Jealous, Jealous, Jealous Boy! Ft. Best Friend!Sukuna

MASQUERADE 2: Games

Pairing: Geto x Reader

Masquerade | Masquerade 2 | +

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, royal au, forced marriage, cheating, drama, emotional turmoil, power imbalance, manipulation, smut (just a bit)

word count: 5.8k

He can’t even pick a few withering flowers for you.

“The marriage is well. We’ve known each other since we were kids. We’re getting used to everything easily.” You smiled, looking in his eyes as he gazed lovingly at you. You enjoy these little moments with him whenever you go for a walk together. The kingdom's people approach the two of you, asking numerous questions and showering your marriage with compliments that are far from its reality. 

“I can already envision how beautiful the future princes and princesses would be.” An old lady smiled, crinkling the corners of her eyes as Suguru took her hand, giving her support as she bowed to you. Your smile almost faltered, knowing it’d probably never happen. At least, not between the two of you. But surprisingly, he answered for you.

“Let’s hope the kingdom won’t chain us to our thrones too much so that the little ones can come sooner.” The people around you erupted in laughter, unaware that he meant the opposite of his jokes. His hand made its way to your lower back, stepping closer as the royal guards arrived from patrol, smiling, and some blushing at your random public appearance.

“Your Majesty." They bowed to you before turning to Suguru and bowing again, "Your Royal Highness.” Taking a step back, you acknowledged them with a smile. “We can create space for you by the lakes.” One of the guards offered, and your eyes lit up. It’s been a while since you and Suguru spent time together there. Your stared up at him with eagerness, but he was already declining the suggestion, “I’m afraid that we have some things to attend to. We cannot—” Hurt by the blatant rejection, you cut him off.

“I don’t. I would like to spend some time by the lakes today. The weather is nice.” You did your best to hide the dejected look on your face but as his eyes scanned your features, it felt like he was reading you like a book. “Your Majesty, should it please you, I shall accompany you to the lakes and stand guard to ensure your safety.” A blonde guard offered with a smile and a bow to the Prince.

You were about to answer, delighted as you tried to step away from the Prince, but his hand was quick to wrap around your waist. “It’d be a shame not to indulge in such a moment with my Queen. The duties can wait, I suppose.” You can feel his chest against your back as the guard salutes, mounting his horse and waiting for your carriage. You looked at Suguru, but his eyes avoided yours.

“You’re so cautious about how the public will perceive us but would willingly go with a knight to the lakes?” He scoffed once you’re inside the carriage. His tongue poked his cheek as he looked out the window. “I didn’t want to disrupt your priorities.” You know that he’s just going to go back to working on that damn locket for his princess.

“What’s keeping you busy?” You held your skirt as you stepped down the stairs of his workshop. He was shirtless, hair gathered haphazardly with a tie, and looking like this is the first thing he did as soon as he woke up. A pair of soft pants hanging low on his waist. “A gift.” His eyes didn’t even meet yours. You would’ve felt giddy, but you know too well that this one isn’t for you. You stepped closer to him, walking behind him to peek at his shoulder.

It’s a wooden locket. Your eyes glanced at the chain at the side of his crafting table. He was skillfully carving at the surface of the object. You can tell how focused he is from how his brows furrowed, further sharpening his beautiful features. You already know that you don’t want to see what’s inside. 

A letter S and A were creatively entwined, along with some small patterns he carved around. They were small but inside that room, to him, it’s so much bigger than the Queen watching. There were no signs of discomfort in his stance. He was unapologetically etching their initials with his bare hands. It’s sad that you probably will never experience this from him. 

He can’t even pick a few withering flowers for you. 

You rested your chin on your knuckles, gazing at the field of flowers as they sway with the wind. You wished that your life could be as easy as theirs. Three days ago, you had a meeting with the court, discussing the needs of the Kingdom. You were expected to refuse, the members ushering you to focus on building your marriage as it was still young. Yet, knowing of the people's hardships was too heavy on your heart. 

The matter of importing goods from another Kingdom requires attention. Just as much as your wobbling relationship with Suguru. But you can’t stand the fact that other people have been struggling because there’s a shortage of supplies, specifically medicine. “I’ll handle it first, lives may be on the line.” You decided, dropping the idea of pursuing Suguru to stay in your holiday estate near the outskirts and far from the villages.

Suguru knows of it, and although he wouldn’t want to come anyway, he still admires you for putting the mass over your personal goals. It wouldn’t change anything, but he feels bad that you try too hard. In times like this, Suguru’s reminded that you’re still the young, compassionate princess who plays tag even with commoners and bastards of maids. 

—----------------------------

Months have passed, and it seems like no progress will ever be made in your relationship. There are days when you barely see each other due to your responsibilities. He can tell that you want to move on your own and try to be as close as possible to him, but the kingdom is your weakness. If there’s anyone who holds your heart other than Suguru, it would be the citizens. And for that, he can’t help but feel proud of you.

Suguru continued his rendezvous with the Princess, their once budding relationship has now bloomed into a young flower and his heart has never felt more full. 

“I’ll be on my way now,” You barely nodded as he turned around, looking at the floor as he started to walk out of your room. How come he’s only now realized that you stopped making excuses just to delay and maybe even stop his secret trysts with Princess Aika? Not that he minds. If anything, it favors them. 

Their meeting place at the southern district is not a short and easy trip at all. It's a secluded meadow in the woods where her family's rest house was located. It can be quite dangerous at night, but for her, Suguru can't imagine any danger he couldn't face and fend off. For her…

“You're here,” Her soft voice called out to him, stepping out of the house in her cloak and lamp. He jumped from his horse, running to her to envelop her in his strong arms. Kissing her, she places a hand on his chest. His fingers pushed the locks of her auburn hair away from her beautiful face. “Of course, I am. Why wouldn't I be, my Princess?” His words brought redness on her smooth cheeks.

“I just thought …you might've changed your mind.” She murmured, guiding him inside the house. “It's not too late, you can still correct this. We can still —” She took off her cloak, as she walked to the small kitchen, but he pulled her to him before she could even finish her sentence, “I am certain of this. I know what I'm doing.” He breathed on her mouth, pecking her lips. 

“Besides, the Queen knows.” He spoke as she pulled away from him, “She knows, but she doesn't like it. No woman would want their husband seeing someone else. I, myself, wouldn't want it.” She walked to him, she cupped his cheeks. “I don't want you committing sins like this just because of me. We don't have to be sinners just to feel in love.” Her eyes watered, “Betrayal of her equates betrayal to the Crown.” He placed her hands on her waist.

“But loyalty to you means loyalty to my heart. Isn't the heart the most important?” He quoted a line she once said. With that, they kiss and let the winds of the night blow them wherever they want; under the covers, beside each other, as they relish in the warmth of their tired bodies. With hands over his forehead, he wondered:

What could you be doing this late in the night? The maids said you've been sleeping late. He never knows because he never slept beside you. He looks down at Aika, fingers brushing over the skin of her face. He wondered what you looked like, sleeping under the soft light of the candles. 

He closed his eyes, sighing. He just can’t stop thinking about what Aika said earlier. He's still trying to figure out what to do with your marriage because he can't stand things being like this anymore. He doesn't want Aika to feel like she's a crime that is meant to be hidden. She doesn't want her to feel like a ‘sin.’ They're not sinners. They're victims of the crown. Kissing her face, he pulled her naked body close to him.

Suguru doesn't want to hurt you. But that doesn't mean that he can love you, either. 

—----------------------------

“They must continue training, your Majesty. We never know what might come for us.” Grand Officer Nanami spoke as he walked beside you as you watched the young ones train. They reminded you of Suguru, how you’d watch them from the balcony. He would look up and smile shyly at you, but not once messing up their routine. He was dedicated even as a trainee. As young children, you two became inseparable since the day he asked you to play, disregarding your status as a Princess Royal. It didn’t offend you at all. If anything, it only made you feel…normal.

“I know. But that’s all they ever do. Some of them are still kids, let them have their childhood.” You sighed, clasping your hands in front of you. You know Kento’s just thinking of a way to reject your idea politely. You could almost hear him sigh in relief when your husband interjected, suddenly appearing behind the two of you.

“Commander,” Kento saluted before giving space to allow Suguru to walk beside you. His eyes met yours just for a brief moment, and you could almost imagine how they softened for you. You look down, pretending to move your dress out of the way, before it even vanishes, and get replaced by the usual empty stare he gives you. You’re slowly getting used to the nights where he would leave, even when you’re not even in bed yet.

But that doesn’t mean that you’re giving up this relationship with him. No matter how hard it gets for you. 

“I was suggesting the pages could have a bit lighter training schedule than the others.” You shared with him, respecting the fact that he’s still a Commander even if he was already crowned as the Prince Consort. “They’re still young. I don’t want them burning themselves out without enjoying childhood.” You can feel the Prince’s eyes on you, but you dare not look up, afraid that you’ll only be met by a stoic, pretentious gaze.

“I understand, but I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do, this is for discipline.” His voice was softer than you expected it to be. Until Kento started speaking, and you were reminded of the fact that he’s only doing this because you’re in front of people. Kento isn’t unaware of Prince Suguru’s real relationship with you, but the walls have ears and in this training grounds, there are people who are not residents of the palace. 

He simply cannot take that risk if he doesn’t want his beloved Princess to be in danger.

“I was thinking of recommending an extended break period for the kids, Commander.” Kento smiled at you, hoping that you would like the idea. Suguru’s eyes flickered between the both of you, nodding as he pursed his lips for a split second. You can hear him sigh as clicked his tongue, appearing to be thinking of the idea. “I guess we can do that. A little more time for games wouldn’t hurt. As long as they proceed with training right after.” He placed his hand on the small of your back, making you tense up.

A dead giveaway of how foreign yet craved his touch was to you. Your response was just as painful as having to look away whenever he’d arrange flowers for his little love. 

Despite the cruel thoughts in your head, your eyes sparkled with joy, “And perhaps the maids could lend them some boards and toys to play with when they serve the snacks? What do you think? I’ll make sure they collect all of it on time, so none will go unruly.” Suguru's eyes briefly fixed on your lips as he listened, not missing the genuine excitement in your voice. Your compassion with the people is unrivaled yet Suguru can’t help but wish you were this compassionate towards him and Aika too. 

Looking away, the thought of your father’s wishes lingered in his mind. With how considerate you are of people, he can’t help but think of how much these wishes influenced you into forcing a marriage with him. Still, he thinks that you’re a human with your own mind to decide. So he can't find it in him to clear you of the blame for being the reason his Princess has to feel like she was a sin; to be hidden in the middle of the trees where no ball gowns shall flow. 

Her misfortune was a product of your selfishness and no matter how Suguru looks at it, he can’t bring himself to forgive you.

“I can arrange that, your Majesty. I would like to ask for permission to hold a meeting with the maids in charge and the instructors as well.” His thoughts were snapped by the blonde man, obviously swooning at how your face lit up at his statement. You were beaming at Kento, a winning gleam in your eye, as if you were the child benefitting from the plans. Suguru can tell that his fellow knight was amused—or rather captivated— by your reaction, too. Kento took half a step back when their eyes met.

Walking back to your chambers, Suguru was close behind you. You kept quiet, expecting him to walk past you to his own but was surprised when he stayed. You eyed him, cautiously sitting on the bed as he welcomed himself in. He stood by the window, looking outside as if in deep thought. You swallowed thickly, fidgeting with your dress with a deep sigh in an attempt to catch his attention. It was proven effective when he turned to look at you. 

Even in his silhouette, you found love. It’s just…not yours to keep.

“I, uh,” You cleared your throat and licked your lips, "I need to change clothes.” You found it hard to maintain eye contact with him as you leaned on one of the poles of your bed. There was a soft silence after your question, and his eyes were wandering the floors as he was deep in thought. You wanted to repeat yourself and clarify the statement that you’d like one of your ladies-in-waiting to help, but he was already walking towards you.

“Go on,” Your eyes widened as you stared up at him, biting the inside of your cheek that was starting to heat up at his request. What is he thinking?, you thought. You boldly remained quiet, waiting for him to explain his intentions, but it was almost as if he was playing the staring contest with you. His sharp eyes were clearly focused on you even as the light of the skies started to dim and the lights of your candle bathed the room.

“Do you want me to take the dress off too?” There was no glint of mischief in his eyes, no traces of mockery that tell you how dead-serious he was of the situation. But then again, this is Suguru you’re talking about and from all the years you spent together, you already know how hard to read his expressions are. His eyes can either make him look super upset or super amused, even his smile was hard to read, and right now, you don’t know if he just wanted to be helpful or if he was testing you. 

None of the two was proven when he grabbed your arm and spun you around, making you yelp in surprise. The cold tips of his fingers sent shivers down your spine as you felt them graze the skin of your nape, pushing away the stray hairs as he pulled down the back zipper of your dress. “Suguru…” You spoke—or more like breathed—as you felt the pressure on your tailbone, his chest almost pressed against your back, and you could feel his breath on the shell of your ear.

“What? Are you not comfortable with your husband helping you?” He asked. You didn’t miss the slight hint of amusement in his question, but you quickly shake your head, as you tried to gain your composure. As much as possible, you don’t want to seem too hopelessly in love with him for the sake of your position and pride. You want him to know that you love him enough to work hard for this relationship to work, but you don’t want to make it seem like you’ll make a fool of yourself to get his attention. 

Because even if you do, if Aika is in the same room, you know damn well that he wouldn’t even spare a glance at you. 

“Of course not. I simply didn’t want to feel like a bother to you, you seemed to be enjoying the view outside.” You blinked, raising your brows as you turned to him, pushing the dress down to your waist. Your pushed-up breasts were exposed to him, the soft flesh bouncing with your every move, and you gathered all the courage just to watch his eyes shamelessly focus on them. The contours of his face were made sharper by the cast illumination of the candles, and you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from begging for even just a peck on your lips.

He’s immaculate and if only you could let him know how you’d die to have his love even just for a day, you would. But that’d be dragging your face through the mud. You’re already humiliating yourself enough; forcing yourself on him every day, and when you arranged this marriage. You would have to get cockeyed drunk first before you get on your knees, just for him to touch you like your body’s a fountain of youth.

“Turn around,” He rasped when the cloth fell around your ankles and onto the floor, brows slightly furrowed and jaws clenching now and then. Your eyes were locked on his as he stepped closer to you, as if his previous stance wasn’t dangerous enough. You obliged, turning around as you heard his heavy yet stable breaths in the quiet room. You can almost feel them on your shoulders, making you shudder.

“Do you always wear these things?” The vibration of his deep voice makes you feel like melting into a puddle, just so he can gather you into his arms and pick you up. You shook your head, making sure your voice was steady before answering. “Not really, only when I need to meet a lot of people. Or when I prefer.” You heard him hum, making you slightly turn your head to the side as if you could see how he undoes the undergarment. The feeling of the corset loosening around your waist made you feel like you could easily float on air. Moaning a sigh, you hear Suguru’s breaths pause as he stiffens behind you. 

“Thank you,” You murmured, clutching the garment on your chest as you turned to look up at him, waiting for him to turn around and leave. And although he did turn around, he didn’t leave the room. Instead, he sat down on the foot of your bed, relaxed as he leaned back on his arms. His eyes looked up at you before flickering to your hands, as if expecting you to do something…and he really is expecting. “What?” He raised his brows, lips remaining emotionless.

“You said you’d be changing your clothes.” You didn’t try to hide your perplexity as you stood in front of him. “Yes…” Your mouth didn’t stutter, but your nod definitely did, and you don’t know if you should be embarrassed or act mad right now that he’s being confusing. “I’ll be heading to the changing room,” You were about to excuse yourself to head to the connected room but were once again interrupted by your husband.

“Isn’t that the dress you prepared for dinner?” He gestured to the corner of the room. You recalled how you always had your ladies ready the clothes you chose for the day—a habit from childhood, as you liked to see how they looked on a dummy before deciding. You had never minded this practice until now. Feeling increasingly impatient, you asked Suguru, “Aren’t you going to leave?”

He beckoned you with a nod of his head, a subtle menacing grin was plastered on his lips. “Married couples get naked around each other.” He whispered as you took a step between his legs. It didn’t scare you. In fact, it excited you. After many months of being married, only now has he acknowledged to you that you are married. Feeling his hands on your corset, you let go of it, letting him take off the material and leave you bare in front of him. Your hands reached up to your chest, but his gaze held it off.

His dark eyes looked up at you as if asking for permission. You can feel his hot breath caress the skin of your exposed breasts. You sighed, mouth slightly ajar, making no move to stop him. His mouth went close to your bud, tracing it with his lips with his eyes fluttering close, before cradling it in his mouth. 

Your breathy moans made him put his hand on your waist, snaking it around as he pulled your body closer to him. His mouth relished in the softness and sweetness of the flesh. His other hand was skillfully fondling the other one, kneading it gently as a soft grunt erupted from his throat, inhaling your scent. His tongue was hot on your pebbled flesh, eliciting a whimper from your lips.

