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You’ve seen Dabi at his weakest. He can’t even try to pretend otherwise. You’ve had your fingers against his insides, spread him open for you and watched while he dissolved into an utter wreck under your touch.
For some reason, this thought doesn’t disturb him as much as it should. By all logic, the very thought of being seen so weak should make Dabi’s stomach churn. Being weak gets you hurt. Being weak is a concept that someone like him isn’t allowed to have.
You know how broken he is. You’ve seen everything, every scar, every part of him that’s, by all means, ruined. And all you’ve done is love him.
Watching himself come, liquid spilling out from nothing more than the touch of your fingers, made Dabi feel something close to normal for one of the first times since the burns. He’d thought that he’d never get to have that-- and not just because no one would ever want to touch his disgusting, half-charred carcass.
You touch him. You kiss his burns and never, never look at him with the revulsion that Dabi’s gotten too used to seeing from everyone else.
Dabi does some research. If internal stimulation is what gets him to the point of functional, then that’s a front that he just has to brave. He looks into the toys used for that kind of thing, into what he could possibly stand. The idea of things inside still scares him, but the pleasure of last time somehow managed to outweigh the fear. He winds up purchasing a toy small enough that he knows even his broken body can take it. Just looking at the thing makes him flush, but he knows that it’ll be worth it.
The hard part is bringing it up to you. There’s no fucking way that he could do such a thing on his own. Looking at himself fills Dabi with revulsion every time. Touching the mess between his legs would probably make him sick. The only option is for you to be the one, once again, to do it.
He knows you’ll be gentle with him. You’re the only one who would.
“H-Hey, um...” Dabi starts, daring to say it when the moment is nothing more than the both of you relaxing with his head on your shoulder. “I was thinking about something. I-I-- there’s something I w-want you to try... uh, maybe?” He’s squeezing his eyes shut already, supremely humiliated and beyond grateful that you can’t see his face.
“Yeah? What can I do for you?” You sound so peaceful, so loving, as if anything he asks of you, you’d be happy to provide. The part that scares him is that he knows it’s true.
“Th-There’s, there’s-- it’s a sex thing,” Dabi gets out, hating how his voice trembles. This is getting pathetic. He’s never been like this before.
“Okay...?” Thankfully, you don’t sound like you’re judging him.
“It’s-- I-It’s, um... Fuck, I d-don’t know if I can say it--” He’s curling in on himself, already beyond embarrassed that this is going to come out.
“It’s okay.” You start rubbing his shoulder, tenderly enough that it doesn’t upset the burns. The simple contact makes Dabi feel a little too much like he’s melting. “Take your time. I won’t rush you.”
Dabi trips and stumbles over his words a couple more times, trying to get it out. He feels stupid on a thousand levels, but finally--
“Last time, when you fingered me, I didn’t feel fucking broken, ” he says, words spilling out in a rush. “So I got a toy and I want you to put it inside of me because I can’t stand touching myself and, fuck, this humiliating!” Once it’s out, Dabi is left ducking down, burying his face in his hands and trying to pretend like he’s not going as red as he knows he is.
“Hey, hey, that’s alright,” you soothe, switching to rubbing his back. Dabi feels weirdly like he’s about to cry and hates that fact viciously. “If that’s what you want, I don’t mind a bit. I’ve... I’ve been thinking about what happened last time too, actually. I like it when you feel good. I know it’s embarrassing for you, but you’re so beautiful I can barely take it... Um, this is kinda embarrassing for me to say, actually.” You give a little laugh, so soft and loving that it makes Dabi’s chest clench up tight.
“...you’re too good to me,” Dabi mutters eventually, trying not to think about how badly his voice is shaking. His throat feels tight. Admitting this stuff to you is always hard, but having you hear it makes him feel at ease.
The dichotomy is almost enough to give him whiplash.
His face is so hot that Dabi knows he’s blushing pathetically. You’ve always said that that kind of thing is cute, but he can never get past feeling like it’s just kind of pitiful. He’s so starved of tenderness that a few gentle words have him going crimson. How’s that not kind of shameful?
