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inkykeiji · 2 years

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you told me that you love me, that’s not easy to do

character: todoroki touya | dabi

genre: smut with a hint of fluff and the tiniest sprinkle of angst

notes: aaaah okay!!! this has been a highly requested piece ever since i first posted my touya-nii series, and i am so glad to finally be sharing it with you!!! set in my touya-nii AU in november of part one, please heed the warnings below and stay safe! | title credit: girls by lil peep

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, stepcest, dubcon, size kink/size difference, dacryphilia, inexperienced reader (but NOT a virgin), toxic relationship, dumbification/degradation, fingering, minimal prep, multiple orgasms, rough sex, praise, painful sex, a hint of blood, slight mindbreak

words: 7.7k

synopsis:

“Make it up to you?” your head tilts, tear-clumped lashes sticking together as you blink twice, curious.

“Of course,” he smirks, and that malicious glint is back in his eyes, dyed with excitement. “I was gonna wait, you know, for the right time, or whatever, but since you’re not actually a virgin…”

“The right time?” you question, a hopeful, hesitant little smile crawling across your lips. “Were you…Were you planning something special?”

Touya rolls his eyes—something he sometimes does when he doesn’t want to meet your stare, you’ve come to learn—a hand scrubbing at the back of his neck, his words mumbled out and slightly defensive. “Well, yeah, I wasn’t just gonna steal your first time like some asshole. I was gonna try and make it—well, you know—” he flounders slightly, molars grinding together as he uncharacteristically searches for the right words.

“Niichan—”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” he’s saying dismissively as he wraps a large hand around your wrist. “Because you aren’t, which means I’ve been waiting for nothing, and I’m not going to wait another second longer.”

“Niichan,” you whine a little, eyes shutting as you burrow into his shoulder, the Halloween theme song murmuring quietly to itself as it seeps through the basement, Michael Myers busy stalking his first victim of the film. “Do we have to watch this?”

“Yes, we have to watch this,” he retorts, mocking as nimble fingers dig into your ribs, eliciting a squeal from your throat. “Classic slasher horror is my favourite.”

“Yeah, but…” you trail off, lips set in a deep pout. “But it’s like, almost the middle of November. Shouldn’t the networks be playing like, Christmas movies now?”

“I’m sure they are,” Touya says nonchalantly, shrugging a shoulder. “But not on this channel. Besides,” his voice drops an octave, lips murmuring against your temple, the word caressing your ear. “I just love watching you squirm.”

“Niichan!” you cry as his teeth sink into your shoulder, a dark little chuckle vibrating against you, seeping through your skin. “Stop!”

Your voice, pitched high, is infused with giggles, wiggling in his lap as you halfheartedly attempt to free yourself.

“Hey, look,” he says suddenly, chin hooked over your shoulder as he forcefully redirects your gaze to the television, thumb and forefinger gripping your chin. “These guys are about to die.”

“Touya-nii,” you whimper, head jerking a little in his grasp.

“No, no, look! Did you know that everyone who has sex in slasher films always die?”

“Duh,” you roll your eyes, Randy’s monologue from Scream echoing through your mind—another film that Touya had forced you to watch with him and one you had, begrudgingly, enjoyed, even if it was only because Billy reminds you of your big brother.

“God,” he breathes, face nuzzling against your neck, nosing up the curve enticingly. “I can’t wait to take your virginity.”

The words ring high and tinny in your ears, blood draining from your face as your expression thaws into true horror, steeped in panic and alarm, body gone stiff and still in his arms.

“Don’t worry,” he laughs, squeezing you to his chest. “I’ll be gentle, okay? Promise.”

“No, I—That’s not it,” you whisper, words trembling. “I—Niichan,” you stop, head shaking a little, eyes shutting firmly as you force the confession from your tongue. “I’m not a virgin.”

“What?” he pulls back from you, large hands wrapped around your biceps, tightening as he forces you to face him. He laughs a bit—a sharp, mean, incredulous little thing, as if he doesn’t believe a word flowing out of your mouth. “Don’t you fucking lie to me, baby.”

Thorns of terror run through your veins, sprouting chills across your flesh, breath exhaled in short little puffs through parted lips as your head shakes harder, almost frantic in its movements.

“No, niichan, I swear I—I’m not lying—I’d never lie to you.”

The smile on Touya’s face, stretched wide with warning and tinged with a sick sort of amusement, slowly dissipates as sapphire searches your face.

His eyes narrow into slits and he leans back a little, as if he has to look at the whole picture, regarding you with hyper-vigilant apprehension, the fingers on your arms flexing, digging into your muscles.

You stare back at him with wide, honest eyes, ready to bear your whole heart and soul to him—whatever he wants, anytime, always—breath evaporating to ghosts in your throat as you wait.

You know you have nothing to be worried about. You know that Touya can already read you like you’re his favourite storybook, inside out, backwards, can tell your true thoughts and emotions from your expressions alone, can decipher any falsities staining your features with a singular look, a feat he’s been able to achieve in the mere two months he’s known you.