“Suguru…” You whined, sighing into his touch and letting your hand caress his hair. You ran your fingers into their soft strands, pushing the shorter ones away from his face. You watched as he stared up at you, eyes glazed with lust and something else that you can’t quite put your finger on, but you know how his touch leaves tingles all over your body.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

With his movements coming to a stop, your breath also hitched, stuck in the back of your throat painfully. Opening your eyes, the growing irritation was prominent in your pupils. You were about to snap and curse at the person on the other side when a hurried voice caused a crease on your forehead. Little did you know that the brewing tender moment with Suguru was about to be trampled on mercilessly by the truth.

“Apologies for coming here for this, my Queen but…” The pause agitated you even further. If it was a message for you, why would they need to apologize? It’s not like they knew they were interrupting something, or do they? It didn’t matter to you. What you wanted was for the matters at hand to be dealt and done with. 

But of course, it wasn’t as simple as that. Why would life have something good in store for an evil queen like you?

“Princess Aika…” You dared not look down, when he tensed up, arms leaving your body as if a force pulled him away. “The Princess of the Southern District has collapsed.” And just like that, Suguru was on his feet, pushing you aside as he scrambled towards the door. His eyes were wide, full of panic and horror as ugly possibilities flashed inside his mind. The earlier intimacy between them seemed completely absent now.

You covered your chest with your hands as you turned around for the fabric on the floor, using it to shield yourself as he flung the door open, revealing his servant, who immediately turned around upon noticing your state. “Get my horse.” He commanded, and your heart shattered at how he asks no questions when it comes to her.

Your soul withered at each hurried step he took away from you, not bothering to look back as he went on to save the love of his life. How come he couldn’t even sit an hour with you when you had to stay in your room all day because you were sick? Yet, here he is, risking it all—his position, his honor, your marriage—for the one who truly owns every beat of his heart. You know that if you try to come and remind him of the people still lingering outside at this time of the night, it’d come off as jealousy, selfishness.

And maybe it was. But was it so wrong that the Queen wanted to save face? To conceal the fact that her husband can leave her naked and alone for another woman? You sighed away the pain, sitting on the edge of the bed, where he sat a few minutes ago, worshiping your body. It seems that was nothing but superficial to him. You know too well that none of those actions can prove someone’s love to another. It was solely physical. 

It could even be related to you needing an heir. It doesn’t have to be from the consort, no. But Suguru knows how much better things can look for him if the heir would be one of his own. Whatever his decision is, you know that Aika will be there to support him, just as how he supports her. 

You’re the only one facing battles alone in this circus of a marriage.

—----------------------------

“What’s going on?” Suguru rushed inside the Princess’ palace, worried as he reminded himself to apologize and formally greet the Duke of the Southern District later, but right now, there’s nothing more important than seeing Aika. Just the mere thought of her fainting from an illness was enough to cause panic in every fiber of his body, fear flowing through his every vein. He's aware of how he left and how he dropped you in the middle of all that, but Suguru has his priorities. 

Realizing what he was doing, it felt like a bucket of ice-cold guilt was dumped on his head, and now everyone can see how badly he was shivering. How can he let that happen when Aika was waiting for him? He remembered how she agreed to him having a child with the Queen for an heir, but he knows how badly it pains her. And just because she agreed, doesn’t mean he’ll just let it happen. He had already crushed her and her dreams for them when he couldn’t do anything about your marriage. He can’t forgive himself if he hurts her again by giving you an heir.

If the Crown must suffer from the complications, then he will let it suffer. 

No duty, no responsibility, no position can justify how he was hurting her from all of this. He promised Aika that one day he’ll figure out the way to their freedom. And although, she was reluctant about this, she was still hopeful. There was a part of her that wanted to talk to you, as a cousin, hoping to put an end to their miseries, even if it meant forfeiting her royal title and being exiled. But Suguru won’t let her sacrifice anymore.

They have already sacrificed enough because of your selfishness.

“Your Royal Highness,” The servant by the door bowed, worry etched across his face. “The Princess is currently being checked by her doctor.” He reported, voice laced with a tone that aims to comfort him and ease his obvious distress. Without waiting for another sentence, he knocked on the door thrice before proceeding to open it. This is his lady, there’s no amount of words that can take alleviate his worries for her. 

As he entered, two servants were tending to the Princess and helping the doctor. They all bowed, promptly pausing their chores as they bowed to him. As one of the servants move out of the way, Suguru can see how pale the Princess was. Her eyes were dull, unlike the last time he saw her. It was as if someone snatched the stars from them and replaced them with this void. 

“Aika,” He breathed, rushing next to her to hold her shaking and cold hands. She looked so fragile in her state, with only the blankets shielding her body. She looked like even the softest breeze can blow her away, and it scared—no, it terrified Suguru. He kneeled down next to her bed, looking at the doctor, who was sat on the other side. 

“What does she need? What can we do?” He didn’t ask first what was going on because all he wanted to do was to pull his Princess out of this misery. Just knowing that she’s suffering like this was enough, he’s ready to do whatever it takes. Seeing the stunned yet accusatory gaze of the doctor, Suguru could only assume that she has not been made aware of the relationship between them. He knows that he’s going to have to settle things with her later after this to make sure that nothing will get leaked to the public. Coming here in their palace at this early hour of the night was a risk already.

“It’s not some disease, Your Royal Highness.” She breathed out, looking down, but Suguru can notice how she nervously swallowed. What dangerous thing could it be that a doctor looked so hesitant to spill it out? “It’s a sceleris.” She looked up at him before her gaze flickered to his and Aika’s linked hands. “The Princess has been cursed.” Suguru throat went dry. It was as if she was telling him that there was nothing easy he could do to make the Princess feel better.

“How…how did you know that?” His brows furrowed, refusing to accept the dire situation he and his love has been put in. “An enchanter has been called and is currently communicating with the Duchess. I’m only here to help lessen the pain that the Princess has been feeling due to the effects, Sir.” With those words, Suguru placed kisses on the Princess’ forehead, ignoring how the doctor flinched and looked away. “I’ll be back, my love.” He whispered, hurrying.

Just as he was about to make a turn to where the Duchess and the enchanter were, he was shocked to see them on their way out of the long corridor. “Your Royal Highness,” They bowed upon seeing him. The Duchess’ face displays a look that didn’t help with Suguru’s trepidation. Something’s not right, he thought. Why does it seem like no one really wants him to know what’s going on yet forced to by his presence?

“Could you please enlighten me? Aika does not seem well.” He needed them to get straight to the point before he explodes. It’s only been a couple of minutes, yet he felt like they already wrapped him with a dark fabric to stop him from finding out. “An enchantress placed a sceleris—a curse on the Princess.” With the confirmation, Suguru can hear the beat of his heart quicken, “W-what could the reason be? Has she offended—” Without waiting for the Prince to finish, the enchanter answered, eyes staring deep into his.

“She knows of your bond and how it cuts the Queen deep. It has been placed as a revenge.” The Duchess began to wept, hands covering her face, and soon enough the Duke was by her side. “My dear, allow me to handle this.” He held her to him, giving a signal for the enchanter to make his exit. 

“Your Highness, as a father, I am determined to secure the life of my daughter, just as you, as her beloved, wish to protect her.” Suguru’s brows knitted together, disquieted at the Duke’s statement and where it might lead. He’s compelled to save the Princess’ life, no matter what it takes but for some reason, her father’s words cause unease in him. “With all due respect, my Prince, I must request you to refrain from having any relationship with my daughter from now on.”

Anything but that.

Suguru can feel the temperature in his body drop at the request, and he was immediately shaking his head. “No, you don’t understand us. We—Aika and I swore to never give up on each other, no matter how hard it gets for us.” He took a step back, firm on his decision to reject the Duke’s demand. “Especially, not at a time like this. Aika needs me—” The Duke interrupted him, looking down as if to show respect despite his insistence.

“The Queen—the Crown needs you, Prince Suguru.” He looked up at him, eyes filled with dread. “And this might just be her first warning to get you back inside the Central Palace.” Suguru was well aware of what he meant by that statement. The hole in his heart was starting to get deeper with every word that comes out of the Duke’s mouth. 

“Our daughter has no chance against the Queen. She has nothing to—” He tried to explain, but Suguru shook his head in disbelief, angered by how everyone seemed to be mere puppets in the palm of your hand: them, him and Aika. “No.” He was dead set on proving them wrong. He was hell-bent on proving you wrong.

“She has me.” Turning on his heel, he headed back to the Central Palace, not bothering to wait for his guards as his mind was filled with red, enraged at how you were manipulating this game. Ever since the beginning, you haven’t been playing fair. You’ve been looking down from the top of that tower with steel cards in your hand, slicing up everyone that gets in your way.

Suguru will prove to you that despite all your scheming, you haven’t won, and you never will.

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Spades

Dabi x reader Part Two of Russian Roulette 6.6k words Noncon, Stalking, Kidnapping, praise kink, fear kink, possessive Dabi

Dabi can't seem to forget about you, and he doesn't understand why. The very thought of you angers and confuses him, though soon his irritation with you morphs into something more dangerous. You have no idea how much further your life is about to become entangled with his own.

Dabi doesn’t know why he comes back after the last time, or why he continues to watch you. In his mind, he already got what he wanted. Your fear, your submission, was laid out so deliciously in front of him for the taking. 

He should have felt satisfied. He did at first, he supposes. And yet, he finds himself coming back, continuing to watch you. The thoughts of you still dominate his thoughts, consuming him, and distracting him from his goals. 

Soon enough he climbs in through your window yet again, while you're at work. You didn’t go to the police or the heroes after he broke in last time, probably out of fear he muses, but you were at least smart enough to place new locks throughout the place. That of course didn’t work, the lock on the window melting easily under the heat of Dabi’s hand. Whether or not you notice this, he doesn’t care. What would you even do to stop him?

He snoops around through your home as much as he pleases, again not caring in the slightest if you notice anything out of place. He’s curious as to what he can find out about you, though to what end he doesn’t quite understand. 

Eventually, he finds himself sitting on the edge of your bed, the wooden frame creaking under him, the only sound resonating in the room. He looks around at the four walls of your bedroom, taking mental notes of your decorating choices, and your sparse furniture.

He still doesn’t know what to make of you, to his growing frustration.

Leaning back against the soft covers and pillows, he sighs, almost agitatedly. He brings a hand up to the pillow near his head, thumbing the soft, silky flange edge of it. Bringing the pillow to his face, he inhales deeply, taking in your scent. The smell brings back the memory of how soft your skin felt against his, the delightful and fearful noises you made underneath him. His cock twitches in his pants at the mental image, getting hard as he reminisces.  

He debates doing something about the growing tightness in his pants before simply saying, ”Fuck it.” As he deftly undoes his pants and palms his erection. The thought of how you would react to him touching himself in your bed, to the depravity of the act he’s committing while you’re not home, is what really gets him going. 

The thought of you possibly walking in, seeing the villain in your room, and the fear that would be in your eyes, has him groaning as a thick bead of precum runs down the head of his cock. He thumbs the bead, running his hand over the slit as he hisses in pleasure, his mind racing. 

He continues to thrust up into his hand fervently at the thought of you, how warm you felt around him, how addicting your fear and submission were. He thinks about taking you again, what he’d do next time. The ideas run through his head as he gets closer and closer to the edge. 

Dabi thinks of your soft body and your pupils blown wide with a mix of fear and pleasure, as he closes his eyes and pretends it's you he’s thrusting up into right now, imagining how you would clench around his cock. The sounds of your moans replay over and over in his mind. He imagines you begging for him, begging for him to fuck you, for him to not fuck you. 

Within minutes, he’s spilling all over his hand as he reaches his climax. 

He tucks himself messily back inside his pants, still not feeling satisfied. If anything, he’s feeling even more frustrated, even more angry. He can’t afford to have distractions like this, and he doesn’t like having some insignificant person consume his mind like this. He’s already gotten what he wanted from you, so why is he here? 

Shigaraki and the rest of the League have started to take notice of the fact that his mind has been elsewhere as of late, and they’ve noticed his increasing absences as well, though they couldn’t have any ideas as to why. If only they knew.

He realizes he’s still gripping your pillow with one hand as he grits his teeth in frustration. He heats his hand, scorching and burning the fabric edge of the pillow, the smell of burnt cotton wafting through the air. Let you see this, see the evidence of his presence in your home. He hopes you notice, hoping it ignites more fear in you. It’s what you deserve for the increasingly suffocating hold you have over his mind.

Standing up lazily, he redoes his belt. He should be getting back soon, additionally, you’ll be home soon. As much as he would love to take his frustrations out on you right now, he needs to come up with some sort of plan. Something to quell his burning thoughts. Ideas swim around in his head as thinks of what to do next. 

Someone has been in your home. You know Dabi has been watching you still, and the melted lock and scorched pillow make it apparent that he’s been inside as well. Your stomach turns and you shudder as you examine the burnt fabric. He was on your bed if the ruffled and messy duvet cover was any indication. 

Fear rolls over you, making your vision blur and your body tremble as you stand there at the edge of your bed, holding the pillow. You don’t know why you didn’t go to the authorities after he broke in that first time, maybe from fear of retribution or maybe a naively placed hope he would leave you be. You now realize that optimism was false, as your breathing starts to quicken. 

You don’t understand what he wants with you, why does he continue to haunt every corner of your life? He’s in every shadow caught out of the corner of your eye, in every slightly out-of-place object around your home, every unknown number that calls. All innocuous things before, now fill you with anxiety and doubt. 

What does he plan to do to you, it’s obvious he hasn’t forgotten about you, nor is he seemingly keen on leaving you alone. 

You don’t think he’s going to kill you, considering how he didn’t when he had the chance. But then again, maybe he’s toying with you, drawing out as much fear as he can before finishing you off. You don’t know what to expect and it makes your head spin. 

Supposing you can’t do anything to stop him, you drop the pillow back to the bed, sighing tiredly. You could go to the police, you think to yourself. Maybe that’s what you should do, what any sane person would do in this situation. Maybe the heroes could help. You stop that train of thought quickly though, no he would know if you did something like that, and it would surely only serve to further piss him off.

You have no other option than to continue living your life as if you don’t have a villain shadowing your every move. It's a terrifying and oppressive weight on your shoulders. 

Still, yet, you can’t help how your pulse quickens and your thighs press together when you remember that night he woke you. The memory of how he fucked you well and good into your sofa can’t seem to leave your mind. On more than one occasion since then, you’ve found yourself waking up in a sweat, wetness forming between your legs from the dreams replaying the event. When you wake like this you can’t help but wonder if he’s watching you at that moment, if he’s somewhere in your home. You’re often tempted to reach down between your legs and relieve the tension but the idea of his piercing eyes on you stops you from doing so.

It frustrates you to no end, how he invades your mind, his ominous presence constantly weighing on you, even when he couldn’t possibly be watching you. 

In the weeks following, you’ve done your own research into Dabi, reading every news article and watching every news story about the infamous villain. You know he’s possibly tied to a string of murders throughout the area, crime scenes reduced to ash, bodies so badly burnt that dental records are needed to identify the victims. You find yourself reduced to nausea at these stories. 

Your own immunity to fire doesn’t give you any feelings of ease or safety, if anything it makes you feel as if you have a prominent target on your back now. After all, that’s why he first sought you out right? Because you didn’t burn to death when you first encountered him. You shudder remembering the fury he showed as his face twisted into a snarl at that moment when he couldn’t reduce you to cinders like he so obviously wanted to. His anger felt all-consuming, you’ve never seen anything like it before then. You don’t think simply standing up to him at that moment was the crux of his anger, no, while it did certainly anger him, he was pissed because of your quirk. Your very existence was an act of defiance to him. At least that was your latest hypothesis for why he continues to stalk you. 

You don’t even bother to change the smelted lock on the window, if he wants in he’ll just break it again, and then you’ll have evidence of another intrusion, and you don’t think your psyche can handle it. 

Instead, you continue to go about your life as if you’re ignorant to his presence. You keep your head low and act as if nothing is wrong, not doing anything to draw more attention to yourself, and hopefully, nothing to worsen the situation. You continue to catch small signs of his presence, you know he hasn’t left you alone or forgotten about you. 

He hasn’t gone out of his way to approach you again, though, and after a few weeks, you start to wonder if you’re being paranoid. Maybe he has finally left you alone and everything that you think is evidence of his presence is your own fear and anxiety messing with your head. 

No, you remind yourself, he was definitely in your home, that melted lock and burnt pillow were more than enough evidence of that. 

You find yourself going back and forth on this, whether or not he’s really still watching you or whether you're going crazy. Part of you hopes it’s just your anxiety and fear, but another part of you doesn’t like the idea of all this just being in your head. Until one day, you have the undeniable proof he’s still present. 