But you agreed. You said that you’re willing to do it again, and aside from the fact that Dabi feels about to combust because he actually said it, hearing that you’re willing comes as a relief. He didn’t fuck up this time.
This time. There’s always another chance around the corner.
He can never quite stop wondering what you’re going to hold over his head for all the times you’ve humored him, all the times you’ve been kind.
“No, I’m exactly as good as you deserve,” you say with all of the confidence in the world. Dabi is finding it increasingly difficult to breathe properly. “Now, can you tell me what kind of toy it is?”
“W-Well...” Admitting this is going to make him die a little bit inside, Dabi knows that much. “It’s small, of course. We both know that nothing very big is going in without tearing shit.” That part is said almost bitterly. He sort of wishes that he could do things right for you, even as the idea of something bigger than a couple of fingers going inside makes him sick.
“That’s good. I don’t want it to hurt you at all.” You run a soothing hand through Dabi’s hair, sickeningly relaxed about all of this.
“This one... it’s one of those that, th-that presses up against the outside too. Since that worked pretty well before...” This is humiliating. This is beyond humiliating. “And, u-um... i-it, it vibrates...” There’s the bad part, out and said and heard by you. Fuck, saying all of this is the worst.
“Mmm, okay. That’s fine by me. Just... you are aware of how intense that’s going to be for you, right? Two fingers were... a lot. I don’t want you to get into this and realize too late that it’s too much for you to handle.”
You say it like it’s no big deal, but Dabi can’t help but bristle. He doesn’t like being told that he can’t handle something, because that’s weak and weak is what gets you killed. Talking about a fucking sex toy like it’s going to break him is a whole new level of embarrassment, even though he understands that you have a point. Your two fingers had him howling, as awful as that is to think back on. Maybe he should be careful.
“I can handle it,” Dabi says instead. “I want to. I didn’t feel broken when, wh-when I came... a-and I want that feeling again.” He has to squeeze his eyes shut when he says it, unable to even come close to looking you in the eye. Dabi is painfully aware of how raspy his voice sounds when he gets nervous, what a dead give away it is to you. You have to have caught on by now that he’s so embarrassed he can barely breathe, and that’s a thought that never ceases to spark a tiny bit of fear. You know when he’s weak. You know when he’s scared.
Somehow, that doesn’t seem entirely like a bad thing.
“Alright. I won’t try to stop you. I want you to have what you need.” You keep running your fingers through his hair. Dabi is shivering under the touch, barely resisting the urge to lean into it like some kind of cat.
“You have to be the one to put it in,” Dabi blurts out, getting some of the awful part out of the way again. “And turn it on. I-I can’t stand touching down there. I can’t do that to myself. You’ll have to do it.” Once again, the shame is eating him alive. Needing help with something like that is so pathetic it almost hurts. How could you possibly take that much pity on him?
“No problem there.” Your nails drag against his scalp. “I can do that. Actually, I think I’ll like that. Watching you fall apart for me will be wonderful.” There’s a smile in your voice, and hearing those words makes Dabi shudder. The thing between his legs twitches at the thought.
Fuck, he’s actually getting aroused by this. Just talking about it. Dabi’s mind is going right to the memories of what your cool hands feel like against him, to what it was like to feel like some part of him worked how it’s meant to. To the feeling of coming around your hand and trusting that you wouldn’t hurt him for showing how weak it made him be. He trusts you. Dabi is realizing that with increasing frequency these days.
He’s just waiting for it to turn out to be a mistake.
“I have a pretty good idea for how we can do this,” you say next. “I know that you’re going to be all kinds of overwhelmed, so what I’m thinking is that, once the toy is in and on, I’ll just hold you while it does its job. You can cling all you need to that way, and be able to hold onto me to ground yourself. I’ll turn the toy off whenever you tell me you’ve had enough.”