His ability to interpret you so perfectly, to take you and unravel you, unknotting all of your countenances and intonations and getting to your core using one tool in one motion should frighten you.

But it doesn’t.

Finally, he finishes his assessment with one slow nod of his head, gaze performing one last sweep across your face—a precaution of sorts, to ensure he hasn’t missed anything as you begin to relax in his arms—but his features stay wound tight in anger: eyebrows drawn, squint sharp, corners of his mouth pulled down in a small, taut, tense frown.

He pulls you to his chest then, gathers you up between his palms and squeezes you close despite the barely contained fury vibrating in his expression, his jaw methodically clenching and unclenching against your temple as his mind shuffles through his thoughts, determining which should be spoken and in what order they should be voiced.

With calm and even breath, he fires off question after question, each inquiry a razor slicing through the dense atmosphere: Who was it? How was it? When did it happen? Where did it happen? How many times did it happen?

And with each answer that slips from your lips (some frat guy; not good—he didn’t even make you cum; during the summer before you moved in with your niichan; at some beach house; twice), he tugs you tighter to his body, fingers pressing superficial bruises into your flesh as they knead—small oval prints of lilac that’ll fade in an hours time, small marks of ownership that never last as long as he wishes they would.

Your words tremble with sincerity as you respond readily to each and every one of his questions, dutiful as always, fat tears glittering with pure veracity steadily streaming down your face, leaving the prettiest trails of authenticity gleaming on your cheeks.

And yet, despite his actions, his voice is fuming, steam rising off his words as he spits them from his lips, half-stifled sobs stuttering your own answers in return, but you persevere nonetheless.

Eventually, after his curiosity has been sated and there’s nothing else to investigate, he falls silent, but you can still feel it, the anger wavering in the air around him, cracking like flames of sapphire fire that lick at your skin, sending spikes of heat searing through your flesh.

“I’m sorry, niichan,” you nearly wail into his neck, face smushed against his skin as hot tears leak from your eyes, harsh sniffles shuddering through your body. “I—I—I didn’t know; I wouldn’t have—”

Your regret seems to douse the flames, suffocating them to mere cinders as his rigid form relaxes against your own, arms firm around you as he rocks you slightly.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, endearment oozing with sugary condescension. “I know, baby, I know. I know you would’ve waited for niichan, saved it for niichan, had you known.”

Pulling back, a calloused palm cups your cheek, rough thumb rhythmically stroking your salt-sticky skin.

“It’s not your fault, princess, and I’m not mad at you.”

A stunned hiccup catches in your throat and you blink rapidly, a futile attempt to void the bleariness vacillating in your vision. “You—You’re not?”

“Of course not,” he laughs a little, head titling and eyes shining with mirth, looking at you like you’re adorably stupid. “Silly little girl,” he murmurs, insult soaked in wicked admiration. “How could you have known? Hmm?”

Sputtering, you shake your head, more tears escaping from your eyes, dislodged by your rippling lashes as you choke on your words.

“I just—But you—You look so…so angry.”

“Oh, I am angry,” he responds, eyes turned to boiling concrete, framed by heavy brows. “Make no mistake; I’m fucking furious. Your virginity belonged to me, should’ve been mine, and I can’t believe it was wasted on some fucker who couldn’t even satisfy you properly. It’s laughable, it’s pathetic,” he spits. “But I’m not mad at you.”

“You—You promise, niichan?”

Staring at you, his features melt into something softer, something sweeter, something tinged with sincerity, and he kisses you—nothing more than a chaste peck that leaves you licking your lips with a desperate type of voracity, ravenous for more of his taste—sweet hickory and spicy marlboros vibrant on your skin.

“I promise, princess,” he murmurs, nudging his nose against yours. “Besides, now you’re going to make it up to me.”

“Make it up to you?” your head tilts, tear-clumped lashes sticking together as you blink twice, curious.

“The right time?” you question, a hopeful, hesitant little smile crawling across your lips. “Were you…Were you planning something special?”

“Niichan—”

“N-Now?” you squeak, eyes wide and body gone rigid.

“Yeah, why not?“ he shrugs, demeanour nonchalant, though there’s mischief glittering in his eyes.

“Our parents,” you whisper, as if they’ll be able to hear you from the living room above.

Touya laughs, shaking his head a little. “So?” he questions, grin only growing in response to your concern. “When has that ever stopped us before?”

You suppose he has a point.

With his fingers tightly laced through your own, he pulls you from the couch and towards the basement exit, and God, he’s so fucking gorgeous with that pure, genuine excitement saturating his features, sparkling in his smile and shimmering in his gaze.

It’s always such a treat to see him like this—an expression of authentic delight that you don’t experience incredibly often, though it’s beginning to creep into his daily features more and more; whenever you do something he deems cute, or whenever you say something dumb, something that makes him laugh or roll his eyes with a smirk, or whenever you’re as obedient as ever, pretty and perfect and good for him.

It’s a look you’ve never seen him give anyone or anything else, in any other situation—a softening of his edges—and that makes you feel special, important, influential.

