#do i tag todoroki…..he’s the moon….

[fixhbones]

i’ve made so many mha doodles in the past couple weeks (most of which will be posted this weekend please bare w me >_<) but here’s some silly stuff from tonight

[andypantsx3]

ALL IN A DAY'S QUIRK : SERO HANTA x READER

summary: Sero gets hit with a quirk that makes others see him as the person they are most attracted to. Which you really wish you had known before you opened your mouth and gave him your usual, “Hey, Sero!” tags/warnings: pro hero au, fluff, misunderstandings, quirk accident, not actually unrequited feelings, smut, thigh riding, fem reader (no pronouns but AFAB genitalia terms used), aged up characters, 5.3k

It was approximately four thirty-three p.m. when Sero Hanta returned from patrol and blew your peaceful day to bits.

Before his arrival, the Todoroki Agency had been relatively quiet, as it usually was around this time, everyone but the on-call staff winding down for the day. You’d been hearing the telltale rustling of jackets and scuffle of feet in the office behind you since the clock ticked past four.

Not long after, a couple of your friends from the analytics department had wandered over to your desk, clearly deciding they were not going to get anything else done, gossiping and stealing the candies you kept in a glass bowl on the reception counter.

“I heard Shouto’s manager is considering signing him up for a shirtless charity calendar,” Mari told you immediately, wiggling her eyebrows. “Hana from brand management said she was asked to do research on the impact the calendar had on other pros’ careers, so I think this is serious.”

She looked beyond pleased, her cheeks pink and her ears tipped red, the way they always were when she contemplated her massive crush on your agency head, Todoroki Shouto.

You couldn’t fault her–Shouto was incredibly handsome and kind, if a bit spacey–but you’d always been drawn to a different pro hero on the agency roster. Someone just a little bit taller, with dark hair and a half-moon grin, a razor sharp sense of humor, and the most inconceivably mouth-watering thighs in the pro hero business.

Not that you had been giving them attention. Much.

You suppressed the urge to ask if anyone else from the agency was being considered for the calendar, wiggling your eyebrows back. “Well I know you’ll be the first in line.”

Mari’s blush deepened, and Kimiko laughed around an orange-flavored candy, which you stocked for many reasons other than a certain tape-themed hero’s predilection for oranges, thank you very much.

“I just hope they include Uravity-san,” Kimiko said. “I mean–not shirtless shirtless, but like, god would I kill for her in a little sports bra.”

Kimiko sounded unaffected, but you’d literally hidden her beneath your desk the time pro heroes Uravity and Deku visited for an agency team-up with the Todoroki office. She’d spent the entire time peering out with big eyes, muttering under her breath, “I am so gay. So very very gay.”

You didn’t doubt if Uravity were included in the spread, Kimiko might even beat Mari out for the first spot in line.

“You both have such kind hearts,” you laughed. “So eager to give to charity.”

“I’m a lifelong philanthropist,” Mari agreed, picking up your pen and doodling hearts all over your office stationery. You noticed she colored in only the left side, and suppressed another laugh.

Whatever. You knew what it was to be that whipped, even if you’d never do anything about it.

As huge as your thing was for Sero, there wasn’t a chance in hell he returned your affections. He was incredibly friendly, but over the past few years, he’d never even given a hint that he was into you like that. He’d treated you with the same easy cheer and subjected you to the same good-natured roasting he did everyone else in the agency.

And now was not the time to go looking for more, anyway. You’d recently become close enough to see Sero outside of work and you were not about to endanger that–you’d been invited to a house party of his a couple months ago, gone to drinks with him and a couple of agency people after work, and even grabbed dinner alone a few times over the past few weeks. You’d been texting memes practically nonstop this entire week alone.

He was so much fun, always quick with a joke, a wink, or an interesting story, and he wasn’t afraid to tell things like they were. You forgot time was passing when you were with him, and sometimes when you went out, you stayed out long enough that you thought he might, too.

So you were finally reaching a stage in your friendship where Sero clearly felt close and comfortable—you would not press for more.

It was just, sometimes, when he smiled down at you with that clever, mischievous grin, your heart felt like it was experiencing some sort of medical event. Sometimes, when he put his dark hair up into a messy half-bun, those biceps cording as he did so, it felt like someone had just vacuumed all the oxygen straight out of your lungs. Sometimes, when he leaned down to whisper something to you in his most conspiratorial tones, it felt like someone had spiked your brain into a blender and pureed it into mush.

But it was cool.

You knew how to play it cool.

Mari pulled you back to earth with the promise of more gossip—this time, about her arch nemesis in accounting—and Kimiko leaned in, offering her own commentary over the unwrapping of another of your candies.

And then the clock struck four thirty-three, and Sero Hanta returned from patrol.

You heard the telltale mechanic ping of an agency badge passing checkpoint, and peeked around Kimiko to see Sero trudging through the doorway, looking strangely contemplative. He was covered in dirt and his uniform was slashed in several places, including a great deal of shredding about the thighs, which you would have been happier about if he didn’t look so unusually subdued.

He didn’t look hurt at any rate, so that was good. But you couldn’t help but call out to him.

“Hey Sero!” you said, curious about his demeanor. “How’d patrol go? Something happen?”

Kimiko and Mari turned around, and you watched as both of them seemed to freeze up. Kimiko’s hand slapped against the reception counter, the sound echoing through the room, gripping tightly as though she’d suddenly seen a ghost.

“Ur–Uravity-san,” she said, dipping into the most formal bow you’d ever seen her make. “What’s brought you here?”

You felt your mouth pull into a frown, staring at the back of her head in absolute bamboozlement. Was she seeing things? The only person in the doorway was Sero, and he was very much unaccompanied.

His helmet was propped between his hip and his elbow, so his face was clear too–so Kimiko didn’t even have the excuse of not being able to see his face, different though his costume was from Uravity’s.

Sero blinked, his mouth pulling into a semi-puzzled grin. “Uravity?”

Mari was slapping Kimiko before you could inquire the same thing, hissing, “Are you losing it? That’s fucking Shouto.” She turned back to pin you with something between a glare and a concerned, assessing gaze, as if you too had lost your marbles.

You frowned back, your own concern deepening. “I’m sorry–are you guys seriously telling me that Shouto and Uravity are here with Sero?” You peered back around Mari at Sero, quirking a brow at him. “Did they get hit with some kind of invisibility quirk or are these two experiencing some kind of hallucination?”

Maybe too much shirtless calendar talk had gotten them too hot and bothered.

Sero’s dark gaze pinned you, and he quickly came tromping over, his boots echoing on the stone flooring. He leaned over the reception counter, pointing to his face with one long, pretty finger. “Wait, you can tell it’s me?”

He smelled like cement and sweat and dust, and something vaguely minty, like he’d been chewing gum recently. You tried not to let your expression show how much you liked the look of him up close, those hooded dark eyes, his wide, charming mouth.

“Um, yes? I have eyeballs?” you wondered.

Sero blinked, leaning in closer. Your heartbeat ticked up. “You’re sure?”

“Should I not be…sure?” you asked. “Are Shouto and Uravity really with you and I’m the only one who can’t see them?”

Sero shook his head, “Nah–it’s just me.”

You frowned up at him, curious. “Then why are they calling you Shouto and Uravity…?”

Sero shook his dark head. His hair was pulled into that half-bun you loved, the way it usually was under his helmet on patrol, and all mussed from whatever run in he’d had. You tried not to think about what other activities might get his hair all mussed like that.

He smiled, something wide and conspiratorial. “Got hit with some kinda illusion quirk. People have stopped me like a thousand times on my way in to ask for All Might’s autograph, or Hawks’, and even Bakugou’s. They’re lucky it was just me, he’d have thrown a shit fit getting cut off in the street like that.”

Sero’s features shifted into something slightly more contemplative again. “But you’re somehow immune, huh?”

You frowned. “Shouldn’t you get checked out at medical, then?”

His eyes softened, and another grin made its way onto his mouth. “Yeah yeah, I’ll head right there.”

Kimiko and Mari were still gaping over at him like he was a miracle, and some strange feeling came over you, a concerned little squeeze of your heart. You grabbed Mari, plonking her down into your seat in your stead. “Cover me for a couple minutes? Just say people are unavailable and take notes and I’ll figure it out when I get back. I’m gonna run down to medical with Sero for a second.”

Mari nodded dumbly.

You pulled Sero’s helmet out of his grip, resting it in the crook of your own elbow, and gestured him down the hall with you. Sero fell into step beside you, keeping up easily with his long stride. He grinned down at you, seemingly unperturbed that he’d gotten hit with a quirk that had all but erased his identity in the eyes of others.

It was something you admired in him, his inherent good-naturedness.

You wondered why you were the only one who could tell it was him.

“Any good gossip while I was gone?” he asked, like he really couldn’t be fussed about his predicament. “I was starting to hear shirtless calendar talk before I had to head out on patrol.”

You suppressed a flush and fought down the urge to ask if he’d been asked to be in it too.

You did not need to know.

“Whatever the hell is going on with you is the spiciest bit of gossip all day,” you told him, rounding a corner and badging into the stairwell down to the medical floor. You clung to the railing carefully and most definitely did not watch his thighs bunch as he took the stairs. “Want a drink after work? It seems like you could use one, after this.”

Sero smiled, an eyebrow raising. “Trying to get me drunk, huh?”

You wrinkled your nose. “As if I’d need to be so underhanded.”

You did. You did need to be so underhanded.

Sero had to angle himself carefully through the door, his shoulder pieces liable to snag on the doorway with the breadth of those pro hero shoulders. The medic on staff took one look at him and flushed, mumbling out a name you didn’t know.

You piped in before she could say more. “Cellophane’s been hit with a quirk that makes him appear like someone else. It’s not whoever you think!”

She blinked curiously, but then nodded, probably having seen much weirder things in her time as a hero agency staffer. She gestured Sero to a cot on the side of the room. “Alright, please sit down, Cellophane. We’ll do a couple quick tests and then get you sorted with the right quirk cancellation.” Her cheeks seemed to heat again as she spoke, but she made good on her promise, disappearing down the hall, calling to someone for quirk testing strips.

Sero hopped up on the cot, swinging those long legs, grinning at you from eye-level, now. “Think I should prank a couple people before they cancel it?”

You rolled your eyes. “Only you would be having fun with this. No one in the world knows who you are!”

The corner of Sero’s mouth pulled wryly. “You do.”

“You don’t know if that could change, dude. Better get it over with before you get stuck as like, Endeavor forever.”

Sero laughed, light and airy. “Shouto wouldn’t hang with me anymore.”

You nodded. “Exactly, and none of the rest of us read the same weird manga you guys are into so you’d be all alone with no one to fanboy about it to.”

The medic returned with a thick silvery strip, pulling on blue nitrile gloves as she did so. Sero held his arm out obligingly, the lean muscle flexing in the fluorescence of the office lighting. She peeled off the backing of the strip, pressing it to Sero’s forearm, pushing it down firmly.

She attached a cable to some screened device, and you listened to the beep of various buttons. Sero watched you over her shoulder, his easy smile still in place.

Finally, the device in the medic’s hand beeped, and she pulled back, announcing somewhat shyly, “An attraction-type quirk.”

You blinked, mystified. A what?

Sero’s grin seemed to freeze on his face, and his thin brows furrowed the tiniest bit.

The medic continued, oblivious. “This quirk creates an illusion. External parties will perceive the affectee with the traits or as the person they are most attracted to.”

Sero’s dark eyes snapped to yours, widening, and you fumbled a step back, almost tripping over yourself. You threw out a hand, barely catching yourself on the counter.

No.

Oh fuck no.

If people were seeing who they were most attracted to…and you had just seen Sero the whole time…

That would mean—that would mean—and he had heard you say—

“Oh my god, I just remembered I have to get back to Mari,” you said, offering Sero a wave of your suddenly numb hand. “Can’t, um, strand her at the desk for too long. I’ll leave you guys to it. Uh, yeah. Thanks–bye!”

You quickly threw yourself out through the door, leaving Sero alone with the medic. You dashed back up the stairwell, your heartbeat shooting into your mouth.

How could this be happening? How unbelievably embarrassing was that? You’d worked so hard to play it cool in front of Sero for all this time, for years, really, and you’d finally just made it to a comfortable place as friends.

And then—and then—some attraction-illusion quirk goes and blows your cover, just like that? For real?

And he’d heard you, too. Heard you say, “Hey, Sero!” as soon as he’d come through the door, before anyone had revealed anything about who else they thought he might be instead. Before you could have possibly had any clue that he’d been quirked.

You could die of mortification.

You shooed Mari and Kimiko away from the desk when you got back, quickly readying your things to get the hell out of the office as soon as your night replacement arrived. You cleaned up all the bi-colored hearts Mari had doodled on every available surface of your desk and refilled the candy bowl Kimiko had apparently seen fit to devastate in your absence, your ears heating with the thought that Sero could catch on now, why you stocked orange candies.

God, could your replacement hurry the fuck up before Sero got back here?

But the night receptionist was predictably late, of course, and by the time you finally saw him badge through the front entrance you could hear quick, booted steps across the tile behind you.

Sero’s voice sounded over the back of your chair, just as a long-fingered hand closed around your wrist.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice more careful than you’d ever heard it. “Still up for that drink? I think maybe we could talk over it.”

The night receptionist nodded at you and Sero as he made his way over, and you gave up your chair to him, collecting your bag with Sero’s warm fingers still clutching your wrist. You slowly worked up the courage to look up at him, face heating as you took in his uncharacteristically intent expression. His face had been cleaned and it looked like some antibiotic had been applied to some of the scrapes along his jaw.

You knew then you’d trapped yourself. Though it was probably also better to get things over with now than avoid the subject forever.

“Okay,” you said, trying to keep your voice normal. “Yeah, let’s talk.”

Sero was the nicest dude ever, you had to remember that. Even when it came down to a rejection, he would still be completely kind and friendly. Probably not too much would change on his end afterwards either. You couldn’t imagine him avoiding you or treating you any differently.

“My place okay?” Sero asked as you shrugged on your bag.

You nodded, and he smiled, nearly as wide and silly as he normally did, tinged with only the slightest bit of shyness.

You’d originally planned to take him out somewhere fun, but this conversation was probably best had in private. And Sero’s place was close, an apartment only a couple blocks’ walk, in a charming little neighborhood fringed by a park and a variety of interesting bars and cafes. Sero chatted away with his usual friendly ease as you walked, still in his shredded hero costume, waving to the couple people that recognized him as you did so.

Your stomach flipped as he opened his front door, gesturing you inside under his arm. He was tall and lanky enough that you fit easily, and you caught a whiff of that minty scent again under all the dust that coated his uniform. You tried not to look too closely at the lines of his bicep as you passed under it.

His apartment was just as you’d remembered it; spacious, casually decorated in neutral tones with splashes of interesting patterns spread across the rug, throw pillows, and his collection of wall hangings. It smelled cottony and clean, and Sero gestured you to his couch as he dumped his helmet and boots in the doorway, shrugging off his shoulder pieces.

“A beer cool?” he asked as he made his way into the kitchen. “I’ve got a couple of good ones.”

“Sounds great,” you told him, listening to the sounds of him cracking the caps.

To your surprise he plopped down on the couch next to you as he came back in, handing you a bottle. It was cold, and your fingers made little prints in the condensation where you touched it.

“So,” he said, turning to you, a sly look in his dark eyes. “You wanna talk about what just happened?”

Your face flamed, and you took a quick sip of your beer to give you time to recover yourself. It was sour on your tongue, a hint of orange peel in its profile.

“No,” you told him honestly, giving him a self-conscious smile, which he returned. “I think it’s pretty clear, actually. You got hit by a quirk that shows people the person they’re most attracted to and I, uh, obviously saw, um, you.”

Sero’s grin pulled wider at the edges, surprising you. If you didn’t know better, you would think he liked hearing that. Although maybe it was a little bit of an ego stroke to hear you were someone’s fantasy man, even if you didn’t return their feelings.

“Not All Might and not Bakugou,” he said, something pleased in his tone.

You blinked at him, disturbed by those insinuations. “Definitely not,” you sniffed. “I am a paragon of taste.”

Sero laughed, his fingers flexing on the side of his beer. Then he took a sip, seeming to contemplate something as he did, and you drew yourself together, preparing for the inevitable. That was definitely a look that said he was thinking hard, probably about the best way to let you down.

But then Sero grinned back down at you, leaning in collusively. “You wanna know something?”

You could feel your brows raise curiously, even as your heartbeat picked up with his proximity. You looked down, then accidentally spied the strips of tanned thigh where his costume had torn, and had to quickly reroute your gaze for fear of staring. “That depends.”

Sero’s grin went even more sly. “I think if you’d been hit with that quirk, I’d have known it was you too.”

Your heartbeat slammed to a halt in your chest. It was only when Sero threw a hand out that you realized you’d lost your grip on your beer, his quick reflexes the only thing saving his carpet. You startled at the sudden move, making a weird arm-flinging motion somewhere between grabbing for your beer and grabbing onto him, ending up accidentally smacking him in the chest instead.

“Fuck, I—sorry!” you garbled out, stunned by his sudden proximity and the fistful of his costume you’d taken. His skin was warm against the side of your hand.

Sero blinked, looking taken aback for a moment. Then he shifted, and you heard the clink of two beers being deposited on his coffee table. You swallowed, unable to look away from him, and you watched his dark eyes rove over your face, before dipping down to stare at something just under your nose.

A shiver prickled up your spine.

“So when you—with the quirk—” you tried, but your brain had gone offline, and the right set of words were not coming to you. “Um, when you say—you would have known—?”

Sero’s grin crept back across his mouth. “I mean that I’d have seen you, because I’ve been wanting to ask you out and trying to figure out if you're into me for months.”

It had to be the shock of this admission that registered you so stupid. “You—months? Try years.”

Sero’s laugh beat back the instant wave of mortification that overcame you in the next second, when you realized what'd you'd just said. You could only smile back helplessly, equally pleased and embarrassed. He looked so good right then, too, grinning toothily, his hair a mess, his costume torn to shreds. He really was the most gorgeous guy you had ever seen, that quirk had totally had your number.

It suddenly dawned on you that you had little else to lose now, with everything out in the open. And when Sero looked like that—sly, pleased, and a little bit of a mess—you thought you were done trying to bury things.

A thrill zinging down your spine, you leaned in and pressed your mouth to his.

He’d been laughing, and you only caught the edge of his mouth, but Sero quickly corrected. You could feel his lips go slack in surprise for a second, and then he was schooling himself and returning your kiss with abandon.

Long fingers came up to take your chin, holding you firmly in place. It was so unexpectedly bold that you shuddered, kissing him harder. Your hand tangled further in the fabric of his costume, gripping onto him for dear life as his tongue met yours, twisting and teasing. It was so like him, the way he kissed. Teasing, playful, easy. Your head spun with how much you liked it.

“Aw fuck, I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Sero said, when he finally pulled away far enough to enunciate the words. He shifted against you, putting a large palm against your back, pulling you to him. You followed his guidance, climbing into his lap, chasing his mouth again. You wanted more—more now that you thought you could have it.

“I’ve been wanting—for years—” you said, squeaking in surprise when Sero guided you down onto a strong thigh. It was hard and thick and way too muscular to be allowed, and your breath left you in a harsh hiss. And because this was the most embarrassing day of your life, Sero clocked it immediately, leaning forward in interest.

“You—like that? My—thigh?” he asked curiously.

You could feel your face burning, like someone had just dunked it in a bucket of hot coals. “I–yes. I like everything about you. Including your thighs,” you admitted.

Sero’s hand guided you back down against him, pressing his knee up experimentally. A thrill sang through your veins at the feeling of a piece of him so warm and firm right up against your core. You barely bit back the noise you wanted to make.

“Fuck, this is weirdly hot,” Sero said, leaning in to take your mouth again. You could feel him growing hard against your knee through the fabric of his costume, as his tongue flicked against yours, making your brain go a little woozy.

His arms came around you, holding your waist as he ground his leg up into you, sending a wave of pleasure striking through you like lightning. The moan you’d been trying to hold in finally broke free of you. “Ah—Hanta!”

The sound seem to spark something in him. Sero surged up, his hands making quick work of your shirt as he kissed you, still rocking you against his thigh in a way that made you see stars. You had the wild thought that everything about him was more than you’d ever imagined it would be, from the delicate press of his fingers to the warmth of his thigh to the way the strands of his hair that had escaped brushed across your forehead. Embarrassingly fast, like he knew exactly how to play you, he worked you up to the crest of your pleasure.

You had to put a hand to his chest to stop him.

“Hanta, if you—I’m going to cum if we don’t stop—” you said.

“Oh my god please,” was his only answer, and he pulled you down onto his thigh with renewed vigor. Sparks of pleasure pricked all over your body as he kissed you again, his hands roaming every inch of exposed skin. He left bruising kisses down the side of your throat, fingers playing with your nipples.

Another few rocks into his thigh sent you right over the edge, and he held you against him as you rode it out, squirming against his thigh.

“This is the hottest thing that has ever happened to me,” he said, something in his tone making it clear he was not done with you yet.

He helped you wiggle out of your pants, freeing himself of his own costume, and laid you out over his couch, grinning. He was golden with a fading summer tan, and his smile was so wide and charming and white against the dimming light from the windows. He was gloriously lean, hard with dense, compact stretches of muscle, every single inch of him honed from years of hero work. He was perfect—so stupidly, handsomely, perfect.

Between his thighs, his cock was just as long and lean, heavy and flush with arousal. It made you dizzy to think that this man, who you’d crushed on for so long, wanted you like this—wanted you back in the same way you’d always wanted him. You motioned him closer, too eager now to be self-conscious about it.

Sero laughed, a happy noise. “Fuck, you’re so pretty though.” He stretched out over you, sliding in between your thighs and guiding himself into you. His chest pressed to yours, hot and slick with a light sheen of sweat already, and you hissed with the feeling of him slipping inside you.

You felt drunk with arousal, crazy with want. You clutched him to you as he moved, thrusting carefully at first, as if testing the feeling of you, and then more firmly. You let out soft noises you hadn't meant to, which Sero seemed to appreciate.

