocate by the time it ends.
Heâs always warm. Unnaturally so. Itâs a curse during the summer. Sleeping without holding each other is out of the question. One of you always ends up draped over the other. He doesnât mind itâ doesnât sweat (given his condition), doesnât complain, doesnât even seem affected by the heat.
You, on the other hand, wake up sticky and restless, his warmth bleeding into you, mixing with the suffocating air until it feels like too much. Like you canât breathe.
Youâve told him before to stop holding you.
He never listens.
âCâmon,â he murmurs sleepily when you squirm, âyouâre fine.â
Sweat doesnât bother him. At least not yours, as clichĂŠ as that sounds. His arm tightens around you anyway, possessive without meaning to be, chin tucked against your shoulder like thatâs where he belongs.
The nights are a suffering desertâ long and dry and relentless.â¨But the aftermath always makes up for it.
Cold showers, shared in silence. His hands steady on you, the steam curling around scarred skin and bare shoulders. The heat finally breaking, even if only for a moment.
He makes it all look so easy. All the secrets he keeps and deems irrelevant, all the differences between the two of you that he brushes off like they donât matterâ Dabi is no saint, and you know that. His anger scares you, even if itâs never aimed at you. Heâs spiteful and dangerous and youâve always known that, but your foolish heart thought that maybe a different perspective on the world would help him calm the anger, calm his heart, and maybe change the way he handles it.
And maybe it wouldâveâ if you at least knew as much as his real name.
Itâs fine, though. At least thatâs what you tell yourself. Heâs still your favourite person, and it would take a lot for you to stop loving him, if thatâs even possible at all, and youâre positive you know more about him than anyone else ever could.
You donât know his real name.â¨Or anything about his past.â¨Or anything about his family.
But you know that he loves soba, that he keeps an entire stock of them at home yet refuses to eat them every day, partly because you scold him for it and partly because heâs scared heâll get sick of it eventually.
You know that heâs good at deflecting, so good that sometimes you donât even realize heâs doing it until hours later. You know that he hates fish. You know that his hair needs a new dyeing session every month or so, that his piercings and staples need to be disinfected and cleaned regularlyâ lord forbid he ever gets an infection.
You know that he struggles to express himself properly, that words fail him more often than not, and you know about his strange, deep-rooted hatred towards Endeavour, even if you donât know where it truly stems from.
You know that after a hard day he likes to smoke by the fireplace after taking a shower with you, and that he loves seeing you in his clothes so much that you make a habit of wearing them at home whenever youâre not out training.
You also know that he doesnât like your training. Doesnât like heroes at all.
Still, youâre determined, just as stubborn as he is, and while you love him more than anything, you have a passion you refuse to break for the sake of his nerves. That, more often than not, is what leads to your arguments.
Sometimes theyâre quiet, filled with snarky remarks and sharp words that turn venomous even when you donât mean them to.â¨Sometimes theyâre outright loud and nasty, voices raised and tempers flaring, and he leaves with veins visible beneath scarred skin, nerves on edge, going for a walk with nothing but a pack of cigarettes.
He always comes home to you.
And if youâre the meaner one in the argument, he doesnât let you leave. He canât. He holds you even when you scream at him, tells you itâs okay to be mad at him but that you can do it while youâre with him. He interlaces your fingers and pulls you into bed, keeping you there, letting your rage simmer and burn itself out in silence.
In any other circumstances, with any other man, you wouldâve lost your cool completely. You wouldâve screamed louder, maybe even used your quirk just to get his filthy hands off of youâ but not with Dabi.
When this happens, he seems more afraid than mad. Of course he hides it well, because heâs good at deflecting, but youâve already figured it out on your own.
He has attachment issues, and heâs terrified that one day, youâll leave him too.
Still, arguments come and ago.
You donât know how long youâve been staring at him before you finally speak.
Heâs standing in the doorway of the bathroom, shirt half-unbuttoned, the smell of smoke still clinging to him, and thereâs something wrong in the way he wonât quite meet your eyes. Guilt, probably, because he already knows youâre going to hate what comes next and heâs bracing for it.
âYouâre bleeding,â you say eventually, because itâs easier than asking the real question.
He glances down at his knuckle and shrugs. âNot mine.â
Your stomach drops.
âYou said you were just going out,â you continue, voice eerily calm, âyou said youâd be back before midnight.â
âPlans changed.â
âWhose plans?â
That gets his attention. He looks at you now, snarl on display and irritated and it spikes your heart painfully.
âDonât start interrogating me,â he mutters, âIâm tired.â
âTired from what?â you ask, taking a step closer. âFrom hurting people?â
His jaw tightens. âYou donât know what youâre talking about.â
âThen explain it to me,â you snap. âbecause Iâm standing here looking at dried blood on your hands and you expect me to justâ whatâ pretend this is normal?â
He scoffs. âYou live with me. Nothing about me is normal.â
âThatâs not what I meant and you know it.â
Silence stretches, thick and suffocating, until finally he exhales through his nose like heâs lost patience with the entire conversation.
âI did a job,â he says. âit paid well, and for your information it fuckinâ mattered. I donât do useless jobs.â
I donât kill unless I need to, is what he means and you know it.
âMattered to who?â
âTo people who actually want shit to change.â
Your chest tightens. âYouâre serious.â
âDeadly.â
âYou hurt people,â your voice croaks, âyou hurt them and you donât see anything wrong with that?â
âHeroes,â he corrects flatly.
Your fist clenches, your own anger rising, âTheyâre still peopleâ you- you attacked them?â
âThey attacked first. Donât act like they didnât deserve it just because you want to be one.â
âThatâs notâ Dabi, thatâs not how this fucking works!â
âThatâs exactly how it works.â he snaps, temper flaring, âThey wear fancy costumes and suddenly theyâre allowed to burn cities to the ground as long as the news calls it collateral damage.â
âAnd killing them, what does that make you?â you shout, âBetter?â
His jaw clenches and he pushes past you, seemingly done with the argument. âAt least I donât pretend Iâm doing it for the public! Now quit it. I didnât come home for you to yowl around like an idiot. Go to sleep and get over it.â
Home. He calls this place his home.
You share a home with a murderer.
A shiver runs down your spine as you hold back tears, sniffling quietly instead.
Dabiâs not a murderer. Heâs your boyfriend.
But he kills on occasion and calls it a small step into changing the world.
âYouâre planning to be a villain,â you mutter, eyes following his form, âyouâre really choosing this.â
âYes,â shamelessly, he changes his clothing, throwing on something clean and maybe the sight wouldâve made you blush, but the shake of your body makes it hard. âI am.â
Your eyebrows furrow, heart racing harshly as you walk towards him, âIâm going to UA,â you fire back. âIâm going to teach. Iâm going to help kids learn control, responsibility, compassionââ
âCompassion,â he laughs bitterly. âThatâs rich.â
âYou think this is funny?â you scream. âYou think turning into everything you hate is funny? You- you told me you once wanted to be a heroâ!â
âOnce.â He spits with so much venom you think you have to step back.
âAnd I donât hate villains,â he growls, âI hate liars.â
âAnd heroes are liars now?â you snarl. âEvery single one of them?â
âEnough of them.â
Your heart is pounding so hard it hurts. âThat doesnât excuse anything Dabi and you know it.â He sends you a look, but you bare your teeth and glare at him. âYou hide behind that hatred as if it explains everything. As if it excuses everything you do and will do.â
His expression darkens. âCareful.â
âNo,â you say venomously, the words spilling out before you can stop them, âIâm tired of being careful around that name you wonât even explain. Endeavour this, Endeavour that, like heâs the devil himself and youâre the only one who sees it.â
The room goes very, very still, and you know youâve strung a nerve. Gone too far, maybe. But so has he.
âThe fuck did you jusâ say?â he asks quietly.
âYou heard me,â you press on, voice shaking because thereâs something building up in your throat, but you force yourself to keep talking, because if you donât get the words out now, you might as well never do so, âyou spit his name like itâs a sin, but you wonât tell me why. You wonât tell me what he did to you, or if he even did anything at all, and yet you expect me to just accept that heâs the reason the entire hero system deserves to burn.â
His breathing turns uneven.
âWatch your fucking tongue.â he warns.
You ignore him. âIs it because it hurts too much to admit youâre projecting? Because itâs easier to hate him than face the fact that youâre choosing violence?â
He says your name in a warning, puffing his chest as his eyes widen and his pupils stick to you like a predator to a prey.
You donât back down.
âYou want to tear everything down and you canât even tell me why!â you continue, tears streaming now, anger overriding fear, âAnd instead of dealing with it, letting me or anyone else help you, youâre becoming exactly what you claim ruined youââ you choke on your own voice, but spite fuels beneath you,
ââA dirty fucking liar.â
Thatâs what sets him off.
