#flameresistant

He felt sick. Why did you look at him like that? Why were you being so nice? Why weren't you scared of him like everyone else? It made his skin itch just enough; he needed it to stop.

Content: stalking, death threats, yandere

He remembered you well, the look you gave when you offered him the soda. How you said it was an extra by mistake, a kind gesture that just didn’t sit well with him. What was your game? Didn’t know who he was? Even if you didn’t, how could you not see he was bad news, how disgusting he looked. A bitter feeling entered his chest as Shigaraki watched you leave, off to do God knows what, just a stupid little civilian who didn’t know any better. You made him sick.

It didn’t take him long to find your social media, only a few days of trying to fish for information. The area the two of you met in was near a university, you looked about his age, so a student fit and damn was he correct. Even there you presented as this kind individual who could do no wrong. Helping with the needy and deprived like some saint, an obsessive thought edging its way into his mind. What would happen if someone made you snap? A grin crossed his dry lips as the bright screen created a halo around his thin figure, but he was far from angelic, and he was damned to prove you weren’t as well.

“Hey who is this loser posting hate comments in your posts?” A friend had asked after you received a few hate comments, while cyberbullying and trolling wasn’t a new topic, it was odd that your small blog would be hit. Shrugging your shoulders, eyes skimmed the words from the anonymous user: “fraud”, “die in a hole”, “you think this makes you good?”; it almost seemed this user was taking everything personal. Though you couldn’t figure out just what you did to them specifically. 

“It’s probably just someone mad and taking it out on random blogs, no? We never interacted before so we can’t possibly know each other. Look, we don't even follow the same accounts.” That was a good point, your friend mumbled in agreement. Perhaps it really just was some spam account, they only told you to be careful in case it got more extreme.

“Just be sure to take screenshots if they threaten you.”

And you did, the comments not stopping only growing by the hour. It got to the point you had to block the account, something you usually didn’t do but felt pressured due to the volume of spam comments and your friend saying they deserved it. A part of you was tempted to just reach out and ask what their problem was, an idea that was dropped when mentioned in your social group. Brows furrowed as the others called you too nice, that people don’t think like you, that some are just fucked up.

It seemed to be going well, after the block the hate comments stopped, and things started to go back into the boring norm of college classes and hanging out in your free time. A notification on your phone distracted you from the recent discussion with your study group. Blood leaving your being as you read the message sent to you, a new account, but the same words.

“Did you really think blocking me would help? I knew it, you’re just like the rest of the trash in this world. One day you’re going to wake up and everything around you is going to be dead, that goody-two-shoes attitude won’t be able to help you either. You’re all going to die and I’m going to do it.”

All attention was back on you when your phone dropped to the floor, your face pale from the feeling of anxiety growing inside you. Saying a quick “excuse me”, they watched you leave to the bathroom in a fit of paranoia. The mirror staring back at you showed a reflection that was never crossed before; widened eyes and mouth agape as you caught your breath. Mind raced with thoughts as you moved to check the stalls behind you, a breath of relief seeing that you were alone.

After the lovely encounter with your new pen pal, your friends convinced you to go to the police in hopes of finding the creep. Though it was shown they couldn’t pinpoint a good enough address, something about a VPN, your mind distracted by other things than computer tech. Looking out the window, every person became a possible threat. Was it the guy in the hoodie getting into a cab? Maybe the woman who was screaming at her phone while ordering a coffee. Your trust in humanity slowly dwindles, a hand on your shoulder breaking those negative thoughts as your friends give a few reassuring smiles. You weren’t fighting this by yourself, you had support.

Taking the police’s advice on blocking the account and switching your social to private, you had a bit more hope that maybe this would end. The small group headed back to your apartment as your friends discussed how crazy the person was. Your mind once more lost in thought on trying to figure out just what you did. The person said you were a goody-two-shoes, maybe they just meant your social media likes and posts, though something in your gut said it was more than just that. It was like they took your existence personally, as if you had truly offended them. A part of you wanted to at least try and apologize for whatever the fuck you did, but the other part knew it would anger the anon more. For now, you decided to push it aside, you did what you could.

