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ferigrieving · 4 months ago

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cardinal sin.

⊹ ࣪our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

a.n direct consequence of being filipino

⤷ masterlist ; requests open ; 3.3k ; i. envy (here); ii. greed

touya todoroki was not religious

in the quiet corners of his mind, he envied those who were. it was a comforting illusion, an assurance of order and meaning in a chaotic world. there was always something to count on, something to blame. you knew where you were going to go after you died, and you knew what was waiting for you. but to a man like him, it felt as elusive as a whisper in the wind, slipping through his fingers whenever he really needed it most.

catholicism was a quiet undercurrent in a sea of traditions that make up japan, yet for the todoroki family, it plagued their every waking moment. every room was adorned with religious decor, and sometimes in the dead of night, touya was convinced that the eyes of jesus would move with his every step.

his father would curse those who did not live a life in the name of god, and his mother would pray for them. touya did not know if he belonged. he would go to church every sunday, make the sign of the cross. go through the motions, and then go through them again. page 257. responsorial hymn. the body and blood of christ. sign of the cross, sign of the cross again. it was like clockwork, and sometimes he wonders if the church ever strayed from the path of god.

because if he was made in the image of god, then who was he truly?

the church was both a place of solace and a prison.

there was something freeing about the silence, the cool stone, the dimly lit interior.

and when everyone had gone, touya would often sit under the soft glow of a stained glass window. he would sit in the last pew, watching the evening light play across the stone floor, the reds, blues, and greens casting a glow across his face. he'd stare into the soft light, and imagine that it was illuminating the empty space in his heart.

and somewhere along the line, churchgoing became bar hopping.

the first time he tasted alcohol, he hated it. it tasted like gasoline and smoke.

but the burn, the way it made his head go numb, it was addicting. it was a form of release, the way confession never could be, and touya quickly got a taste for it.

the bar was everything the church wasn't. the soft sounds of religious hymns were replaced the loud beats of pop music, and instead of the cold, wooden bench of the church, it was a sticky, metal stool.

but the noise was a welcome change, one that drowned out the thought of prayer in his head.

it wasn't exactly how his mother would imagine someone like him to spend his friday night. it was exactly what he craved. not for the alcohol, or for the cheap thrill of a conversation with a pretty stranger. not for any of that, because that wasn't touya.

no, he was searching for something else. a freedom from the eyes of a father, and a god.

and freedom was what he discovered in the dingy, local bar.

he learned very quickly that a pretty face would do wonders. a quick flash of a bright, charming smile and the perfect pick up line would always get him what he wanted. people here didnt care that he was a walking, talking corpse, body mutilated in ways unimaginable.

and it was never the pretty girl with delicate hands and soft eyes. nor was it the spunky one with wild eyes and wearing the shortest shorts and a bra top. it was you, always you.

you, who sat all the way in the furthest part of the bar every friday night, nursing a half-empty glass of cheap beer.

you, who never spoke to anyone who would attempt to buy you a drink.

you, who seemed to never take your eyes off him, your cold gaze following him across the room.

he was intrigued.

you were nothing like he expected.

a quiet boy in a den of drunks and the lost. a pretty face that seemed determined to stay out of the spotlight. he’d see how your dark eyes would darken and soften when they caught sight of the exposed flesh on his arms, the way your gaze would linger on the pale skin and burn scars on his hands as they wrapped around a glass of whiskey.

he found himself thinking about you after each night he visited. wondering what made you stay at the bar each weekend as if you were waiting for something.

were you waiting for a miracle, or a sign from god?

did you truly believe that god would show signs in a place like this? in a bar filled with drunk men and broken dreams, and people so lost they didn't even remember their way home? were you really waiting for a miracle here of all places?

and when he finally got to know you, touya would soon learn that you were everything he was not.

you were so achingly beautiful. not just in the way you looked, but in the way you spoke, the way your eyes seemed to always linger on the stars. the way you carried yourself with an underlying sadness that you tried to hide.

he fell in love with the soft flutter of your eyelashes, the shy smiles, and the way your hair would look rumpled in the early hours of the morning.

you were there each and every weekend, and it didn't take long for touya to realise that you'd been waiting for him all along.

god, he was so stupid.

all this time he spent searching for a sign, something to convince him that god had forsaken him.

