Hey everyone!
I'm back with a new chapter and… well, things got a little out of hand, lol. Quick trigger warning: SMUT. Be kind—I'm still new to this genre, but I'm working on it! Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! ┐(´∀｀)┌
Tomura's POV
Rin's hands rested on my thighs, her touch firm yet unnervingly delicate. Her gaze flicked briefly to Dabi, her expression an infuriating mix of intrigue and detachment. "You're totally burned… how thrilling," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. There was a faint tremble to her words, not from fear, but something darker. Her eyes lingered on him with an almost predatory fascination, the kind that made you question if you were still a person or just an object to her. The pressure of her hands on my legs tightened slightly, as though the urge to touch him was bleeding into her actions. Dabi frowned, his usual scowl deepening into something close to confusion. "Huh?"
"Just come in," I muttered, my sigh carrying more exhaustion than authority. Rin's attention snapped back to me, like a cat deciding which mouse to toy with. She leaned in close, her medical mask brushing against my nose. It was an unnecessary proximity, but she acted like it was entirely natural. "I have to stitch you up now, dear Tomura," she said, her tone mockingly sweet. "Please don't be upset if it hurts." Her breath, filtered through the mask, was warm against my skin. Before I could respond, she turned away, her movements fluid and deliberate as she prepared the needle.
Dabi shuffled inside, standing far enough away to suggest he didn't trust the situation—or her. "Dear Tomura," he echoed mockingly, the words curling off his tongue like smoke, thick with disdain. He snorted, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Do you… need help?" His hands stayed deep in his pockets, the suggestion laced with the faintest edge of sadistic amusement.
The offer wasn't genuine, and we both knew it. If I said yes, Dabi's version of "help" would likely end in fire and ash. A part of me was tempted, but no—letting Rin finish was the lesser evil. "No."
"Who is this lunatic?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at Rin like she wasn't standing right there. I paused, considering. The truth was, I didn't really know who she was, either. Giran's pick, a med student and clearly a few cards short of a full deck. "Rin," I said finally. "Giran found her with the Yakuza. She's our doctor now… I guess." Rin, now armed with a threaded needle, glanced up. "I'll continue now."
"Wait," I said quickly. "Get rid of those ghost hands. I don't need to be held down anymore." My voice cracked slightly on the last word, and I hated how it sounded—pleading. Weak. Pathetic. "Alright," she replied, and the spectral arms restraining me dissolved without a sound. The freedom was more symbolic than practical—I didn't move, didn't adjust. There was no point.
"I didn't think Giran would actually find some—" Dabi's words cut off abruptly, his eyes glued to Rin as she bent forward again, leaning directly over my abdomen. Her posture was obscene, her hips arched high. The short skirt riding up only added fuel to the fire, and naturally, Dabi stared. The grin that spread across his face wasn't subtle—it wasfilthy.
The needle pierced my skin, sending a jolt of pain through me, but somehow, Dabi's leering felt worse. The irritation bubbled until I couldn't ignore it anymore. I took off my shirt, still bunched up near my neck, and tossed it over Rin's lower back, blocking the view. "Huh?" She paused, her eyes meeting mine briefly, curiosity flickering behind her mask. "Nothing. Just keep going."
With an exasperated sigh, Dabi moved closer to Rin, his footsteps deliberate and unhurried. He leaned in, positioning himself so close to Rin that his presence felt both intrusive and deliberate. For a moment, he just observed, the faint glow of amusement flickering in his otherwise cold expression. "Decent work." Coming from Dabi, that was practically a love letter. His cheek was so close to hers that a single strand of her hair brushed against his face. It was enough to make anyone watching—me, deeply uncomfortable.
Rin, unfazed, glanced at him briefly, her tone as sharp as the needle in her hand. "Should I sew you up the same way? Your jaw's practically falling off your face." His lips curled into a lazy smirk. "I'll think about it." He wouldn't think about it. He'd already decided, probably the moment she suggested it. The temptation was written all over him. But Dabi, ever the liar, had to keep up appearances—pretending indifference was practically his brand.