Thereâs no warning when he approaches you quickly, slams his fist into the wall beside your head, heat flaring instinctively, the plaster blackening instantly, and you flinch despite yourself.
âDonât you ever,â he roars, and you feel yourself becoming small under his gaze,âcompare me to a liar, or talk about him like you know anything of what heâs actually done!â
âYou wonât tell me!â you scream back. âYou shut me out and then punish me for not understanding!â
âYou wouldnât.â he spits, âYou couldnât.â
âTry me!â
âYouâd look at me differently,â he snaps.
âYouâre already giving me plenty of reasons to,â you sob.
He freezes, chest heaving, eyes wide like heâs just realized how close he is to losing you.
âYou donât mean that,â he says hoarsely.
âI donât know what I mean anymore,â you admit through tears. âI donât know how to love someone who wants to destroy the world Iâm trying to protect.â
âIâm not asking you to protect it,â his voice is desperate, maybe even scared, âIâm asking you to stay with me.â
âAnd do what?â you cry. âStand by while you hurt people? While you become a villain Iâll have to teach my students about someday?â
He grabs you then, hands shaking, pulling you against him hard enough that it hurts, like if he loosens his grip youâll disappear.
âDonât leave,â he pleads, voice cracking despite himself, âyou can hate what I do. You can scream at me. Just donât leave.â
You pound weakly against his chest, tears soaking through his shirt. âThis isnât fair, Dabi.â
âI know,â he admits, holding you tighter.
I know, he said, but he forces you down onto the bed, not rough but insistent, caging you in with his body, arms wrapped around you as you cry and shake and rethink everything you thought you knew.
He doesnât apologize.â¨He doesnât promise to stop.â¨And he doesnât let you go.
And somewhere between your sobs and his desperate grip, you realize this argument didnât change anything at allâ that in the morning youâll be back to kissing and cuddling and smoking together, and soon enough youâll just argue again, over and over.
The summer heat is getting worse, and itâs already suffocating you as it is, still, youâre too afraid to let go.
Itâs not like heâs a bad guy. To you, at least. Heâs a gentleman like he claims to be, sometimes he does things that resemble scenes straight out of a movie, and you have to hold back a giggle as you kiss down his throat.
âThereâs a beach,â he says, casually as he sits on the couch, ânobody goes there.â
You glance at him. âWhy not?â
He shrugs. âToo empty. People donât like abandoned places.â
You donât say the obviousâ that people also donât like staring at scars, or staples, or the way strangers tend to flinch when his form comes to view. You just nod, grab a towel, and let him drive.
The road stretches out endlessly, windows down, salt already clinging to the air by the time you arrive. The beach really is empty, pale sand untouched except for wind-swept patterns and some trash lying here and there.
He kicks off his boots, rolls his pants up carelessly, scars fully visible and unhidden, and smirks at you to follow him.
You do.
The waters cold on your bare skinâ youâre both equally undressed, you in your bikini and him with his rolled up pants and shirtless, still, heâs got the advantage of his quirk by his side. You shiver, teeth clacking as you glare at him.
He grins.
You know what he wants. He wants to hear you ask him in that meek voice of yours, if you can cuddle into him for some warmth.
But youâve already decided that the second you step a foot into the water, youâre declaring war on him.
You mean to just splash him, just a little, just enough to wipe that grin off his face, but the second the cold hits his chest, spills up to his neck and brushes against his jawline, he flinches, eyes widening before narrowing with that familiar, dangerous glint, you know youâve made a mistake.
âOh, youâre fucked,â he says, already moving.
âDonât you dare,â you warn, backing up, feet slipping slightly in the sand beneath the shallow water.
He doesnât listen. He never does.
He lunges, water exploding around you as you shriek, laughing and screaming when his hands grab your waist and you nearly choke on a mouthful of seawater.
âDabiâ! fuckâ stopâ!â you cough, spluttering as he hauls you closer, your arms flailing uselessly as you try to push him away.
âLanguage,â he mocks, even as heâs laughing himself, breathless and loud and unrestrained, nothing like the man who came home angry and bloodied.
âYou started it!â you yell, kicking water at him, successfully soaking his face this time.
He sputters, scrunching his nose and you resist to kiss him.
Before you can react, he lifts you clean off the ground, arms locked around your thighs, and you scream bloody murder, clutching at his shoulders as the water drips off you both.
âPut me down, you absolute asshole!â you shout, laughing so hard your stomach hurts. âI swear toââ
âWhat?â he grins up at you, teeth on display, âYou gonna arrest me, hero?â
âS-shut up,â you wheeze, pounding weakly against his shoulders as he spins you slightly just to make you yelp louder.
âYou love me,â he corrects.
âRight now? Debatable!â
He dumps you back into the water without warning, and you go under with a surprised scream, resurfacing coughing and sputtering, hair plastered to your face as you flip him off instinctively.
âFuck you!â
He laughs, snorting and looking too proud of himself, âThere she is.â
You donât even think before launching yourself at him, both of you going down in a tangle of limbs and seawater, laughing and swearing and trying to get leverage on wet sand that refuses to cooperate.
âStop- being- an- asshole!â you gasp, coughing as another wave hits you in the face.
âWhereâs the fun in that?â He chuckles, âY-you look ridiculousâ!â
âOh, youâre one to talkââ You grab into his shoulders and yank him down, kissing him hard and sudden, salt and teeth and laughter mixing together.
He freezes for half a second, surprised, before kissing you back just as fiercely, hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as if grounding himself there.
You pull back only long enough to breathe.
âShut up,â he murmurs before you can think of a teasing remark, kissing you again, softer this time but just as needy, tongue prodding at your lips for permission.
Another wave crashes into you both and you break apart coughing, groaning, laughing all over again.
âCeasefire?â you smile innocently, pressing a kiss on his cheek.
You shouldâve known better though. Dabi is one to hold a grudge.
âNope,â he sing-songs, hauling over his shoulder.
âDabi!â you shriek, slapping his back. âPut me down right now!â
âNope.â He repeats, like the asshole he is.
âI will bite you!â
âThreatening me with a good time?â
You squirm uselessly as he carries you further up the shore, both of you soaked and breathless, sand sticking to your skin, your laughter echoing embarrassingly loud in the empty space around you.
He finally sets you down, but only so he can pull you back in immediately, arms wrapping around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder as you tryâ and failâ to catch your breath.
âIdiot,â you mutter, leaning back into him despite yourself.
âTakes one to love one,â he replies, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your neck, then another, then one just below your ear that makes you shiver.
âHey,â you warn weakly, though you tilt your head to give him better access anyway.
He hums, satisfied, spinning you around so youâre facing him again, hands still warm and steady on your waist. He looks flushed, hair a mess, scars stark against damp skin, and for a moment you think you could forget about everything else.
âYou okay?â he asks quietly, just for you.
You nod. âYeah. Are you?â
He shrugs, then leans in to press his forehead against yours. âBetter.â
You kiss him again, slower this time, lingering and affectionate, fingers threading into his hair as he sighs into your mouth like heâs been holding his breath all day.
He steals another kiss. And another. And another, laughing softly between each one when he chases you shamelessly, refusing to let you pull away for long.
âYouâre clingy,â you tease.
âDonât care.â
The wind picks up slightly, cool against your damp skin, and he pulls you closer.
You wishâ quietly, selfishlyâ that the world would let you stay like this. Loud and idiotic and young in love. Laughing too hard and kissing too much and swearing at each other over nothing at all. You wish you could love him without fear, without conditions, without having to choose who you are when the tide eventually pulls you back to shore.
But the summers almost over, and youâve already made your decision.
Itâs not easy. Leaving him isnât easy. Physically and mentally and emotionally and in every other fucking sense.
Letting go of him is painful. If he actually was a summer flingâ one that lasted way too many years, way too many summers, then he was addictive. An obsession, maybe.
You didnât want to do it. You wished there had been another wayâ really. But the mere thought of loving a man who killed and was the opposite of all of your morals was sickening. He was sickening.
Heâs sick in the head. Youâve known that, you were just too foolish to believe you could change him.
You donât even know his name.
You always knew he would never let you leave.
Just the way he held you when you tried to step outside during an argument, arms wrapped tight around your waist, chin pressed into your shoulder, voice low and coaxing as he murmured that you could be mad at him here, that you didnât have to go anywhere, that whatever you were feeling would pass faster if you stayed.
And it always worked.
Youâd go limp against him eventually, breath syncing with his, anger dissolving into exhaustion, because being held was easier than being strong, and because some part of you understoodâ without ever saying it out loudâ that if you pushed harder, if you really tried to leave, he wouldnât know how to survive it. Nor would you.