You’re at work when he makes contact again. You work at some small grocery store in a less favorable part of town. The story is small and kind of shabby, and the produce is overpriced for how subpar quality it is. Not to mention, you think you’ve seen mice in the back before, not that the manager seems to care. You don’t particularly like this job but it pays the bills at the very least.

A new order comes in that day, and you soon find yourself behind the store, hauling crates from the truck with one of the few other employees scheduled that day. He’s a new hire, only having started here a few weeks ago. He’s been nice enough, if not...too nice at times. His overt friendly attitude has veered toward flirtatiousness recently, and you don’t know how to feel about it. Maybe if you didn’t have so much on your mind as of late, you would enjoy the positive attention. 

He’s hardworking at least, and he doesn’t cross the line into making you feel uncomfortable. You do think that regardless, he’d make a good friend. 

You attempt to pick up a particularly heavy crate of produce, straining to lift it. 

“Hey, lemme get that, I got it.” Your coworker says, taking the load from you. His hands linger on yours as he grabs it. “Don’t strain yourself.” He says with a wink.

You can’t help but huff a laugh as you thank him. He carries the crate into the back portion of the store, leaving you alone in the alleyway. You go to grab the next box that needs to be taken inside, hoping this one will be easier to carry. Before you can though, your phone vibrates in your pocket. 

Pulling it out to see what it is, your face pales and you almost drop your phone entirely when you see the message across your screen.

[Unknown number]

I don’t like the way he looks at you. Don’t let him touch you again.

There’s no doubt in your mind at all who this is from. Is he watching you right now? Your eyes dart around the area looking for any heavily scarred arsonists who could be looking at you. These alleys seem empty, with not a soul in sight. He must be watching you though, what else could he be referring to? Your heart thumps in your chest so hard you can feel it in your ears. 

Before you can spiral into a panic, your coworker comes back out, ready to grab some more loads. He seems to notice your frightened expression soon enough. 

“Hey is everything alright? You look like you just saw a ghost.” His eyes seemed filled with genuine concern.

You stammer, looking for the right words, you know you can't explain your situation, so instead you’ll have to come up with some excuse. He places a firm hand on your shoulder in a comforting gesture, as he asks again if you’re okay.

Aware of the fact that Dabi must be watching right now, his message still replaying in your mind, you remove his hand with your own and attempt to play it off. 

“Oh yeah I’m fine, a rat ran out over my feet as I lifted a box, gave me a real scare.” You say with a humorless chuckle. You don’t know how convincing it may seem but it's all you can come up with right now. 

Luckily, he seems to buy it. “Oh ew, yeah they seem to be frequent flyers whenever we get new orders, huh? The owner doesn’t care about the quality of the places he’s ordering from.” 

He picks up the box in front of you and speaks again, “I can get these last few boxes if you wanna go inside, it’s a slow day and you could use the break.” 

Still shaken up, you agree. As you head inside, your phone buzzes yet again. You check it again with a trembling hand, already knowing who it probably is. 

[Unknown number]

I’ll kill him if he puts his hand on you like that again. I don’t share what’s mine, doll.

If there was any doubt before as to who was texting you, it’s gone now. This is Dabi, without question. The idea that he knows where you work, that he somehow got your number, makes you shiver in fear. He really hadn’t left you alone at all. Your breath quickens as it feels like you can’t get enough oxygen, your throat constricting. 

Your heart beats heavily in your chest, what does he want with you? It was bad enough before, but now he seems to have some notion that he has a claim on you. That no one else could touch you, or make a move on you. This instills both a sense of fear and anger in you. 

In a sudden moment of audacious boldness, you pull up the keyboard on your phone and type back a short message. 

I’m not yours. You don’t own me.

You immediately regret it the moment after you hit ‘send’. You can’t take it back now, and you might only piss him off with your words. You shouldn’t even be engaging with him, he’s one of the most wanted terrorists in Japan, for god's sake. 

Within seconds, your phone vibrates again as he responds to you.

Oh really? We’ll see about that

Dread twists in your gut and your hairs stand on end as you read his reply. What does he mean by that? What is he planning? He’s obviously going to do something if his text is any indication. You regret replying to him at all, you fear you’ve only made things worse by doing so. If there’s one thing you’ve realized about Dabi, it’s that he doesn’t like resistance or anything challenging him.

You choose not to reply again, instead putting away your phone, and distracting your racing mind with work. You feel helpless to do anything to change your current predicament, all you can do is try not to focus on it, otherwise, you might start panicking. You silently pray that everything will turn out okay.

Dabi has been watching you still yet, even at times watching you at work when he could. His obsessive thoughts about you haven’t gone anywhere, you still consume his mind entirely. He doesn’t know why and he doesn’t quite know what he wants to do with you yet. You still frustrate him ceaselessly. He started to think maybe he hated you, for how you’re ever present in his thoughts, but then he saw how your irritating coworker looked at you, how he seemed to take every opportunity he could to touch you. He felt an entirely new form of anger rising in him. 

Whether he continues to toy with you, whether he fucks you again, or whether he decides to kill you, you're his and his alone. He doesn’t know when he started to mentally think of you as ‘his’ but he has and he’ll be damned if someone else will touch what’s rightfully his. The urge to kill the coworker is overwhelmingly strong at the present moment. 

He takes out his current burner phone and sends you a cryptic message as he watches you from the shadows of the twisting alleyways. You’ll probably be wondering how he got your number, once you realize who sent the message. It was all too easy to sneak go through your phone while you slept just a few feet away, as he committed all your most personal information to memory. Your peacefully sleeping face looked so cute and innocent to his presence. 

Judging by the spooked look on your face, you immediately know it was him who sent the text. You look around the alley, searching for any sign of your stalker. You won’t spot him of course, Dabi has had years to learn how to blend into the shadows, the hidden nooks and crannies of winding alleys and dilapidated buildings. 

That annoying pest of a man comes out again, even puts his hand on your shoulder, and Dabi sees red. It takes everything in him to not burn him alive right then. He knows that he needs to act patiently. It won’t do him well to rush things, and he thinks killing someone in front of you might give you the final push to run straight to the authorities, and that would only complicate things further with you. He can kill that annoying man later he supposes. 

He is pleased with how quickly you remove his hand from your shoulder, though. Good, he likes when you do what you’re told. You’re a lot more endearing when you listen without contesting him. 

He sends you another text after he sees you walking inside, wishing he could watch your face as you read it. He still finds your fear absolutely delightful. He’s spent many nights at this point rutting into his hand as he closes his eyes and imagines your frightful expressions. He’s surprised though when his phone chimes as you reply to him, not expecting you to reply at all. 

I’m not yours. You don’t own me.

A scowl forms on his face as a displeased expression forms. He furrows his eyebrows as he considers your words. Of course you’re his, even if you don’t want to be. You were his from the moment you failed to die by his quirk, even if he didn’t think of you as his at the time. Your text irritates him yet again, you have the nerve to preoccupy his thoughts constantly and then to try and deny him. Oh no, that simply won’t do. He’ll show you who you belong to, and he’ll make it really clear so there won’t be any more mistakes or misunderstandings about the matter.  

His hands shake in aggravation as he sends you another response, before pocketing his phone. He lits a cigarette as he walks away, hoping to calm his irate mood. Plans are already starting to come together in his head. 

The rest of your day passes in a haze, as you try to distract yourself from the overwhelming anxiety and fear that’s plaguing your mind. Work is monotonous enough to serve to keep your thoughts preoccupied. You don’t want to focus on any of the things going on in your life right now. You feel as if you’ll break down if you let your fear take hold at this moment.

After work, once you get home, you find something to do around the house, completing every and any chore you can think of, anything to keep you busy. This keeps you distracted well into the evening. 

 Sleep overcomes you easily that night, you’re exhausted and desperate to turn your brain off. 

Your sleep is dreamless and uneventful until you slowly start to come to the sensation of something hot and wet moving between your legs. Consciousness comes to you slowly as you lift your heavy eyelids, and you start to realize you’re not dreaming as you feel hair brushing up against your inner thighs. Your blurry eyes try to focus in the darkened room as you make out the figure in front of you. The first thing you see is a head full of soft black hair as you feel another long wet drag against your cunt. 

You let out a sharp gasp as your hips jolt. Strong hands go to grip you, holding you in place, as Dabi lifts his head to meet your gaze, his eyes piercing straight through you from where he sits between your legs. 

“So you’re awake now? Took you long enough, baby.” He speaks in that same rough voice you remember and he then flattens his tongue against you, taking another long, firm drag. You bite back a noise as you begin to squirm. His hands grip you tighter, keeping you firmly on his face. You can see now that he took your shorts off while you slept, your underwear hooked around one ankle now. He appears to have also taken his own jacket off. 

“W-why?” You’re not sure what question you’re even asking, but in your still hazy state, it's all you seem to be able to manage. 

He lifts his head again, his eyes filled with lust at the moment, and something devious as well. 

“You said weren’t mine, that you don’t belong to me. I’m here to prove you wrong.” He nips at the delicate skin of your inner thigh as he speaks, pulling another noise past your lips. You try to push away from him, but he quickly pins your hips down as he gives you a dangerous look. 

“I won’t hesitate to chain you to this bed if you don’t behave. Do you want that?” He asks darkly, and you fervently shake your head. “Good, I thought so.” 

He moves his mouth back down, working his tongue over your clit as you slowly lose your mind. You can’t help the noises you make as your legs start to tremble in his grasp. He seems to know exactly how to move his tongue against you, the wet squelching of his mouth against you as he eats you out, and your quiet moans are the only noises in the room. 

The pleasure starts to grow, and as you feel the heat building up in your gut, you can’t but grind your hips against him. Your fingers twitch as you look for something to grasp onto and you can’t seem to stop yourself before gripping his hair. Luckily he doesn’t seem to mind, groaning low against your clit as you pull on his hair. His dark hair is surprisingly soft in your hands and every time you yank it, he lets out another low noise. 

Sparks of white start to flash behind your eyelids, as you near your climax. You’re fully grinding against him now, riding his face in earnest as your noises become more desperate. You’re so close and he seems to know it. 

He continues his ministrations for a moment longer, bringing you to the very edge, but before you can come, he pulls away abruptly. 

You feel as if you could cry, your frustrations are obvious, and your cunt aches from the sudden lack of attention. 

“Please, please, I was so close!” You find yourself begging despite your own sense of pride. Your voice is shaky as you whine. You don’t want this, not really, but his mouth felt so good against you. You feel conflicted and torn.

Dabi presses his lips to your inner leg again. “Mhm, as much as I love the sound of you begging like that, I don’t think I’m gonna let you come yet.” He pulls back, smirking at how your lip trembles and the desperation in your eyes.

“That was just to warm you up some, I want you to do something for me first, baby.” 

You look up at him apprehensively as you sniffle. ”...What?” You’re nervous as to what he wants or what he plans to do. If he simply wanted to fuck you, he would. After the thing with the gun last time, you can only imagine what else he would do. 

He grips your waist, pulling you up into a sitting position wordlessly as he sits back on his haunches. Even sitting up, you still have to look up to meet his eyes, his presence still intimidating and frightening as ever. He seems to have a constant dark aura about him.

He looks at you for a moment, leaning back more as he speaks.

“Take off my belt.” It’s a simple yet commanding sentence, his voice husky and low, his tone very obviously leaving no room for debate. It’s not a request, it’s an order.

Not wanting to see what he’ll do if you refuse, you reach for his belt with shaking hands, undoing it quickly as he watches you from above with that intense gaze of his. 

Soon enough, you’re sliding the belt off of him, letting it drop to the bed. Before you can look to him to see what wants you to do now, he speaks.

“Undo my pants next.” You meet his eyes, which are now heavily lidded with desire. You think you know where this is going if your intuition is correct. As you unbutton his pants and pull the zipper down, you can see that he’s straining against his boxers, a spot already forming from precum. 

One of his strong hands goes to grip your hair, as the other reaches to pull his cock free. He’s large and girthy, and the same piercings you remember from last time gleam in the low lighting. 

He pulls you down close to his crotch, forcing you to arch your back for him. A thumb comes to pull at your bottom lip, going to swipe across the tip of your tongue. 

"You ready to open that pretty mouth for me, baby?" He speaks in a low almost murmur as he hooks a finger in your mouth. “I said before that you were a natural cockwhore, I wanna test that out now.” 

His hand pulls you closer to him, the hand on your jaw letting go to hold his cock, the hand in your hair staying firmly put. He brings the tip of it up to your lips. You want to refuse on principle but he’s obviously not going to take no for an answer. He smears precum across your lips, before firmly tapping your cheek.

 “And don’t even think about biting, I’ll snap your pretty little neck so fast.” He looks at you with an intensity that has your breath nearly catching in your throat, and his eyes bore down into yours. You frown slightly, you weren’t that stupid to piss off the murderer situated above you. 

“I wasn’t going to,” You speak in a quiet but firm voice, your own boldness surprising you as you continue, “I was actually thinking what kind of freak gets his dick pierced.” 

Dabi barks out a sudden and rough laugh at your words. “Yeah I’m a sick freak, but you already knew that about me, doll.” The hand in your hair tightens considerably as he presses the head of his cock to your lips again, his voice dropping into something dangerous. “Now suck.” 

You decide against making any other smart remarks, instead opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out experimentally, giving the tip a small lick. 

“Just like that, baby.” He says in a throaty voice as he pushes the head of his cock past your lips, forcing you to open wider. His precum is salty on your tongue, and you wrap your lips around him tight. Your hands go to the tops of his thighs to steady yourself, as you take another inch of his length into your mouth. Both his hands tangle into your hair as he uses his hold on you to thrust into you slowly, letting you get accustomed to his size. 

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good.” He groans above you, and his praise has your stomach fluttering. You start to work your tongue on the underside of his shaft, the metal piercings giving it such an unusual feeling, and you begin to suck in earnest as he throws his head back. “Oh, you’re so fucking good, so good for me.” 

He starts to thrust into your mouth more roughly, the tip of his cock poking the back of your throat as you try not to gag. 

“Shhh, shhh, just breath, relax your throat.” One of his hands goes to massage the side of your jaw as he coaxes you into taking more, forcing his full length down your throat. You can’t breathe, but before you can truly panic he pulls back momentarily, giving you a second to inhale through your nose.

Then, he thrusts back in pulling your face flush with his groin, your nose burying in his curly pubes, which you now notice are white, unlike the dark hair on his head. He holds you there for a few moments before the lack of oxygen starts to make your vision blur. 

He continues to fuck your throat like this, forcing you to relax and take it as he moans lowly. You can tell he’s starting to get close as he picks up the pace, fucking your face faster and letting out a litany of swears jumbled with more praise. 

The hands on your face start to heat up against your skin and you can see as small sparks of blue flames start to dance up his wrists, the smell of smoke increasing. The small flames start to encompass your head as he holds you tightly, but they do nothing but roll across your skin harmlessly. 

You hollow your cheeks as best you can, swallowing around his cock as he exclaims, “Fuck, fuck I’m coming!” As he pushes his cock into your throat as far as it’ll go, forcing you to swallow every bit. He holds you in place for several moments as you take every salty pump, as your eyes start to water. 

After he’s spent, he pulls out with a pop, drool is now running down your chin, your throat sore and battered. 

He tilts your chin up, meeting your tear-filled eyes. His expression is still filled with desire, his eyes looking hazy from his orgasm. “Oh, you did so good baby, look at you, swallowed every single drop.” His thumb runs across your bottom lip and you see his cock twitch in interest again. Of course he wouldn’t be done with you yet. 

Dabi pulls you up from where had you bent down, pulling you closer to him. You begin to struggle against him yet again, and he’s quick to pull your hair, hard. 

“I told ya I would chain you to this bed if you didn’t behave, do I need to pull out the cuffs?” You’re not surprised he brought handcuffs, not in the least bit, but you don’t want him using them on you, so you quickly quit struggling at the threat. 

Dabi would like very much actually to use the cuffs, but he likes when you’re being obedient for him. He’ll have plenty of time to use them later anyways. Just the mental image of you tied up under him is enough to start getting him hard again. 

“Let's take this shirt off, baby.” He says in that gravelly voice as he pulls the fabric up over your head, leaving you exposed. Your hands immediately go to cover your chest but he quickly grips your wrists, using his hold on you to press you down into the mattress. He leans into your prone body, his teeth nipping at the skin right below your ear. 

“Besides, you didn’t get to come earlier, it’s your turn now.” One of his hands goes to grip your hips, the other going to his cock as he presses it against your clit, rubbing it up and down your slick folds, the metallic piercings along the shaft rubbing against you pleasurably. 

He continues this motion until you start letting out small moans, even as you try to hide your noises. After a minute of this, he guides the engorged head of his cock to your hole, nearly pressing in. He lavishes your neck with bites, sucking bruises into the skin, as he slowly presses forward into you. You clench around him and he groans.

