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But you just can’t. The motivation to do so isn’t there, and the reason why is embarrassing. Rumi, who sits next to you on the couch, looks you up and down. Her stark white hair is piled up into a messy bun on her head and the red bodycon dress she chose for tonight hugs her toned body just right. If anyone is going to get laid tonight, it’s her. “You might wanna smile, babe. You’re scaring off your guests.” 

She gives you a cheeky grin as she sips her whiskey-mixed drink. You’re so glad you managed to find a bartender to make drinks for tonight thanks to Keigo knowing him from his job. You’re even happier that your job’s salary allows you to pay him by the end of tonight.

“Shut up,” you mumble, but even her brash humor doesn’t make you smile an inch. Rumi rolls her eyes and turns to Nemuri, one of your other hot, longtime friends. “Muri, please get this girl another drink so she can smile.” 

Nemuri stands from her seat in her sundress, looking like a sexy girl next door. “I’ll get you some water, honey.” She gives you a wink before making a dash for the kitchen, dodging between people and the wafts of weed smoke in the air. “I’m fine,” you grumble, glaring at Rumi. “And I have gotten out my seat. I’m the host, aren’t I?” 

“Exactly!” Rumi replies. “Which means you should be walkin’ around and hosting. Not sittin’ here, mopin’ about some dickhead and worryin’ if he’ll show up. Plus, you know how men are: they show up when they want to.” 

“Not true,” you scoff. “That’s a fact that is relevant to my ex, but not to every guy in existence.” Even referring to your ex without using his name is enough to make you want to down the rest of your drink. Not only did you decide to throw this house-warming party to celebrate your first big-girl apartment, but you also wanted to celebrate being free of the leech you called your boyfriend of three years. 

“And I’m not moping, okay?” you sharply tell Rumi. “I just wanna make sure there are enough champagne flutes and food. If I get new guests, that means I need more, right?” 

Rumi eyes you down, knowing damn well you’re lying through your teeth. “Whatever you say,” she sing-songs. Nemuri returns with the iced water, handing it to you. “Here you are, honey,” she coos. “What are we talking about?” Rumi is happy to fill her girlfriend in. “The fact that she’s ready to toss a wedding ring at this man who’s afraid of leavin’ his apartment for groceries. If she says that’s not why she’s got that sour face, she’s lyin’.” 

“Hey!” you gasp, kicking at her ankle. “It’s not a lie! It’s the truth! This is the first party I’m hosting and it’s a lot to worry about, especially since it’s my first place.” 

At the beginning of the year, you found your dream apartment complex. It comes with a pool, a tennis court, a gym, and a laundry mat along with central air, free wifi, and vending machines. The neighborhood surrounding it is quiet at night, full of kids during the day, and nearby a hub of parks, restaurants, and public transportation. It was the perfect place to begin the new chapter of your life. So, after putting down a payment, signing papers, and getting help moving in, you were finally living on your own three months later. Only a party could really welcome you into your four walls.  

But so far, you aren’t enjoying it as much as you should be. And that’s all because someone you desperately want to see here tonight is missing. 

“And second, Dabi isn’t afraid of leavin’ his apartment,” you criticize Rumi. “He’s just not a people person.” At least, that’s what Keigo told you when you met Dabi for the first time. “According to him,” he scoffed. “It’s just an excuse to not socialize, really. But he’s always been like that since we were kids.” 

You caught that vibe from Dabi as soon as you met him several years ago before you met your ex. You met him through Keigo when he dragged him out to a club one spring night with you and Rumi. You heard about Dabi many times before: that he’s a firefighter; that he has dark humor; that he is kinda weird and awkward but still a pretty nice guy (according to Keigo). 

As soon as you got a look at that soft, white hair and buff arms roped in tattoos, you were entranced by him. Though he seemed somewhat out of place, like he didn’t want to be there, he carried an intoxicating aura with him, like he was your favorite cocktail drink. His tee fit tight on his muscular body from years of firefighting and his wrists were dripping in bracelets and chains. 

You were so taken aback at how hot he was that you barely noticed the burn scars. On his face, neck, and snaking up his arm from what you could see–healed, puffy skin from second-degree burns coated the left side of his face, cascading down his neck to his upper torso and disappearing down his shirt. Though his arm was roped in tattoos, you could see scars beneath the dark ink. They weren’t as bad as Keigo said they’d be, but they weren’t exactly unnoticeable either. 

But when he spoke, all of that went out the window. Keigo sat him down across from you and Rumi, grinning. “D, you know Rumi already. This is my friend Y/N.” 

“Nice to meet you,” you politely said, sticking your hand out for a shake. His crystal blue eyes, so intense yet mysteriously guarded, flitted up to meet yours. He took your hand, causing your heart to jump at how warm and calloused his palm was. “You too,” he murmured. 

God, if you could have sex with a voice, it’d be his! Though it was raspy like he chain-smoked, it also traveled from your heart right down to your clit which jumped in your panties beneath your skirt. You had to cross your legs as Rumi and Keigo began to chat. Dabi would chime in here and there, but mostly just sipped his drink and looked around the club like a bored, lost puppy. 

Dabi was fine as hell and unintentionally funny, but that wasn’t what hooked you. It was two weeks before you moved into your new apartment when he randomly hit you up while you were organizing boxes for move-in day. You were sweaty and out of breath so when you answered the phone, you sounded less than happy. “Yes?” you snapped. 

“Uh…this a bad time?” Dabi asked, his gravelly yet smooth-like-chocolate voice in your ear. Your eyes widened and your heart jumped into your throat. “No!” you immediately replied. “Sorry, I didn’t know it was you. The ID came up as a possible scam.” 

“That’s my fault,” he said, actually sounding apologetic. “I never gave you my number. Listen, I didn’t wanna take up your time. I just wanted to ask if you needed help movin’ in.” 

“Huh?” you dumbly asked, your brain short-circuiting. “To where?” 

“....Your new apartment?” he said, just as confused as you. “You’re movin’ in this week, right?” 

A record scratched in your brain and you physically facepalmed yourself, mentally calling yourself a dumb bitch. “Oh, yeah!” you backpedaled. “Sorry, I’ve been moving boxes since this morning.” 

“Well, lemme come up and I’ll help you,” he replied. You blinked at his offer, shocked at how easily he volunteered. “No, it’s fine! It’s just little stuff anyway! You don’t have to–” 

“I’ll be up in ten,” he interjected. “I’ve got nothin’ better to do. Stay there.” Then he hung up, leaving you open-mouthed and horrified at your appearance. Luckily, when he came over, you had dried off your sweat and fixed your hair so you didn’t look a total hot mess. 

Though you worked in silence most of the day, Dabi made sure to ask you what to put where and heaved heavier boxes for you, his muscles flexing as he did. When his job was done, he even offered to help you move your furniture around once you got it. Weeks later, he did so, helping Keigo lug your couch up the stairs and put together a table. 

He did it all during his free time without asking for a dollar. You knew he didn’t like going out much, so to see him do it for you did something to you. Since then, you’ve always had a thing for Dabi. You call it a “thing” because you’re not sure what it is. Even when you were dating your ex, Dabi would always be at the back of your mind and in your wettest dreams. 

Since he lives in the same apartment complex as you, you say hi to him whenever you can (just to be a good, friendly neighbor). But the thing is you barely see him. He lives on a whole other floor and has an entirely different schedule than you. That’s why you were hoping he’d come tonight: so you can get to know him more. 

“How he and Keigo are friends, I’ll never understand,” Nemuri scoffs. They’re complete opposites!” Rumi smirks up at her as she squeezes a hand on her girlfriend’s ass. “I guess opposites attract,” she teasingly says, pulling a giggling Nemuri close to her. You pretend to retch. “Ugh, can you two please stop?” you whine. “I don’t need to be reminded that I don’t have a fairytale romance or that I haven’t had sex in two months.” 

“Two months?!” Rumi and Nemuri exclaim in unison. You flush, averting your eyes as you sip your drink. “That’s what I’m sayin’!” Rumi exasperates. “You’re stressin’ over a guy as weird as Dabi when you should be flirtin’ and gettin’ laid! With a body like yours, you’ll find someone to keep you company tonight in no time. Someone better than the dickhead you left.” 

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you begin to see your ex’s stupid face behind your eyelids. “Don’t remind me of him, Rumi.”

It’s been three months since you moved out of your apartment with your ex and officially broke it off with him after catching him with another girl. You felt in your heart that this was the man you were destined to be with, so you threw caution to the wind and went half on an apartment with him in a nice part of Musutafu after a year of dating. 

The first five months were good, but then you started noticing how lazy he was. He barely cleaned, couldn’t cook, and argued about running errands when you asked him, even if it was just a grocery run. “You know I’m not good with groceries, babe,” he’d whine. “I always get the wrong shit and you yell at me about it!” 

What irked you most about him is that he never tried. Not with anything…even the sex. It got too boring and old. It used to be amazing between you two, but after moving in together, it started seriously lacking. Though you cut him some slack because of his busy work schedule, the same old position (that being doggy style) can get tiresome. 

Though you tried to spice things up with new lingerie, toys, or new kinks, he never seemed to want to participate or be interested in them. Those nights of nothing that lead into mornings where he left for work and left you alone were devastating. You started suspecting something was up the third year of your relationship, but you never ever suspected cheating. 

However, fate forced those rose-colored glasses off your eyes when you stepped into your apartment one afternoon and found your boyfriend getting head from another woman. You were devastated, to say the least. Your first instinct was to leave and you found yourself crying to Rumi, Nemuri, and Keigo that night over wine. “I’m gonna fuck him up,” Keigo had growled, and you had to stop him from getting in his car to do so. “You’re telling me he cheated on you?” he asked incredulously. “He’s as dumb as he is a bitch.” 

“You can stay here as long as you want, babe,” Neumri cooed, stroking your hair away from your tear-soaked face. “Rumi and I would be happy to have you…as long as you’re okay with thin walls.” And you were (or at least you told yourself you were every time you’d hear Nemuri scream Rumi’s name to the heavens). After Keigo and Rumi helped you get your shit and tell off your boyfriend, you moved out and bunked with Rumi and Nemuri while you saved up for a new home. 

Your ex called and texted you constantly, begging you to come back and that he was sorry, but after you ignored each one, he stopped. It took a while to get over him. Even now, you still feel a lump in your throat over what happened–the lies; the betrayal; the utter disrespect to you and your home. But after a while, you managed to push through and finally began healing. 

Rumi stares at you now, pissed that you’re being so stubborn but also looking empathetic towards you. “Fine, do what you want,” she sighs, “but I still say to get out of your funk and stop worryin’ about Dabi showin’ up. If he does, he does. If he doesn’t, it’s his loss and he needs to get his shit together.” 

You try to ignore her words by gulping down the rest of your drink. When it’s gone, your body craves more to replace your feelings of pure shittiness. “I’m gonna go get another tequila sunrise,” you mutter to Rumi and Nemuri. 

You make a beeline for the kitchen, not wanting to see your friends’ faces. You plaster on a smile for the guests, wanting to assure them that everything is fine and you don’t feel like you just wallowed in a load of shit in your pretty yellow dress. You finally make it to your kitchen, away from the music blasting and the constant chatter. The snack table and counters are littered with plastic cups, jello shots, alcohol bottles of alcohol, and food that you catered from your favorite restaurant. 

You immediately go to the fridge where a pitcher of pre-made tequila sunrise mix sits next to some sangria. Nemuri appears behind you, obviously having followed you from the couch. She silently watches you pour your drink before she decides to say something. “Don’t worry about Rumi, hon,” she comfortingly says. “You know how she is: she’s blunt, but she’s only that way because she loves you.” 

You lower the pitcher once your glass is full and place it back in the fridge. You don’t close the fridge though. The cool air feels good on your clammy skin. “I know,” you sigh, “but I don’t need to be reminded about how my recent relationship crashed and burned. Not to mention being lectured about Dabi. I’m not a kid.” 

“So you are worried he won’t come?” Nemuri asks curiously. 

“No!” you immediately protest, then pivot, fumbling with the straw in your drink. “I-I mean, not really. He just said he’d show up, so…I guess I was just hopin’ he’d stop by and congratulate me for the apartment since he helped me move in.” 

You had invited him, after all. This was last week on a very warm Saturday morning when the summer heat was thick. It was laundry day and you were forced to lug a pillow sack of dirty clothes in an elevator, sweating in your biker shorts, bonnet, and Spongebob tee. You were prepared for no one to see you that morning, but fate had other plans when the elevator stopped on one of the lower apartment floors. You were headed for the basement where the laundry mat is. 

The doors opened, revealing the last person you wanted to see that morning. “O-Oh!” you stuttered, taken by surprise by his sudden appearance. And the fact that he looked so goddamn hot. Dabi stood at the elevator doors in his usual black attire, except he had on sweats instead of joggers. You had to force yourself not to stare at his crotch. 

“Hey, Dabi,” you greeted him, giving him a smile. Dabi only gave you a nod as he stepped into the elevator. You didn’t take it negatively. That was just Dabi–he never said much. He pressed the button to the lobby before the doors closed, leaving you closed together in the elevator box. You could feel the four walls closing in with him standing so near, especially when his scent invading your senses. It was spicy yet sweet like cinnamon with a hint of cologne. It was turning you on badly. 

Dabi suddenly tilted his chin at the pillow sack. “What’s with the sack?” he muttered. “You got kids to deliver to or somethin’?” 

You quirked a smirk at his joke. “Funny,” you chuckled. He smirked back, shrugging passively. “I try.” Just like that, the tension faded. “Just laundry,” you sighed. “About two weeks’ worth. I’ve been puttin’ it off since I’ve been still setting up my apartment.” 

He nodded and you both fell into silence again that swelled around you. “Sooo where are you off to so early?” you asked, desperate to fill the horrible silence. 

“Just the station,” he replied blandly. “Why they decided to have a meeting at the ass-crack of dawn is beyond me.” You nodded and giggled to yourself, only imagining the shit he had to put up with as a firefighter. 

You gratefully smile at him. “Thanks a lot for helping me move. It made things so much easier.” He once again shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s whatever,” he mumbled. “And no, I don’t want your money. You need it more than I do.” 

“Ugh, you ain’t lyin’,” you groaned tiredly, your mind jumping from place to place. “I thought doing all the cleaning would be a lot, but I’m still getting used to the bills plus rent and groceries and…” You buttoned your lip and flushed embarrassingly, realizing you’d been talking for too long. “Sorry, I’m rambling. Not a good way to start your morning. Just tell me to shut up.” 

Dabi shrugged, not looking annoyed. “You have nothin’ to be sorry for. Your ex was a dick, end of story. Plus, hearin’ you complain about him isn’t the worst thing I’ve heard in the morning.” He looked at you, looking deadass. “Try gettin’ an earful of that blonde bitch singin’ in the shower when he’s not laid up with somebody.” 

You laughed then, glad you didn’t have Keigo spending the weekend with you; he chose Dabi for that. “How are your ears not bleeding?” you giggled. 

Dabi smiled at the sound of your laugh–a real, genuine smile that made him even more handsome. The moment quickly ended though when the elevator dinged and the doors opened to the lobby. “This is me,” he muttered, his smile disappearing. 

He began to head out, not even giving you a goodbye or a “have a nice day” or a “you look fine as fuck in those shorts, lemme get your number”. Nothing! Your heart thundered in your chest, realizing this may be your one chance to interact with him for more than five seconds. 

Quickly, you jammed the button to hold the doors open. “H-Hey!” you abruptly called out. Dabi stopped and looked over his shoulder at you. “I meant to tell you: I’m havin’ this apartment-warming party next Saturday night. It’s a house-warming, but it’s for my apartment and uh…” 

‘You’re rambling! Just get to the point, bitch!’ 

“If you wanna come, you’re welcome to,” you continued. “Keigo is coming, so I figured I’d extend the invite.” Dabi had an unreadable expression on his face as he stared at you as if trying to make sense of you. “So…other people are gonna be there?” he carefully asks. 

You blinked at him. What a weird fucking question. “Well, yeah, but just some of my coworkers and people Rumi and I know. It’s just a small thing, nothing too big. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but there’s gonna be food, music, a little bit of weed…” You trailed off, hoping the weed would get him since he’s a smoker. 

Dabi shoved a hand into his pocket and leaned back on his haunches. “I don’t really go to parties too much,” he admitted. “I’m not really a people person.” That definitely meant he wasn’t coming. “Oh,” you exhaled, disappointment blooming inside of you. “I get you. I just figured I’d–” 

“I mean, I’ll still stop by or whatever,” he interjected with a shrug. “Don’t I gotta bring a gift or somethin’?” You tried to stomp down the happiness flooding your chest, but you couldn’t help it. “If you want!” you chirped happily. “I like plants…wine…gift cards…Beyoncè tickets…just some ideas.” 

Dabi smirked humorously at your little witty joke. “Not sure about that other part, but I’ll see what I can do.” Then, without another word, he turned to leave. “I’ll see you later then!” you called after him to which he gave you a slight wave. Finally, you let the doors close on you, and though his goodbye was anti-climatic, you couldn’t get rid of your smile. 

Now here you are, two hours into the party and he still isn’t here yet. Keigo isn’t either but he at least said he was coming straight from work. “Don’t be upset if he doesn’t, Y/N,” Nemuri coos, putting a hand on your shoulder. “I haven’t heard of Dabi ever going against his word, he’s very…different.” 

‘Tell me about it,’ you think.

“He’s not a bad guy,” Nemuri continues, “but he’s not as much of a social butterfly as Keigo is, especially because of his accident. He might be afraid he’ll make people feel uncomfortable.” 

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, you freeze, your brain processing the meaning behind them. Dabi never talked about his accident, especially to you, but according to Keigo, he got those burn scars as a child after playing with matches one Christmas night and setting his house on fire. Supposedly, this was because he was angry that his father aka that redheaded bitch Enji Todoroki didn’t buy the family any Christmas gifts. 

Little Dabi found the matches sitting up on the mantel above the fireplace and ultimately set a spark that engulfed their home. Dabi was never the same after that, especially after nearly dying from the flames. Luckily, they left the left side of his face and body with scars–reminders of what happened. “He blames himself a lot for that night,” Keigo recounted. telling you the story some time ago. “Especially since his family lost so much. To him, he feels responsible for the fact that his family could’ve died in that fire.” 

Though Dabi has a great relationship with his family besides Enji, he’s always carried around the weight of that trauma. And those burns. He can never ever get rid of them. He’s forced to wear them and be scrutinized by the world because of his disfigurement. 

As soon as Nemuri’s words process, you feel sick to your stomach. “I never thought of it that way,” you confess, feeling horribly guilty. “Fuck, now I feel like a bitch! Here I am upset over him not coming when he owes me nothing, and yet–”

“Hey.” Like a light in the darkness, Nemuri emerges in front of you and firmly holds your shoulders. “Stop. You’ll ruin your makeup.” 

She hands you a napkin and you begin to blot your Fenty Beauty foundation, hoping your makeup didn’t slide. “Just take a breath, get yourself another drink, and have some fun!” she encourages. “You need a night to forget about your ex and meet somebody you can spend the night with. Here, I’ll even help you! I’m great at matchmaking.” 

You smile at her volunteering to help you get laid. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass on scouting for dick tonight. I don’t feel like hooking up.” 

And you don’t. All you want to do is drink, dance, and celebrate your first big-girl apartment. “But I do feel like having fun!” you say aloud before taking a jello shot and throwing it back. The taste of vodka and artificial orange immediately hits your tongue, just as your favorite song blasts from the living room. 

“Ooooh, this is my song!” you squeal, already moving your body to the beat. Nemuri moves with you, happy to see you happy. “That’s the spirit!” she cheers. You two dance in the kitchen for a while until the doorbell rings. “Looks like more people came to congratulate you,” Nemuri giggles, squeezing your hand. “Go get it quick before the song ends.” 

You nod and take your drink with you as you hurry to your door. You already feel better after the quick dance session and some more alcohol. You feel like you could take on anything now. You swing open the door with enthusiasm, happy to have more guests. “Welcome to my…” you begin to shout, grinning at your guests standing at your door. 

But that smile fades when you see Keigo and Dabi standing at your door, each with a bag in their hand. As soon as Dabi’s cobalt eyes meet yours, you’re a puddle. “Home,” you weakly finish. 

“Wow, what a welcome,” Keigo chuckles. “Thanks for havin’ us, babe. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” He leans in to give you a one-armed hug before releasing you. “Hope you don’t mind I bought the enigma along for the ride.” He nods at Dabi who looks oh-so uncomfortable and delicious in his black tee and jeans. His icy blue eyes flick to yours before looking away to somewhere beyond your face. “N-Not at all,” you reply softly. 

“And us too!” a familiar voice comes from behind Dabi. The voice belongs to his fine-ass brother, Natsuo Todoroki. You’re starting to think beauty runs in the Todoroki family. “Long time no see, Y/N!” Natsuo grins at you, running a hand through his snow-white hair. 

Another familiar face appears from around the corner though it is hidden behind shaggy, black hair that reaches his shoulders: Tenko aka Shiggy, with his tattoos and gauges. “That’s ‘cause your deep in those nursing books,” he tells Natsuo before turning to you, dark circles under his eyes. “You got smokes in here, right? I’ve been tattooin’ people all day and I need a reliever.” 