and the first time he had taken you to bed, he felt like all of his prayers had been answered.

touya took you home, not knowing what he was doing half the time. he fumbled with his keys, stumbled over the threshold of his apartment, and practically slammed the door shut behind him.

he pressed you up against the wall, his body pressed close against yours, his hands roaming over your hips, your chest, your face. every touch and caress was a desperate plea for more, for something deeper, for something more intimate than anything he had ever felt before.

he couldn't seem to get enough of you

he ran his lips over your skin, kissed you with a sense of purpose, a sense of urgency. he wanted to devour you whole, to bury himself in you and never come back up for air again.

touya was a man starving, and you were the one thing that could satisfy his hunger.

the touch of your skin against his own was like the sweetest kind of sin. it made him forget all about the cold, lifeless church to the god who had abandoned him.

your presence was a religion all on its own, and touya was an obedient disciple, ready to worship at your altar every chance he got.

and there, in the quiet darkness of his bedroom, surrounded by the soft, intimate sounds of skin on skin, he found the closest thing to heaven he'd ever felt.

no bible, no holy water or prayers could compare to the feeling of you in his arms. your breath against his neck, the sound of your name on his lips.

the world outside the four walls of his apartment didn't matter anymore. the past, the present, none of it seemed real except this moment, right here, with you.

he was desperate to savour every second of it, to commit every detail to memory. the way you looked at him, the way you touched him, the way you tasted like the sweetest form of sin.

he would gladly spend an eternity right here, worshipping you, if you'd let him. and he knew, from the depths of his heart to the darkest crevices in his mind, that this was wrong.

the church would condemn him to hell. his father would curse his name. his own mother would pray for forgiveness, thinking that her son's desire for other men was as blasphemous as the rest of his actions.

but touya didn't care. he was lost to the sinful ecstasy of your body, the soft, perfect warmth of your lips against his skin. he was a sinner, and he would gladly follow you into the fire rather than let you go.

the church taught that love was a gift from god. touya realised that this, here in the darkened corners of his room, was his gift. you were his miracle. the thing he had waited for all this time.

he wanted to keep you close, to memorise every detail of you, to make sure that every part of you was burned into his memory.

and as he lay there in the dark, hours later, with you wrapped around him like a second skin, he realised that you were what he was looking for when he went to church.

he didn't know what to make of it. he'd been in relationships before, but none of them had ever made him feel this way.

he ran his fingers through your hair, the silky strands slipping through his fingers, listening to the soft sound of your breathing as you slept.

in that moment, he couldn't blame god for the way he was. couldn't blame him for the scars that covered his body, the way he loved men the way he should women.

you were god's blessing to him, not his punishment.

but god was not that kind. kind enough to grant him your existence, but not kind enough to let him keep it.

he had given touya a miracle, had laid the most perfect, pure thing in front of him for him to cherish.

but the church was also clear about what happened to those who sinned.

the bible said that men who lay with men should be stoned to death, along with those who took a man as they would a woman. they were an abomination to god, and touya knew that he would suffer the wrath of the lord for his transgressions

and so, while his heart was light and he found salvation in your embrace, his mind was dark and heavy. he knew that this happiness was just a brief, temporary respite.

he knew that this love, his love for you, was doomed from the beginning.

“dabi!”

the bar was alive with noise and laughter, a sound that touya once looked forward to. but now, he wanted nothing more than to get out. he sat in the same place as he always did, furthest part of the counter next to the jukebox, nursing a whiskey and watching as you moved through the room like water. gone was the quiet, gentle person he met all those weeks ago, replaced by someone no better than the common alcoholic.

once, this place would have been his sanctuary.

the dim lighting, the sound of heavy pop music, the drunken men in the back of the bar.

he'd been a regular here for as long as he could remember.

but now, it was a prison.

he'd rather sit in the cold, harsh silence of a church than the noisy, chaotic bar. he'd rather listen to the drone of a prayer than the sound of your laughter.

the sound pierced through the commotion, yet it blended in with the chatter and music, as if you had always belonged in this world of chaos. it was a far cry from the sanctity of the church touya had gotten away from, the whispered prayers and solemn hymns nowhere to be found. here, you were free, and touya couldn't help but feel a pang of envy at how easily you adapted to your new life.

