𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐂𝐎 𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏

𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎’𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄

𖤐 synopsis: with the feeling of being disregarded from izuku, you try to end the relationship; but, izuku unexpectedly reels you back in with a surprisingly, odd way of an apology.

𖤐 trigger warnings: angst/fluff at the end

𖤐 pairing: izuku midoriya x gender neutral! reader

the afternoon sun cast long shadows across u.a. high school's campus as you made your way toward heights alliance, the dormitory where class 1-a resided. your footsteps were heavy, matching the weight in your chest.

today marked exactly two months since you and izuku midoriya had started dating, but instead of celebrating, you were dreading the conversation you needed to have.

the world outside the school walls had grown increasingly dangerous. villains were organizing, heroes were falling, and somehow in the middle of it all was your boyfriend—a sixteen-year-old with the weight of an impossible legacy on his shoulders and determination burning in his eyes that sometimes scared you.

you found him in the common room, notebook open on his lap, muttering analysis to himself as he reviewed footage of recent hero battles. his green hair was messier than usual, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. he hadn't noticed you yet.

"izuku," you called softly.

his head snapped up, and immediately his tired face transformed with a smile that made your heart ache. "hey! i didn't hear you come in." he closed his notebook and patted the spot beside him on the couch. "i was just studying some new techniques that could help with controlling—"

"can we talk?" you interrupted, remaining standing. "somewhere private?"

his smile faltered, concern immediately replacing his enthusiasm. "sure. my room?"

the walk up to the fourth floor was quiet, tension building with each step. izuku's room was exactly as it always was—all might memorabilia covering nearly every surface, analysis notebooks stacked on his desk, workout equipment in the corner. it should have felt comfortable by now, but today it just reminded you of how single-minded his focus could be.

"is everything okay?" he asked as he closed the door behind you.

you took a deep breath. "not really. i'm worried about you, izuku."

he blinked, confusion written across his freckled face. "worried? about me? why?"

"why?" you couldn't help the slight edge that crept into your voice. "have you looked in a mirror lately? you're exhausted. you're pushing yourself way too hard with this new blackwhip training. aizawa-sensei said you were in recovery girl's office twice this week."

izuku's shoulders tensed slightly. "that's normal for training. i have to master these quirks if i'm going to—"

"if you're going to what? save everyone? become the number one hero? die trying?" the words came out harsher than you intended, but weeks of bottled concern were finally spilling over.

his eyes widened. "that's not fair. you know how important this is."

"of course i know," you said, trying to keep your voice level. "the whole world knows how important it is. but i'm not dating the future symbol of peace or one for all or whatever. i'm dating you, izuku. the boy who might not live to graduation at this rate."

a flash of hurt crossed his face. "i'm being careful."

"no, you're not!" you gestured to the bandages peeking out from beneath his school uniform sleeve. "this isn't normal, izuku. most teenagers worry about exams and crushes, not villains targeting them specifically."

"i never said it would be normal," he countered, his voice quiet but firm. "when you said you wanted to be with me, i thought you understood what that meant."

the implication stung. "so i'm just supposed to watch you destroy yourself? smile and nod while you come back with new scars every week?"

"i'm getting stronger!" his voice rose slightly, a rare show of frustration. "every training session, every new technique—it's all to make sure i can protect everyone. to make sure i can protect you."

"i never asked you to protect me," you said. "i asked you to be with me. there's a difference."

the argument built like a gathering storm, months of unspoken fears and frustrations finally finding voice. the common room incident with bakugo where izuku had jumped in front of you unnecessarily. the hospital visit after his internship that he'd downplayed. the nightmares he wouldn't talk about that left him shaking and distant.

"you don't understand what's coming," izuku said, running a hand through his hair. "the league is getting stronger. all for one is—"

"stop." you held up your hand. "i'm not asking for hero intel, izuku. i'm asking for my boyfriend to care about his own safety as much as he cares about everyone else's." "i do care!"