“God, look at you. Listen to you,” he said, grinning down at you, his dark eyes tracing over you. “I can’t believe I got hit with that quirk. This is the luckiest day of my life—you’re so cute. So—fuck—so perfect.”

He slid into a frustratingly sedate pace, strokes long and languid, stretching out almost teasingly. You wrapped your legs more tightly around his hips, trying to press him into you, but his smile just widened. He moved leisurely, setting his own pace, just on the wrong side of too slow.

It drove you insane, somehow working you up even faster than if he’d been doing what you wanted. You muffled the sounds of your own moans against his lips, gripping onto those broad shoulders. Sero’s own fingers slid down to your clit, playing with you just as lightly and teasingly as his thrusts.

You could have killed him, but all you could do was hold onto him, slurring his name appreciatively.

He worked you like that for a while, bringing you close but never too close, drawing out the feeling into something warm and fizzy, like soda left in the sun. But eventually the band of his control seemed to snap, and he began thrusting into you harder, faster. Those long, lovely fingers circled your clit with more intent as he did, murmuring a steady stream of praise.

“Please—cum with me,” he panted into your mouth, as his fingers drew ever-tightening circles over you. “I want you to come with me, Y/N. Can you—can you do that?”

You nodded frantically as his thrusts grew faster, sloppier. He was so good inside you, so good over you, his fingers such a delicious pressure against your clit. It only took a few thrusts more, a few strokes of those careful fingers, and then you were squirming against him in earnest, your veins going molten with pleasure.

“Hanta—I’m going to—!”

“Yessss,” he hissed, and then he was orgasming too, spilling out his pleasure inside of you. His hips slapped yours in a stuttering pattern, half-crazed, and you shook against him, gasping. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest as you crested the wave, until finally—finally you went limp against him, just as his own body relaxed over you.

“I want to be hit with a quirk all the time,” he said, ridiculously.

You couldn’t help but laugh, smiling into his shoulder. “Don’t make a habit of it.”

Sero hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know. If this is what I get every time, then…” he trailed off, smirking down at you.

“I’m not going to bang you if you’re going to be irresponsible,” you told him.

He perked up, however, those dark eyes peering at you hopefully. “But you’ll bang me otherwise?”

You laughed again, pinching him lightly on the arm where you held him. “What do you think having a crush on you for years means?”

His grin went all sly and pleased again. “Then I’ll have to lock it down, of course. I haven’t spent months wondering just to let you get away. Starting with dinner this evening, maybe. Do you—would dinner be okay?” he asked. The sound of genuine, eager hope in his voice was so gratifying it made you want to kick your legs in the air.

You settled for nodding instead. “Dinner sounds amazing.”

“Then I’ll arrange the finest takeout just for you,” he said, which you knew from experience meant the empanadas place around the corner. You laughed again, feeling full already with the promise of an easy meal, and a relationship to come.

“Whatever you want sounds good to me,” you said, even as he began to slide off of you, helping you up alongside him. “You’ve had a crazy day today, empanadas sound like the perfect cap.”

Sero leaned in, his expression as mischievous and charming as always. “It’s nothing,” he said, even as he carefully held out your shirt to you again, guiding you into it in an unexpectedly gentlemanly move. You let him stuff you into it, laughing, smiling into the kiss he gave you as you emerged.

He winked at you as he found his phone and dialed, smiling as you heard the call connect. “After all, I'm a hero," he said. "And it’s all in a day’s work.”

[ferigrieving]

when hell freezes over.

⊹ ࣪ in which touya todoroki finds himself.

a.n sorry this took so long i rewrote it like ten times because it wasnt going where i wanted to and it still lowkey isnt but i think this is the best ill do and im too excited to get to the later chapters so i might just rewrite them all to be better when im done ! i dont know im just really passionate abt this fic i literally got a writing notebook just for it...

tag list ; @itgetzweird08 !

⤷ masterlist ; requests open ; two – 2006 ; four – 2010 ; 4.4k words

touya todoroki was eight when his hair began to turn white.

his father had given up on him. said there was no point in training him. not when his quirk began eating away at his body everytime he used it.

every night, you would find more, and more burns. some more severe than the others, the skin peeling and rotting in ways you didn't know was possible. and every night, you’d place your cold, cold hands on him, and heal him as best as you could.

sometimes, you wanted to stop. your quirk made you feel like you had been plunged in an ice cold bath, hands holding you down as you struggled to breath. you could feel the ice creeping into your veins, threatening to freeze you from the inside out. but you kept on pushing. for touya. for the boy who couldn't give up, even if he wanted to.

“enji went to the doctor’s today.” touya spoke, leaning against the trunk of the big oak tree. “said i cant use my quirk anymore. ‘parently i have my mom’s body or… whatever.”

you could hear the anguish in his voice. his dream, no. his father’s dream was now a lost cause. all the hours, all the blood, the sweat, the tears, down the drain in an instant. all because he lost the genetics lottery. 

“what… what now?”

touya pushed away from the tree to look directly at you as he waited for his answer. the sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow on both of you. you two never met in the daytime. afraid your parents would find out, that endeavour would find out. you were both on edge, and today’s news didn’t help at all.

“i dont know, toy’.” 

"you don’t know?” touya responded in disbelief. he was angry at the situation, and angry at himself. “of course you don’t know. you don’t know anything. do you even care?”

touya’s voice was harsh, cold. he didn’t mean to hurt you, he really didn’t. 

but when you’re an eight year old child who just had your dreams snapped away from you days after your birthday, it was a normal reaction. or as normal as one can be in a situation like this, anyway.

he began pacing, hands tugging at his hair with so much force you were afraid he would rip it from his scalp. touya’s hair had begun turning white in some places, and you didn't know whether it was from his mother, or from stress. you don't know which one you would have preferred.

you didn't know what to do. your parents never trained you on how to use your quirk at all. sometimes, selfishly, you wished you had a father like endeavour. a figure in your life that would help you hone your quirk the way enji did to touya. you could take it, the harsh words, and the unforgiving regime, if only it meant you could relieve the pain touya seemed to feel in every waking moment.

“i’m—” he mumbled, stopping to look at you.

touya looked like a mess. his skin was littered with burns and scars you couldn't heal all the way, his eyes bloodshot from tiredness and stress, hair messy and greasy.  his voice was soft, and if you really listened, you could hear him trembling.

“i didn’t mean that. i’m sorry.”

touya slowly walked over to your spot and sat down wordlessly. his shoulders slumped, and he brought his knees to his chest.  he didn’t say anything for a long time. the sound of cicadas surrounded the two of you, and the last of the sunlight faded away. the sky was dark, and a few stars had already begun to appear. the moon was half way dark, peeking out from behind the clouds in the night sky.

as touya rested, you slowly inched closer to him until your shoulder touched his. he didn’t flinch away, and instead slowly rested his head on your shoulder. 

after a few moments, he spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“what am i going to do?”

touya was a just a kid, but sometimes you forgot that. you forgot that he was just a child, not some grown adult that could handle the pressure of the world on their shoulders like endeavour had made him out to be.

“have fun.”

touya’s head moved from your shoulder to look at you. 

”have fun?” he responded in disbelief. “i can’t really have fun when my quirk— when my whole life is falling apart, can i now?”

"your whole life doesn't have to revolve around your quirk, touya."

“how is it not supposed to revolve around my quirk?”

touya sat up straighter, putting distance between the two of you. he looked at you with an incredulous look, like you had just suggested he run away with his tail between his legs.

“all i’ve ever done is train, train, and train. train and work my butt off for a quirk i never even really wanted. and now it’s all going down the drain like i’m nothing more than trash.”

touya sat back against the tree again, leaning his head back and looking up at the stars, emerging from their cocoon once more.

”this is all i’ve ever had. without my quirk, i’m nothing.”

he was bitter and resentful. at his father, for lighting this fire under him. at his mother, for giving birth to him. at himself, for not being enough.

to touya, the idea of suddenly stopping everything he knew seemed impossible. being the number one hero was the only thing on his mind since the day he was born. it was engraved into his brain, and all he knew to do. 

so now that he was stripped of that, where did that leave him? what was he supposed to do? who was he, if not the less than perfect successor for his father?

“what am i gonna to do now, huh? play outside? play with others? run around like a freakin’ kid?”

“yeah, actually.. you should play with me.”

“play with you?” touya responded sceptically, raising an eyebrow at you. “what are we supposed to do? have a tea party?

the idea of playing, especially in his current state of mind, seemed like a foreign concept. you two played sometimes, yes, but touya sometimes felt like he was going through the motions, if anything. he never really found anything in playing house with you, or pretending he was a villain and you, a monster. at least thats what he told himself, anyway. he’d rather keel over and die than admit he enjoyed spending time with you.

“if you wanna.”

touya looked dumbfounded. like you had just sprouted a second head. he knew you could be a little slow sometimes, but this was too much.

“seriously? we’re like… eight. we’re too old for that. we’re basically teenagers. ‘n’ you want to spend your time playing tea party? ” he said, making a face. “when we could be doing something actually fun, like skipping rocks or something? don't you have anything else in that head of yours?”

“...we could go to the park?”

“the park?” touya repeated, staring at you, a sarcastic lilt to his voice. “why do you wanna go to the park? so we can sit and spin around on the roundabout till we fall off?” 

“i mean.. no one's gonna be there. its late, so we’ll have it all to ourselves, touya.”

“that’s…” he began before stopping.  it actually sounded kind of cool. the idea of sneaking into an empty park at night with you. the idea of getting caught… excited him.

he let out a grumble, looking away. “fine. let’s go to the park.” he relented.

touya slowly got up from the ground and dusted off his pants before sticking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

“this better not be stupid,” he muttered as the two of you began making your way through the park.

it was late, meaning there was basically no one out except the occasional night-shift worker or the local drunkard. the only sounds to accompany you were the cars driving past, or the songs of the crickets. as the two of you walked, touya glanced over at you.

he noticed the way you walked confidently, almost with purpose. he would often catch himself stumbling as he walked, still not used to his gangly limbs. you, on the other hand, seemed to move so flawlessly. he was premature, and as a result, was shorter than fuyumi, and probably natsuo when he becomes of age. he was taller than you, sure, but that wasn't a feat by any means considering your height.

he kept his gaze on you for a few more seconds before looking away.

“hey,” he spoke suddenly, breaking the silence. “how come ya’ never play with other kids?”

it was a question that was bothering him for a while now. you never seemed to want to go hang around other kids, opting to stick by his side. touya could never really figure out why. maybe he didn't want to. he couldn't tell.

“why would i, touya,” you grinned, stretching out his name and slinging an arm around his shoulder, relishing in the way he recoiled. “when i have you?

a scoff.

“don’t say that,” he said in a deadpanned voice, but there was a light flush beginning to spread across his face.

he wasn't used to receiving praise from anyone, but when it came from you… it made him uncharacteristically embarrassed. touya didn't particularly know his emotions very well, especially not one that made him so flustered he wanted to throw up. not one that only ever seemed to show its face whenever he was around you.

“seriously, though. i’ve never seen you talk to anyone else like you do with me. how come?”

touya continued walking, casting an expectant glance in your direction. you didn't know what to say.

he had no idea why he wanted to know so badly. why the idea of you talking to other kids bothered him so much.  and he knew it was stupid. you were allowed to make other friends. hell, he was the one not letting you make friends with other people. but the thought of you talking to anyone else other than him sent a sharp pang to his chest.

he shook the thought away, forcing the feeling of possessiveness down.

after a few moments of silence, he spoke again, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

“...what makes me so special, anyway?”

“shut up, touya.”

touya let out a surprised huff of air at your response.

he stopped walking and spun around to face you so suddenly, that you nearly ran into him. there was a scowl on his face, and his eyes were narrowed.

“don’t tell me what to do,” he replied in a low tone, trying to sound intimidating the way his father seemed to be so effortlessly.

he wasn’t quite sure why. maybe it was the thought of you giving your attention to someone other him, or maybe he just wanted some sort of response from you. 

he leaned closer, using his barely-there advantage of height to loom over you. he watched your face, trying to figure out what was going through that dumb head of yours.

touya’s face inches closer to yours, close enough that you could feel his warm breath fan across your face. his eyes were locked onto yours, watching intently as you began to shift uncomfortably.

your hands began to feel a lot colder than usual as your fingertips began to turn white. the warmth in your veins was quickly replaced with a chill that you were all too familiar with.

your heart was beating quick and fast. you hadn’t realised how hard it had been beating until you felt your heart thump against your chest. you were sure touya could hear it, with how close he was. 

you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as he leaned in even closer, his eyes still locked in onto yours. there was a determined look in his eyes, like he was trying to figure you out.

“whatever. i wanna go on the seesaw.”

touya’s expression soured at your nonchalant reaction. instead of the nervous stammering and stuttering he was hoping for, you had calmly responded, not giving him the slightest show that he had any sort of effect over you.

he watched as you looked away, avoiding his gaze. there was a faint redness to your cheeks, and a part of him felt satisfied at the sight of it. but there was also an undercurrent of annoyance at the idea of being dismissed like that.

he let out a scoff and backed away, putting some distance between the two of you.

“the seesaw?” touya repeated, raising an eyebrow. “what are ya, five years old?”

he wasn’t quite sure what he had been expecting you to propose, but it certainly wasn’t that. the thought of standing on a children’s toy, awkwardly swinging up and down and up again, was laughable.

you, on the other hand, seemed completely serious as you nodded. “yeah!”

he stared at you for a moment, contemplating whether or not you were messing with him. but your expression was as deadpan as always, giving no hint that you were anything but sincere.

he let out a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes as a look of resignation crossed his face. “fine. let’s go on the damn seesaw.”

you grinned, bounding over to it with way too much energy someone should have in the dead of night. touya rolled his eyes again at your excitement. he was not particularly enthusiastic about going on a child’s toy, but he begrudgingly followed you to the playground. you practically dragged him over to the brightly painted seesaw, eagerly taking a seat on one side.

he reluctantly took a seat on the opposite one, the metal frame of the seesaw creaking under his weight. he glanced over at you, a frown on his face. "this is stupid."

you, on the other hand, were having the time of your life. you bounced up and down on the other end of the seesaw, giggling as the metal frame made squeaking sounds. touya sat on the other side, arms crossed, but you could tell by the way his shoulders were squared that he was trying not to fall off without giving in and actually play.

"come on," you said, gesturing for touya to bounce as well. "it's more fun when both of us are doing it."

"having fun yet?" you called out, still bouncing up and down like a hyperactive child. the metal frame between the two of you was starting to groan in protest.

touya let out a huff. "this is dumb," he repeated. "i'd rather be doing literally anything else right now."

he continued to bounce, but his movements were more restrained than yours. the whole thing seemed so childish, especially with you gleefully giggling away on the other end.

“fine! lets go on the swings then.” you frowned, peeling yourself off the seesaw sadly and trudging over to the swingset.

touya let out a scoff, his hold on you reluctantly loosening “of course its the swings,” he said with a roll of his eyes, shifting his hands to rest on your hips. “you always wanna go on those stupid things.”

“yeah i do. they're the coolest!”

you quickly regained your composure, however, and looked back at touya with a raised eyebrow. "slides are lame. swings are where it's at. you can go up and down!"

he let out a scoff again, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "slides are better. they're faster. there's more adrenaline. now c’mon,” he murmured, walking side by side with you, absentmindedly matching the way you walked. left, right. left, right.

touya watched you closely as you sat down, his hands resting gingerly on your shoulders until you were safely seated on the swing. he stood there for a moment, his heart skipping a beat as your hair blew softly in the wind, framing your face with a few strands of hair.

he quickly brushed the feeling aside, shaking his head as he walked around to stand behind you.

“im gonna push you now, alright?”

“‘mkay!”

touya positioned himself behind you, his hands wrapped around the chains of the swing. his heart felt like it was trying to beat out of his chest. he took a deep breath, praying silently that you didn’t notice how nervous he actually was.

“okay, on the count of three…”

he began to count down, softly at first but gaining momentum as he reached the end. on three, he pushed you gently, propelling the swing forwards.

as you began to swing, touya let out a long exhale, his breath leaving him in a shaky whisper. he stood behind you, watching as you soared through the air, a smile on your face bigger than the moon. 

he couldn’t help but notice how… carefree you looked. how your hair would sometimes brush against his knuckles as he pulled you backwards. how you would throw your head back in laughter every time you reached the peak of the swing. touya pushed you again, watching as you ascended even higher this time.

the sight of you swinging back and forth, your hair blowing in the gentle breeze, made his heart flutter. touya couldn’t tear his gaze away from you, his eyes fixated on your figure as you gained momentum.

he swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing. he didn’t know why he felt so flustered, he had been pushing you on the swings for years.

this time felt different though. maybe it was the way the moonlight shone on your skin, or the way your shoulders shook with quiet giggles.

“push me touya! higher!”

touya let out a scoff of mock annoyance, though he knew he couldn’t deny you. 

“you’re such a pain in the ass,” he muttered under his breath, pushing the swing with more force. 

watching you go higher and higher, your laughter filling the air, touya couldn’t help but smile to himself. he wanted to know what it was like to be up there, to see the moon, and the stars. to feel free, even for just a moment. 

and touya never understood why in movies the main characters always seemed to be ‘stuck in place’. stood there, looking like an idiot as something that could have easily been prevented from happening in front of them. he was old enough to understand that it was for the plot, but he couldn't help but feel frustrated when a character wanders back into the house with a killer in it for the nth time.

but now, he was frozen, his whole body seizing as the you swung up, and up, fingers slipping from the chains and your body falling, encapsulated by nothing but the light of the moon.

time seemed to slow down at that moment. he could hear the thumping of his own heart in his ears, like a primal drum, beating in time with the seconds ticking by.

he tried to call out to you, to warn you about the impending fall, but no sound came out of his agape mouth. he could only watch, feet glued to the ground, as you came back down towards the ground at an increasingly high speed.

touya’s heart skipped a beat, his blood turning to ice as he saw you slip from the swing. he wasn’t sure what overtook him in that moment, but he felt his body moving on its own. 

within seconds, he found himself darting forward, arms outstretched as he tried to catch you midair. panic surged through him like electricity, his thoughts racing a mile a minute.

touya had no time to think, no time to weigh the risks or the consequences of what he was about to do. he acted, pure instinct taking over his body.

he moved with an almost superhuman speed, his long legs covering the distance between you and him in the blink of an eye. touya felt his adrenaline spike as he stretched his arms out towards you, his eyes locked onto your falling form.

he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this was a terrible idea. that he was putting himself in danger too. but in that moment, all he cared about was saving you.

time seemed to stretch on into infinity as he caught you, his arms encircling around your waist. he held you tight against his chest, the force of the impact causing him to stumble backwards. 

he fell onto the ground, landing on his back with a thud. the air left his lungs in a sharp exhale, his body tense as he tried to process what had just happened.

for a moment, touya laid there, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. his arms were still wrapped around you, holding you impossibly close against him.

“....touya?” your voice was small, eyes blown wide and terrified of every little thing that went bump in the night. you were always so strong, never wavering or faltering whenever you were around him. but here, right now, there was nothing you needed more than him.

"i got you," he breathed out, his voice shaky and ragged.

he held you closer, his hold on you tightening almost possessively. touya didn't know why his heart was pounding so hard, why his whole body felt like it was on fire.

he inhaled deeply, savoring the faint scent of your hair. it was a subtle, sweet fragrance that reminded him of wildflowers and sunshine.

"you're okay. i've got you," he repeated, more for his own reassurance than yours.

he sat up slowly, the movement causing him to wince slightly. his back was definitely going to hurt later, but he didn't care about that right now. all he cared about was making sure you were alright.

touya's eyes trailed over your form, searching for any signs of injury. he lifted a hand to gently cup your chin, tilting your face upwards so he could look at you properly.

he didnt know a single thing about taking care of others. didnt know how to put on a bandage, didnt know what medicine was what. didnt know how to comfort anyone, if at all. all he knew was what he saw his mother do, time, and time again.

his gaze softened as he looked into your eyes, taking in the sight of your tear-stained face. the sight tugged at his heartstrings, but he tried his best to keep his emotions in check.

he held your chin a little tighter, his thumb gently rubbing over your skin in a comforting motions.

"you're crying.”

“shut up. no– no ‘m not.”

touya couldn't help but roll his eyes at your reaction. even in moments like these, you were as stubborn as ever.

he let out a huff of amusement, shaking his head slightly as he used his thumb to wipe away the tears from your eyes.

"yeah, yeah, whatever you say," he said in a sarcastic tone. "because your tears are definitely just sweat, right?"

you nodded, shutting your eyes tight as you willed the world to stop spinning. you didn't know how people stomached going skydiving or riding rollercoasters, and you didn't think you ever would.

touya chuckled, his hand moving from your chin to pat your head fondly.

"you're an idiot, you know that?" he teased, his voice softening at the sight of your tear-stained face.

he hated seeing you cry. more than he knew he should.

the butterflies in his stomach stirred as he continued to hold you close, his hand still tangled in your hair. he tried to shake the feeling off, reminding himself that he was just being a good friend. that's all.

but as he sat there, with you in his arms and your tears staining his shirt, he couldn't ignore the fluttering in his chest.

he sat there for a moment, his fingers gently threading through your hair as he tried to catch his breath. he knew he should make sure you were actually okay, that your little stunt didn't actually get you hurt.

but right now, all he could focus on was you. the way your eyelashes fluttered against your skin as you blinked back tears, the way your lower lip trembled ever so slightly.

it was driving him crazy.

“can… can we go home?”

touya's heart ached at the sound of your soft, shaky voice. the way you looked so small and fragile in his arms right now made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar feeling. it was nauseating. you were always so strong around him, but seeing you like this was like flipping a switch in his brain.

he gently patted your head once more, his fingers lingering on your hair for a moment, before nodding.

"yeah," he responded, his voice quiet and hoarse. "yeah, we can go home."

he’d have to sneak you through the window again. as much as he wanted your parents to check you out now, it’d be too much of a risk.

touya's mind raced with thoughts as he helped you up onto your feet, his grip never loosening from your waist. 

he knew the drill by now. he would have to sneak you back into your room through your bedroom window, without getting caught by your parents. he took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. he could do this. he'd done it several times before.

touya always walked you home after the first night. it was the least he could do, anyways. his father was cruel, but not cruel enough to not raise a gentleman.

and touya didn't mind walking you back home. in fact, there was a secret part of him that actually relished in the time alone with you. the comfortable silence, the gentle brush of your hand against his, the way the dim street lights illuminated your face.

he could pretend, even if just for a moment, that it was just the two of you in the world. no parents, no rules, no responsibilities.

it was a foolish dream, but he clung to it like a lifeline, nonetheless.