So you stopped trying.
Until you couldnât.
You donât tell him about UA when the email comes in.
You donât tell him when you accept.
You donât tell him when you pack a bag and hide it at the back of the closet, or when you call the car hours in advance and memorize the way the confirmation screen looks so you wonât have to check it again.
You donât tell him because you love him, and because you know that love is the very thing he would use to keep you.
The night you leave, you make dinner like nothing is wrong.
You laugh when he moans about the food, lean across the table to steal his cigarette just to make him scowl, kiss the corner of his mouth when he pretends youâre being clingy. You are careful, soft, gentle in a way heâs never been treated, because you know this will be the last time youâre allowed to touch him without resistance.
Later, when you push him down onto the mattress, your stomach coils and you push the nauseating feeling down.
You donât want to do this.
He blinks up at you, surprised, amused, suspicion dulled by familiarity, âOh? Whatâs this?â he murmurs, hands already settling at your hips like muscle memory.
âShh,â you whisper, smiling softly as you straddle him, palms warm against his chest, skin scarred and solid and achingly familiar beneath your hands. âJust let me.â
He lets you.
Thatâs the thing that nearly ruins everythingâ that he trusts you enough to go still beneath your weight, to tilt his head back and close his eyes as you kiss along his jaw, his throat, your mouth lingering like youâre memorizing him.
It makes you sick.
Misusing his trust like this.
It makes you want to kick yourself. You should be ashamed, you are, for what youâre doing in order to rid of him. For coaxing him and making it so fucking difficult.
You donât want to do this.
You love him. You love him so much it fucking hurts. Itâs not fair. You shouldnât do this, maybe, maybe youâll survive a few more arguments then and there, maybe itâs okay.
But then you remember, that youâre a hero and heâs a villain and he hurts those you try to save, and suddenly youâre thrown back into reality.
You want to puke. Say what you want, youâre just as sick as he is, simply alone for doing this.
You kiss him slowly, staggering back your breath because it fucking hurts.
You donât want to do this.
You donât want to do this like itâs the last time you ever willâ because it is.
But you do it anyway, because you want to steal as much as you want from him. You want to be selfish and bury your tongue into his throat, and you do. He moans, kissing you back just as hard, fingers digging into your skin as you part from him and kiss all over him instead. He chokes back a laugh, because youâre desperate, and quick and passionate at the same time.
Your quirk stirs before you consciously tell it to.
The windows slide open one by one, curtains lifting as the night air pours in, cool and harsh, wrapping around your skin. He notices then, eyes opening, brow furrowing slightly.
âYou didnât tell me you could do that,â he says.
You smile again, thumb brushing over the staple lines at his collarbone. âI know.â
You kiss him once more, letting one, pathetic little sob escape before you rest your forehead against his.
âIâm leaving,â you whisper.
He stills.
It takes a while, like heâs processing what you just said. He stares at you, completely overtaken by shock to notice your quirk working on him. Air and pressure sneaking on his form.
â..What,â he says finally.
âI got accepted into UA,â you continue, voice trembling despite everything, âIâm leaving tonight.â
The silence that follows is violent.
His hands tighten at your hips. âYouâre not funny,â he says. âGet off me.â
You donât.
Instead, you inhaleâ and push.
The air shifts, pressure blooming outward and then downward, invisible but undeniable, pinning him into the mattress with a weight that makes his breath hitch. His eyes snap wide open, confusion giving way to something sharp and dangerous.
âWhat the fuck are you doing,â he snarls, flames flickering weakly along his hands before sputtering out under the force.
âIâm sorry,â you whisper, and you mean it more than anything youâve ever said. âI knew youâd never let me go.â
âYou donât get to decide that,â he growls, trying to sit up, muscles straining uselessly against the wind pressing him down. âYou think this is it? You think this fixes anythingâ? Hey, donât you fuckinâ dareââ
You stand, stepping back, the pressure increasing just enough to keep him where he is. Your hands shake as you grab your bag from the corner, the one heâs never seen before.
âYou planned this.â he realizes, horror bleeding into his fury, âYou planned this behind my back.â
âI had to,â you say. âYou donât listen when I say I need space. You donât listen when I say Iâm leaving. You hold me tighter.â
âThatâs because you belong with me,â he snaps. âYou think some schoolâs gonna keep you safer than I do?â
âI donât want to be safe like this!â you cry. âI donât want to be loved like Iâm something youâre afraid to lose control of.â
He laughs then, and the sound pangs against your heart, makes your insides run cold, âSo youâre just gonna pin me down and run? Thatâs who you are now?â
You shoulder the bag, tears blurring your vision as you snarl, âIâm choosing who I was before you.â
He roars your name, fire flaring uselessly as the air crushes it out, veins standing out in his neck as he struggles against something he canât see or fight.
âYou walk out that door,â he spits, âand donât ever come back.â
âI wonât,â you say softly.
His heart sinks then, because he didnât think you would actually go along with it.
And Dabi feels something he never thought would feel again.
He feels the need to beg. Beg and apologize and cry and tell you to stay here because he doesnât want you gone.
But Dabiâs a coward, and he wonât beg. Or at least, he doesnât in the moment when he stares at you, separating yourself from him. His jaw hangs open and thereâs a pressure on his eyeducts and he realizes if he could cry, he would right now.
You leave, and he weakly, pathetically croaks out your name. But itâs too late.
You release the pressure only once youâre at the doorâ just enough to run.
The night air hits you like freedom and grief all at once.
The car is already there.
And behind you, inside the apartment, something shatters loudly.
Fuck.
You donât look back.
You canât.
The change had felt like the end of the world.
Which, in some ways, it was. For you, at least.
You live in the dorms now.
After the USJ incident, it stopped being optionalâ students, teachers, substitutes, anyone even remotely connected to hero education were ordered to stay on campus, because UA was fortified, guarded, constantly monitored in ways no apartment building could ever be. Before that, youâd been staying in a small apartment you bought on a whim, furnished poorly and lived in worse, but even then youâd known it wasnât permanent. Dabi could have found you if he wanted to.
Not that he would have hurt you.
That was the cruelest partâ knowing, even now, that he never would have.
Still, distance mattered.
And even with all that logic stacked neatly in your head, you still spent too many nights crying over him.
Ugly, body-wracking sobs that left your chest sore and your throat raw, face buried in your pillow so no one in the neighboring rooms would hear you fall apart over a man you were never supposed to love in the first place. You cried over the way he laughed when you annoyed him, the weight of his arm draped over your waist when he slept, the way he always knew when you were about to bolt and held you just tightly enough to keep you there.
You cried because you missed him.
Because you were just as fucking obsessed, just as dependent, and no amount of self-awareness or reframing or internal lectures about morality could change the fact that he had been your home for years. You cried because you hated yourself for missing someone who represented everything you were now actively fighting against.
Some nights, the grief turned into anger.
Anger at himâ for never letting you breathe, for loving you like possession, for making you choose between yourself and him. Anger at yourselfâ for not leaving sooner, for loving him so deeply it still hurt like this. Anger at UA, at heroes, at the world for being so sharply divided that there was no space where both of you could exist.
Other nights, it turned into nothing at all.
Just emptiness.
You stopped eating properly for a while. Stopped answering messages unless they were work-related. You went to class, taught, nodded when spoken to, smiled when expected, and then went back to your room and lay on the floor staring at the ceiling until exhaustion took you. Depression settled over you like a fog that refused to leave.
You felt like you were mourning someone who wasnât dead, which somehow made it worse. Day by day, the nausea returned, and the feeling of having done something bad was as persistent as ever.
By the time you were officially brought on as a substitute for the hero course, you were drained.
Before USJ, youâd mostly substituted general education classes such as ethics, quirk theory, safety regulationsâ but after Aizawa was injured, you were suddenly pulled into something much closer to the core of hero work. Assisting, observing, stepping in when he physically couldnât.
Aizawa hadnât been happy about an assistant, or a substitute. Heâd told you, flatly, that he was very much capable of teaching his class on his own.
Youâd wanted to point out that he now had a scar that made the use of his quirk a lot harder, and that between grading tests and making sure his students suffered, he also had to catch up on his sleep.
Youâd made it a habit of asking him if you should take over the last few hours of the day so he could get some rest, and surprisingly, after about a month of working alongside him, heâd stopped refusing.
So you got the evening shift.
By then, the kids were exhausted anyway, nerves fried and bodies sore, so you tried to make it lighter for them, something they could breathe through rather than endure.
You guess thatâs why they liked youâ well, everyone except the angry blonde and the nonchalant candy cone.