"then why won't you ever slow down? why won't you let anyone help you? even all might is worried, i can see it when he watches you train."

his face flushed with emotion. "because there isn't time! because if i fail, people die! because all might chose me, and i can't let him down!"

the words hung in the air between you, heavy and revealing. this wasn't just about heroics or training—this was about a boy desperate to prove himself worthy of an impossible mantle.

you sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. "i can't compete with that, can i? with all might, with one for all, with your destiny or whatever you want to call it." "it's not a competition," he said softly. "it feels like one. and i'm losing." you reached for your bag. "maybe we rushed into this. maybe dating the successor to all might isn't something i'm cut out for."

panic flashed across izuku's face. "wait, what are you saying?" "i'm saying i need space to think, izuku. this isn't what i thought it would be." you turned toward the door, willing yourself not to cry. "i care about you too much to watch you self-destruct."

"please don't go," he whispered, voice cracking slightly. "not like this." but you were already reaching for the doorknob, determined to leave before the tears threatening to spill could fall. you needed time to sort through your feelings, to decide if loving a boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders was something you could actually handle.

"i'm sorry," you said quietly. what happened next occurred so quickly you barely had time to register it. there was a crackling sound, a flash of dark energy in your peripheral vision, and suddenly you felt something wrap firmly around your waist—not painfully, but with unmistakable strength. blackwhip.

the dark tendrils of izuku's newer quirk had extended from his hand, gently but firmly holding you in place. before you could protest, he had pulled you back toward him, spinning you around to face him. his eyes were wide with surprise at his own actions, a look that suggested he'd acted purely on instinct.

and then, in a move that shocked you both, he leaned forward and pressed his lips firmly against your cheek—a desperate, impulsive gesture that silenced whatever words had been forming on your lips.

for a moment, neither of you moved. the blackwhip dissipated, but izuku didn't step away, his face inches from yours, cheeks burning crimson.

"i—i'm sorry," he stammered, mortification dawning as he realized what he'd done. "i didn't mean to use my quirk on you. that was completely inappropriate and—"

"izuku," you interrupted his spiraling apology. "you used blackwhip on me." he winced. "i know. i'm really sorry. i panicked and—"

"no," you said, something warm unfurling in your chest despite everything. "you controlled it perfectly. no damage. no pain."

his rambling stopped as he processed your words. "oh. yeah, i guess i did." a small, tentative smile crossed your face. "that's the first time you've used it without hurting yourself or breaking something. and you did it…for me." the realization seemed to dawn on him too, his eyes widening slightly. "i wasn't even thinking about control. i just didn't want you to leave."

you reached up, touching your cheek where his kiss still lingered. "and the, um…?"

his blush deepened impossibly. "that was impulse. total impulse. i'm sorry if it was unwelcome or—"

"it wasn't unwelcome," you said softly. the tension between you shifted, the anger from moments before not gone but transformed into something different, something more vulnerable. "i'm scared, izuku," you admitted, finally voicing the fear that had been driving your anger. "not of villains or fighting or any of that. i'm scared of losing you."

his expression softened, understanding replacing defensiveness. "i'm scared too," he confessed. "all the time. but that's why i have to keep pushing, keep getting stronger."

"but at what cost?" you reached for his hand, turning it over to reveal the scars that mapped his sacrifices. "these aren't just training injuries. these are pieces of yourself you're giving away." izuku looked down at his scarred hand in yours. "i know it seems that way. but every scar is a lesson learned. a mistake i won't make again."

"and what about us? am i just another lesson waiting to happen?"

he shook his head firmly. "no. never." he took a deep breath. "look, i can't promise i'll stop training hard. i can't promise i won't put myself in danger when lives are at stake. but i can promise that you're not competing with anything or anyone. you're…" he searched for words, "you're the reason i come back, not just the reason i fight." "that sounds nice, but what does it actually mean?"

"it means i'll try harder to find balance. to take breaks. to let you in when things get overwhelming instead of shouldering everything alone." he squeezed your hand gently. "and maybe…maybe you could help me remember that saving the world includes saving enough of myself for the things that matter after the fighting's done."

you studied his face—earnest, determined, those green eyes that had always seen more in you than you sometimes saw in yourself. "that's a lot of maybes."

"i know. but i'm willing to try if you are." he hesitated, then added quietly, "i don't want our first argument to be our last conversation."

despite everything, you felt a smile tugging at your lips. "you know, most couples' first fights are about something normal. like where to eat dinner or forgetting an anniversary."

he laughed softly, the sound a welcome break in the tension. "when have either of us ever been normal?"

"fair point." you sighed, some of the anger and frustration finally draining away. "for the record, using your quirk to stop someone from walking away is definitely crossing a line." he winced. "i know. it won't happen again."