Again, things seemed to be calming down, while it was frustrating to be on private, you knew you had to wait it out until things died down. A few weeks, maybe a month or two? God, you just wanted this to be over with, surely the person must have moved on by now, right? Someone couldn’t be that obsessed with freaking you out. So, after a month and a half you opened up your social to the public again. A few happy comments from some mutuals on seeing you back, glad to hear you were doing well. It felt good, almost therapeutic to have that control back. 

Another week and still no hate comments from random accounts, maybe they really did give up? You could be so hopeful. Checking your phone for a notification at the store entrance, you moved to place it back in your pocket before being hit by an oncoming person’s shoulder. A quick apology was sent their way as you fumbled with your phone from almost dropping it. Not receiving a reply, you figured the person was just in a rush. The dark hoodie blending in with a crowd of bystanders. Hearing your phone beep caused your eyes to leave the crowd and until the new notification. A simple sentence message from a new account: watch it.

“So, the creep really does know you? We need to go back to the police!” After the encounter, you booked it to your friend’s place, not feeling safe going shopping alone. Shaking your head, you knew it would be pointless. You didn’t get a good look at the person; from what you could see they looked male but that was just a hunch. The police would just shrug it off like they did before, not enough evidence did nothing to help them possibly hunt down a culprit. 

“They’ll just blow it off again, tell me to put my blog on private again. It was torture not getting to talk to my friends outside of our group, I don’t want to do it again.” 

“Yeah, but this creep saw you! They literally shoulder bumped you!

“But I didn’t see them.”

The two of you fell quiet, a huff from them knowing you were right despite how annoying and stressful the situation was. “So, the guy can just keep stalking you and the police won’t do shit, ridiculous.” 

It was, but it was also legal. An agreement came after this that you wouldn’t be left alone if it could be worked out. More eyes meant more chances of seeing who the guy was, which made sense. Part of you felt bad that your friends made sure to be around before and after your classes and even walking you home. They would reassure you it was fine, that they rather do this than hang up missing posters.

Every now and then a new message would surface from a new account, statements about what you were wearing, even pictures taken of yourself and your friends. Screenshots saved before blocking the next account. It was almost starting to feel normal, as if on cue you knew he would send you a new notification on the dot. And one of those days you finally felt bold, what could he do anyway, you weren’t alone so he couldn’t exactly hurt you, besides you almost wanted him to do something in public to put an end to this and call the police.

moth.eater sent: You should try the mountain dew, maybe it would give some spice to your lame life. netizen.55 sent: Why are you doing this? What did I even do to you? moth.eater sent: I just want to see you tick.

That was it, all he wanted was to piss you off? He was doing a shitty job at that, if anything he was just scaring you into a corner. A phrase you remembered from your psych class came back to your mind, anger was a secondary emotion usually from rejection or fear. This guy was trying to scare you to the point of anger, the thought alone didn’t settle well with you. That rush of adrenaline hitting you once more before you could rationalize your response.

netizen.55 sent: I’m not scared of you.

That seemed to do it, it was the first time he blocked you. A feeling of pride filled your lungs, it’s been a while since you felt this satisfied. You won this weird argument; the block proved it enough. He should leave you alone now. 

It itched; his skin never stopped burning despite how much he scratched. Red eyes stared through the screen; past the words you so bluntly wrote. You weren’t scared of him? Maybe not right now, but you would be. Every single person in this stupid world would be, sensei said so after all. The chair rolled back behind Shigaraki as he grabbed his old hoodie.

Final exams were nearing, but now that your number one hater had been leaving you alone it seemed less daunting. Your friends were even able to do their own things again which helped the guilt die down, no more being some protected being. Picking up the last textbook from the library, it was a straight direction back to your apartment. The time showed just past 7:15pm meaning a few hours of studying before crashing. Sounded like a good Thursday to you, especially with no notifications! A need to skip home almost overcame you, though the look of bystanders kept you in check.

With the apartment door shut and books tossed on the desk, it was time to get to work. Cracking your balcony door just a bit to let a breeze in, your eyes moved to observe the text. It was a relatively quiet night, not yet the weekend in which other college students would be howling below after a few drinks. Sometimes a police siren would go by, nothing too dangerous from the sounds of it, besides a few heroes were patrolling the area. Getting up to take a break, the clock now showing 8:43pm, it didn’t hit you how long you had been reading for. A hand moving to massage your face and wake up. One more hour you told yourself as you walked towards the kitchen for a drink.