“Yes, and come in,” you giggle, opening the door wider for your four muscular, tall, fine-ass guests. They each walk in and you close the door behind them. As soon as they’re inside, Shiggy makes a beeline for the weed, leaving you, Dabi, Keigo, and Natsuo standing there. 

“Woooow, kid,” Keigo whistles. “Cute place you got here. I really can’t call you “kid” no more, can I?” He actually sounds upset about it. “Yep,” you laugh. “I feel like a big girl!”

“You should!” Natsuo chuckles, a smile growing on his handsome face. “Especially without that emotional vampire suckin’ the life outta you. Oh, before I forget…” He nudges Keigo who presents you with a paper bag. “Housewarming gift number one,” the second oldest Todoroki kid says with a grin. “Dabi has the other. C’mon and give her the gift, D!” 

Dabi glares at his brother, but pulls a little bag from behind his back. You look into both, finding a bottle of wine, a bottle opener, and some cute, multi-colored wine glasses in them. “Thank you,” you giggle. “I’ll drink it all tonight.” 

“So where’s the food and the pretty people?” Keigo asks, a mischievous glint in his eye. You roll your eyes at his sluttiness. “All in the living room. Rumi and Nemuri are somewhere around here if you want me to–” 

“Nah, kid, don’t worry your pretty head about it,” Keigo interjects, putting a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll definitely find them. You stay here and tend to your new guest…he’s gonna need it.” He nods at Dabi before giving you a wink. “C’mon, Natsuo!” he hollers, taking the white-haired man by the shoulder. 

Natsuo gives you an apologetic look as he’s dragged off. “Take care of him, please?” he softly pleads before heading off with Keigo to stop him from harassing people. You turn to Dabi who looks ready to strangle them both. “Fuckin’ bitches,” he growls under his breath. 

Standing among the music and the chatter, you realize that you two are alone. Well, not completely, but enough that it feels awkward without someone starting the conversation. Nervously, you swallow, realizing you’ll have to be the leader. “I-I didn’t think you’d come,” you shakily begin. “You said you weren’t a people person.” 

“I’m not,” Dabi gruffly replies, “but I did owe you a gift.” Your heart leaps at his words despite his tone. “You really didn’t, but thanks anyway.” 

He nods once more, his eyes flicking up and down your form. When you catch it, your entire body grows hot. Does he think you look good? If he does, would he say it? It doesn’t appear he’ll say anything at all. You clear your throat once more, attempting to break the ice that is quickly hardening. “Uh…so you want a drink or a tour of the place? I’d feel bad if you were just standin’ here.” 

“What’s wrong with just standin’?” he deadpans, but you can tell it’s a joke. 

“Everything, unless you’re a plant,” you tease. You earn a little smirk out of him, but that’s about all you get. So you start to ramble. “The drinks are really good. Keigo knows the bartender, so–” 

“What?” he cuts in, straining to hear you. You lean in toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder to get closer to him. “I said Keigo knows the bartender I hired for the party!” you exclaim into his ear. “I also got catering if you want to–” 

You’re rudely cut off when someone bumps into you. She’s one of your coworkers from the HR department, but because she’s so drunk, she barely recognizes you. “Sorry!” she hiccups. “Bathroom!” Quickly, she runs upstairs to your bathroom, holding her stomach as she does. 

You turn to Dabi who looks even more uncomfortable now. You keep your hand on his shoulder, wanting him to know you’re here for him. He doesn’t move away. “I’m startin’ to think maybe you’re right about the standin’ thing,” he mumbles. “You got somewhere more private?” 

It takes a moment for his words to process, but when they do, you swear you could touch the moon. He’s here for you. To talk to you. And you know exactly where to go for it. “I know a perfect place,” you giggle excitedly. “Get yourself a drink and I’ll get some smoke. Meet me back here in five minutes.” 

Dabi looks relieved that you agreed. Quickly, he moves to the kitchen to get himself a drink, earning some eye-fucks in the process, regardless of his burns. Still holding your gifts, you make a beeline to the smoke section and force Shiggy to cough up the rest of the starburst-flavored papers and a baggie of weed. 

The crew is sitting on the couch vibing to the music when you come over. Keigo and Natsuo are in awe of Dabi, pouring himself a drink, actually participating. “So I see you got him to move!” Natsuo laughs. “It’s a miracle!” Rumi, currently holding Nemuri in her lap as she chats with someone next to her, gives you a smirk. “Where are you off to?” she asks suspiciously. 

You smile at her, unable to hide your giddiness. “To show my guest around. Hold down the fort for a minute.” 

“Maybe more than a minute,” Keigo snickers knowingly. Rumi nudges him with her elbow as you flush to yourself. “You’ve got it, captain. Go enjoy yourself and your man!” You turn away, skin still on fire. “He’s not my man!” you call over your shoulder as you hurry to gather something to loosen you both up. “Yet,” you whisper to yourself. 

Dabi meets you back in your previous spot with a red solo cup that smells of whiskey and sour apple. You motion for him to follow you out the door of your apartment and down the hall. “It’s right up here,” you explain, pointing up the emergency staircase. Dabi raises a quizzical eyebrow but follows you up the short flight of steps anyway. 

When at the top, you push open the door at the end of the staircase, revealing the rooftop to your building. The roof is decorated with comfortable sofas, mini tables, and fairy lights that hang among the rafters. The edges of the rooftop are blocked off by clear, plaster walls that serve as barriers between the inside and the outside. You shut the door behind you and turn to Dabi. “You know about this place?” you softly ask. 

He stares around the prettily-decorated rooftop, lips parted in awe. “Not at all,” he admits, bewildered. “I’ve been livin’ here longer than you and knew nothin’ about it, but then again, I barely come out my apartment.” 

“I’m a sucker for rooftops,” you confess. “That’s what drew me to this complex.” You walk over to him, staring out at the view before you: glittering city lights and the sunset; line of fuschia that dips beneath the mountains far off into the distance. It truly is a beautiful sight. You suddenly feel warm, as if someone’s eyes are on you and turn to see Dabi unabashedly staring at you. “Goddamn, you are short,” he snickers. 

You smack his arm, flushing. “Hey!” you gasp, mock-offended. “It’s not my fault I was given short genes! Just for that, you’re rollin’ for us.” You plop down on one of the couches and pat the empty seat next to you, motioning for him to sit. Dabi looks hesitant at first but sits down next to you anyway. He still appears tall even while seated. 

“You sure your crib is gonna be okay?” he asks as he begins to set up shop. You wave off his concern, trusting your guests. “Rumi and Keigo won’t let anything happen to it. Especially Rumi; she scares people.” 

He smirks at your answer and begins preparing a blunt, taking out a grinder and the little baggie of weed. You sip on your drink, watching him work, trying not to make it too obvious that you’re aroused. You watch him intensely, your eyes hypnotized by his fingers expertly sprinkling the marijuana into the paper and then working on rolling the blunt to absolute perfection. He’s so good with his hands. 

Your eyes trail up his hands to his arms, admiring the muscle beneath the dark ink on his skin. One tattoo, in particular, catches your attention: the number 58 with a green dragon slithering out of the eight. “Nice tatt.” 

“It’s my firefighter number,” he explains, eyes still trained on his hands. “The dragon is the department symbol. I inked it myself.” You don’t notice that you’ve gotten closer to him, your legs aimed directly at him. Your body is completely under his silent spell. “You do your own tattoos?” you ask, wanting to know more, anything more, about him. 

He nods, jetting his tongue out to lick the paper. It is pink with a glint of something in it. You realize that it’s a tongue piercing and your clit jumps. He suddenly stops rolling the blunt and points at a few words linked across his right collarbone. “This one is the first tatt I gave myself when I was sixteen. It’s Latin for ‘don’t let the past steal your present’.” He then begins to recite the words in Latin, his rolling tongue making the inside of your thighs feel warm. “I didn’t know you spoke Latin.” 

His eyes flicker over to yours, a softness to them. “There are a lot of things you don’t ‘bout me,” he murmurs, his tone low and sugary sweet to you. 

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol, the privacy, or him, but it allows you to be even bolder. You scoot even closer, your body so that your hip presses against his. He doesn’t move away, but you do feel him tense. “Hopefully, there are some you’d be willing to share,” you softly reply, hoping he’ll read between the lines and see how much you want this. 

Alas, he doesn’t say anything, but you do notice that his hip stays put. You don’t know if it’s intentional, but it has you feeling warm and tingly regardless. When he finally finishes the blunt, he lights it and takes a puff test before passing it to you. You take it gingerly between your forefinger and thumb and take a much-needed puff.

The smoke fills your lungs instantly and you exhale peacefully, watching the wisps of smoke disappear into the starry night sky. “Nothin’ like a blunt to ease the nerves,” you sigh contently, already feeling more relaxed. 

“Are you nervous?” Dabi asks. His arm is tossed over the back of the couch, right behind your head. “Around me?” You flush, passing the blunt back to him. “Well, kinda,” you laugh awkwardly. “You’re just so…” You grow quiet, trying to find the appropriate word. 

He takes a puff of the blunt. “Weird?” he finishes, quirking a brow at you as smoke billows from his mouth. He passes the blunt back to you. “I was gonna say quiet,” you reply. “I don’t think you’re weird.” 

Dabi shrugs, looking out into the city lights. “I just don’t have much to say, but you ain’t the only one who’s nervous. Like I said, I’m not much of a social butterfly; not even at work. That’s Keigo and my brother. They dragged me out here tonight.” His eyes, like twin pools of the bluest water in the farthest Caribbean island, flick to yours. “But to be honest, I would’ve come anyway.” 

You suddenly forget you’re holding the blunt and quickly place it down on the ashtray. “You would?” you ask, hating how breathless you sound. He shrugs like it should be obvious. “Well, yeah. I wouldn’t want that gift card goin’ to just anybody.” 

You scowl confusingly at him and he smirks humorously. “Look at the bottom of the gift bag.” You do so, and sure enough, you see a silver $100 Visa gift card glinting at the bottom of the bag. You take it out, staring at it. Dabi looks sheepish, planting his hand firmly in his lap as if he doesn’t know what to do with it. “It definitely ain’t a Beyoncé ticket, but I hope you like it.” 

Suddenly, the alcohol, the weed, and the scent of him begin to work their magic on you. All of your inhibitions and all logic are gone as you stare at his gorgeous, scarred face. “I love it,” you whisper, and before you can stop yourself, you lean in and press a soft kiss to Dabi’s cheek. You feel his soft skin and the slight prickle of stubble there before pulling away. 

He stares at you, shocked, and you stare right back as reality sets in. ‘Oh, no…what the fuck did I do?’ 

“Y/N,” he says, your voice like a prayer on his lips. But before he can finish his thought, your phone rudely interrupts him. “Fuck,” you hiss. “I’m so sorry.” You scramble to pick it up and find your ex’s name flashing across the screen. “Dammit!” you snap. 

“Who is it?” he asks, his brows furrowed. You show him, groaning with dread. “It’s my ex. I thought he stopped calling me, but apparently not.” 

“He’s been callin’ you?” he bitterly asks. He does not sound happy about this. You slowly nod to which he demands, “Put him on speaker.” You stare at him, wondering if he’s deadass, but he’s not looking like he’s BS-ing you. Despite your better judgment, you do as he says and put the call on speaker before answering your ex with a curt, “What do you want?” 

“Heeey, that’s no way to talk to your man,” your ex slurs into the phone. “What’s up with you?”

You scowl in disgust at his tone. “What’s up with you?” you shoot back. “Are you drunk?”

He snorts in response meaning he’s definitely drunk. “Not nearly enough. Just was thinkin’ ‘bout you bein’ alone in that big, empty apartment…but then I happened across your IG and saw your stories.” 

“Yeah, and?” you ask cooly. 

“You’re throwin’ a party a tour expense?” he snaps at the flip of a switch. “You want everyone to know what happened to us?” You roll your eyes. Everything is always about him. “Only my friends know what happened. And even if I tell people, it’s none of your business and you fuckin’ deserve it for cheating, dick.” 

He pauses, letting your insult process, but the longer he’s quiet the more tired you grow. “Is this what you called me for?” you demand. “To argue? ‘Cause I’m not in the mood.” He makes a sound over the phone between a sigh and a groan, sounding exhausted. “Can’t we just talk about this?” he asks. “I just don’t get why you had to leave. We had three years!” 

You scoff to yourself. The sheer audacity of this guy! Those are three years he decided to ruin; not you! “Can’t we just talk it out, Y/N?” he asks again, sounding absolutely broken.

Now it’s Dabi’s turn to respond. “There ain’t nothing to talk about,” he malevolently replies. “She already made it clear that she’s not interested in whatever you want.” 

Your ex is quiet for a moment, taken aback by the new voice. “Who the fuck are you?” he spits. “Y/N, who is that?” Your brain short circuits trying to find a legitimate answer. 

“Her new man,” Dabi growls. “And if you ever call her again, I’m pullin’ up to make you stop myself. You’re lucky I didn’t do that when I found out you stuck your dick in another chick. What are you, stupid?” You and your ex are silent, astounded by his words. 

“And if you even think about comin’ over here yourself, don’t,” Dabi continues. “Take that as my act of kindness to you even though you sure as hell don’t deserve it.” Your ex is enraged, cussing, and slurring into the speaker. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he snaps. “You think you can just–” 

“Don’t call here again, whore,” Dabi growls before he gives you a slight nod and you end the call. As soon as the call ends, you set your phone down and voice the one question that is burning you alive: “Did you mean what you said?” you ask carefully. “That you’re my new man?” 

Before Dabi can even begin to explain himself, you softly, shyly, tell him, “‘Cause I wouldn’t reject that offer.” You lay your cards out flat, aroused by him defending you from your trash ex. 

Dabi gapes at you, shocked, and then a hardened expression sets on his handsome face. “You’re not serious,” he scoffs with laughter. “You’re not.” You scowl at him, disappointed. That wasn’t the response you were expecting. “What do you mean?” you ask, confused. “You don’t think I want this?” 

“No, I don’t,” he replies sternly, suddenly standing. You can see the wall that you’ve been trying to destroy building back up. “I think you think I’m a weird, introverted loser that you wanna take a ride on because it’ll be fun for the first few weeks while you’re gettin’ over your breakup.” He shakes his head, laughing to himself. “You could never want me.” 

You stare at him, dumbfounded. “Why would you think that?” you softly ask, hurt for him. Dabi chuckles dryly. “C’mon now. Someone who looks like you with someone who looks like me?” He points to the scars on his face. “I’m not the man you think I am.” 

“I don’t think of you as anything, Dabi,” you passionately say, standing with him. “I invited you here because I want to get to know you more. I always have, even when I was with my ex.” He turns to stare at you, shocked at your words. There it is: the truth, laid out in the open with only the stars as witnesses. 

You move closer to him, gently taking his wrist in your hand. His body feels tense in your grasp. “Your scars mean nothing to me; they never did. Would you believe me if I said I’ve always liked you too?” 

You take your other hand and place it on his chest, right above his heart beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. “Now that I know you feel the same way, nothing is holding me back anymore.” You stand up on your tiptoes and again press a kiss to his jawline, right on a burn scar. “I can handle this, Dabi,” you murmur against his ear. “I like it rough.” 

That is all you needed to say to get Dabi to finally unravel. 

You can only let out a tiny gasp before he grabs you by the back of the neck and presses his lips against yours. His kiss isn’t soft or careful. His kiss his rough; hungry; slow as he draws moans and gasps out of you. He kisses you like he’s been dreaming of doing it for ages. His lips are soft, the taste of whiskey, apple, and mint on his tongue. You let his hands move along your back and ass, squeezing the flesh there and making you moan. 

Taking advantage of your open mouth, he slides his tongue alongside your bottom lip before slipping it inside your mouth. He moans hungrily as your tongue begins to swirl with his, swapping spit and exchanging breath. The act makes your pussy clench impatiently in your panties, wanting to be touched and petted. Dabi then pulls away enough to speak to you, his eyes hooded and dark. 

“How long have you felt his way about me?” he murmurs hotly against your lips. “Tell me.” 

His hand sneaks down underneath your dress to squeeze your ass. 

You let him, biting back a whimper in the process. You barely know him and yet you’re letting him touch you like this right in the open. “S-Since you helped me move,” you softly stutter. “But I’ve always been attracted to you since we met.” 

He begins to kiss you all over now: your neck; your jawline; your collarbone; your naked shoulders in your spaghetti straps. “Fuck,” he growls against your skin. “You’re too good to be fuckin’ true.” His hands roam up and down your hips and sides, squeezing and fondling. “I’ve been wantin’ your fine ass since we met.” 

“How come you never…?” The rest of your question doesn’t reach your lips as he grabs you by your hips and pulls you toward him, so close that air can’t even move between you. Your bodies are pressed flush against each other, so close that you can feel a bulge in his jeans. He’s turned on by you. The fact makes you delirious. 

His lips press against yours again as he walks backwards to the couch, never breaking the kiss, and plops down on it. He then grips you by the hips and coaxes you into his lap where you begin to straddle him.

His hands, so rough yet so warm, continue to fondle your thighs and ass, squeezing at the flesh and making you whimper into his mouth. Instinctively, you grind down into his hardened dick, enlisting a moan from deep within his throat. It travels right down to your pussy. 

Suddenly, he pulls away with a soft gasp. His eyes are lust-blown, his lips pinker than usual. “Hang on…I wanna try something.”

With one arm wrapped securely around your waist, he moves to pluck the blunt from the ashtray. “You ever shotgun before?” he asks. You blink dumbly at him, confused, and shake your head. “It’s easy. Lemme show you.” 

You watch with utter lust as he takes a long drag of the blunt, his eyes pinned on yours. Then, with one hand, he squeezes your cheeks, forcing you to form your mouth into an O. He leans in close as if he is about to kiss you again and, slowly, billows of smoke shoot out of his mouth and into yours. 

You’re trembling with need and anticipation as the smoke fills your senses along with the sight of Dabi’s crystal blue eyes staring you down. “Nice, right?” he chuckles. “Now try it with me.” 

You’re eager to try this new addictive activity, so you pucker your lips and puff on the blunt that he holds for you. Then, after inhaling a good portion of smoke, you slowly blow it out into his waiting mouth. But you don’t stop there. You lean in toward him and devour his mouth, desperate to have him. You’re wasted and high off of him. You pull away, leaving him dazed. “I want you,” you whisper, wrapping your arms tightly around him.  

“Bedroom?” he asks, a suggestive glint in his eye. “And before you ask, no, I don’t think you’re easy or that I’m a rebound. We already established that we’re two idiots who’ve been pinin’ after each other for months now.” 

His words make you smile. Though you weren’t at all thinking about if he saw you as “easy” or if he was just a lay to get over your ex, it’s so nice to hear that all he wants is you. This only makes your need for him grow until it reaches an almost painful point. Your throbbing clit is testament to that. 

“No bedroom,” you say, giving him an excited, sexy smile. “I want you out here.” Dabi raises a brow, not expecting your request. “Please, Dabi,” you plead. “I-I don’t think I can wait.” To show him that you’re serious, you begin to take down the spaghetti straps to your dress to reveal your bra. You don’t care if anyone sees. You just want him so badly. 

The shock in his blue eyes is replaced with sheer hunger when he gets a look at those perfect tits in the pretty little bra you have on. “You little freak,” he chuckles. “Hop off me.” You listen to him and settle down next to him as he gets up to inspect you. 

You bite your lip and watch him as he kneels down in front of you and opens your legs. When he gets a look at your soaked little panties, he almost looks pained. “Goddamn, mama,” he hisses. “You’re so wet for me. You don’t even need these little panties anymore.” His eyes flick up to yours and his hands still at your thighs. ‘Okay?’ his eyes ask. 

Wordlessly, you nod, unable to speak. But he isn’t down for that. He begins to brush his fingers up and down your wet slit above your panties, paying close attention to your reactions. “Words, baby,” he growls. “Gimme words.” 

“Yes!” you moan, your toes curling in your heels at the feeling of his fingers brushing your wet cunt. “Please, Dabi…please touch me.” 

He gives you a wolfish grin at your pitiful reaction, but doesn’t keep you waiting. He loops his fingers through the waistband of your panties and pulls them down your legs you reveal your naked, sobbing wet pussy. “Shit!” he hisses, gaping at your sex. “You have the prettiest pussy, babe.” 

“Thank y–!” Your words are cut off by a sudden gasp as Dabi leans in and begins suckling on your clit, eating your pussy like a starving man. He is relentless with his tongue slashes, flicks, and long licks up and down your slit. He moves his tongue like he’s a master at eating pussy, paying close attention to your reaction every time he does something new. 

You’re loving it. You writhe and grind your hips against his mouth, trying to get him closer. Your pussy pushes against his pillowy-soft lips and wet tongue that writes nonsense across your wet lips and needy little clit. “You’re so wet,” he mumbles into your pussy. “Does doin’ this shit out in the open turn you on, mama?” 

You moan in response, unable to form words, especially when he reaches one hand up to play with your breast. You take off your bra, hissing in pleasure as he begins gently pinching the hardened brown nipple. 