"good." you stepped closer, poking his chest lightly. "because next time i might actually be mad enough that you'd end up in recovery girl's office for an entirely different reason."

his eyes widened slightly before he caught the teasing in your tone, a smile spreading across his face. "so…there will be a next time? for us, i mean?"

instead of answering immediately, you reached up and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, mirroring his impulsive gesture from before. "yes, you heroic idiot. but we have a lot to figure out." relief washed over his features. "we will. i promise." he hesitated, then added, "um, can i…i mean, would it be okay if i…"

you rolled your eyes, but couldn't suppress your smile. "yes, deku, you can kiss me properly now."

his face lit up with the same determined joy you'd seen when he mastered a new technique, and as he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a gentle, tentative kiss, you understood something important: loving izuku midoriya would never be easy. there would always be dangers and fears and arguments about his reckless heroism.

but maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it.

outside the window, clouds shifted, allowing late afternoon sunlight to stream into the room, illuminating the space between two teenagers figuring out how to balance first love against the weight of a world that demanded heroes.

"for what it's worth," izuku whispered as he pulled back from the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, "controlling blackwhip was a lot easier when i was thinking about holding onto you instead of fighting."

you smiled, storing that confession away like a precious secret. "then maybe we've both learned something important today."

as the sun continued its descent outside, casting long shadows across u.a.'s campus, you and izuku sat on the edge of his bed, hands intertwined, talking about boundaries and fears and hopes—the kind of conversation that transforms a crush into something deeper, something worth fighting for.

your first argument hadn't ended your relationship. instead, it had given it roots, something solid to grow from. and in a world increasingly filled with uncertainty and danger, that was its own kind of heroism.

taglist: — open! [dm me if you’re interested]

mutuals: @https-bakugo @n3r0-5352 @kitkat13001 @haikyuubby @https-bakugo

© 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 —

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA I LOVEE IT SM RKDEIRJXNSJD KICKING MY FEET

Troupe : Childhood Friends Romance [ @kenzdolls ]

-> Childhood Friend Romance is a romantic plot where characters develop romantic feelings for someone who they spent their childhood years with.

i kinda went with the blue cause of your blog,,

LOL YES I LOVE BLUE 🫶😁

Hai kenz :3

HII POOKIE

do i put your name down as kenz? :sweat:

yes 😋✌️

Hi I read your relationship petcanons with Dabi (and Shigaraki) and I just want to ask if you could do one for Spinner?

Yea! I definitely will! :3 thx for asking!!

𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

𖤐 synopsis: mha boys accidentally confess. whoopz.

𖤐 pairings: izuku midoriya x reader, katsuki bakugou x reader, shoto todoroki x reader, eijiro kirishima x reader, denki kaminari x reader

𖤐 side note: yes, I know people have done this before..just don’t mind it it’s my first smau…and yes. I’m lazy; sssshh..also so sorry for them being blurry

izuku midoriya:

katsuki bakugou:

shoto todoroki:

eijiro kirishima:

denki kaminari:

taglist: [open]

mutuals: @https-bakugo @haikyuubby @va-3 @lotusstarr @tulippanes @gh0st-g1rll @luvseraphh

© property of kenzdolls

relationship headcanons with mr. compress pretty please with cherry on top <33 thank u !! >ᴗ< ♡

answer: of course, thank you for your support + the commission!! (˶◜ᵕ◝˶)

𝐌𝐑. 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒:

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐦𝐫. 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐦𝐫. 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐱 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧! 𝐠𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

MEETING MR. COMPRESS:

he’s immediately intrigued by your quirk. he sees it as an art form, just like his own. he’ll watch you use it during operations, analyzing the nuances, the precision, and the creative applications, making silent commentary in his head by appreciating your skill, and giving you tips.

he’s a gentleman, even to fellow villains. expect a bow, a flourish of his hat, and a charming introduction. he’ll remember your name perfectly.

he’ll make a point of engaging you in conversation, usually about strategy, technique, or the finer points of villainy. he wants to know what makes you tick, and subtly gauge your ambition.

he might test you, not in a malicious way, but to see how you think on your feet. expect sudden questions during planning sessions. "hypothetically, if our escape route is compromised, what's your immediate plan?" he's observing your resourcefulness.

if you're injured, he will (very discreetly) make sure you get the best care available within the league. he’s not going to fuss over you, but he'll use his connections to ensure you're patched up properly.