Weird, did you leave the kitchen sink on? Brows furrowed as you tried to remember each step you made when you got home but couldn’t really focus due to being in a slight daze. Maybe you washed a dish and forgot to turn the faucet off. Shrugging it off, you turned the handle and moved to the fridge. Cold pizza and a few beers stared back at you, a mental note to get more groceries this weekend was made as you went back to the sink. Maybe past you knew what they were on about with the sink being on.

Cup in your hand, you stopped dead in your tracks, eyes widening from what was staring back at you. The hallway that faced the sink was empty, a window at the very back that usually helped you see what was going on in the dark apartment was now blocked by the figure. Red eyes stared back at your own, each step you took to move back was followed by another from the person.

“You said you weren’t scared of me; you look like everyone else who sees me.” The voice sounded scratched, like he hadn’t drunk anything in years, as if he was the embodiment of a desert. If it didn’t hit before, it hit now on who it was. Quick to run to the bathroom door, the closest one that would get you away from the stalker, you let out a strangled grunt when you were shoved against it instead. Face now pressed into the wood as the palm of his hand kept you in place. “I knew it, once that little facade breaks, you’re just as shitty as everyone else.”

“Let go!”

Not caring about the panic in your voice, you tried to turn around or at least get him to move, a “tsk” was heard as the hooded man showed you the cup you were once holding. Confusion turned into fear as the cup began to turn into dust just by his touch alone, a silent warning that you would be next if you kept it up. Still processing everything that was going on, the only question that could come to mind was asked, your nervous system in full overdrive with logic out the window. “Why?”

“I told you; I just want to see what’s under that mask. You should really think twice on who you offer free drinks to.” 

Research suggests that the inability to fall asleep without background noise could be related to a fear of being alone, which is often connected to abandonment issues. This fear can stem from past traumas or deeply ingrained insecurities.

Another night in at your shift, the hospital was usually quiet (one of the benefits of night shifts). Sitting your things down, you could already see the red light on room 1003 blinking erratically as usual. Knowing the nurse before you hadn’t checked on the patient, a deep sigh left you. Though the thought crossed your mind on who would, he was a villain, one that destroyed half of Japan. However, at this moment he was a patient who desperately needed attention.

Knocking on the door softly, you could see the white-haired man stop pressing the nurse button on his bed. The room was quiet, and TV hours were limited to help other patients sleep, though this was a struggle with the Todoroki. It was as if he needed something to drown out the silence. Most of the nurses ignored his constant need, muttering things behind his back, that he deserved to suffer in silence. 

“Everything okay, Mr. Todoro-”

“Touya.”

Well, it was better than when he first awoke in the ward. Sedatives were used on the regular to calm him down, glares sent the nurses way when they called him anything but Dabi. A nod was sent his way as you came over to check his vitals, well he seemed fine physically (the best you could in his state). Deciding it was something bothering him in his mental state, you looked down at the man as he picked at a bandage. 

“Can’t sleep?”

Blue eyes looked at the wall, a pout on his reconstructed lips as the male continued his silent tantrum. Sometimes it made you laugh to think he terrorized your country for a year. Still not getting an answer, you concluded that was the issue, knowing perfectly well he had a voice to correct you. 

“I can get some hot tea if you would like?”

Again silence was the response, though he was getting more fidgety by the second. Your brows furrowed at how he expected you to read his mind. As if you knew him well enough to know what he wanted, oh how wrong he was. Trying one more time, you pressed on. “The ward is quiet tonight, what if I stay just for a bit to help you sleep? We can talk?”

That seemed to perk his interest, at least enough to get him to face you. His pride did not let him admit he wanted attention, that the silence was a reminder of how alone he felt. Taking a seat on the window bed, you looked out the window to see the parking lot. Some people coming and going from the ER downstairs. 

“Are you going to talk or not?”

Breaking from your trance, you expected him to start the conversation, but once more he was reliant on your actions. As if he was doing you some favor by talking. Funny.

“Right...well, how do you feel?”

An irritated look was sent your way, silently telling you that was a stupid question. Okay, time for a new plan. Taking out your phone, you let the man see a picture on the screen. “This is my cat, he has some anxiety so he likes attention.”

Raising his brow, Touya eyed the picture, taking in what you presented. “What’s his name?”