The mental image makes Dabi’s breath catch. He knows that he’s going to be overwhelmed. Last time, being able to squeeze his thighs around your waist was the only thing that kept him from breaking down. Being able to hold onto you and put his face against your chest... it’s pathetic. It’s so fucking pathetic, but Dabi knows that that’s exactly what he needs. It’s always grounding when he can hold onto you-- when it feels like you’re never going to let him go. That... that would make a lot of things better.
“Y-Yeah. That would be good,” he says, trying to sound casual when a large part of him wants to be melting with gratitude that you care.
“Thought so. And, just to reassure you; it’ll stop whenever you want it to. Any time you tell me you’re done, I’ll turn the toy off right away. I won’t push you or try to make it go on for longer than you’re okay with.” Your tone is soft, but you’re obviously taking it seriously. You’ve probably figured out by now that Dabi has more issues than he’s letting you know.
He’s not sure whether that thought is comforting or pure terror.
“And I’ll be right there with you through everything,” you continue. “I won’t let you go. You can hold onto me as much as you need to. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
Dabi dares to glance up. The smile you’re giving him makes his insides feel like they’re melting, and not because of his Quirk.
. . .
It’s time. Dabi’s sitting on his bed, squirming a lot more than he wants to admit. He’s nervous. It’s impossible to deny that much.
Everything you’ve done to him in this regard has been both terrifying and wonderful, and it seems like his body doesn’t quite want to decide which it thinks this time is going to be. Dabi knows he’s scared. His breath is coming just a little too quickly. He can see his hands shaking. But at the same time, there’s an anticipatory sort of heat running through him, the heady feeling of knowing that he’s about to get wrecked.
When that concept became a good thing, Dabi doesn’t know. What he does know is that he has a whole lot of reasons to be very, very freaked out right now. And that you’ll probably be able to soothe all of them.
Half-unconsciously, Dabi’s fiddling with his staples, picking at the ones on the back of one hand. It hurts a little bit-- just enough to be grounding--, but he doesn’t stop. He can feel himself tensing up, shoulders slowly hunching in from sheer anxiety of what’s to come.
“Alright, I’m back.” You had to go get the toy out of Dabi’s room. He couldn’t bear to look at it. “If you’re ready, let’s get started.”
That means it’s time to take his clothes off-- a concept which Dabi is and probably will always be a little bit uncomfortable with. He knows by now that you don’t find him disgusting, but the idea of someone seeing every inch of his scrawny, burnt body never really quits making him feel on-edge. Even if you do seem to feel nothing but adoration for it.
“H-Hey... Um, how about we make it ‘fair play’ this time?” Dabi says with a poor attempt at a cocky grin. “...I want to see you too.”
It’s not a lie. In part, he just doesn’t want to be the only one exposed. In part, looking at you is a sort of reward that he never quite thinks he deserves. You’re pretty and perfect and normal -- all things that Dabi will never be, no matter how hard he tries. Or tries to pretend.
“Yeah, sure.” You give him a smile, then immediately tug your shirt over your head. The willingness combined with the exposed skin has Dabi blushing. You... You really don’t care that it’s him you’re giving this to. That it’s him you’re putting up with. There’s no hesitation in your movements. You’re legitimately eager to-- to do whatever this is.
Because he can’t bear to look for too long, Dabi starts getting his own clothes off. Every layer makes him feel a little bit sicker, and that’s something that will probably never stop. He trusts you by now, more than he wants to admit, but that doesn’t really change the fact that he’s impossibly disgusted with the wreck of what his body’s become. It doesn’t change that he’ll always hate what he’s wound up as.
But then, both of you are naked; you looking perfectly content as you sit down next to him and Dabi fighting the urge to curl in and hide.
“Now, before you say anything, I’m going to prep you. I won’t take any argument on that. I know the toy is small, but I don’t want anything to hurt you. Will you let me do that much?” You ask it with so much tenderness that Dabi feels a slight shiver run through him. He’s never quite going to get used to being talked to like he matters. Like it matters if he hurts or not.
“Y-Yeah. Go ahead.” Once again, he tries to give a cocky grin.