MR. COMPRESS CRUSHING ON YOU:

he starts paying extra attention to your appearance. not in a creepy way, but he notices the details. he’ll internally admire your sense of style. like, if he got you a gift, it would be something you would wear.

he finds excuses to be near you. he’ll offer to assist you with your assignments, or provide a "second opinion" on your plans, when in reality, he just wants to spend time with you.

his jokes get slightly more frequent and a little more…suggestive- but he keeps it classy, of course. expect witty banter and playful teasing, always with a hint of a deeper meaning.

he might start "collecting" little mementos related to you. Not in a stalkerish way! maybe a item from your quirk, or a discarded sketch if you're artistic. He keeps them hidden, treasures of his affection.

he'll start subtly incorporating elements of your style or quirk into his own performances and illusions. it’s a tribute to you, a way to keep you close to him.

he might offer you a rare glimpse behind the mask – not literally, but he'll share stories from his past, or his artistic philosophy. he’s letting you see the real atsuhiro sako, just a little bit.

DATING MR. COMPRESS:

dates are elaborate and theatrical. think rooftop dinners with a hidden view of the city, private performances tailored to your tastes, or a meticulously planned heist of a priceless artifact...just for the thrill of it.

he’s a master of romantic gestures, but always with a villainous twist. he might "compress" a bouquet of roses into a perfect sphere, or steal a star from the sky (a perfectly safe illusion, of course) to give it to you.

PDA is rare, but incredibly meaningful. a stolen glance, a lingering touch, a quiet word in your ear during a chaotic battle – these small moments speak volumes.

he’s fiercely protective of you. anyone who threatens you will face his wrath, delivered with elegance and surgical precision.

he is surprisingly open and vulnerable with you. he trusts you with his secrets, his fears, and his hopes. he knows you understand the darkness within him, and he can be his true self with you.

he loves to hear you talk about your quirk, your ambitions, and your plans. he genuinely appreciates your talent and vision. he’s your biggest fan, but also— your most honest critic.

he’s fascinated by your perspective on the world. he values your input and seeks your advice on everything from strategy to aesthetics. he sees you as his equal, his partner, and his muse.

he’ll compress little things that remind you of him into little trinkets for you to have, like a small figurine representing his mask.

Hs is an amazing listener. he remembers even the smallest details about you, and uses them to surprise and delight you.

he’s not jealous, really. he trusts you too much to go there, however, he will be possessive and will keep a close eye on anyone who seems too close to you. he will never tell you of this.

he’ll teach you new tricks and techniques with your quirk, pushing you to explore its full potential. he helps you become an even more formidable villain.

© 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 —

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒

𖤐 synopsis: in the dimly lit league of villains' hideout, an unexpected moment of vulnerability unfolds between you and dabi as you both share painful memories of your fathers.

𖤐 trigger warnings: dark themes, abuse (implied)

𖤐 pairing: touya (dabi) todoroki x villain! gender neutral! reader

the afternoon light filtered weakly through the boards covering the windows of the league of villains' current hideout. dust particles danced in the thin beams of sunlight that managed to break through, giving the otherwise dreary room a strange, almost ethereal quality. the abandoned building had become home for the past three weeks—not the worst place you'd stayed since joining the league, but certainly not the best either.

you lounged on the worn couch, your legs stretched across dabi's lap as he absently traced the scars on your arm with his fingertips. his touch was feather-light, careful not to press too hard against your skin. despite his rough exterior and the violent nature of his quirk, dabi always touched you with a gentleness that still surprised you sometimes.

the hideout was unusually quiet today. shigaraki had taken toga, twice, and spinner on some reconnaissance mission, while mr. compress and kurogiri were meeting with potential allies across town. it was rare to have the place entirely to yourselves, and the silence felt almost luxurious after days of toga's manic laughter and twice's constant contradictory chatter.

"what are you thinking about?" dabi asked, his deep voice breaking through the comfortable silence. his turquoise eyes studied your face with an intensity that used to make you uncomfortable but now felt like home. you shifted slightly, adjusting your position on the couch. "just enjoying the quiet, honestly."

dabi's lips quirked up on one side—the closest thing to a genuine smile he ever showed. "never thought i'd miss silence until i joined this circus."

you laughed softly. "remember when toga and twice had that three-hour argument about whether strawberry milk was better than chocolate?" "and then spinner threatened to duct tape their mouths shut?" dabi shook his head, the staples at the corners of his mouth catching the light. "i nearly burned the place down just to escape."