You felt a bit proud of that, taking it as a nurse-patient bonding moment. Showing him another picture of your feline friend, you continued on. Going over the cat’s name and personality, more scrolling of pictures, his eyes never leaving your screen. 

“What does he do when you have to leave? Sounds like a shitty life.”

While he wasn’t wrong, always needing attention did seem pretty tiring. You kept your mouth shut on saying the cat reminded you of him. With your phone now away, you went over the usual plan for your cat. 

“Consistency helps, but I usually leave some sound on in the house so he doesn’t feel alone.”

“Must be nice, having such a pampered life.”

He almost sounded jealous of the cat, but that sounded silly. “Have you ever had a pet?”

Ignoring your question, Touya changed the subject. Probably not wanting to talk about himself or his past. “Can we just talk about stupid stuff?”

“Oh, sure.” The awkwardness didn’t leave, but you did as he asked. Going over your plans for the night and what you packed for lunch. He stopped talking, only listening to you go on. His eyes were closing by the second. Thinking he was finally asleep you stopped, though the man grunted for you to continue. Unsure what else to say, you looked back out the window and described the area. Hoping it would be enough to relax the man completely. “Some nurses are leaving, looks like they are talking. Maybe about their shifts? Looks like a woman is coming into the ER, she forgot to turn her car lights off...”

A good thirty minutes passed before you could hear his snores. A sigh of relief left you as you stood, happy he was getting the sleep he needed as well as the attention he was seeking. 

You were so warm, he just wanted you to hold him a bit longer.

Content: He was just trying to understand how you saw him. All he got was more confusion.

Hating was such an easy emotion, one he was programmed to feel from such a young age. Everything made him itch: the kid across the street eating ice cream, the sickly cute couple making out on the train, the fundamentals of society. It was such an overwhelming feeling, but oh so easy to fall into.

You were supposed to be the same, just like everyone else in this god-forsaken world. So why didn't he itch when you smiled at him? Why did he allow you to put chapstick on his lips? A voice in his head saying it would be so easy to end your life. Just one touch and these new feelings would be gone.

He almost did it. Your napping form was in his bed, next to him as he played another solo round of LoL. Losing was a rare occasion, but sometimes it happened. His master always reminded him that it was an important lesson to get stronger. Still didn't mean he wasn't annoyed when the computer won. Throwing the controller to the floor, he huffed in annoyance ready to sleep off his frustrations. Forgetting you were also in bed with him, the two of you talking before his game. Seeing you however made him stop, the irritable look still plaster to his face. Why couldn't you sleep in your own damn room?

A scratch at his neck was heard as he eyed your form, teeth gritting as it got more apparent he had a bad itch. The only solution he was taught was to hurt, his free hand subconsciously reaching to touch. Just make the itch go away.

Moving just in time, he quickly pulled back. Crimson eyes were in shock, an odd feeling of guilt settling in his chest. He slept on the floor that night.

Avoidance became a norm for him when dealing with you. If he needed something, Kurogiri would speak on his behalf. If you tried to touch him, he would flinch away. Not even allowing you in his room anymore. The same cold look masked the true feelings. A voice somewhere deep asking to be touched again. Just once!

He thought he would lose it when you were hellbent on checking on his wounds. it was a fight, so what? Master said it was good to feel pain, that it would make his hatred stronger. A hoarse voice echoed in his small bedroom.

"Stop."

Eyes looked up at him from your squatting position. Was he really this stubborn? You decided, yes he was. Well, two could play that game. Giving him a stern look, you grabbed his arm. Pulling the hoodie sleeve up to get a better look at the cut.

He could kill you, he should kill you for being so damn defiant. Though that little voice in his head told him to stay put, at least for now.

Your hands were surprisingly gentle, at least for someone who was always treated so roughly. Was this what real kindness was like? He wasn't sure if he liked it or not. As you wrapped the now-cleaned wound, he asked what was on his mind for a while.

"What do you want?"

Confusion was your first reaction, not understanding the context. it took a few seconds to realize he meant what did you want in return for helping him.

"Nothing, boss. That cut just looked gnarly."

Now it was his turn to look at you oddly. Nothing was your response? Really?

"You must be pretty stupid then."

Perhaps, you wouldn't deny that. You did decide to join a terrorist organization, after all, a poor one at that. Shrugging your shoulders, you packed up the bandages, ready to head out when his voice stopped you.