This is insane! You barely know this man and not only are you letting him do this to you, it’s all in public. Anyone could walk up and see you. Or look across from another building. Or up from the sidewalk. It’s so shameful. So nasty. And so, so good. 

It feels even better when Dabi begins to tease your entrance with his middle finger, dipping the tip in and out of your wet pussy. “You want this?” he asks, his voice nothing but a low growl.

You nod vigorously and he laughs. “So needy,” he teases as he begins to slowly slide his finger inside of you. “Your ex must’ve not be takin’ care of this pussy. He never made you feel like this, did he?” 

“N-No,” you gasp, eyes blown as you feel your pussy stretch slightly around his finger. He quickly begins to aim up to brush against your clit as he slides his finger in and out of you. Not only that, but he begins to suck at your clit, sending waves upon waves of pleasure coursing through your body. 

You can feel yourself quickly beginning to reach that peak to your climax. You don’t want this to end. You want to make this moment last. “Wait, Dabi!” you shout, writhing against him. “Stop! Don’t make me cum!” 

He immediately ceases his movements and pulls away from you, glaring in confusion. “‘Scuse me?” he asks, not sounding happy with your protest. 

You nearly laugh at his reaction. “I wanna make this last,” you explain. “I wanna make you feel good too. So stand up.” Dabi still looks pissed he couldn’t make you cum, but listens to you anyway. He stands up, mouth and chin glistening from your juices, and you stand with him. 

Slowly, you begin to kiss and suck your essence off of his mouth, earning low moans from him. 

Your hands slide down to his broad chest and you grip his shirt collar. “Off please?” you ask, peering up at him through your lashes. 

You don’t even have to ask twice. In a flash, he’s stripping, tossing his shirt somewhere on the rooftop. You take a moment to admire his beautiful body–so hard and defined with muscle, ink, and burn scars that coat the left side of his body. His nipples, pink and hard, glint with two silver rings and his lower stomach is sinewy with white hair. He’s so, so pretty. 

He must think your stares mean something else because he averts his eyes. “I know it ain’t picture perfect,” he mutters, sounding ashamed. Your heart leaps with fear, hoping you didn’t ruin tonight for you both. 

Quickly, you try to fix things by gliding your hands up and down his hard body, admiring his well-defined pecs and abs. “You’re perfect,” you whisper before leaning in to peck his burn scars, running your lips softly over each. 

The low moans and “mmm”s Dabi release are delicious to you. They only heighten your arousal along with the sound of the party still going on downstairs. The music and chatter are muffled, but the fact that it is so still near is so exciting to you. 

You never saw yourself participating in public sex, but you suppose it takes the right person to bring the freak out of you. And you want to be the freakiest, sluttiest girl with this man.

To prove that, you begin to lick and suck along his hardened nipples, tugging on the tiny silver rings hanging from them. “Fuck, baby,” he hums, watching you as you work. His lips are parted and his eyes are hooded. He is completely entranced by you. 

You begin to kiss down his hardened stomach until you come to his jeans already hanging low on his hips. You stop, your hands at his fly, and look up at him. ‘Okay?’ you ask with your eyes. Slowly, he nods, giving you the green light. You pull his pants and his underwear down in one go, eager to see what’s underneath. 

You begin to think you bit off more than you can suck when you get a look at his cock for the first time. He is well endowed, thick, and curves upward so his dick slaps against his stomach when you finally release him from his trousers. White hair curls around his stomach and pubic area, but it isn’t like a jungle. But that isn’t what gets you: it’s the piercing that glints from the head of his dick in the moonlight. 

You gape at his cock, not sure what to say or do. “You okay?” he asks, humored. 

“Uh…” That’s all you can say. He’s just so, big! How can you get him in your mouth? You’re lucky you can even fit one hand around him as you begin to stroke him softly from base to tip. 

Dabi cackles down at you, relishing your fear. “Don’t be scared of it, mama,” he purrs, taking his dick out of your hand and waving it in front of you. You watch, hypnotized. Dickmatized. 

“You said you wanted to make me feel the way I make you feel, right?” he asks teasingly. “C’mon now. You can do it. Open that pretty mouth.” 

Not wanting to disappoint him, you open your mouth and he slowly begins to slide his dick against your tongue. “There we go,” he coos. “Good girl. Take it all in.” You try, your jaw and mouth stretching for his size. “I’m guessin’ I’m bigger than your mans, huh?” he chuckles lowly. 

“Mmm-hmm,” you hum around his cock, the vibrations causing him to moan. You relish the sounds, wanting more. So you begin to move your head back and forth, taking his cock in and out of your throat. You gag and spit all along his dick, causing saliva to drip down his balls and your chin, making your blowjob extra sloppy. 

Dabi tosses his head back and rolls his eyes back, giving you a sight that is fit for porn. He’s so sexy. And to be able to make him feel good gives you the motivation to ignore your aching jaw and burning throat as you continue to fuck him with your throat. 

“You’re doin’ so good, babe,” he grunts as he begins to roll his hips into your mouth. “At this rate, you’ll make me cum.” 

You nod your head, coaxing him to do so. You want him to cum. You want to taste all of him in your mouth. But he surprises you when he begins to slow down his hips and pulls his wet cock out of your mouth. “No,” he growls. “If I’m gonna cum, it either has to be on that pretty ass or those titties of yours.” 

You stare up at him, drinking in his spectacular body and dick standing at attention for you. You then decide that if you are to finally cum, you want it to be wrapped around his cock.

‘Fuck it,’ you think. You don’t care that you barely know him. All of that “getting to know you” shit can wait until after you get him inside of you. “Why not inside of me then?” you purr, standing up to take his hands in yours. 

He blinks at you, dumbfounded. “Without a condom?” he asks. “I don’t have one on me.” You shake your head, pecking his lips. “I’m on the pill.” 

That’s all you need to say to get Dabi to smash his lips hungrily against yours. “Oh, thank fuck,” he sighs, relieved. “I don’t mind beatin’ my dick to the sight of you in front of me, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t want your pretty little pussy wrapped ‘round me.” 

His dirty words send shivers up your spine. “And you’re okay with this? I mean, we barely know each other and–” 

“I don’t give a fuck,” he growls, already moving you back to the couch again. “I’ll take you out later, but right now, I fuckin’ need you. Now choose how I’m doin’ you before I lose my fuckin’ mind.” 

You gape at him, dumbfounded and so, so horny. You’ve never had a man be so desperate for you before. You waste no time bending over the couch, presenting your ass and dripping pussy for him. You then look back at him, finding him standing there and stroking himself to the sight of you. “Like this,” you whisper. “Fuck me just like this, Dabi.” 

Dabi is going fucking feral behind you. It takes everything in him to not shove every single inch of his hard, thick cock inside of you as he moves closer to you and begins to stroke your pussy with his cock. 

“God, look at you, stainin’ up the couch,” he sighs as you twitch and quiver. “Anyone could see you like this, about to get fucked hard.” 

‘I don’t care,’ you want to scream. Anyone can watch if they want. All you want is that dick inside of you now. 

And then finally, he gives it to you. He goes slow, taking his sweet time to allow you to get used to him. As soon as his cockhead enters you, your jaw is dropping open and your eyes are blown from how stretched you feel already. No toy could compare to how warm and solid Dabi feels snuggled up in your pussy. Not even your ex could make you feel this full or this good. 

Through it all, you breathe in and out, relaxing your body into the couch cushion. Though it doesn’t hurt, you’re feeling beyond stretched by Dabi and you almost collapse from the feeling. 

You’re so glad to have the couch to grip as he takes a hold of your hips and bottoms out inside of you. “F-Fuck, Dabi!” you whine, gripping the couch. 

He begins to bump his hips against your ass a little faster now, the sound of skin slapping filling the air as his heavy balls hit your clit. “Come on now, mama,” he huffs. “You wanna be a big girl, right? Take me just like one. Make me proud.” 

He begins to fuck you harder, taking a handful of your breasts and fondling them one at a time. 

The feeling is just too much. His dick strokes the most sensitive parts of you as your clit jumps with every slap of his balls against it. 

And he’s just so deep! He is making you see stars that don’t even compare to the ones coating the night sky above the beautiful view stretched before you. You have no chance to take it all in, too busy taking Dabi’s fat cock as he fucks you into oblivion in your little sundress and heels. 

“Feels good, don’t it?” he grunts into your ear. One hand moves to your ass to gently spank your ass, causing you to moan at the feeling. “Bet you’ve dreamed about this,” he growls to you. “Bet you wanted to get slutted out on my dick for so long. Bet you couldn’t wait for tonight. Bet you planned this.” 

He leans down toward you, his lips grazing your ear. “Bet you’ve wanted to be my good girl for so long,” he growls before his hand comes down on your ass a little harder. 

“God, Dabi, yes!” you scream out to the sky, gripping the couch for dear life as he fucks you harder. You’ve never felt like this before: so gone off that dick. Your eyes are closed and your mind is completely blank from the blinding pleasure you feel, each wave much bigger than the one before and washing over you. 

The pleasure is just too good, and it’s starting to reach a deafening crescendo. You can feel it building in your core, threatening to snap at any moment. “Gonna cum!” you practically sob, your head thrown back. “Gonna cum for you Dabi!” 

Dabi cackles behind you, putting a foot up on the cushion to get a better angle as he continues to fuck your pussy into submission. “Me too,” he grunts. “Want you take it. Take all of me like a big girl, baby.” 

He presses his lips to your ear, leaning down so his dick is hitting that spot that has you seeing the entire galaxy behind your eyelids. “Fuckin’ cum for me, mama,” he demands. “Let me know how good I’m making you feel. Cream all over that dick!”  

And you do. Moans and gasps leave your lips like a chorus as that chord finally snaps. You unravel, cumming all over Dabi’s dick. “Oh, my God!” you scream, your voice reaching heights fit for a shower singing session when you think no one is listening. 

You cream all over Dabi’s cock buried deep inside of you as he talks you through it, telling you how good of a girl you are as he strokes your outer thighs. 

“Gonna cum too,” he grunts, his hips snapping against your ass again and again as he chases his high. “You gonna take all of it, baby, hm?” 

“Y-Yes!” you choke out. “Please, please cum for me!” You begin tossing your ass back to meet his thrusts, wanting to feel him burst inside of you. Finally, he grips your hips for dear life and cums deep inside of you with a raspy, loud moan that makes your stomach leap and your pussy clench around his pulsing cock. 

You take every single ounce of his warm, creamy cum that shoots into your pussy, never once pulling away. You can feel it coating your walls, filling you up to the point where you curl your toes and shudder at the feeling coursing through your body. 

Finally, Dabi’s hips begin to slow until he is sloppily fucking you, chasing the rest of his high. Then with a soft groan, he pulls out, but it isn’t over yet. His cock is still hard as he begins to slide the head along your lower back and ass, coating your skin in his cum. “So you smell like me,” he softly says. “So no other man will even try.” 

You let out a weak moan as you feel his nut coat your skin and drip down your thighs, making them slick and wet. Finally, he releases you and you slump against the couch, exhausted and spent, but feeling so good. 

After giving you some time to compose yourself, Dabi helps you fix your dress (without the panties) and fishes a napkin out of his pocket to wipe his cum off of your thighs. ‘What a gentleman,’ you think, giggling to yourself. 

He seems sheepish and almost shy standing there, now in his briefs. “I didn’t…hurt you, did I?” he carefully asks. You slowly shake your head, still in a daze. “That was amazing,” you sigh. “I’ve never been fucked like that before.” A proud smile stretches across Dabi’s face. “Just whatcha needed?” he asks. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. “Absolutely,” you hum contently. “I hope it’s what you needed too.” He hums in agreement, pressing a kiss to the crown of your forehead. “That and much more.” You smile happily into his chest, glad that it was just as good for him as it was for you. 

For a while, you two stay like that: hugging in the warm breeze. Finally, Dabi clears his throat. “So…now what?” he awkwardly asks. 

“Well, we can’t go back inside like this,” you giggle. You motion to your dress still hiked up on your thighs and his semi-nakedness, though you’re sure that his physique would be welcomed. 

“And I think we both need to recover after those mind-blowing orgasms,” you purr, your pussy still sensitive from his dick beating it up. You curl up on the sofa and poke your bottom lip out at him. “Cuddle with me?” you coo. 

Dabi chortles at you, rolling his clear, blue eyes. “Such a baby,” he chuckles. “You’re lucky I like feelin’ you in my arms.” 

His sweet words make you flush in the breeze as he settles down next to you. He scoops you into his lap and securely wraps his muscled arms around you, squeezing you to him as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. 

You feel the same way. You loop your arms around his neck and cradle his head to your beating heart. “So is a date in order after this?” he curiously asks. “I’m not too familiar with this shit, so…” 

You can feel the awkwardness radiating off of him. A laugh bubbles in your chest. Leave it to him to feel awkward about dating even though he just fucked you doggystyle on a rooftop! 

“Yes, Dabi,” you laugh. “I’d love to go on a date with you.” You feel him smile into your chest and he squeezes you closer to him, making you giggle. You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up in him. 

When your phone suddenly rings, you feel like shooting somebody. You whine as you grab your phone, Dabi keeping his arms wrapped around you so you don’t fall. “That’s Keigo,” you sigh. “I hope no one broke anything.” You answer the phone, going back to cuddling Dabi. “Yeah?” 

“So I’m guessin’ you made our guest feel welcomed?” Keigo immediately asks. “You two have been gone for, like, an hour.” 

“It hasn’t been that long, Keigo,” you scoff though you really don’t know what time it is. “How’s the party? Is my apartment still intact?” 

“Don’t you trust me?” he scoffs. “So you and Dabi are together now? I knew it was only a matter of time until he decided to pull up his big boy pants and tell you how he felt.” 

You scowl in confusion, your heart picking up speed. “How did you–?” 

“Know?” he finishes and gives a laugh. “Kid, I’ve known this shit for years! It just wasn’t my business to tell. However, you can thank yourselves because you saved time. Now everyone knows you two are an item.” 

Your eyes widen, hoping he doesn’t mean what you think he means. “Huh?” you dumbly ask, earning an eyebrow raise from Dabi. 

“Everybody totally heard you fuckin’ up there, sis!” Rumi yells in the background. You hear laughter from Shiggy and Natsuo in the background. You feel like hiding in a hole and never coming out. Everyone heard you?! Were you that loud?! 

“We turned up the music, but it could only block out so much,” Keigo chuckles, humored at your embarrassment. “I didn’t know you could get that loud. You ever consider singing?” 

“Goodbye, Keigo,” you growl, cutting off his cackle by immediately hanging up. You toss your phone to the side but not before turning off your ringtone. You don’t want anything or anyone ruining this moment for you. “What’d he say?” Dabi curiously asks. 

“Nothing,” you quickly reply. You slide off of his lap so you’re sitting next to him and snuggle back into his chest, holding him close. “Just that he’s an asshole.” 

Dabi chuckles, wrapping an arm around you as he puffs on the rest of the blunt, smoke billowing into the starry night sky above. “Well, that’s just a fact, babe.”  

THE END. 

But you just can’t. The motivation to do so isn’t there, and the reason why is embarrassing. Rumi, who sits next to you on the couch, looks you up and down. Her stark white hair is piled up into a messy bun on her head and the red bodycon dress she chose for tonight hugs her toned body just right. If anyone is going to get laid tonight, it’s her. “You might wanna smile, babe. You’re scaring off your guests.” 

She gives you a cheeky grin as she sips her whiskey-mixed drink. You’re so glad you managed to find a bartender to make drinks for tonight thanks to Keigo knowing him from his job. You’re even happier that your job’s salary allows you to pay him by the end of tonight.

“Shut up,” you mumble, but even her brash humor doesn’t make you smile an inch. Rumi rolls her eyes and turns to Nemuri, one of your other hot, longtime friends. “Muri, please get this girl another drink so she can smile.” 

Nemuri stands from her seat in her sundress, looking like a sexy girl next door. “I’ll get you some water, honey.” She gives you a wink before making a dash for the kitchen, dodging between people and the wafts of weed smoke in the air. “I’m fine,” you grumble, glaring at Rumi. “And I have gotten out my seat. I’m the host, aren’t I?” 

“Exactly!” Rumi replies. “Which means you should be walkin’ around and hosting. Not sittin’ here, mopin’ about some dickhead and worryin’ if he’ll show up. Plus, you know how men are: they show up when they want to.” 

“Not true,” you scoff. “That’s a fact that is relevant to my ex, but not to every guy in existence.” Even referring to your ex without using his name is enough to make you want to down the rest of your drink. Not only did you decide to throw this house-warming party to celebrate your first big-girl apartment, but you also wanted to celebrate being free of the leech you called your boyfriend of three years. 

“And I’m not moping, okay?” you sharply tell Rumi. “I just wanna make sure there are enough champagne flutes and food. If I get new guests, that means I need more, right?” 

Rumi eyes you down, knowing damn well you’re lying through your teeth. “Whatever you say,” she sing-songs. Nemuri returns with the iced water, handing it to you. “Here you are, honey,” she coos. “What are we talking about?” Rumi is happy to fill her girlfriend in. “The fact that she’s ready to toss a wedding ring at this man who’s afraid of leavin’ his apartment for groceries. If she says that’s not why she’s got that sour face, she’s lyin’.” 

“Hey!” you gasp, kicking at her ankle. “It’s not a lie! It’s the truth! This is the first party I’m hosting and it’s a lot to worry about, especially since it’s my first place.” 

At the beginning of the year, you found your dream apartment complex. It comes with a pool, a tennis court, a gym, and a laundry mat along with central air, free wifi, and vending machines. The neighborhood surrounding it is quiet at night, full of kids during the day, and nearby a hub of parks, restaurants, and public transportation. It was the perfect place to begin the new chapter of your life. So, after putting down a payment, signing papers, and getting help moving in, you were finally living on your own three months later. Only a party could really welcome you into your four walls.  

But so far, you aren’t enjoying it as much as you should be. And that’s all because someone you desperately want to see here tonight is missing. 

“And second, Dabi isn’t afraid of leavin’ his apartment,” you criticize Rumi. “He’s just not a people person.” At least, that’s what Keigo told you when you met Dabi for the first time. “According to him,” he scoffed. “It’s just an excuse to not socialize, really. But he’s always been like that since we were kids.” 

You caught that vibe from Dabi as soon as you met him several years ago before you met your ex. You met him through Keigo when he dragged him out to a club one spring night with you and Rumi. You heard about Dabi many times before: that he’s a firefighter; that he has dark humor; that he is kinda weird and awkward but still a pretty nice guy (according to Keigo). 

As soon as you got a look at that soft, white hair and buff arms roped in tattoos, you were entranced by him. Though he seemed somewhat out of place, like he didn’t want to be there, he carried an intoxicating aura with him, like he was your favorite cocktail drink. His tee fit tight on his muscular body from years of firefighting and his wrists were dripping in bracelets and chains. 

You were so taken aback at how hot he was that you barely noticed the burn scars. On his face, neck, and snaking up his arm from what you could see–healed, puffy skin from second-degree burns coated the left side of his face, cascading down his neck to his upper torso and disappearing down his shirt. Though his arm was roped in tattoos, you could see scars beneath the dark ink. They weren’t as bad as Keigo said they’d be, but they weren’t exactly unnoticeable either. 

But when he spoke, all of that went out the window. Keigo sat him down across from you and Rumi, grinning. “D, you know Rumi already. This is my friend Y/N.” 

“Nice to meet you,” you politely said, sticking your hand out for a shake. His crystal blue eyes, so intense yet mysteriously guarded, flitted up to meet yours. He took your hand, causing your heart to jump at how warm and calloused his palm was. “You too,” he murmured. 

God, if you could have sex with a voice, it’d be his! Though it was raspy like he chain-smoked, it also traveled from your heart right down to your clit which jumped in your panties beneath your skirt. You had to cross your legs as Rumi and Keigo began to chat. Dabi would chime in here and there, but mostly just sipped his drink and looked around the club like a bored, lost puppy. 

Dabi was fine as hell and unintentionally funny, but that wasn’t what hooked you. It was two weeks before you moved into your new apartment when he randomly hit you up while you were organizing boxes for move-in day. You were sweaty and out of breath so when you answered the phone, you sounded less than happy. “Yes?” you snapped. 

“Uh…this a bad time?” Dabi asked, his gravelly yet smooth-like-chocolate voice in your ear. Your eyes widened and your heart jumped into your throat. “No!” you immediately replied. “Sorry, I didn’t know it was you. The ID came up as a possible scam.” 

“That’s my fault,” he said, actually sounding apologetic. “I never gave you my number. Listen, I didn’t wanna take up your time. I just wanted to ask if you needed help movin’ in.” 

“Huh?” you dumbly asked, your brain short-circuiting. “To where?” 

“....Your new apartment?” he said, just as confused as you. “You’re movin’ in this week, right?” 

A record scratched in your brain and you physically facepalmed yourself, mentally calling yourself a dumb bitch. “Oh, yeah!” you backpedaled. “Sorry, I’ve been moving boxes since this morning.” 