“Relax, baby, relax. ‘S not gonna hurt, I’ll make you feel good.” He thrusts forward another inch, and as he slowly begins to fuck the small passage your body has granted him, you whimper out. 

He slowly begins to fuck you open, with each forward movement of his hips he pushes in another inch, until he has almost his entire cock moving in and out at a languid pace. Already having come earlier, he seems content to take his time with you, humping into you lazily. He keeps his body pressed close to yours and the hand that isn’t gripping your hip comes to wrap around your head, keeping you tightly pressed to him. 

You let out gasping moans as those piercings rub against your innermost wall. “Dabi..”

“Fuck, keep saying my name just like that.” His cock thumps against your womb now as he moves his hips more deeply. “You’re mine, doll, you’re all mine. You belong to me.” He says it like a chant, a prayer. Words continue to fall from his lips like flames as he grinds his hips into you.

“N-no, no.” You don’t like this claim of ownership over you, you don’t want him to see you as someone to possess, but you struggle to get the words out between your breathless moans and whimpers. He chuckles quietly at your protests, as he presses his mouth to your jawline, panting into your ear as he speaks again.

“No? You really don’t understand, huh?” His hips are slapping against yours now, the bed creaking under you two with every movement. You’re pressed chest to chest as he looks into your eyes, his gaze filled with something terrifying and wild. Whatever obsession he had with initially, it’s warped into something dangerous. “You were made to be mine, feel how perfectly my cock fits inside you?” He punctuations his sentence with a rough thrust, causing you to let out a high-pitched keening noise. “Even your quirk is another sign you were made for me. You belong to me.” 

The strong arms around you heat up as he fucks you into the mattress, the headboard knocking against the wall. He pushes in closer to you, pulling you into a deep, messy kiss. His teeth clank against yours and he bites your lips, nearly hard enough to draw blood. It’s a rough and possessive kiss, and he doesn’t let up until your head starts to spin, seeming to want to steal the very air from your lungs. He’ll take everything you have and more, because he truly believes you made give him everything, even your own self.

 He makes a circular motion with his hips, the tip of his cock rolling over your cervix. “Only I can fuck you like this, only I can make you feel this good. You know you like this.” 

A particular thrust has you crying out as you shake under him, and he makes it his mission to hit that exact same spot with every movement. “You feel so good when you clench on my cock like that. Fuck, I’m not gonna last much longer, baby.” 

Electricity races up your spine with every roll of his hips, and you can’t help but cling to him. He reaches down between the two of you and begins to rub at the spot that’ll push you over the edge. “Come on my cock, baby, come for me.” He all but growls in your ear. Within moments you found yourself orgasming hard, as he continues to fuck you through it. He curses as you clench around him and with several battering thrusts, he pushes in as deep as he can, pumping you full of his cum. “Fucking take it, take my cum. That’s it, baby.” His cock twitches inside you as he releases, collapsing on top of you. 

He continues to lie on top of you for a few moments, his arms holding you tight as his softening cock slips out. After a minute he pulls himself up, looking down at your sweaty and exhausted body, your tired expression. “Wait here.” He says simply, getting up and redoing his pants. He exits your bedroom, feet padding on down the hall as he disappears. 

He returns a few minutes later, with a warm rag, and a glass of water. He cleans you up wordlessly before making you sit up despite how sore your body is, and hands you the glass, along with some pills.

You eye the capsules suspiciously, as you turn to him and frown. “What’s this?”  

He rolls his eyes at your apprehensiveness. ”It’s not poison, it’s so ya don’t get pregnant. I’ve snooped enough to know you’re not on any birth control.” 

Still frowning, you hesitate. He didn’t seem to care last time whether or not he got you knocked up. He seems to sense your wariness and grows impatient. 

 “Just take the damn pills already, if I wanted to kill you I could do a lot better than some fake medicine.” You suppose that’s true. Not wanting to anger him, you swallow the pills, downing the water afterward. He watches you closely as you do so, making sure you actually swallow them. 

“Good, now get some rest.” You feel yourself getting a lot sleepier than you initially felt, your eyes growing heavy. Within minutes you’re out. 

Dabi redresses you nimbly, making sure you’re truly knocked out before lifting you up into his arms. What a sweet thing, you were still so naive and trusting. He starts to carry you towards the door. You were his and you weren’t ever getting away from him. 

A/N: Sooo part three mayhaps? Thanks for reading!

transferred masterlist - zuko x fem!reader // atla smau

⇦ back to masterlist ⇦

status: complete!  

i decided to make a separate masterlist for this just for easier navigation + since its my most popular series rn. thank you guys for the love on it <3 

summary: trying to run from your past is hard, but falling for your brother’s roommate is even harder. little do you know that he’s falling for you as well.