"I didn't say to leave."

Turning back to face the blue-haired villain, you waited patiently for him to speak. At least say something about why he told you to stay. Though from the looks of it, you weren't getting an answer anytime soon. He didn't even look like he knew the answer. The awkward silence continued until he crossed his arms uncomfortably. Eyes squinted in frustration as he tried to understand why you even cared. Why you wanted to hang out with him, talk to him, just deal with him.

"Do you see me as a child?"

A what? Again a confused look was your take. A head scratch in trying to decipher his conclusion. Maybe you were dumb because you just weren't understanding his words.

"Why would I think that?"

"Because you're nice to me and you said you didn't want anything. So what, I'm some kid now?"

You could tell he was getting frustrated himself, shaking your head you did your best to get him to calm down. You both knew it would end badly if he continued down this tangent.

"No! I see you as a friend, a comrade."

Silence, the tension was thick in the air as he continued to stare you down. At least now he didn't seem offended or at least not wanting to destroy his room. Your words were...different. A friend? He couldn't remember the last time he heard that word. Maybe, just maybe he thought of you as the same. A twitch from his finger, red eyes staring into space as he tried to figure it out. Friends...

"Prove it."

Did he mean that? A hesitant hand reached out to the man, making sure it was safe to do as you pleased. Not seeing any resistance from him, you pushed onward. Your hand now brushed through his somewhat greasy locks, pushing them back to see the scars from his scratching. The other hand moved to his arm, trying to pull him closer. Again, he didn't deny your touch, almost like a puppet just following your lead. Was he used to being controlled? You hoped not.

By the end, he was pressed to your chest as you hugged him. It was awkward, sure, but it seemed he liked it. Or at least was tolerant of it. His eyes closed as you petted his head. You were so warm, he just wanted you to hold him a bit longer. Pulling away after a few heartbeats, you looked down at the mellowed villain.

"Want to play a game, I know you have an extra controller."

This was from my AO3 account, I will try to post on both accounts🧡

Content: Sometimes even villains need a bath time

It was a hassle, he fought you the entire time, threats of burning your apartment down if you so touched him falling out like venom from his lips. You were used to his threats and his hard glares though, not fazed by his strong diversion from physical touch. It was understandable, from what he told you about his past. Though today was not a day to be understanding, rather he needed this.

Dragging the adult male into the bathroom, you took brisk movements to lock the door so he wouldn’t escape, a glare was your only response as you looked back at your lover. After the few years, you knew him, this might have been the lowest he was in. Covered in soot and blood from his past battle with a few ambitious heroes, he looked more like the homeless man you encounter so long ago. A grunt and raised brow was his reply as he watched your eyes evaluate him, seeming displeased by your judgemental gaze.

“I know I’m handsome, doll, but you don’t gotta stare that hard. Might hurt my fragile ego.” A sarcastic reply to cover up his feeling of embarrassment, only becoming glaringly obvious when you walked away to turn the faucet of the tub on.

“Get undressed.” It wasn’t a suggestion, and he knew you well enough to know you were serious. He wanted to chide back a smart remark, but it would only annoy you. Though he didn’t mind seeing that fire in your eyes. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he did as he was told. He really did it this time, some of the surgical staples were loose, showing just a glimpse of the burnt skin underneath. Worry crossed your features once you noticed the irritated skin, would a bath be okay?

“I’m fine, let’s just get it over with.” As if reading your mind, he only eyed you from the side, a look that told you not to look down on him. He was strong after all, a little soap was the least of his concerns.

Shoving you to the side, the man stepped in, the warm water causing him to hiss a bit. You were quick to his side, a glare shot your way, once more reminding you to not treat him so weakly. A thought rushed in his head, the things he did for you, thank god you were good-looking. He crouched down slowly, letting his body get accustomed to the water. A bored expression graced his tired features as his turquoise hues fell on you. “Happy?”

Well, it wasn’t exactly how you pictured it, but you wouldn’t complain. Grabbing a washcloth, you lathered it up with soap, the villain only watching in mild interest, a hint of sarcasm on his tongue. “You gonna wash me up too? Wow, I hit the jackpot.”

“Don’t be pissed just because you got dirty, jerk.”

“Yeah, well you reap what you sow, I suppose.”