Such a look knocks the breath from your chest, his own exhilarated joy seeping into your lungs, sinking into your heart and procuring a sweet little smile of your own, one the fights through the anxiety weighting your ribs and muffles the thoughts rattling around in your head.

But then you’re climbing the stairs to the main floor, and Touya’s murmuring to himself about how he’s dreamt of this so many times, and it all comes rushing back, trepidation turning to stone in your tissues.

It has Touya instantly looking back, having felt your hand go rock hard and stiff in his own, his brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?”

You can’t ever get anything past him; can’t ever hide a damn thing from him. It’s hopeless to even try.

“Touya-nii, I want to, you know, I want to so bad, but I—I’m scared,” you admit, pathetically shy, expression teetering on a wince, as if you’re expecting to be reprimanded for your feelings.

“Scared?” he questions, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. Taking your face gently between his rough palms, he cradles your jaw, tilting your face up to look at him. Sapphire sears into your eyes, so bright it’s nearly painful, but you’re unable to look away, even if you wanted to, captivated by his commanding essence. “What is there to be scared of, princess?”

And, oh, his voice is so sweet, so soft, a startling concern shining in his eyes as they sweep across yours. Your body begins to melt into his touch; giving over, giving in, giving up, instant putty for him to mold and meld as he sees fit.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, baby, I promise,” he continues, a calloused thumb running across your cheekbone. “You’ll be with niichan the whole time, okay? He’ll make sure you have a good time; it’s gonna feel better than it ever has before, trust me.”

And you do! You do trust him, but...

“But what if I’m—What if I’m not good at it?”

He laughs—just a short, tender thing, dripping with syrupy condescension. “I’m not expecting you to be good at it, baby,” he tells you in a murmur, that playful smile still twitching on his lips, notes of laughter still infused in his tone, as if you’re so adorable, so stupid.

But it makes you feel better nonetheless, Touya’s patronizing reassurance relieving your chest of the pressure that had begun to build.

“Okay,” you whisper, nodding a little, a dithering smile tugging at your lips.

“Okay,” he echoes quietly, eyes practically glowing as they gaze down at you for another moment, almost as if they’re looking for something. When they don’t find it, he gifts you a singular satisfied nod, turning to haul you up the rest of the stairs.

It’s impossible to snuff out that delicious little spark that flares to life as you creep up from the opening of the basement and sneak past your oblivious parents, ascending the stairs to the top floor—both of you sure to avoid that step that always creaks—and allowing Touya to lead you down the hall.

To your surprise, he bypasses his own bedroom door entirely, opting to stop in front of yours. Your feet stumble a little as he reaches the destination, giving a slight, shy tug on his hand. Touya casts your a curious glance over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised in question.

“I—My bedroom? I thought—”

He cuts your off with an unexpectedly gentle laugh, turning towards you to trace rough fingertips down the smooth curve of your cheek. “No,” he says softly, inexplicable mirth shining in his eyes, as if he finds this all so precious, so amusing, a subtle smile playing with the corners of his lips. “I want to fuck you in your room.”

You don’t understand it—not really, anyway. Most of the sexual encounters the two of you have had have always been within his bedroom, but you have no time to question his logic, because then he’s turning the knob and tugging you forward, speaking as he does so.

“What position did he fuck you in?”

“Missionary.”

He looks over at you again. “Both times?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod.

“Alright,” he murmurs, nodding to himself, as if he’s just confirmed some sort of plan you are not privileged to be privy to. “I’m gonna have you ride me, then. I don’t normally enjoy being ridden, but I’d like to own at least one of your firsts—two, if you count the fact that you’re gonna cum on a cock for the first time in your life,”

His words are self-assured, concrete in their decisions, and they send a whoosh of excitement plunging through your stomach, alighting your insides with tingling cinders.

A tentative little smile molds itself to your lips and you nod in agreement—as if you ever had a say in the matter, anyway—prompting Touya to gift you with another one of those odd, unfamiliar grins of encouragement; something softer, smoother, sweeter than his usual sharp smirks, something that makes you feel calm, secure, safe.

Large hands cradle your face between calloused palms, tilting your eyes up to his own, his gaze searching your features with intent. That shimmering mirth is still present in his irises, nearly strong enough to cloak that malicious glint that sparkles just beneath the surface.

“You want this, right?”

Of course you do—you always do; you only ever want what he wants, invariably, unfailingly, faithfully.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheekbone. That shard of malice dulls a little as he watches you melt into him, so pliant, so obedient, so willing to serve.

“That’s all I ever want to be,” you admit dreamily, words floating on the sweetest little gasp of breath, masking the true vulnerability imbued in them, the raw honesty roiling at their core.

“I know,” he whispers, head dropping forward, forehead knocking against your own. He nudges your nose, nuzzling into your face a little. “I know, and you are,”

It’s unexpected, the intense bout of emotion those few, tiny words inspire within you, a sudden burst of thick appreciation, admiration, love, infusing your blood, but there isn’t a moment to dwell on it.