envy.

he'd always felt it, deep within him. the feeling that something wasn't fair.

it was in the church. it was in the presence of his father. it was here, in the bar, where you fit in so effortlessly. he felt it, deep in his bones, and in every part of his body.

oh how he was seething with envy.

touya sat in his corner, watching as you worked the room with a charming smile and pretty pick-up lines. he saw how others looked at you, how their eyes would linger on you as you walked by, shamelessly looking you up and down, raking over the skin that was barely concealed.

he hated hearing you flirt with others as easily as you breathed. he hated seeing you touch other men, touch them the way you'd once touched him. he hated the way you would laugh with them. how you'd smile and lean into their touch.

the way they'd get to put their hands on your skin, the way they get to kiss you under the dim light, the way they get to be close to you in all the ways he did. he hated it all.

they were always just some random man you'd pick up from the bar, yet they got so much more of you than he ever had.

what did you see in them? what did you see in them that he didn't have?

you weren't his boyfriend. nor was he yours. you two were not together, and he doubts you’d ever be. he didn't know what to call what you had with him. a situationship? a one night stand? friends with benefits? god, were you even friends?

a stolen kiss beneath the shadows of a church, a touch in the back of a bar, the hushed quiet of his apartment in the dead of night.

it was supposed to be a fling. a meaningless bit of fun, nothing that should ever amount to more than a brief moment of pleasure.

yet, touya found himself here, drowning in a pool of jealousy, wanting nothing more than to pull you against him and claim you as his. every touch, every kiss, every hushed whisper with another man broke his resolved little by little, and it was only a matter of time before it finally shattered.

his bed was empty without you. all he could do at night was think about how another man was pleasuring you, doing what he did all those nights ago. he knows he could be better, he knows that he is better.

his body ached for you.

he knew that he could make you fall apart with just the touch of his hands, could have you begging his for his name instead of those random men's. he knew that he was more than capable of sending you flying over the edge, again, and again, and again.

yet, you were always with someone else. your hands were on others instead of his skin. your lips were kissing others instead of his. what did he do wrong?

touya wondered if this was his punishment, if god had intended for him to suffer as you thrived without him. the church’s teaching echoed in his mind, reminding him of the wages of sin and the inevitable retribution. he had dared to love where he shouldn't, and now, he was paying the price.

and every time you would knock on his apartment, in the dead of night, smelling like sex and alcohol and god knows what else, he would let you in without a word.

he hated it. he knows he shouldn't, that he should tell you to fuck off, to go back to your own apartment and never look at him again. but he could never refuse you, not when you were looking at him like that, with those needy, hazy eyes of yours.

touya wanted to ask you if you were okay, if the men at the bar had touched you with the care you deserve. but he knew you had no interest in answering those questions, at least not while you were like this. all you wanted was to lay down, and sleep.

and you'd come to him, leaning into his chest, and the familiar smell of smoke and whiskey would surround him, making his head spin. you'd nuzzle your face into his neck, and your lips would be hot on his skin, whispering his name with a voice roughened by alcohol and longing.

touya’d gently coax you towards the bedroom, his hands running over your skin. he'd help you out of your clothes, into the spares you left at his, eyes tracing the shapes and curves of your body. he'd lay you gently on the bed, his hands lingering over your skin.

he want so badly to keep you like this, to keep you under him and away from the touch of other men. but he knew that you were just as likely to leave as you were to stay.

after laying down, he’d whisper things into your ear, things he knew he shouldn't say, things that came from the darkest parts of his heart. words about how he wished you were his, how he wanted to keep you by his side, how he wanted to be the only one to touch you.

and you wouldn’t remember a thing when you woke.

you never did.

touya would watch as you slept next to him, the heavy rise and fall of your chest, the quiet sounds of your breath.

and he knew that when you woke, you wouldn't remember any of the things he'd said, the pleas and demands that he'd whispered into your ear. you'd see none of the desperate, possessive way he'd pulled you into his arms, none of the quiet jealousy that had simmered beneath his skin.

you’d wake get dressed, and leave him alone in his bed, returning to the world outside his apartment without a care in the world. sometimes have breakfast, watch a movie, bake a cake. play the part.