Rin tied off the final stitch with a small flourish and cut the thread, dropping the scissors back into her case. Then, without ceremony, she rested her elbows on my legs and let her head fall between them with a sigh that was equal parts exhaustion and triumph. "Done."
I glanced down at my now neatly stitched wound, surprised—reluctantly impressed, even. The entire process had been faster and smoother than I'd expected. I'd underestimated her, but I wasn't about to admit it. Stitching someone up wasn't exactly a rare skill, after all. The real test would come when things got worse, and they always did. Before I could finish the thought, Rin grabbed my stool and spun it with deliberate force. I gripped the edges to keep from falling off, scowling at her. "What now?"
Her hands—still cold and gloved—settled firmly on my hips. Then she leaned in close, her soft chest pressing against my back. Her breath ghosted against my ear, muffled by the mask but still maddeningly present. "Your shoulder blade was hit too, wasn't it?" she whispered, her voice low and intimate. I stiffened at the sensation, a shiver running down my spine before I could stop it. She was driving me insane—every move, every word perfectly calculated to unsettle.
"Yeah..." I muttered reluctantly.
"Then let me take care of it," she said, her hands sliding up along my waist. My pulse quickened, heart pounding louder than I wanted to admit. "That's why I'm here."
She was maddeningly straightforward, as if this whole setup wasn't borderline unbearable. Whether she'd seduced me into agreement or just steamrolled past my resistance didn't matter. Either way, it was infuriating. I glanced over my shoulder. The mask obscured the lower half of her face, but her eyes gleamed with something almost playful—a glint that felt entirely inappropriate for the situation.
"Fine," I muttered, more to end the torment than anything else. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the bar and pressing my palms to my temples. Frustration pulsed behind my eyes.
Her arms wrapped around my waist, her touch steady but annoyingly intimate. "I know it hurts, but it won't get any better if the wounds aren't treated. Don't stress about it—I'll be quick," she said, her tone softening into something almost tender. Her words confused me, left me off-balance. She shouldn't have been able to command this much power over me. I wanted to push her away, to retake control of the situation, but my body stayed still, betraying me as if it had been waiting for something like this. She pulled back eventually, her hands retreating, but the imprint of her touch lingered like a brand. My breath came faster than I wanted, and I hated the vulnerability clawing its way up my throat.
"You alright? You look like you're about to pass out," Dabi said, cutting through the fog in my head. I turned my head sharply, glaring at him. He'd claimed the barstool next to me, legs lazily spread, but his eyes weren't on me—they were locked on Rin, who seemed unbothered by his attention. "Shut up," I snapped, glaring at him. "I'm fine."
Rin removed the bandage from my shoulder blade with careful precision. "This one looks much better," she said, her tone oddly cheerful. "What's that supposed to mean?" My voice was sharper than intended, but the irritation in my chest demanded release.
"It's almost healed; I just need to clean it up," Rin said, not a second later, the cold bite of wound spray hit my shoulder, followed by the sharp sting of a cloth dabbing at the raw flesh. Her next words were annoyingly casual. "What's your name, anyway?" A good question. Dabi hadn't bothered to introduce himself, though he'd had no issue staring at her the entire time like a creep. "You can call me Dabi," his voice as nonchalant as ever. His hand reached for her skirt, tugging it down slightly where it had ridden up while she had leaned forward. Suddenly, the man who usually radiated apathy decided to develop a shred of decency. Interesting.
Rin pressed a cotton pad onto my shoulder and taped it in place, her movements methodical. "The name suits you," she said with a cautious laugh, light and unassuming. The sound of her laugh grated on me, though I couldn't quite pinpoint why. I turned toward her on the barstool, shifting my weight as much as I could without aggravating my injuries. She blinked at me, as if waiting for something.
"Are you done with my shoulder?"
"Yes, dear Tomura"
I pulled my leg up, pointing at it sharply. "Then move on to this. You two can chat later."