Because then his lips are on yours, and your fingers are tangling in inky tufts, and his hands are gripping, pulling, scratching—your ass, your hips, your thighs—before he’s hoisting you up, cradling you to his chest as your legs lock around his waist, ankles hooked, heels digging into the dimples cushioning the base of his spine, and laying you back on your pretty peppermint-pink bed, sapphire eyes practically alight with yearning as he crawls atop of you.

Sharp hips slot perfectly between your plush thighs, strong hands sliding up the smooth skin and underneath the hem of your dress, index finger tracing the silk roses embroidered in pink lace, his gentle touch igniting a dull, desperate fire in your gut.

“These are cute, but I want them off of you,” he’s breathing into your mouth, the tip of his tongue punctuating his words with little laps against your own. “I want them off of you, now,”

“Do it, do it, get rid of them, niichan,” you’re begging, hips lifting eagerly, pressing further into his own. Slender fingers tear through the dainty material like flames melding through spiderwebs, and he rips the garment from your body in one swift yank.

Coarse denim grinds against your bare cunt, rough material instantly chafing the sensitive skin, but you don’t care, back arching as you push your hips towards his again, rutting up against his hard, throbbing cock.

Because even though it hurts, it feels good, one of your legs hooking around his thigh in a desperate attempt to get closer, to get more.

It’s pathetically endearing, how needy you are for him, copious amounts of slick seeping through his jeans telling him as much, how ready you are for him after nothing more than a little bit of humping.

“You’re a little whore, y’know that? A dirty, nasty, naughty little whore, getting this fuckin’ wet at the mere thought of your big brother’s cock,” he moans, two fingers snaking between your bodies to delve into your cunt. “Fuck,” the curse cracks in his throat, shattering his voice, his eyes shutting tightly as two knuckles curl inside of you, your responding gasp of his honorific snapping his eyes open again.

“Yeah? Good?”

“Uh—Uh-huh,” you breathe out, lids already gone languid as they obscure half of your bleary irises, head nodding in slow, dumb motions.

“God, you’re such good little slut for me, aren’t you?” The words fade into a growl, the vicious contracting of his fingers, knuckles pressing into plush silken flesh, prohibiting you from forming any semblance of a coherent answer. “So wet for your niichan, so perfect and willing and ready for your niichan, huh?”

A responding tangle of words gurgles in your throat, and the coo that slips from Touya’s mouth, accompanied by the mocking worry creasing his brow and the exaggerated jutting of his bottom lip, is drenched with sugary condescension, glowing azure eyes wide, clear, alert as they catalogue every fleeting expression that glazes your features: the scrunching of your nose as you try to glue a response together, the knitting of your brows that keep going lax, loose, every time his knuckles brush that spot, the wobbling of your mouth as your sluggish tongue attempts to form transient words through pools of sticky sweet saliva.

“I don’t even need to fucking do anything, do I?” And although the words are breathy, the tone is sharp, accompanied by a smug smirk and a quirked brow. “You’re so fucking easy for your niichan, aren’t you? So fucking sexy for your niichan, how hot you get for him, his naughty little sister, his best little sister,”

The sentiment cuts through your heated flesh like a sugar-encrusted razor, stinging yet sweet, only working to heighten the pumping of his fingers, each curl of his knuckles compounded by his smooth voice, hazy as it wafts across your face.

You can feel how wet you are, slick and slippery as crystal drops roll down your thighs; can hear how wet you are, obscene squelching accompanying each of Touya’s movements, every breath Touya puffs against your skin inspiring another gushing bout of heat, drenching his fingers and staining the lines of his palm, swollen clit throbbing for his attention.

But it’s downright embarrassing, how right he truly is, humiliated tears flooding your vision, clinging to your lashes as you try to blink them away. “Y-You’re right, niichan,” you hiccup, staring up at him through a shield of sparkling water with such pure devotion it scathes him. “I don’t want your fingers, they’re not enough! I want your pretty cock inside me, please, please, I—I want it!”

“Christ,” he nearly whines, the sharpness of his tone just a moment ago dulled to a needy whimper. “Alright, baby, alright, shh, niichan’s gonna give you want you want,”

His promise pacifies your sniffled pleads, lashes fluttering as you blink those shameful tears from your eyes, vision misty and shimmering. Those massive hands are on your hips again, tacky fingers gripping you close to his body as he swiftly flips the both of you, his back pressed firmly to your mattress as you straddle his lap. Prominent hipbones pierce the supple flesh of your thighs as his hips buck up again, eager and expectant.

“Get my cock out, princess,” he instructs with another shallow thrust, sapphire glittering as he gazes up at you, raw ruby lips shining in the dim light of your bedroom as his tongue laves over them again.

Shuffling back onto his thighs, your delicate fingers find the button of his jeans, popping it open. Scalding heat floods your cheeks as your gaze lands on the puddle of wetness that has soaked into the denim, slicking the zipper.

“Yeah, look at the fucking mess you made, sweetheart,”

It’s supposed to be admonishing, but it comes out full of admiration, almost as if he’s proud of you instead of reprimanding you.