Once again, he has to ignore how miserably that fails.
Dabi winds up on his back, you sitting between his spread thighs. The position is familiar, which scares him in a lot of ways. Your hand running up his thigh, impossibly gentle, soothes those worries worryingly fast.
You get the lube on your fingers, then carefully, gently press one inside. Dabi shudders at the feeling. He’s not too aroused at the moment, but the feeling of your cool finger inside of him is quickly getting him there. He feels the stump of his cock give a little twitch, already perking up and taking interest in what you’re doing. The feeling leaves him flushing bad.
“You’re okay,” you soothe, stroking at his insides in a way that has Dabi’s thighs twitching. The intrusion doesn’t exactly feel good, especially not with the memories pressing in at the edge of his thoughts, but the idea of what’s about to happen is getting to him.
And, of course, no touch from you could really be a bad thing.
A second later, you curl your finger, just barely stroking over his prostate. That little touch alone earns you a slight whine, Dabi quickly covering his mouth to prevent any more noises from slipping out.
You keep stretching him, eventually slipping a second finger in. Dabi is left thinking, worrying, suddenly way too aware of the idea that you might not stop. You said you’d quit when he asked, but is that true? You’ve never lied to him before, but if you’re enjoying it-- wouldn’t that give you the right to push just a bit further than he wants? You can hold him down, his brain unhelpfully supplies. He could never bear to use his Quirk on you, and he already knows that you can hold him down with relative ease.
If you wanted, you could pin him to the mattress and hold him in place while you all but tortured him. That thought jolts through Dabi’s mind at the same time another curl of your fingers jolts against his prostate. He’s as turned on as he is scared, Dabi thinks with something close to a laugh. He’s getting hard at the same time he’s terrified of what you could do to him.
Finally, with a quick word of warning, you pull your fingers out and slip the toy inside. For a moment, it doesn’t feel different than your fingers--
Then, you adjust the toy, getting it to press up against him just right; inside and out. The shock of pleasure that runs through him when the damn thing slots into place draws a ragged moan from his throat.
That-- That’s different.
It’s at the perfect angle, digging into where he’s sensitive from both inside and out. Already, Dabi’s thighs are twitching, wanting to squeeze shut. The stimulation is quickly bordering on dizzying.
“Ready for me to turn it on?” you ask, looking almost hesitant.
“W-Wait, no--” Dabi chokes. The idea of that thing vibrating is almost terrifying. At the same time he knows he wants it, wants to feel normal, that kind of feeling might actually kill him. “Let me hold onto you first. P-Please. Is that okay?” He’s being pathetic again. The Villain he’s supposed to be shouldn’t be begging to cling to someone over a little sex toy.
“Of course.” You smile at him, impossibly tender. “I love you.”
And then you press a little kiss to the stump of his cock.
Dabi’s breath catches almost painfully at that. The gentleness hurts. He’s not supposed to be anything but some burnt-out wreck of a man; the kind of thing that no one in their right mind would ever love. You don’t care, and that’s a thought that makes Dabi feel a bit like he’s dying.
From there, you scoot up the bed, laying down next to him. For a moment, Dabi’s pride tries to keep control, tries to hold onto what minuscule remnants of dignity he has left at this point.
Dabi gives up on that after about two seconds, latching onto you and burying his face in your hair. It’s like a switch is flipped. Even as tense as he is, even with that stupid fucking toy pressing against his insides, Dabi comes dangerously close to going limp. You hold him in return, rubbing his back and humming happily. It’s trust, plain and simple, and Dabi doesn’t know which end of that trust is disturbing him more right now.
He’s always been skinny, always been small. He’s got height on him now, sure, but that never really changes the fact that, without his Quirk, his body is fucked on a thousand levels. As you both found out last time (although it came as no real surprise), you can hold him down. It wasn’t hard. He’s basically helpless when it comes to anything that doesn’t involve burning the threat to ash. And that means, as humiliating as is, that being held feels safe in a lot of ways that Dabi really doesn’t want to think about.