"but you didn't," you said, reaching out to push a strand of his dark hair away from his face. "because underneath all that brooding and those threats, you care about them."

dabi scoffed, though he didn't pull away from your touch. "i don't care about anyone in this league except you."

"mmm, keep telling yourself that," you teased, knowing full well how annoyed he got when you suggested he had a soft spot for the other members.

he rolled his eyes but didn't argue further. his hand continued its gentle exploration of your arm, tracing each scar with a reverence that made your heart ache. some were from your life before the league, others collected during various missions. dabi knew the story behind each one—just as you knew the story behind each of his purple scars that mapped out his body like a grotesque puzzle.

"this one," he said, touching a particularly jagged mark that ran from your elbow to your wrist, "still looks painful."

"it's not anymore," you assured him. "just a reminder of why we're here. why we're fighting." dabi nodded, understanding perfectly. every member of the league carried their own wounds—some visible, others buried deep beneath the surface. it was what united you all, in a way. the scars left by a society that had failed you.

"speaking of reminders," you said, sitting up a little straighter. "i found something yesterday when i was out." you reached into your pocket and pulled out a crumpled newspaper clipping. "thought you might want to see it."

dabi took the paper from your hands, his expression hardening as he unfolded it. it was an article about the number two hero, endeavor, speaking at some charity event about supporting children with difficult-to-control quirks. the irony was sickening.

"bastard," dabi muttered, his fingers tightening around the paper. small wisps of blue flame began to lick at the edges of the clipping. "still pretending to be a fucking saint."

you watched as the paper blackened and curled, turning to ash in dabi's palm. the blue flames danced across his skin but never extended to where his other hand rested on your leg. his control was impeccable—it had to be, after what he'd been through.

"i know you don't like talking about him," you said carefully. "but whenever you see anything related to him, you get this look in your eyes…" dabi's jaw clenched, the staples stretching his scarred skin even tighter. "what look?"

"like you're back there," you said softly. "back in that house with him."

for a long moment, dabi said nothing. the silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken memories and pain. you didn't push—you'd learned early in your relationship that pushing dabi only made him retreat further into himself. instead, you waited, giving him the space to decide whether to let you in or change the subject entirely. finally, he brushed the remaining ashes from his palm onto the floor. "what about you?" he asked, deflecting as he often did. "you never talk about your old man either."

you shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant despite the sudden tightness in your chest. "not much to talk about. can't miss what was never there."

dabi's gaze sharpened. "sometimes that leaves its own kind of scar." the observation caught you off guard. it wasn't often that dabi showed this level of perception about emotional matters—or perhaps he simply chose not to reveal it most of the time.

"i guess it does," you admitted. "but different from yours. my father just… wasn't around. yours was there in all the worst ways possible."

something shifted in dabi's expression then, a crack appearing in his carefully maintained façade. his eyes darted to the boarded-up windows, then to the door, as if ensuring you were truly alone before he allowed himself to speak.

"sometimes i think it would have been better if he hadn't been there at all," dabi said, his voice so low you had to lean in to hear him. "if he'd just fucked off and left us alone instead of…" he trailed off, his free hand clenching into a fist.

you placed your hand over his, feeling the tension in his fingers. "instead of what, dabi?"

he looked at you then, really looked at you, with a vulnerability that made your breath catch. in that moment, he wasn't dabi the villain, the man who burned heroes without remorse—he was toya, the broken child beneath all those scars. "instead of training me until i broke," he said finally, the words rushing out like they'd been trapped inside him for too long. "until i literally fucking burned."

you held his gaze, letting him see that you weren't afraid of his truth. "tell me."

and for the first time since you'd known him, dabi began to talk about his father—about endeavor, about enji todoroki. about what it meant to be the firstborn son of a man obsessed with surpassing all might at any cost.

"he married my mother for her quirk," dabi explained, his voice hollow. "it was never about love or family. it was about breeding the perfect weapon. and i was the first attempt."

you listened, your heart breaking as he described the "training" sessions that started when he was just four years old. how endeavor would push him for hours, demanding he produce hotter flames, maintain them longer, control them better. how his tiny body would shake with exhaustion, how his skin would blister and burn from his own quirk.