“Nah, nah, nah, don’t stop,” he chastises your now frozen hands, notes of smug satisfaction sewn into his voice at the potent embarrassment trembling in the air around you. “Do as niichan said and get his cock out.”

Nodding to yourself, you resume your ministrations, mortification diluted by his resulting praise as you obey.

His cock feels heavy in your palm, flushed pink to the tip and smoother than the most luxurious velvet, perfectly straight and garnished with a singular dewdrop of pre-cum.

And he swears to God, he’ll never tire of that look you get, every single time you pull his cock from his pants, whole expression encrusted with awe, as if you can’t believe it’s real, a pitiful insatiability glittering in your unblinking eyes, like you’re starved for him, jagged little huffs of breath exhaled through parted lips, mouth watering for him.

You’re so fucking beautiful, so fucking obedient for him, thighs tensing as your lift your body the moment he instructs you to, void of any hesitance—dedicated, diligent, desperate to please.

He keeps a secure grip on your hips as you grasp the base of his cock, holding it straight as you begin to sink down on it, a loud, stammered gasp hitching in your chest at the sudden stretch.

It’s so much bigger, so much thicker than his fingers, larger and girthier than anything you’ve ever taken before, and you swear you can feel your delicate flesh tearing with each inch further, splitting into little fissures as it yields to accommodate him.

The whine that slices your throat as he continues to push up into you is nothing short of gorgeous, strong fingers flexing on your hips while he keeps his pace steady and controlled.

“O-Oh, oh niichan, niichan, it—ah!”

A cry cuts you off as he bottoms out, the head of his cock pressed snugly to your sensitive cervix, your nails piercing through the thin cotton of his t-shirt as they scrabble against his chest, looking for any sort of stability.

“It’s so big, Touya-nii,” you whine, eyelids shutting tightly against the sting of tears, a half-hiccuped sob catching in your throat.

And you’re so cute, with the way your nose scrunches and your mouth twists as your cunt struggles to take him, pathetic little noises of pain catching in your throat as you try to swallow them down, quiet mewls and cracked whimpers that spill from your lips no matter how vigorously you try to silence them.

“Shh,” he hushes you gently, hands giving a singular firm squeeze in comfort. “You’re doing so good, baby, so good for me,”

Gritting your teeth, you nod jerkily, exhaling harshly to quell the twitching of your nose.

“I want you to start moving now,” Touya instructs, voice soothing and serene. “Can you keep being good for niichan and do that?”

Of course. Of course you can.

And you do—or, any least, you try.

But it burns, each wooden rock of your hips sending cinders searing through your gut to simmer in the pit of your stomach, every bump of his cock against your cervix procuring a dull ache that contracts at the very core of your body, a strong cramp that sends sharp pain radiating up your spine and down your thighs and straight through your heart.

It’s too painful, agony churning in your belly, bubbling up your throat, pushed higher and higher with each uneven thrust until you’re sure it’s going to spill out your mouth, the stench of blood stinging your nose, poor little cunt ripping itself wider and wider for him, avid in its mission to please.

Little hiccups—poorly suppressed sobs that manage to crawl up your throat and past your tongue—fall from your lips with each of your movements, pretty tears dripping down your cheeks, face screwed up in excruciating determination.

You think you might be getting the hang of it, but then he rolls his hips—a shallow movement, a singular thrust upward, just once—and a pained mewl fragments in your throat, coughing around the shards. Your motions stutter to a halt as the stinging at the apex of your thighs becomes too much to handle, sucking in a sharp hiss through your teeth as your head shakes.

“I can’t Touya-nii, I can’t, I can’t!”

“Oh, baby,” he coos, and despite the condescension drenching the word, his touch is tender, calloused thumbs rubbing small circles into the flesh of your waist. “You can, niichan knows you can.”

“I-I can’t!” you wail, whole body shuddering as a humiliated sob tears through it, face falling forward to be cradled by your palms. “You’re in my tummy, niichan, I swear I can—I can feel you there, it’s too—too deep, too much!”

“Alright, alright, come here,” Touya sighs resignedly, large hands wrapping around your biceps and pulling you toward his chest. You fall forward in a crumpled heap, bawling against his collarbone and he laughs—nothing mean, just a gentle soft little thing—hands petting your back, his cock twitching from the tears. “It’s okay, niichan’s got you, my little crybaby,”

His sweet insult only makes you cry harder, little fingers tangling in the cotton of his shirt, face burrowing in his strong chest as smouldering pins prick your flesh. His voice vibrates against your cheek as he hushes you, hands trailing up and down your spine in pacification.

Such uncharacteristic kindness—no fury for being unable to do what you’ve been told to do, no frustration for your whiny crying as you sob against him—is so unusual, so unlike him, that it instils a thick, dense fear at the core of your chest, cold and sticky as it encases your heart and sludges up your vertebrae.

“Why are you—Why are you being so nice to me?” you whisper, eyes reflexively closing as your body tenses in anticipation of his answer, his anger.