It’ll be easier this way, Dabi thinks. Holding onto you will make this easier. His hips already won’t stop twitching, body thinking that he can get more stimulation if he moves. He’s... probably going to need the grounding. No, he’s definitely going to need it.
“You okay?” you ask, concern evident in your voice.
“Y-Yeah... just nervous, I guess.” Admitting it feels wrong, but it’s not like Dabi can really lie to you at this point.
“Mhmm. You can take all the time you need. Just tell me when you’re ready.” You sound so relaxed about all of this, as if Dabi being fucking weak and needing to be comforted over a vibrator is no big deal.
“You can do it now,” Dabi gets out, even as he has the feeling he’s going to regret that choice deeply in a few seconds.
“Are you sure?”
“Completely. Come on, doll, wreck me.” Trying to sound confident just ends in his voice breaking in the middle, but it still does something to make Dabi feel a little more like himself. At least he can pretend like he doesn’t feel sort of like he’s about to cry before this has even started.
You reach down and press the little button at the base of the toy.
Instantly, every part of Dabi that had managed to relax is tensing up painfully tight. It feels like somebody shoved a livewire inside of him. There’s pressure on both sides of his prostate, and the damn thing’s one speed is apparently a lot more than Dabi was meant to handle. The stimulation is already hovering right on the border of too much -- caught between being fucking amazing and making Dabi really feel like he’s going to cry.
It doesn’t quite hurt, but it might as well. Already, his hips are jerking helplessly, thrusting either into or away from the toy. Maybe both.
By the time Dabi knows what’s happening, he’s clinging onto you way too tightly, holding on for dear life as the fucking toy shakes him to pieces. The quiet, yelping moans leaving him are far less muffled than he wants them to be. Your familiar warmth in his arms might be the only thing keeping him grounded. So he lets himself cling.
Fuck, this might have been a mistake, Dabi thinks almost hysterically. He’s either going to be too sensitive to come at all or it’s going to be forced out of him in about the next ten seconds, from the feel of it. The pressure inside of him, slotted just right against his prostate is making Dabi feel a lot like his head is spinning. Your cool little hand against his back is the only thing keeping him sane. He’s panting. He’s whining. He’s squirming like his body wants to lean into the vibrations and be forced to--
Dabi cuts that thought off quickly. The concept of ‘force’ doesn’t agree with these kinds of moments. Not at all. Not after that.
Out of nowhere, it hits him. He’s going to come.
Moaning some poor excuse for a warning, Dabi’s body goes tight. The pleasure inside of him crests, spikes, pulling tight and wringing him like a wet rag in the middle of it. For a moment, everything feels so good it hurts.
Dabi can feel his cock drooling out a small amount of fluid, hot and sticky against his skin. You can feel it, he realizes too late. Pressed up against you like he is, you have to be feeling it too. That’s a point of burning shame that Dabi didn’t know he could have.
Orgasm drags on for what feels like ages, the vibrations and pressure holding him on the edge for far too long. The noises he’s making are beyond shameful-- awful, raspy moans and keens that are way too loud. Dabi’s ashamed enough as it is of his smoke-damaged voice. Somehow, hearing his own awful sex noises makes that feeling even worse. The idea that you’re hearing such pitiful sounds might be the worst part of all of it.
And then, he drops. Dabi’s left limp and twitching in the wake of his orgasm, squirming helplessly as his body catches up with the realization that the toy isn’t going to stop. That the awful thing is just going to keep vibrating away at his insides and shaking him apart as it goes.
Before he knows what he’s doing, Dabi is holding onto you even tighter. He can feel his hips twitching, then, as he realizes with horror-- he’s more or less grinding against you, rubbing the pathetic stump of his cock against your thigh. His body is simultaneously trying to fuck into the toy inside of him and wriggle away from it, and that desperate dichotomy is ending in one of the most humiliating things Dabi has ever known himself to do. The worst part? He can’t stop.
“F-Fuck-- Sorry-- ” he gets out, whimpering when a particular twitch of his hips presses the toy in even deeper. “I-I-- I know th-thi--is is gross...”
