What A Wonder That We Live

what a wonder that we live

billions of souls all glowing together

each experiencing every breath for the first time

and still we let a few reign supreme over the many

we are all just creatures,

flesh and bones with blood between and yet we surrender ourselves to society;

so willingly we sacrifice the essence to play a game in which only the creators are winning

what a wonder that we live and yet never feel alive

Will We Ever Learn? (we've been here before)

my hero academia

teen+

warnings: strong language, major injuries

an: my take on Izuku & Katsuki’s relationship (could be read platonic or romantic)

        Eraserhead was five blocks away when he saw the building collapse. He heard it before he saw it, the shifting rumble and snap that sounded so much closer, and then he heard the world erupt into noise, just to fall back to silence. He turned and all he saw was smoke.   

            “Status report?”

            He winced at the voice in his head, “Few blocks out, already in motion.” It was true, even as he spoke the man had begun to swing off firescapes to build the momentum for his capture weapon. He hadn’t had to grapple in a little while, and the cloth fabric was giving him a run for his money. 

            The operator paused a moment, “ And Dekiru and the angry one?”

            No response from the boys, just what are they doing at that boring speech?

            “They’re with the head of the Safety Correlation doing a minor security detail while I patrol the east side.” 

            “This is Woods, Matsuura-san has been pronounced dead upon arrival.”

            And that’s when it hit him. The change of venue update he’d barley glanced at while propelling between buildings, the ping from Midoriya just on time with the scheduled updates,  it all fell together and his chest began to squeeze. Because yes , the mass casualties of a collapsed building is devastating to hundreds of people and families, but the building being the same one he sent his students into? It’s just, it’s…

            It makes him sick. It makes the shops he swings by blur stronger into nothing but background noise, makes nothing in the world matter, not the creaking of his arms, not the snarl he couldn’t ease off his face, because a building just collapsed.

            “Has the cause been determined?”

            “ Not yet- fire’s on sight now talking with the first responders.”

_______________________________________________________________

            There’s not much to be said about the relationship between Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugou. They were childhood friends, and now they’re not; see? It’s simple really. Just like how there wasn’t much to be said about this supervised protection detail, until everything came crashing down. It was a simple assignment, now it wasn’t; do you see?

            “Kaachan?” 

            The voice, his voice, was so soft– so delicate and fragile and heart wrenching that Bakugo’s eyes clenched shut to barricade his tears when it reached his ears. Tiny gasps reverberated off the cement surrounding them, circling him and mocking him, and his first thought was that Deku was such a cry baby; then he realized they were coming from him. 

            “I um,” Izuku started, “I’m not really sure what to say.” And wasn’t that the truth. Because standing in front of him was Izuku. Tall and bloody, covered in a thick layer of dust, posed like Atlas. Midoriya had caught the building they were evacuating. Standing below him- he had to blink away the nausea-  was the assignment laying with a steel pipe skewering his throat.

            Katsuki could hear the joints creak in his elbows as his legs braced most of the weight– a seven-story building all crushing down on this one weight-bearing beam that Izuku was posted under– keeping them both alive.

            The thought washed over him like a freezing cup of water was just thrown onto his face– If Izuku hadn’t caught the building I’d be dead. If that wasn’t the most terrifying realization; and suddenly everything became so real. He was thrown into this hyperaware state of mind. The dust filling the air, pebbles hitting the ground from above, debris cracking and shifting and buckling much like Deku was, everything was so real and it was terrifying. 

            “I-” A beep from their coms cut off Midoriya's voice after the first syllable. 

            “Boys?” A frantic, desperate voice crackled in their ears. “if you don’t respond right now I,” 

            “We’re here, Aizawa-Sensei.”

            “Midoriya,” His voice was thickly coated with relief, sounding through like molasses.

            “Yeah, we’re fine.” His eyes flicked up to Deku’s body, which had begun to shake ever so slightly, gaining a soft sheen, “Mostly fine.”

            A pause. 

            “Mostly?”

            Izuku made eye contact with his friend, his once friend, and spoke: “We’re in a little predicament right now, sensei, but I don’t think either of us are majorly injured. 

            “Okay, Okay.” They heard a deep breath before a much more steady version of Aizawa rang out, “What’s the predicament? We have scouting dogs looking for you two so we know where to start digging. Max time is around twenty minutes with how much debris is around before we can get drilling. Will you be able to hold out till then?”

            “Oh sure sensei-”

            “Deku’s holding up the fucking building.” 

.

            “What?”

            “You heard me over the shitty ass coms,” he bit, despite the sharp edge being taken away with how laced his voice was with concern– and fear. “Deku’s supporting whatever weight is on top of us, and seeing how the building crumbled inwards and we’re near the middle of the stupid fucking parking garage, that’s all of the fucking weight.”

            “Midoriya?”

            “Yes, Sensei?”

            A hesitation, “I need you to be one hundred percent honest with me here, understand?” 

            “Yes.” And If Bakugou thought Izuku had been at his limit before, the twitching supernova answering their teacher with one barely-there syllable had cemented that thought.

            “How long can you keep your hold on that ceiling?”

            He took a broken gasp of air before answering “I’m not,” he readjusted his hands ever so slightly and the entire world shook , “not really sure, Uhm.” He shook his head just barely to disperse the dust around his head that filled the void around them, “As long as I need?”

            “That’s not an answer, kid.”

            “I really don’t know,” he gasped as, above them, a slab of cement holding a pile of debris snapped and shifted its weight, “This is pretty different than the mountain Muscular put on top of me. If it was just the weight I could probably fight my way through a half-hour; but,”

            “But the building’s still crumbling.”

            Izuku’s eyes searched Katsuki’s face and, whatever he was looking for, he must have found it because in less than a second his face hardened– “However long I need.” 

            A silence, however brief, hung over them like an eternity. “Understood. We’ll keep you updated, but I need you to tell me if anything changes down there alright?”

            “Yes sir.” 

            And in all honesty, neither was quite sure who spoke; because immediately following the response one of the few remaining weight-bearing poles crumbled in the middle. 

            “Shit-” Izuku’s stance widened, as some two hundred more tons came crashing down on him. Katsuki’s hands began to shake, in what he distantly recognized as both fear and anticipation. 

            “I could-”

            “Absolutely not.” Izuku had never spoken so curtly towards him before , “If you even think about setting off an explosion I’ll drop this building in a second.”