"my fire was hot—hotter than his. that's what he wanted," dabi said, a bitter smile twisting his scarred lips. "but my body couldn't handle it. not like his. i tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen. said i was being weak, that i needed to push through it."

"he was wrong," you said firmly, squeezing his hand. "he was wrong about you."

dabi laughed, a harsh sound devoid of humor. "oh, i know that now. but back then? he was my father. my hero." the last word dripped with venom. "i thought if i could just try harder, be stronger, he'd finally be proud of me. that he'd finally love me." you felt a burning behind your eyes but forced back the tears. dabi didn't need your pity—he needed your understanding.

"what about your mother?" you asked gently. "did she try to stop him?"

a flash of genuine pain crossed dabi's face. "she tried. in her way. but she was… damaged. the more children she had, the more unstable she became. and he kept pushing her to have more, hoping the 'perfect combination' would eventually emerge." he paused, his gaze distant. "until shoto was born." you'd heard him mention that name before—his youngest brother, the one with both fire and ice. the "masterpiece" that endeavor had been striving for.

"once shoto came along with his perfect half-and-half quirk, i became obsolete," dabi continued. "still had to train, still had to meet his impossible standards, but without even the sliver of attention i'd had before. i was just… a failed experiment."

"so what happened?" you asked, though you had a sickening feeling you already knew the answer. the scars that covered so much of his body told part of the story, but you'd never heard him explain exactly how he'd gotten them.

dabi was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer. when he finally spoke again, his voice was distant, as if he were narrating someone else's tragedy rather than his own.

"i wanted to prove i wasn't a failure. that my fire was special—better than his, better than shoto's." his eyes glazed slightly, lost in the memory. "i pushed myself further than i ever had before. the flames were beautiful—so hot they turned blue. perfect control, just like he always wanted."

he held up his scarred hands, staring at them. "for about thirty seconds. then my skin started to cook." you swallowed hard, imagining a young toya engulfed in his own flames, screaming in agony.

"he watched it happen," dabi said, his voice now eerily calm. "stood there while i burned. i remember looking at him through the flames, waiting for him to save me. he just… looked disappointed. like i'd broken his favorite toy."

"dabi," you whispered, unable to find words adequate for such horror.

"i don't remember much after that," he continued. "i should have died. sometimes i think i did die, and whatever i am now is just… the ghost of toya todoroki walking around in this patchwork body."

you moved then, shifting to kneel in front of him, taking both his hands in yours. "you're not a ghost. you're here. you survived."

"did i?" he looked at you with those piercing turquoise eyes. "toya todoroki died that day. i made sure of it. dabi rose from those ashes."

you reached up to touch his face, your fingers gently tracing the stapled scars. "and dabi is who i fell in love with. but that doesn't mean toya isn't still in there somewhere."

he closed his eyes briefly at your touch, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability before the walls came back up. "toya was weak. he wanted his father's approval, his love. dabi just wants to watch him burn."

"and you will," you assured him. "when the time is right. the league will help you expose him for what he really is."

dabi nodded, some of the tension leaving his body as he focused back on the present, on the mission ahead. on the revenge he'd built his new life around.

"what about you?" he asked after a moment, clearly wanting to shift the focus away from himself. "you said your father was absent. what's that story?" you settled back beside him on the couch, respecting his need to change the subject while recognizing his genuine interest in your past. it was only fair—he'd shared his darkest memories with you.

"not nearly as dramatic as yours," you said with a small shrug. "he just… left when i was three. don't really remember him much at all."

"he ever try to contact you?” you shook your head. "birthday card once a year until i was ten. then nothing. my mother said he had 'commitments elsewhere,' whatever that meant."

"what was your mother like?" dabi asked, his hand finding yours again.

"tired," you answered honestly. "always working two or three jobs to keep a roof over our heads. she did her best, i think, but she wasn't really… present, even when she was physically there." dabi nodded, understanding.

"emotional absence can fuck you up just as much as physical absence."

"yeah," you agreed, surprised by his insight. "she never hurt me, never yelled or anything like that. but she also never really saw me, you know? it was like i was just another responsibility, another burden she had to carry."