Words are only sort of happening. It’s hard to talk. Even harder to focus. But instead of getting mad at him for being fucking disgusting, you just adjust the way you’re holding him and sigh.
“You’re fine, Dabi. Do whatever you need to. I won’t be upset.”
Just hearing it drives what feels like a fucking stake into Dabi’s chest. You’re too nice to him. You’re so fucking nice, and like this, caught between unrelenting pleasure and the hold of someone who might actually love him, things get shaken loose a lot faster than Dabi is comfortable with.
“Wh-Why do you-- Why d-do you care?” Dabi whines, clinging tighter. “I d-don’t know why you-- why you even l-love me... I’m awful. Y-You were supposed to get rid of me o-once, once you f-fi-- figured out that I’m so fucked up. I-I always thought y-you’d ge--et sick of this s-sooner or later--”
Suddenly, far too many words are happening; things spilling out that Dabi didn’t want to ever admit. He’s revealing every weakness he has-- both physical and emotional, and he can’t make it stop. As he’s quickly figuring out, sex all but kills his brain-to-mouth filter, which is something that he probably should have considered before signing up to be overstimulated until he can’t think straight. Let alone consider his words.
He’s dripping. His stupid, awful little stump of a cock is dripping even more, and Dabi doesn’t know whether to be humiliated that you can feel it or grateful that the damn thing is actually managing to do something right.
Before he can take a breath, the second orgasm hits.
Dabi howls. His squirming has brought him low enough that he can bury his face in your shoulder, and that’s exactly what he does. Pleasure sears through him like flame through paper, searing everything and leaving him trembling desperately in its wake.
The toy is pressing, pressing, pressing against two separate places that make Dabi feel like he’s going to overheat for real. He can’t imagine what he looks like to you right now; curled in, shuddering, humping your thigh, whimpering pitifully, and clinging to you like you’re the only thing holding him together. The shame is going to kill him, Dabi thinks, but only if the pleasure doesn’t manage to tear him apart first.
He might be hyperventilating at this point. There’s a heat running through every part of him, simmering underneath the burns. Dabi has the feeling that he’s heating up a lot more than is exactly comfortable. His clinging is probably getting uncomfortable. Distantly, Dabi thinks that he should probably let go. He doesn’t think that he can.
Even after he comes down from the second orgasm, the toy keeps vibrating, cruelly digging into his prostate inside and out.
It’s pleasure that’s quickly teetering on the verge of pain. Shame is quickly flying out the window. When he feels like this, what does pride matter? Dignity is something for him to worry about when he’s not shaking apart against your chest, because, at the moment, there isn’t much left.
And then, with that thought hovering, words start spilling out again.
“I-It-- Th-This w-was su--uposed to hurt---” Dabi chokes out, hating how his voice cracks in the. “Y-You, You al-always-- I-It feels good when it’s you. ” Dabi only barely knows what he’s saying, too dizzy to regret it yet.
“What do you mean?” you ask, voice soft and eternally patient. Just the sound of it makes Dabi whine, nuzzling into your shoulder.
“Wh-When h-he did i-it-- I-It hurt. Th-Things there-- a-are supposed to hurt-- I d-don’t...” His words are stuttered, broken, choked-off things that he’s almost surprised that you understand. And then, a moment of clarity. “When you touch me, it-- i-it just feels safe.”
Dabi has the vague thought that, whatever he’s saying now, he’s going to regret it later. Spilling things about his past is never a good idea, but right now, cuddled up close to you and practically losing his mind, it’s hard to think about things like what’s smart. He can barely keep still. He feels like he’s burning up. Your skin against his is the only thing keeping him sane. What are a few little admissions in the face of this?
“It’s supposed to feel good. You deserve for it to feel good.”
In place of any more response than that, you switch to rubbing his back, your soft hands skimming over burnt tissue and healthy flesh alike. The touch to his burns does something to Dabi’s insides. You’re always painfully gentle with him. Your touch on the most disgusting parts of him feels like acceptance, not the disgust that he’s gotten used to.