            “But if I could just-” 

            “We both know you’re not at the point where you could set off a blast strong enough to pulverize a building and cause no flying debris. As it is, if you even try, you’d be more likely to kill us with the explosion and everyone else with the shards of metal and steel flying in the air.”

            He fell silent, and a sticky slick of embarrassment came over him.

            “Look,” Izuku sighed, “I appreciate your thoughts but I think all we can do now is..”

            And so they waited

            and waited

            waited

            and waited some more.

                                               …

            Until finally, something new. 

            “Boys? Are you still there?” His voice filled the space so suddenly and completely Katsuki wanted to flinch, but knowing Izuku is right there just standing he couldn’t move a muscle.

            “ Yes ,” Izuku wheezed the response, and Katsuki, who had been looking at his squeezed shut eyes the entire time, was semi startled back into awareness and the sound of a water droplet splashing against the ground. 

            His eyes flickered. Midoriya had produced a dark circle ring around his shadow. “Sir, I have no clue what shitty plan you lot of extras are throwing together up there, but get a fucking move on.”

            The or else of that statement was silent but remained well heard. Any other circumstances and Eraserhead wouldn’t have hesitated to sideline the young hero and lecture until he’d been thoroughly scandalized for swearing over the open comms, but he knew Bakugo wasn’t angry.

            No, there was no burning under his tone; instead it was a shaking ocean miles off shore where the waves crashed inwards on itself. Katsuki was scared, and Aizawa doubted.

            “ Status report Dekiru?” 

            A brief silence passed, “Uhm,” a heavy rasp escaped him by force, “I’ve seen better days, Sir.” 

            “That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.”

            “Kid?”

            “It’s fine, Eraserhead.” Izuku’s voice cemented, and Katsuki was watching when his eyes opened.

            He felt it in his chest first, the harsh clench from his lungs and the flip of his stomach; his limbs were next, hair rising involuntarily. He saw green lightning flicker as Izuku’s glowing eyes began to illuminate the shoddily lit room of patchwork light. The pressure was enough for Katsuki to crush under. 

            His stance didn’t widen, but it hardened. His breathing was strong and short and reliable, the low air quality seemingly not affecting his oxygen level while Bakugo was pretty sure the dark spots around his vision were growing. Izuku’s face darkened and Katsuki almost felt more fear than before.

            “I’m not done just yet.” 

            He’s pretty sure everyone’s ignoring Katsukis gasp and light pants out of respect or at least horror. Still, they’re put on full display as the line once again goes quiet.

            “ That’s good, kid. You can’t back out now, we’re figuring it out but it’s all for nothing if you’re not there when we get through.” 

            “Trust me,” gritted through grinding teeth, “we’re not going anywhere.” 

            And wasn’t that so true ? Wasn’t that the very basis of everything they were? Not, not humans, or heroes , or even Izuku and Katsuki, but Kaachan and Deku, who they are in their core , and who they are together?

            “Why don’t we?”

            “Huh?” Izuku looked at him, fully looked at him , and Bakugou couldn’t breathe , couldn’t think couldn’t move couldn’t, couldn’t even comprehend because his eyes were shining . Shining so unnaturally it almost made him look like a.. like a..           a god.

            And wasn’t that something? Deku the god. Dekiru , probably, because Deku had never made him think even for a second that Katsuki Bakugou couldn’t do something. That’s how it’s always been, but Dekiru almost looks like a sculpture designed to be marveled and gawked and cowered at; drawn specifically to show the great distance between man and god.

            He couldn’t do that. 

            “Go anywhere?”

            Izuku blinked, then laughed. Bakugou’s voice had been so void of anything in tone that it was.. scary. Scary at least to Izuku. “Because we like to stay in? Because we always want to stay in. You want to stay in.”

            “But you don’t.” And while this wasn’t the kind of going anywhere Bakugou meant- because yes he meant why don’t we go out ? Why can’t you lift the building and fly like you so obviously can ? Why not show this incredible power to the world instead of hiding it somewhere so plainly as here and to no one but me ? “You want to go out.”

            Izuku paused and a thicker drop of sweat fell from his curls- dark and stuck to his skin in tight ringlets. It makes Bakugou all the more unsteady, he’s been waiting for Deku to finish styling his hair every morning since forever. He was so proud of his fluffy soft curls, no matter what poof they make. 

            “I like staying in,” his eyes seemed to peer straight into his soul with that shine of his, seeing the deeper part Bakugou is sure no one could ever see, “as long as i’m with you.”

            “We could go out,” a lump had grown in Bakugou's throat as the minutes continued to pass. He wasn’t sure how long it’d been since he heard anything on the coms or since he’s heard anything in general, “if you wanted to.”

            “I know.” 

            And this time Bakugou looked in his eyes, not the shine. Past that glowing ethereal shine was a perfectly hidden iris belonging to one Izuku Midoriya. It was still him, still Deku. It made him feel a little less like he might die but a little more not okay. Before, before he looked and saw that it really is Izuku standing there, the same Izuku he’d grown up playing hero’s with, the same Izuku he trains with daily, before he saw it's really him under there. Before he seemed almost omnipotent in his power, like even if he did die it would be near a god and doesn’t that make it more meaningful by connection? 

            “I wouldn’t mind going out,” if it was with you.

            Why can’t he say it? He wants to say it? He should say it. 

            “I know.”

            But just like always he doesn’t have to. Not with Deku. Not since they were much much smaller, because Deku just seems to understand him in a way most people can’t. Deku doesn’t need words or time beyond training, Deku knows what’s important and Deku agrees . Except, Bakugou wants to be number one, and Deku wants to be a person able to catch the building.

            “We’re so different.”

            “You’re just now realizing that?”

            “No, I-” As if he hadn’t spent hours upon hours comparing every component of them against eachother to understand just what made them so far always so fucking far from one another, “obviously I know.”

            “Then why say it?” Izuku arched a brow and it oddly fit perfectly into place on his sweaty chiseled face contoured by effort.

            “Why respond?”

            “ Glad to see you two are lively as ever. ”

            “Crude humor Sensei,” Izuku panted each word but his diction was still strong. Katsuki appraised him and it seemed much the same; supported, firm. 

            “Y’all are takin your fuckin time huh? What is it, happy hour? Sippin’ mimosas on the job?” 

            “We’ve located your position, the problem is on the superior levels of the building. A few people have tried to pave the way for the extraction team but-” the comms screeched in their ears for a moment, just a moment, but Deku, Deku’s neck, ever so fragilely placed  beneath his shoulder stretched, the shoulder that stood between Bakugou Katsuki and death, the shoulder holding up his life, his world shook. What was he to do? What when the comms yelled and the world rolled down between his shoulder blades. Less supported, less holding, more, more, more surviving. More being crushed.