touya’d watch as you rose from the bed the next morning, stretching and raking a hand through your tousled hair. he'd see the traces of his fingers on your skin where he'd held onto you, the faint marks of his lips on your neck. but you wouldn't remember any of it, not the way he'd touched you or the way he'd held you.

he'd hate seeing you leave, knowing he'd be alone once again. he'd want to keep you in his arms, to trap you in his bed and never let you go. he'd want to keep you locked away from the world, all to himself. but he knew that it was a futile desire, a wish he couldn't have.

and just like that, you'd be gone. leaving him alone in the quiet of his empty apartment, with nothing but the memories of the night before.

touya had never considered himself a religious person, not with the life he'd led.

he'd cursed the teachings of the church, resented the weight of their doctrine, and scorned the idea of a benevolent god.

yet, there were times when he wondered if he should have more faith, if he should seek forgiveness and guidance from something beyond himself. it was at those times, when he was alone with his thoughts, that he questioned whether god was watching over him, waiting for him to repent and turn back to the light. that this was all a test, one that he couldnt help but fail.

but sitting in the empty, quiet apartment after you'd left, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe there was some truth to it all.

#⊹ ࣪ ˖ greywrites #⊹ ࣪ ˖ cardinal sin #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia #dabi #dabi x reader #dabi todoroki #touya todoroki #touya x reader #todoroki x reader

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ferigrieving · 4 months ago

Text

cardinal sin.

⊹ ࣪our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

a.n if you're re-reading this i switched chapter one and two around my bad fazgang

⤷ masterlist ; requests open ; 3.3k ; i. envy; iii. gluttony

dawn breaks gently, casting a warm glow through the curtains, as touya lies beside you, mesmerized by your peaceful slumber. the soft light of dawn paints your features in shades of gold and rose, creating a scene of quiet beauty that he wishes he could capture forever. his heart aches with a love he cannot express, a longing that fills the space between you.

as he traces your features with his gaze, committing them to memory, he feels the weight of his desire—a yearning to keep this moment, to hold you close and never let go. in these moments, he allows himself to forget the world outside, to revel in the stillness of the room and the quiet bond between you.

and touya is convinced that here, laying across from you in the early hours of the morning, is the closest he’ll ever get to knowing what heaven is like.

he loves you. he can never say it, he can never show it, but it’s there – and there it will stay. it’s a blessing and a curse, the love he feels for you. he loves the way your face looks when you’re asleep. soft, and sweet. no trace of the anger that you show when awake, the despair and distress that plague your every waking moment.

the early morning sun filters through the curtains, bathing you in it’s soft golden glow. and he cant help but stare at your face, trying to drink in the details. touya is a greedy, greedy man, and you’re just the fix he needs.

his fingers ghost over the slope of your jaw, tracing the sharp contours of your chin, of your nose, of your cheek bones. his eyes rake over you hungrily, greedily, trying to commit every last detail of you to memory. your parted lips, the faint freckles dusting your skin, the dark circles rimming your eyes.

he cant help but look at you in awe, the faint pinks and purples of the sunrise blending together on your face — all messy hair, smeared makeup, and rumpled pyjamas. he feels his fingers twitch.

touya wants you all to himself. he wants to keep you close, to bottle this moment and keep it forever. ingrain this picture of you, asleep beside him onto the backs of his eyelids, so he can relive it as much as he wants.

and he cant help but think,

mine, mine, mine.

but you aren’t his. you never have been, and you never will be. so, he does the only thing he can do. he reaches out, and carefully brushes a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, his touch as tender and as light as a butterfly’s wing. touya wants nothing more than to kiss you, feel the warmth of your lips against his, to taste the faint remains of chapstick from last night, memorise every ridge and bump as if he were a blind man.

you stir in your sleep, and for a moment touya worries that you’ll wake. but you don’t. instead, your hand moves in search of him, blindly reaching out into the dark.

touya’s heart is in his throat, pounding a steady rhythm against his adam’s apple as you make contact with his stomach. without thinking, your hand grabs at his hip, fingers curling into a loose grip. you murmur something indecipherable, brows scrunching up and in that moment touya wanted nothing more than to reach out and smooth it back to how it should be.

he can smell the faint scent of smoke and alcohol lingering on your skin. it’s faint, but it still pisses him off. he doesn’t like it when you go out, doesn’t like the way you come back smelling like the bar and the strangers you danced with. you’re always loud and clingy when you’re drunk, and it’s all he can do to keep you away for the night.

and when you come home, stumbling into the apartment, your eyes half-lidded and a sloppy smile on your face, his blood boils. every drunken word you pour into his ear is like a sharp knife in his heart.