[irisintheafterglow]

Polish Up Real Nice! (bnha boys x you)

summary: hcs about taking care of yourself and taking care of the boys (with bakugo, shoto, izuku, kirishima, and denki)

cw/tags: swearing cuz bakugo is here, sickeningly cheesy fluff, the tiniest little bit of angst, pet names (love, babe, baby, sweetheart, lovey)

note: this is your reminder to take good fucking care of yourself because you deserve to feel loved !!!

likes, reblogs, and feedback is always appreciated <3

Bakugo Katsuki

he has a longer skincare routine than you

does not matter if your routine is 2 steps or 10

he absolutely has a more complex regimen

will hide your body wash/shampoo to force you to use his instead

he likes it when you smell like him because he doesn't know how to voice his fuckin emotions any other way

it's ok !!! we love him anyway !!!

will automatically assume you're using his stuff if he starts running out

"babe, do you know what the fuck happened to my serums?"

"no, love, i'm sorry"

"you're not using them behind my back, are you?"

"i can't read half of the instructions on that tiny-ass bottle."

"it's self-explanatory-"

"it's also $100 for literally 2 milliliters, kats."

"that's a no, then."

it was denki lmao he was over at your house trying to figure out which bottle was soap

also has a haircare routine but not as strict as skincare

he'll just put leave-in conditioner if he wants it to look extra fluffy

MELTS when you massage oil into his scalp

he would rather die than wear one of those cutesy face masks

but he's over here putting fucking cucumbers on his eyes

you have a photo of him with a clay mask on and cucumbers over his eyes that he doesn't know you took

immediately sent it to his friends and now every single contact photo is of that picture

his love language is most definitely not words of affirmation but i think quality time is a strong contender

so when you're both getting ready in the morning he'll wordlessly hand you bottles of products without you asking because he's memorized your habits too <3

Todoroki Shoto

has like????? no skincare routine??????

man is just effortlessly pretty

for a long time he'd just use whatever momo or his mom recommended to him

when he started dating you and you asked about his skincare routine, he was the definition of confused

he was like

"i wash it??"

"no, but like with what product, sweetheart?"

"soap??"

despite not having much of a routine for himself, he will buy you WHATEVER you want

does not matter if the product costs more than the fucking moon

he'll have at least two bottles of it in your house at all times so you never run out

whenever he visits the store or has an assistant out shopping for him, he'll ask if you need anything (applies to basically everything but especially selfcare items)

when you do a facemask with him your favorite part is tying back his hair and giving him a tiny little sprout on the top of his head

also melts when you massage hair oil into his scalp

but he likes to give you massages more

could be with lotion or body wash, doesn't matter

will heat and/or cool his body depending on what you need

he likes running his hands over your skin until you're on the verge of falling asleep

and then he'll just lie down next to you and press his body against yours

Midoriya Izuku

doesn't really know much about skincare but is very eager to learn!!

adores doing facemasks with you

will pick up silly little animal masks from the store while he's on patrol

"look, it's a penguin."

"zuku, my love, where did you get these?"

"on patrol today."

"you're supposed to be stopping villains, babe."

"to be fair, i did kick the hell out of some thieves before buying them."

"ah, so you rewarded yourself."

"by being able to spend time with you, yes."

when he comes home late from a mission or from patrol and he's too tired to take care of his curls, you do it for him

just taking care of him in general when his body is physically unable to do it

which is quite often because you know, he's fucking deku

you'll lead him to the bath and make sure the water is warm beforehand

after he's settled and you clean any pressing wounds, you start working on his hair

he almost falls asleep right there, with your fingers gently rubbing product into his curls

you have to gently wake him to remind him to rinse

will sleepily watch you put on lip balm and then ask to try it

when you hand it out to him, he shakes his head

you smile and he kisses it off your lips

"that's pretty good. keep wearing it, please."

Kirishima Eijiro

probably uses a simple face wash and moisturizer

sometimes uses toner if you remind him but he doesn't really need it since his skin doesn't get super oily

he has a hand care routine

does that even exist??

it does now !

one of your nightly routines with him is rubbing lotion into his palms

because of his quirk, they can get really, really rough and dry

his skin in general gets beat up the most

he tries to remember to put lotion on but he's so busy that he forgets often

he also likes it better when you're sitting across from him and dotingly running your thumb along his palms

despite having a lot of callouses, it's one of the more sensitive spots on his body

"what is it, eiji?"

"that tickles."

he also asks you if you can help him take care of his nails, too

they tend to get roughed up during battles and he also sometimes picks at his cuticles absentmindedly

you help him clean up the nailbeds and scrub dirt from under the fingernails

he watches you like you painted the stars in the sky

when he comes out of the shower and his hair is down, he'll shake his head like a dog if you're in close proximity

effectively hitting you with water like a lawn sprinkler

the absolute KING of physical affection self-care

if you've had a hard day sometimes the one thing you need is just for him to lay his entire body weight on you

"can i ask a favor, babe?"

"anything, lovey."

"work was shit today, could you-"

he's already throwing himself at you and burying you both into the couch cushions

Kaminari Denki

definitely used hand soap to wash his face before dating you

instead of hiding your body wash to make you smell like him, he likes to use your products instead to make him smell like you

because of the videos you send him, most of his social media feed is influencers doing product reviews

he'll send you those product reviews and ask if it's legit or not

if you say it's legit, he'll buy it for you even if you didn't ask for it

"the fuck is this?"

"looks like some crystal roller thing, i don't know."

"baby, you're the one that bought it."

"to be fair, i black out every time i press 'proceed to cart,' so i don't remember doing it."

LOVES taking pictures and videos while you're doing self-care together

he's a sucker for the domestic life what can i say

will play music while you're trying to do your routine and take videos of him just spinning you around your bathroom

his skin also tends to dry out because of his quirk and sometimes he just needs a nice, long soak

will adamantly try to convince you to join him

not in a sexual way but in a matter of he has a small water gun hiding below the surface of the bubbles

instead of doing deep pressure therapy for you, sometimes he needs it from you

it gets hard for him, being a conduit of such a volatile quirk, and he needs you to remind him that his body isn't just a weapon

therefore he likes to just walk up behind you and ask to put his arms around you or just hold you

because he needs it

and deep down?

you need it too

if you think this was self indulgent then you are absolutely correct;

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[callmerhynner]

Only One Shines Greater

Synopsis: Years of working tirelessly, taking in a student with more potential than you provided by tenfold. That must hurt.

Tags: Angst, barely any plot, very much not proofread (made this at 3am after watching an ig reel), mildly hot take (idk)

"There's nothing I can do," you shrug, shaking your head with a proud smirk. "You're perfect!"

You complimented your student well over a hundred times each lesson. You have been training and practicing religiously for an event hosted to show your abilities being rumored to come by. From your swings to your defensive attacks, you made sure each corner was backed and ready to go. All the while, a rookie comes by asking to train with you-- saying that they had developed a great interest in the events and needed guidance. To which, you agreed, happily.

For days and days, you two bonded and guided one another to core yourselves optimally. They got the hang of everything so quick, you'd become quite proud of your teaching style. You stood tall, shining at your ability to teach an amateur to soon become a natural--in only a few weeks!

So...

Why? Why did it hurt to see him go past you as if you were nothing. Had it been your fault that you were open for their moves and been defeated like used tissue?

You were supposed to be happy that you'd trained him so well. You were supposed to beam with pride. to cheer him on as he shot you down so easily. So, Why?

Why did it hurt so damn much to see him succeed.

After everything you put yourself through for it.

Was all of that hard work meaningless. Maybe it was all worthless put against those who are talented.

You sat out in a bench at the park, a few hours after the match. You ran off after briefly sharing a nod, not being able go handle seeing your student--no, your friend--win the one thing you were supposed to be good at. Petty as it was, you couldn't help but rush for some fresh air after the match was over.

Sat on the bench, you stared at the stars, memories of the match passing by you. It was never a competition, but it was a statement of strength--and if you aren't strong, what were you supposed to be.

"Theres nothing I can do." you state, eyes glazed, the shine of moon's light showing them slowly water. "You're perfect." You finish, a single tear rolling down your cheek as you saw your friend, once student, standing away from you with a look of absolute guilt.

Your smile never reach your eyes after that, a memory that you both will share. For their sake, you were quiet. For your sake, you retired early. Childish decision, but that guilt shreds them every day.

SHOYO HINATA, Megumi Fushiguro, LANGA HASEGAWA, Izuku Midoriya, Genos, Zenitsu Agatsuma, Tobio Kageyama, Gojo Satoru, Shoto Todoroki

[shibaraki]

PAID WITH AFFECTION ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

tags: GN reader, no quirk au, cuddling services and cuddle buddies, todoroki shouto is an overworked EMT, reader is a cuddle buddy, fluff, strangers to ‘is it ethical to have a crush on your cuddle buddy??!!’ god knows

wc: 1.7k

As an EMT, it was natural that Shouto be conscious of all the things around him — more so than most. After all, the job required quick thinking, keen eyes, a clear head and practiced hands. But for reasons he can’t touch upon, having you stand idly in his genkan wearing a pair of house slippers and an easy smile has his mind repeating a tedious loop, recalling every single coffee ring stain, stray sock, crease and crumb in his apartment with microscopic detail.

“Come in,” he says, lowering his head into a modest bow by way of habit. His voice is mercifully steady. You’re warm, so inviting that it disarms him. “I… I apologise for any mess. My friends requested you with the intention of surprising me”.

“They did leave a note at the end of the application to warn me,” the corner of your mouth lifts further, and you’re looking at him as if you’ve known him far longer than five minutes. Those kind eyes soften and wrinkle, “It was sweet of them to do this for you. But I do want to remind you that you can end our session at any point. I won’t mind”.

Shouto hears your voice, though the words roll over him in a gentle wave. His thoughts are muddied with fatigue, drifting elsewhere. You’ve moved closer but kept appropriate distance, head tilted in both curiosity and concern. Dipping to meet his gaze bids you to peer through your eyelashes, unintentionally demure as you call out to him.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with—?”

“I trust them,” he quietly interrupts. A moment of patient silence passes as he collects himself, tongue peeking to wet his bottom lip, to cushion the words before they leave his mouth. “They wouldn’t do this if they thought I’d be uncomfortable”.

“Still,” you pause, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “You have an hour slot with me. Feel free to kick me out at any point”.

Red and white stands fall loose when he nods, resting over the bridge of his nose. Your eyes crinkle, gleaming with far off endearment at his obvious dishevelment. His hair is flat to one side, the impression of his couch cushion pressed pink into his right cheek; pant leg ridden up his calf, the other pooled around his ankles, his once white shirt had stretched in the dryer and now hung below the waist.

There’s the urge to apologise again and explain it away, but he wondered if it would offend you. After all, this was your job — or one of two, according to Midoriya. He’d been far more forthcoming about the whole thing. Shouto wasn’t supposed to find out, but Ochako is not as good at keeping her voice down as she thinks she is.

And Shouto is far nosier than they give him credit for. Slightly obsessive, he admits. If something is out of place, or it doesn’t make sense to him, he will pick at the problem until it bleeds.

Though he wouldn’t call this a problem. Atleast, not yet. The pads of your fingers skim gently over his wrist, squeezing his palm to retain his attention—

This could be the beginning of a big problem.

“This okay?” you apply more pressure and he swallows, overturning his hand so your fingers slide against the shallow of his palm. His heart line is light, curved like a half moon. “Shouto?”

“Sorry,” he tries to conceal a grimace. “I’m not usually like this. It has been a long week”.

“A long month from what I hear,” you add sombrely. Another reassuring squeeze. “But that’s what I’m here to help with”.

Shouto worried his inner lip between his teeth. “I’m not really… sure how these things are supposed to work,” he admits, disliking the uncertainty of it, not knowing how to find his footing.

“Well. How about I go over the fine print?” you hold him properly, knuckles entwined, the heel of your hand tucks against his life line. He can’t quite remember the last time he was shown such… casual affection.

Patients held him all the time — the younger ones, usually. Gripping his forearms, counting his fingers, braiding the colours in his hair. His friends were touchy, but his introverted tendencies often meant boundaries were assumed rather than asked for.

This is different. It feels as if he has missed a step climbing the stairs.

“Erotic or sexual behaviour is not permitted for the client nor the cuddler,” you continue, taking his silence as permission. “No use of tongue or teeth, no touching of genitals or intimate areas. And no nudity”.

“Right,” he rasps. Sex might be less unnerving than this.

“Your body will sometimes react to stimuli on its own. I understand that that alone is not a sign of consent or violation of the rules,” heat thrums under the skin of his cheeks as you level him with a kind look. “Just make sure to talk to me if anything is wrong, okay?”

“That’s a lot of rules for something as simple as cuddling”.

“Guess so. But they’re to keep us both safe,” you step closer. Something swoops in his belly, and his fingers twitch reflexively in your grasp. “We don’t need to jump right into it, either. We can sit and talk, if you like”.

God. The world is awash with colour, all because you’re in it. A sweet stranger. Todoroki Shouto, the loneliest man in the UA emergency unit. What his friends must think of him. He has reached a new low if they’d felt the need to hire someone to hug him.

Midoriya’s gentle voice reached his ears. Apologetic, but without the apology. Sorry that he wasn’t sorry. “I know it’s unorthodox, but you should give it a try, Shou. I mean, cuddles are great for your health!”

To which Ochako had added, “Yeah, Todoroki! Set an example!”

Conceding to his best friends wishes, the pair of you walk over to the couch. The cushions are wide enough for two bodies to lie comfortably. They yield under your shared weight, an embrace in itself. He couldn’t count the many nights spent sleeping here instead of his bed.

Your thighs are pressed together, body heat seeping through the fabric of his sweatpants. You’ve kept your hands locked together where they rest in your lap. Cautiously, he runs his thumb over your knuckles and finds no discomfort, only happiness at his reciprocation.

“Do you do this a lot?” he blurts, followed by a wince. “I mean—”

“I’ve been doing this for half a year,” you tell him amusedly. “Even so, I don't have many clients. I’m a little picky, and most of them only need a session or two if they’re going through something”.

Picky. That tidbit makes him happier than he thinks it should. “I’m glad I passed your vetting process, then,” he says.

“So am I,” you return. Your body shifts to give him your full attention. Eyes, chest, knees turning. A hand smooths over his wrist again, right to the crook of his elbow. “Your friends told me how hard you’ve been working. I’m happy to do this for you”.

Whatever this will be. Is he supposed to lean into you naturally and wrap his own arms around you? Would it be inappropriate to rest his head on your chest? He glances to your lap, a thread of longing woven through his heart as it flutters. It looks comfortable there. The thought pulls on his fatigue until it covers him like a blanket.

Unbeknownst to him, you have followed his line of sight to the spot where your bodies connect. His posture droops, shoulders falling forward. Your smile softens with realisation. “Shall we start off by having you rest in my lap?”

Shouto blinks away the haze, eyes imperceptibly wider. “Is that alright?”

You hum your assent. The sound is low, melodic, a hint of fondness. A beautiful stranger in his home, so at home; something about that relaxes him.

Shouto is anything but graceful when he flops onto your thighs, body draping along the sofa. He mutters a bashful apology that you wave away with a laugh, steadying his head while you recline into the back cushions.

Your thighs are plush, indelibly soft. They’re yours. You smell a little familiar; it prods unhelpfully at an old memory. A faceless silhouette he passed in the street, maybe an old patient. You must use the same scent, he thinks. That reel of film is soon overwritten with images of you, body curled above him as you reach for the throw draped over the back of the couch.

“Sleep, Shouto,” you murmur. “I’ll wake you when the session is over”.

His drawn out sigh of relief feels warm against your abdomen. The tension lessons with every minute that passes, dwindling into contentment as the rigidity seeps from his bones. Sinew becomes wet sand, heavy in his limbs, the muscles in his face falling slack so that his lips part. The corner of his mouth is wet.

Your fingers thread into his hair. They’re tender at his scalp, nails lightly scratching at the roots, combing front to back. A shiver runs through him when you reach the nape of his neck, curling the soft short strands around your fingertip.

Shouto finds himself fighting sleep despite your instruction. His consciousness wanes, reaching the surface for breath before he’s submerged again. He wanted to be awake for this, just a while longer.

That’s the last thing he recalls before the chime of your alarm. He startled in place and shied away from the noise, tucking himself into your stomach without much thought, realising his actions only as you began to shake with laughter. To a sleep addled Shouto, it might be the most pleasant thing he has ever heard.

“I take it you slept well?” you teased.

Shouto takes in the span of his ceiling. The sun has started to set, shadows stretching across the room. Simultaneously, five minutes and five years had passed in the span of a single nap.

That might be the best he has slept all year. And he concludes, perhaps, his brain-to-mouth filter still has yet to reconnect. Midoriya can answer for it later.

“Would it be unethical of me to book your entire calendar?”

[bokutosbabe]

BAEEEE

dad natsuo fic???🥺🥺🥺🥺

Of course! Only the best for our underrated best boy!

learning & growing

Dad! Natsuo todoroki x reader

Cw! fluff, mostly natsuo being the best dad, may cause daddy issues to flare up

synopsis; natsuo todoroki didn't ever think he would be a great father due to how he grew up, but here he is now with a beautiful four year old baby girl he loves more than the stars love the moon

As we all know, Natsuo grew up in a household where fatherly love wasn't shown towards him, but as he'd watched his daughter,natsuki, grow up over the past four years he'd been the happiest he could ever be

When she was born

The girl was so tiny, so delicate, her skin looked like it had been painted on with an oil brush. Her eyes were like two tiny blue stones. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. "Natsuki.” you had whispered from the hospital bed as you were doing skin to skin with your daughter.

He was scared that he wasn't going to be a good dad,but when he had this beautiful daughter and you; his favorite person and wife next to him, the fears faded away towards the back of his mind. “yeah. Yeah it's perfect. such a pretty name...for our pretty girl."the nickname rolled off his tongue so flawlessly, like he'd been planning on having a kid so young with you. Like he'd been planning on nicknames for her.

He hadn't known it then,but his life was going to become extremely hectic and full of the fun you could only have with a child.

1st year

For the past year, being a dad to natsuki had been an incredible experience for him. He was so thankful for all the moments he had shared with her, from her first smile to her first steps. He cherished every moment they spent together and loved watching her grow into a beautiful girl. Natsuki's first giggle made his chest grow tighter than ever; and the way you gave him a tired smile when he'd come home from school made him want to help as much as he could. Every day brings new joys and he is filled with gratitude for all that they have experienced in this past year.

2nd year

Every moment natsuo spends with natsumi is precious and he cherishes every single one of them. From teaching her how to ride a bicycle to playing tag in the backyard with you two, he loves every second of it.

He knew that all too soon these moments will pass and she would be all grown up, it had happened so fast from when natsumi was born and now suddenly she was two and could talk and walk and have fun with him, but until then he plans on enjoying everything he's had with his child for the past two years of her life.

3rd year

Being a dad to a three year old toddler is both challenging and rewarding, and natsuo finds that out the hard way.

He had been left at home with natsumi and got locked in the bathroom.

It's a time of immense joy and growth, as he watched natsumi learn new things every day. As a dad, he'd experienced everything from the highs of playing with the toddler to the lows of trying to find ways to keep her entertained.

He wouldn't trade it for anything, as it had been an amazing experience that has brought him so much joy and laughter.

4th year

While you were pregnant again with your second child natsuo was enjoying taking four year old natsumi to her first day of school, where he totally didn't cry, and dance classes that put a hole in his pocket, but he'd do anything for natsumi.

It was difficult to balance the needs of both natsumi and take care of you and the doctors appointments .

After your second child is born; natsumi becomes the best older sister.

Natsuo never thought he deserved love, and he definitely never thought he would be a good father. But here he was, learning and growing alongside natsumi while also being completely obsessed with you as well.

first natsuo fic and third post of the day! literally struggled a bit, but I hope u enjoy!