final wc: 23,623

~~~~~~~

INTRO  PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE  PART SIX  PART SEVEN  PART EIGHT  PART NINE PART TEN PART ELEVEN  PART TWELVE PART THIRTEEN PART FOURTEEN PART FIFTEEN PART SIXTEEN PART SEVENTEEN PART EIGHTEEN PART NINETEEN PART TWENTY EPILOGUE

wastelands.

↳ suna rintarou x f!reader

— series masterlist.

summary. after a viral pandemic wiped out half of the world’s population, a group of abandoned young adults embark on a life-threatening journey in hopes of finding a safe permanent home. unfortunately, for you and Rin, love is only a temporary option.

genre. heavy angst, unrequited love, post apocalypse au, 18+

fic warnings. explicit smut, profanity, gore, infectious diseases, zombies, usage of guns and other weapons, smoking, blood, killings, suicide, minor and major character death

general masterlist + playlist + official art + group fanart + ko-fi

+ one + two + three + four + five + six + seven + eight + nine + ten + epilogue

status: completed

all rights reserved © 2021 saintobio. please do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

💜7 mins in heaven with Dabi: Pt. 5💙

Continuation of Part 4

Walking back to the table, you notice Hitoshi eyeing you suspiciously. Part of you felt guilty towards Hitoshi considering what the two of you did this morning, while the other part of you felt smug that you finally one-uped the most notorious player on campus.

Casually, you sit next to Hitoshi which was Touya's previous spot. Reaching across the table, you grab your bag and open it again to finish eating your donut. Tomura was now diagonal from you and was shooting you a questioning look.

"Where's Touya?"

"I saw him go into the restroom as I came out." The lie rolled off your tongue easily, not even batting an eye as you take a bite of your donut. It tasted even sweeter than before.

Hitoshi shifts next to you, moving slightly closer as you stared back at Tomura innocently. Yo and Keigo were on the other side of Hitoshi and Tomura respectively, lost in their own conversation. Tomura's gaze was calculating, which was starting to make you uncomfortable. You assumed he was the quiet stay-in-my-business type, but now you weren't so sure. Thankfully Keigo noticed you were back and spoke up.

"Hey, (Y/n), are youf doin' anyfin' tonight?" The question was muffled around a mouthful of donut.

"Nope. Just free-loading with this guy." Elbowing Hitoshi playfully, you spare him a glance seeing that he was already staring at you with a gaze you didn't quite understand.

Looking back to Keigo, your answer seemed to trigger his memory of what he walked into this morning. His chewing slowed and Hitoshi shifted next to you again also noticing Keigo's gaze.

"Riigghhttt..." Keigo swallowed, uncertain, "well I was wondering if you wanted to come to a party with us tonight? It's being held at the same place as before."

Memories from that night flooded your mind and you couldn't help but sigh. That's when this whole mess started.

"Why do I get the feeling all you do is party?" You teased Keigo instead, setting your donut down on the bag as you leaned back into your seat. Your hands found their way to your lap, accidentally brushing against Hitoshi's hand which was resting on his thigh. His other hand was visible on the table, playing with the lid of his coffee cup absently.

Hitoshi subtly moves his hand and brushes against yours again, the two of you having your hands next to each other under the table.

Holding back a shy smile, you bite your lower lip as Keigo rolls his eyes. "We're in college! Partying is part of the learning experience!"

Just then, a body slumps into the seat in front of you. Everyone turns and looks at Touya whose gaze was solely fixated on you.

You tilt your head slightly in question, innocent enough for everyone else at the table but the knowing glint in your eyes had Touya's eyes flashing.

Hitoshi's hand twitches against yours under the table.

A closer look at Touya and you could see the flushed glowing skin on his cheeks. Raising an eyebrow, you lift the hand not next to Hitoshi and break off a piece of your donut, biting into it slowly.

"Are you good?" Hitoshi asks, speaking up for everyone at the table. Touya never breaks his gaze from you.

"Never better."

His words were low and knowing, but you shrug nonchalantly and turn back to Keigo. "Sure, I'll go."

"Yessss!" Keigo pumps the air with his arm.

"Go where?" Touya asks, and you can see him still staring at you in your peripheral.

"Oh, I just invited (Y/n) to the party tonight!" Keigo explains before turning to scold Yo for sneaking two more donuts.

Touya hums from across the table, probably thinking the same thing you did. You couldn't help the blush that found its way to your cheek, but you busied yourself with the donut, not looking up at anyone.

"I'll go too," Hitoshi speaks up suddenly, removing his hand from under the table to lean back and stretch his hands above his head. Keigo gasps harshly and everyone else at the table turns to look at him in surprise.

"You? At a party?!" Yo gaps at Hitoshi, chewed-up donut visible in his mouth. Hitoshi grimaces in disgust and looks down at his coffee before looking to stare at Touya.

"Why not? It seems as though I missed out on these 'learning experiences.'"

Touya didn't say anything in return but met Hitoshi's gaze head-on, his stare cold and unwavering making an uneasy feeling settle in your stomach.

~*~*~*~*

Breakfast ended soon after that as classes were starting for a few people, including you.

You parted ways with Hitoshi after discussing class schedules and deciding on a place to meet so you two could both head back to his dorm before the party.

Class went by in a blur, a few people talking about the dorms that got shut down and the few scandalous roommate situations that had come up as a result.

You tried eavesdropping on a few conversations wondering if your name would come up. Hitoshi was a low-key person, but since he was close friends with some notorious people on campus, you weren't sure what to expect.

"I tried asking Touya if I could stay with him, but he didn't even pay attention to me!" A girl whined to her friends in front of you as you flipped a page in your notebook, pretending to take notes.

A few of her friends 'awed' in pity, trying to console her. "Well, you know what they say about Touya...you should've known he wouldn't go back to you."

One of the friends spoke up truthfully and another shot her a 'shut-up' look. However, the girl whining only sniffed and nodded her head solemnly.

"Yeah...I know. If only I could relive that night again..." she sighs dreamily. This time all of her friends echo her dreamy sign.

"We all do," they say simultaneously.

Yikes.

Your lips curl up in disgust and tune them out, not bothering to listen to whatever details they were going to relive.

Absently, you start doodling on the paper. Little hearts and flowers scattered along the border. Your mind wonders to this morning, before the coffee shop. Sure, discovering you had somehow managed to one-up Touya was surprising, but Hitoshi's coy smirk was lodged in your brain.

The sound of his voice when he called you 'kitten' or just the simple fact he gave up his room for you to sleep in for however long you needed.

Not to mention the almost-kiss you had. Lately, it seemed like you've had a few of those close calls which didn't settle right in your stomach. First with Touya and then with Hitoshi, but out of the two, you felt more drawn to-

Your phone buzzed twice in succession, snapping you out of your daze.

brainwxshed: hey

bvrnt.eros: hey

Are you fucking kidding me?

You look at both messages, torn between who to answer first or if you should even answer them at all. Touya was the troubled one and the one you weren't too happy with at the moment no matter how downright sinful he was.

Hitoshi on the other hand has done nothing wrong to warrant your anger. Putting your pencil down, you slouch lower in your seat and open your phone, tapping on Hitoshi's message.

you: hii

You see him typing, but your fingers itch to tap on Touya's message too.

Should I? What does he have to say? Is he going to talk about this morning? Is he-

brainwxshed: sooo about this party later...what should i expect? fuck that sounds so lame...

You smile fondly.

you: you don't have to go if you're uncomfortable. im not to big on parties either. I just went to one that one time.

And look at my consequences.

brainwxshed: im going if you're going. gotta protect my little kitten.

brainwxshed: *the little kitten.

Your face heats and you drop your phone on your desk, holding in a squeal. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as it did backflips. Asshole. You knew that wasn't a typo and he was teasing you again but you couldn't find it in you to be mad.

Rubbing your face with your hands, you pick your phone up and switch to Touya's message to hopefully calm down.

you: what?

bvrnt.eros: hm...you're cold, (Y/n). i think i should be the one mad at you for what you did to me this morning.

Yep. There it is.

you: not my fault.

bvrnt.eros: oh dollface...but it was. walking off like that and leaving me alone to take care of myself after you made me so fucking hard...

Conflicting emotions shot through you.

you: again...not intentional so it's not my fault.

bvrnt.eros: i don't think you understand the concept of sexting, let me explain-

Gritting your teeth, you go back to Hitoshi's message.

you: protection from...?

brainwxshed: hey, you never know. i've heard stories and one thing i know for sure is that college parties are never good☝🏻...and they're crowded.

you: ahh...is that why you never went to one?

brainwxshed: ...partially. but also, why go when i can watch studio ghibli films in my dorm and draw?

Just then another message popped down from Touya.

bvrnt.eros: so sexting is basically like dirty talk over text. i said you made me hard this morning and i jerked off to the thought of you in the donut shop bathroom and you're supposed to respond with something sexy to keep the conversation going.

Oh my-

Angrily you tap on the message.

you: im not stupid and im not sexting you.

bvrnt.eros: boooo 🍅

You tap back to Hitoshi's message.

you: that sounds nice actually. if you wanna stay in your dorm, i'll stay with you.

brainwxshed: stay with me? careful kitten~ we might end up like this morning~

Your face heats up again.

you: i have no idea what you're talking about.

brainwxshed: 'stay with me' and i can show you later~

Another message from Touya pops down

bvrnt.eros: soo...this party tonight is kinda like our anniversary hm? how should we celebrate 👀

With every message Touya sends, you feel more agitated. He's ruining the mood that keeps building between you and Hitoshi. You swipe his message away and return to Hitoshi's message.

you: are you gonna kiss me for real this time?

Or so you thought.

bvrnt.eros: ...fuck.

bvrnt.eros: dollface i would kiss you all over if you let me.

Fuck.

Your body went ridged seeing Touya respond to the message meant for Hitoshi. Realizing you sent it to the wrong person and adding fuel to the fire that you were so desperately trying to put out.

Do I tell him that wasn't for him? Will he know I meant to send that to Hitoshi? How do I respond to Hitoshi now?

Your fingers twitch over your keypad, panic rising inside of you. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-

bvrnt.eros: im looking forward to tonight, (Y/n).

Your fingers frantically type out many different forms of 'no' and 'that wasn't for you' but couldn't find one to settle on and send. The fact that Hitoshi was also waiting on a response made you panic even more.

Calm down, (Y/n).

Locking your phone, you set it down and take a deep breath. Deciding not to say anything more and make it worse, you shakily put your phone down and tune back into the professor who was dismissing the class.

You had to meet up with Hitoshi soon anyways and you weren't sure you could even look him in the eyes. Guilt washes over you, not knowing what to do or how to fix this situation. Tonight was not going to be fun.

~*~*~*~*

You met with Hitoshi soon after.

He was smirking at you avoiding him, but you knew he probably thought you were embarrassed from the text conversation when in reality that wasn't the case at all. Maybe under different circumstances you might've been, but because you were so careless-

"I need to stop at my old dorm and get extra clothes," remembering the text from this morning about the repairs not being finished and since you only packed for today, you needed more clothes.

"Sure," Hitoshi nods as the two of you begin to walk to the South dorms. "So..." he starts, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

You gulp.

"So?"

Hitoshi smirks, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"So about earlier..."

"Earlier? What happened earlier?" Panic rose in your chest. Did he find out? Did Touya screenshot your message and send it to him? Oh God what if-

Hitoshi turns and cuts in front of you, a pierced eyebrow raised in concern. "The party. You never told me what to expect."

A heavy breath leaves you in a rush.

"Right. The party." Shouldering past Hitoshi, you try to calm down, opening the door to the South dorms, frigid air hitting you like a ton of bricks.

Cursing lightly, you walk faster to your room and fumble with the door, footsteps cautiously catching up.

"Um..." Throwing open the door, you let Hitoshi in as you go to rummage through your closet. "Well, there's going to be a lot of people and alcohol. Music can be expected too. Just typical college party stuff," you mouth off quickly, still rattled thinking that Hitoshi found out about earlier.

Hitoshi wasn't even paying attention, walking around your dorm room and observing the little trinkets and decorations you had. It's only been one night, but you did miss it here. You turn back to your closet and pack a week's worth of clothes just in case and shove them into a bag.

"I really hope they fix the heater soon. I don't want to overstay or anything," you comment absently, folding a pair of pants.

"I thought you liked staying with me?" Hitoshi's voice was low and closer than expected, making you jump. Well, that certainly didn't take long for him to bring that part of the conversation up.

It felt as though he was right by your ear and you couldn't find the courage to turn around. Shakily, you place the pants in your bag and sidestep before turning and walking to your dresser to pull out undergarments.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Hitoshi still standing there, probably confused, before slowly turning towards you again.

"I do! I mean, thank you, but still. A week is a long time," you explain, counting off a checklist in your brain. Now...what to wear tonight...

You hastily pull open the bottom drawer, finding a short black dress you've only worn once before.

"Okay, I'm finished." Turning to Hitoshi, you shove the dress in the bag and walk back towards the door.

"Let's go, I'm freezing." Smiling innocently, Hitoshi regards you with a thoughtful look, not saying anything as you two leave the room. Locking the door and exiting the building was met with silence.

Hitoshi seemed lost in his thoughts and didn't say a word on the way back to his dorm for the two of you to get ready.

~*~*~*~*

The party was already packed by the time you and Hitoshi showed up. He stuck close to your side, looking uncomfortable at the number of people in such a small space. You didn't blame him, also wanting to get out of here as soon as possible and hopefully avoid Touya.

Of course, fate has other plans for you.

"(Y/n) and Hitoshi, over here!" Keigo calls out loudly over the music. Cursing, you trudge over and avoid looking at the piercing blue eyes already next to Keigo.

A warm flush finds its way to your face anyway and you manage a small smile at Keigo. Tomura and Yo were off to the side talking while drinking some beers. You try to recall if you saw them at the previous party but the only thing you remember is woodsy musk, sandalwood, and cigarette smoke.

I need to get out of here.

"Perfect timing! We were just about to play spin the bottle truth or dare!" Keigo motions to the large group of people surrounding the area and they cheer loudly.

Nope.

You take a large step back holding up your hands. "Have fun!"

"Awh c'mon, (Y/n)," Touya teases across from you. "It'll be fun. Just like last time." After stressing the last part, he glances at Hitoshi smugly and another wave of guilt washes over you.

You grit your teeth and shake your head, anxiety creeping up your spine. To your surprise, Hitoshi only steps forward.

"I'll play."

Keigo cheers excitedly, pumping his fist. "Oh, dude, this is the best day ever!"

Tomura had stopped talking to Yo, who was still talking regardless if Tomura was listening or not, observing the scene in front of him. Uncomfortable wasn't even a strong enough word you'd use to describe the situation.

Touya looked calm and collected as Hitoshi walked to stand next to him, the two of them now staring at you expectantly.

Purple and blue stared at you hotly, warmth spreading across your cheeks as they had looks of longing. Both held heat and memories of almost-kisses, but only one of them had a false knowing of what you said earlier.

"Uh..." Not knowing what to do, the whole group of college students now eagerly waited for you to answer.

"GUESS WHO'S BACK, FUCKERS!" The door slammed open suddenly, a loud voice ringing loud over the music.

Everyone turned to the door and loud cheers rang out, cutting the tension. Your shoulders sag in relief seeing Touya and Hitoshi finally look away from you. You follow their gaze seeing a blonde-haired man wearing black joggers and a black sweatshirt grinning manically at everyone welcoming him back.

"Kat!" Keigo calls out, running up to clap him on the back. "Man, this day really couldn't get any better!"

Well, at least someone is having a good time.

Kat claps Keigo on the back too and walks over to the group in front of you. Yo groans, making Kat roll his eyes and flick him on the forehead.

Yo scowls and rubs his head. Tomura greets Kat with a small smile and nod, offering to get him a beer. Touya grins and steps up, ruffling the spikey blonde hair making Kat snarl as he swats the hand away. Hitoshi was last, dapping up Kat fondly with a muted, "Hey, bro."

Hitoshi turns to you and motions you over.

"Katsuki, this is (Y/n). (Y/n), this is Katsuki." You awkwardly smile, not sure if this was the right time to be meeting Hitoshi's roommate. Brother?

"Hey," Katsuki smirks, giving Hitoshi a look you didn't miss. Or Touya. "Hitoshi told me the situation already. It's cool if you still need a place to stay, but I'll need my room back."

The realization hit you suddenly and you risk a glance at Hitoshi who also had a small blush on his face, avoiding your gaze.

Seeing him blush made you blush more, awkwardly shifting your stance. Katsuki cackles at the sight of you and Hitoshi, but lays off the teasing, turning to Tomura who hands him a beer.

"So what are we doing?" He asks, biting the lid off with his teeth. Your mouth drops open slightly in awe as Keigo happily fills Katsuki in.

"Heh, spin the bottle, 'Toshi? What the hell happened when I was away?" Katsuki asks, shooting you another quick glance.

Hitoshi grumbles something you can't hear, making Katsuki smirk, and the both of them walk back to the circle. You go to follow and notice Touya's seething face once Hitoshi leaves your field of vision.

You quickly move away and go back to your previous spot, Tomura now standing next to you. "Are you okay?"

He whispered the question low, and you let out a huge breath you didn't know you were holding.

"No."

Tomura reaches out a hand, concerned, and you grab it shakily. He squeezes your hand and you squeeze it back, thankful for the reassurance.

"Right! So who wants to start?" Keigo announces to the large group of college students. A lot of cheers and drunken words rang out.

Tomura keeps a hold of your hand, tucking into your side as you stare at the damned bottle on the table. Touya and Hitoshi were back to standing next to each other across from you and if they were staring at you and Tomura holding hands, you couldn't find it in you to care. Though you were sure Tomura was staring right back without a care in the world.

"You're going to have to make a decision sometime." Tomura lays his head on your shoulder, murmuring solemnly. The question doesn't surprise you since you noticed his observation skills, so you were sure he had caught on long ago.

"...I know," you mutter back, still staring at the bottle unblinkingly. It was nice to have someone to talk to. You haven't told anyone of the situation going on and the drama that followed, so finding comfort in Tomura was reassuring and needed. Although unexpected.

"Do you have any clue which one?" Tomura asks, the both of you locked in your own world, watching Katsuki be the first one to spin.

Do I?

Honestly, it felt like you've been debating this question constantly for the past few days. Both made your heart race with excitement. Touya kept you on your toes but had a bad reputation and a cocky attitude to match. Hitoshi was unexpected in the way he welcomed you with open arms, but loved to tease you endlessly.

As of right now, there were no cons with Hitoshi but yet something still prevented you from committing fully.

"Not a clue," you finally admit, leaning your cheek on Tomura's head.

Tomura hums and the two of you watch Katsuki dare Yo to do a keg stand. Yo blanches as the crowd starts chanting his name in encouragement.

"Great. Now I'll have to deal with that later," Tomura sighs, annoyed.

Yo glares at a smirking Katsuki before flipping himself into a handstand, his shirt falling down making the crowd whistle and catcall him jokingly.

"Hm?"

"Yo. He's my roommate and cannot handle anything more than 2 beers," Tomura explains. "Which, Katsuki knows that."

You hum again and watch Yo stumble back down on his feet, looking green. Katsuki throws his arm around Yo's neck, saying something which only had Yo hiccuping in response.

"Your turn to spin, Yo!" Keigo exclaims excitedly.

Yo sways to the table and half-heartedly spins the bottle. It didn't spin very much and slowly made its way to you. You grip Tomura's hand tighter, watching the bottle stop.

Keigo cheers loudly.

"Truth or dare, (Y/n)?" Yo slurs, trying to focus his gaze on you.

"Uh...truth?" You whisper almost shyly, hearing the crowd boo.

Yo holds a hand to his chin to think. "Hm...who do you like more-"

"Dare!" You cut him off, not wanting him to finish that sentence. You were not going to risk that. People cheer at your change of heart.

"Okayyyy," Yo hiccups, "I dare you to do a 7 minutes in heaven with someone."

Yeah, no, that's completely better.

Keigo all but squeals, looking like he just won the lottery with how this night is going and Tomura squeezes your hand again tightly.

"Spin," Yo motions to the bottle, waiting for you.

The air seemed to crackle with electricity as you reached for the bottle, spinning it as hard as you could, praying it'd land on anyone but those two.

Touya and Hitoshi's gaze intensely watched the bottle, as the rest of the group cheered unknowingly at the tension. Your palms felt sweaty as anxiety loomed over you seeing the damned bottle slow as it towards Touya and Hitoshi.

It came to stop and the crowd 'ooh-ed' trying to figure out who it was pointing at.

"Is it...both of them?" Tomura murmured in awe, as Keigo whistled.

"Alright, I'll be the judge!" Keigo walked over to you and squatted down to see who the bottle was lined up with. "Oh wow...I've never seen this before. Ladies and gentlemen, it's split down the middle...we have a tie!" Keigo announces, hopping up.

The crowd gets hyped, all the girls shooting you a dirty look, but you really couldn't care because you were seconds away from passing out.

"Well, (Y/n)? Which one are you going to choose?"

~*~*~*~*

Touya's hitlist taglist:

@spaceisout @deputy-videogamer @magpiesworld @blahblahblahhhhhhhhhhhhhh @mod-hadagile @whokillednyx @ittybittywallflower @bubblewordsofsodapop @poopiepoopie123 @frontier-renegade @windex-princess-ami @yourfavoriteloover @ashash @shamefulwitch @allthingsleviackerman @97britt

Sun Eats Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 9.1k

Part two: Earth Kills Moon

Part three: Moon Starves Sun

Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.

(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping attempt, hint of pregnancy kink)

You wanted to quit the second you read the name. 

You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place. 

It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now. 

You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?

It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client. 

"Is everything alright?" 

You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke. 

Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired." 

The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited. 

He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics. 

Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention. 

It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice. 

You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps. 

He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes. 

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."

His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face. 

Nothing. 

Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next. 

"I look forward to working with all of you."                                     

𖤓

If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial. 

He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order. 

But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way. 

Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too. 

"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.

Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you. 

"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?" 

"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks." 

You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours. 

𖤓