“Well, lemme come up and I’ll help you,” he replied. You blinked at his offer, shocked at how easily he volunteered. “No, it’s fine! It’s just little stuff anyway! You don’t have to–” 

“I’ll be up in ten,” he interjected. “I’ve got nothin’ better to do. Stay there.” Then he hung up, leaving you open-mouthed and horrified at your appearance. Luckily, when he came over, you had dried off your sweat and fixed your hair so you didn’t look a total hot mess. 

Though you worked in silence most of the day, Dabi made sure to ask you what to put where and heaved heavier boxes for you, his muscles flexing as he did. When his job was done, he even offered to help you move your furniture around once you got it. Weeks later, he did so, helping Keigo lug your couch up the stairs and put together a table. 

He did it all during his free time without asking for a dollar. You knew he didn’t like going out much, so to see him do it for you did something to you. Since then, you’ve always had a thing for Dabi. You call it a “thing” because you’re not sure what it is. Even when you were dating your ex, Dabi would always be at the back of your mind and in your wettest dreams. 

Since he lives in the same apartment complex as you, you say hi to him whenever you can (just to be a good, friendly neighbor). But the thing is you barely see him. He lives on a whole other floor and has an entirely different schedule than you. That’s why you were hoping he’d come tonight: so you can get to know him more. 

“How he and Keigo are friends, I’ll never understand,” Nemuri scoffs. They’re complete opposites!” Rumi smirks up at her as she squeezes a hand on her girlfriend’s ass. “I guess opposites attract,” she teasingly says, pulling a giggling Nemuri close to her. You pretend to retch. “Ugh, can you two please stop?” you whine. “I don’t need to be reminded that I don’t have a fairytale romance or that I haven’t had sex in two months.” 

“Two months?!” Rumi and Nemuri exclaim in unison. You flush, averting your eyes as you sip your drink. “That’s what I’m sayin’!” Rumi exasperates. “You’re stressin’ over a guy as weird as Dabi when you should be flirtin’ and gettin’ laid! With a body like yours, you’ll find someone to keep you company tonight in no time. Someone better than the dickhead you left.” 

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you begin to see your ex’s stupid face behind your eyelids. “Don’t remind me of him, Rumi.”

It’s been three months since you moved out of your apartment with your ex and officially broke it off with him after catching him with another girl. You felt in your heart that this was the man you were destined to be with, so you threw caution to the wind and went half on an apartment with him in a nice part of Musutafu after a year of dating. 

The first five months were good, but then you started noticing how lazy he was. He barely cleaned, couldn’t cook, and argued about running errands when you asked him, even if it was just a grocery run. “You know I’m not good with groceries, babe,” he’d whine. “I always get the wrong shit and you yell at me about it!” 

What irked you most about him is that he never tried. Not with anything…even the sex. It got too boring and old. It used to be amazing between you two, but after moving in together, it started seriously lacking. Though you cut him some slack because of his busy work schedule, the same old position (that being doggy style) can get tiresome. 

Though you tried to spice things up with new lingerie, toys, or new kinks, he never seemed to want to participate or be interested in them. Those nights of nothing that lead into mornings where he left for work and left you alone were devastating. You started suspecting something was up the third year of your relationship, but you never ever suspected cheating. 

However, fate forced those rose-colored glasses off your eyes when you stepped into your apartment one afternoon and found your boyfriend getting head from another woman. You were devastated, to say the least. Your first instinct was to leave and you found yourself crying to Rumi, Nemuri, and Keigo that night over wine. “I’m gonna fuck him up,” Keigo had growled, and you had to stop him from getting in his car to do so. “You’re telling me he cheated on you?” he asked incredulously. “He’s as dumb as he is a bitch.” 

“You can stay here as long as you want, babe,” Neumri cooed, stroking your hair away from your tear-soaked face. “Rumi and I would be happy to have you…as long as you’re okay with thin walls.” And you were (or at least you told yourself you were every time you’d hear Nemuri scream Rumi’s name to the heavens). After Keigo and Rumi helped you get your shit and tell off your boyfriend, you moved out and bunked with Rumi and Nemuri while you saved up for a new home. 

Your ex called and texted you constantly, begging you to come back and that he was sorry, but after you ignored each one, he stopped. It took a while to get over him. Even now, you still feel a lump in your throat over what happened–the lies; the betrayal; the utter disrespect to you and your home. But after a while, you managed to push through and finally began healing. 

Rumi stares at you now, pissed that you’re being so stubborn but also looking empathetic towards you. “Fine, do what you want,” she sighs, “but I still say to get out of your funk and stop worryin’ about Dabi showin’ up. If he does, he does. If he doesn’t, it’s his loss and he needs to get his shit together.” 

You try to ignore her words by gulping down the rest of your drink. When it’s gone, your body craves more to replace your feelings of pure shittiness. “I’m gonna go get another tequila sunrise,” you mutter to Rumi and Nemuri. 

You make a beeline for the kitchen, not wanting to see your friends’ faces. You plaster on a smile for the guests, wanting to assure them that everything is fine and you don’t feel like you just wallowed in a load of shit in your pretty yellow dress. You finally make it to your kitchen, away from the music blasting and the constant chatter. The snack table and counters are littered with plastic cups, jello shots, alcohol bottles of alcohol, and food that you catered from your favorite restaurant. 

You immediately go to the fridge where a pitcher of pre-made tequila sunrise mix sits next to some sangria. Nemuri appears behind you, obviously having followed you from the couch. She silently watches you pour your drink before she decides to say something. “Don’t worry about Rumi, hon,” she comfortingly says. “You know how she is: she’s blunt, but she’s only that way because she loves you.” 

You lower the pitcher once your glass is full and place it back in the fridge. You don’t close the fridge though. The cool air feels good on your clammy skin. “I know,” you sigh, “but I don’t need to be reminded about how my recent relationship crashed and burned. Not to mention being lectured about Dabi. I’m not a kid.” 

“So you are worried he won’t come?” Nemuri asks curiously. 

“No!” you immediately protest, then pivot, fumbling with the straw in your drink. “I-I mean, not really. He just said he’d show up, so…I guess I was just hopin’ he’d stop by and congratulate me for the apartment since he helped me move in.” 

You had invited him, after all. This was last week on a very warm Saturday morning when the summer heat was thick. It was laundry day and you were forced to lug a pillow sack of dirty clothes in an elevator, sweating in your biker shorts, bonnet, and Spongebob tee. You were prepared for no one to see you that morning, but fate had other plans when the elevator stopped on one of the lower apartment floors. You were headed for the basement where the laundry mat is. 

The doors opened, revealing the last person you wanted to see that morning. “O-Oh!” you stuttered, taken by surprise by his sudden appearance. And the fact that he looked so goddamn hot. Dabi stood at the elevator doors in his usual black attire, except he had on sweats instead of joggers. You had to force yourself not to stare at his crotch. 

“Hey, Dabi,” you greeted him, giving him a smile. Dabi only gave you a nod as he stepped into the elevator. You didn’t take it negatively. That was just Dabi–he never said much. He pressed the button to the lobby before the doors closed, leaving you closed together in the elevator box. You could feel the four walls closing in with him standing so near, especially when his scent invading your senses. It was spicy yet sweet like cinnamon with a hint of cologne. It was turning you on badly. 

Dabi suddenly tilted his chin at the pillow sack. “What’s with the sack?” he muttered. “You got kids to deliver to or somethin’?” 

You quirked a smirk at his joke. “Funny,” you chuckled. He smirked back, shrugging passively. “I try.” Just like that, the tension faded. “Just laundry,” you sighed. “About two weeks’ worth. I’ve been puttin’ it off since I’ve been still setting up my apartment.” 

He nodded and you both fell into silence again that swelled around you. “Sooo where are you off to so early?” you asked, desperate to fill the horrible silence. 

“Just the station,” he replied blandly. “Why they decided to have a meeting at the ass-crack of dawn is beyond me.” You nodded and giggled to yourself, only imagining the shit he had to put up with as a firefighter. 

You gratefully smile at him. “Thanks a lot for helping me move. It made things so much easier.” He once again shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s whatever,” he mumbled. “And no, I don’t want your money. You need it more than I do.” 

“Ugh, you ain’t lyin’,” you groaned tiredly, your mind jumping from place to place. “I thought doing all the cleaning would be a lot, but I’m still getting used to the bills plus rent and groceries and…” You buttoned your lip and flushed embarrassingly, realizing you’d been talking for too long. “Sorry, I’m rambling. Not a good way to start your morning. Just tell me to shut up.” 

Dabi shrugged, not looking annoyed. “You have nothin’ to be sorry for. Your ex was a dick, end of story. Plus, hearin’ you complain about him isn’t the worst thing I’ve heard in the morning.” He looked at you, looking deadass. “Try gettin’ an earful of that blonde bitch singin’ in the shower when he’s not laid up with somebody.” 

You laughed then, glad you didn’t have Keigo spending the weekend with you; he chose Dabi for that. “How are your ears not bleeding?” you giggled. 

Dabi smiled at the sound of your laugh–a real, genuine smile that made him even more handsome. The moment quickly ended though when the elevator dinged and the doors opened to the lobby. “This is me,” he muttered, his smile disappearing. 

He began to head out, not even giving you a goodbye or a “have a nice day” or a “you look fine as fuck in those shorts, lemme get your number”. Nothing! Your heart thundered in your chest, realizing this may be your one chance to interact with him for more than five seconds. 

Quickly, you jammed the button to hold the doors open. “H-Hey!” you abruptly called out. Dabi stopped and looked over his shoulder at you. “I meant to tell you: I’m havin’ this apartment-warming party next Saturday night. It’s a house-warming, but it’s for my apartment and uh…” 

‘You’re rambling! Just get to the point, bitch!’ 

“If you wanna come, you’re welcome to,” you continued. “Keigo is coming, so I figured I’d extend the invite.” Dabi had an unreadable expression on his face as he stared at you as if trying to make sense of you. “So…other people are gonna be there?” he carefully asks. 

You blinked at him. What a weird fucking question. “Well, yeah, but just some of my coworkers and people Rumi and I know. It’s just a small thing, nothing too big. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but there’s gonna be food, music, a little bit of weed…” You trailed off, hoping the weed would get him since he’s a smoker. 

Dabi shoved a hand into his pocket and leaned back on his haunches. “I don’t really go to parties too much,” he admitted. “I’m not really a people person.” That definitely meant he wasn’t coming. “Oh,” you exhaled, disappointment blooming inside of you. “I get you. I just figured I’d–” 

“I mean, I’ll still stop by or whatever,” he interjected with a shrug. “Don’t I gotta bring a gift or somethin’?” You tried to stomp down the happiness flooding your chest, but you couldn’t help it. “If you want!” you chirped happily. “I like plants…wine…gift cards…Beyoncè tickets…just some ideas.” 

Dabi smirked humorously at your little witty joke. “Not sure about that other part, but I’ll see what I can do.” Then, without another word, he turned to leave. “I’ll see you later then!” you called after him to which he gave you a slight wave. Finally, you let the doors close on you, and though his goodbye was anti-climatic, you couldn’t get rid of your smile. 

Now here you are, two hours into the party and he still isn’t here yet. Keigo isn’t either but he at least said he was coming straight from work. “Don’t be upset if he doesn’t, Y/N,” Nemuri coos, putting a hand on your shoulder. “I haven’t heard of Dabi ever going against his word, he’s very…different.” 

‘Tell me about it,’ you think.

“He’s not a bad guy,” Nemuri continues, “but he’s not as much of a social butterfly as Keigo is, especially because of his accident. He might be afraid he’ll make people feel uncomfortable.” 

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, you freeze, your brain processing the meaning behind them. Dabi never talked about his accident, especially to you, but according to Keigo, he got those burn scars as a child after playing with matches one Christmas night and setting his house on fire. Supposedly, this was because he was angry that his father aka that redheaded bitch Enji Todoroki didn’t buy the family any Christmas gifts. 

Little Dabi found the matches sitting up on the mantel above the fireplace and ultimately set a spark that engulfed their home. Dabi was never the same after that, especially after nearly dying from the flames. Luckily, they left the left side of his face and body with scars–reminders of what happened. “He blames himself a lot for that night,” Keigo recounted. telling you the story some time ago. “Especially since his family lost so much. To him, he feels responsible for the fact that his family could’ve died in that fire.” 

Though Dabi has a great relationship with his family besides Enji, he’s always carried around the weight of that trauma. And those burns. He can never ever get rid of them. He’s forced to wear them and be scrutinized by the world because of his disfigurement. 

As soon as Nemuri’s words process, you feel sick to your stomach. “I never thought of it that way,” you confess, feeling horribly guilty. “Fuck, now I feel like a bitch! Here I am upset over him not coming when he owes me nothing, and yet–”

“Hey.” Like a light in the darkness, Nemuri emerges in front of you and firmly holds your shoulders. “Stop. You’ll ruin your makeup.” 

She hands you a napkin and you begin to blot your Fenty Beauty foundation, hoping your makeup didn’t slide. “Just take a breath, get yourself another drink, and have some fun!” she encourages. “You need a night to forget about your ex and meet somebody you can spend the night with. Here, I’ll even help you! I’m great at matchmaking.” 

You smile at her volunteering to help you get laid. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass on scouting for dick tonight. I don’t feel like hooking up.” 

And you don’t. All you want to do is drink, dance, and celebrate your first big-girl apartment. “But I do feel like having fun!” you say aloud before taking a jello shot and throwing it back. The taste of vodka and artificial orange immediately hits your tongue, just as your favorite song blasts from the living room. 

“Ooooh, this is my song!” you squeal, already moving your body to the beat. Nemuri moves with you, happy to see you happy. “That’s the spirit!” she cheers. You two dance in the kitchen for a while until the doorbell rings. “Looks like more people came to congratulate you,” Nemuri giggles, squeezing your hand. “Go get it quick before the song ends.” 

You nod and take your drink with you as you hurry to your door. You already feel better after the quick dance session and some more alcohol. You feel like you could take on anything now. You swing open the door with enthusiasm, happy to have more guests. “Welcome to my…” you begin to shout, grinning at your guests standing at your door. 

But that smile fades when you see Keigo and Dabi standing at your door, each with a bag in their hand. As soon as Dabi’s cobalt eyes meet yours, you’re a puddle. “Home,” you weakly finish. 

“Wow, what a welcome,” Keigo chuckles. “Thanks for havin’ us, babe. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” He leans in to give you a one-armed hug before releasing you. “Hope you don’t mind I bought the enigma along for the ride.” He nods at Dabi who looks oh-so uncomfortable and delicious in his black tee and jeans. His icy blue eyes flick to yours before looking away to somewhere beyond your face. “N-Not at all,” you reply softly. 

“And us too!” a familiar voice comes from behind Dabi. The voice belongs to his fine-ass brother, Natsuo Todoroki. You’re starting to think beauty runs in the Todoroki family. “Long time no see, Y/N!” Natsuo grins at you, running a hand through his snow-white hair. 

Another familiar face appears from around the corner though it is hidden behind shaggy, black hair that reaches his shoulders: Tenko aka Shiggy, with his tattoos and gauges. “That’s ‘cause your deep in those nursing books,” he tells Natsuo before turning to you, dark circles under his eyes. “You got smokes in here, right? I’ve been tattooin’ people all day and I need a reliever.” 

“Yes, and come in,” you giggle, opening the door wider for your four muscular, tall, fine-ass guests. They each walk in and you close the door behind them. As soon as they’re inside, Shiggy makes a beeline for the weed, leaving you, Dabi, Keigo, and Natsuo standing there. 

“Woooow, kid,” Keigo whistles. “Cute place you got here. I really can’t call you “kid” no more, can I?” He actually sounds upset about it. “Yep,” you laugh. “I feel like a big girl!”

“You should!” Natsuo chuckles, a smile growing on his handsome face. “Especially without that emotional vampire suckin’ the life outta you. Oh, before I forget…” He nudges Keigo who presents you with a paper bag. “Housewarming gift number one,” the second oldest Todoroki kid says with a grin. “Dabi has the other. C’mon and give her the gift, D!” 

Dabi glares at his brother, but pulls a little bag from behind his back. You look into both, finding a bottle of wine, a bottle opener, and some cute, multi-colored wine glasses in them. “Thank you,” you giggle. “I’ll drink it all tonight.” 

“So where’s the food and the pretty people?” Keigo asks, a mischievous glint in his eye. You roll your eyes at his sluttiness. “All in the living room. Rumi and Nemuri are somewhere around here if you want me to–” 

“Nah, kid, don’t worry your pretty head about it,” Keigo interjects, putting a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll definitely find them. You stay here and tend to your new guest…he’s gonna need it.” He nods at Dabi before giving you a wink. “C’mon, Natsuo!” he hollers, taking the white-haired man by the shoulder. 

Natsuo gives you an apologetic look as he’s dragged off. “Take care of him, please?” he softly pleads before heading off with Keigo to stop him from harassing people. You turn to Dabi who looks ready to strangle them both. “Fuckin’ bitches,” he growls under his breath. 

Standing among the music and the chatter, you realize that you two are alone. Well, not completely, but enough that it feels awkward without someone starting the conversation. Nervously, you swallow, realizing you’ll have to be the leader. “I-I didn’t think you’d come,” you shakily begin. “You said you weren’t a people person.” 

“I’m not,” Dabi gruffly replies, “but I did owe you a gift.” Your heart leaps at his words despite his tone. “You really didn’t, but thanks anyway.” 

He nods once more, his eyes flicking up and down your form. When you catch it, your entire body grows hot. Does he think you look good? If he does, would he say it? It doesn’t appear he’ll say anything at all. You clear your throat once more, attempting to break the ice that is quickly hardening. “Uh…so you want a drink or a tour of the place? I’d feel bad if you were just standin’ here.” 

“What’s wrong with just standin’?” he deadpans, but you can tell it’s a joke. 

“Everything, unless you’re a plant,” you tease. You earn a little smirk out of him, but that’s about all you get. So you start to ramble. “The drinks are really good. Keigo knows the bartender, so–” 

“What?” he cuts in, straining to hear you. You lean in toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder to get closer to him. “I said Keigo knows the bartender I hired for the party!” you exclaim into his ear. “I also got catering if you want to–” 

You’re rudely cut off when someone bumps into you. She’s one of your coworkers from the HR department, but because she’s so drunk, she barely recognizes you. “Sorry!” she hiccups. “Bathroom!” Quickly, she runs upstairs to your bathroom, holding her stomach as she does. 

You turn to Dabi who looks even more uncomfortable now. You keep your hand on his shoulder, wanting him to know you’re here for him. He doesn’t move away. “I’m startin’ to think maybe you’re right about the standin’ thing,” he mumbles. “You got somewhere more private?” 

It takes a moment for his words to process, but when they do, you swear you could touch the moon. He’s here for you. To talk to you. And you know exactly where to go for it. “I know a perfect place,” you giggle excitedly. “Get yourself a drink and I’ll get some smoke. Meet me back here in five minutes.” 

Dabi looks relieved that you agreed. Quickly, he moves to the kitchen to get himself a drink, earning some eye-fucks in the process, regardless of his burns. Still holding your gifts, you make a beeline to the smoke section and force Shiggy to cough up the rest of the starburst-flavored papers and a baggie of weed. 

The crew is sitting on the couch vibing to the music when you come over. Keigo and Natsuo are in awe of Dabi, pouring himself a drink, actually participating. “So I see you got him to move!” Natsuo laughs. “It’s a miracle!” Rumi, currently holding Nemuri in her lap as she chats with someone next to her, gives you a smirk. “Where are you off to?” she asks suspiciously. 

You smile at her, unable to hide your giddiness. “To show my guest around. Hold down the fort for a minute.” 

“Maybe more than a minute,” Keigo snickers knowingly. Rumi nudges him with her elbow as you flush to yourself. “You’ve got it, captain. Go enjoy yourself and your man!” You turn away, skin still on fire. “He’s not my man!” you call over your shoulder as you hurry to gather something to loosen you both up. “Yet,” you whisper to yourself. 

Dabi meets you back in your previous spot with a red solo cup that smells of whiskey and sour apple. You motion for him to follow you out the door of your apartment and down the hall. “It’s right up here,” you explain, pointing up the emergency staircase. Dabi raises a quizzical eyebrow but follows you up the short flight of steps anyway. 

When at the top, you push open the door at the end of the staircase, revealing the rooftop to your building. The roof is decorated with comfortable sofas, mini tables, and fairy lights that hang among the rafters. The edges of the rooftop are blocked off by clear, plaster walls that serve as barriers between the inside and the outside. You shut the door behind you and turn to Dabi. “You know about this place?” you softly ask. 

He stares around the prettily-decorated rooftop, lips parted in awe. “Not at all,” he admits, bewildered. “I’ve been livin’ here longer than you and knew nothin’ about it, but then again, I barely come out my apartment.” 

“I’m a sucker for rooftops,” you confess. “That’s what drew me to this complex.” You walk over to him, staring out at the view before you: glittering city lights and the sunset; line of fuschia that dips beneath the mountains far off into the distance. It truly is a beautiful sight. You suddenly feel warm, as if someone’s eyes are on you and turn to see Dabi unabashedly staring at you. “Goddamn, you are short,” he snickers. 