”i love you.” you say, your eyes watery with drunken tears.

‘i love you too’ he says back, hours later when you’re fast asleep.

it’s a cardinal sin, a death sentence.

he knows this. he knows it better than anyone.

‘thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.’

it is abomination.

he is an abomination.

and yet, he still lets you crawl into his bed, like every other weekend like clockwork. you always cling to him, smelling of alcohol and cheap cologne. sometimes you smell like cigarettes too, the cheap ones he steals from the lawsons down the street, your hair clinging to his face as you bury yours into his chest.

he thinks of the bible — of the burning fires of hell and the eternal damnation that awaits those who fall. of the seven deadly sins and the cardinal, irreversible wrongs that they bring.

but even with the threat of death, he cannot pull away from you. it’s like a sickness, an addiction. he can no more abstain from you than he can from breathing air or drinking water.

you’re an apple, and he is no better than eve.

touya’s not so sure when he started to fall. it was gradual, slow at first. a slow burn that eventually consumed him whole. every touch, every word, every smile from you had his heart aching, his bones aching to just give into the temptation, the forbidden sin.

he can’t get enough of you. the sound of your voice, the curve of your hips, the way you laugh when he whispers in your ear. the heat of your skin against his, how your hands feel in his hair, the soft moans you make when he brings his lips to your neck —

and like all his other vices, touya cannot pull himself away.

but for a while, it’s enough. laying with you like this, listening to your soft little breaths and pretending, just for a moment, that this is all real. his eyes flutter closed as he pulls you impossibly close, wrapping you in all of him, and letting the warmth of your body sooth him like a lullaby.

time loses meaning here, in this moment. it’s just you, him, and the early morning light filtering through the window. he can hear your heart beating in tandem with his, the steady thump-thump against his chest like a reassurance.

he looks down at you, and the tightness in his chest that always comes whenever he is around you only grows worse, its hands wrapping around his neck and squeezing.

and when you stir in your sleep, your hand finding his under the covers, touya can’t help but think, with a sickening sense of irony, that the devil was once an angel too.

even now, he wants to pull the covers over your heads and stay there forever, to live in a little fantasy of his own creation. it isn’t fair, he thinks. how can something that feels so sinful feel so good?

he will have to wake soon, and so will you, and then he will have to watch you pull away from him. have to listen to you pretend it never happened, watch you go about his day like you didnt just ruin his. like he was just an afterthought, when to him, you were everything he ever thought of.

he can’t ask you to stay, because that would mean baring his heart in a way he’s not ready for. all that’s left for him is to pretend. pretend that he doesn’t care about you, that he’s unaffected by the way you laugh or the way you look at him like he’s worth something. pretend that he doesn’t want more, when the truth is, he wants everything that you are and then some.

you stretch in your sleep, mumbling under your breath, and he almost loses to the greed. in the pale morning light pouring through the curtains, you look ethereal, like something from a dream.

mine, he thinks again.

always, and forever.

“...touya?”

you murmur his name in that soft, sleep-heavy voice of yours, like a prayer.

he doesn’t realise you’ve awoken until you utter his name. touya stills, his hand frozen in your hair, and looks down at your face. your eyes are still half-lidded and bleary with sleep, and you reach a hand out, running your fingers through the dark locks of his hair.

he thinks he can almost hear the angel perched on his shoulder, whispering warnings of the divine fire that will burn his soul in damnation.

but the devil perched beside it only laughs and laughs, watching as he lets you pull yourself in closer, until you’re nestled safely against his chest, where you were always meant to be.

your fingers are warm against the bare flesh of his chest, tracing the large burns that run up and down his body like lines of scripture. he shivers under your touch, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe, your scent filling his nose and mind, intoxicating him like a fine wine.

he wants to pin you down, to hold you with all of him, and make you say his name like a prayer — whisper sweet, sinful benedictions that only the devil himself would know, and make you his for all eternity.