Still, the latter always caught your attention more than any amount of yelling ever could.
Todoroki Shoto is quiet. His posture is always straight, his expression neutral, but his eyes miss very little. His hair is split neatly, white on his right, red on his left, like a clean line drawn through his existence. Aizawa had mentioned, once, offhandedly, that Todoroki refused to use his left side for personal reasons.
But itâs his eyes that linger with you. Or ratherâ his eye.
The stark teal blue of his right eye feels too familiar when it meets yours. Too precise and unsettling.
You care about him, even if he barely speaks.
After lessons end, he usually retreats to the dorms immediately. Some students linger in the common areas, watching movies or talking gossip. Sometimes Todoroki is there. Sometimes he isnât.
Tonight, though, itâs not you finding him.
Itâs him who finds youâ standing just outside the main gate, cigarette between your fingers, breaking at least three rules you signed on your contract.
You donât ask what a first-year is doing past curfew outside the main gate, just let him slowly join you as the windâs breeze hits your skin.
He watches you smoke.
âItâs not healthy for you,â he says.
You snort softly. No shit.
But thereâs no judgment in his voice. Just an observation, stated the same way heâd comment on fighting techniques.
You hum in response and glance at him, only to find his eyes already on you.
âIf Iâm unwelcome,â he says after a moment, âtell me. I just.. wanted to ask you something.â
That alone is enough to surprise you. Todoroki doesnât seek people out. He doesnât ask questions unless they matter.
âYouâre not,â you say, âgo ahead.â
He doesnât hesitate. âYouâre always looking at me. Why?â
The question hits harder than you expect.
Your eyes widen slightly, heat rushing to your cheeks before you can stop it. You hadnât realized it was obvious. You hadnât realized you were doing it at all.
A nervous laugh escapes you. He doesnât look offended, rather curious.
âIâ sorry,â you admit. âYou just remind me of someone. Itâs strange.â
He nods once, accepting that answer without pushing, and turns his gaze forward, toward the empty street beyond the gate. You take another drag from your cigarette, lungs burning and you think itâs fully deserved.
âWhy do you smoke?â he asks.
You blink. âYouâre full of questions tonight.â
Youâre met with silence as he waits for the answer. Ah, ever the conversationist.
âI picked it up a while ago,â you reply finally, âbad habit.â
âFrom that someone?â
Your eyebrows furrow. âHuh?â
âThat someone you mentioned,â he clarifies. âdid you pick it up from them?â
A breathy laugh escapes you as you nod, trying to ignore the small shatter in your heart.
Silence settles comfortably, and itâs finally your turn to start a conversation.
âYou donât like going home, do you?â
Of course, you couldnât forget the fact that Todoroki was Endeavorâs son. The very man your lover despised with all the hate in his body.
Itâs weirdâ having this connection with him now, when just a few months ago youâd stroked Dabiâs inky black hair, kissed his forehead as you listened to him ramble about how he wanted to destroy that man. You had nodded, told him to go on, coaxed him into letting you inâ
You never found out where that hatred stemmed from.
Now, you canât help the concern creeping up. Dabi wanted to hurt him. And he was Todorokiâs father. You couldnât let Dabi do such a thingâ
âI donât,â Todoroki says quietly,
âI hate my father.â
Your breath catches.
âOh,â you say, because you donât know what else to say.
He grunts, the same way Dabi used to when he got sick of talking about Endeavor. Once again, memories and feelings mix together, and a pang of recognition hits your heart.
âHeâs a monster,â Todoroki says flatly. âHeâs not niceâ to me or to my siblings. I prefer being away. Now that we have dorms, he wonât stop calling me. He constantly wants to see me using my left side.â
His left side resembles Endeavorâs quirk, and he refuses to use it in spite of.. him?
Once again, another thing unites Todoroki and Dabiâ their hatred towards Endeavor.
âI prefer being here,â he adds. âNow that we have dorms, I donât have to see him as much. But he calls. A lot.â
Your chest tightens.
âIâm sorry,â you say. âBut you shouldnât limit yourself just to oppose him. That still gives him control.â
âBut thatâs what he wants,â Todoroki replies. âMe at my full power.â
âYes.â You donât deny it, you wouldnât want to lie to him, âbut what do you want?â you ask gently. âDo you want to be a hero to spite himâ or because you want to save people?â
He inhales sharply, like the thought hadnât fully formed until now.
â..Midoriya said me something similar.â
You smile faintly. âHe does that.â
After a long moment, Todoroki nods. âIâll think about it.â
âThatâs all anyone can ask.â
You hesitate, âWould it be okay if I called you Shoto?â It is his hero name, after all. Still, you think it might be better than calling him the name that connects him to his father.
He blinks, surprised, yet not displeased.
â..Iâd like that,â he says.
Your cigarette crumbles in peace, and you take one last drag before letting it fall to the ground and stomping it out.
âYâknow, Shoto,â you hum, the name new on your tongue, âthat someone I mentioned could gladly be your brother if I think about it. He may look different, but he wasnât that fond of Endeavor, either.â
âI do have a brother,â Shoto nods. âI used to have two, though.â
Your head perks up, a frown evident on your face.
He takes it as a sign to continue. âHe.. died. I barely talked to him. I donât even know his favorite food.â His expression hardens, âHe died when he was thirteen. I blame my father for his death. We all doââ he gulps, composing his posture as if that could hide the croak of his voice, âIf he hadnâtâ hadnât pushed this farâ Touya wouldâveâ he wouldâve been here andââ
Your frown deepens as Shotoâs breathing picks up. His hand comes up to wipe over his eyes, and you canât help the pain that shoots through your heart. Before you know it, youâre pulling him toward you into a hug.
He stiffens at first, startled, then, as if giving in, he rests his forehead against your shoulder.
âIâm sorry, Shoto,â you whisper.
He doesnât respond. But he doesnât pull away either.
The name Touya echoes in your head for the rest of the night, and instinctively, you hug your pillow closer, wishing a certain someone would be here to warm you up.
Eraserhead (or Aizawa, as heâd already demanded you to call him in private) is a strict man. Honestly, youâre lucky he wasnât the one who caught you smoking.
Still, just like Shoto, itâs Aizawa who follows you once again.
Seriously, what is it with people following you?
The teachers lounge is huge, and definitely a comfortable space to loiter in, but Aizawa wouldnât step foot in here if he had the option to sleep instead of grade tests. Thatâs why it surprises you to see him there in the middle of the night, standing a few feet behind you, watching silently as you scroll through recent reports on villain activity.
Youâre relieved when you confirm there havenât been any burn victims in the past few weeks.
âYou searching for something specific?â
Someone specific, is what he truly means but refuses to voice it.
You startle at his grumble, glancing over your shoulder to find him already looking at your screen. You bite your lip before sighing.
âNo.â
You scroll through a few more tabs aimlessly, nothing catching your interest. Youâre painfully aware that he doesnât believe you, but he also isnât the type to force an answer out of someone unless itâs absolutely necessary.
âWhoeverâs on your mind, I hope theyâre not a distraction. Or dangerous.â
Or he is. Whatever.
âWhatâ ?!â You spin slightly in your chair. âIâ I donât have anyone on my mind, and they certainly wouldnât be a distraction to my job!â
He notes the way you completely ignore the dangerous part. His eyes narrow just a fraction and you notice your own slip up, pursing your lips and shrinking back towards the screen.
âIâm.. sorry, Aizawa..â you mutter, then clear your throat. âWhyâ umâ why would you think Iâd have someone?â
âJust a hunch,â he replies, âseems I wasnât wrong.â
You roll your eyes, resting your chin on your propped-up arm.
âDick move, bro.â
âLanguage.â
You snort despite yourself, the tension easing just a bit. Youâre not obligated to tell him anything unless it involves illegal activity or something that could endanger the students.
âŚ.Which, in your case, technically applies to both, but stillâ thatâs between you and your conscience.
âDonât get into any trouble,â the man continues, âThe students like you. I donât want to deal with them whining if you accidentally do something stupid.â
You smile softly, even if the wording stings and part of you would really like to punch him in the face. You know this is the closest thing to Iâm worried about you youâll ever get from him.
âI wonât, Erasâ Aizawa.â
He hums in acknowledgment, already turning away.
âAnd you should start being stricter,â he adds, âYouâre too soft on them. Itâll go to their heads.â
âTheyâll need it if theyâve got you as a teacher.â
A pause.
â..Goodnight.â
Heâs not meant to be watching you, thatâs for sure. Breaking things off only works if you actually try to break them off, and heâs doing anything but that.
