#cw—fucking puthy drunk dabi

[soranihimawari]

If I Touch You Like This…

Based on this hc I have via the corresponding q&a

Warnings: 🔞—mdni// adult relationships// fucking with Dabi/Touya// slight confessions be damned!!

Pairing: Dabi x (f!) reader// reader has a secret quirk//soft dabi is kinda cool// mentions of pregnancy and family planning

Word count: 3.1 K

Burning buildings in your youth have become a norm. Clearly as the world around your academics have since been turned to ash, you practically walk away unscathed. Your quirk manifested in chemistry class once upon a time and considering now you live by the docks, you’re taking time off. Ok, maybe that’s what you said when your parents made a FaceTime call, but you didn’t want to make them a worry you took up an informant job on the downlow.

The black market is a wild section to navigate since the League and it’s associates have been forming teams on the inside of the law for a couple months back. Your experience as a photographer for arson cases with a primary focus on cold cases, come to your email addresses every other week. You think it’s coincidental the fire department houses you on the docks and with the ability to be set on fire haphazardly with the inherent ability to not burn, but rather wear the flames well, causes you be a prime candidate.

Lately, because of your line work, you met him. The one villain whom you were debriefed in having a short temper and even shorter fuse. So, why does he cover your mouth with his as he abuses your drenched pussy on your kitchen floor? Why does he shudder when the thoughts of last month’s sex-carnival where he discovers your praise kink (and you called him by a name he thought you forgot about) and his crazy-drunken stare has you cumming around him be the main thoughts during this meeting with the League?

Perhaps Toge said it best: “a fool in love is what ya are, Dabi.”

“Watch it blondie,” he warns. “It was a one time deal.”

“One time?” Twice strokes his chin. “Dabi, you had that ‘pussy drunk’ stare all meeting…”

He scoffs, rolls his eyes, and says he’s stepping out before he burns them on purpose. Instead, he burns the police academy branch as he does whenever he “soul searches.” Your name lights up his phone with a series of texts asking him if he ever needs you to come back to where you two met. You mention buying him a whiskey, he obliges. Only around you can Todoroki “Dabi” Touya be honest.

Like right now, when he’s buried so deep inside you’re nearly crying from how great he uses you; you don’t care how much he missed your body. Not when he fondles your exposed breast with one hand the other reaching between your legs you have wrapped around his lower back.

“Are y-yah close?” You whisper hotly, eyes closed bracing yourself for another harsh jolt of pleasure.

“Are you?”

Two words has you nodding and panting like you’re about to pass out. Your tiles are going to be ruined if his quirk activated before you crack open to see how pointed his brows get. The closer he is to us own high, the further you dive into your release: first and foremost, for your safety, you don’t let anyone know who literally keeps your bed warm at night; second, with how he abused your other orfaces from two days ago, missionary was the only other position you could have him rig you with the silk clothes that bound your hands together for now. Having him hit it raw before doesn’t bother you, you figure if a scare happens, you’ll let him know right away whatever the news is—you make enough money after all, but learning to cover for a lover who is wanted globally for his crimes does little to excuse the man from the child’s life. Sure, in the last few months leading to this exchange on your kitchen floor, you express your half of the concern because science dictates if boy truly fucks girl well, then they’re lucky to have children. You discuss this with him freely, on the off chance you don’t contact him for months. You came up with the contingency plans if he doesn’t want to be a part because of “work reasons,” yet he stops you saying he doesn’t mind.

“A firm believer in my choice, huh?” you jest.

He kisses your brow when he walks around the coffee table to join you in the couch. The kiss turns into two, three, then more. Amazing what a three week (or once a month) dick appointment can get a lady. A love sustained by secret rendezvous and nondescript assailant conjectures are enough to keep up appearances.

Presently, as your hips thrust against his, your reality snaps into focus rather quickly. Your hands grip his shoulders as the carnality of his love takes flight. He pictures you a bit older, a bit rounder, knowing he had his fun filling you up, enough that you thought what color eyes a child born from the chaos his parents create, and you don’t make a sound but a broken mewl claiming he’s to ruin you like this until his seed takes. And if that doesn’t make the lovesick fool fuck you harder to the point you can feel his primed-coated cock hit your cervix harshly, he knows he won’t stop.

“Ack! Fucking ‘ell,” you bark a laugh matching his pace. You’re legs though propped now still guide him to leave them quaking. “S’good!”

He has you do that cute squirm where he has to keep you steady on purpose, coercing you to meet him where the chord internal would snap.

“Atta girl. C’mon, show me how good I make you feel,” his hand massage your hardened nub. The other stills it’s work from pinching the underside of your freshly bruised breast. Your body pushes further and further along the tile. A few moments later, your movements still a bit and as you hear him call out to you, you feel the warmth rush forth from where you’re conjoined and by god does he fuck you gentlier than before; carnal desire aside, you pick yourself up off the ground, cupping his face with one hand, the other leaving well earned scratches in his shoulder.