[camp-queer-and-there]

lucille my old hag can you hit that

THIS SHIT LACED😭 im forreal a freak just lmk👀👅 ohio skibidi toilet oi oi oi😏 maxdesignpro WHAT!? HELP ME! HELP = 👍 fetus sebastian hes so ugly i cant would you rather have 1 million dollars or CANCER! art is lowkey so amazingly beautiful...gigachad sigma LET HIMM COOK!🗣️🗣️ uwu >_< anyone got anyone spongebob x reader👀 only in eastern latvia💀 ohio final boss grimace shake charlie the steak ishowspeed kai cenat the amazing digital circus pomni garten of banban caseoh gyatt super mogger looksmaxxing based and redpilled diabolical lick😈erm what the sigma oh! thats not!- getting my top surgery done at claires POV: youre ben shapiros mom and hes convincing to let him get gta5 i feel like calling you a slur.. what type of gay are you, since you dont have it in your bio... the european mind cannot comprehend this drew phillips: hello im drew phillips the ahh magic i finna be in the pit on cap. 123°!? gurrrll we are not thanksgiving turkeys😂and thats on period fahrenheit lankybox elisocray INSANE UNBOXING! gegagedigedagedago we can go gyatt for gyatt fuck that we can go rizz for rizz 19 bucks for the fortnite card double pump with the fanum tax THE BIG APPLE! drake vs kendrick beef p diddy dr disrespect annoying orange if garlic was a person my name is drake and im here to say.. kendrick lamar your disses arent okay! diss me diss me now you gotta kiss me quandale dingle mf doom dookie baby girl my pookie wubbleshmubble kins whats hurts more than being yelled at be skinned alive probably pov: i am your cashier during february (and i notice you are black) you look like tyler the creator if he was in my dreams ray william johnson sybrian dancing lady oh when the saints go marching in oh when the saints go marching in todoroki gives birth alone jumbo josh is lost in the zumb sauce lightskin touch the moon bozo cant im walking my fish why are frogs so stupid show me your griddy show me your griddy.... show me your... DOHHH THATS ONE WAY TO HIT THE GRIDDY. THATS ONE WAY TO HIT THE GRIDDY grwm to go to bath and body works temu workers getting ready to clock in day in the life of a twitch streamer your final challenge.. let yo bih go through your phone!... AH HELL NAW YO ASS TWEAKIN JIGSAW quavo stop thats the gayest shit ever amoeba sisters angst preppycon 2024 kart ride into spongebob youve been here before.. a weirdcore dreamcore kidcore clowncore playlist. my talking tom her body tea is insane😭 my aura is unmatched DO NOT PLAY CREEPY BATH GAME AT 3AM!!!!!!!! *THIS IS WHY* ALMOST DROWNED school isnt done but i am💀 omg u did call me baby.. maybe ..omg did he call her baby.. maybe.. im not okay..... bark for me. pov family dinner😭💀why u so pissed ...what me when i get mustard for christmas yall when i put on my dad fit "FREAKYbob" I AINT ANSWERING!! HELPP IM DEADDDD wait no im not maya winky boyfriend takes you out to eat but his opps slide on him [boyfriend asmr] mrbeast might ne TOO BIG to he cancelled squid games i hope someone dies and goes to hell today me staring at the sephora employee in the eye as i "sample" a $800 perfume cats when you cover their cage with a blanket blud thinks hes the main character💀 omg a rare gyatt sighting ninja fortnite sneako the ocky way new yorkian vermontian how 10 yr old me felt after putting "i dont speak tags" in an argument holy fricking smokes dude.. my cut is insane... shout out to my barber dawg! bro thinks hes the thinker waterless baked water what i would wear to my isis execution why did my dog just punch me😓 #STOPBULLYING💯

i mean.. i kind of ocd😁 you mean OBESity stop doing the golden freddy pose youre scaring the kids when a client wants to trauma dump first session when i dont have enough diamonds on episode so now i gotta shit in the school hallway in front of my crush phone and youtube video lobster activity someone shot trump in the ear he wouldnt have missed goku drip well my mother always said the best flowers get picked first dudes been waiting for his mcflurry since 1786 ladies ladies one at a time please😍 rio de janeiro the oppblock hazbin hotel boy rejoice creepy autism simulator my scary silent hill whos ivan mac n cheeks freak island home sweet home.. blud always looking at sum😭😭😭when face id acting up so you gotta LOCK IN fuck im washed WAIT IM GOATED why the mob isnt a fucking aesthetic: a thread this where the magic happens👅 style griddy👀

what

- ⌛

[ghostxrose]

𝑶𝒇 𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑴𝒆𝒏 | 𝑩𝒂𝒌𝒖𝒈𝒐 𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒊 𝒙 𝑶𝑪

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven |

Tags/Warnings ~ Fem!OC, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual fluff, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, potentially triggering content, universe-typical violence, Enji Todoroki (yes, that is a warning, he's trash), character death, suicidal ideation, (more tags to be added as story develops <3)

Note ~ Hey, Lovelies! Here's chapter three and four will be up right after I post this one! My husband and I will be going out of town for a bit, so yall get a double-update treat! Enjoy, Lovelies! <3

“Toya, are you sure it’s okay for us to be doing this..? Dad will kill us if he finds us out here without him or Mom..” Natsuo quietly asks, his body language screaming how nervous he is as they all walk along.

Toya lets out an annoyed huff, waving a dismissive hand in the air, “If you’re going to be such a scared little baby, then you can go back to the house.” He says without turning around to face his younger brother.

“We’ll be fine, Nats. We’ll only be down at the beach for a bit; play in some waves, make sandcastles, admire the stars or whatever, then we’ll head back.” Azusa tells Natsuo, reassuringly wrapping an arm over his shoulders.

“Yeah, Nats! C’mon, this is going to be so fun! It’s a full moon tonight, so we have plenty of light to play wave tag in!” Fuyumi exclaims with a wide smile as she skips across the sand.

With another huff, this time one of slight guilt for being snappish, Toya turns around to face his three siblings, “Exactly what they said, Squirt. Look, I just want to make the most of this vacation. You know that Dad doesn’t get a lot of leave days, so who knows when we’ll be back and dammit a night swim at the beach is something everyone should experience! Even you brats!” He lightheartedly jabs with a playful smile as he continues to walk backward on the beach.

“Hey-”

“-m not a brat-”

“Toyaaaa-”

Azusa, Natsuo, and Fuyumi all playfully whine out with giggles and smiles on their faces as they all charge their older brother. A game of tag ensues; laughs echo in the air, sand and water being flung at one another, and pure joy exudes from each of the Todoroki siblings.

A yelp escapes Azusa’s mouth when she feels Toya squish a fat handful of sand into the top of her head, ensuring that grains of sand bury themselves in her hair.

“Oh my god, Toya! You are so dea-”

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“Attention Rangers, report to the Mess Hall for breakfast, then report to Bay 3 at 0600 immediately following breakfast for your co-pilot and Jaeger assignments. Attention Rangers, report-”

Azusa groans at the AI voice grating at her ears and she blindly reaches a hand out to shut off the alarm and the accompanying repetitive message. As she pulls herself from her bed, she tries to cling to the faint feeling of happiness she gained from the memory she relived in her sleep. She makes her way to her dresser, pausing before opening up the sock drawer to pick up a photo of her late brother.

“Today is the day I officially become a pilot, Toya.. I’ll even get to pilot your old Jaeger. D-don’t worry, Toya, I’ll m-make sure t-to take care of her f-for you.” Azusa whispers to the photo, barely getting her promise out past the painful lump in her throat. She gently sets the photo back down on the dresser and takes a few deep breaths then proceeds to get ready for the day.

Once dressed and as mentally ready as she can be, Azusa leaves her room and heads for the Mess Hall. Fuyumi never showed up to accompany her, which happens from time to time especially when Rangers are woken up earlier than usual. A small and quiet voice whispers how much it wants to be in bed still in the back of Azusa’s mind as the elevator descends. She lets out a tired sigh as she steps off of the elevator when it stops but quickly rights herself out as she enters the Mess Hall.

Azusa heads for the food line when she’s roughly shoulder-checked by somebody quickly moving past her. “Watch it,” she hisses out just before she registers the tall, broad, and blonde-haired being cutting in front of her. Sticking up his middle finger, Bakugo turns to shoot Azusa an arrogant smirk before turning back toward the stack of trays at the start of the food line. Azusa’s jaw clenches, her blood immediately boiling, but before she can spit any venom at Bakugo, Kendo and Tetsutetsu come up to her.

“Asshole,” Kendo says harshly under her breath as she casts a glare at the back of Bakugo’s head.

“I feel sorry for whoever his co-pilot ends up being,” Tetsutetsu adds as the three of them grab their trays and join the food line.

“Hopefully whoever it is can help him pull his head out of his ass.” Azusa quips quietly, causing her two friends to snicker as all three of them watch Bakugo’s knuckles go white from how hard he grips his tray.

Breakfast goes by without any more spats, surprisingly enough to Azusa. She had to hide it in the moment but she was genuinely shocked that Bakugo hadn’t attempted to fight the trio when they were shit-talking him literally right behind his back. All she had gotten for her comment was an ugly, snarl-twisted glare shot at her before he stomped off to “his” table.

All too soon, Rangers across the entire Mess Hall began standing to clear their places and head for the Shatterdome. An air of nervousness and excitement settles amongst the collective of newly graduated Rangers as they all gather around the elevators. Azusa blankets her nerves with perpetual stoicism and forced calm. She observes that Kendo has chosen to take occasional deep breaths while Tetsutetsu finds that yammering on endlessly about random crap soothes his nerves. It’s only when the group of new Rangers are all standing at attention at the mouth of Bay 3 with Marshal Todoroki and Marshal Aizawa in front of them that a suffocating silence ensue.

Marshal Todoroki’s judgmental gaze sweeps over the group as Marshal Aizawa’s stern gaze serves as a silent reminder to take this seriously. Marshal Todoroki clears his throat, making everyone tighten up their positions.

“At ease, Rangers.” Marshal Todoroki finally says after a couple of moments of tense silence. “Before we announce the co-pilot pairings and Jaeger assignments, I wanted to remind you all that this is not a game. This is not your childhood dream nor is it your chance at 15 minutes of fame. This is war. You are Rangers now, fighting for the sake of saving humanity.” Marshal Todoroki firmly states, his tone deadly serious.

“This is reality and in this reality, in this war, you are all putting your lives on the line. You may die. Your co-pilots may die. Your friends may die. But with those facts of this hellish reality looming over our heads, I thank you for your service and hope that you all live to see the day we win this war.” Marshal Todoroki ends his speech, both he and Marshal Aizawa straightening up and saluting.

The group of Rangers, collectively torn between shitting their pants from fear and keeping their cool, straightens up and salutes back. Azusa, while fully grasping the seriousness of the situation, inwardly cringes a bit at the lack of encouragement from her father. ‘Did I really expect him to be any sort of encouraging, though?’ She ponders bitterly as she and the rest of the group relax their positions.

“Onto announcing the co-pilot pairings and Jaeger assignments,” Marshal Aizawa says, drawing every pair of anticipation-filled eyes on him.

As Marshal Aizawa read off the names of pairs of co-pilots and their assigned Jaegers, Azusa’s stomach began to churn a bit. As much as she tried to will away the feelings of nervousness and slight dread, the roiling feeling refused to go. Occasionally her eyes connected with those of her father’s, making matching his steely and stoic gaze the only easy thing about this whole event.

“Rangers Kirishima and Tetsutetsu, you both will be the pilots of the Jaeger; Steel Riot.” Marshal Aizawa announces, then sends a sharp glare at the two as they move to high-five and cheer, stopping them in their tracks.

“Rangers Hado and Kendo, you both will be piloting the Jaeger; Battle Fist.” Marshal Aizawa continues, letting the smiles the girls shoot each other slide despite the air of professionalism.

“Rangers Bakugo and Todoroki, both of you will be piloting the Jaeger; Bravo Inferno.” Marshal Aizawa says, casting a slightly wary glance between Azusa and Bakugo.

As soon as she had heard Bakugo’s name in the same sentence as hers, every single other word out of the man’s mouth became muffled by static. Her stomach now burns with a nasty mix of anger, dread, and loathing. She hears a curse-filled outburst that undoubtedly comes from Bakugo, but she is too focused on glaring at her father to acknowledge the brash blonde.

Marshal Todoroki pointedly avoids meeting Azusa’s eyes, his stoic gaze shifting over the other Rangers. Azusa clenches her jaw, her teeth grinding together as she continues to glare, half registering the stern words from Marshal Aizawa’s reprimand toward Bakugo. She can’t understand why her father or Marshal Aizawa thought that pairing her with Bakugo would be a good idea.

‘There is absolutely no way we will be able to work together, let alone Drift smoothly! This doesn’t make any fucking sense! He’s a stubborn asshole who will get us both killed if we’re even able to Drift successfully! Son of a fucking bitch-’ Azusa seethes as she half listens to Marshal Aizawa continue with assignments. Eventually, the assignment announcements come to an end and the group of Rangers are being led to Loccent’s command center while the first Jaeger and its pilots are being prepped for their first test run.

Azusa and the other newly graduated Rangers watch as team after team take their turns with their Jaegers, going through their first Drifts. Her peers cheer and congratulate each other with every successful display. Azusa offers her own words of praise when Tetsu and Kendo come back from each of their own successful Drift sequences with their co-pilots. Finally, the moment that she has been dreading comes when Marshal Aizawa tells her and Bakugo to go suit up.

The tense and rage-filled air between Azusa and Bakugo could be cut with a knife as the two don’t utter a word, let alone spare a glance at each other while techs help them suit up. The two enter the Conn-Pod of Bravo Inferno, Bakugo stomping his way over to the right-side pilot harness without even asking what side Azusa would prefer. As much as she would have preferred piloting from the right, she lets it go with an annoyed roll of her eyes.

Mechanisms lock Azusa into place when she steps into the foot-holds and places her back against the harness. The soft hissing and clicks coming from her right tell her that Bakugo hasn’t decided to leave the Conn-Pod in an anger-filled rage. Azusa takes a deep breath, using the cool oxygen being pumped into her helmet as an aid to shove down her growing dread.

“Alright, Rangers, let yourselves flow through the Drift. Remember Random Access Brain Impulse Triggers, or RABIT, don’t chase it and don’t fight it. Just like in your simulations, do not get stuck in the memories. Are you ready?” Marshal Aizawa’s voice coaches through the Comms, his voice firm but holding the slightest amount of hesitance.

“Whatever! Let’s just get this over with!” Bakugo snarls out, smothering her confirmation of readiness. Marshal Aizawa doesn’t even bother reprimanding him, just lets out a tired sigh before getting off of the Comms.

Azusa straightens up and tries to force the tension from her body as the AI voice speaking through the Comms counts down the seconds til neural handshake. She leans back a bit and closes her eyes, the final seconds ticking down. A gasp is ripped from her mouth and her body jerks as her consciousness is sucked into a flurry of memories, both hers and Bakugo’s.

Flashes of her childhood play before her eyes, good moments blurring together into bad. She sees herself running around and laughing as she chases her siblings. Watches as her past self cheers and gloats over beating Toya in a video game. Feels it when memories of her father angrily shouting at her and her siblings when they did something wrong or embarrassed him in some way fly by. Unaware of her body’s labored breathing, new memories flash across her mind’s eye, memories that are new to her but not to Bakugo.

Azusa watches as a younger version of the blonde marches across a playground seemingly commanding those that follow him. Another memory bleeds through and she sees an older, female version of Bakugo cleaning his younger version’s knee. The woman, his mother Azusa assumes, says something that makes Bakugo’s younger self reluctantly giggle before that memory fades into another. This time, Azusa sees a teenage Bakugo gripping tightly onto a family photo. His face is twisted into anger and anguish, tears sliding down his cheeks and his jaw clenched. Everything fades out completely and with another gasp, Azusa is dropped back into reality, feelings and thoughts that aren’t hers invading her brain.

“Right hemisphere calibrating,” the AI voice from before guides, as Azusa and Bakugo lift their right hands up in sync.

“Left hemisphere calibrating,” the AI continues, Bakugo and Azusa raising their left hands up in sync.

“Holy shit,” Bakugo breathes out over the Comms and Azusa can feel his awe as much as she can feel her own.

The pair’s thoughts fall into sync seamlessly as they move to show off a bit. Moving together fluidly the two raise their fists and bend their knees, getting themselves and the massive machine they now control into a fighting position. Feeding off of the impressed looks and cheers from onlookers, they quickly move into a different stance. Their brains and bodies following the same train of thought, they straighten up and bring one fisted hand to the palm of their opened one. Bakugo’s overwhelmingly confident and flashy ego reminds Azusa of Toya, a bit of sadness flashing through her mind when-

“Where the fuck is he?! Where is Toya?! He can’t be dead! Please, no no no-”

Flinching at the painful drop back into reality, Azusa groans and tries to make out what the voices she’s hearing are saying, “-roki and Ranger Bakugo, you are both out of alignment! Please try to re-stabilize yourselves!” Iida’s slightly panicked voice rings through Azusa’s ears.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m good now-” Azusa tries to say, but she is cut off by Marshal Aizawa getting on the Comms.

“You’re stabilizing, Todoroki, but Bakugo is still way out of it! Bring him back, now!” Marshal Aizawa commands with urgency.

“Dammit- Bakugo, listen to me! Snap out of it! It’s just a memory, you have to come back to reality!” Azusa shouts across the three-foot gap between her and Bakugo.

Unfortunately, nothing seems to be getting through to the blonde as he stands in place, stock still. His eyes have a faraway look in them, his face fearful and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. But Azusa keeps trying to get to him, closing her eyes and sinking into her mind to try to find where his went.

When she opens her eyes again it’s raining and she’s standing among the rubble remains of a building. Her gaze sweeps the area, not finding her co-pilot anywhere but instead catching on the form of his younger self. This version of Bakugo appears to be the same teenage version from the earlier memory. Once again, she looks around at all of the broken pieces of the building and pieces together that it used to be an apartment complex.

She looks back at teenage Bakugo when she hears him cough and groan as he moves to sit up from where he is lying. In the distance, she can hear helicopters and there’s a slight rumble from the ground beneath her, but all she can focus on is the boy in front of her. Teenage Bakugo stands up slowly with a dazed and pained look on his face as he grabs at his bleeding torso. More blood runs down the side of his face from his hairline and overall he doesn’t look too good.

Azusa watches as he looks around, clarity coming back to him as concern floods his features. He stumbles forward, desperately searching for something among the rubble surrounding them.

“Ma? Pops?” He calls out, his raspy and cracking voice echoing throughout the destroyed landscape. A few tears escape his eyes and he furiously wipes them away before continuing his search for his parents. A few feet away from where he had woken up, Bakugo stops cold in his tracks.

“N-no,” he brokenly whispers out, looking down at a pile of broken concrete slabs.

Azusa slowly walks up behind him, morbid curiosity getting the better of her, admittedly. A horrified gasp leaves her mouth as her stomach lurches at the sight of a hand sticking out from beneath the rubble. Slender fingers lay slightly crumpled and limp on the ground, a silver wedding band coated in dust sitting snugly on the ring finger. Acid burns at the back of Azusa’s throat when she recognizes the small ruby adorning the ring.

“No, no, no! Damn it!” Bakugo’s gut-wrenching shouting breaks Azusa’s attention away from her horrible realization.

Turning to her left, Azusa sees teenage Bakugo on his knees next to a body half-covered by rubble. Part of a re-bar sticks out of the side of the body’s chest and her nausea hits full force, once more, as Azusa walks over to Bakugo. When she reaches him, his face is buried in his hands as he sobs and his shoulders shake violently. Azusa looks down at the body before them and with a broken heart she realizes that it’s the man from the family photo from the other memory; Bakugo’s father.

Lost within the shared feelings of loss, grief, and pain, neither she nor Bakugo registers the sound of emergency personnel making their arrival. It’s only when a paramedic is crouched down in front of Bakugo do either of them briefly break from their grief. Bakugo, expressionless and silent, gets ushered to an ambulance with a dust-covered picture frame in his hands, the glass of it shattered and the whole thing is overall broken.

Teenage Bakugo passing out in the back of that ambulance is what snaps them back to reality, both of their bodies giving out on them. Alarms are blaring throughout the Conn-Pod and voices shout at them through the Comms. Looking out of the window of the Conn-Pod, Azusa watches the arms of the Jaeger slowly fall to its sides. As the glow of them fades out, she realizes that one of the weapons had been engaged during the traumatic flashback and a dulled shiver runs down her spine.

Ignoring the continued shouting from whoever is on the Comms, Azusa removes her helmet and releases herself from her harness. She rushes over to Bakugo, hands out ready to steady the man as he stumbles from his harness’s release. He rights himself, though, and shakes the look of sadness from his face to replace it with a harsh glare. He rips his helmet off as he steps away from Azusa.

“Get the fuck away from me.” He seethes out before running a hand over his face to wipe away the remaining tears. Shoving past her with little care, Bakugo storms his way out of the Conn-Pod leaving Azusa alone to deal with the torrent of emotions flooding her brain.

Note ~ Let me know if there are any tags I should add! I love and appreciate every single one of you, Lovelies! <3

Tag List ~ @tomiokasecretlover

Divider Credit ~ @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[ladysunamireads]

Just Like You Took Away My Futur, I Will Take Yours

Just like you took away my futur, I will take yours by erenxhunter007

What did I ever do to you Kacchan to this to me? Why are you so cruel to me? How could you ever contemplate doing this? Didn't you want to be a Hero? What type of heroes does this type of this? You killed my baby and for it, I will never forgive you!’ he thought while glaring at the moon, ‘I won't rest till you feel what I felt and lose as much as I lost Bakugou!’

OR

... Izuku gets his revenge...

Words: 7132, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Midoriya Izuku, Chisaki Kai | Overhaul, Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Eri, Midoriya Inko, Bakugou Mitsuki, Bakugou Masaru, David Shield, Shuuzenji Chiyo | Recovery Girl, Shie Hassaikai | Eight Precepts of Death

Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto, Chisaki Kai | Overhaul/Midoriya Izuku

Additional Tags: Past Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku, Endgame Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto, One-Sided Chisaki Kai | Overhaul/Midoriya Izuku, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bakugou Katsuki is Bad at Feelings, Bad Person Bakugou Katsuki, Regretful Bakugou Katsuki, Vengeful Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Inko's Bad Parenting, Alpha Bakugou Katsuki, Alpha Todoroki Shouto, Omega Midoriya Izuku, Pro Hero Todoroki Shouto, Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki, Quirkless Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Does Not Have One for All Quirk, Miscarriage, Past Mpreg, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43517545

[ao3feed-izuku-midoriya]

I DIDN'T NEED A FUCKING HERO

I DIDN'T NEED A FUCKING HERO by KitCat The TatoBean

The Mother of his paradise longed before him died out for unknown reasons, he comes from a cursed family, a branch of which is a tradegy among those who pity. Inko was one of those people who pity and urged a change as she worked day and night out to change something from her family name. She didn't do enough, she couldn't be enough. So, when the rays of light, of pure, pure light shined through her weakest yet strongest barrier; she failed her son.

She failed her child who followed the steps of the unwanted, of the damn, ...of those who were servants to the Lady of the Moon. If only she wasn't a coward. If only she wasn't so easily influenced maybe then, her son would've lived a life where, even if quirkless, he would've at least had a normal life right? A perfect, safe, small life, right? Oh, the sins Izuku has made along the way - he knows what price he'll pay once the time comes around. He just wanted to know when. Where. Because this fire? Yeah, no. That wasn't what he WANTED!

Words: 1337, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of A COLLECTION OF SEEDS

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku & Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic

Additional Tags: Midoriya Izuku Has a Quirk, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Hug, Midoriya Izuku is Bad at Feelings, Midoriya Izuku Has a Bad Time, Hurt Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Tired Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Traumatized Midoriya Izuku, Traumatized Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor Being An Asshole, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Healing, Angst, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Happy Ending, Pyrophobia, Demon Slayer: Kitmetsu no Yaiba Manga References, Reluctant parents, Not Beta Read

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43320073

[toji-bunny-girl]

hi, hope you are doing okey ✨💓

Could you do fluff headcanons for Hawks, Bakugo, Todoroki (Shoto), Aizawa and Dabi. Plssss

- 🐸

Fluff Headcanons

A/N: FIRWT REQUEST FIRST REQUEST THANK YOU OMG I had so much fun writing this I hope I wrote it to your liking!