The washcloth touched the skin gently, still causing discomfort on his features as you went to work. It was unknown if it was from the soap on his skin or just the touch alone. Eyes looking anywhere but you at the moment, a wave of vulnerability hitting him as you washed his blackened skin. Silence crept through the walls, the only sound being the water splashing about as you cleaned the rag. A soft sigh escaped his chapped lips, turquoise eyes finally turning to watch you clean the washcloth, listening to you make a “tsk” with your tongue over the water blackening.

“It ain’t that bad, is it? I’ve seen worse.”

His smart reply left you to chuckle dryly, eyeing him with a sharp look as he grinned, knowing he got under your skin. It was probably his favorite pastime, watching you tick. “Yeah, I’m sure my landlord would love to know how I got the tub black.”

“A remodel? I heard black is the new bathroom thing, trust me.”

Eyes rolled at his words, going back to cleaning his arm this time. A concentrated look was plastered on your face as you were careful not to touch his opened wounds from the missing surgical staples. “Want me to stitch them after?”

He looked down at his arm, a half-hearted shrug was your reply, a quick hiss following after from moving his shoulder. Damn, he really should think his impulse control over. “Do what you want.”

“Fine, I’ll make sure not a single staple gets out next time.”

He raised a brow at your reaction, knowing you were annoyed with his dismissive behavior. His stare moved back to the bathroom tile on the wall, a hand going up to run over the design. Silence once overcrowded the room again as you continued to clean him up. Finishing up, you threw the dirty washcloth in the laundry basket, no concern about if it was salvageable after the bath. Leaning back down over the tub wall, you grabbed your shampoo and conditioner. A calloused hand grabs your wrist to stop you.

“You’ve done enough, I’m clean aren't I? Don’t worry about the rest.”

His voice came out a whisper, almost like a silent plea to stop spoiling him as if he couldn’t handle it anymore. A stare-off started, both of you too stubborn to back down from your apparent claims. Furrowing your brows once more, you tried to grab for the shampoo bottle again, his hand keeping you in place. “Just this once? Please?”

A look of hesitation flashed through his blue eyes, finally he let you go, huffing out as if it was the worst decision in his life. Smiling at his surrender, you quickly grabbed the bottle so he wouldn’t change his mind. Again, as gently as possible, hot water ran through his hair so you could lather it with soap. He closed his eyes as a soft sigh came out, shoulders relaxing just a bit from the water running down his sore muscles. A shudder soon followed after the moment your hands touched his head, the sensitivity of your hands running through his dark locks only making him want to close his eyes more. He shouldn’t have agreed to this.

Nails massaged his scalp, he gripped the tub to handle the new feeling. The concern is shown on your face, stopping to look down at him. “Are you okay? I’m hurting you?”

“No.” It was spoken harshly, not wanting to admit his weakness to your touch. He was stronger than this, he could handle having his hair washed. “Just hurry up, will ya? I want to sleep.”

Going back to work on his dyed locks, you mumbled something he couldn’t comprehend, probably a smart remark to his words, he didn’t blame you for that. Water ran back down his hair and back as you rinsed out the soap, fingers combing through the strands to make sure all the soap was out, he only gritted his teeth, wanting this sweet torture to end. Not wanting to feel again after this.

It was conditioner next, an annoyed sigh at the feeling of the thick cream being spread through his burnt locks. He was never agreeing to this again, hating the feeling of relaxation taking over him. Hated the soft feeling growing in his chest. Hated you.

Luckily it ended quickly, water once more rinsing out the dirt and conditioner from his hair, the man looking more like a wet cat than a villain. Eyes even slit in contempt as he stared at the faucet in front of him. Getting up, you grabbed a towel, calling out to him to get out. You didn’t have to call out a second time, he stepped out, ripping the towel from your hands to dry himself, not even caring if he opened his wounds once more.

“Stop acting like a child, you’re just going to get an infection if you irritate the skin.”

The dead stare at the ground was your sign he wasn’t in the mood, though that was never new. Walking over, you grabbed the towel from him, a glare your only reply as you got to work drying him off properly. Moving to his hair, you ruffled his head, fried hair poofing up a bit from the friction. A laugh escaped your lips from his non-villainous look.

“Cute.”

“You’re calling the wrong person cute, doll.”

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