Heâs long stopped denying itâ that he doesnât care about you and that heâs only watching to witness your downfall, to find you lying dead in some alleyway and spit on your disgusting, half-dead self. It wouldnât even be new of him to think like this. Youâve already seen glimpses of his mind before, when he talked about people he didnât like, when he gave you painfully detailed descriptions of how heâd burn someoneâs flesh and make them suffer. Heâs always wondered if you were just as insane, simply for staying with him.
Still, the simple imagination of you being in any kind of pain makes something in his chest clench painfully, and he finds himself forcing the thought away instead of leaning into it.
He watches you walk with that stupid fucking frown on your face, groceries hanging off your shoulder. He thinks you look ridiculous, nothing like the woman who used to seduce him into bed almost daily. You look like a mess, and worse, you look vulnerable, and he bets you donât even notice the men eyeing you, probably imagining getting into your pants.
Well, get this, idiotsâ heâs been there. And itâs probably the best place heâs ever been in. He wonât ever admit that second part, obviously. Still, he feels a twisted sort of pride watching them deflate when you ignore them completely.
You walk like youâre carrying the worldâs problems on your shoulders.
He thinks itâs stupid. You donât have shit to worry aboutâ not like him, who has to constantly stalk your pitiful ass because he doesnât want to find you dead in an alleyway.
He wants to catch you himself and make you suffer for what you did.
(But deep down, he knows he wouldnât. And it pisses him off to no end, because itâs you who softened him into a fucking idiot.)
He doesnât have much to do these days. Just a few days ago, a man came and offered him a place in a newly formed league. Heâs thought about joiningâ because having allies is smarter than being alone, even with Dabiâs ego. Heâll play it carefully. Thereâs no way he stands a real chance against Endeavour on his own anymore.
But lately, his thoughts havenât been about Endeavour at all.
Theyâve been about you. About the future. About what heâs actually chasing.
Heâs not sure if simple revenge will be enough to fill the rest of his miserable, probably short life.
Which is strange, because revenge has been his only motivation ever since he crawled back from the dead.
Lately, Dabiâs been having dreams.
Dreams where he wakes up beside you againâ but this time, neither of you is in danger. In those dreams, he isnât a villain. He realizes it the moment he pulls you closer and chuckles at your soft snores. Sometimes you make him coffee and kiss all over his skin, and he promises to marry you and do nasty, nasty things to you that he only ever allows himself to dream about.
He thinks he could live with that.
He was never made to be domesticated or some stay-at-home manâ he still needs action, still needs fireâ but beyond that, he longs for what he keeps seeing when he sleeps.
He watches you and feels something snap in his nerves when he sees you talking to other people. It shouldâve been him. But he ruined it.
He finds himself imagining killing these so-called teachers instead, because thereâs no reason to be smiling and laughing that fucking much when they talk to you. Youâre not even that funny. Youâre only funny to himâ and thatâs because he knew you long before they ever did.
He accepts the offer to the league nevertheless.
Youâre not here to stop him, and he canât truly get you back. He realizes that when you move into the dorms and heâs forced to see you even less now.
(He still watches you nevertheless. The windows of the UA building will do, and luckily youâre often out for a smoke aswell).
The camping trip was sudden. A surprise, really, and a strangely pleasant one at that.
You werenât supposed to come. You were just the evening teacher, Aizawaâs substitute, the extra adult who stepped in when he physically couldnât. But the kids insisted, loud and stubborn and too fucking good at convincing. Nezu had agreed, heâd meant your quirk would benefit from open space, from air that wasnât cramped in the buildings of the school. Wind needed room to move. Forests were better than cities for that.
He wasnât wrong.
Unfortunately for you, you were a city person through and through. You liked noise. Structure. People around you. Still, even you had to admit that a change of environment every now and then was necessary. Healthy, even.
During the bus ride, you tried to stay awake, but somewhere between all the exhaustion and yelling about snacks and Mineta being escorted three seats away from the girls, your eyes closed. You only realize where you leaned when you wake up to fabric and warmth instead of glass.
Aizawaâs shoulder.
You stiffen for half a second, then decide you donât have the energy to deal with it and let yourself stay there. The man is a chronic insomniac, permanently exhausted, and yet somehow he doesnât move. He just sits there, arms crossed, glaring at anyone who dares speak above a whisper.
Anyone who teases him gets shut down immediately.
You wake when the bus halts, your neck stiff and your brain slow to catch up.
âYou and Aizawa, huh?â
Seroâs voice cuts through the haze immediately.
You barely have time to process it before Aizawa shoots him a look that even manages to shiver you, and you look away uncomfortably.
The kids are ushered off the bus and made to walk the rest of the way, complaining loudly. You and the other teachers get driven in, and by the time you arrive at camp, everything smells like dirt and pine and impending chaos.
The first evening is surprisingly normal.
Bakugo is cooking.
Well. âCooking.â
Heâs standing aggressively over a pot, sleeves rolled up, surprisingly decent at making food but also at screaming.
âI swear to god if you touch thisââ
âIt smells good!â Kirishima chirps, and Bakugo softens slightly. Over the time, youâve learned that the blonde had managed to get himself some friends, well, allies as he calls them, and Kirishima was one of the few people he actually respected to a certain extent.
Said angry boy pauses, scowling, â..Itâs supposed to.â
You watch from a distance, feeling mildly amused by his change in attitude.
âHeâs gonna be a househusband one day,â
Aizawa hums noncommittally beside you, and you take that as a hum of agreement.
The sudden attack, or rather, the kidnapping, throws the entire camp into chaos.
Before you can even process it, two students are in danger of being taken, the clearing reduced to a battlefield crawling with the so-called League.
As a hero (and more than that, their teacher, their caretaker) you donât hesitate. You move on instinct alone. Somewhere behind you, Aizawa is shouting your name, barking orders for you to stay back, to think, reminding you that your quirk is built for destruction, not defense, that it leaves you wide open.
You ignore him.
You donât play around when it comes to your kids.
Midoriya, shaken and barely steady on his feet, manages to choke out that Tokoyami and Bakugo were marbled, taken by the masked man calling himself Compress. You donât waste time responding. You just nod and go, your quirk already roaring to life.
Itâs ugly. Violent. The ground tears itself apart beneath you, dirt and debris exploding outward in a blinding wave that forces villains to shield their eyes. You snarlâ
âand hands grab you. Portals bloom around you, warped and dark, purple-black edges snapping open midair. You grit your teeth, pour everything into your quirk, and blast yourself free, launching straight at the masked man.
ââ?!â
Compress yelps as you reach for the marbles.
He lunges for you, fingers stretching outâ trying to marble you too, but you twist away, sweep his legs out from under him, and send him crashing down.
His mask slips, clattering to the ground, and a marble spills free from his mouth.
Your breath catches.â¨Oh.
You scoop up every marble you can see and shove them into the hands of the nearest ally just as Compress recovers. Too fast. He slams you down hardâ
Hands everywhere. Voices overlapping. Shouting, swearing, someone screaming your name. Youâre grabbed, yanked, dragged in opposite directions, overwhelmed and outnumbered. Your chest tightens. You bare your teeth, power surgingâ
âsudden warmth.
Hands close around you, solid and burning hot, and your body locks up.
You know these hands.â¨You know this heat.
Youâre ripped free from the crowd and pulled back, hard, until your spine hits a chest far too warm to be anyone elseâs. The chaos fades behind you. Itâs just himâ real and anchoring you to the place.
His breath ghosts over your neck.
âWhat the hell are you thinking?â he snarls. âYou got a death wish now?â
You thrash, kick back on instinct, tears stinging your eyes as everything crashes in at once. He hisses when your foot clips his shin.
âKnock it off,â he snaps, grip tightening. âIâm not in the mood.â
âI donât needââ you choke, voice breaking, ââyour help!â
A low scoff vibrates against your back. âYeah? Couldâve fooled me.â
You sniff hard, furious, hurt. âFuck offâ!â
He glances up and locks eyes with the now unmasked man. Something unspoken passes between them, and you shiver at the way his eyes hold a certain glint.
Your stomach drops.
A marble comes flying straight at you.
And thereâs nothing more you want to do than kick Dabi where the sun doesnât shine.
Youâve never had high dreams. In a world full of evil and villains in hero capes, so much as peace would never exist. To a certain degree, you did understand Dabi.
What actually drove you away from him had to be the fact that he was ready and willing to kill those he claims are suffering under fake hero influence, when he could do so much more. It never sat right to you, and still, you stayed for him. You stayed with him.
Your mother had always said you were a stubborn one, and got attached easily.
Well look at where that got you.
If she were to know youâd hooked up with a villain, much less Dabiâ a pierced, burnt freak that quite literally screamed âdangerâ, sheâd take your ass to a psychiatrist and pay them to keep you there for the rest of your miserable life.