Tags: Fluffiest cloud heaven

Bakugou Katsuki who grins so boyishly like a child when you give him all of your attention; disregard the work you were doing and coo and aw at how handsome and lovely he is

Bakugou Katsuki who falls asleep so quickly and you have to wake him up every one or two minutes because you don’t want to feel alone; which often results in him sleepily petting you to sleep while grumbling about the things he does for you just because he loves you

Bakugou Katsuki who squeezes your face with his fingers and leans into your lips, only to push your head back and laugh at your adorably stupid and flustered look because he loves teasing you so much

Todoroki Shoto who scratches your back while warming the water as the two of you sit in the bathtub; music playing from your phone and spicy amber fragrant drifting around in the air from the candle

Todoroki Shoto who goes searching for four-leaf clovers with you at the hill and when he finds one, he quickly wishes that the both of you will never stop loving each other, like how the sun never stops chasing after the moon and the moon never stops chasing after the sun

Todoroki Shoto who follows you around the house like a lost little puppy whenever he’s clingy and misses your touch until you turn around and pepper his face with kisses, hug him so tightly his soul comes out of his mouth and pet his head for a whole minute

Aizawa Shota who snores in his sleep and you love laying your head on his chest because it rumbles slightly from his snoring; when you pull your head away, he stirs up awake because the comforting pressure you gave him is gone

Aizawa Shota who sees your face for the first time that morning after he finishes marking his students’ papers since the evening before and tries to squeeze his limbs into your skin as hard as he could, letting all of his tension out with a sigh and a whiff of your scent.

Aizawa Shota who makes the bed with you, washes the dishes with you and folds the laundry with you because the feeling of being domestic warms up his soul and he can’t wait to grow old and retire and be with you until he dies

Takami Keigo whose snorts bounce against the walls of your bedroom and feathers glide down the air as you tickle his wings, filling the room with you giggling at the noise he made as well

Takami Keigo who spread his wings big and proud as you tell him they look the prettiest and now he always unconsciously replay your words whenever he flies or shows them off

Takami Keigo who savors moments like this, like when you are painting his nails hot pink or trying to braid his leg hair because the villain he fought with and almost lost his life to has always nibble and bully his mind with the thought of how he can’t see you anymore when his lungs stop breathing and heart stops beating

Dabi who lowers his eyelids and gives out an exhale as you hold his face in your soft warm hands; he only dares to relax under your gaze that never seems judge or hate, only admire and hold such love towards him. 

Dabi who tells you his real name and expects you to say it with uncertainty and doubt but you speak it out like a poem, smooth against your voice and tone as soft as silk because it’s his name and it’s something that is beautiful no matter what

Dabi who stares at your eyes and your lips and your marked up neck as you look up at the stars when the two of you can’t sleep and go stargazing. Then, he tells you you are his star and his sky and his universe

© toji-bunny-girl ― all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, plagiarise or repost my work

[aces-and-anime]

I love a good ask game, sorry for not getting around to it for a while!

Thanks for the tag @yoshi-g-teh-first

5 questions, 15 mutuals!

Thank you to @mintaka-iii for the tag!

Are you named after anyone? Nah, I named myself on vibes alone :D (true story)

When was the last time you cried? one night ago :[ travelling stress + brain mean

Do you have kids? No & I don't want to

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Who?? Me??? Sarcastic??? Naaahhhh...

What's the first thing you notice about people? I'm not sure but maybe their expression or their hair

What's your eye colour? grey

Scary movie or happy ending? Happy ending! I love seeing analysis of horror movies but I'm too much of a scaredy cat to actually watch the films (at least on my own)

Any special talents? drawing furries :3 & making my friends laugh

Where were you born? in the UK

What are your hobbies? drawing, learning Polish, listening to music (mostly electronic) , casual gaming, slightly less casual table-top gaming

Have you got pets? not living with me but my parents have a huge ass dog (boxer-mix) who likes to pretend he's not so huge and squish you with his butt

What sports do you/have you played? I used to really enjoy karate & I'm kind of teaching one of my friends what I remember from the old days. I was very nearly a black belt before I left for university

How tall are you? 5 foot three (or five foot FUCK ALL as my friends like to say)

Favourite subject in school? English (which I now teach!) , Film studies and Philosophy

Dream job? Philosophy lecturer ... or I dunno guy who gets swarmed by puppies for a living

I tag @fixationsbigandsmall , @bowtie7114 , @nylazor @todoroki-shouts , @coloursofhappiness , @velocibirb @byrdsfly , @nonameyetmp3 , @ace-of-moons , @mellyoraa , @dreamlordmorpheus , @ellietheasexylibrarian , @dandan-theberserker , @skiergirl4life

15 questions, 15 mutuals!

Thank you to @lokisarmyforevr for the tag!

Are you named after anyone? Nope! My name is a word and the word is the point. Conveniently gender-neutral and great for puns!

When was the last time you cried? Last month. I know my mom loves me but I thought for a second, what if she didn't actually like me, and started crying.

Do you have kids? No, but I definitely want to.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? When someone else is sarcastic first, as banter. Otherwise, not a lot.

What's the first thing you notice about people? Tone of their greeting, so I know if they're in a chatty mood; unexpected clothing.

What's your eye colour? Darkish brown.

Scary movie or happy ending? Happy ending. But scary movies are fine too; it's just unnecessary tragedies that stick with me unhealthily long.

Any special talents? I can wiggle my ears and also solve a Rubik's cube.

Where were you born? California, USA. Also where I am now, but I wasn't for 19 years in the middle.

What are your hobbies? Reading, especially sci-fi; knitting; watching sci-fi; logic/math puzzles.

Have you got pets? Tragically no but one day I will be the cat lady of my dreams.

What sports do you/have you played? Functionally zero. I played soccer for one year and did cross country for two years.

How tall are you? 5'4" (aprox. 163 cm)

Favourite subject in school? Physics, math, chemistry in that order. In college though, a class called Puppets, Robots, and Automatons, about different simulacra of life in media and irl.

Dream job? Mad scientist. Absentminded professor. Or, y'know, regular scientist and professor. I think I've got absentminded down though.

Tagging (oh god 15 is so many): @splendidemendax @stpamique @theaterdisneynerdsunite @doppelgangerleaverite @razzleberryicedtea @lenky-lenikova @datafucker420 @oxbowreality @up-seventeen-steps @fractal-baby @youareenoughphan @theseconddoctor @mjollydragon @sourirenoire @steampunk-sorcerer

[gayfanservice]

firstly, im not the one to send out requests at all so this is just like once in a blue moon. but i also saw this through the tags so why not?

detective (or something similar) m!reader, who’s really intelligent, able to outsmart average people quite easily, can read and figure out people- i specifically dont have any character in mind but to start off maybe Bakugou, Todoroki, etc. are wary of him but in reality the man doesnt use this to his advantage and is pretty nice.

class 1A + reader type thing, spoilers for season 2 ep 38 - season 3 ep 40, it goes a little off canon

*********

“Is- is that a friend?” Ochaco’s voice strained as Tomuro’s eyes met hers, the blood in her body feeling like icicles piercing her veins, “No, this is not what it looks like! Stay back-” “Oh, you’re with a friend!” Tomuro forcefully let go of Izuku’s neck, “I didn’t notice,” The villain got up, whispering to Izuku and walking off. Izuku coughed as he held his neck, adrenaline still high. Ochako stumbled towards him, crouching beside him as she stared at Tomuro, “Tomuro Shigaraki!” He stopped, “What is All For One after?” The teenagers trembled as Tomuro continued walking, “Who knows? Be careful. The next time we meet will likely be the time I kill you.” The two stared as Tomuro vanished into the crowd.

——————

Noamasa stood up, clipboard and pen in hand, “Thank you, Midoriya, we are one step closer to catching Shigaraki because of you.” He opened the door, a surprised expression taking over his bland face, “Oh, (L/N), what are you doing here?” Noamasa’s body was blocking Izuku’s view behind him, “I was wondering if I could talk to Midoriya? If that’s okay, of course.” Izuku heard Noamasa let out a light laugh, “Of course, he’s right here.” Noamasa walked back around the table, another man entering Izuku’s peripheral vision. “Izuku Midoriya, I am (Y/N) (L/N), a fellow detective on the Shigaraki case. I have a couple questions, if you don’t mind.”

Izuku agreed as he watched Noamasa walk out of the somewhat walled room, “Great, going over the normal rules; You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable, all words said inside this room will be for you only. Now, are you ready?” Izuku nodded as he played with his fingers, his nerves on high alert. “Have you noticed any suspicious behavior from your fellow classmates?” The question caught Izuku off guard, his head snapping to (Y/N) as his body froze, “N-no, why?” Izuku watched as (Y/N)’s eyes turned in circles around his pupils, the mechanical look terrifying him. (Y/N) wrote something down on a clipboard, ignoring Izuku’s question, “Nothing? No one sneaking around? No one on their phones during school hours?”

(Y/N) chuckled to himself as Izuku stared at him, “No, I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with anything?” Izuku kept his breathing steady as (Y/N) got up, his eyes no longer turning gears, “Thank you for your time, Midoriya. I’ll talk to you later.” Izuku watched as he walked out of the room, Noamasa coming back in.

——————

“Mr. (L/N)?!” Izuku stared at the detective, eyes wide as (Y/N) waved from beside the Pussy Cats. “Evening, Midoriya. I see you’re well.” Izuku stammered as Shota put a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder, “Ignore him, he’s here for something else.” Shota shot a look to (Y/N), taking his hand off (Y/N)’s shoulder and leading his beaten up students towards the hall full of food. Izuku walked up to (Y/N), Ochaco, Tenya, Shoto, and Tsuyu following him. “Midoriya, Mr. Aizawa said to ignore him!” The forceful chopping motions didn’t stop as Izuku ignored him, “Mr. (L/N)!” The detective turned away from the four cats, “Midoriya, it is rude to interrupt someone when they are having a conversation!”

(Y/N) raised a hand, “It’s cool, Iida, don’t worry about it.” Tenya’s movement stopped in confusion as Izuku continued, “Can I ask you questions?!” He had a determined look on his face, a light blush forming as his friends stared at him, “A little detective in training, I see.” (Y/N) and the Pussy Cats laughed, the blush on Izuku’s face worsening, “Of course, I don’t see why not. Although, it can’t be about any of my work.” Izuku nodded, his head almost falling off from the excitement.

Izuku sat down in front of (Y/N), his plate of food off to the side as he hurriedly wrote in his journal, “Can you tell em about your quirk?” (Y/N) placed his chopsticks down, swallowing whatever was in his mouth, “Well, where do I begin?” He put a hand under his chin, Izuku sweating in anticipation, “Without sounding like a creep,” (Y/N) chuckled to himself, “I can ‘read’ people with a look, find their brain waves and determine what they’re either going to do, or what they are feeling.” Izuku paused, thinking back to their first encounter. “So, at the police station?” The journal was left on the table, Izuku’s friends looking at him in concern, “What happened at the police station, stays at the police station.”

“Right,” He picked the journal back up, writing down the information he was told. ‘He used his quirk to see if I was telling the truth? Smart,’ Izuku mumbled to himself as he wrote, everyone around him sweat dropping. “Can you tell me anything else?” (Y/N) hummed, “Well, what else do you want to know?” Izuku’s mind blanked. For once in his life, he didn’t know what to ask. He stared at the journal, trying to think of anything to ask, “Uh, what else can your quirk do?” Izuku cringed at his own uncertain words, “That’s basically it; I just predict peoples movements and feelings.” Ochaco jumped in her seat, “Oh, oh! What am I feeling right now?”

The teenagers watched as (Y/N)’s irises circled his pupils, turning and switching places as he stared into Ochaco’s eyes, “You’re feeling… bashful, and happy. Excited and nervous, mostly happy.” He ended with a smile, his irises no longer moving in abnormal directions. Ochaco squealed, “You’re right!” A couple students turned to look at the six, a tiny purple ball haired jumping onto the chair next to (Y/N), “Ooo, me, me!” (Y/N)’s eye’s swirled, the mechanical look freaking Minoru. (Y/N) looked away, “You are gross.” A couple students laughed, Minoru looking confused before (Y/N) shooed him away. Hanta leaned over from behind (Y/N), his arms crossed over the back of the chair, “Can you do me?”

He had his signature giant smile on his face as (Y/N) stared into his soul, the smile feeling more and more forceful as the awkwardness surrounded him. “You’re feeling disappointed, sad, and a little insecure. Don’t worry about it, no one cares about anything like that once you become adults.” (Y/N) patted his head before Mina popped up beside him, Hanta awkwardly turning around and eating his food. “Me! Me! Me!” The pink colored student jumped up as (Y/N) chuckled, “Enough, leave the detective alone.” The students froze as Shota walked by, subtly flicking (Y/N) behind the head. Mina’s mood deflated as she sat back down, a pout on her face as Katsuki scoffed.

“You don’t have to be so hard, bro.” Ejiro mumbled as Katsuki glared at him, “Jeez, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re jealous you didn’t get your mood read.” Denki crossed his arms as he leaned back, almost falling out of his chair, “I’m not jealous! I don’t want an old pervert telling me what I feel!” The table laughed as he yelled, “Hmm, something tells me he’s angry.” The three boys surrounding Katsuki lost it, Denki and Hanta holding on to each other as Mina hit the table a couple times, “What was that, asshole?!” “Kac-” “Shut it, Deku!” (Y/N) looked at Izuku’s terrified face, “Not a party person, huh?” Katsuki growled, “Shut up, old man! You probably aren’t even invited to parties!”

‘Don’t fight with a child, (Y/N), it isn’t worth it.’ (Y/N) sighed as the angry teenager fumed behind him, “Hey, why don’t you tell us what Bakugo is feeling?” Denki pointed at Katsuki- who was yelling at him- while Hanta laughed, “Sorry,” (Y/N) waved him off, “Unless I have to, I don’t use it without consent. It wouldn’t feel very nice to have someone read your diary, now would it?” Denki looked at his plat in sorrow, Hanta laughing at him as the frown on Denki’s face depend. “So, you don’t use it without consent?” Shoto didn’t look up from his meal as he spoke, “Uh, yeah, that’s what I said.” (Y/N) shrugged, picking up his chopsticks and continuing his meal.

Shoto looked up from his plate, staring into (Y/N)’s eyes, waiting. Sweat formed on (Y/N)’s brow as they held eye contact, (Y/N) secretly hoping Shota would save his ass again. “Okay.” Shoto went back to eating, “Okay…?”

*********

First my hero fic

[smellslikemultifandomimagines]

Hi! can i request a dom!liam dunbar x werewolf reader where it’s like a full moon?

✦ pairing: liam dunbar (18+) x fem!reader → werewolf!reader

✦ smut warnings: dom!liam + sub!reader, rough and wild sex, heightened sex drive (bc of the full moon lmao), werewolf full moon sex.

✦ word count: 131

✦ request guidelines✨

✦ 🌻masterlist🌻

✦ smut night masterlist 💦

Both of you are hungry, hungry for each other. The full moon only heightens the hunger. Liam devours you, flicking and sucking your clit as if it’s his last meal. His mouth feels so good on you, and he knows that.

The stench of arousal is the only thing that fills the room. The two of you ravish each other. He fucks you hard, wanting nothing more than to ruin you and make you submit to him. But you’re a good girl, of course, you do. You’re his, and he’s yours.

The two of you are wild. Liam’s cock hitting all the right places inside your pussy, making you scream for him, the golden tint of your eyes flashes for him.

The effects of the full moon are truly remarkable.

requests are closed

═══════*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*═══════

tag list: (click here to be apart of the tag list!)

@dylanobrienhehe // @jermaee // @boxofsteampunkplaces // @mollyknm // @greengarsstuff // @caswinchester2000 // @fandomfoodiedancer // @tsukyo // @kim23ivy // @cottonvioletsposts // @lildylsprayberryswhore // @msfandomfreak // @karleetakeenan // @theonewiththenerds // @i-love-scott-mccall // @elenapatricia99 // @zealouspursecowboydeputy // @hellraiser13-102407 // @ghostlygooppeanutwobbler // @theonewiththenerds // @sambucky8 // @ivxury // @rafecameron-drewstarkeyy // @hottia // @maybankprincess // @dylanobriensbitch12 // @black-rose-29 // @slutforjjmaybanks18 // @67-angelofthelordme-67 // @wrongilbert // @bailaycantaconmigo // @angelcbf // @daniellegreavess // @ 321adonis123 // @todorokis-whore // @thatoneobsessedfriend // @shrekaliciouz // @stilesstilinskisrealwife // @v3niceb1tchldr // @jenniferrvsesi // @-stellastyless // @madaline1hatter // @dylxnshxrmxn // @kidd3ath // @eunoia-kth // @lelapine // @multifandom-obsessed // @yeswibblywobblytimeywimeyfan // @florchuvila22 // @jasontoddslover // @aprilfire18 // @lim3rencee // @hizziehub

═══════*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*═══════

[inkykeiji]

little bit of poison in me

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

notes: okay FINALLY!! very loosely inspired by tag you’re it by melanie martinez!! uhh dabi’s a drug dealer, keigo’s in his third year of university and a track star, reader’s in her first year of university. please, please pay attention to the warnings below! if keigo’s your comfort character and you cannot handle him being physically abusive and a drug addict, then you might wanna sit this one out! promise he’ll be painted in a more sympathetic light in part two. | aaah dedicating this to @rat-suki​, because ur the only one who’s actually known the details of this fic since november, and because i put a lil something inspired by new moon in there for u ehehe <333 | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez

warnings: 18+, noncon/dubcon, physical abuse, drug use & abuse + graphic depictions of addiction, mindbreak, overstimulation, manipulation, lowkey yandere vibes (which will get worse), daddy kink, a brother a lil too obsessed with his sister + questionably close sibling relationship, generally toxic relationships (possessiveness, jealousy), rough sex, semi-public sex, cumplay/cum feeding, minimal prep, degradation/dumbification, choking, kinda brat taming???

words: 14.8k

synopsis: 

“Do you wanna come home with Daddy, princess?”

He’s caging you between his body and the murky convenience store window as he asks, both palms pressed flat against the grimy glass.

No. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, can almost hear your brother’s voice in the back of your mind telling you not to. But you’re too enticed in sapphire to care, drawn into pretty, almost glittering blue fire, letting the flames lick your skin as you immerse yourself in it, deeper and deeper and deeper, and allowing it to wrap itself around you, to consume you, to knock the very breath out of you as you gaze into it.

“Okay,”

It’s well past midnight, but the moon is still hanging high in the sky, illuminating the dingy shopping mall parking lot, its reflection gleaming on the wet, cracked concrete. Breathless little laughs and squeals of surprise and pleasure ring out among the vast empty space, your own voice echoing around you.

“Gonna get ya, baby,”

He’s chasing after you, legs longer than yours, faster than yours, mischievous little growls getting caught in his chest as you daintily leap away from him, just out his grasp again, the tips of his fingers grazing the soft linin of your dress.

“No!” you giggle, pushing your burning thighs to keep running just a bit longer, propelling you forward.

But he’s getting closer and closer with each pound of his boots against the pavement, encroaching on you more and more with each tiny gasp exhaled through your parted lips.

Eventually, he catches you, like he always does, large hands wrapping around your hips as strong arms pull you backwards against a solid chest. You’re both panting, chests heaving with exertion, bubbles of laughter escaping your throats.

“Tag,” he breathes, hot breath curling around the shell of your ear. “You’re it,”

His arms encircle you, holding you tightly, your own arms covering his, little fingers digging into the skin of his forearms almost possessively as he uses his strength and bodyweight to guide you towards the car—a 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz that runs like shit and guzzles gas like no tomorrow. But it’s pretty, and he loves it, with all its chrome and argyle blue, glittering in the moonlight.

“You’re being bad, princess,” the words are mumbled against the skin behind your ear, and you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Good girls don’t run away from their Daddies like that,”

And he says the word with so much disdain, cruel and mocking, making you feel sick for liking it.

“Baaad girl,” he whispers, dragging the word out.

A tiny pout settles on your face, eyebrows knitting. “Am not,”

“Are too,”

“Am not,”

“You are,” he chuckles, pressing you against the damp metal of his car as you finally reach it, his body still draped over yours. “What? You gonna fight me on it?”

Squirming a little in his grasp, you turn to face him, a playful glint shining in your glassy eyes as you nudge your nose against his. “I just might!”

“Hah,” the breath of air washes over your face, scorching and sweet, a stark contrast to the humid, cool air surrounding you, causing your exposed flesh to break out into chills. “I’d like to see you try, dollface,”

“Oh, I’m sure you would,” you murmur, yelping when his fingers dig into the supple flesh of your ass through your dress, grabbing a healthy handful and squeezing in retaliation.

“Mmm,” he hums nonchalantly, pushing his forehead against yours, eyes nothing but gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of sapphire. “You gonna show me?” his rough voice fades into a whisper, unblinking eyes holding yours steadily. Calloused hands are sliding up your thighs now, slipping underneath the thin material of your dress and taking the hem with them.

“N-Not here,” you breathe, trying and failing to pull back from him, eyes widening in alarm as you feel his fingers hook in the waistband of your panties.

“Yes, here,” he responds, voice smooth as velvet as soft lips drag along your neck, sharp teeth sinking into your flesh like a hot knife slicing through butter.

Panic is beginning to rise in your chest, your throat closing up, and you choke a little on your words, shaking your head frantically. “Please, Dabi, no, we could just—”

“Wow, you really want me to bruise that pretty ass of yours,” he smirks, cutting you off and pulling back to gaze at you lazily, lips glimmering with saliva.

“No, I—”

“Especially with how much you’re saying no today,” he tuts his tongue in disapproval. “Such a bad girl; a silly, little, stupid, bad girl,”

Each word is punctuated with a sharp slap to your scantily clad ass, each bringing with them a sharp sting that you can hear, echoing out among the parking lot.