You smack his arm, flushing. “Hey!” you gasp, mock-offended. “It’s not my fault I was given short genes! Just for that, you’re rollin’ for us.” You plop down on one of the couches and pat the empty seat next to you, motioning for him to sit. Dabi looks hesitant at first but sits down next to you anyway. He still appears tall even while seated. 

“You sure your crib is gonna be okay?” he asks as he begins to set up shop. You wave off his concern, trusting your guests. “Rumi and Keigo won’t let anything happen to it. Especially Rumi; she scares people.” 

He smirks at your answer and begins preparing a blunt, taking out a grinder and the little baggie of weed. You sip on your drink, watching him work, trying not to make it too obvious that you’re aroused. You watch him intensely, your eyes hypnotized by his fingers expertly sprinkling the marijuana into the paper and then working on rolling the blunt to absolute perfection. He’s so good with his hands. 

Your eyes trail up his hands to his arms, admiring the muscle beneath the dark ink on his skin. One tattoo, in particular, catches your attention: the number 58 with a green dragon slithering out of the eight. “Nice tatt.” 

“It’s my firefighter number,” he explains, eyes still trained on his hands. “The dragon is the department symbol. I inked it myself.” You don’t notice that you’ve gotten closer to him, your legs aimed directly at him. Your body is completely under his silent spell. “You do your own tattoos?” you ask, wanting to know more, anything more, about him. 

He nods, jetting his tongue out to lick the paper. It is pink with a glint of something in it. You realize that it’s a tongue piercing and your clit jumps. He suddenly stops rolling the blunt and points at a few words linked across his right collarbone. “This one is the first tatt I gave myself when I was sixteen. It’s Latin for ‘don’t let the past steal your present’.” He then begins to recite the words in Latin, his rolling tongue making the inside of your thighs feel warm. “I didn’t know you spoke Latin.” 

His eyes flicker over to yours, a softness to them. “There are a lot of things you don’t ‘bout me,” he murmurs, his tone low and sugary sweet to you. 

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol, the privacy, or him, but it allows you to be even bolder. You scoot even closer, your body so that your hip presses against his. He doesn’t move away, but you do feel him tense. “Hopefully, there are some you’d be willing to share,” you softly reply, hoping he’ll read between the lines and see how much you want this. 

Alas, he doesn’t say anything, but you do notice that his hip stays put. You don’t know if it’s intentional, but it has you feeling warm and tingly regardless. When he finally finishes the blunt, he lights it and takes a puff test before passing it to you. You take it gingerly between your forefinger and thumb and take a much-needed puff.

The smoke fills your lungs instantly and you exhale peacefully, watching the wisps of smoke disappear into the starry night sky. “Nothin’ like a blunt to ease the nerves,” you sigh contently, already feeling more relaxed. 

“Are you nervous?” Dabi asks. His arm is tossed over the back of the couch, right behind your head. “Around me?” You flush, passing the blunt back to him. “Well, kinda,” you laugh awkwardly. “You’re just so…” You grow quiet, trying to find the appropriate word. 

He takes a puff of the blunt. “Weird?” he finishes, quirking a brow at you as smoke billows from his mouth. He passes the blunt back to you. “I was gonna say quiet,” you reply. “I don’t think you’re weird.” 

Dabi shrugs, looking out into the city lights. “I just don’t have much to say, but you ain’t the only one who’s nervous. Like I said, I’m not much of a social butterfly; not even at work. That’s Keigo and my brother. They dragged me out here tonight.” His eyes, like twin pools of the bluest water in the farthest Caribbean island, flick to yours. “But to be honest, I would’ve come anyway.” 

You suddenly forget you’re holding the blunt and quickly place it down on the ashtray. “You would?” you ask, hating how breathless you sound. He shrugs like it should be obvious. “Well, yeah. I wouldn’t want that gift card goin’ to just anybody.” 

You scowl confusingly at him and he smirks humorously. “Look at the bottom of the gift bag.” You do so, and sure enough, you see a silver $100 Visa gift card glinting at the bottom of the bag. You take it out, staring at it. Dabi looks sheepish, planting his hand firmly in his lap as if he doesn’t know what to do with it. “It definitely ain’t a Beyoncé ticket, but I hope you like it.” 

Suddenly, the alcohol, the weed, and the scent of him begin to work their magic on you. All of your inhibitions and all logic are gone as you stare at his gorgeous, scarred face. “I love it,” you whisper, and before you can stop yourself, you lean in and press a soft kiss to Dabi’s cheek. You feel his soft skin and the slight prickle of stubble there before pulling away. 

He stares at you, shocked, and you stare right back as reality sets in. ‘Oh, no…what the fuck did I do?’ 

“Y/N,” he says, your voice like a prayer on his lips. But before he can finish his thought, your phone rudely interrupts him. “Fuck,” you hiss. “I’m so sorry.” You scramble to pick it up and find your ex’s name flashing across the screen. “Dammit!” you snap. 

“Who is it?” he asks, his brows furrowed. You show him, groaning with dread. “It’s my ex. I thought he stopped calling me, but apparently not.” 

“He’s been callin’ you?” he bitterly asks. He does not sound happy about this. You slowly nod to which he demands, “Put him on speaker.” You stare at him, wondering if he’s deadass, but he’s not looking like he’s BS-ing you. Despite your better judgment, you do as he says and put the call on speaker before answering your ex with a curt, “What do you want?” 

“Heeey, that’s no way to talk to your man,” your ex slurs into the phone. “What’s up with you?”

You scowl in disgust at his tone. “What’s up with you?” you shoot back. “Are you drunk?”

He snorts in response meaning he’s definitely drunk. “Not nearly enough. Just was thinkin’ ‘bout you bein’ alone in that big, empty apartment…but then I happened across your IG and saw your stories.” 

“Yeah, and?” you ask cooly. 

“You’re throwin’ a party a tour expense?” he snaps at the flip of a switch. “You want everyone to know what happened to us?” You roll your eyes. Everything is always about him. “Only my friends know what happened. And even if I tell people, it’s none of your business and you fuckin’ deserve it for cheating, dick.” 

He pauses, letting your insult process, but the longer he’s quiet the more tired you grow. “Is this what you called me for?” you demand. “To argue? ‘Cause I’m not in the mood.” He makes a sound over the phone between a sigh and a groan, sounding exhausted. “Can’t we just talk about this?” he asks. “I just don’t get why you had to leave. We had three years!” 

You scoff to yourself. The sheer audacity of this guy! Those are three years he decided to ruin; not you! “Can’t we just talk it out, Y/N?” he asks again, sounding absolutely broken.

Now it’s Dabi’s turn to respond. “There ain’t nothing to talk about,” he malevolently replies. “She already made it clear that she’s not interested in whatever you want.” 

Your ex is quiet for a moment, taken aback by the new voice. “Who the fuck are you?” he spits. “Y/N, who is that?” Your brain short circuits trying to find a legitimate answer. 

“Her new man,” Dabi growls. “And if you ever call her again, I’m pullin’ up to make you stop myself. You’re lucky I didn’t do that when I found out you stuck your dick in another chick. What are you, stupid?” You and your ex are silent, astounded by his words. 

“And if you even think about comin’ over here yourself, don’t,” Dabi continues. “Take that as my act of kindness to you even though you sure as hell don’t deserve it.” Your ex is enraged, cussing, and slurring into the speaker. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he snaps. “You think you can just–” 

“Don’t call here again, whore,” Dabi growls before he gives you a slight nod and you end the call. As soon as the call ends, you set your phone down and voice the one question that is burning you alive: “Did you mean what you said?” you ask carefully. “That you’re my new man?” 

Before Dabi can even begin to explain himself, you softly, shyly, tell him, “‘Cause I wouldn’t reject that offer.” You lay your cards out flat, aroused by him defending you from your trash ex. 

Dabi gapes at you, shocked, and then a hardened expression sets on his handsome face. “You’re not serious,” he scoffs with laughter. “You’re not.” You scowl at him, disappointed. That wasn’t the response you were expecting. “What do you mean?” you ask, confused. “You don’t think I want this?” 

“No, I don’t,” he replies sternly, suddenly standing. You can see the wall that you’ve been trying to destroy building back up. “I think you think I’m a weird, introverted loser that you wanna take a ride on because it’ll be fun for the first few weeks while you’re gettin’ over your breakup.” He shakes his head, laughing to himself. “You could never want me.” 

You stare at him, dumbfounded. “Why would you think that?” you softly ask, hurt for him. Dabi chuckles dryly. “C’mon now. Someone who looks like you with someone who looks like me?” He points to the scars on his face. “I’m not the man you think I am.” 

“I don’t think of you as anything, Dabi,” you passionately say, standing with him. “I invited you here because I want to get to know you more. I always have, even when I was with my ex.” He turns to stare at you, shocked at your words. There it is: the truth, laid out in the open with only the stars as witnesses. 

You move closer to him, gently taking his wrist in your hand. His body feels tense in your grasp. “Your scars mean nothing to me; they never did. Would you believe me if I said I’ve always liked you too?” 

You take your other hand and place it on his chest, right above his heart beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. “Now that I know you feel the same way, nothing is holding me back anymore.” You stand up on your tiptoes and again press a kiss to his jawline, right on a burn scar. “I can handle this, Dabi,” you murmur against his ear. “I like it rough.” 

That is all you needed to say to get Dabi to finally unravel. 

You can only let out a tiny gasp before he grabs you by the back of the neck and presses his lips against yours. His kiss isn’t soft or careful. His kiss his rough; hungry; slow as he draws moans and gasps out of you. He kisses you like he’s been dreaming of doing it for ages. His lips are soft, the taste of whiskey, apple, and mint on his tongue. You let his hands move along your back and ass, squeezing the flesh there and making you moan. 

Taking advantage of your open mouth, he slides his tongue alongside your bottom lip before slipping it inside your mouth. He moans hungrily as your tongue begins to swirl with his, swapping spit and exchanging breath. The act makes your pussy clench impatiently in your panties, wanting to be touched and petted. Dabi then pulls away enough to speak to you, his eyes hooded and dark. 

“How long have you felt his way about me?” he murmurs hotly against your lips. “Tell me.” 

His hand sneaks down underneath your dress to squeeze your ass. 

You let him, biting back a whimper in the process. You barely know him and yet you’re letting him touch you like this right in the open. “S-Since you helped me move,” you softly stutter. “But I’ve always been attracted to you since we met.” 

He begins to kiss you all over now: your neck; your jawline; your collarbone; your naked shoulders in your spaghetti straps. “Fuck,” he growls against your skin. “You’re too good to be fuckin’ true.” His hands roam up and down your hips and sides, squeezing and fondling. “I’ve been wantin’ your fine ass since we met.” 

“How come you never…?” The rest of your question doesn’t reach your lips as he grabs you by your hips and pulls you toward him, so close that air can’t even move between you. Your bodies are pressed flush against each other, so close that you can feel a bulge in his jeans. He’s turned on by you. The fact makes you delirious. 

His lips press against yours again as he walks backwards to the couch, never breaking the kiss, and plops down on it. He then grips you by the hips and coaxes you into his lap where you begin to straddle him.

His hands, so rough yet so warm, continue to fondle your thighs and ass, squeezing at the flesh and making you whimper into his mouth. Instinctively, you grind down into his hardened dick, enlisting a moan from deep within his throat. It travels right down to your pussy. 

Suddenly, he pulls away with a soft gasp. His eyes are lust-blown, his lips pinker than usual. “Hang on…I wanna try something.”

With one arm wrapped securely around your waist, he moves to pluck the blunt from the ashtray. “You ever shotgun before?” he asks. You blink dumbly at him, confused, and shake your head. “It’s easy. Lemme show you.” 

You watch with utter lust as he takes a long drag of the blunt, his eyes pinned on yours. Then, with one hand, he squeezes your cheeks, forcing you to form your mouth into an O. He leans in close as if he is about to kiss you again and, slowly, billows of smoke shoot out of his mouth and into yours. 

You’re trembling with need and anticipation as the smoke fills your senses along with the sight of Dabi’s crystal blue eyes staring you down. “Nice, right?” he chuckles. “Now try it with me.” 

You’re eager to try this new addictive activity, so you pucker your lips and puff on the blunt that he holds for you. Then, after inhaling a good portion of smoke, you slowly blow it out into his waiting mouth. But you don’t stop there. You lean in toward him and devour his mouth, desperate to have him. You’re wasted and high off of him. You pull away, leaving him dazed. “I want you,” you whisper, wrapping your arms tightly around him.  

“Bedroom?” he asks, a suggestive glint in his eye. “And before you ask, no, I don’t think you’re easy or that I’m a rebound. We already established that we’re two idiots who’ve been pinin’ after each other for months now.” 

His words make you smile. Though you weren’t at all thinking about if he saw you as “easy” or if he was just a lay to get over your ex, it’s so nice to hear that all he wants is you. This only makes your need for him grow until it reaches an almost painful point. Your throbbing clit is testament to that. 

“No bedroom,” you say, giving him an excited, sexy smile. “I want you out here.” Dabi raises a brow, not expecting your request. “Please, Dabi,” you plead. “I-I don’t think I can wait.” To show him that you’re serious, you begin to take down the spaghetti straps to your dress to reveal your bra. You don’t care if anyone sees. You just want him so badly. 

The shock in his blue eyes is replaced with sheer hunger when he gets a look at those perfect tits in the pretty little bra you have on. “You little freak,” he chuckles. “Hop off me.” You listen to him and settle down next to him as he gets up to inspect you. 

You bite your lip and watch him as he kneels down in front of you and opens your legs. When he gets a look at your soaked little panties, he almost looks pained. “Goddamn, mama,” he hisses. “You’re so wet for me. You don’t even need these little panties anymore.” His eyes flick up to yours and his hands still at your thighs. ‘Okay?’ his eyes ask. 

Wordlessly, you nod, unable to speak. But he isn’t down for that. He begins to brush his fingers up and down your wet slit above your panties, paying close attention to your reactions. “Words, baby,” he growls. “Gimme words.” 

“Yes!” you moan, your toes curling in your heels at the feeling of his fingers brushing your wet cunt. “Please, Dabi…please touch me.” 

He gives you a wolfish grin at your pitiful reaction, but doesn’t keep you waiting. He loops his fingers through the waistband of your panties and pulls them down your legs you reveal your naked, sobbing wet pussy. “Shit!” he hisses, gaping at your sex. “You have the prettiest pussy, babe.” 

“Thank y–!” Your words are cut off by a sudden gasp as Dabi leans in and begins suckling on your clit, eating your pussy like a starving man. He is relentless with his tongue slashes, flicks, and long licks up and down your slit. He moves his tongue like he’s a master at eating pussy, paying close attention to your reaction every time he does something new. 

You’re loving it. You writhe and grind your hips against his mouth, trying to get him closer. Your pussy pushes against his pillowy-soft lips and wet tongue that writes nonsense across your wet lips and needy little clit. “You’re so wet,” he mumbles into your pussy. “Does doin’ this shit out in the open turn you on, mama?” 

You moan in response, unable to form words, especially when he reaches one hand up to play with your breast. You take off your bra, hissing in pleasure as he begins gently pinching the hardened brown nipple. 

This is insane! You barely know this man and not only are you letting him do this to you, it’s all in public. Anyone could walk up and see you. Or look across from another building. Or up from the sidewalk. It’s so shameful. So nasty. And so, so good. 

It feels even better when Dabi begins to tease your entrance with his middle finger, dipping the tip in and out of your wet pussy. “You want this?” he asks, his voice nothing but a low growl.

You nod vigorously and he laughs. “So needy,” he teases as he begins to slowly slide his finger inside of you. “Your ex must’ve not be takin’ care of this pussy. He never made you feel like this, did he?” 

“N-No,” you gasp, eyes blown as you feel your pussy stretch slightly around his finger. He quickly begins to aim up to brush against your clit as he slides his finger in and out of you. Not only that, but he begins to suck at your clit, sending waves upon waves of pleasure coursing through your body. 

You can feel yourself quickly beginning to reach that peak to your climax. You don’t want this to end. You want to make this moment last. “Wait, Dabi!” you shout, writhing against him. “Stop! Don’t make me cum!” 

He immediately ceases his movements and pulls away from you, glaring in confusion. “‘Scuse me?” he asks, not sounding happy with your protest. 

You nearly laugh at his reaction. “I wanna make this last,” you explain. “I wanna make you feel good too. So stand up.” Dabi still looks pissed he couldn’t make you cum, but listens to you anyway. He stands up, mouth and chin glistening from your juices, and you stand with him. 

Slowly, you begin to kiss and suck your essence off of his mouth, earning low moans from him. 

Your hands slide down to his broad chest and you grip his shirt collar. “Off please?” you ask, peering up at him through your lashes. 

You don’t even have to ask twice. In a flash, he’s stripping, tossing his shirt somewhere on the rooftop. You take a moment to admire his beautiful body–so hard and defined with muscle, ink, and burn scars that coat the left side of his body. His nipples, pink and hard, glint with two silver rings and his lower stomach is sinewy with white hair. He’s so, so pretty. 

He must think your stares mean something else because he averts his eyes. “I know it ain’t picture perfect,” he mutters, sounding ashamed. Your heart leaps with fear, hoping you didn’t ruin tonight for you both. 

Quickly, you try to fix things by gliding your hands up and down his hard body, admiring his well-defined pecs and abs. “You’re perfect,” you whisper before leaning in to peck his burn scars, running your lips softly over each. 

The low moans and “mmm”s Dabi release are delicious to you. They only heighten your arousal along with the sound of the party still going on downstairs. The music and chatter are muffled, but the fact that it is so still near is so exciting to you. 

You never saw yourself participating in public sex, but you suppose it takes the right person to bring the freak out of you. And you want to be the freakiest, sluttiest girl with this man.

To prove that, you begin to lick and suck along his hardened nipples, tugging on the tiny silver rings hanging from them. “Fuck, baby,” he hums, watching you as you work. His lips are parted and his eyes are hooded. He is completely entranced by you. 

You begin to kiss down his hardened stomach until you come to his jeans already hanging low on his hips. You stop, your hands at his fly, and look up at him. ‘Okay?’ you ask with your eyes. Slowly, he nods, giving you the green light. You pull his pants and his underwear down in one go, eager to see what’s underneath. 

You begin to think you bit off more than you can suck when you get a look at his cock for the first time. He is well endowed, thick, and curves upward so his dick slaps against his stomach when you finally release him from his trousers. White hair curls around his stomach and pubic area, but it isn’t like a jungle. But that isn’t what gets you: it’s the piercing that glints from the head of his dick in the moonlight. 

You gape at his cock, not sure what to say or do. “You okay?” he asks, humored. 

“Uh…” That’s all you can say. He’s just so, big! How can you get him in your mouth? You’re lucky you can even fit one hand around him as you begin to stroke him softly from base to tip. 

Dabi cackles down at you, relishing your fear. “Don’t be scared of it, mama,” he purrs, taking his dick out of your hand and waving it in front of you. You watch, hypnotized. Dickmatized. 

“You said you wanted to make me feel the way I make you feel, right?” he asks teasingly. “C’mon now. You can do it. Open that pretty mouth.” 

Not wanting to disappoint him, you open your mouth and he slowly begins to slide his dick against your tongue. “There we go,” he coos. “Good girl. Take it all in.” You try, your jaw and mouth stretching for his size. “I’m guessin’ I’m bigger than your mans, huh?” he chuckles lowly. 

“Mmm-hmm,” you hum around his cock, the vibrations causing him to moan. You relish the sounds, wanting more. So you begin to move your head back and forth, taking his cock in and out of your throat. You gag and spit all along his dick, causing saliva to drip down his balls and your chin, making your blowjob extra sloppy. 

Dabi tosses his head back and rolls his eyes back, giving you a sight that is fit for porn. He’s so sexy. And to be able to make him feel good gives you the motivation to ignore your aching jaw and burning throat as you continue to fuck him with your throat. 

“You’re doin’ so good, babe,” he grunts as he begins to roll his hips into your mouth. “At this rate, you’ll make me cum.” 

You nod your head, coaxing him to do so. You want him to cum. You want to taste all of him in your mouth. But he surprises you when he begins to slow down his hips and pulls his wet cock out of your mouth. “No,” he growls. “If I’m gonna cum, it either has to be on that pretty ass or those titties of yours.” 

You stare up at him, drinking in his spectacular body and dick standing at attention for you. You then decide that if you are to finally cum, you want it to be wrapped around his cock.

‘Fuck it,’ you think. You don’t care that you barely know him. All of that “getting to know you” shit can wait until after you get him inside of you. “Why not inside of me then?” you purr, standing up to take his hands in yours. 

He blinks at you, dumbfounded. “Without a condom?” he asks. “I don’t have one on me.” You shake your head, pecking his lips. “I’m on the pill.” 

That’s all you need to say to get Dabi to smash his lips hungrily against yours. “Oh, thank fuck,” he sighs, relieved. “I don’t mind beatin’ my dick to the sight of you in front of me, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t want your pretty little pussy wrapped ‘round me.” 

His dirty words send shivers up your spine. “And you’re okay with this? I mean, we barely know each other and–” 

“I don’t give a fuck,” he growls, already moving you back to the couch again. “I’ll take you out later, but right now, I fuckin’ need you. Now choose how I’m doin’ you before I lose my fuckin’ mind.” 