but he cant.

and just like that, he is reminded of the sin he is committing. for a moment, the fire in his lungs extinguishes itself, and a bitter sort of clarity washes through him.

touya can count three.

one in sleeping with you.

another in falling in love with you.

and a third, in hoping you could love him back.

it’s laughable, really. he’s a villain, with a body full of scars and a heart full of malice. his hands are stained with the blood of a thousand sins, and no amount of penance or prayer can ever wash them free of it.

and yet the biggest sin of all is right in his arms—the sin of sleeping with man.

but you’re still pressed into his skin, blissfully ignorant of the fire you spark in his chest. your mouth is against his collarbone, warm and soft, and he has to bite his tongue hard enough to draw blood to stop from making a sound.

“–what do you want to do today?”

touya almost laughs at the question.

he’s thought about this countless times, the two of you sharing a lazy day off. getting up late, ordering in for dinner. laying in bed the entire day and not having to get up until tomorrow.

he looks down at you, watching your hair spill over your shoulders like spilled ink. for a brief moment, he imagines a domestic life with you— waking up every morning to see your face, coming home from a long shift to find you waiting for him. eating dinner with you, and watching a movie only to fall asleep on the couch, tangled up in each others arms.

it’s a fantasy, nothing more. the only reason he’s lying in bed next to you right now is because you were drunk last night and too tired to make it to your own apartment. an occurrence that seems to happen every night, and every night after that.

he smiles, bittersweet. “whatever you want to do.”

you hum under your breath as you think, your hand idly tracing the lines of the scars on his chest. touya stiffens in spite of himself, heat flushing through his body like a wave.

he’s always been sensitive about them, not just because of the memories they hold, but also because they’re a reminder of what he lost— his childhood, his innocence, his sanity.

and yet, your touch is light and tender, your fingers tracing the lines with a sort of worship he’s never felt from anyone before.

it’s like you’re memorising them, mapping out the ridges and valleys of his broken skin. touya can feel his heart picking up pace, a lump forming in his throat like a rock.

you don’t treat his scars as a flaw; or something to be looked at with horror. no, the look in your eyes isn’t one of disgust or fear. it’s something else entirely, a sort of aching tenderness.

it feels like you’re hitting him in the head with a rock, again, and again, until his brain is spilled onto the floor, and his heart stops beating.

why? he wants to ask. why are you looking at him like that? why aren’t you running away and screaming like everyone else has done? why do you touch him like he’s made of glass, like he’s something fragile, something to be loved?

he swallows, and closes his eyes, hoping to keep himself together.

“lets watch a movie.”

he almost laughs again. movies. it’s such a normal thing to do on a day off, like the two of you are a normal, healthy couple, instead of a villain and his drunken roommate who happens to share a bed. and an apartment, it seems. he should ask you to move in soon. it’d do you both a favour.

“what do you feel like watching?” he hums, calloused fingers feather light against your skin.

“i want to go out and watch a movie.” you mumble, voice groggy from disuse. “a real movie, in a real theater.”

touya wanted to laugh in your face. a real movie in a real theater? god, you were just asking for it.

“and you remember everything that happened the last time we went out, right?”

“...no?

he sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. of course you dont remember. last time you went out, you’d managed to get smashed and dance in just about every club in a three block radius. touya had finally found you, making out with half a stranger in the corner of some seedy dive bar.

the memory fills him with a sort of bitter resentment. how many drunken kisses had you given the strangers of that club? how many times had you been held like that, touched and grabbed like you were something to be passed around?

he’d wanted to kill those people. he’d wanted to kill you.

“i don’t let you out like that anymore unless you’re sober.” he says, his tone harsh. “you’re a pain in the ass to deal with when you're drunk.”

“i am?” your tone confuses him. he cant tell if you were being genuine, or if his mind chose not to pick up on the lie. he doesnt want to know.

his jaw clenches. even now, you’re too clingy and too sweet. you’re always loud and always touchy, and the alcohol only makes it worse. you’re always like a clingy, drunken limpet, hanging onto his arm like you’ll die without his touch.

“yes, you are. you’re a pain in the ass.” he snaps. “you get too loud, too clingy, and it’s like dealing with a goddamn puppy.”