“Not bad,” you whimper, eyes shutting tightly against the familiar burn of tears. “Not bad, j-just wanna—”  

“Wanna what?” he teases, voice mocking yours as his palm collides with your ass again. “Huh?”

“W-Wanna—Want you to fuck me right,” you rush to say, the words exhaled as a singular huff of breath.

“Oh?” he pulls back slightly, eyes searching your face, his own features contorted with false concern. “Is that so?”

You nod quickly, eagerly, and he can see it in your eyes, how desperately you want him to buy your lie.

But you know he hasn’t the moment that trademark smirk returns to his face, mouth curling up at the edges as he leans forward, lips moving against your ear. “I think that’s a boldfaced lie, babygirl,” his voice is low, sinister, dangerous, traces of amusement sown into his tone. “I think it’s because you don’t want anyone to see how much of a little whore you truly are,”

“D-Dabi, please,” you whimper, vision blurry with tears as you paw at his jacket, pleading with him.

He thinks it’s so cute when you beg, his silence imploring you to continue, urgently rambling on in your quest to convince him.

“I-I want you to really fuck me; I want you to leave b-bruises all over my body, I want to feel you in my tummy, I want you t-to stuff me so full of cum that it goes to my brain and makes me stupid, please Daddy, I want—”  

Slim fingers wrap around your neck and squeeze, forcing a cry of surprise from your lips and effectively cutting you off. “I’m gonna make sure you remember those words, sweetheart,”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

The thump of your own heart echoes in your ears as the Cadillac Eldorado thrums under your body, the leather sticking to the bare skin of your thighs.

“Open,” he demands, delivering a harsh slap to the thigh nearest to him, eyes never leaving the road as his foot presses down, car accelerating. Your thighs obey immediately, spreading as far as they possibly can in the cramped space, knees knocking against the door and center console box.

A rough hand, decorated with callouses and scabs, kneads the flesh once before sliding up, up, up, and then hooking in the elastic of your panties, Dabi spitting out a curse as he lets it snap back against your skin.

“Take those off,” he seethes, aggressively ripping his hand away from you as if he’s aggravated that you’re even wearing them at all. Your dress hitches up around your waist in your haste to obey, little fingers catching in the lacy material as your hips squirm, seatbelt cutting into your flesh, wiggling a little as you pull the dainty material down your legs.

He’s already holding his hand out expectantly and you press them into it, waiting for his fingers to close around the garment before taking your hand back. He feels them, rolling the fabric around in his palm, between his fingers, chuckling darkly as he chucks them over his shoulder a moment later, onto the dirty ground of the backseat.

Those were your favourite, but you know better than to say anything, forcing your expression to stay neutral, to keep your nose from wrinkling up in distaste.

“They’re wet, but not nearly wet enough,” he tsks as if he’s disappointed, hand finding your thigh again. This time, they part instantly, without any verbal prompting, hips pushing towards his palm as it skims the skin of your inner thigh.

“Now, I’m gonna play with this cute lil clit of yours,” he begins, fingers brushing the sensitive nub, words tumbling from his lips slowly, lazily, unhurried, as if you’re stupid, as if you need an ample amount of time for each word to sink in.

It makes your pussy throb, and the borderline malicious smirk that spreads across his face tells you that he felt it, too.

Speaking through his smirk, he continues in the same patronizing voice. “And you—you’re going to be Daddy’s good little girl and get nice and wet for him, so he doesn’t hurt his cock when he fucks you. Do you think you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

Yes Daddy, of course Daddy, anything for you, Daddy.

It’s torture in the most delightful way, coarse pads of his fingers just barely grazing your clit, just enough for you to feel it, just enough for you to want—no, need—more. Heat, thick and sticky, pools in the pit of your stomach, thighs straining to open impossibly wider, edges of the car’s interior digging into your knees as you desperately try to shift your hips, to press further into his touch, to evoke anything harder than these teasing, feathery touches.

Blunt nails sink into the tender flesh of your inner thigh, hard enough to make you yelp, entire body flinching from the sudden pain. “Big girls use their words,” he chastises, voice fading from a growl into a pleasant, light tone.

“Please, Daddy, I-I want more,” you whimper, hips still trying to catch your clit on his fingers, on his palm. “Touch me more,”

The hum that vibrates in his throat has your heart sinking, corners of your mouth tugging down as you blink against the sting of disappointment—you know that hum, know it all too well, know all of Dabi’s bizarre mannerisms at this point and what they mean for you. And that hum, the one that only lasts for a moment, the one that’s barely a noise at all, the one that doesn’t even sound like he’s considering anything, means no.

His eyes don’t leave the road in front of him, despite the fact that his car is going faster, and faster, and faster, whipping through the empty city streets, neon buildings and harsh florescent lights becoming nothing but a blur. And if it weren’t for the hard lump straining against the black denim of his jeans, you’d figure him disinterested; facial features relaxed, breathing normal, entirely unresponsive to the pathetic little noises he’s so effortlessly pulling from you.

It ignites a fire in your chest, blazing with the need to make him react, to make him pay attention to you.

Wearing your best pout, you arch your back a little, the action shoving your hips towards his hand again. “Daddy, Daddy,” you whine, low and needy in the back of your throat, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, touch me more? Please, Daddy, I want it so bad, want your cock so bad, please, help me get wetter? Wanna be dripping for you, Daddy, I wanna be soaking for you,”

“Fuck,” he breathes, smirk growing into a full grin as he glances at you from the side of his eye. “Such a brat,” he shakes his head, through the grin is still present on his face as he finally presses two fingers against the swollen bud, rubbing slow, hard circles into it. “You better be drenched for me by the time we get home, you little bitch,”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

Large hands are on your body as the two of you stumble up the stairs, nimble fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, obscene sucking and slurping amplified by the stairwell, bouncing back to your own ears, saliva slicked lips slipping and sliding together messily as teeth clack together, practically tripping over each other’s feet and fucking Christ he needs you, he needs you now, his cock hurts, goddamn it.

And you’d be lying through your teeth if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, all clingy and needy and desperate, hushed little whines catching in the back of his throat, fading from deep, rumbling growls as rough hands paw at you.

A sharp gasp is knocked from your chest as he slams you against the wall on the landing of floor three with such force that your head ricochets off the concrete, your resounding cry silenced by Dabi’s lips, tongue invading your mouth as he swallows your beautiful little noises of pain.

You can feel his cock pressed up against your hip, hot and hard and throbbing through the denim that conceals it as he grinds against you, fervent, eager, impatient.

That panic is bubbling up in your throat again, bitter and acidic and eroding, rendering your voice weak and frail as scabbed knuckles drag across your bare thighs, inching higher and higher.

“Da-Daddy, wait,”

“No,” he growls, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to break the skin. “I’m done waiting,” hands are rucking up your dress. “You made me wait that whole fucking car ride,” sharp hipbones keep your thighs spread. “I can’t wait any longer,” the clinking of his heavy belt buckle echoes throughout the stairwell, sending chills pebbling across your skin.

And then he’s forcing himself into you, shoving his cock into your tight little hole, a choked cry bouncing off the dirty white walls as your eyes squeeze shut, tears leaking from the edges.

The stretch is magnificent, little cunt aching as it sucks in his thick cock, and you swear you can feel the burning in your belly, little pinpricks of pain shooting through your gut.

“G-Gonna tear me in half,” you wail, head falling forward, forehead bumping against his.

“Shh, baby, Daddy’s got you,” a callous laugh leaves his lips after he spits out the nickname, the singular word filled with such derision it must sting his tongue. Large hands hoist you up, and your legs immediately latch around his waist, seeking comfort in the monster that hurt you.

“Daddy, Daddy,” Tears drip down your cheeks as you bury your face in his shoulder, the word escaping your lips in tiny half-sobs catching in your throat, little fingers curling against the worn leather of his jacket.

And he can’t help but soften a little as you weep into his neck, thinks it’s so cute that you need him so bad, your little stuttered breaths hot against his neck as you cling to him, reminding him that he is the only man that can make you feel like this; he is the only man that can make you cry while simultaneously finding solace in his embrace. It makes his blood surge, sends cinders searing up his spine, gives him a high better than any other drug every could, and he finds himself hushing you gently, twitching cock buried in your cute lil cunt, snugly pressed against your cervix.

“Okay, okay,” he’s saying as his hips begin to pump, slow and languid. “Quiet, Daddy’s gonna make it feel good, alright? Daddy’s here, Daddy’s gonna make it go away,”

The sweetest, airiest little mewls of Daddy, yes, Daddy, soak into the inky skin of his neck, sandwiched between uneven hitched breaths. He’s gaining speed with each thrust, though, working up a steady rhythm that has you practically bouncing on his cock, little wails of pain fading into whimpers of pleasure. The combination is dizzying, infecting your mind with a haze that is only Dabi, surrounded by him, immersed in him—glowing sapphire and burning hickory and spicy nicotine—unable to quell the little noises spilling from your throat, each one louder than the next with each bump against your cervix and drag against that spot.  

“That feel better, princess?” he breathes out, pausing just to readjust his grip on your ass—to angle your hips just right, chuckling at your selfish, needy whine—and then he’s drilling his cock into you, head pounding against the spot that has his name escaping your lips in high pitched squeals that break in your throat, heavy belt buckle clanking against the wall with each of his thrusts.

It sends sparks of mind-numbing pleasure burning through your abdomen, your chest, straight to your very core and collecting there, each spark adding to the growing fire that’s beginning to blaze, followed by intense spears of pain, slicing through your gut and down the muscles of your thighs, legs beginning to quiver as ankles hook tighter, tighter, tighter, the heels of your sneakers digging into his back dimples, trying to get him closer, closer, closer, desperately begging for more, more, more.

Yet it’s all so much, too much, please, Daddy—the harsh sound of metal colliding with concrete mingling with your pathetic whines and his panted breaths, rough whimpers catching deep in his chest, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard a more beautiful sound.

“C’mon, babygirl,” he gasps, pace never slowing, never faltering once, even though there’s glistening dewdrops of sweat decorating his hairline, inky strands beginning to stick to the skin of his forehead. “Be a good girl and cum for Daddy, cum before someone catches you being such a sweet little—God, Christ—a sweet little slut for me,”

And your cunt submits, would never dare to disobey a direct command from its master, from its owner, clenching around him as you cream all over his cock, a sharp cry ripping up your throat as your nails scrabble against leather clad shoulders.

A growl rumbles, deep and dark and dangerous in his chest, as his hips piston a few more times before they still, tips of his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, branding his name in tiny blotches of navy and violet as his cock throbs, coating your insides with spurts of thick cum.

Head falling forward, his forehead collides with yours, chests heaving and breathing laboured. And he can’t help the little chuckle he huffs out as you wiggle your hips a little, eyes still closed as you rock in little motions against him, clit catching on his pubic bone.

Needy little bitch.

But he isn’t nearly done with you yet, because that desire, thick and sticky in the very pit of his stomach, only wants more, insatiable and voracious, desperate for more of your whines, more of your tears, more of your cunt.

You’re gonna make good on all those words you spewed in the parking lot, baby, he’s nearly snarling at you, cutting off your whiny complaints as he drags you up the final flight of stairs, stopping halfway to haul you over his shoulder with a huff and a deft slap to your ass, carrying you the rest of the way to his apartment.

“Dress, off. Now.” He orders as he throws you onto his mattress, pulling his shirt over his head, belt buckle jingling as he walks, still hanging undone.

And then he’s crawling over your naked body, lips attacking yours, smashing and smacking and slurping, a large hand wrapping around your wrists as he shoves his tongue into your mouth, laving over yours in slow, deliberate drags, pinning your wrists against the cold cracked drywall behind his nearly bare, minimalistic bed, squeezing hard enough to grind the bones together between a singular rough palm—a silent warning—and forcing a yelp from your throat into his.

“Don’t move them,” his lips mumble the command against yours before he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, between sharp gleaming teeth that bite down hard, sinking into the soft flesh and refusing to release until he tastes copper, the tip of his tongue tracing the harsh indents left behind, licking at your lip once more before pulling away completely.

“I want you to leave bruises all over my body!” he mimics, voice absurdly high as lips skim the curve of your neck, tongue darting out to trace along your collarbones. “Isn’t that what you said, baby?”

But you can’t answer, too busy sucking on your now swollen lip, trying to soothe the incessant throbbing as metal stains your tongue. That’s disrespectful, you think you hear him growl into your unmarred skin before something sharp pierces your nipple, clamping down around it and tugging. A resounding cry tears through your throat as your body instinctually bows off the bed, pressing further into him, a muffled snicker vibrating against your chest before his tongue flicks, licks, slobbers, thick strings of saliva glimmering in the dim light as he pulls away, breaking and slapping against his chin.

“Answer me next time I ask you a fucking question,” The words are spit so harshly they slice into your skin, head nodding fervently before he’s even finished speaking, blinking the bleariness from your eyes. Smoldering sapphire holds your gaze for a moment, burning into your very soul—digging, prying, searching, scrutinizing, his breathing slow, calm, controlled with each deep rise and fall of his bare chest.

You aren’t sure what it is he’s looking for as he peers into the depths of your eyes, but you don’t dare let your gaze stray from his, don’t dare blink, don’t dare breathe until he breaks the spell, blinking once as his lips curl up into a wicked smirk.

“I’m gonna turn your body into a work of art,” he promises you, voice low and guttural, forcing thorns of ice up your spine as lips drag across your jaw.

And he does, paints little galaxies across your skin with his tongue and his lips, asymmetrical blotches of blues and greys and purples, ivory bones scraping against your flesh, signing his name into his masterpiece in deep, dark indents of crimson and violet.

It aches and it pulses and it stings, glittery trails of salt water staining your cheeks, tiny shimmering droplets clinging to your clumped, spiky lashes, adding the finishing touches on the greatest piece he’s ever created.

And it’s so pretty, you’re so pretty when you’re like this, baby, covered in navy and plum and carmine, and, fuck, it’s a shame you won’t stay like this.  

It seems he’s in a trance for a moment, in awe of his craftsmanship, of what he’s produced, breathing laboured as shining azure eyes drift over your body, slowly, purposefully, as if he’s memorizing every single nick, bite, scrape, bruise, burning the image into his brain forever.

His gaze floats back up to yours, holding it for a moment, pupils big and gaping and swallowing you whole—before something snaps, breaks, and he comes back to himself, remembers why he did it.

Narrowing slightly, his eyes darken, that sadistic smirk returning to his lips. And then he’s shoving his cock into you again, hard and leaking and the prettiest red you’ve ever seen, cute little cunt stretching around him for the second time tonight.

But little girls who act like brats deserve to get fucked like brats, he tells you in a snarl, slender fingers collaring your neck and squeezing slowly, slowly, slowly, crushing the column of your throat.

Everything’s beginning to grow hazy, vision sliding in and out of focus as those calloused hands continue to tighten, and tighten, and tighten. He looks like some sort of sick angel as he looms above you, nothing more than a shadow of sharp edges and smooth curves, inky spikes and glowing sapphire, haloed by the weak neon light that spills in through grimy windows. Jutting bones prod the soft flesh of your inner thighs, carving out a space just for them as his hips snap viciously, relentlessly, obstinately.

And it’s all overwhelming, overstimulating on every front, uncontrollable tears streaming from your eyes as you choke roughly on your own sobs, each one being forced from your chest by your Daddy’s harsh thrusts, only to get caught on the palm pressed to your airway, ears ringing from the slap of skin against skin overlapping those harsh words spit at you in his falsely saccharine voice.  

Aw, no, baby, wispy words caressing your cheek as they float by, eyes starting to roll back in your head. Don’t pass out on me, dollface. I want you awake when I fill your cunt with cum.

The pressure around your throat lets up just a hint, and you wheeze in air, a rush of cold flooding your body. You can feel it, that contrasting, familiar heat scorching the pit of your stomach, beginning to curl in on itself more, and more, and more with each pump of his hips, until it explodes, your body arching off the mattress, unintentionally pressing into the hand adorning your neck, restricting your air entirely.

The chuckle that leaves his lips as you choke yourself is dark, would send spears of ice slicing through your veins if you weren’t otherwise focused on trying to fill your lungs with air. Nothing leaves your mouth other than a few choked whines, barely more than a huff of light breath.

But his hips don’t slow, and he’s glaring down at you with parted lips and lidded eyes, pupils gaping, so large you’re unable to detect even the slightest hint of blue outlining them—nothing but big black orbs, absorbing everything in their vision, sucking everything from you, every hitched sob and soft whine and gorgeous wince, each time he pounds against your cervix.

And it’s how your looking up at him—with those gleaming, adoring eyes and that blissful, fucked out grin—that has him cumming with a shuddered f-fuck, forcing his eyes to stay open as he pumps you full of thick cum, desperate to catalogue every little expression that crosses your face, the way your eyes flutter slightly, the way your neck arches, the tiniest little moan slipping through chapped lips as his cock pulses inside of you.

You must pass out for a second, Dabi’s calloused palm lightly tapping against your cheek as he murmurs to you in that sinful, silky voice, sugared sentiments twining around your exhausted body.

Wake up, princess. Daddy isn’t done playing with you yet.

Words tumble past your lips in a mumble, though you aren’t quite sure what you’re saying—everything feels hazy, like you’re gazing through a thin cloud of smoke, and despite the fact that you can barely move, your body feels light, almost floaty in a way, entirely numb to the immense pain it has endured thus far.

Two fingers, coated in thick, gleaming cream, are thrust into your gasping mouth, tongue met with the salty, bitter taste of his cum. You cough around the sudden intrusion, immediately obey when he orders you to clean, sluggish tongue sliding up and lapping at and slipping between them, sucking the digits free of cum.

Good girl, he leans away and your heart flutters weakly at the praise, saliva slicked fingers dipping into your hole again to gather more.

“C’mon,” he breathes as he brings his fingers to your mouth again, sticky viscous glops collected on his fingers. They catch in the dim light streaming through the window, a unique mixture of pale moonbeams and hazy neon, cum almost glittering, almost pretty. “You wanted me so bad, didn’t you?” your head’s moving—nodding, you think, you can’t really tell, breathing shallow as your eyes belatedly follow his glistening fingers—and he smirks down at you. “Then eat my fucking cum,”

Lips part instantly, mouth falling open as your tongue lolls out, eyes drifting up to his and pleading mutely, begging for the substance—the very essence of him—and nearly moaning when he drags his fingers across the saliva coated muscle, curling and sucking his digits back into the heat of your mouth.

And he’s fucking high off of it all, pupils blown to hell, outlined by the thinnest ring of cobalt, barely detectable, visible only when it catches in the moonlight.

A lumpy pile of denim sits abandoned and bunched up near the end of the bed—he must’ve kicked his pants off at some point, though you don’t remember when—and his cock’s hard again, head brushing your inner thigh. It’s hard for you to tear your gaze from it, fleeting thoughts of stamina and impressive grazing through your mind, turning to smoke the moment you try to latch onto them.

He notices, of course—you’ve been staring at it for nearly a minute now, glazed eyes unblinking, soft little pants passing through barely parted lips. But it’s the way you’re staring at it—in the purest, unadulterated form of desire—that makes it jump, twitching a little against your thigh. You think you hear your Daddy breathe out a curse, think his rough fingers brush some hair back from your drenched forehead, think he says something along the lines of how much he fucking loves you, but in your dreamlike state, you can’t be sure.

Because then rough hands are on you, manhandling you as whatever trance he had fallen into yet again snaps once more.

“We’re gonna put that pretty, empty head of yours to good use!” he’s saying almost enthusiastically as he hoists your boneless body up, propping you up against his chest and securing you with a strong arm wrapped around your waist. “Whaddya think about that, hmm, princess? Want Daddy to use your little skull as his own personal cumdump? Huh?” lithe fingers squeeze your cheeks so hard your lips pucker up, a high-pitched whine getting caught in your throat. “That’s all it’s good for anyway, isn’t it?”

You try to nod, but all your head wants to do is flop back against his shoulder.

“Oh baby,” he cooks mockingly, jutting his inky bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “I thought that was what you wanted?”

“T’is!” you mumble through his grip, drool beginning to collect in the corners of your scrunched mouth, dribbling down your chin. Gazing at him through the corner of your watery eyes, your resolve hardens, doing your best to hold your exhausted body up on your own, expression steeling as you force your woozy head to nod as best you can in his bruising grasp.

“Yeah?” he breathes, mouth curving into a dangerous smirk before his lips are at your ear, voice dropping an octave lower. “You’re fucking stubborn, y’know that? Stubborn little brat, just like your bullheaded brute of a brother,”

And then he’s pushing you down, shoving your head into the mattress and pulling your hips up, a hiss spit through your teeth as he purposefully presses into the fresh bruises.

Your poor little pussy aches, fucked open and raw by his cock, but you are stubborn—you can’t help it, it runs in your blood—exhilarated by the challenge and pushing your hips back weakly towards him.

Your Daddy chuckles behind you, but it’s one of those annoyed chuckles, one of those disbelieving chuckles, one of those chuckles that consists of an audacious smirk, quick short nodding that’s more to himself than anyone else, and a tongue running along his top teeth, sucking on the bones, before it fades from his face completely, replaced with scorn in an instant, eyes cold and jaw clenched as he delivers a harsh backhand to your ass.

Then his body’s blanketing yours, chest hot and heavy against your back, lips moving against the shell of your ear.

“Oh, you really want me to break you, don’t you?”

No, truly, you don’t, but you grit your teeth, eyes shut tightly against the sting of a fresh wave of tears, trying to stop your head from involuntarily shaking no.

He laughs again, this time mean and sharp and full of malice, as he straightens up, lining his cock up with your hole.

“Nah, nah,” he’s saying as he pushes in, and God, it still hurts, it still stretches you, reopening little sutures created in the stairwell. “I think you do—Actually, I know you do. And Daddy knows best, right?”

Yes, of course, Daddy knows best, Daddy always knows best.

And it burns, that relentless snap of his hips, driving his cock into you with deep growls and grunts, with such force that it’s jostling you up the mattress, little hands planting themselves in a pitiful attempt to press back against him, to keep yourself in one place. Every muscle in your arms screams at the effort, stiff and rigid from being held, kept, still and obedient against the wall for an extended period of time.