You gape at him, dumbfounded and so, so horny. You’ve never had a man be so desperate for you before. You waste no time bending over the couch, presenting your ass and dripping pussy for him. You then look back at him, finding him standing there and stroking himself to the sight of you. “Like this,” you whisper. “Fuck me just like this, Dabi.” 

Dabi is going fucking feral behind you. It takes everything in him to not shove every single inch of his hard, thick cock inside of you as he moves closer to you and begins to stroke your pussy with his cock. 

“God, look at you, stainin’ up the couch,” he sighs as you twitch and quiver. “Anyone could see you like this, about to get fucked hard.” 

‘I don’t care,’ you want to scream. Anyone can watch if they want. All you want is that dick inside of you now. 

And then finally, he gives it to you. He goes slow, taking his sweet time to allow you to get used to him. As soon as his cockhead enters you, your jaw is dropping open and your eyes are blown from how stretched you feel already. No toy could compare to how warm and solid Dabi feels snuggled up in your pussy. Not even your ex could make you feel this full or this good. 

Through it all, you breathe in and out, relaxing your body into the couch cushion. Though it doesn’t hurt, you’re feeling beyond stretched by Dabi and you almost collapse from the feeling. 

You’re so glad to have the couch to grip as he takes a hold of your hips and bottoms out inside of you. “F-Fuck, Dabi!” you whine, gripping the couch. 

He begins to bump his hips against your ass a little faster now, the sound of skin slapping filling the air as his heavy balls hit your clit. “Come on now, mama,” he huffs. “You wanna be a big girl, right? Take me just like one. Make me proud.” 

He begins to fuck you harder, taking a handful of your breasts and fondling them one at a time. 

The feeling is just too much. His dick strokes the most sensitive parts of you as your clit jumps with every slap of his balls against it. 

And he’s just so deep! He is making you see stars that don’t even compare to the ones coating the night sky above the beautiful view stretched before you. You have no chance to take it all in, too busy taking Dabi’s fat cock as he fucks you into oblivion in your little sundress and heels. 

“Feels good, don’t it?” he grunts into your ear. One hand moves to your ass to gently spank your ass, causing you to moan at the feeling. “Bet you’ve dreamed about this,” he growls to you. “Bet you wanted to get slutted out on my dick for so long. Bet you couldn’t wait for tonight. Bet you planned this.” 

He leans down toward you, his lips grazing your ear. “Bet you’ve wanted to be my good girl for so long,” he growls before his hand comes down on your ass a little harder. 

“God, Dabi, yes!” you scream out to the sky, gripping the couch for dear life as he fucks you harder. You’ve never felt like this before: so gone off that dick. Your eyes are closed and your mind is completely blank from the blinding pleasure you feel, each wave much bigger than the one before and washing over you. 

The pleasure is just too good, and it’s starting to reach a deafening crescendo. You can feel it building in your core, threatening to snap at any moment. “Gonna cum!” you practically sob, your head thrown back. “Gonna cum for you Dabi!” 

Dabi cackles behind you, putting a foot up on the cushion to get a better angle as he continues to fuck your pussy into submission. “Me too,” he grunts. “Want you take it. Take all of me like a big girl, baby.” 

He presses his lips to your ear, leaning down so his dick is hitting that spot that has you seeing the entire galaxy behind your eyelids. “Fuckin’ cum for me, mama,” he demands. “Let me know how good I’m making you feel. Cream all over that dick!”  

And you do. Moans and gasps leave your lips like a chorus as that chord finally snaps. You unravel, cumming all over Dabi’s dick. “Oh, my God!” you scream, your voice reaching heights fit for a shower singing session when you think no one is listening. 

You cream all over Dabi’s cock buried deep inside of you as he talks you through it, telling you how good of a girl you are as he strokes your outer thighs. 

“Gonna cum too,” he grunts, his hips snapping against your ass again and again as he chases his high. “You gonna take all of it, baby, hm?” 

“Y-Yes!” you choke out. “Please, please cum for me!” You begin tossing your ass back to meet his thrusts, wanting to feel him burst inside of you. Finally, he grips your hips for dear life and cums deep inside of you with a raspy, loud moan that makes your stomach leap and your pussy clench around his pulsing cock. 

You take every single ounce of his warm, creamy cum that shoots into your pussy, never once pulling away. You can feel it coating your walls, filling you up to the point where you curl your toes and shudder at the feeling coursing through your body. 

Finally, Dabi’s hips begin to slow until he is sloppily fucking you, chasing the rest of his high. Then with a soft groan, he pulls out, but it isn’t over yet. His cock is still hard as he begins to slide the head along your lower back and ass, coating your skin in his cum. “So you smell like me,” he softly says. “So no other man will even try.” 

You let out a weak moan as you feel his nut coat your skin and drip down your thighs, making them slick and wet. Finally, he releases you and you slump against the couch, exhausted and spent, but feeling so good. 

After giving you some time to compose yourself, Dabi helps you fix your dress (without the panties) and fishes a napkin out of his pocket to wipe his cum off of your thighs. ‘What a gentleman,’ you think, giggling to yourself. 

He seems sheepish and almost shy standing there, now in his briefs. “I didn’t…hurt you, did I?” he carefully asks. You slowly shake your head, still in a daze. “That was amazing,” you sigh. “I’ve never been fucked like that before.” A proud smile stretches across Dabi’s face. “Just whatcha needed?” he asks. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. “Absolutely,” you hum contently. “I hope it’s what you needed too.” He hums in agreement, pressing a kiss to the crown of your forehead. “That and much more.” You smile happily into his chest, glad that it was just as good for him as it was for you. 

For a while, you two stay like that: hugging in the warm breeze. Finally, Dabi clears his throat. “So…now what?” he awkwardly asks. 

“Well, we can’t go back inside like this,” you giggle. You motion to your dress still hiked up on your thighs and his semi-nakedness, though you’re sure that his physique would be welcomed. 

“And I think we both need to recover after those mind-blowing orgasms,” you purr, your pussy still sensitive from his dick beating it up. You curl up on the sofa and poke your bottom lip out at him. “Cuddle with me?” you coo. 

Dabi chortles at you, rolling his clear, blue eyes. “Such a baby,” he chuckles. “You’re lucky I like feelin’ you in my arms.” 

His sweet words make you flush in the breeze as he settles down next to you. He scoops you into his lap and securely wraps his muscled arms around you, squeezing you to him as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. 

You feel the same way. You loop your arms around his neck and cradle his head to your beating heart. “So is a date in order after this?” he curiously asks. “I’m not too familiar with this shit, so…” 

You can feel the awkwardness radiating off of him. A laugh bubbles in your chest. Leave it to him to feel awkward about dating even though he just fucked you doggystyle on a rooftop! 

“Yes, Dabi,” you laugh. “I’d love to go on a date with you.” You feel him smile into your chest and he squeezes you closer to him, making you giggle. You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up in him. 

When your phone suddenly rings, you feel like shooting somebody. You whine as you grab your phone, Dabi keeping his arms wrapped around you so you don’t fall. “That’s Keigo,” you sigh. “I hope no one broke anything.” You answer the phone, going back to cuddling Dabi. “Yeah?” 

“So I’m guessin’ you made our guest feel welcomed?” Keigo immediately asks. “You two have been gone for, like, an hour.” 

“It hasn’t been that long, Keigo,” you scoff though you really don’t know what time it is. “How’s the party? Is my apartment still intact?” 

“Don’t you trust me?” he scoffs. “So you and Dabi are together now? I knew it was only a matter of time until he decided to pull up his big boy pants and tell you how he felt.” 

You scowl in confusion, your heart picking up speed. “How did you–?” 

“Know?” he finishes and gives a laugh. “Kid, I’ve known this shit for years! It just wasn’t my business to tell. However, you can thank yourselves because you saved time. Now everyone knows you two are an item.” 

Your eyes widen, hoping he doesn’t mean what you think he means. “Huh?” you dumbly ask, earning an eyebrow raise from Dabi. 

“Everybody totally heard you fuckin’ up there, sis!” Rumi yells in the background. You hear laughter from Shiggy and Natsuo in the background. You feel like hiding in a hole and never coming out. Everyone heard you?! Were you that loud?! 

“We turned up the music, but it could only block out so much,” Keigo chuckles, humored at your embarrassment. “I didn’t know you could get that loud. You ever consider singing?” 

“Goodbye, Keigo,” you growl, cutting off his cackle by immediately hanging up. You toss your phone to the side but not before turning off your ringtone. You don’t want anything or anyone ruining this moment for you. “What’d he say?” Dabi curiously asks. 

“Nothing,” you quickly reply. You slide off of his lap so you’re sitting next to him and snuggle back into his chest, holding him close. “Just that he’s an asshole.” 

Dabi chuckles, wrapping an arm around you as he puffs on the rest of the blunt, smoke billowing into the starry night sky above. “Well, that’s just a fact, babe.”  

THE END. 

Touya was released to you on the basis of you being his longest, and perhaps only, childhood friend; the only one willing to take him in after what he’d done. His family had not been authorized to bring him home due to a clinical concern of retraumatization; even without his father in the home, no one could be certain how that environment would affect him, and no one was willing to take a chance. It didn’t matter that you hadn’t seen him in years, or tthat you, along with everyone else, believed him to be dead—when the commission had called you, you’d agreed immediately.

You'd gone to see him before he’d woken up, nearly a year ago. Once again burned within an inch of his life following some nonsensical score he'd tried to but still hadn't settled. Standing there next to his mother, who—having not seen him since he was thirteen, before she’d been told he was killed during her own inpatient stay—clung to you in a way you’d never seen her do to anyone, trembling as you both stood on the other side of the glass and watched as the orderlies tended to his wounds and monitored his vitals from behind sterile dressings.

He would have never wanted either of you to see him that way, but nothing short of an obliteration of the building around you could have moved you from that spot, wholly unwilling to leave him again. You focused on his face, so changed and so hard yet you had a feeling that if he’d just open his eyes, you’d know it was him. You’d know, because you knew the second his face had flashed across your TV, days prior.

Like a mirror of your heart, you watched Rei raise a shaking hand to the glass. She sucked in a shuddering breath, exhaling a hollow and broken, “my son” as though he could hear it through the glass. To witness her grief brought its own wave of devastation and yet there was no one else to keep you both afloat so you let her cling to you as she silently cried for the little boy she’d left behind, believing he’d be safe—carrying the crippling weight of that guilt for all of these years.

* * * * * * * *

You’re unable to reconcile the eager, hopeful boy you knew with this man at your feet. White strands once red between your fingers—too long in some places, like he'd gone at it with shears in the dark. You absentmindedly make a mental note to ask Touya if you can fix it for him, when things get better and he can stand to tolerate a touch that isn’t violent.

You can’t be sure if he’s aware of your touch now—it’s some kind of secret satiation for you to dote on him like this, as sick as it is. You don’t dare push it—the skin grafts have healed, but have left him too sensitive; or so you’ve deduced, by the way he pulls at his clothes like they’ve got hooks in him. You don’t know how to even begin to remedy that, but you’ll try to come up with something. For him, you would bend until you broke, though you don’t know why. It's an odd and deeply disturbing devotion to someone who’d tried to burn the whole world down.

You think you might be angry at him. You’ve felt a sort of nagging, low-simmering indignation since you got that call—a feeling that you’ve mostly kept point inward over the initial sense of betrayal at the fact that he’d been alive this whole time and left you alone. That he had come back after waking up, but not to you. That he’s been so close this whole time. You think you could understand, if you really stretched the limits of your perception of human behavior, but you feel it still—a piece of your own heart and a significant portion of your own childhood spent grieving that bled well into adulthood—time you will never get back. You try not to aim all of that venom at him, knowing he’s holding enough. But it doesn’t go away, and it makes you worry. Especially when you see the result of squashed down anger, pale and sputtering on the floor of your bathroom every night.

He hasn’t said much of anything since he’d been dropped off—rather unceremoniously, for him being a prolific villian—at your front door. The only time you ever really hear his voice is from behind a closed door, during his weekly (mandatory) check-ins with the psychologist he’d worked with during his hospitalization. Even then, he’s not particularly chatty—which strikes you as odd, considering the lifetime he'd spent needing to be heard—contributing only a muffled and clipped agreement to appease the doctor who clearly had too much on their plate to read into it any further.

But as you stand over him now, you wish they had.

Hunched over the toilet but quiet now, you’re confident enough that he’s over the worst of it, so you move away from him to reach under the sink to grab a washcloth. You run it under the water until it’s saturated—making sure the water is as neutral of a temperature as you can get it—and you wring it out, offering it to him and instantly regretting the way it will surely feel against his skin, but not knowing what else to do.

He takes it wordlessly, reaching up and behind to lay it across the back of his neck. He exhales slowly—a pained, rasping thing—and drops his head until it meets the seat of the toilet. Distantly, you think that it’s probably unsanitary, but you let him be, knowing he’s been in contact with worse. Knowing of all things, how little that matters right now.

“Hey,” you murmur, as softly as you can manage, “you need water?”

He doesn’t look at you but you see him nod his head minutely, so you find your way out to the kitchen to find a glass, careful not to slam any cupboards in the process—unsure whose nerves you attempt to be mindful of now, feeling your own fray at their seams.

You watch the water pool at the bottom of the cup and you think about being smaller, when you’d sneak Touya out after dark to play after training with his father. He’d be covered in bruises and burns and somehow still beaming at you, eager to show you what he’d learned. Even then you’d never let him—you couldn’t bear to see what it did to him when he tried. Instead, you’d lead him into the tall grass back near the woods that lined his home. You’d both flop on your backs, pointing out the stars you could see. He told you he’d become strong enough to bring them down for you, and despite the impossible, you believed him wholeheartedly.

You snap out of it when you feel water run over your fingers, muttering a curse and reaching to turn the tap off. You wipe your hands off on the fabric stretched over your thighs, and then swipe them over your cheeks—it’s not often you allow yourself to grieve the Touya that you remember—the one that has long since been burned to ash by his own need to be loved, to make his father proud—but when you do, it’s only because it comes without warning. Fleeting, but just as sudden and destructive as it was on the very first day.

You set the glass on the counter and rest both hands on the sink in front of you—taking a moment to hang your head and try to breathe. It hurts—forcing your lungs to inflate despite this weight that pins you to the floor—but it won’t do anyone any good if you’re both a mess, and you think that he needs you, even if he never says it. You wonder if there’s a part of you that needs him to, and what that says about you if it's true.

You make your way back to the bathroom, where you find him leaning up against the wall, slumped over himself. It’s hard for you to see him without all of his pride—stripped of the one thing that was going to make him the strongest hero. You could almost scoff at that, if the urge to dissolve into your grief wasn't stronger—you’d never wanted him to be a hero. You used to think that was selfish, that it was your own desire to keep him with you and safe, but now you can only feel a deeply rooted loathing for anyone who’d ever put the thought in his head.

You haven’t spoken to his father at all. His other family members call often—especially Natsuo, who calls every day. When he does, you hand the phone to Touya, who just holds it at a distance while his brother catches him up to speed on every single occurrence of the last 24 hours since he last called. It makes you smile—to know that the love Touya’s siblings have for him didn’t die with him, even if he thought otherwise. Even if he doesn’t know how to receive it now.

There is a part of you that feels relieved that his father hasn’t reached out. From what you understand, Enji is now working on some type of atonement for what he’s done—something that might pass for an attempt at redemption to others outside of this—but you’ve seen the damage he’s caused. How he could possibly atone for that, you don’t know.

You lean against the wall, sliding down until you’re sat next to him. You set the glass on the floor in front of him and he lets out a soft grunt—one you’ve come to decipher as some sort of expression of gratitude. He reaches for it and you tilt your head up to look at a spot on the ceiling, avoiding his eyes—trying to give him a little privacy, and trying not to acknowledge the vulnerability he’s shrouded in.

“I’m going to the grocery store tomorrow,” you whisper, still not looking at him, “we’re a little low on a few things, so if there’s anything you want, you can add it to the list.”

You say it with no expectation of a response, nor do you anticipate that he’ll actually do it. While it’s true, and you will, you’re mostly just trying to remind him that you’re there. You suppose that you might be trying to draw out the moment—to hold off the inevitable morning, when you wake up and he’s shut in his room again and you don’t see him until it’s 3am and he’s retching at your feet.

It’s quiet then, the silence prolonged and taking a human shape there in your bathroom, and you feel your eyes start to droop with the dissipation of adrenaline. You want to ask him if he needs help back to his room, but you know he’ll deny you. You know he’ll probably sleep here on the floor, against the cool tile that feels safer and more familiar that the room you’ve made up for him. You take in a deep, steadying breath, and you slowly make your way to your feet.

“You know where I am if you need me,” you tell him gently, and you want to tell him that you need him, too, but some things are too hard—even in the dark. “Good night, Touya.”

You turn and force your legs to move away from him—a wholly unnatural thing that you still have not gotten use to. You have it nearly closed behind you when, for the first time in a very long time, you hear a rasped “good night” from the other side of it.

You try not to react—lest you scare him with any sudden movements like a feral animal—but when your bedroom door shuts behind you and you collapse into your bed, the feeling has no where to go but out. You hope to god he can’t hear you, sniffling and whimpering like a child into your pillow, but there’s no stopping it now. Because despite believing you forgot—despite the years and the damage to his body, and all of the things he’s done to mask who he was before—his voice is still his as you remember it. Deeper, sure, and harsher, but you’d still know it anywhere.

It is a long while before you can pull it together—heaving in a shuddering breath and choking on the exhale you force out in a feeble attempt to settle yourself. You don’t know when you fall asleep, but when you do, you dream of being shoulder to shoulder with Touya between the tall reeds, following the point of his finger to the stars above you.

* * * * * * * *

There is a warmth against your cheek when you stir, spreading across the skin of your forehead as you stretch and squirm—fighting the pull of just a few more moments of sleep. Blinking slowly, you study the beam of light peaking through the sheer curtains—the way the little refraction cuts through the otherwise dark of your room.

For a moment, in the light, you forget.

But when you roll to your side—away from it, looking to the door—reality returns with such thundering force that it leaves you breathless.

Despite the weight of it all, you push up off your bed to sit, head hung a little as you wait for the vertigo to subside—this endless oscillating between stages of sorrow. The house is quiet, but you hadn't expected anything else. Your eyes burn a little, and you wait for the tears to come. When they don’t, you resign yourself to the day.

You stand and move to the door, opening it quietly and wondering distantly when you started moving around like an intruder in your own home. There’s a vexation that comes with the thought—it curls in your stomach, slithering around the other feelings you’ve been holding there, and you shove it down, down, down, because you don’t want to be angry at him. Because he’s been through enough.

You don’t listen to the voice that tells you: so have you.

When you walk down the hall, the bathroom door is open, and Touya’s bedroom door is not. He must have gotten up before you, if he slept at all. You don’t imagine you’ll see him today—at least not during the day. You fight the urge to hover outside his door, ear crammed to the wood to try to hear him breathing.

You make it to the kitchen, flicking the switch on your old coffee maker and reaching your arms above your head, stretching a little. It does well to put you back in your body—your spine extends and pops and you remember that you are still a human being. 

You realize that you’d forgotten that, since Touya had come back—that, despite the seemingly fatal injury caused by his absence, your heart kept beating and the world continued to turn. That alone was an abominable hurdle for a while—how dare anyone else move forward, when he could not? But despite yourself, you did just that. You graduated, went to college, graduated again, got a job. You made other friends, but none ever made it as close to you as he had.

Every single thing you did felt insignificant despite your best attempts at a normal life. That in itself was something to grieve—you found no sense of accomplishment in the things you’d done and the loneliness, despite being surrounded by other people, was debilitating. You had found it hard to connect, and sustaining friendships had been difficult because he was always the comparison in the forefront of your mind. Reduced to a shell of a memorial for someone else. Every day, he haunted you. He would never know that you never even asked him to stop.

The coffee maker beeps and you are back again, sighing as you reach for a mug. You pour, breathing the smell in deeply and allowing it to bring you some tiny iota of comfort. You didn’t much care for the taste, if you were honest, but it was warm and it felt like something of a ritual—a small, rare indulgence you allowed yourself—so you drink it.

You move through the house on autopilot after that—dressing quickly, brushing your teeth, splashing water on your face in a half-attempt at washing it. Grabbing the grocery list—no new additions—off the fridge, you are halfway to the front door when you hear movement down the hall. You pause, listening as the floor creaks under Touya’s weight, and then it stops.

All at once, you are overcome by the need you feel—the longing that tells you to open that door and hold him to you. To breathe him in and feel the flutter of his heart beat from behind his ribs and know for sure that he is alive and there with you, because you’re still not convinced he's not just a new and creative apparition that your mind has concocted to torture you. The feeling fades as quickly as it came, and it leaves you panting, sagging against the wall as you try to come back to yourself. You wonder if it will always be like this—grieving for him with his ghost in the next room.