            Izuku’s body rippled like waves, muscles straining and shifting and relaxing just to begin once again. Why am I just standing here ? Bakugou turned away from Midoriya. He took a few steps before bracing his knees and throwing up hot, thin, acidic stomach fluid. He hadn’t had time for breakfast. He couldn’t help a glance at Deku despite the tears which distorted his vision; he was completely still. Unaffected and unrelenting, he endured and Bakugou may have been sick but he feels much more here . 

            “What the fuck have you punk-ass above ground bitches been up to.”

            “ Not staying above ground .”

            “Sensei?” And it’s a good thing Midoriya responded because Bakugou thought his next words would be we’re coming to get you.

            Instead, he got “ The upper floors are still completely unstable, same goes with the debris piled on top. A few have tried to, to shift the weight. They only managed to add some.”

            He looked to Deku, Deku who has plans. Deku who always knows , not like him. Bakugou could never just know . Bakugou had to wait . He had to observe and learn . He had to fight for growth. Izuku, Izuku just seemed to.. to.. 

            Except Izuku hadn’t just transformed overnight. It wasn’t sudden or recent, it just felt that way because they are childhood friends, and now they’re not. When Izuku had come to him in middleschool, all bloody and bruised and weak, weak in a way Bakugou didn’t understand– he wanted Izuku to grow to become more when he was a kid, if only he knew what that shrimp would becom e- and asked what they were, what happened, wanting to know why things changed, that’s what he’d responded. Now they’re not.

           As if he could unwrite the years of scripture etched by their youthful hands. They wrote each other's souls and Bakugou dismissed it, covered it up like a blemish. The boy keeping him alive. The boy that just seemed to know where he had to learn . The boy who would never look at him but rather, rather around him. 

            Every interaction seemed like an evasion, even as they spoke. It doesn’t matter, Bakugou will catch up. He’ll catch up and be able to make Deku look at him. He’ll see him.

            The collapse happened before anyone could even react. One second, everything was tense but stable, and the next, it all shifted, a chorus of crushing concrete and snapping steel. Dust filled the already stifling air, cutting visibility down to nothing, turning the world into a thick, choking blur of sound and movement.

            Bakugou's ears rang, his breath caught, and he heard—no, felt—Izuku's desperate grunt beside him. His first instinct was to scream something—anything—but the words refused to form, locked behind fear and frustration lodged in his throat. Instead, all he could do was stumble, blinking rapidly against the sting in his eyes as he tried to comprehend what had happened.

            “Kaachan,” the voice rasped out from the settling haze, and it was softer than a whisper, as though the building had swallowed everything, including Izuku's voice.

            Katsuki's head snapped toward the sound, heart pounding, and there was Deku. Still there. Still standing. Still holding. The green lightning danced across his form, barely flickering now, but it was there, and the sheer sight of it made Bakugou feel something he rarely allowed himself to feel—something that wasn’t rage, wasn’t spite, wasn’t blinding ambition.

            Relief.

            “Deku!” Bakugou’s voice was strained, barely masking the fear that tore through him. He clenched his fists, his palms heating up with the barest spark of an explosion that never made it out. He wanted to do something. To help. To fix it. “Are you still—”

            “I’m... still here,” Izuku answered, his voice cracking under the weight of his effort. Katsuki saw him brace again, muscles locking, feet digging deeper into the rubble-strewn ground. His arms trembled, the world above them threatening to press down harder, as if it somehow knew they were reaching the end of whatever strength Izuku had left. "I said... we're not going anywhere, didn't I?"

            And Bakugou swallowed, that lump still stuck in his throat, hard to dislodge. He hated this—this waiting, this feeling of uselessness gnawing at him, screaming in his chest. He wanted to fight something, anything, but all he could do was stand there, and it killed him. The world was ending around them, and Deku, stupid, heroic Deku, stood there with it all on his shoulders, just like he always did.

            “Stop looking like you’re about to cry, Kaachan,” Izuku forced out, and there was a smile—small, pained, but somehow still Izuku—cracking across his dusty face. “We’re almost there, alright?”

            The pressure on Bakugou’s chest almost doubled, the words failing him once more. He looked away, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek, the taste of iron spreading in his mouth. Deku, with that stupid smile, always had to make it seem okay. As if they weren’t standing at the edge of disaster, seconds away from everything coming down.

            “Who the hell do you think you're talking to?” Bakugou finally bit out, voice rough, the edge of desperation there for anyone who knew him well enough to hear it. “I don’t need your reassurances, dumbass. I need you to—”

            He didn't know how to finish that sentence. He needed Deku to what? Be okay? Keep holding? Make it out of here?

            Live?

            It was all too much, too heavy, and yet none of those thoughts managed to make it out of his mouth. Instead, it was just another harsh inhale, the sting of dust and uncertainty clogging his throat.

            “I know,” Izuku said, as if he heard it all anyway, the words Bakugou didn’t say. “But I need you to trust me. Just a little longer, okay?”

            “Trust you?” Bakugou scoffed, the familiar heat finally sparking behind his eyes, his heart hammering with the weight of it all. He glared at Izuku, saw the strain, the muscles that were seconds from giving in but refused to, just because that was who Izuku was. "I’ve always—always—"

            “ Boys !” A voice shouted through the comm, Aizawa’s, but it was muffled, static-laden, almost lost to the rumbling in Katsuki’s ears. “We’re starting the extraction now—hold on!”

            A rush of something unnameable went through him, relief so sharp it almost hurt, and his gaze locked onto Izuku’s. He saw it—saw the exhaustion, saw the pain, but also saw the flicker of hope, the determination in those glowing eyes. They were going to make it. Somehow, against all odds, they were going to—

            The ceiling groaned, an awful, grating noise, and Katsuki’s heart stopped. 

            The sound was deafening—a deep, aching groan that reverberated through the walls and the ground beneath them. Dust poured from above, and Katsuki's gaze darted upwards just in time to see the concrete begin to shift, tiny cracks spidering out like veins. It felt like everything slowed down, the looming threat of the collapse freezing the world in place.

            Bakugou’s breath caught in his chest as he saw Izuku’s knees start to buckle, the weight of the entire building pressing down on him like an unforgiving tidal wave. It wasn’t enough—Izuku’s strength, his will, his quirk—it wasn’t enough, and Bakugou knew it. The green lightning, once so bright and so powerful, flickered like a dying ember, the last vestiges of energy draining from Deku’s body.