“Because you’re nothing more than a stupid little baby, aren’t you?” he responds easily, the question genuine, hands never stilling their ministrations. “I knew you were gonna suck at this, princess. This is pretty much exactly what I expected. I mean, fuck,” he breathes out a little chuckle, nudging your face with his shoulder. “It’s almost like you’ve never had sex at all. It’s almost as good as it would be if you were a real virgin.”

A hiccup shivers your ribs, that icy dread melting instantly in the heat of his confession, ignominy quickly taking its place again.

“So stop crying, baby,” he whispers, lips moving against your scalp. “This makes niichan very happy.”

“But I—I’m sorry, niichan,” you weep into his body, head shaking again, salt water staining your cheeks and leaking into your mouth, words garbled with spit and shame. “I can’t be good!”

“Hey,” Touya murmurs softly, the sheer concern in his voice startling you. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, you pull your head from his body, lifting it just enough to peek at him through your lashes.

And, oh, aren’t you a fucking sight, flesh streaked with salt, hair messy and sodden with sweat, chin trembling incessantly. A palm cups your jaw, rough thumb swiping across your cheekbone, catching tears mid-stream and smearing them across your skin.

“You haven’t failed me, princess,” his eyes are burning, bright and blue and clear, void of the hazy cloud the drugs usually cast. “You hear me? You can still be good—you are still good,” he pauses, allowing his words a moment to settle in your mind. “Niichan is going to help you, okay? Will you let him do that?”

Your nodding before he’s even finished speaking, and he can’t help but murmur out praises at your pure eagerness; such a good girl for him, so keen and wanting to please, isn’t that right?

“Woah, no, no, not yet,” he chuckles as you begin to sit up again, rubbing at your eyes with the back of your hand. “The further you sit up, the deeper my cock goes,” he explains, expert hands stilling your body. “See?”

Slow and precise, he inches your body up, up, up, until a gasp lacerates the atmosphere, your whole face scrunching in pain.

“Mhmm,” you breathe with a nod, a palm instinctively pressed between your hipbones to soothe the pang, lowering yourself back to his chest, the pain ebbing away.

“So we’re going to go slow, yeah?” his palms find their designated spot on your hips again, guiding them forward. “Just small little rolls, just like that,” he grunts a little, shifting beneath you. “There you go, baby, perfect,”

The praise reinvigorates you, a ferocious determination blazing to life in your chest, reignited by your everlasting craving for his approval and admiration.

Because you want nothing more than to make him proud, residual sniffles catching in your chest as you follow his lead, hips slow and steady as you begin to ride him again. It still hurts, fat dewdrops of tears streaming down your face, but you persevere for him, forcing your body to sit up, movements never halting.

His eyes shine with a peculiar little glimmer as he stares up at you, something soft and pretty swirling in the lust-tinged cobalt, something you’ve never seen before.

It’s something close to admiration, but not quite, something that murmurs about how pathetically precious you are, clueless and terrible and hurting, yet you endure it; you endure it all, just for him, only for him.

“You’re so…beautiful,” he breathes, calloused thumb swiping through your tears, gathering the salt on his fingertip before sticking it in his mouth. “You’re so fucking hot,”

His hands stay put on your body, continuing to mentor you, subtly readjusting the angle of your hips as you work at building up a rhythm until he finds whatever he’s looking for, indicated by a loud gasp and sweet little shudder, hips jerking a little.

A smirk crawls across his face, full of knowledge. “That feel good, baby?”

Yes, your nodding in quick little motions, eyes rolling back as the head of his cock brushes over that spot again. Yes, yes, yes, it feels so good.

“C’mon, use your words, niichan wants to hear it.”

“Yes, niichan, yes, it—it feels really good, it’s—” a moan cuts you off, movements beginning to speed up on their own accord, yearning for more of that intense pleasure.

It feels better than anything you’ve ever felt before—better than his fingers, better than his tongue, better than his thigh, better than any of it, than all of it combined, each stroke of his cock sending intoxicating sparks zipping through your veins, alighting your entire body.

It’s the same spot that he always seems to find with his fingers, you think, but this feels immensely better, compounded by the stretch of his cock and the grinding of your clit against his pubic bone.

“Ah, there you go,” Touya says, and his voice is warm, almost as if he’s happy you’re feeling good. “That’s it, you’re doing it, yeah, make yourself feel good, make yourself feel good for niichan,”

You’re nodding to yourself, sweet little whimpers falling from your lips as you push your hips to move faster, starting to really bounce on his cock. The tears staining your face have dried into crusted trails of salt, eyes glistening with lingering pain, kept safe behind your lashes, sobs diminished to the occasional sniffle, peppered artfully throughout your sounds of pleasure.

It’s Touya’s favourite sound in the whole fucking world.

“Look at my beautiful baby riding my cock, such a good little whore for me, doing so well,” he grunts, the grip on your hips tightening infinitesimally.

Because while you may be on top, his hands never leave your hips, never fully allowing you to take control, always keeping the reigns safe and secure in his palms.