“It’s ok,” you repeat over and over. You could tell by the way his body shakes still, making sure your tiny abused hole takes his load well, he breathes harsh well-earned wishes. He wants this, whatever this is—a duty free fuck with a diligent woman. He wants whatever this love produces if you fall a bit ill, questioning whether or not you’re with his child. The thought of having you hidden by his peers is enough to warrant a breathy, “I want” from him. His hands press against your lower abdomen. You’re still in a daze when you hum his name.

“Me too,” you say, working to cockwarm him best you can; the plugs with his signature in the toys drawer are too far at the moment. You steadily rock with him telling him you don’t plan to lie about your relationship if you do fall pregnant after this time. Talking mostly while you allow him to collect himself mentally and physically is a simple thing. But also hearing him call you terms of endearment when you press his head against your collarbone ignites his own quirk. You watch as the flames grow from his hands position themselves on the floor and the other on your back. The hotter the flame, the more the tiles heat up. You don’t flinch, nor do you cry the hotter he burns literally for you. And only you. You’re quick to activate your own.

“Touya,” your singsong voice coaxes him to leave the apology on the tip of his tongue for later. “Open your eyes for me, yeah?”

Curious to see why he doesn’t hear you scream like mad, he listens when he pries himself off of you. The fire alarms in your building do go off and he hurriedly slips away from your aching core. He thinks he has to be so far away from you, but you shake your head with a sadistic smile. The fire when he opens his eyes lick and kiss your skin, but no burn marks flambé your love-bruised skin. Hearing about the chances of meeting a flame-retardant (or resistant) quirk user was a million to one, so when you stand as you hear the sirens coming to put out the fire, you bend down to where Dabi kneels at eye level of your exposed self, licking his lips with an impish grin. You curl your fingers under his chin to look at you.

“Your flames can’t hurt me,” you whisper, rubbing your thumb over his lips.

“Gods be warned I will ruin you woman,” Dabi says, swatting your hand away to rub his nose against the inside of your thigh like a loyal dog.

“Then we should go. You don’t want to be caught fucking your child into me in a burnt unit,” you feel a wet stripe slide from mid thigh to where your mixed juices threaten to run down again.

“I know a place,” he suggests, nodding toward the under-post of a dock. The boardwalk shaded above is dark enough that when you arrive, your building is engulfed in flames as your lover fucks you full again this time the beach is a witness to how you have each ruined each other for years to come.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Lo and behold, after another series of months and secret rendezvous, you and your lover get your wish. It’s nearly the end of the year when you begin to show a little more. Your dresses for your new line of work accentuate the growing child in you. You kept your word with Dabi saying no one is to know who the father is; the lie you’ve filled out on all your doctors visits was that the father had been a victim as of late in the string of League activities.

A collapsed building during the day to being down the heroes’ best had just reentered the newspapers again and you at the time, didn’t know you were expecting. You mentioned during your first check up that you thought you had a cold meaning your taste buds were out of whack and your cravings were a bit like your normal pms ones, but this was different. Dabi comes to find out from you when you sat down on the new bar stools in your house. You stopped renting apartments because so far, he ruined and it burned the second and only third unit you rented.

“You’re good,” you said with a sheepish grin. Your hand rubbed down a firm spot.

“Seriously?” he could pass out on the spot. “How? I mean, I know what I fucking did, but—”

“Remember when I moved in about two and half months ago?”

That was not too long prior; of course he remembered. You had him tied up for your pleasure and you recently bought enough furniture that you needed him to break in the bed frame. Ok, so you and him hilariously broke the bed frame. The mattress is on the floor and for all that is holy, having him hit you from behind had you reeling in the wonton need to feel full and surrounded by him. He asked you where you want him to finish and in your delirium, you change positions so when you cried a desperate, “inside, fucking inside,” he honors your request.

“So, I fucked you real nice, huh,” his voice has a crude laughter hidden in it. His hand hovers atop yours to feel the barely there bump, but he can tell how tight the skin must be.

“‘Fraid so,” you mumble.

That was nearly seven months ago. Sure to keep appearances, you continue working up until your maternity leave is set to begin. At least that’s what the paperwork dates set. You keep up with the appointments saying you’ve moved in with an old friend from school saying they don’t mind being the child’s father figure and truthfully you confide in the ultrasound lab if you could be together you would have his child not the theoretical deadman. The nursery has since been painted on days the league does not need their human flame thrower, crib of oak dipped in flame retardant coating had since made itself known. The little kicks to your ribs here and there when you do engage in sex (because your libido is never truly satisfied in the earlier stages) with Dabi, you always thought you wouldn’t be a limber, but boy were you wrong. Whatever prenatal vitamins you have taken has made you a bit more flexible; you’ve been going to Pilates and other workout classes tailored for your growing body. Lately, on cooler nights like tonight, you balance a takeout box between your overly rounded breasts and bump. Dabi comes to find you asleep, your arm drowsily rubbing your babe’s home. You breathe out a breathy whine stating how, “don’t kick me too hard now” and Dabi chuckles more to himself. He kneels down making a smart ass remark announcing his presence. The child immediately kicks your hand as if to say, “ma, he’s here. i know my father’s voice anywhere.” You breathe out rather quick, just like the breathing techniques your attending suggests when the Braxton hicks start.