            Izuku had  to widen his stance into a deep squat  as the debris shifting down his back; in a moment of instinct so desperate he couldn’t explain, Dekiru reached a hand out to Bakugou where he sat in horror.

            Katsuki’s heart pounded in his ears, louder than the crumbling around them. He had to move. He had to do something.

            Anything.

            “Deku!” Bakugou roared, his voice breaking through the noise, rough and desperate. He lunged forward, his body reacting before his mind could catch up, and grabbed Izuku by the shoulders and ignoring the eclectic zap that went through him. “You’re not giving up, you hear me?!”

            Izuku’s eyes widened, the shock cutting through the exhaustion for just a moment, and Bakugou saw the spark there—saw that even now, even with the weight of everything literally crushing down on them, Deku still wasn’t ready to let go.

            “I… I’m not…” Izuku managed, his voice so strained it was almost inaudible. His gaze met Bakugou’s, filled with something that was too much—too many emotions, too much pain, too much hope. His arms shook, the muscles visibly trembling as they struggled to keep the ceiling above them from collapsing completely.

            Katsuki grit his teeth, feeling the burn of frustration mix with fear, and did the only thing he could think of—he planted his feet, held onto Izuku, and began to channel everything he had left.

            “Damn it,” Bakugou snarled, sweat dripping down his face as his palms began to glow, the sparks of an explosion igniting in his hands. “We’re gonna blast our way out of this. You’re not allowed to die here, Deku. Not while I’m still standing.”

            Izuku blinked, his green eyes wide as the heat from Bakugou’s explosions built up, the warmth spreading through the air. Bakugou could see the realization slowly coming to Izuku, and even though he looked like he was on the verge of collapse, he nodded, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips.

            “Right…” Izuku breathed out, his grip tightening on the rubble. “I trust you, Kaachan, just don’t take anyone else out with us.”

            The words were soft, but they struck Bakugou harder than any punch he’d ever taken. He looked away, scowling, trying to ignore the warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with his quirk.

            “Yeah, well… don’t be an idiot,” Bakugou muttered, his voice cracking as he spoke. He let out a deep breath, and then yelled into his comm, “Aizawa! We’re getting ready to blow this thing! Get everyone out of the way!”

            Static filled the comm for a moment before Aizawa’s voice came through, barely audible over the chaos. “Bakugou, wait for the—”

            “No time!” Bakugou cut him off, his voice raw with determination. He looked at Izuku, and in that instant, they both knew. There was no more waiting, no more holding back. It was now or never.

            “Deku,” Katsuki said, his eyes blazing with intensity. “Brace yourself.”

            Izuku nodded, every muscle in his body straining as he pushed up with everything he had left. The green lightning surged, flaring brighter, the energy building. Katsuki gripped his collar tighter, the heat in his palms growing until it was almost unbearable.

            And then, with a scream that tore through his chest, Bakugou let loose, the explosion bursting from his hands in a blinding flash of light and power. The force ripped through the debris, the concrete above them shattering, crumbling, the blast creating an opening—a path to freedom.

            The air rushed around them, dust swirling violently, and Bakugou could feel the ground tremble beneath him. Izuku’s legs nearly gave out, but Katsuki held him up, pulling him along as they moved, as fast as they could manage. He could see the opening, the light beyond the dust, and he refused to let it slip away.

            “We’re almost there!” Katsuki shouted, his voice raw, and Izuku nodded, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

            The world was chaos—a mix of dust, noise, and blinding light—but somehow, against all odds, they pushed forward. Katsuki could hear voices—Aizawa, other heroes, shouting their names—but all he could focus on was the way Deku’s hand gripped his arm, the way they were still standing.

            And then, suddenly, they were through, the pressure easing, the light overwhelming, and Katsuki stumbled out of the rubble, Izuku beside him, both of them gasping for air.

            The voices grew louder, hands reached for them, pulling them to safety, and Katsuki finally let himself collapse, his body screaming in exhaustion, his breaths coming in ragged, uneven bursts.

            He looked over at Deku, who was lying on the ground beside him, his eyes half-lidded, his body trembling from the effort. But he was alive. They both were.

            And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Bakugou let himself breathe, the tension in his chest loosening, the fear finally fading.

            They had made it.

            Bakugou blinked up at the sky, the light of day almost surreal after the dim, dust-choked world they'd been trapped in moments ago. His heart still pounded, the adrenaline still rushing, but there was an emptiness to it now—like his body hadn't quite figured out how to come down from the edge of disaster.

            Around them, heroes moved quickly—checking the rubble, pulling out survivors, making sure the area was secure. But all of that seemed distant, muted. Katsuki's ears still rang, and the only thing that seemed sharp, that seemed real , was the wheezing breath beside him.

            He turned his head to look at Izuku, who was still flat on his back, staring up at the sky with a dazed expression. His face was caked in dust, a bruise blooming across his cheek, and there was a weariness in his eyes that cut Katsuki deeper than he'd expected.

            "Oi," Bakugou rasped, his voice hoarse. He hated the way it sounded—weak, raw—but he couldn't seem to find anything better. "You look like crap, Deku."

            Izuku huffed a laugh, the corners of his mouth pulling up just slightly. "Thanks, Kaachan," he murmured, his voice just as rough. "You don't look much better."

            Katsuki scowled, the retort forming automatically, but when he opened his mouth to fire back, nothing came out. Instead, he let the words fade, swallowed them down, and looked away.

            They were alive. That was what mattered. The rest—the yelling, the fighting, the constant push and pull—that could wait.

            For now, he just needed to breathe.

            "Bakugou! Midoriya!" Aizawa's voice cut through the haze, and Katsuki forced himself to sit up, grimacing at the way his body protested. Aizawa was pushing through the chaos, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was something in his eyes—something almost like relief.

            "Sensei," Izuku mumbled, trying—and failing—to push himself up. Katsuki rolled his eyes, shoving his arm under Deku's shoulders and hauling him up with a grunt of effort.

            "Take it easy, problem child," Aizawa said, his gaze softening slightly. He looked between the two of them, the tension in his shoulders easing as he seemed to take in the fact that they were, indeed, both in one piece.

            "We're… we're okay," Izuku managed, though his voice wavered. He glanced at Katsuki, a small smile tugging at his lips again. "Thanks to Kaachan."