The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms. 

You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching. 

He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru. 

You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch. 

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. 

Through your blinds, the sun happily shines. 

𖤓

You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.

Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.

He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted. 

You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class. 

It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it. 

"What?" Because you must have misheard him. 

"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official." 

You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours. 

You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop. 

"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine. 

He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore. 

Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

𖤓

It was something minuscule. 

Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always. 

"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey. 

The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her. 

"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out." 

He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life." 

When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger. 

Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru. 

Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help. 

Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that. 

Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break. 

He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing. 

You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator. 

"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-

"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!" 

Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle. 

The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you. 

When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

𖤓

You don't have proof it was him. 

It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that. 

But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him. 

In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back. 

At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.

There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.

Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down. 

You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.

Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.

Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it. 

“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.

“That's good,” he says anyway.

You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares. 

You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.

“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”

He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything. 

“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”

Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.

You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend. 

Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.

Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.

Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg. 

You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open. 

It's worse than anything you could think of. 

Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you? 

This wasn't bullying. 

This was abuse. 

Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.

You were so tired. 

Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky. 

"Why?" 

Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group. 

"Get lost." 

They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone. 

"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored. 

"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-" 

It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away. 

"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?" 

You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear. 

"Anything, right?" 

You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek. 

"Get on your knees." 

You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little. 

"I-I-Gojo you-" 

"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?" 

He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru. 

To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk. 

You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him. 

"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh. 

"Gojo I-" 

"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems." 

You look down at the grass. Green, soft. 

"Satoru." 

His eyes flash in satisfaction. 

"Open up, pretty girl." 

The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you. 

"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought. 

"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?" 

If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame. 

"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you. 

You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth. 

"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me." 

But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world. 

"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?" 

If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it. 

He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help. 

He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath. 

"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you." 

His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum. 

(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)

"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something." 

 You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him. 

"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair. 

"My laptop...it's broken." 

You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it. 

Satoru only scoffs.

“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you. 

(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)

“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”

He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his. 

The sunset is pretty today. 

𖤓

It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied. 

You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from. 

"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?" 

You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf. 

"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait." 

She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts. 

"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her. 

Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright. 

"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting." 

Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs. 

Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way. 

You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-

"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to. 

The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go. 

It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you. 

𖤓

By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable. 

You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework. 

Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips. 

He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever. 

"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom. 

"Thank-" 

"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me." 

He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself. 

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too. 

You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him. 

Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons. 

"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?" 

You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment. 

You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken. 

"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."

On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours. 

Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now. 

"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action. 

You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone. 

He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can. 

Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch. 

"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you." 

He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock- 

Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.

You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing. 

Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you. 

"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?" 

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again. 

"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust. 

You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper. 

"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl." 

He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.

You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar. 

"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious. 

"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him." 

His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock. 

"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch. 

"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need. 

You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt. 

You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration. 

"I love you." 

You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.

"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh. 

Fuck three weeks. 

You needed to get out, now. 

𖤓

The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there. 

His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours. 

Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out. 

Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there. 

And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room. 

His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction. 

"You're off the clock, Ijichi," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?" 

His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke. 

The door shuts with a click. 

"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward. 

You take one back. He puts his hands up. 

"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?" 

He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood. 

"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody. 

He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too. 

When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes. 

"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules." 

"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked. 

"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent. 

He seems to take an issue with that, regardless. 

"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text." 

 His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake. 

You go to move. 

Satoru's faster. 

Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment. 

"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze. 

It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness. 

"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-" 

"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt. 

You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client. 

Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him. 

When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless. 

You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears. 

"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar." 

He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words. 

"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.

 Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses. 

"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now." 

"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again. 

"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic. 

"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily. 

"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?" 

His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too. 

He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall. 

Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action. 

"That's-"

"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar. 

He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate. 

"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate. 

It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. 

"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits. 

Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed. 

Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out. 

He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear. 

"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?" 

You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that. 

"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you." 

You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his. 

Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure. 

It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom. 

"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught. 

"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl." 

"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-" 

"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."

"No-I-I-can't-" 

He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled. 

"I'll make sure it takes this time too." 

Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea. 

He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb. 

You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine. 

He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness. 

"I love you." 

You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.

Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran. 

"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me." 

"Not ever again."

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The Sun had eaten it. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given. 

How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation. 

jealousy, jealousy || b. katsuki

bakugo katsuki has a girlfriend, one that he didn’t tell you about. you’re resigned to giving him up, to live with your feelings alone. insert an enthusiastic senior who’s willing to help you find out if katsuki truly likes his girlfriend, or if he harbors any hidden feelings for you.

(aka, you’re an idiot for pining after another idiot, causing misunderstandings after misunderstandings, all because you decided to bring a fake-dating trope to life.)

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

completed by lytters / calyxso © do not plagiarise my works, repost them or use them in anyway without my permission

The morning came and there is an impossible amount of smoke and Fog covering gaza. People still can't check on each other even if they were a few meters away. The amount of killed Palestinians has increased above never before. Children dismembered, mothers saying goodbye before burying their children. People who have no idea if their loved ones are alive or dead. Hospitals cannot help, they're out of every energy source and quite frankly, doctors. The bombing hasn't stopped if you were wondering, so people can't just walk on the streets and search for their loved ones. A paramedic broke down after pulling out a little girl from underneath the rubble. Refugee camps have gotten bombed, so the people who survived the first bombing of their house, probably weren't so lucky this time.

And israeli army spokesperson just released a statement falsely claiming that Hamas has a headquarters under a main hospital in gaza. (Al-Shifaa hospital). This is an attempt to justify bombing a hospital, where over 30,000 people are seeking care. This hospital is located 16 meters above sea level, making it impossible to built tunnels under it. Highest area in gaza is 105 meters.

holyfuck okay i don’t know if you would be okay with writing this but like the last requester, the wedding scene just did something to my feelings and what if,, five and reader broke up in 1963 texas and during the wedding scene they ended up sitting in the same table and the reader says “don’t look at me like that” and five asks what look and she says “like you still love me” and it’s just mutual pining since they still love each other and angst and deargod my heart

I HAVE MORE ANGST TODAYYYYYYY

warnings: long for me; five says fuck a lot; swearing; five breaking the reader's heart; angry confession; reader being set; reader denying anything and everything; reader being hurt (emotionally); female reader; reader is a fan of chocolate

tags: @mad-elia

SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE

He had wrecked you.

“I don’t think… I-” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes scrunched up. “We can’t do this anymore. You’re my wife, and I love you. But I’m not… in love with you. Do you know what I mean?”

He had wrecked you, but you stood taller, agreeing with the man child. So he didn’t love you after every piece of you was offered to him on a silver platter. He didn’t love you after you nursed him back to health in the apocalypse. He didn’t love you after you assured him that it wasn’t his fault all of you were separated, stuck in time. 

He didn’t love you.

“No,” you laughed breathily, strained. “I get it. I totally get it. It’s no problem-”

“I’m glad,” he said, giving you a tired smile. “Now, I suggest we both go get some sleep. It’s been a hellish twenty days, hasn’t it?”

~*~

You had grabbed a tight-fitting sweater and overall shorts. It was much better than the uniform, you had to admit. 

You hopped down the stairs of the hotel, greeting your brothers and sister in law. 

Correction: Ex-in-laws.

“Good morning, peeps! How are we all doing?”

“Excellently, dear sister of mine,” Klaus responded. You stiffened; he didn’t notice. “And how are you this morning?”

You were crying all night.

“I’m amazing. Best sleep of my life.”

Allison’s shirt was soaked.

“Mimosa, (Y/N)?” Five called out from behind the bar. He was dressed in a t-shirt, a flannel and a vest…and a fedora. A plaid one.

“You look like you’re retiring and about to go on a fishing trip with the grandkids.”

“Oh ha ha,” he mocked, starting to pour you a drink. “You sleep well?”

“Best one yet. I don’t care if the mattress smells like sweat.”

His nose wrinkled. “Do you need me to run and grab you some new sheets?”

“I think I’ll take a trip today; I have nothing better to do anyway.”

He nodded. “Just be careful- there are a lot of alleyways that weird shit happens in.”

“Oh, well that makes me feel better.”

Before he could respond Klaus ran up to the both of you. “Okay, so I know that you’re retired Five, and I’m assuming your lovely wife-” You both winced; again, he didn’t notice…or he didn’t care. “-is also in retirement. What do you two say to a road trip? It’s what retired people do! You two, me, the countryside! What do you say?”

Five looked at you; you looked at Five and shrugged.

He won’t go. He would never.

“I got nothing better to do,” you said, smiling up at Klaus. He clapped his hands together in child-like joy, bouncing up and down slightly.

“Wonderful! And you, you old geezer?”

“I guess I’m in.”

Well, fuck me.

~*~

Five had pulled out a map of tourist locations in Pennsylvania, pointing things out to Klaus as he was driving. He ranted on and on about these things, just like an old man in retirement. He turned around and pointed them out to you, too, explaining things that may cater to your tastes.

“Okay, okay, listen to me, Five. Hold on.”

“Alright,” he said, smiling sarcastically. You felt bad; this was the first thing he was really enthusiastic about- the happy kind of enthusiastic. Not the obsessive, overbearing cloud of stopping the apocalypse. “I’m all ears.”

“So, I lied. We are going to Pennsylvania to find my birth mother!” he shouted, as if he were making an announcement. Your mouth dropped open. Well, now Five would be really pissed. 

“Are you kidding me?!”

“No! But if I told you, you wouldnt’ve come. (Y/N) would’ve because she’s just a sweetheart like that-”

“Thank you?” 

“You’re welcome, (Y/N/N), you beautiful soul.” You made a face- something between confused and unsurprised. “You would not have come! I chose you two for emotional support?”

“Emotional support?” Five hissed. “You-”

“I did.”

You buried your head in your hands.

“BIGGEST BALL OF TWINE!” you heard Five shout. You shot up, only to see the sign presenting the words “WORLD’S BIGGEST BALL OF TWINE.”

“No, Five!”

“Come on-”

Five leaned over the seat quickly, gaining control of the wheel. You squeaked as the car made a sharp turn, almost running into two others. One nearly grazed your door.

“We’re going to die!” Klaus shouted.

You agreed.

~*~

Five was impressed with the ball of twine. It wasn’t a bad trip, you realized. You’d witnessed wonderful things there, including the validation Five had been craving from his siblings.

It was so nice, in fact, that Five had held your hand lightly as he was looking at it. Your eyes were wide and staring at your hands, but he was just looking at the twine.

He’d broken up with you in Dallas about fifty years before, technically. But to you, it was a few days. 

You’d been crying every single night. You haven’t been eating as much. 

So you pulled it back, crossing your arms, playing it off as if you were cold. He noticed. He noticed nearly everything, really. He quickly looked down at his empty hand, and then back at the ball of twine, something unreadable in his eyes.

So, here you were. One of Five’s favorites was playing, and he was singing along. You were sitting on top of the car, looking out upon the cows in the field.

He kicked the top of the car.

“Yes, Five?”

“What do you think about Hershey Park?”

“Won’t we need money for that?”

“Not if I can jump us in-”

“That’s illegal. And, along with that, I was making plans to move to New York. There’s a few jobs in my department; I can go to high school there, apply to a couple colleges. I can start over.”

He was quiet for a few seconds, the silence fragile.

“I see.”

“What are you going to be doing with your retirement, Five?”

“Go to Hershey Park.”

You cackled, throwing your head back. “Yes, because you love chocolate so much.”

“No, but you do. I thought you might want to go.”

Your heart stilled. “Thanks for the thought, Five. I appreciate it.”

The wave came through then; you could feel it rush through your system. And gone were the cows. Five clearly realized that too, stumbling out of the car, immediately looking at you.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, but I don’t think the cows are,” you said, looking at the empty field.

“Can’t I get one fucking day off?” he whispered to himself.

~*~

It had been days since then. Five had gotten you new sheets; you had thanked him; he’d been looking at you; you’ve been looking away.

And on and on and on goes the cycle.

So here you were, watching the happy couple dance, nursing your drink. Maybe your last one.

But suddenly he was in front of you, his hand outstretched, beckoning you forward.

Wordlessly, you took that oh-so-familiar hand, and let him lead you to the dance floor.

He held you closely, a little too closely, your chests pressed together, his chin on top of your head.

“What are you doing, Five?”

“I’m dancing with my wife, what else do you think I’m doing?”

“Uh- Five…I thought we broke up. You aren’t in love with me, remember? You just…I don’t know. Love me? I’m not your wife anymore, Cinco.”

“We’re not divorced yet, Sweetheart.” He dipped you, you looked into his eyes. You looked into them and saw everything. You didn’t understand any of it.

He hadn’t called you “Sweetheart” in a long time, either.

“Don’t call me that, Five. And don’t look at me like that, either.”

“Like what?”

“Like you love me.”

“Darling,” he whispered, moving one of his hands to your head, threading his fingers through your hair. He moved his head lower, too, burying his face in your hair. He pressed his lips to your head. “I do. I was wrong. I don’t know what came over me- maybe it was…I don’t know. What I do know is that I am desperately and wholly in love with a woman that deserves so much more than me. But, by some miracle, that woman fell in love with the scum on the bottom of her shoe, and that little shit took it all for granted.”

You stiffened.

“I’m in love with you, (Y/N) Hargreeves.”

“Not a Hargreeves.”

He pulled you in a little closer.

“We’re not divorced yet.”

“Yet.”

“And it won’t happen.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I don’t think there are any lawyers around here to make it official. Just because the ring is off doesn’t make it legally undone. And-” He stopped himself, pulling away to look you dead in the eyes. You turned your head away; he gently turned it back, keeping it in place. “-I will not be stopping until I earn that love back, even if I’m still about as much as the dirt on the bottom of those heels.”

You pulled away for the final time, abandoning the dance floor, leaving him alone.

~*~

You two were stuck together again for the first time since the wedding. None of you spoke, you just stood there, wandering the hotel.

You decided to break the silence. “So is this the other shoe, or did it drop a while ago? Oh my god, do you think these monster guardian things have multiple pairs of legs?”

He wrinkled his eyebrows, but answered. “I hope they don’t. More work for us.”

A noise erupted from the silence, he pulled you to him by your waist.

“Five, really?”

“I told you. I’m earning love back.”

“Protecting me isn’t gonna-”

“Then what will? I don’t care that we may have minutes to live and that everything outside of this God-forsaken hotel is destroyed. I’ll find a way to make it happen. Here-” With sure, and oddly steady, hands he reached into his pocket, producing something you thought you left behind. “I have this. Do you remember the day I gave you this?”

Your ring. The silver band you’ve worn since what felt like forever. 