“oh im,” the frown on your face made him want to throw up. “–im sorry.”

he almost laughs at the apology. a sorry from you at this point is about as good as nothing. he’s seen this routine over and over again— you go out to a nightclub, get wasted, get clingy and then come home reeking of alcohol and cologne.

then, you give him a sheepish little smile, apologise, and go right back to doing the same thing the very next week.

he almost rolls his eyes at the thought. it’s like you don’t understand— if you apologise, then he should forgive you. thats how it goes. but what is forgiveness, when you never learn your lesson?

“i don’t forgive you.” he says, his voice cold. “i’m sick of your bullshit apologies. if you’re really sorry, then stop going out like you are now.”

he isn’t angry with you, per se. he’s angry with everyone else. he’s angry with the people in the club who touch you like you’re theirs, who look at you like you’re something for sale. he thinks of your body, how it’s right here, right now, pressed up against him. something that those people will never get to experience like he ever will.

and yet, it’s them who gets to feel you like this, as if you’re not already his.

touya wants to burn the entire world down. the clubs, the strangers who touch you and leave their grime and their stench on your skin, the people who even so much as look at you.

his skin feels too tight, his entire body taut with energy, like a live wire ready to snap at a moment’s notice. the feeling is all-consuming, destroying, making all his thoughts burn to cinders with a possessive, selfish fire.

it makes his chest burn, a sour, bitter anger like bile. he wants to be the only one to touch and hold you like that. he wants to listen to you sigh and shiver under his touch, to be the only one to hear the soft noises you make when he kisses you, when he runs his rough, calloused hands across the expanse of your body.

those assholes don’t deserve to be near you, even less to touch you. you’re his. you belong with him.

“thats– thats okay. if you dont forgive me.” your skin feels like on fire, and you wanted nothing more than to throw off the sheets and walk off. but you couldnt do that. not to touya, and not to yourself. “just know im still sorry.”

wrong answer.

“i don’t forgive you,” he repeats, and his voice comes out cold. “but you don’t get it, do you? you say ‘sorry’, like that somehow fixes everything, but what difference does it make if you’re just going to go out and do the same thing all over again?”

his jaw clenches. you’re too sweet, too gentle, and too damn naive. you trust people too easily, open up to them far too quickly, share your body too happily.

it makes him sick. it makes his skin burn hotter than the flames in his veins, anger and some other twisted thing coiling inside him.

"its.. its just hard, touya." you confess, biting the inside of your mouth. you didnt know how to explain to him your thought process. and to be honest, you couldnt explain it to yourself either.

he almost laughs at the answer.

“don’t tell me it’s ‘hard’,” he snaps. “you go out there and open your legs for anyone who gives you the time of day, then come home and expect me to clean up the mess. don’t give me that bullshit, ‘it’s just hard’.”

the words are harsh— harsher than he intends them to be. but he can’t bring himself to feel bad— what is he supposed to feel, besides anger and frustration? there is a bitterness in him, burning hotter than the fire in his veins, consuming him like a flame.

“do you feel loved, touya?”

do i feel loved?

he almost laughs. love. as if a villain like him would ever be lucky enough to know the taste of such an emotion. love was a thing of light, of hope, and for someone who had neither, it was a foreign idea entirely.

his family did not love him. he was not born out of love, nor did he ever feel it in the years after that. his father was abusive, and his mother was absent. his siblings don't respect him, and he never had any friends.

“why would that even matter?” he spits, his voice harsh. “that has nothing to do with you going out.”

“we both know we aren't loved, touya.” you mumbled, voice cracking as you shut your eyes. “our parents didn't love us, our siblings didn't love us, and we had no friends. your coping mechanism is killing people, but you have a problem with me sucking people off every day?”

he almost laughs. the comparison is cruel— and it’s also true. he wants to argue, wants to say it’s different, but he can’t.

so he bites his tongue and stays silent, staring at the ceiling instead.

“its not love. i know that. but for a moments, it feels like it. when im in bed with someone, im needed, for even just a moment. even if im just a hole to them, at least im something.”

it’s like someone’s punched him, driving the air from his lungs. it’s too much, hearing you talk like that— like you’re something to be passed around and used, something to be tossed away when you’re no longer needed.

“and what?” his voice comes out strangled. “i’m not enough, when you’re with me?”