            Katsuki felt a flush rise to his face, and he scowled, looking away. "Don't get all sappy, idiot. We just did what we had to do."

            Aizawa watched them both for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly before he let out a sigh, shaking his head. "You two are going to be the death of me," he muttered, but there was no real heat in his words. Instead, he stepped forward, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "But… good job. You made it."

            For a moment, silence stretched between them, the weight of what they had just been through settling in. Katsuki glanced at Deku, saw the exhaustion there, but also the determination—the same determination that had been there when he'd stood alone, holding up a collapsing building just because it was the only thing he could do.

            And Bakugou knew, with a certainty that he hated to admit, that they really had made it together. Somehow, despite everything, despite the chaos and the fear and the rage, they had made it.

            He let out a deep breath, nodding once. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice softer than usual, the fight finally fading out of it. "We made it."

            Izuku smiled, tired but genuine, and for the first time in a long time, Bakugou let himself return it—just a little.

            And then, before the moment could linger, before it could become something he wasn't ready to deal with, Katsuki shoved Deku's shoulder lightly, a scowl pulling back into place.

            "Don't think this means anything, nerd. We're not done yet."

            Izuku let out a soft laugh, his eyes closing as he leaned back, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion. "I know, Kaachan. I know."

            Bakugou looked at him for a moment longer, then turned away, his gaze fixed forward. There was still so much to do—so much to fight, so much to fix. But for now, they had each other. And somehow, that was enough.

The Way We Lie, Steal, and Die

this amnesia!izuku au has been bouncing around my head for ages, so I wrote a scene for it. if anyone likes it and wants me to write the rest maybe it'll give me the motivation to actually write it lol

“I know it may be hard to believe, Midoriya-kun, but these sessions are for your own benefit.” 

Glancing up from his notebook from where he sat cross-legged in the corner of the long couch, the silent boy glanced once from where Aizawa sat on the other end to Hound Dog’s desk. “I’m certainly glad you feel that way; I imagine this would be a lot less enjoyable if you had other motivations.” 

The dog-mutant sighed and closed his own notebook. “Maybe you can help me understand, Midoriya, what the broader context is.” Inui was grasping at straws and he knew it; honestly when he’d heard about an amnesiac student needing therapy he’d been overwhelmed with the responsibility of it, but when he heard it was Midoriya Izuku, the same boy who’d nervously visited his office after the first day of school right before he was leaving to stutter out an introduction and ask for his autograph, all he’d wanted to do was give him back the memories of all the other heroes the boy had surly met. 

What he was greeted with the next day was not a nervous hero fan, rather he found a withdrawn and somewhat spiteful boy who had no interest in mandated therapy. “These sessions are whatever you make of them; if what you need from me is just a quiet and safe place to work then you can feel free to use the desk or even just the table.” 

Each of the passed three sessions were the same; after their initial re-introduction Midoriya would sit on the farthest part of the couch, place a pillow on his lap, and work semi-silently reading and writing in a composition book. 

“The problem is that I don’t need anything from you; I don’t even want your time.” Making the first eye contact since they’ve met Inui searched deep into his blank expression, “If it were up to me I wouldn’t be here.” 

“Why is that, do you think?” He couldn’t help but ask. He saw Aizawa level him a scandalized glare and he felt a little called-out, too late though as the damage was done. Midoriya hummed one long tone before going back to reading the notebook on his lap. So much for progress.

A tense silence settled over the room after Midoriya’s curt response. Hound Dog shifted uncomfortably in his chair, feeling the weight of the boy’s indifference. The version of Midoriya sitting across from him was a far cry from the student he’d heard so much about—this boy had no spark in his eyes, no eager determination to help others, no nervous stuttering or wide-eyed enthusiasm. There was only cold distance.

Aizawa, watching from the corner, leaned forward slightly. “Midoriya,” he began, his voice even. “No one’s forcing you to change, but you should know that we’re here to help you. You’ve been through something traumatic, and it’s okay to ask for support.”

Midoriya’s eyes flicked toward Aizawa, his expression unreadable. He closed his notebook with a deliberate, almost defiant motion and set it down beside him. “I don’t need help,” he said, voice low but firm. “I don’t need to remember who I was. That person—he’s gone. Why is everyone so desperate to bring him back?”

Hound Dog frowned, feeling the weight of that question. He glanced at Aizawa, who remained silent but vigilant, then returned his gaze to Midoriya. “You’re still you, Midoriya,” he said softly, choosing his words carefully. “We’re not trying to bring someone else back. We’re trying to help you.”

Midoriya shook his head, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “I don’t want to be him,” he muttered. His fingers clenched into fists as he spoke. “He—he was, he’s not who I am. He’s definitely not who I want to be, getting into trouble like that. Someone that weak, an obvious liability, I don’t need that.”

Aizawa narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything, Hound Dog leaned forward, his voice gentle yet steady. “Midoriya, that’s not true. You were strong—are strong. You’ve faced more than most people your age ever will. And no one expects you to go through it alone.”

Midoriya’s expression hardened, and he stood up abruptly, pacing to the window. He stared out into the school grounds, hands trembling slightly. “I don’t understand why you all care so much. That person you’re talking about—he doesn’t exist anymore.” He turned back, eyes cold, almost accusatory. “Why can’t you just let me be who I am now?”

Aizawa finally stood up, his tone low and controlled. “Because who you are now is someone who’s running away.” His words were sharp, but there was no anger behind them, only concern. “I understand wanting to forget, but you don’t have to erase yourself to move forward.”

Midoriya flinched at that, a flicker of something—anger, maybe, or fear—crossing his face. His voice came out strained, barely above a whisper. “Maybe I don’t want to move forward. Maybe I don’t want to be a hero anymore.”

The weight of that admission hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Aizawa’s eyes softened, but Hound Dog remained still.

Midoriya swallowed hard, turning his back to them again. “Everyone expects me to be something I’m not,” he continued, his voice shaking slightly. “But I can’t—I don’t even know how.” He glanced around their faces, taking in the slight signs of horror in them and felt his anger burn; his eyes sparked green when he spoke. “I never asked for this! This school, if you can even call it that, is a saw trap of fake education! I didn’t sign up for this, and I don’t know who in their right mind would.”

A long pause followed, broken only by the ticking of the wall clock. Aizawa stepped closer but didn’t touch him, keeping his distance out of respect. “Midoriya,” he said quietly, “no one is forcing you to be anything. You have choices. But closing yourself off from everyone? That’s not strength, it's not even a choice, it's avoidance.”

