╔══ஓ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔♱᧓ ꒱⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ஓ══╗
♱) ̊⋆+ᛝ⨍ꫀׁׅܻ ꩇׁׅ݊ɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ꫀׁׅܻ ℘ᨵׁׅ᥎꫶ׁׅᛝ+⋆ ̊)♱

♱)⋆ᛝ ᥣׁׅ֪ꪱׁׅꪀׁׅƙׁׅ֑꯱ׁׅ֒ ᛝ⋆)♱

. ۫ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ℘ꭈׁׅꫀׁׅܻqׁׅυׁׅꫀׁׅܻᥣׁׅ֪: 𓊆XXX𓊇

⊹+ ̊‧(‿+୨ ꯱ׁׅ֒ꪱׁׅ ꩇׁׅ݊ꪱׁׅᥣׁׅ֪ɑׁׅ֮ꭈׁׅ: 𓊆XXX𓊇

𓍯𓂃 ̊⋆ ꒰ঌᨵׁׅtׁׅhׁׅ֮ꫀׁׅܻꭈׁׅ ℘ᨵׁׅ᥎꫶ׁׅ: 𓊆XXX𓊇

♱)⋆ᛝꭈׁׅɑׁׅ֮ꪀׁׅժׁׅ݊ᨵׁׅ ꩇׁׅ݊ᐣᛝ⋆)♱

Dabi ᛝ Toya Todoroki ♱

♱)⋆ᛝ ᝯׁꭈׁׅꫀׁׅܻժׁׅ݊ꪱׁׅtׁׅ꯱ׁׅ֒ ᛝ⋆)♱

✦ by @PrettyLittleVampire

ᛝ))♱))♱))♱))♱))ᛝ

♱) ̊⋆+♱𓊆ꪱׁׅꪀׁׅꪱׁׅtׁׅꪱׁׅɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ ꩇׁׅ݊ꫀׁׅܻ꯱ׁׅ֒꯱ׁׅ֒ɑׁׅ֮ᧁׁꫀׁׅܻ 𓊇♱+⋆ ̊)♱

ᛝ))♱))♱))♱))♱))ᛝ

The alley smelled like asphalt and burnt matches, a lingering echo of the night’s smoke drifting from the cracked windows above. Neon signs flickered in the distance, casting a jaundiced glow over puddles that caught the dying light of the city. Dabi leaned against the graffiti laced brick wall, his dark coat pulled tight around his shoulders, the collar turned up to shield his face from the drizzle that had begun to fall. He had that habitual flick of the lighter in his hand, a soft hiss of flame as if it were the only constant in his life.

You appeared then, silhouetted by the weak glow of the streetlamp, your sneakers squelching softly against the wet asphalt. His crimson eyes caught yours almost immediately, sharp as glass, the corners of his mouth quirking with that half smirk that always made your stomach twist.

“You’re late,” he muttered, though his voice was softer than usual, a rasp that hinted at exhaustion more than annoyance.

You tilted your head, a playful smirk dancing across your lips. “Traffic,” you said, but there was no real need for words. You reached into your pocket and pulled out a small tin, one of those old-school Altoid tins, worn and scratched. Inside, instead of mints, were a few crushed petals you had carried all day just a token, an echo of a habit you had built for him.

Dabi’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. “What the hell is that?” he asked, his tone half-derisive, half intrigued.

“Something to replace this.” You tapped the cigarette between his fingers, the one he always had dangling carelessly from his lips. “You’re smoking yourself to death, Dabi. Let me”

You stepped closer, closing the gap that usually existed between him and the world. He tensed, like a cat ready to lash out, but didn’t pull away. Instead, he let the cigarette dangle, unsure whether to reach for the lighter or to brace for whatever audacity this was.

You took his hand, curling your fingers around his, the warmth of your touch stark against the cold metal of the lighter and the cigarette. “Let me try,” you whispered, and before he could protest, you leaned up, pressing your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss.

Dabi’s eyes fluttered in surprise at first, the crimson flares of his gaze softening in the dim light. The cigarette fell from his fingers, forgotten, clattering against the wet concrete. You pulled back just slightly, letting your forehead rest against his. “See? You don’t need it,” you murmured.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop the rain slowing to a drizzle, the city’s harsh neon light dimming, the smell of smoke replaced by the faint scent of you, something floral and grounding. Dabi’s hand moved to cup your face, fingers trembling ever so slightly. “You...you think this’ll...replace it?” His voice was a low growl, half mocking, half hopeful.

You smirked, brushing your thumb across his scarred cheek. “Maybe. I think I could be better than that little death stick of yours.” You kissed him again, longer this time, pressing against the rough burn scars of his skin, letting your warmth seep into him.

The lighter fell to the puddle, fizzing in protest as water seeped in. Dabi’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his usual fire so literal, so destructive dimming in the intimacy you offered. You pressed your body against his, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the only burn he felt was the one of your lips against his own.

“You’re insane,” he muttered between kisses, though his smirk betrayed him. “This...you...you’re a replacement?”

“You could say that,” you teased, letting your hands wander across his back, tracing the lines of his coat, pressing him into the wall with a quiet insistence. “Better than smoke, anyway. I promise you won’t cough if you take me instead.”

Dabi chuckled, a low, dark sound that mixed amusement with disbelief. The rain had stopped, leaving the alley slick and shining under the neon haze, puddles reflecting the jagged skyline above. He pressed his forehead to yours, letting a rare, quiet moment linger. “I don’t...know if I can...”

You tilted your chin up, eyes locking with his. “You can,” you whispered. “I’ll be patient. We’ll take it one kiss at a time. One habit at a time. You don’t need those cigarettes, Dabi you just need me.”

His hand slid down your back, gripping gently but with the kind of intensity only he could muster. The fire in his chest the one that always threatened to burn everything down softened, replaced by a fragile sort of trust. For once, the world outside didn’t matter. The neon lights, the rain, the grime of the city all of it faded into a soft blur as your lips met again, replacing smoke with something warmer, something alive.

And in that alley, under the fractured glow of the city’s dying night, Dabi let go of the cigarette, let go of the edge of destruction that clung to him like a second skin, and allowed himself to burn in your kisses instead.

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