“I remember.”

He slid it onto your finger; you let him.

“Then you remember what I said to you-”

“You don’t- Five, you meant it then. That doesn’t mean-”

“Oh, (Y/N),” he snarled, angry now. Your eyes widened at the change of tone. “You can’t honestly think my feelings have changed. I was a fool. I was being stupid. I don’t know what the hell was going through my head, but I broke you the fuck apart. I knew I was wrong the second I said it. I’ve been trying, (Y/N). I’ve been trying to work up again, but clearly you need for me to tell you because you are in such fucking denial that you can’t see what’s right in front of you. I am in love with you, Mrs. Hargreeves. And that’s not changing for shit, so you better get used to it, whether you want to stay together or not.”

You wanted to stay. You did. 

But his mind could change just as easily as it did before.

“Five, your mind-”

“Is set. You’re it. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

And then you laughed. It was breathy, and marred by your tears, but he began to laugh too. He pulled you into his chest, breathing you in.

“Please. Just… stay. Please. If we do this, if we save the universe in the million to one chance we have, I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life making it up to you.”

“Starting with Hershey Park?”

“Most definitely.”

if he's a serial killer, then what's the worst that could happen to a girl who's already hurt?—

dabi x reader

wc: 9.5+

warnings: 18+, ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSAULT, explicit/crude language, reader is not doing well, angst, dabi is bad at feelings, also yandere by accident?

if he's as bad as they say, then i guess i'm cursed, looking into his eyes, i think he's already hurt—

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really.

It had been by some ridiculous coincidence that you attended Shizuoka Private School at the same time, in the same class and had the same peers. There was always an idiotic smile on your face; it made you seem so damn friendly that the other kids fought over you at lunch—who would you sit with today? But you sat with them last time! When was it my turn?

Even then you were pulled in different directions.

The two of you hadn’t been friends, only classmates. Sometimes he sat with you, sometimes he didn’t; more often than not he spent his time outside, counting out his breaths so he didn’t burn his stomach or his hands or his face—which is pretty fucking funny, in retrospect—but you talked to him, just like you did everyone. It wasn’t anything special.

A smile and a wave. How’s it going, Touya? Sure are working hard!

An offering, some of the leftover rice in the bento your dear mommy made you. Ugh, I’m so full! You need the energy, want it?

A chin perched on your knee, pulling them close to your chest as you watched him. That’s super cool! I bet you’ll be even better than your dad!

So fucking sweet. So fucking idiotic.

(He didn’t think that then. Nah, not back then.)

It always made you throw up, using that quirk of yours. Underneath the tree, the one in the front of the fence on the side of the school, he’d told you,

“You can be my sidekick! I’ll get them with Prominence Burn, and you get ‘em with Mind Freeze!”

There was blood in your teeth when you responded. “We’ll get the bad guys together!”

It’s not until after everything that he realizes what the problem is, not until you take that job in the hospital and put needles in veins and take temperatures and clean up shit that he realizes you can’t take it. Something about it ruining your own neurological whatever; if you had tried to be a hero, you wouldn’t have made it to your late-twenties. Brain would have ate itself, or something.

(In retrospect, he guesses that’s a good thing. If he ever ran into you out there, if he had to turn your bones to ash in an alleyway while you wore some cheesy spandex, you might not have recognized him—but you would have figured it out just before he carbonized you. You would have probed his mind all different ways, found everything out, even those things he shoves behind the door in his head.)

(Of course he could do it, smite you into fucking nothing, absolutely, no problem.)

Somehow you got blessed with good parents, the kind that supported whatever path you wanted, the kind that only exists in the movies. They said things to you like, “only if you want to” and “you can be just as much of a hero without your quirk”—which was a load of shit and you knew it. He knew it, too.

Those kids by the fence were supposed to be partners.

In retrospect, it’s pretty fucking funny. Every last bit of it.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, but you lit incense for him at least once a year. Most of the time on his birthday (he wasn’t sure how you figured that out; the idea that you went to his house to ask Enji was horrifying), but sometimes you wouldn’t show up that day. Sometimes you did it at Christmas, sometimes on Valentine’s Day. Sometimes on any random Saturday of the month.

Sometimes you showed up for a few weeks in a row.

So fucking sweet. So fucking idiotic.

Who the fuck even are you, anyway? Acting all sad and heartbroken because some kid from your class went and got himself incinerated to Hell. Acting like you cared, as if those conversations under the tree ever really meant anything. As if the future was ever gonna be up to him, as if he had any say. Acting as if you could ever do the Hero Thing, as if you had any say. As if the blood on your lips didn’t stain his when he kissed a girl at age ten, for the first time.

Grow up. Kids say shit they don’t mean all the time.

And without him, you had—grown up. After a while you stopped talking about him, stopped saying, “Oh, my friend Touya,” as if he was still there, waiting for you at the front of the school. You were an honor student, every year, and your parents bought you a car when you started high school. A normal one, not U.A. No one had figured it out yet, that your bouts of illness and fatigue, the Twice-sized migraines you got were all due to that quirk of yours, but you knew something was wrong. Even then.

Somehow you got blessed with good parents, the kind that paid your way through college, the kind that bought you a stethoscope as if you were gonna be some hot-shot doctor. So fucking stupid, in a world of quirks; someone could do what would take you hours, in seconds, but you still chose that job. Because you still wore that idiotic smile and people still flocked to you and you wanted to please everyone, just like always.

Yeah, he knew where you lived, but it’s not like he was a creep.

When he managed to unscramble his brain enough to use it, it was easy to find you. You lived in the same house you always did and he’d been over once, as Touya, and the curtains covering your windows were still pink, still had stars on them, when you were ten and when you were eighteen. Those parents of yours had to make a big ol’ deal of you moving out, to some shitty apartment closer to the hospital, closer to downtown, so it wasn’t hard for him to follow that moving truck.

And you still had those fucking curtains. Why wouldn’t you throw them away? Move on. Grow up.

To his complete horror, you kept a photo of him in the third drawer in your kitchen, the same photo Enji stared at. It was pathetic, all of it, how you kept him around and in your space. Sometimes you would open that drawer and see it and act surprised, as if you hadn’t put it there yourself, and you would say something stupid like, “How’s it going, Touya?” before grabbing what you needed and putting him back in the dark.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, and it was all so idiotic.

When one of your nurse friends asked about the picture, you told them everything. About the bento boxes and the tree, about the Hero to your Sidekick, about the one and only time he felt like a kid, in someone else’s home, while he watched some girly movie about a witch and her broomstick and a cat.

“—and my mom made me salmon, but he hates fish, so we threw it at a car in the school parking lot.”

Hates. As if he was still alive. As if you still cared. As if you could tell he was sitting against the wall in your dark bedroom, listening to every sip of that beer you took.

The worst part of it all was that you walked to and from work, like a big fucking fool. Mom and Pop bought you a car for a reason, stupid, and if you wanted to stay in shape so bad, you could just join a fucking gym, like the rest of the world. But no. You insisted, even when that cunt from the hospital cafeteria offered to drive you himself. “Fresh air is good for me,” you told him, which was a terribly lame response—one fit for you.

So fucking stupid, trying to be so perfect all the time.

The way you curled your hair and the careful hand you used to put on your makeup. If a bum on the street asked you for money, you’d come back from a coffee shop across the road with water and a sandwich, maybe even throw him a bill or two. People stopped you to ask for directions and you gave them, sometimes you would pay for the person in line behind you at some takeout place. If litter was on the ground, you’d carry it to the nearest trash can.

They told you that if you’d tried to do the Hero Thing, you’d be dead by twenty-three, and yet there you were, holding open the door for four people in a row with that smile, playing the good guy.

Grow up.

There were plenty of other women in his life better than you, women that understood his motivation, his rage, ones that left the door unlocked when he needed to get his rocks off. Some of those women had pierced nipples and wore spandex—not the cheesy kind—and let him do the whole BDSM thing because they liked it just as much as he did. They didn’t expect anything of him, they didn’t talk about him like he was still there or pretend to care. They liked him, Dabi (most of them, anyway, some of those fucking bitches couldn’t get over his appearance, but he didn’t care about them).

He didn’t care about any of that, least of all you. Least of all the skimpy dress you wore when that cafeteria cuck finally got your number, finally got the balls to take you out. Who cares that he brought you flowers and that you kissed him for it? It’s not some big, grand deal that a man took notes from a shitty romance flick to impress you. He didn’t care at all, because he was balls-deep in a girl he’d picked up at the bar, and it wasn’t some big deal that he pretended it was you moaning his name.

Yeah, you were kinda attractive. Whatever.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, and it wasn’t a big deal he watched you after that twelve hour shift you always pull. The walk home in the first place is dumb, but it’s nearly 3am and you’re stumbling on your feet (it’s your third night in a row, because, of course it is). The alleyways gets real dark, he knows this, and all it takes is for him to tip his head down and breathe in his nicotine for you not to notice.

There’s blood on your scrubs and you look tired, a different kind of tired than the one you usually wear, a sad-tired. All the mascara is gone from your eyes. Probably lost some poor bastard in the ER because you didn’t have a quirk that mattered, not in your profession, and now you’re crying because you’re soft.

People die. Touya did. Grow up. Throw away the picture.

It’s all so boring and lame, weariness eating at the edges of his own eyes, but he isn’t ready to go back to that shitty motel room he’s living out of. Toga is on his last damn nerve at the moment and Shigaraki is messing around with some losers, so he doesn’t care, not right now. The motel bed is broken and it creaks when he moves and he’s fucking over it, so that’s why he leans against the wall when you walk by, why he closes his eyes and lets the cigarette smoke swirl into the sky, and it’s why he doesn’t follow right behind you, not yet.

One would think he’d be familiar with the sound of a tire iron against a skull, but that isn’t really his style, so it’s only when you start coughing that he realizes something is weird. When he rounds that corner and looks down the sidewalk, the last thing he sees is the curtain of your hair disappearing into an alleyway too far from him.

“Fuck.”

He almost says your name out loud, he almost calls it out, but someone actually has the nerve to grab you right out from underneath him, so he’s shoving his hands in his pockets and hurrying down the sidewalk. The first thing he sees is one of your teeth (he kicks the other one and it clicks down the concrete, skittering over the curb and into the street) and then he sees the tiny pool of blood you’d spit up when you hit the ground.

Dabi isn’t some fucking pussy, so he really isn’t sure why it happens so slowly, why he lets it go so far. By the time the sound of your cries reach him, some fucker already has your scrub pants around your ankles and he’s slotting himself up against your ass, but you’re too out of it to really realize what’s happening. Blood is pouring over your eye and half your face is already bruised and knotted from where the metal struck you, but you’re awake.

Which is why he thinks this idiot hit you where he did, nowhere truly lethal, because some guys like when girls squirm.

You’re just moaning in pain, lying there while he looks at you in shock (someone is really doing this to you? Just out in the street like a fucking tool?) but you’re trying to drag yourself away, pretty nails scraping against the pavement without any real effort. When the alleyway begins to glow blue, you look up at him, and he sees the fear in your eyes when you meet his.

It’s ugly, but it’s over soon.

That alleyway fucking stinks now, with the smell of melted skin and hair and it’s too smokey for either of you to breathe. For some reason, you aren’t even screaming, which is absurd, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone attacks you, idiot. Your entire face is covered in ash and dirt and blood, sticking to the sweat pooling from you, and you’re still just rolling around like a headless chicken.

And for a moment, he isn’t really sure what to do.

For a moment, he has some idiotic thought, about gathering you up in his—

Nah, fuck that, he won’t even finish it.

There is a hospital up the street, your hospital, and they would probably find you soon enough. If he leaves right then, as you try and fail to reach for your pants, he could even run up there and call out about a woman in the alleyway. People flock to you; they love perfect, little, you, and they’ll find you. They’ll call the doctor with the quirk you don’t have and they’ll heal you. They’ll take care of you.

The two of you weren’t even friends, not really, but he won’t forget the way he felt when you used that shitty quirk of yours on him. As if someone was reaching in through his ears and his nose and poking around, trying their damndest to touch his brain with their fingers, and then it’s like a switch is turned on, one he didn’t realize was turned off.

Just before you vomit enough blood to knock you out, you gasp and reach a shaking hand out to him and then you say it. You say his name.

You say, “Touya, please.”

And then he has no choice but to entertain that fucking thought from before, because you’ve used that quirk and you’ve unlocked that door in his head and he’s the kid by the fence, under the tree, all over again.

At best, he should have left you for someone to find. Possibly should have left you for dead because he’s not ready yet, not for the big reveal. There is a timeline he’s working with, one that will hit Enji the hardest, and tonight isn’t the night for it to all start. You know the incense you’ve been burning has been for nothing, that the picture in your drawer is about as stupid as he’s always thought it was, and you know that Touya isn’t dead.

And no one is supposed to know, not yet.

Yeah, he knows where you live, but he can’t exactly climb the steps to your apartment with you, half-dead and covered in your own blood and grime, in his arms and expect none of the do-gooders in your building not to call the cops. The motel is gross, but it’s in a bad part of town; this sight sure isn’t the worst they’ve ever seen, will ever see.

Maybe he’ll get lucky and you’ll just die in this creaky bed. Then he can blame the blood stains and the smell for the reason he needs to change rooms. Nothing about you seems alive, except for the pulse racing in your neck, for the heartbeat in your chest that nearly comes out of your skin. For once in your life, you aren’t wearing that fucking smile, not looking with those bright eyes or batting your eyelashes. For once you’re finally quiet.

Dabi has patched himself up enough times to do this, but he hardly has anything with him that can help whatever the fuck is going on with you. Will you die from the wound to the head? Have a concussion? Are you gonna puke blood all over the sheets, like he wants you to? After he pulled your pants up, your underwear were still on and intact, no blood on your thighs, so he doesn’t think that asshole actually got anywhere with you.

It’s kinda pissing him off, how long it took for him to do anything.

Not that he cares.

The towels in the motel are shitty and scratchy. The water is lukewarm and never cold, but he wets a hand towel all the same and tries his best to wash the blood off your face, off your mouth and your neck. There is probably blood in your teeth, just like there always had been, but he’s not about to pry your lips open and brush them with his only toothbrush, so you’ll just have to figure that out whenever you wake up.

There is a sorry excuse for a first-aid kit under the leaking sink and thank fuck you’re knocked out, because he’s got to cauterize that wound on your forehead (you still stir a little bit and tears escape your closed eyes), but he puts a somewhat sticky band aid over it.

In retrospect, it’s pretty fucking funny; your perfect little face, finally marred.

When there is nothing left to do but wait for you to wake up, he just stares at you. For a long time. Longer than he’ll ever admit, even to himself. Because he hasn’t been this close, not since the tree or that time he sat next to you in your living room, while you shared onigiri and watched that dumb movie. Enji didn’t even know—he’d been too busy with Shoto to realize he hadn’t gone outside to train. He’d been too busy to realize Touya had slipped out of the yard and down the street, into a girl’s house for the first and last time.

When he thinks about you, sitting beside him and touching the white of his hair, with your soft hands and your shy little face, he leaves to go get water from the store around the corner. There’s hardly any money in his pockets, but he uses it all to buy as many bottles of water he can, and when he gets back, you haven’t moved an inch.

“Are you dead yet?” He doesn’t look at you when he asks, only sets the water on the wood-chipped table by the door and waits. It’s nearly 5 in the morning and he’s dead tired, but he just sits on the ground and waits some more. About an hour goes by and he checks your pulse again, just to be sure.

He’s half awake when your fingers start twitching, when you start whimpering in your sleep. The bed creaks when you shift on your back, moving your legs in discomfort as you start rolling around again, just like you did in the alley. When your eyes finally open, you blink at the ceiling for a long time (he doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath), before touching your head gingerly. At the first feel of the band aid on your forehead, tears immediately well up in your eyes and you let out a gasp, looking away from him and to the shitty bathroom.

Dabi is sitting beside the mattress on the ground, looking at you when you turn your head to him. Maybe you should scream, if you had the energy, maybe you should do what most people do when they see him and his fucking skin, the staples holding him all together. But you’re a big idiot, so you don’t. You only scan his face and look into his eyes (and he’s a man now and not a fucking kid, so he stares back), blink at him, just like you did the ceiling, and you don’t say anything for a long time.

It looks like there are a million thoughts running through your head and it’s pissing him off.

“Say something,” He spits, “Don’t just fucking stare at me like that.”

“Touya.”

“Don’t call me that.” No one has, not since the Hero and Sidekick days, not since Shizuoka Private School, not since Sekoto Peak. “And don’t ever fucking poke around in my brain again!”

"Am I dead?"

So fucking idiotic. "Unfortunately for me, no."

Your head is so heavy that when you try to sit up, it just lolls back on your shoulders, looking like it's gonna fall off and onto the sheets. After a minute of trying, you give up. "Are you dead?"

All your words are slurring. Maybe you are dying, after all.

"Unfortunately for me, no."

"Where am I?"

And you're still not screaming or freaking out, even though you'd been nearly whacked to death, nearly raped into the concrete. Even though a kid from your class—one you weren't even friends with—is alive right next to you, looking like someone left him in the oven too long.

Does he tell you where you are? Chances are, if you survive this thing, you'll report him to the police since you're such a goody-goody. A wannabe hero and all that. Once, he'd seen you carry an empty fast food bag for three fucking blocks because every trash can you found before then was full. Fucking pathetic.

On the bed, you're still shifting your legs and twitching. It doesn't seem like you realize it.

"Are you alright in there?" Maybe if he hits you upside the head, you'll stop. "'Cause you almost got your brains knocked out."

More tears. The skin on your forehead is real tight with that knot and your brows only pull down a hair. A big, fat pout. "What? What happened? Where am I?"

The scrub top is tucked into your pants because he'd been in a hurry to yank them up your legs, but you don't seem to notice. There's a good chance you don't even remember getting whacked, and the last thing he wants to do is pretend he cares enough to console you. So fucking soft, you'll definitely start crying if he tells you what nearly happened to you (seriously, what the fuck was he doing? Supposed to be some badass and it took him a solid six seconds to act. So annoying), so he won't.

"Some guy stole your purse."

That's not true, it's behind the toilet.

"What? Where is he?"

Dabi snorts and his eyes relax into an unimpressed stare. "Oh, well after he bludgeoned you, I thought I'd entertain a game of Shogi with him—where the fuck do you think he is? I lit him up like the Chinese New Year."

"Oh." Is all you say and then you're quiet. When he looks up from the stained carpet and back at your face, your eyes are closed and he snaps his fingers until you reopen them. "Am I dead?"

"No, now quit askin'."

Your equilibrium must be way off, because you try to raise your hand to touch your face but it just waves around near your right ear like you're drunk off your ass. When you try to sit up again, you manage it, but you still sway back and forth.

He still has no idea what to do. Finish the job already? Put you out of your misery?

The bed creaks every time you lean back and you swivel around dumbly to look down at it, down at him. That perfectly curled hair of yours is a wreck, all tangled in the back like some sort of bad sex hair, and in the light of the barely rising sun, he can see parts of blood he missed. You don't smile that smile, so he doesn't know if it's in your teeth. Probably is.

Maybe you aren't gonna croak right then, because you look at the door, the chipping paint on the walls, the who-knows-what colored stain on the carpet. You look at the water on the table, at the shitty desk, the flickering light outside the bathroom. Then him.

"Can I have some water, please?"

Please.

Oh, shut the fuck up.

Dabi gives it to you anyway, even unscrews the cap for you like some kind of gentleman, like some kind of hero you or he could never be. Half of it spills out of your mouth and runs all down your shirt, like you have no idea how to work your lips anymore. When it dribbles down your chin, he can see it's pink.

Every time you blink your eyes, they get heavier and heavier, one closing and opening before the other.

Maybe you are really dying, right there in some shitty motel room with the ghost of a kid you kinda knew. Those parents of yours will probably lose it, maybe your mom will even off herself when they find your body, decaying on this creaky bed. But he'll be long gone by then. And he doesn't care.

In retrospect, it's pretty fucking funny. Touya will come back and you won't.

It takes you three attempts to stand, holding yourself up with a weak hand on the bed. The second attempt has you nearly falling on your face back into the mattress, ass all up in the air like it had been in the alleyway. When you take an unsteady step forward, he jumps up, just in case you're faking it and are gonna make a run for the door.

But you don't, you just look at him and say it again. "Touya."

"Don't call me that."

"Am I dead?"

It takes him three steps to cross the distance between you and him, and he grabs your face in his hand, squishing your cheeks together and making you look at all the burnt parts of him. "I wouldn't be here if you were dead, you idiot. Stop asking."

More tears. That pout again.

Oh boo fucking hoo, he's being mean. Grow up.

Thoughts are flashing in your eyes again but you're not saying anything, you might not even know how to anymore. He shakes your face a little before letting go and you stumble into him, like the grip of his hand had been the only thing keeping you upright.

"I miss you."

The two of you hadn't even been friends, not really, not at all. The tree had been cut down, Shoto was the hero he was supposed to be, and you were fucked up, dying out in the middle of nowhere. Nothing is how it was supposed to be.