Midoriya’s shoulders tensed, and he glanced back over his shoulder. “You don’t get it.”

Aizawa’s gaze softened. “Maybe I don’t, but I’m not giving up on you.”

For a moment, the room felt unbearably still, like the air had been sucked out of it. Midoriya looked down, lips pressed together in a tight line. He didn’t respond, but something in his posture eased—just barely.

Hound Dog spoke up gently., “You don’t have to figure everything out today. Just take your time. We’ll be here.”

Midoriya didn’t say anything, but he slowly returned to his seat- the anger in his movements less sharp. He picked up his notebook again, though he didn’t open it this time. The silence stretched on, but there was a small sense of progress, a crack in the wall he had built around himself.

For the first time since the session began, Midoriya looked up, meeting both Aizawa and Hound Dog’s eyes. There was no gratitude or warmth in his gaze.

Dabi x pyromaniac reader??? (Such a bad combo ik but it sounds interesting

The Brightest Flames Burn The Fastest

don't overthink this- yes this is smut my bad did i go overboard with the fire references? Maybe- actually i certainly did but like c'mon can you blame me? (i did in fact use a single word 38 times, any guesses?)

The city was restless tonight, lights flickering in the distance like fireflies caught in the wind. You perched on a rooftop, the cool breeze doing little to quell the warmth simmering just beneath your skin. You’d been chasing that feeling for as long as you could remember—the warmth, the burn, the heat that set everything alight. It wasn’t just want, though. No, this was something deeper, a quiet need, an unspoken itch that was insistent and cruel.

You could feel the quiet hum of a fire somewhere in the city, just out of sight, the smoke curling lazily into the sky. It didn’t take long for you to find its source, though, not with the way it tugged at your senses.

And then you saw him.

He was leaning against the ledge of a nearby building, arms crossed, half-hidden in shadow. His eyes, though, they were on you—cool and piercing in a way that felt like he could see right through to the parts of you that you didn’t share with anyone else. The flames at his feet flickered, casting a soft blue glow that danced in rhythm with his calm, controlled breathing.

He didn’t speak, not at first. He just watched, like he was waiting for you to make the first move, to show your hand. But you weren’t the type to flinch under pressure. So you kept your stance, meeting his gaze with the same intensity he gave.

“You’re bold, hanging around after a show like that,” he said finally, his voice low and crackling, carrying a casual confidence.

You smirked, not bothering to play coy. “I could say the same. But then again, you don’t exactly blend in with a crowd.”

Dabi. You recognized him now—his face, his flames, the grotesque staples keeping his skin from melting straight off. He’d been making waves for a while now, but that wasn’t why you were interested. It was something else, something that made the air between you heavy. You weren’t sure if it was the fire or the tension, but you liked it. It felt unspeakable.

“Not here for the small talk,” he said, his gaze still sharp, searching. “What’s your angle?”

You shrugged, your fingers brushing the edge of the rooftop as if you could still feel the heat of the fire below. “No angle. Just here for the light show.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with the vague answer. But he didn’t press, and that intrigued you. Most people would’ve pushed for more, for answers, but Dabi just stood there, like he already knew what you were about and didn’t care to ask.

“Looks like you’ve been at this a while,” he said, his tone casual, but his words cutting through the air between you like a blade.

It wasn’t a question. He already knew.

You leaned forward, the edge of your coat brushing against the stone as you smirked. “Something like that. You’ve got the control, though. That’s rare.”

“Control,” he echoed, almost amused by the word. “You call it controlled?”

There was something unspoken in his voice, something darker. You watched as the blue flames at his feet flared for a brief moment, like a heartbeat, before settling back down. The heat between you felt like it was building, even though no one had moved. For a brief moment you felt your heart stutter at the thought of him scorching you to ash, it was as fleeting as it was intoxicating.

He turned his gaze back to you, a challenge in his eyes now. “You’re drawn to the fire, but you don’t understand it. Not like I do. That makes you nothing more than stupid.”

There was no malice in his words, but they struck a chord. He wasn’t wrong. The flames had always been there, calling to you, but you’d never thought to tame them. You hadn't the need to. You liked the unpredictability, the danger. But Dabi... he was different. He made it look effortless.

And maybe that’s why you didn’t back down. Instead, you stepped closer, matching his intensity with your own.

“I don’t need control, direction, whatever you feel like calling it,” you said softly, your voice steady. “I just need the feeling.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick with the unspoken understanding, a connection forged not by words but by something more primal, something that flickered in the space between chaos and order.

Dabi’s lips curled into a faint smile—dark, almost sinister, but there was something else there too. Approval, maybe. Recognition.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. “Get too close to the heat, and you might just burn.”

You didn’t flinch. You welcomed the pain.

His smile lingered, shadowed in the dim light cast by the distant city, but you saw it—a flicker of something more than mockery. Amusement, perhaps? Or curiosity. You weren’t sure, and maybe that was part of the allure. The way Dabi seemed to walk the line between calm and chaos, like he was always one spark away from losing control.

But you weren’t afraid of him. Not in the way most people probably were. The heat that radiated from him, the danger in his voice—it wasn’t a threat. It was a challenge.

“I’ve never minded getting a little burned,” you said, your voice low, daring. “It’s the only way to know the limits.”

Dabi’s eyes flickered with something darker, and for a moment, his flames flared at his fingertips before dying back down. He stepped closer, closing the distance between you two, the heat from his body mixing with the night air. He was taller than you expected, and the scent of ash clung to him, sharp and intoxicating.

"Limits, huh?" he murmured, his voice a rasp of embers. “That’s the difference between you and me.”

He leaned in, his face just inches from yours, eyes boring into you with a quiet intensity. You could feel the heat rolling off him in waves now, almost suffocating, but it didn’t scare you. It thrilled you.

“I don’t care about limits,” he continued, his voice a dark, dangerous whisper. “I don’t need them.”

The weight of his words pressed against you, but you held your ground, refusing to step back. The air between you sizzled with unspoken tension, and you could feel your pulse quickening, the flames deep inside you stirring to life, begging to be set free.

“Maybe that’s why you’re always running from them,” you said, meeting his gaze. “Because you can’t stand the idea of something holding you back.”

For a second, you thought you might have crossed a line. His eyes narrowed, the blue fire around him flaring for a heartbeat longer than before. But instead of lashing out, Dabi’s lips curled into another smile, darker and sharper this time.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, his voice rough, but almost amused. “Or maybe I’m just waiting for someone who can handle the burn.”