“There you go, all you needed was someone to help you, yeah? Someone to bring out that inherent slut buried deep within you, huh? Fuckin’ Christ,” he groans. “Bet that fucking frat boy didn’t even know what a perfect slut he had on his hands. Because you’re only a perfect little slut for your big brother, isn’t that right?”

“For you, for you, only for you, niichan,” you’re babbling out, head nodding in loose little motions.

“You’re goddamn right, only for me.”

And he looks absolutely breathtaking beneath you, sapphire eyes lidded and shining in the dim light, pupils blown and voracious as they devour you, breathy words pouring from saliva-soaked lips, strands of soft ink strewn across your lace trimmed pillows, framing his head like a spiky halo of onyx.

It doesn’t take long after he finds your g-spot before you’re cumming pathetically hard, pathetically loud, pathetically quickly.

“Oh, oh niichan, I—It’s—ah!”

“Gonna cream all over my cock, baby?” he asks, and his eyes are wide, glittering with anticipation.

“Uh—Uh-huh,”

“Do it, then,” he orders, somehow both harsh and sweet, words spit from his mouth, impatient and eager as strong hands force your hips to speed up. “Fucking cum all over me, show me how gorgeous you look, gushing on a cock,”

His voice drips with authority, has your cunt submitting to it’s master in two seconds flat, whole body convulsing as you make a mess all over his cock, pussy clenching with such vigour it’s almost painful.

It forces the most glorious sound from Touya’s throat, though—a sound you’ve never heard him make before, a sound that has your entire stomach fluttering—as his head tilts back and his neck arches, Adam’s apple bobbing, prominent collarbone coated in intricate ink heaving with the moan.

Everything feels hazy, dreamy, as a special type of bliss rushes through your veins, so hot it burns, melting your bones and you collapse against his chest, body gone pliant.

You’re still grinding against him, rubbing the head of his cock against that spot over and over again even as it sends vicious judders of overstimulation rippling through your entire body, and he murmurs something into your hair, something about how fucking greedy you are, a large hand smoothing down your damp back.

You want to tell Touya how unbelievably incredible that was, how good it felt, how you want to do that every single day with him for the rest of your lives, but your tongue doesn’t seem to want to cooperate, turned heavy and sluggish in your mouth, stunned into silence by such immense pleasure.

Exhaustion tugs at the corners of your consciousness, weighting your eyelids as they begin to droop, face nuzzling into Touya’s chest.

But he rips you from serenity’s grasp half a moment later, suddenly shifting beneath you, a low whine sounding in your throat as his cock—still hard and throbbing—slips out of you, no longer acting as that warm, comforting plug that kept some of your juices safely inside, slick leaking out of you in cold little dollops.

Chills skitter across your skin, shivering at the loss of Touya’s heat, but then his hands are on you again, flipping you over, face pressed into your pillow.

He’s saying something as those rough hands curl around your hips and yank them up, a knee shoving at your own to widen your thighs, but it all sounds muddled, ears tuning in and out of his frequency, only catching bits of his sentences.

“…Fucked dumb…Fucking stupid from my…That’s all it takes, huh?”

Shutting your eyes tightly, you force yourself to concentrate, to focus, focus on niichan’s voice and decipher what he’s saying, be good for him and listen.

“Aw, that’s cute,” he says, but his voice is harsh, mean, razored by condescension, all of that abnormal kindness from earlier incinerated to ash in an instant. “You’re already so fucked out! So good for me, so easy,” his hands roam your ass, kneading the flesh as they go. “But we’re just getting started, baby,” a flat palm collides with your skin, the resounding slap echoing throughout the room, Touya speaking over it. “Wake up.”

The spank sends jolts searing through your veins, buzzing little sparks of pain that eat up any fatigue, stunning you awake.

Your arms tremble as you push yourself up just enough to glance back at him, sleep-tinged confusion written into your pretty features.

“It’s niichan’s turn now.”

The smile on his face is terrifying, stretched sharp and wide across his cheeks, but it doesn’t stop your stomach from squeezing in anticipation, in desperation, forever starved for him.

He must see something in your eyes, must read something in your expression, because he pauses, an odd little gleam shining in his gaze again, body blanketing yours as he leans forward to catch your chin and smash your lips together.

It’s nothing more than a brutal little peck, and you nearly strain your neck trying to follow his mouth, but then he’s pushing on the space between your shoulder blades again, shoving you back into the mattress.

“I want you to be a good girl and keep your head down and hips up,” he’s instructing as the head of his cock bumps against your hole. “Y’think you can do that for me?”

“Yes, niichan,” you’re responding instantly, words muffled by the pillow, head nodding frantically to accentuate your point.

He laughs again—something short, something soft and just for him—before he buries his cock in your cute little cunt in one swift thrust.

A yelp shatters in your throat, tangled in threads of saliva as it oozes into the fabric of your pillow, eyes snapping open.

This—This is so much deeper.

The pain is unimaginable, little hole stinging as it splits open for him again, but Touya doesn’t allow you a moment to meditate on it, a moment to voice your concerns at all, hips setting a ruthless pace right from the start.