“False pains again?” Dabi asks. You whine saying the real ones will hurt like a bitch.

“Yeah, but your my badass bitch,” he says, poking your cheek.

“Ack!” you breathe again as this too shall pass. “Great practice I swear kid.”

Dabi brings a gentle palm to your roundness, saying a quiet “thank you.”

“For what?” you ponder.

“This,” he answers, his nose traces your temples. “Us.”

You scoff. “I had a little help.”

Both of you stay like this on your couch for a few more hours, putting on a movie. You know the man to your right loves you more each day. His touch never wavers nor does it ever threaten to leave you alone. Dabi does well to seek you out in the names of people to not harm during routine walks to “stir the League’s pot.” When approached as to why, he says you’re an old friend and in another timeline you’re either fucking or are ready to marry him. Twice and Shigariki as enthusiastically as they can, call his bluff once noticing the scratches on his shoulders. Toge too once had crossed paths with you saying you should be checked out mentally because she knows what kind of relationship this would be. You defend yourself saying if she was so sure it was so one sided, then, “why does he picture my pussy when he fucks his fist on away missions?” You and Toge became acquaintances after that, having girls day and spas during the summer leading up to her being hospitalized by the most recent uprising gone wrong. Twice had come to visit your work location too stating something along the lines of “he asked for you. Things are dangerous now, can you leave for a bit?” It was the first time you were brought to the barracks and you run toward your lover stating that if he were more gravely injured he should have called. There is a wicked grin on the man with ice blue eyes’ face: he explains about what made the day so special.

“Told my brother and father who I really am,” and you take a step back as he loses himself for moment in laughter.

“He’s been like this since he came back,” Shigaraki’s cold voice had said. “He asked for you, but hems in a fragile state of mind right now…”

“I understand. I’ll stay here until he comes to his senses, yeah?” You said.

“Of course. Make yourself at home Miss…?”

“YN.”

When you have the room to yourselves, you suggest to move into his designated room. Dabi follows the pretty young thing he loved; he had a hard time coming down from his high of the reveal. He rambled on and on about it. But the fact of the matter was that you didn’t care. You still loved the fractured mental minded man, you still wanted to fuck him, which surprised him to a certain extent the second he returns from his psychotic break. You still wanted him to cum inside and to use his tongue to lick you clean. He gives in to have Shigaraki talk you into moving to a safe house far from the public’s eye. It’s there when you moved in, the idea of wanting more from each other. Every three weeks he comes by for an extended weekend and every fuck you had shared together, was practice for making sure you both had still wanted what was discussed almost a year prior. One morning, Dabi discovers you in the room checking out yourself in the full length mirror in your closet. You smirk thinking about the conversation from before as you spot him to come closer. He hugs you from behind gently burrowing his face in your shoulder.

“Do you still want—?”

“Damn right. Why do you think I always ask where I should spill my—why are you laughing bunny?”

“Because you’re more human than you think. And of course I fucking do. Just a thought was all.”

You turn in his arms saying if the fates allow, you’d let him fuck you until your doc says you’re positive this time. Not counting the times before you confused your cravings for something else; also fuck that place on third street for not spoiling their sour cream (your food poisoning also almost made you rethink your personal internal calendar).

In more present times, the rumor is true. A league member has taken time off to be with his family. Double lives are often messy, yet as you feel the warmth relax your lower back, Dabi chuckles whispering to his child within, “play nice with your mama.”

“Great, they listen to you,” you pout. Poking his chest, he laughs again.

“Feeling better now?” he asks.

“Mmhm.”

“Good. Get some sleep. Both of you.”

You stifle a yawn, snuggling closer to him obeying his command.

As of right now, those who know of this development in the League are on a need to know basis; also they are the only ones with your safe house location. Toge and Twice volunteer to patrol the neighborhood by where you reside as your first pregnancy is close to being over. Granted in a room full of villains, the two of them prove their loyalty to Dabi and by extent you, when you see a pair of onesies and a rattle on the window sill one morning. You recognize Toge’s script:

Take care of ‘em yn-one-san.

—toge chan and twice

Oh, you plan to. You definitely do. Seven months in to this new chapter, you sigh thinking about the days leading up to now. The sleeping man next to you owns you and you can’t wait to see what the future holds. For now, you lay yourself back down in a more dignified position, worming your way under the bedding to ensure a hint of what you think he should have for breakfast.