"I'm pretty sure I can do both at the same time."
"And I'm pretty sure I don't want you distracted while cutting into me," I snapped. Maybe it came out harsher than I intended, but I wasn't wrong.
"Oh, shut up," Dabi cut in, tossing my shirt over my head like he was throwing trash, he knew exactly how to piss me off. I ripped it off just as aggressively, glaring at him. Rin switched to a fresh pair of gloves, her expression unbothered. "You might be right. I should focus on your shin. It's been nearly three weeks since you got shot, and you're still using crutches." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I suspect this gunshot wound is infected too, considering how… neglectful you are with your injuries." Was that an insult, or was she just careless with how she worded things? Either way, it stung more than the antiseptic.
"Anyway, I'll need another barstool," she said, glancing at Dabi. Without a word, Dabi reached over and lifted the stool next to him with one hand, placing it in front of me with a casual ease that was clearly meant to impress. Why was he being so damn cooperative? The flourish, the one-handed theatrics—it wasn't subtle. What was he trying to prove?
Rin helped me rest my leg on the stool, stretching it out carefully. She rolled up my pant leg, revealing the mess beneath: bandages slapped on at random, some discolored and fraying, layered with half-peeled plasters that barely clung to my skin. The chaos was as embarrassing as it was painful. She took a pair of scissors and began cutting through the mess. Her hands stilled briefly when she finally uncovered the wound. She recoiled slightly, her brow furrowing.
Dabi and I both followed her gaze. The sight was… bad. The flesh around the wound was swollen, raw, and discolored, and a faint, unpleasant smell wafted up. "Shit," Dabi muttered, his nose wrinkling. "That looks worse than my burns." His tone was laced with genuine disgust, his lips curling like he was seconds away from gagging. "Yeah… you're not wrong," I admitted reluctantly, glancing at Rin. Her eyes stayed fixed on the wound, her expression unreadable but focused. There was something about the quiet concern in her gaze that unsettled me. I scratched at my neck, trying to ground myself.
"Hey, Doc," Dabi drawled, breaking the silence. "You don't need to chop his leg off, do you?"
Rin didn't even look up. "Actually… yes."
"What?!" My voice shot up before I could stop it.
Rin straightened. "But I'll see what I can do," she added quickly, her fingers already moving to sanitize the area. There was a frown tugging at the edges of her mask, but her eyes carried an odd brightness—confidence? Determination? It was hard to tell. "I'll… do my best, okay?" she said softly, almost like a promise.
The nausea hit me in waves, each stronger than the last. I was certain I was about to throw up. Dabi, as if reading my mind, shrugged off his coat and held it up like a curtain in front of Rin and my mangled leg. "Might be better if you don't look." Rin's spectral hands materialized, their ghostly glow catching the edge of the coat as they took it from him and held it in place. "The curtain idea isn't bad," she mused, spraying disinfectant onto the wound. "Dabi, grab him some alcohol. Something strong. He's going to need it."
Dabi chuckled. "Hear that, Boss? Now we've got a solid excuse to drink." He vanished behind the bar, rummaging through the bottles. I stared at the coat, trying to process the absurdity of the moment. Was this even real? Or had my mind finally caved under the pain?
Before I could spiral further, Dabi returned, handing me a full glass of something that smelled like it could strip paint. Probably shochu, or whatever he thought would shut me up fastest. "You idiot," I growled, glaring at the oversized portion. "You drink this from shot glasses."
"Not you, and not today," he retorted, twisting my shirt into a tight roll and shoving it into my hand. "Here, bite down on this instead of screaming, unless you want to make this more embarrassing than it already is." His bedside manner was nonexistent. If he ever became a nurse, humanity was doomed. Still, I downed half the glass, the bitterness punching me in the throat before spreading warmth through my chest. The buzz hit faster than I expected, dulling the edges of the pain but doing nothing for the dread crawling under my skin.