You manage to pull yourself together enough to reach a shaky hand toward the door. The cold winter air hits you, and it jars you enough that it’s all you can do to just stand there on the stoop, gulping down the chill into your lungs, trying hard to regulate the emotions that move through you like so many battering rams. You let them wreak their havoc and then move on through you, summoning whatever bravery you can to make it to your car and put the keys in the ignition. You feel a tug behind you as you walk further from the house, from Touya—the same one that you felt when you were thirteen and walking away from the scattering of the little ash that was left of him. The same one you felt as you all but carried his mother back to the car from the hospital after seeing him again. The thread that ties you to him. You wonder how long it can stretch before it starts to fray—or if it already has.

Your phone rings as you pull into the grocery store parking lot. You feel a tinge of regret as you answer it.

“Hi, Natsuo.”

“Hey!” he says into the phone, and the kindness that radiates from his voice warms you a bit, makes you smile.

“Sorry,” you tell him, opening the car door and climbing out, back into the cold, “I just got to the store. We needed food—Touya’s still at home.”

“Ah, that’s okay. I can try again later. It’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

You huff out a tiny laugh at his bad joke, and it makes you feel a little lighter. You find that the ache of putting one foot in front of the other is lessened, however minutely.

“Listen,” he starts, sounding a bit cautious, “I was actually hoping to talk to you. I wanted to see how you were doing—I know this probably isn’t easy for you.”

And you hate the way you want to hang up the phone immediately, because now your eyes are burning as you walk into the store and this is definitely not the place to let out whatever has been lurking just beneath the surface of your control, but it’s Natsuo and he’s so good and he cares for you like he always has, so you try to hold on to yourself. When Touya was gone he looked after you, adopting you as some sort of pseudo-sibling. You think he may have needed it as much as you did.

“I’m…managing,” you say, hesitation thinly veiled—too tired to tell him anything but the truth and still wanting to be delicate. “I just—I feel like I’m going to wake up and he’ll be gone. And it scares me a little that sometimes I wish that were true.”

You think that maybe you shouldn’t have said that last part, not to Natsuo—but the knowing sigh from the other end of the phone tells you that it’s alright.

“Has he said anything yet?”

“No, not really. I think I might've heard a word or two last night, but I was so tired that I’m not convinced I didn’t make it up.” A lie. But better than he said good night to me and I completely lost my shit. You still had some semblance of pride.

“Hey, that’s progress!” he says, but his tone doesn’t quite deliver the excitement you think he wanted to. You realize that he might feel as worn down as you do.

“Do you think it’ll get better?” you ask quietly, not certain you want to know the answer.

There’s a pause, long enough that you start to think the call may have been disconnected, and then he says, “Don’t give up on him, okay? I think…I think he’s trying.”

* * * * * * * *

You make it back to your house and you haul the groceries up to the front door, the conversation with Natsuo at the forefront of your mind despite your best attempts to will it away. You know intimately how hard it’s been for him to be away from Touya—to know that he is alive and so close and still not be able to see him. The commission has not yet given you the greenlight to have his family over to visit, even without Enji. You understand, and you think it would probably be too much for Touya anyway; to see all of them and know that the only thing that has changed—really, fundamentally changed, into something so mangled and nearly unrecognizable—is him. You wish you could show him that it wasn’t true, but it’s hard, and the guilt you feel reinforces that. Either way you spin it, life went on. You all kept living, even if what you'd really accomplished was some bastardized version of mere survival.

You think you could understand why he’d want to reduce the world to ash, knowing that.

You set the bags on the counter, grabbing one and moving to the fridge to unload it, and you think of Touya, like you have done every waking moment since you found out he was still alive. Part of you is so angry at that, as you seem to be at everything now, because the life you are suffering through and the thoughts you think are not yours. You wonder if they ever were, really—was there ever a single moment of separation from him? Even in his absence, you never could tell where he stopped and you began.

You all but jump out of your skin when you hear movement behind you. You whip your head around, a surprised shriek gathering preemptively in the back of your throat, and find Touya—glass from last night in hand, visibly startled by your reaction. Setting it down in the sink, his movements are cautious, and you have to fight to regulate your breathing. You stand there, eyes wide and clutching a bag of spinach to your chest, frozen in place as he faces you.

His eyes meet yours and he doesn’t look away for the first time in the weeks he’s been here, and suddenly you are thirteen and he’s the king of a castle made of sticks. He’s telling you that he’ll protect you—his counsel, his confidant, his right hand—from anything, and all you can think is you liar, you liar, you liar. 

It takes every ounce of control you have to not audibly crack under his stare, but then he opens his mouth and rasps a soft thanks, and you think he’s probably thanking you for the water from last night or maybe for the groceries but then it doesn’t matter at all because suddenly your vision blurs and you’re crying and there is nothing to be done to stop it.

It’s too much—the blue of his eyes that hasn’t changed and the way you are so angry at him you think the feeling alone might burn you alive from the inside and the way he is standing in front of you like a deer in headlights, an arm half-extended to you because he has no idea what’s happening or how to help. And you want to laugh, because you don’t either.

But right now you can’t do anything but cry, head hung and arms around yourself, fridge door still open and grocery bag hanging by your side. Suddenly you’re afraid that if you let go—if this whiteknuckled grip you have on yourself fails—you may very well fall apart.

You cry until you feel like there’s nothing left in you, and when you wipe your eyes you find that he’s still standing there. And then you’re wishing that you were still sad because now you’re just angry, and maybe a little embarrassed at your outburst, and there’s nothing to stop you from scrunching up your face and spitting out a venom-filled where were you? at him.

And you can’t really blame him when, after a pause, he turns on his heel and retreats to his room.

* * * * * * * *

You find yourself once again suffocating in the silence of your house through the evening. You drag yourself to bed early—not bothering to clean yourself or change—and faceplant into the covers. It’s not necessarily your intention to fall asleep, only to not have to face what's happening outside the door; you don’t even realize you have until a sharp yelp has you shooting upright from your bed, blinking blearily and trying to sink your fingers deep enough into your consciousness to drag it up to a functioning level.

You sit there for a moment, barely breathing as you strain to hear through the wall. And then you hear it again— that tiny, pained gasp, and you are out of your bed and moving before you can even consider if your mind is playing tricks on you. You do the only thing you can think of and hurry to the kitchen to fill up the glass Touya had returned earlier. Water in hand, you walk back down the hallway—slowly, like you’re approaching a feral cat with a forearm hovering in front of your face to block any fearful swats—and stop outside of his door.

“Touya?” you call, knocking on the door softly with a knuckle, “I have some water for you.”

There’s no movement behind the door—you expected as much, so you let out a slow breath and take a seat, back leaning up against the door. Part of you wonders if this is okay—if you should just leave it outside of the door for him to pick up after you’ve gone back to bed—but the other part is so tired of this. Tired of tiptoeing around him, tired of pretending that god forsaken elephant in the room crushing both of you isn’t there. You think you might owe him an apology for earlier, too. Maybe.

You realize you’d fallen asleep when the sudden absence of the door at your back has you startling. You look up from your spot on the floor, and he’s there in the doorway—blue eyes wide and staring at you like he doesn’t know what to make of this—of you.

“Sorry,” you say quietly, despite the bitterness you feel, “I just wanted to give y—hey, are you bleeding?”

His eyes move to where yours are now locked on the hand of his that grips the door, and he sucks in a breath when he sees what you are seeing.

A fresh wound over the back of his hand—a tear of the skin over the exact spot his staples used to be, the blood now dripping onto your floor.

Neither of you move. The silence is deafening.

You are the first to shatter it: “Can I clean that for you?”

His head is down, but you can see him eye you from under his white bangs, carefully mulling it over. It is a painfully long moment before he offers you a slight nod. You pull yourself to your feet and turn, walking toward the bathroom and hoping he chooses to follow.

You throw open the cabinet under the sink to locate your first aid kit. Luckily, Touya’s care team had sent some supplies with him to care for his skin, but you’re not sure if there’s anything that can be helpful if he needs a new graft—or if that's even a possibility. The specifics of his treatment are lost on you, and you feel a fresh round of frustration at that—because why the fuck would no one bother to tell you anything about how to help him?

You hear him enter the bathroom behind you, and something akin to relief washes over you. You hand the glass of water you’re still holding to him, and he takes it from you silently, cradled in his uninjured palm. You gather up the supplies you think will be the most helpful; you turn to face him and you’re immediately a little woozy, because he is still bleeding—more than what you’d consider a reasonable amount. It doesn’t seem to bother him, though, and he just stands there, eyeing you. Cautious, like an animal cornered.

“You—hm. Can you sit on the toilet so I can look at it?”

He moves silently after a moment, sitting before you. It is another before he lifts his hand up to you, so slowly, his whole body tense.

“Is it okay to touch you?”

He offers something clipped—more of a grunt than anything but you interpret it as affrimative; you slowly wrap your fingers around his wrist, turning it to examine the gash.

After cleaning a bit of the blood away, you realize it’s not as bad as you’d thought. But it does need rinsed out and patched up.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you tell him quietly, unwrapping the sterile wipes from their packages, “but if you think there’s a problem with the grafts, we should call the doctor.”

He’s silent and you continue working, unfolding the towelette and wiping it over the wound, murmuring a small apology for the sting. You’re not sure if he feels nothing or everything—uncertain of how the nerves in his body react to stimuli anymore—but if he’s in pain, he’s not showing it.

“It’s—not that,” he mutters, and you have to physically restrain yourself from tensing the hand that’s still holding onto him. To hear him speak is still so foreign and so painful that you almost have to block it out to focus on the task at hand. He hesitates, and out of the corner of your eye you see him open his mouth and shut it again, like the words are there but unwilling to come out.

“Okay,” you feign nonchalance, pulling a piece of gauze from its wrappings and applying it to the clean wound. You pull another few to add to it, and he finds his voice again. You hope you’re not shaking.

“Happens when I—” he tries, and it's so quiet you almost don’t hear him; he’s turning his head away from you, like he needs to look at anything else to get it out, “—the dreams.”

You don’t look at him, but the need to is enormous. You unwrap the roll of bandages, considering your next words carefully.

“Did you do this to yourself?”

He sighs at that, like you’re the biggest idiot in the world for asking. Like it inconveniences him to have to hear such a question. You want to kick yourself, and after a lengthy pause, you wish you hadn’t asked at all.

“Not…on purpose. In my sleep.”

You have no idea what to say to that, and you have the feeling that if you say anything at all you might start crying again and you know that would startle him, so you grit your teeth and nod—almost mechanically—as you wrap the bandage around his hand with as much care as you can muster, but your movements are robotic; drawing your fingers back too quickly like he burned you, only trying not to linger but communicating a worse version of it. The regret is a tangible thing.

“Should be okay now,” you say, and it’s almost a plea. Too thick with emotion that refuses to leave you be.

“Thanks.”

It’s so much softer than you think he should ever be, especially now. It’s alien—wrong, you think, the bitterness a sentient thing inside you—and you don’t respond because there’s another part of you that is so, so devastated that until now he’s had no one to tend to his wounds like this. Like he deserves—gently and with humanity, even if that alone was no small task for you, for a much different reason. You wonder if he’ll ever tell you about the dreams—if he will ever trust you enough to share a secret with you again. You think of the staples that once held him together and you taste bile.

“Are you—” he starts, and then stalls, and you watch as his hands clench and then unclench in his lap, the fresh bandage straining around his knuckles. You watch the movement and wait for him to continue.

“Are you angry?”

Your eyes snap up to meet his, already searching for you. You see him tense like he's braced for impact, but he doesn’t look away, and neither do you. You decide that it’s not fair to either of you to lie, so you tell him the truth.

“Yes,” you whisper, and his face doesn’t change. He doesn’t say anything to that, and you think that maybe it’s for the best, because right now would be just about the worst time for him to suddenly want to unpack your anger. You are bone tired, teetering on some edge that is far too unstable, and you just want to retreat back into your bed and nurse this wound privately. So you stand, murmur a quiet good night to him, and you do just that.

You’re not sure how long it is before you’ve wrung yourself out, and eventually you give up on any hope of sleep, pulling yourself up off the mattress with the intent of making sure Touya made it back to his room.

When you walk into the hall, you nearly trip over it—the glass of water from earlier, full again—a white flag at your door, waiting for you.

* * * * * * * *

A slight and silent shift occurs after you patch Touya up in your bathroom, but you can only detect it in you. You can’t be sure if it’s a general improvement or a sign that you’ve reached the end of your rope.

You no longer feel as much like you’re a stranger in your own home—and that’s good, you think, except there’s still something there. You grow bolder, more open in your hostility—Touya does not. The rage vignettes the edges of everything until the power that lives in Touya pales in comparison. A smoldering thing, just waiting for the right kindling. Capable of incinerating your little apartment down to its foundation.

It’s there when you watch him sneak into the kitchen from your spot on the couch. He doesn’t need to do that, but you haven’t told him otherwise. You wonder if a part of you gleans satisfaction from his discomfort—that he feels like he’s the one walking on eggshells now. You should feel guilty about that, because he’s likely felt like that this whole time and in theory, you want him to be comfortable. But the thing that lurks on your periphery feels justified in watching him cower. Like you’re owed that for what he’s put you through. 

And more guilt follows, then, because it feels profoundly wrong to feel victimized by someone who experienced the hell that he did. To name what exactly it is that he’s put you through brings such a nauseating wave of shame over you, because it's a tiny flea in comparison to what was done to him; you feel like a fool to compare losing a friend to his father burning him within an inch of his life and abandoning him over and over again. You don’t want to believe that he would hurt you intentionally. And maybe, if there was another way, he would’ve come back. He would’ve at least found a way to let you know that he was alive. He was your friend.

And yet, he did not. 

So despite the altruistic part of yourself, watching him slink past you makes you want to lunge at him. Makes you want to let out whatever ugly thing is slinking around in your gut and tell it to do what it pleases with him. To make him hurt, like you do.

Rationally, you know you’re ignoring what’s really hurting you—and that it is hurt, underneath all of the rage. You’re not sure when your philosophy toward accountability became something adjacent to an eye for an eye, but you suppose that’s what happens when you’re left to rot in your anger—necrotic and poisoning you from the inside. No where for it to go but out. 

It’s not fair. You land here every time—you know how childish you’d sound if you said it out loud, but the repetition of the phrase is as incessant as your anger. You’d spent the majority of your life grieving over the loss of him, just to have him creep around you now like he hasn’t haunted you the whole time. He’s here and he’s still gone. You are always in purgatory. 

There’d been no follow up with you, either, which you found telling. He has his weekly check-ins, or he did, but not once has anyone from the commission checked in with you. Not once has anyone called and asked, how are you settling in with your dead, not dead, mass murderer, childhood friend? Are you getting along?

And that’s the thing—you are, on the surface. He still rarely says anything, but he cleans up after himself and if you weren’t so painfully aware of his presence all of the time, you think maybe you’d forget he was there at all.

It just makes you wish he’d say something. Anything to acknowledge what’s happening between you, or maybe just within you—something to let you know that he understands what he’s done. That you are not the only one walking around half out of your mind. Up until he left he’d been the biggest loudmouth you’d ever met, and the thought that he has nothing to say to you now just makes you so, so sick. 

It dawns on you that he may not know the extent of the hurt you carry around. He’d asked if you were angry, and it had caught you so off guard that you are only beginning to turn it over in your mind, weeks later. You’d have been indignant, if you hadn’t been so exhausted that night—because of course you are angry. There is nothing else for you to be.

You sink down further into the cushions of the couch and pull your little throw blanket up over your chin. It’s getting colder out, and the heat hasn't yet kicked on. You make a mental note to text your landlord. You consider if you should have informed him that you’ve been housing a serial killer in your apartment. You watch out the window, eyes following the descent of the sun as it tips over the horizon. There’s a commotion; the birds in the tree out front take flight all at once, and your heart aches with the envy you feel. You wonder if they know how lucky they are, to not be tethered to anything that keeps them here. 

For the second time in the last few hours, you hear a door down the hallway swing open. Slowly, like the person opening it is an intruder and not the man you’d been cohabitating with for months. Right now, they are seemingly one in the same. 

“Touya.”

He freezes like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He looks at you, and despite yourself you feel a little pity for him. You sigh, letting out a slow breath and hoping it takes the edge out of your tone. When you open your mouth, you know it doesn't.

“You don’t have to sneak around here, you know. You’re allowed to be out here when I am.”

He looks like a cornered animal, and the snarling, bitter part of you keeps him pinned there, delighting in the way that you can see he wants to hide.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, head down. 

Sorry.

He’s…sorry?

Ah, you think. There it is.

“What for.” It’s not a question. When it comes out of your mouth, it is a challenge. It is a warning. It is a poison tipped arrow, pointed straight at him. 

“I—” he’s still not looking at you, and you know at once that you will not be able to stop whatever is about to come out of you, “—thought I should stay out of the way.”

You take in the sentiment and let it roll around in your head for a moment. You pull every word from the stem, turning it over, breaking it down into pieces. Trying to understand. 

All you can gather is that he’s wrong. Fundamentally and devastatingly wrong. And if you were a better person right now, you’d console him. But the animal crawling its way out of your throat is faster and far more cunning than your own integrity.

You scoff—part of you is shattering, splintering faster than you could hope to put it back together, and you don't try to. His eyes snap to you, and you know he’s trying to read what you’re feeling from your face. Enough of that, you think.

No more. 

“Stay out of the way?” you repeat, moving to stand up from the couch. You take a step toward him—he doesn’t move. There’s so much distance between you, and none at all. You feel like if you reached out to touch him, he too would shatter. It’s effort to keep your hands clenched at your sides. You understand intimately and at once why he took such a liking to violence. 

You know you’re being cruel right now, but you let it out anyway. “There hasn’t been a second of my life that you’ve been anywhere but in the way.”

He looks at you, and you see the confusion all over his face. It does nothing but spur you on. Something inside you tells you to make it hurt. 

“Every single day since you left, I have been right here. I couldn’t do anything, Touya. I have been on that hill, waiting for you. Trying to talk to you, pleading to whoever was listening to bring you back. So you can imagine how it feels to know now that you were never up there to begin with.”

You don’t recognize the sound of your own voice. You hear it from outside yourself, and around you the scenery changes. You are back in those woods again, far smaller, still just as angry. Just as afraid.

“You were here the whole time,” you whisper, eyes boring into his. You feel them sting but you do not waver—you do not look away.

“This whole time,” you’re louder now, fueled by everything you had pushed down—for him or for you, you couldn’t know—“all of the years I spent trying to come to terms with you being gone—you were right here. Alive and breathing. Someone else entirely. Doing whatever the fuck you were doing.”

By now, he’s removed all traces of emotion from his face. His jaw sets and you are overwhelmed by the sudden urge to sock him in it. This is the Touya you hate—the one that reverts back to indifference. The one you haven't seen in so long and the one you'd know anywhere. The one that looks at you like you’re a piece of asphalt kicked up under his shoe. You feel your stomach turn. 

“I know what he did to you, Touya. I know it was awful and that he left you there to die and I have spent every second since hating him enough for the next three lifetimes,” you feel the tears slip down your cheeks, and you make no move to wipe them. You want him to see. 

“But you left me,” you croak, lacking all of the heat you had a second ago, knowing you’ve arrived at the root of it after all, “I needed you and you left. And you took all of those people with you. It wasn’t him that did that, Touya.”

A pin drop would be far too loud with the silence between you right now. You look at him for a moment more, and he is somewhere else—eyes looking past you, body tense and ready to flee. You take a deep breath in, and let it out. 

“I understand it all,” you tell him quietly, “but I’m still stuck there.”

You convince your feet to move after a moment more and brush past him, legs feeling like lead all the way down the hall. You close your bedroom door softly behind you, and sag against it. A small chuckle escapes you before you can stop it. The back of your head meets the wood—it occurs to you for the first time that the man you just berated has killed an unimaginable number of people. You wonder when exactly you lost the plot so badly that that stopped being any bit of a concern for you.

* * * * * * * *

You don’t see him at all for the rest of the week. It’s not shocking—you expected as much.

But you weren't expecting to find him sitting on the front step as you return from your grocery trip.

You approach him slowly, as if he’s a great big predator that can only sense movement and you are the prey trying to outsmart him. He eyes you, but says nothing. You make it to the stoop in front of him before you decide to attempt to speak to him. 

“Hi.”

A pause. You watch him suppress the urge to bolt. And then, “hi.”

“Are you alright?”

He grunts, and looks away. You take it as a yes, because you’re not aware of an alternative. You switch your groceries to the other arm.

“What are you doing out here?” you ask softly, trying to tread lightly. “It’s cold.”

He studies you for another moment. You’re not quite sure what he’s thinking. You wonder if he’s finally decided to take you out for what you said to him the other day. 

“You need help?”

You balk. “I—uh. Huh?”

He nods toward the bags in your arms.

“Oh,” you blink, a little stunned. You can feel your brain searching for an explanation that Touya is clearly not going to provide. “Uh, yeah. Sure. You can take these.”

Without another word, he takes the bags from you and disappears back inside the house. You’re stuck on the stoop, reeling. Wondering if the world has started to turn in reverse.