Luckily, the life of a pro hero and a teacher meant less contact with your loved ones.
Also, the fact that you were tied up in some kind of hideout, wrists bound behind a chair and your ankles secured to the legs.
âYou try anything and Iâll decay you to a crisp.â
A rough, raspy voice filled your ears, and you grunt in acknowledgment.
Dangerous quirk. Dust guy threatening you. Okay, you could work with that.
âSo. Youâre the reason we lost the UA brat. But I guess thatâs fine, your quirkâs powerful too.â
Memories overlapped each other as you processed his words, groaning because a headache had crawled up and devoured your brain. Just what had happened?
Youâd been at the campâ an attack, right. Two students.. Bakugo. Heâd been marbled but youâ
ââapparently youâre aware of the false hero society, so thereâs a higher chance youâll understand us.â
Seriously?
âDih..whut..â
âWhat?â
âIt seems like sheâs trying to say something,â another voice says, amused, âlet me sober her up.â
A sudden cold splash to your face made you cough out, eyes wide as the ice ran down your collarbone. The smell of damp air hits you right after.
âYou dickwads!â
âAh.â
âAw, donât toy with the little thing,â a sing-song voice coos from somewhere to your side. âSheâs exhausted.â
Your head snaps toward the sound despite the ropes. Youâre much too exhausted to curse and threaten, but you hope your glare does you right.
You can hear chuckling, a girlish giggle as well, some mumbling and indirect talking about you which you chose to ignore.
âAh. Great. Another fucking brat,â the raspy hand guy drawls, but your heads too fogged to think of his name. Though, youâre pretty sure you knowâ he lead the USJ attack, didnât he?
You lean back, throat at full view as your head does a full 180 in order to ease the cramps.
Though, leaning back you catch a figure staring a you. Heâs upside down, and you should be way out of it to even recognize him, but your heart does you wrong and you freeze.
Burns. Staples. Black hair.
He looks smug. You want to kill him.
A fury shoots up as you jerk in the ropes, hopeless to actually escape.
âFeels familiar, doll?â
âYou two know each other?â the raspy voice asks.
âSomething like that.â
âIs that what it is?â you snap, ââyou trynna get back at me?!â
âNo,â he-who-shall-not-be-named says easily, âbut itâs definitely one hell of a nice bonus.â
Yeah. Youâre lucky your mother had no idea about him, or the situation youâre in right now.
You might just become a villain yourself, less than hesitant to blow this place up.
âI take it she wonât cooperate, then?â The masked man, Compress, chimes in. The silence that follows is an answer itself, and he continues, âWell, that does make keeping her rather pointless, doesnât it?â
âDonât say that like youâre willing to kill her, Compress. Look at that beautiful face!â Itâs the redhead from earlier, the charming voice that had stood to your defense.
You scoff, you donât need someone babying you down.
âDonâ talk about me like âm not here you shits..â you slur, nose twitching as you lean forward.
The pale haired man stops pacing like a distressed father, yet his hand continues scratching his abused neck, âYouâre not in the position to talk.â he spits, âWe want you alive. That doesnât mean we have to keep you comfortable, though.â
âIâm. not. joining.â You repeat slower, in hopes the toddler antic might get to his head.
Maybe it angered him further, which honestly hadnât been your goal but itâs satisfying to see nevertheless.
A sudden mist you hadnât noticed, the accomplice at the USJ incident, speaks calmly, âThen we cannot keep you long-term.â
Even though you knew it was coming, your stomach drops. Just a little. Death is never something anyone could take with little to no panic.
âThatâs fine. Kill me, then.â
âThatâs boring.â A blonde girl giggles, looking far too young to be here, âAnd wasteful.â
Thereâs a moment where you blackout, a loud ringing in your ears as you groan, squirming as if it could get rid of the issue. Movement happens in the background, voices overlap and you canât tell if everyoneâs staring at you or youâre hallucinating.
He stops in front of you, eyes dull with boredom as he tilts your chin up.
âStill doing this?â He mumbles, low enough to make you shiver. With this, you can only assume he means the whole resisting-his-ideology thing. You can only roll your eyes, given youâre too faded for anything else.
âStubborn as always. Guess I shouldâve expected this, even if youâre held at gunpoint.â He snickers, âLiterally.â
His thumb settles at the corner of your mouth, and you take the opportunity to deliver a harsh, well-deserved bite.
The pain strikes, but he doesnât pull away. He barely flinches, smiling stupidly as his thumb rests between your lips and blood suckers into your tongue. You sneer as the tables turn, realizing heâs more enjoying this than you are.
âThatâs the face, baby.â He muses, âThereâs my girl. How about we take this outside, yeah? Afterall, itâs gonna get hot in here.â
He tells the blonde, Toga, to cut your bindings, which she does happily. You whine as he grips the back of your neck, hauling you up and dragging your nearly limp body toward the exit.
The last thing you hear is the lizard warning him not to go too far.
Dabi never listens to anyone.
â¨Once out the door, you expect the worst.
â¨You expect him to push you up against it and scream at you. To humiliate you and mock you for what youâve done, to tell you that this was coming for you.
But none of that happens.
In fact, he doesnât even stop.â¨He just keeps walking, dragging you behind him.
But youâre tired, and your legs refuse to cooperate. You try so hard to follow him, try to please him in such pathetic ways because as much as you try to deny it, you still want his praise and love and all the warmth he can offer.
Your steps stutter, and with a slight acceleration, you fall into his back, yelping. He stops, looks over his shoulder with his cold, blue eyes, the ones that strike you and leave you frozen every damn time.
For a moment, youâre wildly overtaken by guilt. Youâre nothing but a mess, so vulnerable to death and pain. You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut at the thought of how he mustâve felt the night you held him down, leaving him all vulnerable as you escaped.
Youâre a disgusting person. A bad person. An asshole.
He grunts, turning around to pick you up. You latch onto his neck instinctively, his arms beneath your knees. His warmth seeps into you, and you canât help but shudder, having missed this more than anything.
You missed him.â¨So much.
Itâs too much. Youâre not sure whatâs going on, much less what heâs up to, whether heâs ready to kill or run. You can feel the cold air hit your skin, meaning you must be outside. And heâs running, speed walkingâ
Heâs protecting you.
You missed him.
Thereâs something that wants to escape you, and it canât be your tears because youâre already crying. His soft pants are comforting and grounding, anchoring you to reality.
But youâre fogged up, and youâre sure youâll pass out any secondâ youâre scared out of your mind, and you want it out.
You need it outââ¨You canâtâ canât hold it backâ
âI-I love youâ!..â
And the world fades.
You wake up again, but this time youâre not uncomfortably chained to a chair or sprawled on the floor. Instead, youâre in.. water?
You realize youâre not drowning, much less being tortured. The water is warm and comforting, and you moan as you feel your muscles relax. Your dirty skin is getting washed off, the soot and sweat collected from God knows when finally rinsed away.
You feel better, but it might have something to do with the fact that youâre also in no danger, not fighting for your life.
Youâre ripped out of your thoughts when what you can only assume is a shower head nearly drowns you. Your hair blocks your line of sight until a hand wipes it out of your face.
His staples are in no way unfamiliar to you, yet you still find yourself surprised at the ragged change in texture.â¨(You lean into him anyway.)
âWhat..?â
âShut it, alright, princess? Save your energy for something more useful.â
You huff, rolling your eyes.
You realize the waterâs clear now, so he mustâve refilled it after properly washing you. Heâs seen you naked before, has seen you in states worse than anyone else, so you donât feel ashamed when you catch him taking a peek or two. Still, heâs more focused on getting all the shampoo out of your hair.
âThey wanted to keep you as a hostage. Either that, or theyâd force you into joining them.â Shamefully, you donât really process his words. Sure, youâre more present now, but you find yourself craving the sound of his voice more than the meaning behind it. âThatâs what they wanted me to do to you. So I dragged you out andâ oiâ!â
He flicks your forehead, finally making you look at him instead of the clear water where your bare body rests. âYou listeninâ?â
Sheepishly, you grin, and thatâs more than enough of an answer for him.
âDabi?â you whisper, and his hands tighten slightly in your hair.
âWhat.â
âAm I dreaming?â
He probably expected something more poetic, because his fingers soften and he groans in annoyance.
âNo.â
You hum in response, leaning into him as the last bits of shampoo leave your hair.
âDabi?â
âWhat now.â
Heâs no longer crouching, now drying his hands on a crumpled towel. Itâs only then you notice youâre in a motelâ not an expensive one, either. Itâs dark, the light flickers, thereâs no rug to stand on once you get out of the water, and the soap dispenser is nearly empty.