The dreaminess has faded again, leaving behind a dull haze, and it all just hurts. It seems to come in bouts, inexplicable waves of numbness and pain, alternating sporadically and sprinkled with spikes of intense pleasure, a potent mix of chemicals swirling in your brain, lust and desire and terror and anguish burning through your veins.

You’re sobbing into the mattress now, fingers curling tightly in his soft black sheets as your bleary vision begins to darken at the edges, mumbling out something almost in a chant—his name, you think, though you’re not sure, it all sounds muffled to your ringing ears—vibrations of your voice getting caught in your throat, hitching with your sobs and the rough piston of his hips.

It’s building again, licks of fire scalding hot against the walls of your stomach, the temperature rising with each drag of his cock against that spot, until you’re sure the flames are going to engulf you from the inside out.

Little squeaks, poor imitations of moans, escape your lips, interspersed with your pathetic wails. He’s speaking once more—you can feel it, his chest reverberating against yours, lips moving against your ear again. Something rumbles, rattles, deep and dark and dangerous at the very core of his body, and then he’s tangling a hand in your hair and tugging, hauling you up, a choked cry slipping from your lips.

It pulls you from unconsciousness’s grasp, just for a moment, clears the mist from your mind as he snarls against your ear, taking the cartilage between his teeth and biting down, hard.

“Thought I told you to answer me the next time I ask you a fucking question,” he breathes, and he almost sounds gleeful, contradicting his voice, so rough, so hoarse, so hot.

You did, Daddy, you did, you’re trying to say, trying to nod in the vice grip he has on your strands, the words jumbled and muddled and near incomprehensible, wet and messy and coated in spit.

“But I guess my—Christ—my cock makes you too stupid to do that, huh?” he’s panting now, in time with his thrusts, huffs of breath sweltering against your already sticky skin. “What would your goody-two-shoes brother say if he could see you, hmm? If he could see how fucking dumb his little slut of a baby sister goes from my cum,”

It’s too much, too much, Daddy, too much, the brutal pounding of his cockhead against your swollen cervix and the continuous stream of strained, husky, filthy words he’s spewing in your ear and the sting in your scalp and that spot, that spot, that spot—

It hits you so hard it’s painful, knocks what little breath you had right out of you as your entire body convulses on his cock, little cunt clenching and gushing as you weep Da-Daddy! over and over and over, the only word your soupy brain is capable of conceiving, body going pliant in his arms as your head lolls back against his shoulder, struggling to keep your eyes open while he continues to drive his cock into you, hard and fast and messy.

He cums with the prettiest broken whine you’ve ever heard—or at least, you think he does, entire body gone numb once again, think you feel his hips juddering and his cock pulsing, think you feel that familiar, thick substance filling you to the brim. Everything is still for a moment, his chest heaving against your arched back, and then he laughs malevolently, though it sounds far away, even though you can feel the sound vibrating against you.

“That ought’a teach you to say no to me again,” he spits harshly in your ear, giving one more hard yank on your hair before letting go completely, your abused body collapsing in a heap on his mattress.

It feels like you’re more Dabi than yourself now, with his name written all over your body, signed by his mouth, his teeth, his fingers, and his cum leaking out of you, drying hard and sticky on your thighs, his scent being all you can smell, all you can taste, heady and fiery. And as you crawl into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness—finally, finally—you think about just how much can change, and how fast it does, in a mere 92 days.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

Three months earlier

The air is hazy with thick smoke, heavy enough to dilute the already dim yellow light shining from the bare lightbulbs overhead. The stench of cheap beer, weed and sweat stings your nose, and it wrinkles reflexively.

You aren’t supposed to be here.

Throbbing music radiates through the house, causing the structure to tremble in time with the beat, the dirty drywall you’re currently pressed up against quivering in response. It’s so loud it hurts, vibrating through the warped linoleum floors and through your body. It makes you shiver in disgust, as if it’s some sort of parasite worming it’s way through your veins in timed intervals.

Your brother would kill you if he knew.

You’ve been backed into a corner—literally, surrounded by three college boys you’ve never seen before as they drunkenly leer at you. They’re a year or two older than you, glassy half-lidded eyes scanning your body in a way that makes you feel filthy, in a way that makes you want to scrub your skin raw to rid it of their slimy gazes.

They’re mumbling out something, speaking amongst themselves in low voices, peppered with raspy snickers that make your skin crawl. Pressing further into the corner, you quickly wrack your mind for something—anything—that will get them to part just a little, that’ll crack the wall of bodies you’re now surrounded by just enough for you to barrel through. Adrenaline begins to surge through your veins as you gear up, drawing in a deep breath, and—

“Whadda we have here?”

The men part immediately at the sound of that low voice, smooth as melted chocolate, revealing a figure with spiky onyx hair, an involuntary gasp escaping your lips the moment your eyes collide with sapphire.

“Ah, I thought it was you,” he smirks, peering down at you with a gaze so intense it feels like your body’s been set aflame. “What’s a good little girl like you doing in a place like this, hmm?”

Dabi.

This wasn’t the first time you had seen him, remembering the man with the pretty cobalt eyes and inky hair standing under a singular flickering lamp post outside of the tiny house you and your brother share, or lingering on the threshold of the front door, eyes lazily darting around the space as he waits.

He never comes inside. Your brother doesn’t allow it.

You’ve barely spoken any words to him, always responding to his polite greetings with shy nods or little waves.

But this is the first time you’re meeting him properly.

Feet bolted to the floor, you try to respond, only able to emit a pathetic little squeak.

He huffs out a condescending chuckle, gazing down the bridge of his nose at you, head tilted up just a touch, lidded crystal eyes glittering in the dim light. That trademark smirk spreads into something darker, something almost ominous in nature, something that whispers in your ear that it knows something you don’t, sending sharp spikes of ice shooting up your spine.

“Does your brother know you’re here?”

You shake your head quickly, eyes widening in panic as anxiety begins to rise in your throat. He isn’t about to rat you out, is he?

“Thought so. Dunno why I asked,” he heaves a heavy sigh, chest rising with the force of it, as if he’s extremely exasperated, as if you’re some sort of child lost at a supermarket and he’s bringing you back to your parents. “Alright, let’s go,”

A hand extends, hanging limp in the smoky air for a moment, waiting, before Dabi sighs again with a roll of his eyes, latching onto your wrist and all but dragging you out of the corner, maneuvering through the mass of sweaty bodies crowding the dingy living room.

“We’re leaving?” you ask dumbly as Dabi approaches the back door, hand still wrapped in a firm grasp around your arm.

“Yep. My work here is done, and you,” he tuts his tongue with a slow shake of his head, hidden smile on his face. “Your work here is done, too,”

“W-Where are we going?” you ask as the two of you stumble outside, shivering a little as the cool, fresh air hits your heated skin.

“No idea. Away from this place,” he looks back at your briefly, giving your wrist a soft squeeze before dropping it. “You tryna put your brother in an early grave or somethin’?”

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips as you shake your head again. “No, I just—”

“You shouldn’t have been there,” his words echo your thoughts from before. “You were in some real danger for a second, y’know that?”

“I-I know. Thank you for, uh, s-saving me, Sir,”

“Sir?” his eyes are bright with mirth, shining despite the weak light provided by the waxing moon. The smirk returns, and you feel it again—like he’s plotting something, like he’s got some big secret he’s hiding, a plan, something up his sleeve. “Sir is nice, but I think there’s another name you’d rather call me,”

Eyebrows knit in confusion, your eyes drift to the ground, mulling over his words. Something else you’d rather call him? Like what? You’ve only seen the guy a few—

“Still have no idea why you haven’t fucked him yet,” one of your friends muses as Dabi’s exiting his car, eyes watching him lazily from where you’re both seated on the front lawn.

“Keigo would murder me, literally,” you giggle a little, glancing over at the man with inky hair before looking away again, down at your lap as little fingers thread through the grass beneath you and shaking your head.

“Shame,” she sighs, twirling her sticky pink lollipop idly, the candy catching in the sun. “He’s Daddy as hell,”

A sharp gasp leaves your parted lips, eyes snapping back to her face and holding them for a moment before the two of you burst into a fit of giggles, your fingers tapping her bare knee in a silent warning that he’s approaching.

Heavy black boots collide with the front stone path, buckles jingling daintily, his head perking up in a catlike manner, trademark smirk forming on his lips as you both urgently try to calm your laughter.

“Ladies,” he nods with a wink as he passes, little giggles cutting off instantaneously, the two of you mumbling shy greetings in response.

That was the only time you had ever spoken to him, until now.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment. He did hear.

He chuckles slightly, dropping the subject with a shake of his head.

“So. Where to?” he asks expectantly, feet slowing to a stop on the cracked sidewalk as he taps out a cigarette. He whips a silver Zippo open, sharp twinge of metal swiping against metal cutting though the silent nighttime air. “Home?”

A shrill bubble of incredulous laughter escapes your throat. Dabi glances over at you, amused, raising an eyebrow in question as he cups the flame and brings it to his lips.

“Do you want to put my brother in an early grave?” you snort.

“I could just walk you to the street, you know,” he rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. “Precious niisan wouldn’t even need to see me,”

You shake your head, idly kicking a rock with the toe of your shoe as you begin walking again. The campus is beginning to bleed into the city now, engulfing the two of you in familiar florescent light. “No, I can’t go home,”

“Why?”

“I…” you trail off, heat flooding your cheeks. “I, um, told him I’d be staying at a friend’s place tonight,”

Dabi gasps mockingly. “Baby, you lied to your niisan?”

Knocking your shoulder against his arm, you scoff, trying to hide the stupid smile the nickname conjures. “Oh, shut up,”

“Getting bold now, I see,” he hums to himself. “Could’a swore just a few minutes ago you were scared of me,”

“N-Not scared, just—uh, just surprised, that’s all,”

“Uh-huh, sure. Tell me again why you can’t just go to this friend’s house?”

“Well, she’s—she’s, like, y’know—” you shrug as a form of explanation, deflating a little at his unimpressed stare as he blows smoke out his nose. “She’s going home with some guy,” you mumble. “A-And I was supposed to too, but…”

Dabi tsks, shaking his head in false sympathy. “Sweetheart, you’re a teenage movie cliché,”

“Shut up,”

“You tell me to shut up one more time and I’m gonna have to do something about it,” he singsongs, a thinly veiled threat coated in sugar. Swallowing thickly, you glance up at him, blinking twice. His eyes tell you that he’s not fucking around, despite the relaxed features of his face, smile easygoing and gaze lidded.

“S-Sorry,” you murmur, looking away.

“Don’t you know? Good little girls don’t speak like that to Daddy,”

He spits the word out, almost patronizing in his tone, but that fails to stop the way your stomach flutters when it falls from his lips, fails to prevent the choked little gasp that escapes yours. He laughs loudly, your cheeks burning with shame.

Sapphire eyes glint in the pale moonlight, as if he’s just discovered the most valuable treasure, as if he’s just been given the key to the universe—a predator who’s just ensnared it’s prey, and the smirk that slowly etches itself across his face is nothing short of sinister.

“Do you wanna come home with Daddy, princess?”

He’s caging you between his body and the murky convenience store window as he asks, both palms pressed flat against the grimy glass.

“Hmm?”

No. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, can almost hear your brother’s voice in the back of your mind telling you not to, but you’re too enticed in sapphire to care, drawn into pretty, almost glittering blue fire, letting the flames lick your skin as you immerse yourself in it, deeper and deeper and deeper, allowing it to wrap itself around you, to consume you, to knock the very breath out of you as you gaze into it.

“Okay,”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

He only has one bed and no couch, he informs you as he leads you up four flights of stairs, explaining that the elevator’s been broken for a few months now, panting out the words just a little.

A soft giggle slips from your lips, amplified by the empty stairwell and echoing off the concrete walls, and Dabi looks back at you, amused.

“Something funny, princess?”

And although there’s a friendly grin on his face and mirth in his eyes, something in his voice makes you tremble, shoots scorching sparks up your spine and sends them rushing through your veins, and your laughter immediately cuts off.

“No,” you say simply, shaking your head and hoping that he didn’t catch the full body shiver that coursed through your figure just a second ago, all thanks to his voice. “Just laughing at the absurdity of it, s’all,”

“Ah,” he says sagely, nodding once. “Well, here we are,”

A tattooed hand gestures vaguely to a white door with a large, black 4 painted on it, the paint beginning to chip away, worn down and faded in some spots.

Dabi’s apartment is small, but you like it. He’s surprised, he tells you, expected someone like you—someone brought up with luxury, someone who’s never had to ask for or want anything in their life, because they always already had it—would hate it.

“Or maybe, that’s exactly why you like it,”

It’s a little snarky, the way those words flow out of his mouth, biting your cheek as they pass, and you wince a little.

“I think it’s homey,” you say quietly, tiny voice raw and honest, deciding to omit the fact that you’ve never really had a space that felt homey yourself. “It’s very you. I really do like it.”

His eyes soften at your gentle confession, features relaxing a little as calloused fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then, I’m glad,”

For a moment, you’re positive he’s going to kiss you, staring down at you so intently with that look in his eyes as they slowly sweep across your face. But he turns on his heel a moment later, stalking into the tiny bachelor and beckoning for you to follow with a wave of his hand, flicking on a lamp as he passes.

“You hungry?” he’s asking as he walks. “I know this kickass noodle place that delivers 24/7,” he collapses on his bed, outfitted in black sheets, looking up at you expectantly when you stop hesitantly a few feet away. “You should probably eat something,” he continues, pushing himself up on his elbows, legs dangling off the end of the mattress. “Especially if there’s still alcohol in your—”

“Oh no, I don’t drink,” you cut him off without thinking, the words etched into your permanent vocabulary, sitting down next to him, just a hint too close.

“No, no, of course you don’t,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head, sitting up fully. “Let me guess; niisan doesn’t allow it,”

A frown forms on your lips, brows knitting together. “Well I—”

“Ah! Stop,” he cuts you off with a disinterested wave and a roll of his eyes. “I’ve heard enough,”

Normally, you’d scoff at someone speaking to you so rudely. But with Dabi, with Dabi, it’s different. A little giggle escapes your lips without your permission, the bubbly noise surprising you, and Dabi chuckles in response, a genuine grin spreading across his face, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“So. Food?”

The takeout arrives at 1:56am, Dabi bringing the bag full of noodles and other appetizers—too much food for only two people, if you’re being honest—back to his bed, placing it in front of you and then crawling onto the mattress, sitting cross-legged.

The action surprises you—he doesn’t have a table, but you had been expecting him to bring the food to the small breakfast bar, complete with two mismatched stools, not his bed.

Old Hammer Horror films flicker on the TV as the two of you pick through the food together, Styrofoam containers littering the bedspread. And it’s…fun—it’s the most fun you’ve had in a long time, a strange, unfamiliar giddiness fizzing in your tummy every time you make him laugh, every time his eye catches yours, every time he shoves your knee and calls you dollface, despite the deep, honey-coated voice echoing in your head telling you that you shouldn’t be doing this and he’s dangerous.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

“Bedtime,” Dabi says simply as he returns from the little kitchenette after storing the leftover takeout in the fridge, using a hand to tug at the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

“Wha—”

The material hits you square in the face and an involuntary, entirely unsolicited giggle bubbles past your lips, pulling the garment from your head.

“Pajamas,” he nods at the fabric now bunched in your hands, but you can’t seem to find your voice to respond.

Teeth bite into your tongue hard enough to make you wince in an effort to keep a gasp within your chest when he comes into view. He’s lean—toner than you expected, muscles gliding smoothly under his skin as he moves—and you’re unsurprised to find his chest and back decorated with vibrant, intricate tattoos.

Of course, you knew Dabi had tattoos—they’re on his face, his neck, his collarbone, disappearing under the neckline of his shirt and resurfacing under his short sleeves, curling around his arms, brilliant flowing ink telling stories across his skin. They’re beautiful—they’re mesmerizing, inquisitive eyes slowly roaming the expanse of his chest.

But you had never noticed the soft, slightly puckered skin they hid. Scars, your mind provides dimly.

“Do you want to touch them?”

The rumble of his deep voice snaps you out of your revere, heat flooding your cheeks when you realize you were staring. There’s a playful lilt to his voice, and you can’t quite tell if his offer is serious or not, your eyes floating up to his.

“Here,” he chuckles a little as he sits down, offering you his forearm, flipping it over and resting it on the bed.

He lets you trace every single one. He won’t tell you where or how he got the scars, and you don’t push, even as curiosity erodes your chest. It’s impolite to pry, Keigo’s voice echoes through your mind, and you nod once to yourself.

You don’t have sex that night. He doesn’t force you. You nearly tell him that you’re surprised, what, a man of his stature, of his reputation, has a pretty girl in his bed and he doesn’t fuck her?, petty retaliation for what he had said to you when you entered the apartment hours ago, but you chicken out at the last minute. You’d soon come to find that some things are better left unsaid.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

Spring has just arrived, bringing with it cool, gentle breezes and swaying blades of grass decorated with glistening dewdrops that sparkle when the sun catches them in just the right way. The smell of freshly battered cinnamon sugar donuts and cheap coffee wafts in through the open window, drifting over your bodies and embracing you.

It rouses you, and your eyes flutter open to be met with Dabi’s face. And, God, he’s so damn pretty, with thick dark eyelashes fanned out delicately across inked skin and tousled onyx hair, breathing deep and calm, sharp jaw on display. Reaching out, you daintily trace over his relaxed features—circling defined cheekbones, sliding down the slope of his nose, trailing along his jaw—allowing yourself a moment to admire him before thick guilt begins to strangle you.

You should go. Keigo still thinks that you’re at a friend’s house, and doesn’t expect you to be home until late afternoon, but that belated bitter guilt finally brands the back of your tongue, face souring a little at the idea of deceiving your big brother. And after all he’s done for you, niisan tsks in your head, voice sweet and syrupy, and you can almost see the disappointment in his eyes as he shakes his head. We’re all each other has, you know. And you do, really, you do know, head nodding routinely, instinctual at this point, as you begin to push yourself up.

“Stay,” Dabi says softly, eyes still closed as a hand catches your wrist. You stop immediately, allowing him to pull you back down to the mattress as lids lift to reveal the most brilliant sapphires. Fingers trace down the curve of your neck and you hum, arching into his touch.

“Keigo—”

“Doesn’t have to know,” he cuts you off, his voice still quiet, rough around the edges and heavy with sleep. “C’mon. We’ll go get pie for breakfast, and I’ll have you home to niisan by dinner, promise,”

Giggling a little, you roll into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and pull you atop his chest as he flops onto his back.

“Pie,” you laugh, resting your chin on his toned muscles and gazing up at him. “For breakfast?”

“Why not?” He asks, and that smile is back again, the boyish one that looks like he’s hiding something, a little amusing secret just for him, the one that induces a whole flock of butterflies in your chest. “It’s Saturday,” he shrugs as best he can, then squeezes you to his chest. “You don’t got anything to do, I don’t got anything to do...”

Crystal eyes glitter in the morning sun as they gaze at you, golden rays creeping through the small gaps in his thick purple curtains, swaying gently in the wind.

Molars sink into the inside flesh of your cheek as you think, and Dabi tuts his tongue softly, a hand coming to gently pull the skin from between your teeth.

“Okay,”

His lips curl into a smirk, something sharp flashing in his cobalt eyes. “Okay,”

That’s how it begins—with deceptively bright, youthful smiles and cherry pie for breakfast— and five days later, in the backseat of his Cadillac Eldorado while James Cagney flickers on a worn out, off-white screen and two of his fingers are three knuckles deep in you, he asks you to be his, digits curling in your pretty little pussy as he breathes the words against the shell of your ear.

You’re whimpering out yes as you cum, nodding almost frantically against his shoulder as your hips roll towards his palm.

That’s it, that’s his good girl.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

But it progresses faster than you ever thought it would—faster than you ever thought possible—like a shot of morphine straight to your bloodstream, pupils gaping as DabiDabiDabi surges through your veins, becoming all you can think about—all you want to think about, all you want to do, eat, feel, breathe.

Midnight double-features of old Hollywood films at the local rundown drive-in become one of the many staples of your relationship, finding comfort in the sharp smell of buttersalt popcorn stinging your nose, in the way the film’s sound cracks and pops as it travels through the car radio, staticky like an old record, in the way Dabi forces a cherry Jolly Rancher from his mouth into yours, the hard candy clacking against your teeth.

This is how you spend most of your weeknights for the next month or so—passing candy through kisses in the backseat of the Eldorado, tongues shoved down each other’s throats, stained red and purple and blue from the cheap artificial dye, hands wandering up dresses and little fingers tugging at beltloops and buckles.

On Saturday mornings—sometimes Sundays, too, if you’ve been a really good girl—you find yourself in a familiar red booth at The League—a little diner tucked away on one of the city side streets not too far from Dabi’s apartment—cheap speckled plastic glittering in the sunlight and sticking to your thighs as your favourite waitress, a young woman by the name of Himiko who insists that you call her Mimi, takes your order. She seems to know your Daddy—your Dabi—somehow, but you don’t press, because it’s impolite to pry, you know and niisan raised you better than this.

He always lets you pick what you want for breakfast, but Daddy always orders it for you, always reminds you the mornings you decide on pancakes that if you get those, you aren’t allowed any sundaes or a slice of pie, because too much sugar is bad for his babygirl, and he knows how much syrup you drown those things in, dollface.

But there’s one staple of your relationship that you love more than all the others.

Joyrides.

That’s what he calls them, those drives through the bad parts of the city, the parts with cracked concrete sidewalks and shattered glass and needles littered in the dying grass.

Dabi takes you along frequently, tells you that you have an important job to do, that you play a crucial role in this whole operation, because the police—including your father—have been cracking down especially hard on dealing in this area. But nobody bothers to question a seemingly innocent young woman delivering inconspicuous brown paper bags—bags full of pretty little pills and tiny baggies of white powder—to shop owners and crumbling apartment complexes, eerily reminiscent of a Girl Scout selling cream filled cookies and thin-mints.

Keigo would kill you, if he knew.