“you are. you’re more than enough. and thats exactly the problem.”

he almost laughs at that. more than enough— a phrase he’s never heard before, a thought he’s never even dared to think.

he closes his eyes. suddenly, he feels so stupid that it hurts.

no one’s ever needed him before, not like that. no one’s ever even wanted him, much less needed. he’s never been a first choice, or someone to lean on, or to care about. no one has ever even thought about holding him.

“so i’m enough,” he says, voice wavering “but you still want something more.”

it’s a bitter realization, a harsh truth that hits like a fist. more than enough— and yet still not enough. not enough to keep you from wanting to go out and get touched and held by strangers.

he swallows, the lump in his throat feeling like something he can’t swallow.

“so what do you want, then?” o lord, hear our prayer. “what the hell do you want?”

“you, my love.” listen to my cry for mercy. “i want you.”

touya would go to church this sunday.

he’d probably make a poor churchgoer, a man used to sin and violence and death, with more blood on his hands than he can count. but still, he’d try. he’d sit in the pew and pray for you, pray that god would forgive him for what he has done, and what he will continue to do.

he doesn’t deserve you, and he knows it. he’s never been a religious man, but if there is a god, he’s going to beg on his hands and knees, plead on his knees for a chance.

just a chance to make you his.

he can picture it perfectly— the rows and rows of pews, the arched ceiling, the high windows stained with colorful glass. the crucifix at the front of the church, and the priest droning out the rites in a solemn, monotone voice.

touya would sit there and listen to the sermon, and he would pray to a god he doesn’t even believe in just for the slim chance that it would work. because all he wants is you, more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.

he pictures himself kneeling in prayer, his palms pressed together like a sinner begging for forgiveness. he sees himself making the sign of the cross, fingers reaching up to touch his forehead, his chest and his shoulders.

it’s a desperate prayer, a futile prayer. but he’d pray to a god he doesn’t even know if he believes in, offering up whatever he can— whatever he has— just for the chance to win you over.

“you want… me?”

“you’re so fucking stupid, touya.”

your lips were soft. softer than he had ever imagined. they were sweet, and if he really concentrated, he could taste your strawberry chapstick.

he’s too stunned to react at first, frozen in place by the shock of your kiss.

and then his brain catches up, and then and only then, does he finally kiss you back, kissing you with a bruising force, as if he’s trying to pour every emotion into you.

he knows he’s an idiot. a complete and utter fool, to have not seen how much you wanted him. and yet, here you are. wanting him. needing him. loving him.

touyas never felt like this before, so overwhelmed with desire and want. no other touch has ever felt the way yours does. when you press against him like this, your body so small and pliant and willing, it makes him feel like he’s burning up from the inside.

he kisses you again, and again, and again.

he wants nothing more than to worship you like a saint. he wants to fall to his knees and beg for you like a man possessed, desperate for the feel of your skin and the taste of your mouth, for the touch of your hands and the sound of your voice saying his name.

there’s something sacrilegious in the way he wants you, he’ll fucking pray to you on his hands and knees if you only asked him, for just a hint of you. a single word, a touch, anything. he’ll go down on his knees, begging and pleading, if it means he’ll get to hear you say his name.

he’s a sinner, through and through, but you make him want a touch of divinity. there is something wrong in the way he craves you, in the way he wants you, something dirty and unholy and wrong, but he’s too far gone to care.

once upon a time, touya didn’t know god.

he didn’t believe in a higher power, didn’t believe in anything beyond the physical world. there was no room for something as soft and ephemeral as faith in his heart.

but now he knows. he knows what it’s like to believe in something bigger than oneself, to believe in things he can’t see or touch or feel. he’s found a god in you. you are his higher power, his reason for living, the one thing he’ll worship above all else.

he’ll pray at your altar until his knees bruise, beg and plead and worship until he’s hoarse. he’ll kneel at your feet and praise you, a thousand praises and compliments and prayers, as many as you’ll allow.

he knows your touch is a miracle, an act of god, because no one else has ever made him feel this alive.

#⊹ ࣪ ˖ greywrites #⊹ ࣪ ˖ cardinal sin #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia #dabi #dabi x reader #dabi todoroki #todoroki touya x reader #touya todoroki #todoroki x reader

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