The thought draws a little sob out of him. He needs this. He needs you to never, never let go. He needs you to hold him until he doesn’t feel like he’s breaking to pieces just by being alive.
“I-I need you--!” Dabi gets out, even as he knows he’ll regret saying it later. “D-Don’t leave, please. P-Please. I l-love you so much.”
It’s his way of saying that he’d probably die if you abandoned him at this point. Dabi gets the feeling that the implication is perfectly clear. He clings a little bit tighter, holding onto you like he’s terrified you’ll leave. The toy is still vibrating him to pieces, overstimulating his insides to the point of something close to delicious agony. Your touch, by now, is the only thing letting him hold onto sanity. He knows you’d never leave him, but--
His third orgasm hits like a truck. This one leaves Dabi, screeching, digging his fingers into your back and spasming like he’s been electrified. His eyes might be rolling at this point. The stimulation is too much on a thousand levels, oversensitizing every part of him just too much--
What’s coming out of him, by now, has to be real come. When this is over and he looks down at himself, with any luck, he’ll see the white that means he can be normal for once. He’ll be able to see that relief.
Okay, he thinks, that’s enough. He wants the toy off now. It doesn’t feel good anymore. All it’s doing is searing at every nerve. Awful, pained noises won’t stop leaving him. He’s holding onto you desperately, clinging tight as his bucks and writhes through the most intense orgasm of his existence. That isn’t saying much, but still. The level of intensity is bordering on making him sick, pushing at the beginning edges of a panic attack.
If he tells you to turn it off, will you listen? This would be the moment of truth. There are so many ways that you could torture him, and Dabi doesn’t know which one would crush the fragile trust he’s formed more.
And, worse-- what if he disappointed you? You’ve gone out of your way to make him feel safe; shouldn’t he at least repay you by putting on a good show. You should be enjoying watching him squirm, watching him fall apart and be reduced to sobbing into your shoulder from too much.
Even then, Dabi doesn’t know if he could get words out at this point. He’s gone completely limp, laying there like a doll while the toy pushes him to tears. It hurts. It still feels good, but it hurts, and Dabi doesn’t know if there’s anything he can do to make it stop.
He can barely breathe by now, airways cut off by the sobs tearing through him-- the pathetic little noises that it kills him to let you hear.
You’re still rubbing his back, Dabi notes.
Yeah... you’re always gentle with him. When he takes in the feel of your breathing, your heartbeat, the touch of your blessedly cool hands, it brings back some measure of confidence. No matter how scared he is, you’ve never hurt him before. He trusted you to see every inch of his scarred, disgusting body. He trusted you to put your fingers inside. You’ve upheld that trust in every way... and Dabi knows that he’ll be okay.
But that doesn’t change the fact that words aren’t exactly coming out yet. All he can do is lie there, shuddering, squirming helplessly, and heaving broken moans into your shoulder.
He has to make it stop, Dabi thinks-- It’s good, but it hurts so much that he has to bring this torture to an end while he still can enjoy it.
He doesn’t want this to be ruined. No matter how intense it’s been, Dabi wants to remember the parts where he was normal, where you held him and rubbed his back and once again treated him like he’s a person instead of a burnt-out wreck of a Villain who barely deserves to live.
Just as Dabi’s starting to think that words won’t come out at all, a fourth orgasm comes out of nowhere, tearing through him hard.
Dabi sobs into your shoulder, every part of him shuddering.
This time, nothing comes out. He’s coming dry, and every pulse of his body trying to squeeze something out that isn’t there is pure overstimulation. The waves of orgasm go on for what feels like an eternity, leaving Dabi whimpering and twitching, too worn-out to do anything but lie there and experience every moment of his body giving out on him.
“ G-Get it out-- !”
Suddenly, words are coming out. He’s whimpering, voice cracked and broken and downright pathetic, but finally, finally, Dabi gets out a desperate plea for you to make this stop.