"I'm going to start cutting now," Rin said and just like that, the scalpel was at work. The first cut was agony, the kind of pain that stole your breath and made your vision blur. The tweezers followed, then the scissors, each movement sending shocks of torment through my body. This was several leagues worse than what she'd done to my abdomen. My body trembled uncontrollably, sweat pouring down my face as my heart raced like a wild animal trying to escape its cage.
Dabi shoved the rolled-up shirt into my mouth before I could even think about crying out. "I'm telling you, if you scream, I'm out," he said, deadpan. "You're not embarrassing me today." It was phrased like a joke, but there was an edge of truth to it. Maybe he meant it kindly—or as close to kindly as Dabi could manage. I didn't want to scream, didn't want to look weak. I was supposed to be the "Boss," after all. But his delivery? It left much to be desired. Then again, that was Dabi in a nutshell: an irredeemable asshole. And me? Probably worse. But none of that mattered right now.
Behind the makeshift curtain, Rin made another incision in my shin, the pain so sharp it felt like my soul was being forcibly dragged out of my body. The shirt in my mouth became essential. I bit down hard enough to almost tear the fabric. "Almost there, baby. Push a little harder; I can see the head," Dabi quipped, his voice oozing with mockery. Of course, the bastard couldn't resist cracking a joke.
Rin snorted from the other side of the curtain, even she couldn't resist the absurdity of the moment. I elbowed Dabi in the ribs, shutting him up for a few blessed seconds. Then I drained the rest of the shochu, desperate for something—anything—that could dull the searing pain. With a trembling hand, I handed the glass back to Dabi. "Pour more."
The bottle sat conveniently between us. He refilled the glass without hesitation, but as soon as the liquid hit my lips, it was gone. Had I drunk it already? My vision blurred, my mind slipping in and out of focus. I handed him the glass again, my hand almost missing his.
"Calm down. That's your fourth. You're not getting any more," Dabi said, his voice distant despite sitting right next to me.
"D-dr-drunk?" I stammered, the word barely forming on my tongue.
"Yeah. Don't try to pass out, though. It's almost over."
"Is he asleep?" Rin asked.
"I don't think so," Dabi replied, leaning closer to inspect me. "He's just staring into space."
"Good. Keep him awake. I need him conscious for this."
And so I stared at the dark fabric of Dabi's coat, the texture of it seared into my retinas. Time stretched, minutes and hours blurring into one agonizing stretch of nothingness. The pain ebbed and flowed, never fully retreating, but at some point, it became background noise.
Then, finally, the coat dropped. The darkness gave way to the dim light of the room, and I blinked back into something resembling consciousness. The blurriness was the first to go, slowly the scene around me sharpened: Rin stood to my right, mask and gloves discarded, and Dabi loomed to my left.
"Should I slap him again?" Dabi's voice cut through the haze in my head.
"No," Rin replied, her tone laced with amused patience. "I think he's coming back around."
"Am I done?" I croaked, sounding far weaker than I'd like. My body felt like a used rag someone had wrung out and tossed aside.
Rin tilted her head, offering a soft, reassuring smile. "Yes."
"Do I still have my leg?"
"It's still there." Her smile widened as she stepped forward, pulling me into an embrace that was far too enthusiastic for my battered state. She shook me slightly, and pain shot through my head like a bullet. I winced, but before I could protest, she added with a sing-song tone, "You did so well, dear Tomura." The kiss on my cheek barely registered, muddled by the alcohol still fogging my senses, but it lingered just enough to feel infuriatingly intimate. "Yeah,dear Tomura," Dabi chimed in from the other side, voice dripping with mockery. "You were such a good boy."
"But you know, Tomura," Rin began, her voice teasing as she rubbed her cheek against mine like an over-affectionate cat, "it would've been better if we had a couch or something."
My gaze shifted to her, bleary and tired. "Probably, yeah."
Her finger traced along my lips, featherlight and deliberate. My breath caught, more from surprise than anything else. "You should suggest that idea to yourMaster," she said, her voice dripping with something I couldn't quite place. "I'm sure he could order one for us."