âAm I dreaming?â
He huffs in irritation, âYou hit your head or somethinâ?â
Itâs only when you look up at him, eyes wide and empty of thought, that he realizesâ that yeah, youâre still out of it.
âDabi?â
âNo, youâre not fuckinâ dreaming. Quit askinâ thatââ
âCan you join me?â
ââŚâ
He clicks his tongue, and you think heâs attempting to sound annoyed.
âChrist,â he mutters, before shrugging off whatever would get in the way, such as in his huge coat, boots already long gone, and steps into the tub fully clothed. The water sloshes, warm spilling over the edges, soaking dark fabric instantly.
âMove,â he says, low, nudging your thigh with his knee.
You try, but your bodyâs sluggish, heavy, and you end up tipping back instead. Your balance gives out, and you fall back into him, a soft sound leaving you as your spine meets his shin.
He sighs, dragging you up by your armpits and setting you into his lap, nudeness not being a problem.
You practically purr into him, warmth welcoming as you tip your head back against his shoulder. He hums, his nose burying into your neck as his hands hold into your waist.
âYouâre a pain in the ass.â
âI know.â You seem to slowly regain your mind, talking more confident, and for a second Dabi thinks youâve all but tricked him into thinking you were a damsel in distress.
âDonât try anything. This ainât some fuckinâ spa day, and Iâm not your personal heater.â
âYou are, though.â
âAm not.â
âAre too.â
âAm not.â
âAre tâ ouch! Youâ!!â You cry out as he pinches your thigh, squirming on top of him.
âIâve long stopped being anything for you when you left me behind, doll. Think itâs too late to be playinâ around like kids, no?â
Reality overtakes you, and you frown. It was selfish, thinking he could all forget about it, and thinking you could just shove the whole thing to the side. You still in his hold, and he notices the brashness on your face as it tips forward, hiding from his sight.
Truth be told, heâs enjoying this.
Itâs no secret that heâs evil, and even a bit sadistic, but heâs nowhere near to actually not wanting to be yours. Itâs just so he can stoke his ego, watch you break silently because truly, thatâs what you deserve for your pussy move.
He grins as you suddenly feel a bit too exposed, watching your arms hug around yourself in order to hide what heâs already seen a thousand times.
And yet, he still craves to see it another day.
Clicking his tongue, he removes your arms, nuzzling his face into your neck, âNow, doll, want to explain to me what you did and why you did it? Since you seem to be finally back in the right state of mind?â
The childish antics he uses on you flares your humiliation even more, and your cheeks heat, feeling far more vulnerable than ever. Shit.
âCat got your tongue?â He bites your neck, causing you to yelp, âTalk. You better fuckinâ explain why you left me half naked in the middle of the night, not even giving me an opportunity toââ
âWhat is there to explain, Dabi?!â You strike, huffing pathetically because thatâs all you can do on his lap, âYouâre a villain, Iâm a hero, we simply didnât workââ
âDonât you fuckinâ dare finish that sentence.â
His warning is no joke, his hands gripping so hard into your flesh youâre sure itâll bruise.
âWe worked perfectly fine, and you know that. No one else knows or deals with me as much as you doââ
âAnd how much longer was I supposed to deal with that?! You kept leaving mid arguments or- or you didnât even let me leave! And I donât even know your fucking name!â
âWatch your mouthââ
âSee? Youâre doing it again! Go ahead, Dabi, shush me and go out for a smoke or something. Let me rot here while youâre at itââ
âTouya.â
You still, spine raggedly straight as you refuse to meet his eye.
Itâs obvious as to what heâs just told you. His name, idiot. Still, you find yourself at loss for words, because the name itself rings up like an alarm, because itâs familiar and itâs been haunting you, becauseâ
âTouya.. Todoroki?â
Itâs his turn to be silent. His chest is the only giveaway that heâs not dropped dead behind you, rising softly and meeting your back.
âSmart girl.â
Heâsâ
âI- I thought Touya hadâ you-â
He sneers, âDo I look dead to you?â
Matter of fact, yeah. You do.
âNo. Guess not.â
â..â
ââŚso that explains why you hate Endeavor so much?â
âAnd what do you know about him, smartass?â
You sulk, âIâve talked to- um, your brother? He, um, told me that Endeavors not a good father so I just assumedââ
âYeah. Shouldâve known that brat would just tell anyone that.â Dabiâ no, Touya seems just about too exhausted to even talk about his.. brother.
Youâre not sure if you should take offense at being called âanyoneâ, given you had been one of the most loved and understanding teachers (not to forget the culprits girlfriend herself, but hey, whatever).
Silence settles in, and you lean back, your head turned enough to nuzzle your nose into his collarbone.
âTouya?â
Itâs the first time he hears you directly call him that, and he feels his heart spike a beat. No oneâs used that name in a long, long time, and youâre as special as it gets for a man like him, so the effect doubles and he feels like keeling over. Itâs pathetic, the unease he feels in his abdomen, itâs making him nervous, maybe even a bit excited.
He speaks your name in a murmur, letting you know that heâs listening.
âIâm sorry.â
He thinks he could laugh. What is there to be sorry about?â well, apart from leaving him, that is. But the matters already been resolved, and your apologyâs empty as it can be to him.
âWhatâre you sorry for, sweetheart?â
âFor everything. I canât.. imagine what youâve went through. Touya.â
He purses his lips at your use of his name once again, and this time, you notice.
âYou didnât deserve any of it. Everything that happened and everything Iâve inflected on you, as well. Touya, Iââ
You gulp, and his hands tighten on your waist, âGive me a chance. Please, Touya. Let me make it up to you, and let meââ
You croak, turning in his hold so you can straddle him. His face, the healthy part of his skin is stained with a slight blush, and his eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes are squinted and he looks so incredibly lost that all you can do is cup his face and kiss all over it. His breath hitches with each kiss, and your thumb goes to ease the wrinkles between his brows.
âTouya. Let me help you. Please, Touya. I wantâ I want you to have a happy life and- and if you as much as allow me to be selfish I want to be apart of that and- and Iâ I..â
Touya realizes that the wetness on your cheeks isnât from the waterâ nothing has splashed up to your face, and the water from earlier wouldâve all dried out all by now.
Youâre crying.
Youâre crying on his behalf. But youâre not pitying him, he knows that by the desperate sound of your voice.
Youâre being selfish. Incredibly, incredibly selfish because you want him, want him to stay and accept you as a part of his life.
He thinks he wants that, too.
âI love you.â
Touya canât cry. Couldnât, ever since he burnt his tear ducts to bits. Yet, heâs always been quite the emotional boy. Heâs had tantrums, breakdowns and whatsnot. Heâs cried out of sadness, anger and happiness.
So, itâs no surprise when instead of tears, blood suckers through his eye because thatâs all he can do when he gets emotional.
You donât reel back, nor does your expression change. You choke back a sob, thumb going over to wipe the blood away, changing the colour of the water for a moment.
He growls, not out of anger but desperation, and pushes his lips against yours.
Teeth clash and heâs a starving man, eating and devouring your mouth like itâs the last thing heâll ever doâ until slowly he grows more passionate and slow than desperate, because he realizes youâll stayâ you want him, want to help him.
You kiss him back, accommodate as he wants, letting him do as he wants.
By the end of it, your spit is the only thing holding your kiss together. It breaks, dripping into the water between you.
âI love you.â
He cries, and kisses over your face, too.
âTouya,â you pant, playing with the short hair on his nape, traveling up to fist into his spikes.
He makes a sound nearing a howl, you think, as he places more kisses over you, âFuck. Fuckinâ love hearing my name roll off your tongue, princessââ
You laugh breathlessly, spoiling him with further calls of his name, drowning in the moment.
Itâs all you could wish for. Itâs all you want.
Time passes, and Touyaâs hair is no longer the black youâd been forced to dye monthly. Now, itâs the white youâd always secretly admired.
Heâs left the League behindâ for now, as he calls it. Heâs got no business with them, not when heâs trying to get better, trying to sort his life out. After all, itâs not easy to wash away the sins heâs committed as a villain. The public doesnât forget, and therefore neither will he. But he thinks itâs not too bad, because youâve promised to stay at his side no matter what.
Heâs told you all about Endeavor. About Rei and his siblings, how he got replaced by Shoto and then set himself on fire on Sekoto Peak.
Youâve comforted him through it, and heâs still building up the courage to actually talk to his family, to get back at them in a way other than actively killing his father.
Your job as a teacher is on timeout. After being kidnapped and not showing up for monthsâ because Touya had been your priority, because youâd wanted nothing but his absolute well-beingâ theyâd questioned you. You werenât quite sure how to describe to them that your lover of years was Dabi himself, and that heâd saved you from the League, and that youâd finally resolved your fight to the point where Dabiâ no, Touya, son of Enji Todoroki, supposedly deadâ was willing to change.