You tilted your head, not breaking the connection between you. “And here you are, looking for answers in the smoke.”

Dabi’s smile widened just enough for you to catch the glint of something wicked in his eyes, and then, without another word, he turned away, stepping back into the shadow.

“You talk big,” he called over his shoulder, his voice carrying across the rooftop like smoke in the wind. “Let’s see if you can back it up.”

And just like that, he was gone, his figure dissolving into the night like a wisp of flame. But the heat of his presence lingered, stoking the fire that had always lived beneath your skin, now burning hotter than ever before.

.

The last three days had been hell.

No matter where you went, the fire inside you refused to settle. It ached, it throbbed, and it gnawed at you from the inside out. What had once been a steady burn, something you could manage, had turned into an all-consuming need. You couldn’t stop thinking about him—Dabi, the man who had walked into your life like a flame that wouldn’t be doused.

You’d tried to ignore it, to brush off the feeling that had clung to your skin after he left. But it wasn’t that easy. You had always been drawn to the heat, but this was something else. Something raw. Being near him had ignited something within you, something more than the fire you were used to. Now, it felt like you were going through withdrawals.

And the worst part? The city was silent. No distant flames, no familiar warmth to latch onto. Just the cold, cruel nights with nothing but the phantom heat of his presence to keep you company. You hated it. You hated how much you craved it.

Tonight was no different. You sat on the edge of your bed, eyes fixated on the dark city outside your window. The hum of distant cars and the occasional shout from the street below did nothing to distract you from the emptiness gnawing at your insides. You could still feel the ghost of his heat, that flickering intensity that had wrapped around you like a second skin.

You sadly lit and relit your lighter, wincing each time you put it out but craving the feeling of bringing it back over and over again.

But then—there it was. A flicker. Faint, almost imperceptible at first, but you knew that flame. It tugged at you, just like before, like a spark waiting to catch and roar to life.

Your heart raced as you shot up from your seat, already reaching for your jacket. You didn’t need to think twice. You had to find him. Whatever this feeling was, whatever this pull between the two of you, you weren’t going to ignore it anymore.

The streets blurred as you moved through them, driven by an instinct that you couldn’t quite place. You didn’t know where he was, not exactly, but you could feel him—like a beacon of heat on the horizon, calling you in. The air around you grew warmer the closer you got, the telltale sign that you were on the right path. The sensation was maddening, building inside you like a slow burn that you couldn’t contain.

And then, you saw it. A faint glow in the distance, tucked away in the alleyways where no one else would think to look. It was subtle, almost hidden, but there was no mistaking it—the familiar blue flames dancing in the dark, casting eerie shadows against the walls.

Your pulse quickened as you approached, the heat intensifying with every step. You didn’t hesitate this time. The fire inside you roared to life, a rush of adrenaline surging through your veins as you finally reached the edge of the alleyway.

He was there.

Leaning against the wall, his hands shoved casually into his pockets, Dabi didn’t even look up as you approached. But you could feel it—the flicker of his awareness, the way his flame pulsed in recognition of your presence.

You stopped just a few feet away, the air between you crackling with the unspoken tension that had haunted you for days.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice low, almost mocking. His eyes lifted to meet yours, that same piercing gaze cutting through the dark.

“I wasn’t planning on coming,” you shot back, though the lie was obvious even to you.

Dabi’s lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words caught in your throat. The heat between you had built to a fever pitch now, and you could feel it—more intense than before, more demanding. It wasn’t just the fire. It was him. The way he stood there, completely at ease, as if he knew exactly what he did to you.

It was unbearable.

Before you could stop yourself, you closed the distance between you, your body moving on its own. Your hand reached out, your fingertips brushing the edge of his coat, and the heat that radiated from him was immediate, almost overwhelming. You didn’t care. You needed it. Needed him.

Dabi’s eyes flickered with something darker now, and before you knew it, his hand was on your wrist, pulling you closer, his grip firm but not harsh. The heat of his skin seared into you, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You sure you can handle this?” he murmured, his breath ghosting across your cheek as he leaned in, his voice thick with that same dangerous edge that had hooked you from the start.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The need in your eyes said everything. And Dabi must have seen it too, because in the next moment, his lips crashed against yours, rough and demanding.

The fire inside you roared to life, engulfing you in a wave of heat so intense that it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. His hands were everywhere, hot and insistent, as if he couldn’t get enough of you either. You could feel the flames licking at your skin, not literally, but in the way his touch sent sparks shooting through your veins.

Your back hit the wall before you even realized you were moving, and Dabi pressed closer, his body a furnace of heat against yours. The intensity of it was overwhelming, but you didn’t care. You needed more. You needed all of it.

His lips trailed down your neck, scorching every inch of skin he touched, and you let out a soft gasp, your hands tangling in his jacket, pulling him closer, urging him on. You could feel his smirk against your skin, feel the way his hands tightened on your hips, holding you in place.

“You’re burning up,” he rasped, his voice low and rough, his breath hot against your ear. “Bet you like that, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, you pulled him back to you, your lips crashing together in a kiss that was all heat and hunger, the flames between you building to a fever pitch. It was reckless, chaotic, everything you had ever craved.

And Dabi? He was more than happy to oblige.

Dabi’s body pressed harder against yours, the heat between you both unbearable and irresistible. His lips, searing and hungry, moved against yours like they were starving for the connection. Every touch, every kiss was fire and fury, and it made you tremble in ways you never thought possible. You could feel his flames curling just beneath the surface of his skin, as if they were barely being held back, waiting for the moment to consume everything in their path.

You weren’t much better. Your own need burned hot and raw, a desperate ache that made you push against him, demanding more, needing more. His hands gripped your waist, holding you firmly in place, his touch both possessive and teasing, like he knew exactly what you wanted but wasn’t ready to give it all just yet. The sensation of his fingers digging into your skin sent shockwaves of heat through your body, igniting you from the inside out.

“Is this what you came for?” Dabi’s voice was low and rough, like gravel being dragged across the flames, his breath hot against your lips as he pulled back just enough to speak. His eyes were dark, hooded with desire, but there was something else too—a flicker of control, the way his gaze burned through you, seeing everything. “You wanted the burn?”

You didn’t answer with words. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers grazing the scarred, stapled skin, and you felt him tense beneath your touch. You pulled him closer, lips brushing his jaw as you whispered, “Maybe I wanted to see how hot it can really get.”

His smirk returned, wicked and sharp. “Careful what you wish for.”