“T-Turn it off-- tu-turn it off, pl-please--!” Now that the first part got out of him, the rest of the begging comes spilling out easily.
For a moment, Dabi is terrified that you won’t listen, that you’ll force him to suffer through who knows what. A spike of panic runs through him. This is the moment of truth. This is when he’ll find out if he really can trust you to listen to him when he’s had enough, or if you’ll just be the next person to force him down and hold him still while he screams.
“Got it.”
Immediately, you reach down, slipping your hands between Dabi’s skinny, clenched-shut thighs, and pressing the button on the base of the toy. The vibrations ending is pure mercy on Dabi’s overstimulated nerves. He whines with sheer relief as soon as they’re gone, going impossibly more limp. Unfortunately, the toy is still pressing up against his prostate from both sides, making Dabi’s hips jerk and his spent cock twitch.
You extract yourself from Dabi’s hold, scooting down the bed, spreading his legs, and carefully sliding the toy out. It drags over his prostate on the way out in a way that milks one last dribble of fluid out of his cock. Looking down at himself, just as Dabi hoped, there’s white smeared across his belly, sticky and warm.
The toy being out makes him drop. It’s over. It’s finally over, and you listened. You actually turned it off when he asked. It feels like a miracle.
For a moment, Dabi lies there, feeling a chill run over his skin now that the exertion is over. He has the feeling that he’s not going to be able to move for a while, not after what’s just been done to him.
Dabi thinks he could cry. In the absence of pleasure, his whole body just feels overwhelmed, overstimulated, and vaguely twitchy. He’s shivering. The stump of his cock has softened up completely, laying limp against his belly. For once, looking down at it, Dabi doesn’t entirely feel disgust. It did something right, and you still don’t seem to mind it. You let him hump your leg, for fuck’s sake. That... that says a lot.
His burns feel tight around the edges. His body is simultaneously overheating and feeling oddly chilled. He feels a bit like he’s about to cry.
You lay back down next to him, and Dabi is done. He’s latching back onto you before he can really think about what he’s doing. He knows that the mess against his stomach is probably disgusting to you, but he needs the contact more than he could ever put into words. Internally, deep internally, he’s all but begging you to hold him. He thinks he might fall apart-- or something equally awful-- if you don’t.
“You okay?” you ask, still sounding perfectly calm. You run your cool hands up and down Dabi’s back all over again, and that’s it. He can’t hold anything together anymore. Shame doesn’t exist.
“D-Don’t leave,” he whines, nuzzling against your shoulder.
“Why would I--?”
“ Ever.”
Admitting it feels dangerous, like he’s letting way too much vulnerability show. It’s not safe to let these things out, but--
“I won’t. I love you way too much.” You say it easily, burying your face in Dabi’s hair. That brings to mind another dangerous thought; lately, he hasn’t cared about the red peeking through. He trusts you. Dabi knows that he does. He trusts you way, way more than he really wanted to, but now that he knows what acceptance feels like, it’s hard to turn back.
For a moment, Dabi lets himself breathe. You love him, or at least, that’s what you say. He should know better than to believe that kind of thing so easily, but as overstimulated, fucked-out, and wrecked as he is right now, it’s kind of hard to care. You’ve never hurt him. Maybe you never will.
“Good. I-I think... if you take it back, I’d probably die.” It’s a lot truer than Dabi wants it to be. He’s finally learned how to feel safe with someone. The idea of that being taken away is almost painful.
For a moment, Dabi just breathes. He feels peaceful and lax, the permanent tension running through him somehow eased.
Maybe this wasn’t too bad, he thinks almost laughingly. Maybe being wrecked by you is somehow okay. You stopped when he asked you to. That little thing earns an embarrassing amount of his trust.
“I love you too,” Dabi lets himself say, pressing a little more into your hold. It’s nice to be so close to someone. It’s nice to feel like his fuck-up of a body and trauma minefield of a head somehow won’t be scaring you away. “More than I really wanted to. But I trust you. Somehow. So... please don’t break me.” The last part is barely a whisper, but Dabi knows you hear it.