Broken little cries, fragmented by the constant pumping of his hips, pour from your mouth, a steady stream of sweet agony drooled out into your mattress as his cockhead slams against your sore cervix.

The pain is unimaginable, but it’s also so fucking good, Touya having expertly angled his hips to ensure that his cock strokes that spot with each pound into you, sending thorns of pain-tinged pleasure shooting through your flesh. It’s impressive; he knows your own body better than you do, already, a fact that should frighten you, a fact that doesn’t.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until a sob claws at your chest, too lost in the sensations of it all—his bruising fingers writing his name all across your body in brilliant hues of blue; and his slamming hips, so harsh, so brutal they have your fingers tangling tightly in the sheets, every muscle in your body quivering as you try your best not to be jostled up the mattress; and his sharp teeth, sinking into your shoulder hard enough to slice through the flesh—drowning in the overstimulation, intoxicated by the exhilaration of pain and pleasure melding together and becoming one, brain turned to delightful mush.

“Yeah,” Touya breathes, and he sounds so beautiful, your chest aching at the thought of not being able to see him. “That’s it, take my cock. Take my cock like the good little slut you are.”

You whine, high and needy as your head nods lethargically. Anything for you, niichan.

Your orgasm hits you suddenly, unexpectedly, a burst of flames that lick through your veins and coil around your organs, embracing them in suffocating heat and pulsing in time with your pussy.

Everything feels hazy, body gone numb, vision blurring at the edges as you struggle to stay alert, desperate to hear him cum, to feel him cum.

It only takes another three sharp pistons of his hips before he’s spilling himself into you, stuffing you full of thick, burning cream, cock throbbing with the weak stuttering of his hips, a vicious shudder coursing through his flesh as a cracked whimper of your name sounds in deep his throat.

And oh, it feels fucking incredible, feels better than you could’ve ever imagined, the way he crams you so full of cum that it must be overflowing—into your tummy and down your thighs and all over the sheets.

It’s not enough, you want more, hips wiggling back against him in a pitiful attempt, a hiss spit from between his teeth.

“Christ, princess,” he pants out, though you can hear it, the notes of amusement, of adoration, infused in his tone. “You’ve already milked niichan for all the cum he’s got.”

“Want more, niichan,” you mumble into the puddle of drool saturating your sheets, cheeks and chin shining.

He chuckles a little—just a soft sound that dances on his tongue full of fondness and laced with disbelief—as he pulls out of you, a bratty whine falling from your lips.

“Listen,” he tells you as he turns you over slowly, gently, more gentle than he’s ever been before, more gentle than you ever thought him capable of. “Niichan will give you more very soon, okay? I promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Yeah, baby,” he says, thumb brushing sweat-soaked hair from your temple. “Pinky promise.”

A sigh escapes your lips, whole chest deflating with the weight of it as your eyes slip shut, a pleasant little smile melded to your mouth. “Good,” you murmur out, words garbled and thick with spit. “B’cause that—that was s’yummy.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he responds as he pulls your quivering body against his own, an arm wrapped tightly around your waist as the other hoists your comforter over your entwined forms.

A content little hum vibrates in your throat as you snuggle into him, a thigh hitched over his waist, a leg hooked around him, lips dropping a few sloppy kisses along his collarbone.

“Love you, niichan.”

It’s nothing more than a huff of warm breath wafting over his skin, so soft he would’ve missed it had he not been so close to you, and his blood turns to shards of ice in his veins, whole body frozen, stiff and rigid.

You don’t notice, already drifted into the clutches of sweet unconsciousness, the confession having slipped from your lips just as sleep took hold.

His heart rattles his rib cage, thumping hard and uneven against the bone, blood rushing in his ears, breath stagnating in his lungs.

Love him?

Panic alights every nerve in his body, cackling with sharp sparks of electricity, an urgent buzz zipping through the ice that had been coating his blood.

Love him?

No. This was never supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to fall for him, not this hard, not this real. You were only supposed to be a toy to be won, a piece of prey to be captured, a prize to be attained, played with, tarnished, then thrown away.

You are, aren’t you?

But you love him.

Echoes of the sentiment stick in his throat, but he can’t say it back—can’t even pretend it’s said in a familial sense, because he knows it isn’t—not yet, not even as the thought births a ball of pure sunshine in his chest; warm, true, right.

Too warm, too true, too right, too real, unfamiliar letters sharp as they claw up his throat and at the back of his tongue, tearing him apart from the inside out.

He should get up and leave. He should put some distance between the two of you, put some powder up his nose and pills down his throat as he tries to figure out what the fuck is going on here.

Except weak fingers are knotted in his t-shirt, an iron grasp that he’s hopeless of breaking, even if he wanted to.

And he doesn’t want to.

And that, that terrifies him most of all.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #bnha smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya smut #tw:stepcest #tw:dubcon #tw:dacryphilia #tw:toxic relationship #ENJOYYYYYYYYYYYY MY FRIENDS

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