And then his lips were on yours again, more insistent, more demanding, and you felt yourself slipping, surrendering to the heat. He tasted like smoke and danger, and you couldn’t get enough. His tongue slid past your lips, exploring, claiming, and you welcomed it with a low moan, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his jacket.

He didn’t hesitate, his hands wandering lower, gripping the curve of your hips before sliding down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly against the wall. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to the heat of his body. The friction between you both was almost unbearable, the heat building to a point where it felt like you might combust if you didn’t get more of him, all of him.

Dabi’s lips left yours, trailing down your neck, sharp teeth grazing your skin before his mouth settled on the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder. He bit down, not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark, and the sensation sent a shockwave of pleasure through your body, your head falling back against the wall with a gasp.

“You like that,” he muttered against your skin, his breath hot and teasing. “I can feel it.”

You could only nod, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer as your body ached for more of him, more of his touch, more of the fire he so expertly wielded.

He didn’t waste any more time. His hands slid up, pushing aside the fabric of your shirt, his fingers grazing the heated skin underneath. You felt the cool night air mix with the warmth of his touch, sending shivers down your spine as he pulled your shirt up over your head in one swift movement, exposing your bare skin to the night.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes dark and dangerous, his lips curling into that same wicked smirk you’d come to crave. The next he started a fire on his pointer and let if hover directly under your throat. “You’re beautiful when you burn,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as his hand roamed your body, exploring, teasing, igniting every nerve.

You were about to respond, to say something equally sharp and teasing, but then his mouth was on you again, his lips trailing down your chest, leaving a burning path in their wake. You could feel the heat building, rising between the two of you, and you didn’t care if it consumed you. All that mattered was the fire, the way it surged inside you, wild and untamed.

Dabi’s hands slid lower, fingers brushing the waistband of your pants, and your breath hitched in anticipation. You could feel the want between you both building to a breaking point, the heat unbearable, the need undeniable. His lips hovered near your ear, his voice a rough whisper. “You sure you’re ready for this? Once we start, there’s no going back- not for me.”

Your answer was immediate, instinctual. You pulled him closer, your lips brushing his as you whispered, “I don’t want to go back.”

His smirk widened, and before you knew it, his hand slipped beneath the fabric, his touch sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body that left you breathless. You clung to him, your legs tightening around his waist as he moved against you, his body pressing closer, the heat between you both overwhelming.

And then, in one swift movement, he had you pinned fully against the wall, his body pressed tightly against yours, and everything else melted away—nothing but the fire, the heat, the overwhelming sensation of being consumed by him, by the flames you both carried within.

It was chaos, it was wild, it was exactly what you’d been chasing all your life.

Your breaths mingled, ragged and heavy, as the tension grew unbearable. His hands explored your body with a confidence that made you shiver, each touch sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, fanning the flames that burned deeper than ever before. You were torn between pushing up where his fingers had begun to circle your clit, and pushing down where something you wanted much, much more laid just out of reach.

You pressed your hips against his, desperate for more of him, more of that consuming heat that seemed to promise everything and nothing all at once. His lips found yours again, and this time there was no hesitation or exploration—only the raw, intense need that had been building between you since the moment you met. His tongue teased yours, the kiss deep and intoxicating, leaving you dizzy with desire.

His hand slipped lower, pushing past the small resistance with an ease that made your breath hitch. He gripped you firmly, his fingers hot against your skin as he moved with a precision that made you arch against him, your body responding without thought, only instinct. His other hand gripped your waist, holding you in place as he pressed against you, the heat of his body nearly unbearable but everything you craved.

You moaned into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his lips as the pleasure intensified. His fingers moved with expert skill, drawing soft gasps from you, and you felt the tension building deep in your core. It was almost too much, the heat, the sensation, the way he seemed to know exactly how to push you to the edge.

Dabi’s breath was hot against your neck as he whispered, “I told you to be careful, didn’t I?”

You could barely respond, the words slipping through the haze of pleasure. You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, desperate to keep the connection, to feel the fire raging between you both. You didn’t care if you burned; you needed this, needed him.

With a low growl, Dabi shifted, his body pressing even closer as he positioned himself between your legs with his one free hand. The anticipation was electric, every nerve in your body alight with need. He was relentless, the heat of his body scorching yours as he finally gave in to the inevitable, his movements rough but deliberate, as if he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of him.

And you did.

The sensation of him filling you inch by inch startlingly fast sent shockwaves through your body, a fire igniting deep inside that burned hotter than anything you’d ever known. You gasped, your head falling back against the wall as he moved, each thrust sending you spiraling further into the inferno that raged between you as your head cracked against the alley wall.

Dabi gripped your hips tightly, his pace unrelenting as he thrust into you, his breathing ragged and rough. He watched you through half-lidded eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he saw the effect he had on you. He reveled in your gasps, in the way your body responded to him, as if you were made for this—made for him.

And in that moment, you were.

Every thrust, every flicker of heat, every searing touch sent you closer and closer to the edge. Your mind was a haze of pleasure and heat, and the only thing that mattered was him—his body against yours, his fire consuming you completely. You were losing yourself in him, and you didn’t care.

As the intensity built, you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you, ready to snap. Dabi’s hand slid up your body, his fingers wrapping around your throat in a way that made your breath hitch. His touch was firm but careful, his grip sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. His other hand removed from its relentless teasing of your clit into your mouth, pressing three against your tongue and slightly pumping against your throat.

“You like this, don’t you?” His voice was a low growl, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. “You love being my bitch.”

You nodded, unable to form words, too caught up in the heat, the pleasure, the feeling of him taking you apart piece by piece.

“Good,” he muttered, his grip tightening slightly. “Then burn for me.”

His pace quickened, and that was all it took. The tension that had been building inside you finally snapped, the pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense you thought you might drown in it. Your body convulsed, shaking as you came undone beneath him, your nails digging into his skin as you clung to him, riding the high of the fire that raged between you both.

Dabi didn’t stop. He kept moving, his own breath ragged as he chased his release, the heat of his body almost too much to bear. You felt him tense, his grip on your hips tightening as he finally gave in, his body shuddering against yours as he found his own release, the flames between you reaching their peak.

For a moment, everything was still, the only sound the ragged breathing of the two of you as you came down from the high. The fire that had raged between you both slowly began to cool, leaving only the lingering heat of your bodies pressed together.

Dabi leaned his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips as he whispered, “Told you you’d burn.”

He'd turned and left you in a daze, and that's when you realized your clothes were burning off of you.