You told them Dabi had rescued you for no apparent reason, leaving out the whole Touya part, because thatâs something he should reveal himself. After the rescue, heâd stayed to tend to you, because you were just oh so injured.
It was enough to buy time.
Now, youâre lying in bed with Touya sprawled against your chest, his head tucked just beneath your chin. The room is dim, curtains drawnâ a small apartment you two rent, paying only in cash so no one can truly track you. His breathingâs slow and comforting, enough to warm your heart.
Your fingers thread through his hair slowly, absentmindedly, feeling the soft white strands slide between them. He lets out a low hum at that, barely conscious, surprisingly heavy weight sinking into you.
âDonât stop,â he mutters, voice rough in a way that makes you blush like a teenage girl.
You smile softly, continuing, tracing small patterns at his scalp the way you used to after especially bad nights. He practically purrs into you, your other hand traveling on his back to press into the knots, causing him to moan.
He mutters something about godly hands, and you chuckle, digging your fingers into his hair and tug his face up to yours. He groans, but thereâs a smirk on his face, one you can only mimic. A soft kiss is shared before you gently drop his head back on your collarbone, nose breathing in your scent.
Youâve heard this summer is going to be a hell of a worse one, hotter and more suffocating than ever.
Yet youâve never felt so excited to fall asleep in a bed with your personal heater during the worst of August.
Would u consider writing..... shiggy...... with an extreeeeeeme creampie/breeding kink.......... pls....... and also thank u if u do I owe u my life........ but if u don't thats OK too ilu
ask and ye shall receive𫡠(eventually).
tomura likes to observe before getting to the real deal.
sex, of course, isnât excluded from that.
tomura, despite his denseness and lack of actual experience, has half the heart to make you feel less like an experiment when he pokes and plays with your fucking pussy.
youâd think that this man would go for a quick, messy fuck, maybe even leave you all pent up to yourself, but no. no, tomuraâs quite the opposite.
heâs smug. that much is clear when heâs got you on all fours, naked with your ass in the air. his fingers tease your hole, spreading your folds and going in between them. his fingers circle your hole before dipping into it again, cruelly harsh and deep to get as many reactions out of you as possible.
you know that he enjoys this. or whatever comes close to the term enjoyment when itâs about tomura shigarakiâ hence, the only reason you havenât yet crashed out and jumped his bones yourself. youâre impossibly wet simply from his stupid, destructive fingers.
and while youâre having a fight with yourself, tomuraâs just as much as enjoying himself. his fingers dip in you, accompanied by a ton of wetnessâ the result of endless teasing. itâs dripping down his fingers, and he snickers, dry lips curling into a smirk.
youâre perfect. he knows that from the amount of times heâs fucked you (nearly not enough, in his opinion, but just enough to know some of your weak spots), yet, each time he does so, heâs got that untenable urge to do so much more.
itâs enough to itch.
and tomura doesnât like any itches.
so, heâs come to the conclusion that he has to go for whatever he longs for. heâs not sure what it is, yet, but youâve already told him that youâll have him any way.
his cock is hard and leaking pre-cum. heâs painfully aware, yet he doesnât want to simply fuck you.
itâs not right.
he watches as his fingers, two of them now, disappear into you and your moans follow immediately. he curls them, and his abdomen heats at your reaction, a whimper of his name and your hips wriggling for more.
his dick twitches at the thought of giving you more.
what exactly is more? a simple fuck? cumming all over your ass or your stomach? having you overstimulated and messy by the end of all this?
no, no itâs not quite that.
âtomura. tomuâ baby I love y-you but if you donât fuck me right now I swear Iâll fucking lose itââ
he hums, snugly adjusting his fingers to go as deep as possible, causing your jaw to slack and your face to fall into the pillows.
âso impatient. you want to cum on my cock, is that it?â
he huffs, pulling his wet fingers out and having absolutely no shame as he stuffs them into his mouth.
thats the thing.
tomuraâs rarely ashamed, and it always has you begging for more.
his cock is freed from his boxers, the ones heâs managed to stain like a fucking virgin, but again, tomura rarely feels any shame. why should he, when heâs got all he wants placed on a silver platter right in front of him?
âthatâs fine. Iâll get you to cum on my cock, alright?â he snickers, dry voice cracking.
you moan, feeling his tip nudge at your hole, his pre-cum dripping at your entrance.
your eyes snap shut as he fills you, your soft, velvety walls encasing him perfectly. he groans, too, never too shy to be vocal.
ân-no-â
heâs fucking you by the time you manage to spew the word out. each stroke deep and filling, making you crave for more. still, your voice makes him slow down, steadily pumping into you instead.
âno?â
you shake your head, gripping the sheets as you pant.
âno. n-no, tomu, want you toââ
you press up against him, and a grunt of surprise spills from him as his tip nudges against the spongy spot inside of you.
âw-want you toâ ngh- want you to cum inside, p-please tomu-â
his heart skips a beat. suddenly, his hips move a bit faster, his hands grasping into yours with his pinky lifted out of security. itâs automatic, he realizes, because heâs pretty fucking sure he barely has any control over himself as he moans over your words.
and they donât cease either.
he wishes they would. wishes he could shut you the fuck up, because his body goes slack as instinct takes over.
âplease tomu- f-fill me up!â
oh.
oh.
that does it.
he ruts into you like a fucking beast. his hips slam slam slam into your ass and heâs pulsating inside of you. you feel it, gasping from both the sudden overstimulation and the weird sensation of his dick growing tenfold harder than before.
moans and grunts overlap, to the point where youâre not quite sure who is making what sound. not like it matters when heâs drilling you open like a machine.
you clench around himâ itâs eery, the way he went quiet immediately. itâs like all his life force drained out of him and went right into his cock, whereas his tip assaults your cervix and makes you see stars over and over again.
youâre shaking, and so is he, but itâs far less easy to tell when it comes to him. heâs fucking into you, dragging his cock all the way out only to slam back in, but his hands give away secrets.
heâs fuming. overheating. whatever one would like to call it.
heâs gone feral.
âyou f-feel me, donât you? so needy..â he coos, pressing his hands down on your abdomen, making you gasp out. he groans at the feeling, and if he could get any harder, he would.
âf-fuck, how are you this tight? you want this that bad, huh- ngh- want me to fill you up, right?â he grunts out, pressing open mouth kisses on your shoulder blades as he continues his assault on you.
âneedy girl, Iâll let you have my cum, donât worry.â
you whimper, pressing up against him, trying to match his rhythm.
âgonna breed you- f-fuck gonna make sure youâre all filled up- thatâs what you want- hngh- right?!â
you nod, because thatâs quite literally the only thing you can do in this position. he makes it hard to breathe, much less complain, but gosh youâd be lying if youâd said you wanted it any different.
he pants heavily, and you realize heâs nearing his orgasm- excitement bursts through you, and you clench down hard, because fuck you do want to be filled.
and heâs more than ready to comply.
âgonna- shitshitshitshit- fuck!â
he ruts into you harder, faster, hard cock tugging at your walls enough to know youâll be sore for a week. his moans get louder, and thereâs not a single thought in his mind other than to breed you.
he wants you full of his cum. wants you leaking and overflowing with it.
âtake it- fucking take it! take my cum-!â
and you do.
when he cums, you feel it. hot, sticky spurts of his release that paint your walls white, the friction causing you to cum as well with a loud scream of his name.
he doesnât stop. heâs plunging into you with the will of a soldier, his cum leaking out of your narrow hole and coating his own dick.
the sight makes him choke.
he wants to choke on this moment. heâs whipped, done, overstimulated, and all simply because he got to fill you up.
itâs not until your whines turn rather desperate for a breather that he calms down, pulls his dick out of your abused hole to watch how he leaks out of you.
you jump when you feel his fingers prod you again, scolding him to stop- but he just hums, and stuffs his fingers back into your hole.
you yelp- already overstimulated, sore and in need of a pause. all it takes is one look over your shoulder for you to know to keep quiet though.
heâs grinning.
and heâs hard again.
âgoing to have to make sure it stays in while we calm down for round two, right?â
and while surprise is pained across your wide eyed expression, he chuckles.
the itch is gone.
and heâs found the cure for it.
masterlist
A/n: I fear this is sloppy. Iâm publishing this as of now at almost 2 am, Iâm tired and I had a whole ass fight with my functions & keyboard in the notes app because I was just THAT desperate to write everything in lowercase. Also fuck you, autocorrect, for trying to misspell Tomura to âto muchâ five times in a row. Good night to whoever actually just read this