Maybe if he cared about anything other than himself, he would be worried about you, drooling like that because you can't keep your mouth closed. Maybe if he cared, he would give a shit about seeing your face up close and he would admit he's been watching it for too long, seeing how it changes and gets prettier every year, seeing the woman you grew up to be. Maybe if he cared, he would even say something stupid, like that it meant something to him that he meant something to you. Maybe he'd even smile, let you touch him, maybe he'd even bury his face in your neck and tell you he missed you, too.

But Dabi doesn't care, not a bit.

So he holds you at an arm's length, face twisting into that crazy snarl he gets sometimes. Miss, like he was still alive. Like you were the dead one, imagining it all in whichever layer of Hell you ended it up. What a load of shit.

"Get off me!"

When he steps back away from you, you catch yourself on the wall, turning so that your back is leaning against it. Your eyes close again, but he can see that they're rolling behind your lids, even as you slump down to the ground. All the blood left on you has dried and it comes off in flakes when you itch at your hairline, at your jaw, underneath your chin. There is dirt and maybe some leftover skin, a little bit of gravel, all embedded under your nails and pressed against your neck, which you finally seem to realize.

"I'm...disgusting."

"Yeah."

That pretty little head of yours looks like it weighs a ton, but you raise it so your eyes can meet his, and, he's not close enough to tell, but is one of your pupils dilated? That band aid is hardly clinging to your forehead and at the touch of your fingers, it just gives up, falls off and into your lap. It stretches between your fingers and you look at it like you've never seen one before.

"I don't feel good."

No fucking shit. That first aid kit has a small package of expired Acetaminophen—whatever the fuck that is—and he gives it to you, though you choke while trying to swallow it.

It takes you another few attempts to get to your feet, but you finally do and he steps out of your reach again. "I need to shower."

A laugh actually barks out of him. "This water'll probably poison you."

Maybe your ears are clogged with blood or something, because you just repeat yourself. "I'm gross, I need to take a shower, please."

Please.

Fine, if you want to die with a yeast infection, go right ahead.

Dabi has seen your tits before—not on purpose—but you don't know that, so he tries to be a gentleman and at least act like he's not looking when you peel that dingy scrub top off, when you nearly fall down trying to get out of your sports bra.

He does look when you ask him for help, though.

There is no way you can stand up by yourself in the fucking shower, and you want this UTI so damn bad, so he just runs a lukewarm bath. The water splutters and comes out at all different kinds of pressure, but you don't slip when you step in, so he just leaves you to it.

Maybe you'll drown in there—though this shitty tub isn't really big enough for you to do that—and it will all be over painlessly. Then he won't have to hold a pillow over your face or burn your flesh off while you scream and writhe.

No problem, he could absolutely do it.

Maybe he'll just come back and you'll finally be done twitching, looking as peaceful as you do when you sleep, underneath that blood-tinged water.

After it happened, Dabi wanted to kill you. Like actually kill you. A whole lotta people, everyone he knew, really, but you were somewhere near the top of the list.

Maybe because you made him feel something once, maybe because the little charm bracelet you gave him was the first thing that turned to ash at Sekoto Peak. Maybe because, if he couldn't rise up and do the Hero Thing, then he didn't want you to do it, either.

(Which, in retrospect—)

There wasn't gonna be any big show, no flames or anything, just him and his hands. It lulled him to sleep most nights, out there on the street, thinking of the ways he would do it. He planned to slip through those pink star curtains of yours and wake you up—because he wanted to see the light leave your eyes—and then he'd wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze until your eyes fucking popped. Maybe he'd even kiss your gasping lips again.

There was a time when he wanted it so bad, that it was almost hard to distinguish that desire from reality. Some days he would wake up and he wouldn't think about shoving his thumbs in your eyes, because, he'd already done it, hadn’t he? They'd already buried you, the world had already moved on without perfect, little you. Dabi sure had, Touya sure had.

Guess that's why you're still alive (well, somewhat) in that bathroom and he's just sitting against the door, waiting for the sound of you to start gurgling or something. Somehow he just forgot to kill you, became too wrapped up in a plan for Enji. If he pictures that list in his mind, you were number 4 or 5, but he'd never made it past the first name.

It kinda pisses him off.

There hasn't been any sounds, none. Not even of you moaning or crying, no water splashing as you drowned or even washed yourself. Just silence, from the minute you sat down in that tub. It's been at least 30 minutes and that lukewarm water must finally be cold, but you haven't said anything. You've got to be dead. You've got to be.

Maybe he can cross your name off that list, after all.

The scene from the alleyway keeps replaying in his mind and he's finally figured out why it makes him feel so sick: if he had followed behind you in the first place, you wouldn't have gotten whacked. And if you hadn't gotten whacked, he wouldn't have needed to bring you back to his base of operations here, in the fucking decaying motel room, and you wouldn't know he was alive. There would be no chance for his plan to be ruined because you'd be at home, in bed or actually taking a shower or something, and things would be safe. His plan would be safe.

That's why the sight of you there, bloody and beaten, half naked on the ground, makes his stomach hurt and twist in all different ways.

That's why the sight of you in here, disoriented and fading, blood hemorrhaging in your brain, makes him nervous.

That's why. No other reasons.

Still doesn't explain why he hesitates with his hand on the door, thinking of seeing you naked with far away glassy eyes, but, fuck it, Dabi doesn't have time to figure that out, too. Now he's got to get rid of your body, throw it in the dumpster out back or something before people start to notice you've gone missing.

When he opens that door, his lungs seize up as he looks at you.

But after a few, still moments, your still-filthy head swivels to look at him and he breathes (in disappointment, damn it).

"What the fuck?" He says, but your expression doesn't change. "I thought you needed a bath."

There is still a layer of dirt and grime on your chest and face, all the places the water didn't rise to meet because you didn't sink down underneath it. It's been a big fucking waste of time, leaving you in there, because now it's after 6 and you're as wrinkly as a fucking raisin and still alive and he still doesn't know what to do.

"I do." When you swallow, it sounds like your throat is as dry as his skin. Probably left your mouth open this whole time, just staring at the peeling paint on the wall.

"Then why didn't you take one?"

"My arms are heavy."

"Mother of—fuck!"

So fucking stupid. So fucking idiotic. The water is an ugly color, similar to the stain out on the carpet, and he reaches his hand right down in between your legs to pull the plug. It's the first time he's felt the water being cold and, so close to you, he realizes you're shivering. Teeth chattering, shoulders shaking, lips turning a little blue, all because you'd just sat in the damn tub for too long.

"Get the fuck—stand up." Though he says it, he knows you aren't gonna do it, so he just puts his hands under your armpits and hauls you to your feet. The second he lets go, you nearly tumble sideways out of the tub and he doesn't want to clean up anymore blood, so he stops you from bashing your head on the tile.

But he should have let you, oh boy, he should have let you do it. Then he wouldn't be in this stupid situation anymore.

This fucking situation, where he's standing in a grimy tub as water swirls around his feet, as you dampen all of his clothes with your pruned body. Dabi has been in a lot of bad situations, but this one takes the fucking cake.

"Like taking care of a fucking baby," He mutters, and he's looking at the shower-head and the knobs, he's looking at the water draining in the tub and feeling the coldness seeping into his socks, into his skin from his wet clothes.

It's fucking pointless now, might as well.

The rings of the shower curtain rattle when he pulls it closed, the water is lukewarm when it sprays him directly in the face and he jerks back, blinking it out of his eyes as you sigh against his chest. It doesn't stop you from shivering, but the little bit of heat against your back has you curling, arching like a cat and nearly purring at the warmth of it.

It's pathetic.

Almost as pathetic as him standing fully clothed, holding up a half-dead girl in the shower, some girl from his class. One he wasn't even friends with.

"Touya."

"I said don't call me that."

The two of you stand in silence for a while, your cheek against his chest, his hands under your arms. The front of his hair has flattened against his forehead and every now and then, a dark drop of water drips down on your nose and leaves an inky trail. Dabi has this thought, a scary one, that a lot of things are going to come clean in this shitty shower.

The giant sighs you heave are the only way he knows you aren't dead. And you're a fucking liar, because those oh so heavy arms of yours are raising, he can feel your hands at his hips, dragging up over his tightened stomach and at his chest. Then you loop your feather-light arms around his back and shuffle just a bit on your feet, like the two of you are just hugging, like friends.

"Why’re you wearing clothes?"

Dabi snorts and rears his head back, but you don't look up at him. "Because I've got a massive hard on and you're not in there"—he taps his finger against the top of your sopping wet head—"enough for me to fuck."

That's not true, he's not the slightest bit aroused by you.

In this state, at least; okay, so yeah, maybe he didn't look at your tits on purpose, but it was in the spank bank now. Get over it.

The last thing he wants is to be naked with you, anywhere near you. Maybe if he cared about something other than himself, he could admit that the very idea terrified him. Not even in this failing state of mind would you laugh at him, or be grossed out or scared. You'd probably still put your hands in his hair, still touch his face, put yours against his chest.

And no one has ever touched him that way, not the way you would.

"Then don't." You say, like it's the simplest thing in the world.

"Yeah, so," For some reason he feels awkward now, thinking of it all and it's so stupid. "I'm not taking my clothes off."

That knot is still budding on your forehead, so your brow still doesn't pull down very far when you look up at him. A big pout is on your lips, though. "No, I—I mean, then don't take them off."

"Yeah...I'm not gonna."

"Wait," One of your hands leaves his back to rub at your rolling eyes. Maybe he should keep talking to you; it makes you use your brain and maybe it will pull you out of this state.

Not that he really wants that, of course.

"No, I meant, you don't have to have sex with me."

"Yeah, I'm not gonna." Fuck, he knows you got your brain turned upside down, but you can't comprehend anything, it seems. You must realize you're having a hard time making sense because you give a little sigh, like you're giving up, and just wrap yourself back around him, a little closer this time.

The two of you are both soaked, no matter how far he tries to lean out of the water, and he wonders if you can feel the texture of his skin underneath his wet clothes. For a moment his brain shuts off, just like yours is currently doing, and he wonders what you think of him like this. Doesn't really matter though, he tells himself, you're going in the dumpster all the same.

The water from the shower-head is starting to get a little colder and he's not perfect, little Shoto, doesn't know how to use the fire for anything other than killing and melting, doesn't know how to use it just to warm you up. There's no telling how much time has passed with the two of you just standing there, like idiots.

"Gotta wash my hair." You say.

"So, wash it." He says.

"My arms are heavy."

"You're so full of shit."

Dabi thinks, he thinks, that he feels your lips shift against his shirt, like they're curling into a smile because you know you're a liar, too. And you must be using your quirk or something (though he doesn't feel any fingers in his nose or ears, not like before) because he does what he shouldn't and would never do, which is bend around you and grab the snot green bottle of motel shampoo that's sitting in the corner of the tub.

Eucalyptus, it says. That's all.

It should be called Push Over or Pathetic, maybe Burnt Idiot, Not Really Friends, Sorry I Looked At Your Ass, Too.

Maybe Nervous.

When he dumps all of it onto your hair and starts digging his fingers against your scalp, you tilt your head enough so that he can see that smile of yours, the bloody one.

"I'll wash yours," You say, with copper breath and dark red gums.

When he kissed you under the tree, your breath smelled the same. He had been so afraid then, of a multitude of things: getting caught by his teacher or his dad, classmates seeing, messing up or embarrassing himself, you, mostly you. There were other kids in his class he talked to, sure, but none of them sat outside with him when he trained on his own. None of them shared their rice and threw salmon at cars or held his hand while he turned his face—red as his fucking hair—at the grass because he couldn't look you in the eye.

Sometimes Enji kissed his mother. Sometimes she looked like she liked it. Back then, he thought maybe you would, too. He didn't know he had blood on his bottom lip until he got home and Enji asked him about it, until Rei inspected it like he'd bit it by accident. But he couldn't tell them, didn't tell them that all of it, every moment with you, had been on purpose.

Dabi feels a lot like he did then, when you smile at him.

“Ain’t none left.” For some reason, it croaks out of him, like he’s the one with the issue keeping his mouth closed. Maybe blood is still in your ears because you don’t answer, you only keep your face titled towards him as he massages your scalp, lips open just slightly with closed eyes. As if to prove it, he throws the tiny, empty bottle back towards the corner of the tub and it clatters, loudly, the way all things do in the shower. When you open your eyes and look at him, unfocused and half-lidded, he thinks maybe he could fuck you in this bathroom, if you wanted him to.

He hopes you don’t ask.

There isn’t any soap on your hands, but they leave his back to go into his hair. A ghost of a laugh puffs out of your lips and into his face, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, you, pretending to wash his hair while he washes yours.

A bunch of idiots, the both of you.

“Stop,” Dabi tries to yank his head away from you, but you sway a little bit. You don’t push him, though because you’re a goody-goody, and when you run a hand across your face, there is a light gray smudge over your nose. All his hair dye is washing down the drain, lightening him up, making him Touya again. The soap washes off one of his hands as he rinses it directly under the water and he wipes the smudges from your face, a little rough, too rough, so rough that your head easily moves from the left to the right with each swipe of his fingers. Underneath his hands, you’re really soft. Too soft.

The walls of the shower are closing in on him and that sick feeling is building in his stomach again, the one that swirls every time he thinks about what could have happened to you in the alleyway if he’d waited another stupid fucking minute. Such a baby, so fucking soft, what that kind of aggression would do to you. How it would impact you. How it would impact him. That dopey, bloody smile wouldn’t appear on your face for a long time, he might not have even seen it again before everything with Enji finally went down.

It’s probably too drying for your face, but he uses the shampoo to wash yours, rubbing against the blood stains on your chin and your neck. They come away easily, the texture from his hands perfect for scrubbing it all away.

The way he can finally be of use to you, as a fucking loofa.

“Touya,” You say again, but he doesn’t correct you this time. “Am I dead?”

That sick feeling builds, really builds, until it feels like he’s holding his breath (he probably is). There is a settling wave that washes over him, just like the cold water from the shower-head, and he realizes, holy fuck, you’re dying.

Right there in his arms. Blood is probably pooling in your brain, killing you every moment that he waits. The hour he spent watching you writhe on the bed, the 30 minutes he spent outside the bathroom, the few blocks it took to get from the alleyway to the motel room. The time he’s wasting here with you, now. All of it is just him, opening that dumpster, digging a deeper hole to put you in. The star curtains will come down, the cafeteria fucker will drive himself to work alone, the homeless guy will shrivel into nothing, and litter will fill the streets.

Just like the doctor said; if you tried to do the Hero Thing, you’d be dead by twenty-three.

When he’d unscrambled his brain enough to think straight, he planned to take Enji down. Since then, he’s lulled himself to sleep with the idea of it, the downfall of Endeavor, and, if he lets you go, it will just be the downfall of crazy, batshit insane Touya. All of it will crash and burn with him. It’s probably too late for you anyway, too much time has been wasted, and it would all be for nothing.

All the fucking pain, all the rage and the planning, all the blood and sweat and tears would swirl down a shitty motel drain like his hair dye. And you’d end up in that dumpster all the same.

“No,” He answers, tipping your head back so the shampoo can wash out of your hair, off your forehead and chest. There’s more words in his mouth, like not yet and almost and i’m sorry, but his throat feels all croaky again, so he doesn’t say anything.

Dabi only has one change of clothes. Water is dripping off him and all over the floor when the two of you step out, when he wraps that shitty towel around you and rubs up and down your arms, like some kind of idiot out of a romance movie. He even runs it over your head a few times, hair getting all ruffled up, and he grabs the spare sweater by the bed when you smile lazily at him.

He wonders how much time he has. Maybe if he knew, he would say something. But he doesn’t, so there’s no fucking point.

The air in the motel room is stuffy and has never been cold, but, drenched in shitty, piss-water, it chills him to the bone. Now he’s the one shivering while you lay back down on the bed, creaking and shit, and he just stands over you and watches you blink, one eye at a time. One of your pupils is definitely dilated.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, but you fix those fading eyes on him and open your arms, inviting him to lay with you.

(When he came over to watch that movie, he’d been nervous, but you had a blanket on your lap and you opened it to him, patting the space beside you with that smile until he felt comfortable enough to scoot closer to you, to share that blanket.)

He wonders how much time he has, but he’s got no fucking idea, so he just does it.

Yeah, he’s soaking wet and you’ve just put on his warm sweater, but this is his first chance, his last chance, to be this close as the man he grew up to be. He’s just Touya and you’re just you, lying in a shitty motel, waiting for the end. There’s a vision in his head, of you and him, of what might have been. There isn’t a mark on him, all smooth skin and soft, just like you, and you’re lying in a motel room, the both of you, naked. Maybe you’re still young, in high school, hiding from his parents just like he had been that day under the tree. Maybe you’re adults, this age, getting away for the weekend, away from the Hero Thing.

It’s a disgusting thought, one that has his lips curling down, one that has him choking on the ugliness of it all. It’s no use wanting like that, when your body is getting quieter and quieter, when you try to say his name again but can’t get the words around your lips. Maybe you’ve forgotten it.

When you're silent for a long time, he lifts his head from where he’s buried it in your neck, but your mouth is open, staring at the ceiling.

“Finally,” He pants, “Finally you’re fucking dead. Finally you’re out of my fucking hair and my life.” When you don’t respond, he snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Hey!”

But now you’re just a corpse. Now he’s just clinging to the body of a kid he used to know, one from his class, one he hadn’t even been friends with.

The picture he sets up is one from the hospital website, your employee picture. At some internet cafe, he’d printed it off, paid the extra change just to get it in color, and he’s lighting the incense (and his cigarette) with the blue tip of his finger. There are a bunch of pink flowers around this place, though most of them are fake, and he can sit out in front of the grave without a hood on. It’s so far at the back that someone would have to want to come back there to find him, which is why he’s sitting there in the first place.

Dabi isn’t really all that interested in the cigarette; he’s just leaving it between his lips, letting the smoke swirl in front of his face, letting the ash fall into his lap.

“How’s it going?” He grunts, just like you would say.

Every time he thinks of you in that shower, his stomach hurts again. How close you’d been, how real you felt under his fingers. The smudge of his hair dye across your face, claiming you in a way, like you were his. As if you’d always been, ever since Shizuoka.

Maybe he’s got it all wrong, maybe he’d always been yours. Every time he sat in the tree outside your window, every time he slipped through it, every time he followed you after work, lingering back like an ugly shadow. All that time, he’d always been yours. In the shower, in the bed, breathing you in as you died.

Always yours.

It’s a big, fat weight that should be lifted from his shoulders. Now he’s back with the League, that plan for Enji is in motion, and he doesn’t have to make up an excuse to Twice about why he’s gotta slip out at night, why he’s gotta head across town, why he suddenly wants takeout. There’s no following anymore, that’s been given up. And yet, now he feels like he’s got too much time on his hands, too much space in his chest. Scars on his body feel too rough, there is an insecurity he can’t beat back anymore, he spends too much time thinking about the what-if’s, which is too dangerous for a man in his profession.

It’s all making him soft, just like you had been. It feels like a fucking sickness.

Toga notices, because she’s so love-drunk on everyone that she can read his face as plain as day.

“Ooooh, you’re thinking about a girl!”

Yeah, maybe, but it's still annoying; he’d always been thinking about this girl, Toga wasn’t special for just now figuring it out.

Sometimes he wishes he’d gotten that sweater back. Not because it was comfortable or fit over his chest just right, but maybe because it might smell like you. Or the Eucalyptus shampoo. He’s a pathetic piece of shit, thinking crap like this, but it feels like a somewhat sticky band aid has fallen off, like that door in his head is open just a crack. Like it’s stuffed with too much stuff to get closed again.

It’s a fucking sickness, seriously. All those years away, too many steps behind, had kept the germs from him, made him feel like he was immune to it all, to your charm.

(That’s a load of shit, truly; he’d followed you for 11 fucking years after all. Dabi wasn’t immune to squat.)

The grave is so far at the back that someone would have to mean to come find him and he hears the footsteps far before they reach him, which should send him running, but it doesn’t. His hair is still white because he hadn’t found the energy to re-dye it, and if Toga says one more fucking thing about it—

There isn’t a blanket to hold open, no need to pat the space beside him; you sit so close, you’re nearly on his lap.

“How’s it going, Touya?”

Okay, so yeah, maybe he’d run out of that motel room like a man possessed, cradling you in his arms and whining like a fucking pussy, but whatever.

That doctor with the quirk you don’t have loves you, just like all your little nurse friends do, and they must have dropped everything for you. Not that he stayed inside or anything, just had to yell a little and lay your body on the front desk before hauling ass back outside, but you were knocking on the motel room door that night. Looking for him, actually looking, with focused eyes, pupils that were the same size.

The scar on your head was small (which is a load of shit; just a little bitty one? Come the fuck on) and shaped a little bit like a strike of lightning against your skin. Probably needed to stay home and in bed for a few days, not make any sudden movements or flip the light switch on too quick, but you were standing there, in that sweater, before he’d fallen asleep.

No, he didn’t fuck you.

He would’ve though, if you’d asked. Kinda wished you had.

Dabi has seen you twice a week for 11 embarrassingly long years, but you’ve seen him for half a day. There’s a lot for you to understand, a lot of things to catch up on, which he thinks is why you hadn’t gone to the police. Not such a goody-goody after all; when he’d told you that, you looked confused and a little hurt.

“What makes you think I’d give you up so easily?”

He doesn’t really mention it after that.

There are a lot of things you don’t understand, a lot of things you won’t understand. Lots of things he won’t tell you, but you’ll be there. Yeah, he knows where you live, and yeah, you said you’d leave the door unlocked (probably shouldn’t though).

You’ll be there whenever he decides to show up, or rather, he’ll be there, for you, whenever you want him. Because he’s yours.

Always has been.