It’s an instantaneous rush, though, being allowed to participate in Dabi’s business ventures, being allowed to help. It’s a privilege, you think, makes you feel like he trusts you, and you absolutely live for the praise, for that gorgeous smile he gives you after you deliver the sweets to the client, for the passionate kisses he rewards you with for being such a good little helper.

Joyrides are the best. Because it’s just you and him, the Eldorado’s radio struggling to play whatever station it’s picking up on—usually some sort of sixties rock—as you cruise the streets in his absurdly large car, the sky smeared with strokes of faded pinks and oranges, peppered with wispy clouds that look like loose strands of white cotton candy.

And sometimes, after his work is all finished, he’ll drive you to one of those cliffs you’ve come to know so well and let you ride him in the drivers seat—precious little whines and pathetic broken whimpers spilling from your lips as you rest your head against his shoulder, gyrating your hips in fast, shallow little circles, using his cock like it’s a toy, just like he told you to—before taking you back home to fuck you properly, to fuck you right.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

It’s quaint, the little house you and your niisan live in, with its perfectly trimmed hedges and well-manicured grass, a stone walkway leading up to the front door, which is painted white. White windowsills, white brick, white, white, white, the whole thing is white—bright, pure, untarnished.

It’s just enough space for the two of you, your adoptive father, an absurdly large man by the name of Toshinori Yagi, had stated proudly, the first day he showed it to you.

And it’s only a short walk from the university, his wife chimed in with a smile too wide for her face, nodding excessively.

It’s convenient, they had said, the day you received your acceptance letter and scholarship offer from the university your brother attended. It’ll be good for you to stay with your older brother for a little, before going off into the world on your own, they had promised.

You hadn’t really wanted to go to this university—would’ve much preferred to go away to school in another country—but you didn’t. Keigo knew it, too, knew your desire to leave, to see more of the world, to experience it on your own without that hulking shadow with the wild hair. But he coaxed you into it, convinced you to stay, just like he always does, begging you softly not to leave your poor niisan all alone as gentle fingers pushed locks of hair from your face, trailing down your cheek and coming to cup your jaw, reminding you that you’re all each other has.

And you had nodded, nuzzled your face against his palm, sought comfort and relief in the presence of your big brother, just as you always do. He was right; you had your entire life to travel the world, what’s the rush? Why leave now? Stay with him, just for a little longer.

But your niisan, your niisan has a secret.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know. Keigo has always had a penchant for living fast, after all, seems to somehow incorporate conceptual and literal speed into all aspects of his life—his marks in school, his record-breaking track races, and now, his personal life, too.

It started in high school. He was in twelfth grade. You still don’t know who gave him his first taste, still don’t know why he decided to shoot up that night, but he did.

And it made him feel invincible. It made him feel like he could fly.

He hid it well, didn’t look like a heroin addict—at least, not what the words ‘heroin addict’ usually conjure up. His topaz eyes were bright as ever, even if his pupils were just a pinprick; nails cut so short it looked painful, to keep from scratching and scabbing his body; was always sure to keep his track marks well hidden, methodical in choosing his injection sites, and kept up with regular hygiene, even if his wild, windswept hair did get a little messier.

Yes, he hid it well.

But he couldn’t hide it from you for long, didn’t hide it from you well enough, becoming increasingly careless the deeper he spiralled into the addiction.

And it takes a while for you to truly acknowledge it. You didn’t want to—not at first, anyway—didn’t want to believe that your all-star, top-of-his-class, golden-child of a big brother was a junkie.

So you ignored it. You ignored the way he began recklessly disposing of the needles in the small trash can under his desk instead of hiding them in the kitchen trash whenever your mother asked him to take it out, ignored the burnt spoon you found in the sink and the bloody Q-tips you found littering the counter of the bathroom the two of you shared, ignored the way those tiny orange syringe caps had begun appearing in odd places, seeming to pop up more and more frequently.

Yes, you ignored it, until he stole one of the shoelaces off of your sneakers. And you still can’t explain it, exactly, can’t explain why that was the final straw, why that had you gripping a laceless shoe in a trembling hand as you stormed into the washroom uninvited and unannounced, catching him with the string between his teeth, just as the last of that disgusting orangish-brown liquid sunk into his veins.

The words disintegrate on your tongue, escaping in a pitiful little squeak, all of the fury you felt towards him for his behaviour melting the instant your eyes catch the end of the injection, wide and unblinking as they stare at the needle stuck in his forearm.

For a moment, neither of you are able to speak, Keigo’s mouth opening and closing a few times as his eyes flood with tears, the prettiest topaz shining in the warm washroom light as they frenetically search your face.

“Sit,” you tell him, finally breaking the silence, your voice not your own. His eyebrows knit together, and he shakes his head a little in misunderstanding, but you persist. “Sit,”

Shoulders deflating, he holds your gaze for a moment longer before nodding once and obeying, sitting on the closed toilet.

“We have to—” you stop as your chin begins to wobble, swallowing thickly against the sob crawling up your throat, quivering hands rooting haphazardly through a first-aid kit. “W-We have to clean those, so they don’t get infected,”

Glassy golden eyes watch you intently, his chest hiccupping just a little as he wordlessly holds his arms out to you, armed with a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol, the scent stinging your nose.

There aren’t many—only a few little pinpricks on each arm, some decorated with dark blooms of periwinkle and violet, but they still cause your tongue to crumble to bitter, suffocating ash in your mouth.

Tiny fingers encircle his wrist, your touch always so soft, so gentle, as if you’re afraid to break him, and he chokes on a noise that sounds suspiciously similar to a sob.

“You don’t—You shouldn’t have to—” and he can’t even force the words out, breathing out forcefully through his nose as his tears finally overflow, glistening drops streaming down his cheeks, bleary eyes unblinking, focused on your little fingers as they continue their tender ministrations with so much care, with so much love it’s nearly stifling, and he can’t breathe, because he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it—

“I want to,” a knuckle catches one of his fresh tears, swiping it across his cheekbone and leaving a glimmering trail in its wake. “Alright? I want to,”

And this—this becomes a habit.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

You don’t tell Keigo about your relationship. Not at first, at least, conjuring up flimsy excuses that become more ridiculous as the days pass, as your disappearances steadily increase. Dabi doesn’t want to, makes up some bullshit excuse about how he isn’t ready yet. But you buy it anyway, and you wait.

Until the morning of one of your niisan’s big races, the ones where multiple trainers and coaches come from all over the country to assess his performance, when Dabi shows up entirely unannounced and uninvited, makes sure he’s in Keigo’s line of sight as he bounces around at the starting line, and kisses the life out of you, right in front of him.  

That’s the only time he attends one of Keigo’s races.

The rest you continue attending by yourself. Dabi doesn’t like it, doesn’t like to have you out of his sight at all lately, but he knows it’s moot to argue with you. You’re going, you told him firmly, the night before Keigo’s next race, whether he likes it or not.

But, boy, was your niisan fuming by the time the two of you arrived home that day.

He hadn’t cared that he had, essentially, lost the race, hadn’t cared that he didn’t even manage to place in the top three for the first time in literal years, hadn’t cared that he just blew several chances with potential coaches and sponsors.

None of it mattered.

With a rough hand wrapped around your bicep, he all but yanks you out of the car, doesn’t care that you’re stumbling over your own feet as he drags you towards the front door, doesn’t care that he shoves you inside the house so hard you do trip, crying out as your hands and knees collide with the cold tiled floor.

And he’s yelling, yelling at the top of his lungs, the moment that white door slams shut, shut so hard the walls tremble.

“Fucking Touya Todoroki!? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You can barely see him through your tears as you quickly flip yourself over, beginning to inch away on your hands and feet as you stare up at him, breath hitching in your chest.

“Wh-Who?”

“Dabi, for Christ sake!”

“T-T—” Touya?

“Oh Jesus, don’t tell me—He didn’t tell you his fucking name?”

No, you shake your head quickly, chest stuttering as the name echoes through your mind, your big brother nothing but a blur of crimson and gold advancing towards you, mumbling to himself about how no, of course he didn’t, why would he? Of course not, as he drags nimble fingers through his messy hair.

“To-Todo—”

“Todoroki,” he spits, so harsh it makes you flinch.

“Your coa—”

“Yeah, I know his father,” Keigo rolls his eyes as he crouches down, catches your trembling chin between his thumb and forefinger, and you cease all action immediately, freezing in his grip. “You know his brother,”

Your brow furrows as you belatedly search your memory for any instance of the name, gunmetal grey and snow white flashing through your mind, but everything’s too foggy, too hazy with the fear of disappointing your niisan more, eyes squeezing shut as you hiccup at the mere thought.

But then he’s sighing, always knows when he’s gone a little too far—you are very delicate, after all, so small and naïve and in desperate need of someone to take care of you, aren’t you?—collapsing back on his heels and pulling you into his lap as soft hands smooth down your hair, murmuring it’s alright, it’s alright and niisan’s got you, niisan’s got you.

“What’re you doin’ with a man like that, my little songbird?” his voice is gentle as he rocks your bodies back and forth, after your sobs have calmed a bit.

What are you? you want to ask, front teeth sinking into your tongue hard enough to make you wince, keeping those three tiny words inside of your mouth.

“I like him,” you mumble instead, nuzzling your face into his chest and hiding from those bright, inquisitive topaz eyes.

“You—You like him,” he snorts to himself in disbelief, shaking his head a little.

“I do,” you respond, a little firmer as you pull back to stare at your big brother’s face, eyebrows knit together in determination, sparks of fury igniting deep in your chest at the thought of Keigo thinking he knows better, when he’s just as bad.

“He isn’t good for you—”

“He isn’t good for you,” you shoot back, tone clipped as you level your gaze, squirming a little in his arms. His grasp tightens, like he’s terrified you’re going to leave, honey eyes holding yours for a beat before he lets out a breath, looking away, defeated.

“That doesn’t mean you should be allowed to see him,” he mutters, glancing at your tear-stained face for a moment before his eyes flit away again. “But…” his chest rises with a deep inhale, pressing against you. “I guess…I guess it isn’t very fair of me to, uh, judge you, is it?”

“No,” you pout a little. “It isn’t,”

He huffs out a soft chuckle, gazing at you from the side of his eye, a tiny smirk spreading across his face. “Stop being so cute,” he grumbles, squeezing you against him just a bit too hard, giggles spilling from your lips as your fingers curl in the cotton of his hoodie. “I’m trying to be mad at you, y’know,”

“Kei-nii,” you whine with a roll of your eyes, shoving his shoulder weakly, though there’s a smile on your lips.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s saying as lithe fingers brush some hair back from your face, palm resting against your cheek, thumb stroking your jaw rhythmically. “Just—Promise me, if he ever hurts you…You’ll tell me immediately, yeah?”

Blinking a few times, your eyes search his face, sobering up as gold bores into you. There’s something in his stare, something you’ve never seen before, something that you can’t decipher, and it sends chills pebbling across your skin. Swallowing thickly, you nod, little jerky movements as your eyes hold his. “Y-Yeah, promise, niisan,”

“Good,” he whispers, chin resting atop the crown of your head as he cradles you to his chest. “We’re all we have. Never forget it.”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

You only question Dabi about his name once, lounging around on his bed in the early hours of the morning, tangled in his sheets, wearing his t-shirt, with his large hand resting on your bare thigh. His head’s tipped back against the headboard as he exhales smoke in pretty little curls that disintegrate into hazy nothingness only a moment later.

“T-Touya?” Your hearts thudding against your ribcage as you almost whisper the name, barely audible at all, but his head snaps forward, sapphire eyes finding yours immediately.

And for a moment you’re terrified you’ve made a grave mistake, that you’ve crossed some invisible line you hadn’t had a clue about, his glare scathing your skin; but then his features relax, and a little smirk spreads across his lips.

“Ah, so he finally told you,” his voice is quiet, and you can’t read his tone, eyes squinting a little as you lean towards him. “I don’t go by that name anymore,” he speaks up, voice ringing out clear and strong. “Don’t call me that again,”

The or else is implied, and you nod meekly, promising him softly that you’ll never utter it again.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

It’s been gnawing at you all week, sitting heavy like a block of lead in your stomach, the cuticles on your left thumb bitten raw in agitation. You need to tell him. You’re going to tell him, it’s just…

It just never seemed like the right time to tell him—then again, is there ever a right time to tell your older brother that you’re spending the entire weekend at his drug dealer’s place?

But now it’s Friday, and Dabi will be here in a few minutes, and you still have yet to let Keigo know.

Because Keigo is currently otherwise occupied. With a girl.

You hadn’t been expecting to hear the tinny laughter of a woman when you entered the house, arriving home after your last class of the day, hadn’t been expecting to walk into the living room to find said girl splayed across your niisan’s lap, staring up at him dreamily as endless giggles spilled from her painted lips, hadn’t been expecting him to be so completely enamoured with her that he doesn’t even greet you.

It burns up all of the anxiety that had been building inside you in an instant, turns it into boiling rage that bubbles and pops, noxious as it rises up your throat.

And so, you decide that you won’t say anything at all. If he’s too busy to even acknowledge you like he normally does every single day, then surely he doesn’t care if you leave, right?

“I’m going out,” you toss airily over your shoulder as your halfway out the front door, a small grin spreading across you lips as you spot Dabi leaning lazily against his car. He gives you a nod of acknowledgement, smug grin of his own forming on his lips.

Keigo shoots up immediately, nearly knocking the girl to the floor, moving faster than he ever has in his life as he catches your wrist and tugs, hard. A loud yelp sounds from the back of your throat and you stumble backwards, right into your big brother’s chest.

“Where? Huh? Where?” he growls out the word through clenched teeth, squeezing again. “With who? That—That fucking scumbag?”

At the sound of your yelp, Dabi straightens up instantly, usual lidded eyes now wide open and alert, zeroing in on where Keigo has ensnared you.

“Not like it matters to you, not when you have a whore to entertain,” you spit, and though your gaze is blazing, your eyes are filling with tears, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. “Right?” you push, after a few moments of silence.

His grip loosens, although he doesn’t let go completely, fingers still clasped around you.

“Princess, I…”

“No,” you snap, viciously pulling yourself free of him. “Don’t princess me. Not after ignoring me like that,”

“You’re overreacting—”

“Then so are you,” you cut him off sharply, already beginning to back away and blinking hard to clear your eyes of stubborn tears. “I’m spending the weekend at Dabi’s. I’ll see you on Sunday,”

Dabi catches you the moment you’re within reach, drawing you close to his chest for a second before pulling back. Calloused hands gently raise your wrist, sapphire eyes assessing the damage. His thumb caresses the rapidly bruising area rhythmically, back and forth, back and forth, and he frowns deeply, his gaze finally meeting yours.

“Does he do this often? Hurt you like this?”

And it’s startling, shocking, to see the overflowing concern in his crystal eyes, studying your face intently as you try to find your voice. You don’t think he’s ever sounded that serious before.

“I—No, of course not,” you shake your head, tongue tripping over the words. “We—Y’know, siblings fight, and stuff, it’s—he doesn’t know his own strength, sometimes, uh, forgets it, a-and I bruise easily,” you shrug, wincing a little at the serious expression still etched deep into Dabi’s face.

“If he ever puts his hands on you again, I’ll fucking kill him,” Dabi says slowly, softly, as if he’s reciting the morning news to you, dark eyes drifting up to refocus on the figure still standing in the doorway. “Do you understand me?” he asks, though his stare does not leave Keigo’s, voice still calm, almost serene. “I’ll fucking kill him,”

He won’t, you reassure him, countless times over the next few weeks. Niisan’s never intentionally hurt me, Daddy, he won’t, I promise.

And they’re all true, those words you repeat to him, over and over and over again, while you comb fingers through his inky hair or press chaste kisses against his scarred skin. They’re all true.

Until they aren’t.

You should’ve known, really, not to talk about it. He doesn’t—not when you’re cleaning his track marks or wiping sweat from his forehead, not when he lays his head in your lap as he’s coming down, eyes fluttering as your fingers thread through his hair, not even when you’re feeding him teaspoons of water to keep him hydrated as his body forces him to throw up nothing, again, lips dry and cracked, skin clammy and cold—and you shouldn’t, either.

“Have you ever thought about switching to pills?” You ask one night, casually, as if this is mundane, normal, to discuss while washing dishes. “I heard oxy is like, heroin in a pill,”

His jaw clenches, you can see the motion out of the corner of your eye, quickly refocusing your gaze on the bowl in your hands, the same bowl you’ve been washing for about five minutes now.

“No.”

“Why not? They’re more controlled—”

“I said no,”

“And I asked why not,” you spit, dropping the bowl from your hands. It cracks as it collides with the aluminum of the sink, the sound piercing through the tense air as you turn to glare at your brother, soapy hands on your hips. “It would be safer—”

“Marginally—”

“That’s still better than nothing, Keigo! Christ,” you sigh, running a sudsy hand through your hair. “They’re all fucking opioids, what’s the difference!? They’re all gonna get you high the same way, aren’t they?”

“No—for fuck’s sake—”

You wouldn’t understand, even if he tried to explain to you. You wouldn’t understand that he’s already attempted this, attempted to switch from heroin to pills, and that it wasn’t the same—isn’t the same. You wouldn’t understand that oxy doesn’t give the same instantaneous rush as heroin does, doesn’t take his breath away like heroin does, doesn’t warm his entire fucking body the way heroin does.

No, you wouldn’t understand how most of the time he feels like he can’t fucking breathe until he shoots up, wouldn’t understand how, at this point, heroin feels like an old friend, safe and cozy and more comforting than anything he’s ever felt before, than even your arms are, wouldn’t understand how heroin makes him feel like he’s fucking invincible, like he can take on the entire world in one day, like he can continue living.

It makes him feel whole again, full again, put back together with no cracks or missing pieces. It distracts him from how irrevocably shattered his insides truly are, providing him with quick, fleeting relief, just long enough for him to keep going, keep striving, keep breathing. But you wouldn’t understand any of that. How could you?

He’s sighing as he walks away from you, raking both hands through golden hair.

“You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t see what this shit is doing to you! It’s killing you, niisan!”

God, no, not the honorific. Not when you’re gazing at him with tears spilling from your eyes, little hands desperately pawing at his t-shirt, urgent just to make him understand, to get through to him for one instant.

“I-It’s killing you and all I can do is watch,” your voice fades into a whisper, breaking on the last word as more tears streak your cheeks, leaving small gleaming trails in their wake, fingers readjusting, knotting in his shirt and tugging, latching onto him as he keeps walking, jaw clenching again as he tries to ignore you. “Y-You have to stop—no, no, n-not stop, just—just slow down, yeah? Slow down a little, it’s—it’s too fast, niisan, you’re going too fast—”

But it’s building, and building, and his head is throbbing, and throbbing, and your voice is rising higher and higher, louder and louder, and it’s all just too much, and before he even knows what’s happening, his hand is cutting through the air, knuckles colliding with your cheek so hard it sends you stumbling backwards, tripping over your own feet as you fall on your ass.

He regrets it the moment it happens, the very moment his skin makes contact with yours.

But that doesn’t matter; the damage is already done.

He’s never hit you before. Sure, he may be a little rough sometimes, and his grip may leave a few bruises every once in a while, but he has never deliberately hit you, until today.

He never thought he would.

Golden eyes dart from his hand, still raised in the air from where it struck you, blood gleaming on his silver rings, to your face, small and terrified, crimson flowing down your cheek, mixing with your tears as it slowly drips off your jaw, and then back to his hand.

And for a moment, he swears, the whole world stops.

Then, a mere second later, his whole world shatters.

You’re trying to form words, staring up at him with impossibly wide, unblinking eyes, but they’re just escaping your lips in little mumbles, half-formed and coated in spit.

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, nothing more than a pitiful huff of air formed in the shape of a curse leaving his lips.

It takes your mind a moment to register what’s happened, numb with dizzying shock, stupid with the most heartbreaking pain, dazed as tiny, trembling fingers raise to tenderly prod at the wound, wincing the moment they make contact. But the throbbing of your cheek brings you back quicker than Keigo would’ve liked, and then your eyebrows are knitting together, mouth settling in a wobbly line, blinking hard to clear your eyes of pesky tears.

And all he can do is watch, watch as you shakily push yourself to your feet, watch as your hand grips your phone like it’s a fucking lifeline—a lifeline he very briefly thinks about diving forward and snatching out of your grasp—watch as you turn on the balls of your feet and disappear down the hall, the slam of your bedroom door echoing a moment later.  

You barely make it into your bedroom before your collapsing on the floor, wheezing out uneven breaths, sharp, hard huffs of air that slice through your tight chest with each exhale, vision blurry with stinging tears as you stare down at your phone, cradled in quivering hands.

You know that if you make this phone call, Dabi will never let you come back. You know that if you make this phone call, this is it. Trembling fingers hesitate over his name, those four glowing letters staring back at you, an unnecessary amount of various heart emojis cushioning them.

He doesn’t pick up the first time. Maybe it’s a sign, you think to yourself, a sign that you shouldn’t leave just yet, that you should stay and rot away with him for a little bit longer, remain with him for a little more and give him another piece of your soul that he can add to his prized collection as he slowly steals your life force from you.

But then searing pain radiates through your entire face, along your jaw and to the back of your head, and the coppery smell of blood stings your nose, and you press on Dabi’s name again.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

If he’s being honest, he would’ve never picked up for anyone but you, probably would’ve killed the idiot that thought to interrupt him during one of the biggest deals of his career—of his life.

“What?” he snarls as he answers, pacing along the wall outside the warehouse like a rabid dog, anxious and eager. “This better be important, sweetheart. You knew I was meeting with one of the bosses today—”

“He hit me,”

It’s hard to understand you when you’re still sobbing, words all wet and garbled, and Dabi squints as he focuses his concentration, feet skidding to a stop as his heart begins to pound.

“What?”

“He hit me. Nii—Keigo hit me,”

And then, his blood runs cold. His ears are ringing, vision fading in and out of focus as red tinges the edges, breathing beginning to accelerate, exhaled harshly through flared nostrils. The thin skin stretched taut across his bony knuckles has turned white as he grips his phone so tightly he’s surprised it doesn’t shatter in his hand.

“Pack your shit,” he tells you, voice oddly calm, cold and sterile and sending shivers skittering up your spine. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,”