"what about when your quirk manifested?" dabi asked. it was a natural question—for most children, the emergence of their quirk was a pivotal moment, one where parental guidance was crucial.

you laughed bitterly. "she was terrified. my quirk isn't exactly… family-friendly." your quirk—the ability to absorb and manipulate the negative emotions of others, turning them into a physical force—had first manifested during a particularly bad day at school when you were six. a bully who'd been tormenting you suddenly collapsed, screaming about the darkness crushing him. no one had understood what happened, but your mother had taken one look at your glowing eyes and known.

"she tried to help me suppress it," you continued. "said it was dangerous, that people wouldn't understand. that they'd think i was villain material." "self-fulfilling prophecy," dabi noted with a smirk.

"i guess so," you agreed. "by the time i was a teenager, i'd learned to control it well enough to use it selectively. started small—making bullies feel their own cruelty, making abusive teachers face their own insecurities." "vigilante justice," dabi said, a note of approval in his voice.

"it felt good," you admitted. "to finally use what everyone told me was a villain's quirk to help people who were suffering. but society doesn't see it that way, does it? using an 'evil' quirk makes you evil, no matter your intentions."

"this fucked-up hero society only sees in black and white," dabi agreed. "no room for the gray areas where most of us actually live."

you nodded, thinking about the path that had eventually led you to the league. "after my mother died, there was nothing holding me back anymore. no one to disappoint, no one to pretend for. i started using my quirk more openly, targeting people who abused their power—corrupt officials, violent criminals the heroes couldn't be bothered with, businessmen exploiting their workers."

"and that's when you caught shigaraki's attention," dabi concluded, having heard this part of your story before.

"yeah. found myself cornered by some pro heroes who didn't appreciate my particular brand of justice. thought i was done for until a warp gate opened up right in front of me." you smiled at the memory, despite the fear you'd felt at the time. "never thought i'd be grateful to see a bunch of notorious villains, but that day i was."

dabi's arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side. "lucky for me they recruited you." his voice was gruff, but the sentiment behind it was genuine.

you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. "do you ever wonder what would have happened if our fathers had been different? if your dad hadn't been an abusive monster, if mine had actually stuck around?"

"we wouldn't be here," dabi said simply. "you might've been a licensed hero, using your quirk to help people through the proper channels." "and you?"

dabi was quiet for a moment, considering. "i don't know. maybe the same. or maybe i'd have followed in the old man's footsteps anyway, become the next endeavor." he shuddered slightly at the thought. "sometimes i wonder if that flame is in my blood regardless of what he did to me."

"it's not," you said firmly. "you're nothing like him, dabi. your anger, your fire—it comes from a place of justice, not ego. you want to burn away the corruption, not become the number one hero."

he looked at you with a mixture of skepticism and hope, as if he wanted to believe your words but couldn't quite bring himself to. "maybe. or maybe i'm just as obsessed with destroying him as he was with surpassing all might. different goals, same fucking toxic mindset."

you sat up straighter, turning to face him fully. "no. there's a difference. he hurt innocent people—his wife, his children—to achieve his ambition. you've never done that. you've never hurt someone who didn't deserve it."

"tell that to the heroes i've burned," dabi said darkly.

"those 'heroes' prop up a system that abandoned both of us," you reminded him. "that lets people like your father abuse their children in the name of creating better heroes. that labels children as villains because of quirks they never asked for." dabi studied your face for a long moment before a genuine smile—small but real—curved his lips. "how did i end up with someone who actually believes in me?"

"because beneath all that anger and cynicism, you still believe there's something worth fighting for," you told him, leaning forward to press your forehead against his. "and so do i."

for a moment, you stayed like that, sharing breath in the dusty afternoon light of the hideout. two broken people who had found each other in the darkness, whose scars complemented rather than repelled each other.

"we're going to tear it all down," dabi murmured, his lips brushing against yours. "the hero society, the systems that failed us. and when i finally face him—when endeavor finally sees who i've become—i want you there with me."

"i will be," you promised, closing the distance between you with a gentle kiss. "until every false hero burns."

outside, the sun began to set, casting long shadows through the boarded windows. soon the others would return, bringing with them the chaos and noise that defined the league of villains. but for now, in this quiet moment, there was just you and dabi—two children abandoned by their fathers in different ways, who had found their own path to justice in a world that had never wanted either of you.

and if that path was stained with ash and marked by flames, so be it. some things needed to burn before they could be rebuilt.

side note: this is an old, but long drabble I decided to post because well- why not?

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