* * * * * * * *

You eat dinner alone, as you’ve grown accustomed to, and you plop down on the couch to assume your nightly routine of pretending to watch the TV and listening for Touya’s movements in the next room. Your nerves are buzzing from your interaction with him earlier—you bring your wine glass to your lips and suck down more than you should. Despite all the effort you’ve put into deciphering the meaning of it, you come up empty. 

So absorbed you are in the apparent puzzle he’s created that you don’t notice him come out of his room until he’s blocking your view of the TV with his body. You jump, spilling your wine and hissing out a curse. You look up at him, heart rate elevated and more than a little confused. Your eyes meet the blue of his and you don’t know what to say.

“Hi,” he mutters, kicking his foot at a spot in the carpet. He’s never looked more like he did when he was thirteen than he does in this moment. 

“Hi,” it comes out as a whisper, because it’s all that you can manage.

“What’re you watching?”

You think maybe he’s already killed you. Has to have, because there is no way this interaction would happen in the reality you were living in before. Your mouth opens, and then shuts. Opens again. “Ah, uh—nothing really? Just flipping through.”

His gaze moves to the empty spot next to you. Yours follows, and you look between it and him a few times, trying to catch up. 

“Do you—” you pause, wanting to proceed cautiously. You fight the nervous laughter that bubbles in your throat, deeply uncomfortable in what would otherwise be a very human exchange. “Would you like to join me?”

There's a horribly tense moment of deliberation from him, and then he decides to do just that. He settles down on the couch awkwardly, like he’s never done a thing like it before, and you watch as he adjusts. He’s so tense and it starts to feel stupidly comical; a squeak of a laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. He shoots a glare at you, and it makes you laugh harder—the whole thing is ridiculous, and you laugh with your head thrown back until you feel something dislodge itself from your insides. His face softens, however minutely, and you swear you see a tiny, tiny hint of a grin at the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh god,” you choke out, trying to beat down another round of giggles. You wipe a tear from your eye and let out a sigh, allowing the smile to stay on your face. You feel something shift, if only by a centimeter, between you. 

You pay attention to what’s on the TV in front of you for the first time in months.

* * * * * * * *

Touya starts to get it.

He has no idea what it is—only that he feels different, and he thinks that’s a good thing, maybe. He assumes it is, because there’s been considerably more enthusiastic head nods from his therapist through his screen each week.

It’s new. The therapist, anyway—the Hero Commission sanctioned psychologist check-ins (a generous title, considering the lack of any real clinical treatment) had quickly fizzled out and then stopped all together, and it was at the tail end of another one sided phone conversation with Natsuo that he’d heard of a shrink with a reputation for treating those who’d been harmed by heroes.

“She has a surprisingly booked schedule,” Natsuo had said, half in jest and not without a tangible weight. If nothing else, Touya was curious—and bored. With nothing better to do, he decided to try a session. Before he knew it, he’d sat through the better part of four. It's not the worst thing in the world—he'd already been through that.

He doesn’t talk much—mostly because he’d talked a whole lot on a national scale and really, what else could he possibly have to say—but lately, he’s found himself full of questions he doesn’t know how to ask. It’s hard—he doesn’t feel particularly brave these days, and to get his mouth to shift into the shapes of the words is enough of a challenge. But he tries—he figures that has to count for something. Something about therapy makes it acceptable to congratulate himself for the smallest of victories.

He wants to understand your anger. There’s a weight to it—one that smacks into him solidly every time he’s on the other end of it. He’s not unfamiliar with it—he’s been pissing people off for years now. But yours is different. Yours is heavy—you hate him and you still run your fingers through his hair when he hides his tears in the toilet bowl and heaves out everything he’s buried deep inside himself at two in the morning. It’s not so easy to wrap his head around that part.

“Your friend.”

It comes through the speaker as a statement and not a question, and he scowls. Is that what you are to him? He’d been so sure that he’d never had a friend. But that can’t be right, can it? When everyone had moved on and away from him, but you had not—was that your friendship? The word tastes bitter and unsatisfactory on his tongue, but he doesn’t have a better one. He nods.

“Is that so surprising, Touya?”

He says nothing, only glaring into the camera. She sighs, wholly unimpressed.

“Think about it. You’ve mourned someone and then they show up out of nowhere, and they’re not that person you’ve been keeping in your heart all of this time. It’s like—a second death.” She says, tapping a finger to her chin as if to summon the words. “Another cycle of grief on top of the first. That’s a lot to feel, no?”

And he…knows that. You’d made it pretty clear, of course, but he feels it, now—like a rash. Your grief sits on his skin and festers in a way that his did not. His burned hot and fast and left him empty, and he woke up without a thought of what the consequences of that fire would be. Yours hit him like a brick wall the second he stepped foot through your door. That brick wall only gave way to cement—unending, uncomfortable. Keeping him stuck in his room—keeping him away from you.

It feels wrong to interfere with it—like for all he took away from you, this is the least he could give you. He can handle the anger, of course—he can sit in your white-knuckled fury and let it close in on him. That’s fine.

The crying is another thing entirely.

It’s not as if Touya is a stranger to tears, either—he saw his fair share of them wet the faces of those he cut down. Just like the anger, it never particularly bothered him. Not like yours do.

And maybe it’s because he doesn’t see them. The only indication that there are tears comes when he lays completely still at night, and he can just barely hear your sniffles through the wall. Something about it feels bad—unfair, maybe, the way you wait until you think he’s sleeping to let out what you’ve been holding on to. He almost wants to laugh at you—because what is the point of sparing his feelings now? He’s already put you through this much. He would deserve to have all of the aftermath be aimed right at him.

But to lie to himself is evidently not off limits, because it does affect him. Every once in a while he’ll hear a whimper through the dry wall that twists his gut into a tight knot. He thinks of the promise he made you, all of those years ago. He tries not to, but your crying fishes it back to the surface—his stupid, idiot promises to protect you no matter what. Only to become the knife that keeps your hands pinned to the table. He doesn’t know how to protect you from himself. He finds himself still taking from you.

He finds it odd to spend an hour every week learning about the mechanics of human connection. Finds it unsettling, actually, talking about something so insignificant as feelings and realizing that where you are concerned, there is nothing insignificant about it.

“Alright,” he mutters, coming back to himself. “M’hanging up.”

His therapist only laughs. “We made it 20 minutes this time!”

* * * * * * * *

He decides to try eating dinner with you. You’ve been dropping little half-invitations for the last few weeks, and he’s been readily avoiding them. To sit across from you at your table feels too much like confrontation—the cowardice he’s become accustomed to shuts it down before he’s even had time to really consider it. Another odd thing he'd not known himself capable of—this thing his therapist found no shortage of glee in identifying as anxiety.

But tonight you’re eating on the couch in front of the TV, and that feels better. In the dark and with a distraction, he doesn’t have to fully face you. He can think of you, loudly, and you’ll be none the wiser.

He sneaks glances at you from the other side of the couch and finds himself struck—not for the first time—at how for all of the ways you are different now, you are still the same as you were when he was a child. He knows it’s nothing to do with how you look and everything to do with the way that you are—an anchor that both terrifies and comforts him. He woke up in that hospital bed and knew you were there on the other side of the glass before he opened his eyes. He'd know you anywhere—the only part of his heart to keep beating despite his best attempts at digging the whole thing out of himself.

Is that what friendship is?

He shakes himself out of his head when he feels you squirming next to him. From the corner of his eye he watches you fight with the blanket you’ve swaddled yourself in, finding himself somewhere between amused and endeared. It’s an unfamiliar feeling and yet, it feels like he’s felt it toward you all his life. He gives you another second to sort it out yourself before he feels bad. He forgets where he is, he forgets himself—he doesn’t think at all when he wraps his fingers around your foot to free it from the fabric tangling it.

Both of you freeze. For an aching moment, neither one of you breathes. And then you wrench your leg away from him like he’s burned you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, already standing, already shaking. “Sorry, I just—”

But you’re already halfway down the hall—voice tapered off in an explanation he doesn’t need to hear you finish because he already knows. Your door shuts quietly behind you, but creates such a divide between you that you may as well have broken it off its hinges. He doesn’t have to be still to hear what’s happening on the other side of it—he feels it bodily.

He can’t listen to you cry again. His body makes the decision before his mind does, and when it finally catches up he’s standing in the middle of your room.

You’ve gone completely silent—he’s not even sure you’re breathing. Rigid and curled into yourself, you refuse to meet his eyes. Something about it is hard to stomach. It makes his chest ache and before he can stop himself, he’s reaching for the covers and sliding into the bed next to you, wholly ignoring the way the fabric feels like sandpaper against his skin. He closes his eyes and his body forms to yours on a memory he doesn’t have but feels he must. You make a wounded sound like he’s just punched you.

“Touya,” it’s barely a whisper and wholly a warning. There’s so much pain in your voice it makes him nauseous. He ignores it, snaking his arm around your waist to pull you to him. You regress to a simpler phase and a baser instinct and you fight him, shoving at him, breathing hard, “Touya—”

“Just let it out,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead between your shoulder blades, holding on to you like his life depends on it. It hurts, and he will not ever let go. “Please. Let it go.”

He feels you freeze—and then the breath leaves you so violently it startles him. He’s almost relieved when he hears the accompanying cry.

He keeps himself held tightly to the curve of your spine in some strange hope that he might absorb your grief into himself. If he could just carry this, it’d be better. For you, anyway—he’s certain that what you’ve been carrying around would be enough to put him down, but he’d drop at your feet if it meant you could be free of what he’s done to you. The most altruistic he's ever felt in his life and with no sense of pride about it.

His arm tightens around you when he feels you start to fight his grip again. “The hell are you doing—”

“Please,” it's only half audible through a tight throat—and it renders him silent. “I just need to see you.”

He can do nothing but let go—let you twist around, and he immediately wishes he’d have fought you on it, because to see your face right now is too much.

Even in the dark your eyes find his and for the first time he can easily name the feeling that permeates into his bones. A wretchedness so familiar and tender like a wound, it’s only a second before he’s pulling you closer for his sake—anything to not have to see the injury he's caused. He’d burn the whole world down again to not have to see what he’s done to you—more cowardly than he's ever known himself to be.

It's odd, knowing that it’s not necessarily guilt he feels—instead it is a mountain of what can only be his grief, looming and jagged with no perceivable path up it. He looks at you and you reflect back at him a version of yourselves he’d left behind. He takes in your gap toothed smiles and grubby fingers interlocked with his and he tastes iron.

“I was afraid you were really gone.” Your chest shudders harshly against his own. It’s awful—the whole thing. He’s certain he’s never felt like this—at least not in this lifetime.

“Yeah,” he can’t get his voice above a whisper. “Me too.”

It’s painful—the child in him that he believed to be destroyed. Looking him in the face now, you stand next to him, but a step behind. That hurts more than anything—the outstretched hand he never reached for. How different things would have been if he’d have just turned around. He understands now—he’d left you both back there.

He holds you to his chest and feels, for the first time since back then, when something is knocked loose within him. He’s not afraid that he’ll bleed all over your bed, because he knows he already is. Something about the certainty of the way you are here, and he is right here next to you, shakes him fundamentally. There are no tears left in him to shed, so instead he tries to steady shuddering gasps tucked into the crook of your neck.

And then it’s his turn to be held, and that’s painful too, because his skin is still so sensitive and his heart is breaking and god does he wish he would’ve turned around.

He opens his mouth to say something and can only let loose a tiny, aching sound into the silence, and you understand. But that’s not enough—he needs to try. He needs you to know—to hear him and see that he tried.

“I wanted to find you.”

It shatters the quiet that’s been settled around the two of you. He wonders if it’s a cruel thing to say. He doesn’t know how to gauge your silence. He settles on filling it.

“Didn’t know how,” he whispers to the ceiling, “Was too late—I was too late—“

“Touya.” You stop his spiral and you sound exhausted. You lay shoulder to shoulder now as you did once before, in some other life so far away from this one, and when your fingertips drag up his palm and weave between his own, it feels like you’ve touched down to bone marrow.

“It’s not too late,” you tell him, turning your head to look him in the eye, “it’s not.”

He has no reason to believe you and yet, he thinks he could. If there is a version of himself that could could trust, still living somewhere inside him.

he has one hand in your hair, the other on his chest before sliding it down his scarred, toned body, then sinking his matte black nails into your sheets, hissing through clenched teeth.

he’s anxious, but he’s still closer than he’s been in weeks; his entire body is molten, flames flickering against his palms and threatening to ignite because he has so little control right now .. it’s all yours, and you’re loving every second of it.

“such a pretty face.” you purr, looking up into his eyes through your long lashes while you stroke his long, gorgeous cock.

the pale skin on his face flushes and he looks away for just a second, pouting and drawing his brows. “s-stop — don’t say that.”

“why?”

“because it’s not true.”

“dabi, baby, you’re a pretty, gorgeous thing.”

strangely enough, that was more comforting because you called him a pretty thing instead of a pretty boy. there are tears in his gorgeous aquamarine eyes, mixing with the small rivulets of blood that catch along his stitches and tint his thick, snowy lashes a soft, diffused red. he looks like an angel.

“f-fine, I’m close, just please—”

“I told you to shut up and take it, did I not?”

“yes, mama…” he pouts, before crying out, “oh! fuck,” feeling you suck him into your heavenly mouth again. you slide down his shaft, your soft lips gently catching on his piercings and it makes him shiver in your hold. you have to use your hand to stroke his base because it won’t fit, your other hand kneading and cradling his balls. he’s a wreck, both hands now holding your face as you do your best to deepthroat him.

“oh my god..” he’s whining and you have to pull back for air, stroking his length as quickly as you can while you watch him carefully. his hips are chasing your touch off of the bed, eyes crossing as he finally, finally cums all over himself. you catch some in your mouth, but it’s too much, painting his perfect abs in thick, glistening white. the poor thing is shaking, practically crying as he tries to come down.

“good boy, dabi.” you praise him, still gently pumping his cock, leaning forward to lick up every drop of cum and it tastes so fucking good.

“call me toya, please.” and his voice is shaking.

“t… toya?”

he looks at you with the biggest, sweetest puppy eyes, his brows drawn from pleasure, whimpering deep in his chest. that’s his actual name? huh, cute.

you kiss around his navel piercing, humming against his warm skin. “yeah, toya? you did such a good job, baby. are you feeling better?”

he nods eagerly, abruptly saying, “I can keep going, I need more of you.”

“yeah? you’re certain it’s not too much?”

“it’s not enough … I’ve never even come close to feeling this good, baby, please, I need you.”

“you don’t have to beg for it, I just wanna take care of you, okay?” your voice is so honeyed and sweet, and you’re saying exactly what he wants to hear.

“then let me eat that pretty cunt, baby, please, I wanna taste you.”

“yeah? you like eating pussy?”

“I love it.”

he sounds confident but he swallows nervously, gently guiding you onto his face. his chest is still sticky with his cum, but he doesn’t even care. you have an insane hold on him, and he’s completely lost in you.

“mmm, toya, fuck.” you mewl, one hand in his hair and the other on his thigh. you’re perfectly arched back over his body, just the right angle to grind your clit on his tongue and that little metal ball, gently rolling your hips up and down while you both gasp and moan into the cold air.

he tongue fucks you just enough to fit two of his fingers, and you’re close, but you need him inside of you. you forgo the impending orgasm for something even better — his big, perfect cock stuffing you absolutely full.

“just fuck me, please.” you cry, pulling him away from your aching pussy by his thick, snowy tresses.

“oh, was it bad? I haven’t done that in a while—” he pouts, softly kissing your inner thigh.

“no, baby, not at all, i just need to feel you.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you—”

“toya.”

and that’s all he needed to hear. he sits up as you eagerly adjust to straddle him, laying your face against his warm chest, rubbing your glossy, soaked pussy against his tip. he shushes you softly as you whimper and whine, spreading you with his hands on your ass to help your tight pussy slide down onto him. his tip catches, and then his piercings — his cock is perfectly shaped, and the cool, smooth metal makes him feel like a living sex toy. the feeling is breathtaking, literally.

“toya, god, you feel so fucking good.”

( he whines whenever you say his name. )

you sigh in content once you’re seated fully, sucking on his neck as you slowly pull yourself up and back down, setting a languid pace that makes dabi’s head spin. you rotate your hips just enough so that you can feel each and every one of the barbels on his ladder piercing with each bounce, threading your hands through his soft, silky hair just to keep yourself grounded.

“you feel like heaven, baby, so good for me … I don’t deserve you.” he whispers in your ear between soft grunts and groans, lightly sinking his perfect teeth into your neck just to taste your skin. you whine and keen into him, riding his thick cock a bit harder now.

the dermal piercing on his pelvis bumps against your clit with each impact, making you want to melt into him and never let go. it’s like a soft little kiss with every drop of your hips to reward you for how good you’re riding him, and the added stimulation is pulling you even closer to the edge.

you’re both a mess, just kissing and panting and crying, with both of his big, pretty hands on your ass to help you keep pace. you pull away to flick your tongue against one of his cute, pink nipples, gently sucking the barbel into your mouth and he moans like a bitch in heat.

you do the same to the other side, and he almost cums right then with a deep, shuddering breath, but there’s no way that he’s going to let himself cum a second time before you do even once. he locks his hands around your waist and finally decides to take control. dabi doesn’t even pull out as he lays you down, sitting up on his haunches with one hand holding your hip.

you cross your ankles around his slutty waist, bringing him just a bit closer. his thumb searches for your clit, and his touch feels so much better than the pelvic piercing. it makes your back arch off of the bed so pretty, and dabi leans over you, his free hand stabilizing himself on the mattress by your hips while he fucks you even harder.

each push and pull has your tight pussy holding onto him for dear life. you can feel every ridge of him, be it his veins or the metal, as he desperately drags himself through your warm, velvety walls. his strokes feel ethereal, and his tip grazes your cervix if he gets just the right angle.

dabi is silently in awe of the perfect expanses of your soft skin, and he almost wants to dig his nails in to ruin it, to create bloody red tracks amidst the silken canvas but it’s you — and you’re allowed to be perfect, even if nothing else is … even if he wants to destroy absolutely everything else.

“god, you look so fucking pretty on my cock … my perfect angel girl.” he exhales, readjusting his hips upwards so that his tip hits your sweet spot. “I’m already so fucking close again, baby, doin’ so good for me.”

your toes curl and you nod, just letting yourself feel everything. “just like that, toya, just a little bit harder, you won’t break me, I can take it — o-oh!” and god, is he desperately obeying every single one of your words, just trying to make you feel good, to feel your pretty cunt squeeze and flutter around his big cock when you finally cum for him.

all of your nerves are buzzing, your stomach in scalding knots as the pressure continues to build. you’re close, but it’s not until he lays one of his palms flat across your pelvis to feel himself moving inside of you that your body can’t take it anymore. dabi is pressing on that little squishy patch from both inside and out, which makes you cum with a loud, unrestrained cry.

“oh my god, so pretty.” he’s practically whimpering, settling as deeply inside of you as physically possible, grinding that little heart-shaped piercing against your clit while your pussy soaks all over his cock, but you wrap your hands around his back and pull him in.

“keep fucking me until you cum again, I need it inside.” you tell him, and it’s way more intimate than you intend. you’re friends, but it’s not like your relationship will ever be the same after this. not when you make each other feel this good, not when you’re the first partner to ever make him cum, and it was so easy for you.

“you’re so fucking good to me.” he kisses you again ; it’s messy and heated, no thinking, just satiating his need to taste you.

it’s a lot, it’s too much, but you need him to feel good, and you need him to stuff your pussy full of his cream. the overstimulation is almost numbing, and you feel like you’re floating in a warm, gentle ocean while dabi’s body laps against you just like waves hitting the sand.

“fuck! gripping me so tight like you were fucking made for me, doll, your pussy is too fucking perfect, shit, I can’t—”

“cum, toya.”

he shivers in your hold, groaning into your mouth as you feel thick, hot ropes flood your cunt. he pulls away to rest his face in your neck and a shimmery, sticky line of spit briefly connects your lips. he’s panting, trying to collect himself while he listens to your breathing and you play with his hair, but he can’t stop shaking, it’s too much.

“that’s it, baby, good boy.” you shush him and he whines, nearly collapsing on top of you before pulling you into his arms. he brushes your hair out of your face, kissing your blushed cheeks.

you’re quiet for a few moments, just feeling him against you, letting him come down, gently running your fingertips along the stitches near his jaw .. but you can’t stop yourself from teasing him just a bit : “you’re buying the plan b.”

( this was only supposed to be a handjob .. and possibly head if that didn’t work … )

“hm? yeah, I guess we better stock up.”

“toya!” you whine, pouting so cutely that he has to kiss you. “sorry, sorry .. I’ll pull out next time.” he relents, feeling slightly guilty. you sigh, but you’re not actually annoyed, smiling when you look over at him. “fiine, I’ll refill my birth control just for you, pretty thing.”

先輩 ⸻ written by senpai with love

notes. I worked really hard to have this ready for valentine’s day, so I hope that u liked it :3 bakugo, kirishima, megumi, and yuji fics soon !! if you liked this, please consider reading my ↬ dabi headcanons :D

( I love love love love him and writing about him !! )

[ @slutsenpai ⨯ my masterlist ] — likes, reblogs & comments much appreciated! ◟♡ do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my writing anywhere for any reason