My first instinct was to bite her finger, if only to break the spell she seemed to cast with every gesture, but my body refused to cooperate. Her touch, maddeningly delicate, felt less intrusive and more… necessary. Something inside me wanted to melt into it, and that scared the hell out of me.
"Yeah," I muttered, my voice weaker than I wanted. "Maybe I'll bring it up with him."
Her finger slid from my lips, down my neck, and trailed lazily along my chest, her movements slow and deliberate. Every circle and spiral she traced on my skin was so light it felt like a ghost whispering against my nerves.
"Tomorrow would be best," she said, her tone impossibly casual.
"Tomorrow… right," I repeated like an idiot, her touch robbing me of coherent thought.
"I think he's still pretty drunk," Dabi interjected. His voice jolted me back, though my head was still spinning.
Rin pulled away, and suddenly, it wasn't her arms around me anymore—it was Dabi's shoulder, far less delicate and infinitely more irritating. "I think so too," Rin replied. "Take him home,beloved Dabi."
That snapped me out of my stupor."Beloved Dabi"?! Why the hell did he get a title like that, while I was stuck with"dear Tomura"?! Why did I care?! And why was she doing this—saying these things like she had any right to twist my brain into knots?!
Before I could process it, the darkness swallowed me again.
When I opened my eyes, it was dark—but not the same. The familiar shadows of my room greeted me, faint and hazy. I fumbled for the bedside lamp, switching it on with more effort than I'd like. Light flooded the space, revealing the disarray I'd left it in. I was in bed. Dabi must've brought me home. Maybe he wasn't the absolute worst after all, though the thought left a sour taste in my mouth. I sank back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling as dizziness churned through me, the alcohol still buzzing faintly in my veins. My memory pieced itself together sluggishly. Giran… Rin… surgery… and then Rin's hands—her touch. Her body bent over between my legs...
Oh no. Not those images again.
I groaned, grabbing at my hair as if I could physically yank the thoughts out of my skull. But the alcohol only made them stronger, boiling over into something worse. Her breath against my ear, her fingers trailing along my skin, the way her eyes glimmered with that playful light.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force the memories away. Instead, they sharpened. Her voice lingered, soft and teasing. Her touch felt vivid, like it had burned itself into me. Every movement she made replayed in excruciating detail.
The ceiling became a canvas, and my mind painted the most damning fantasies across its blank expanse. I saw her lifting my shirt again, her fingers grazing over my skin with deliberate slowness. I imagined her touching me more, her hands exploring, her lips following. Heat surged through my chest, spreading like wildfire. I couldn't take it. The blanket was suddenly suffocating, and I threw it aside, sitting up with a sharp inhale. My breath came fast and uneven.
I imagined her grabbing my face and pressing her lips against mine, her tongue invading my mouth... My hand drifted down to my trousers, as if possessed by a mind of its own. The images that followed shattered the last remnants of my sanity... I remembered her embracing me from behind, her breath hot on my ear as she whispered, "Then let me take care of it. That's why I'm here." But instead of her hands sliding up to my waist, they dipped into my trousers, wrapping around my dick. I stroked myself, imagining it was her fingers bringing me to the brink of ecstasy.
The heat became unbearable, the images searing themselves into my brain. I clamped my free hand over my face,desperately trying to block out the depravity playing out in my imagination. But the darkness only fueled my lust. Her face appeared before me, bent down between my legs, her pink eyes gleaming with mischief. A film unfurling in my mind, so filthy it made my heart race as if I were high on drugs. I imagined her undoing my trousers, her tongue teasing my sensitive flesh. My hand moved faster, more aggressively, mirroring the intensity of my fantasy. I pictured her taking me into her mouth, her clear, bright eyes gazing up at me as she sucked me off.
Damn it...
I clamped my hand over my mouth to muffle my moans, the thought of finding release in her mouth pushing me over the a final, desperate stroke, I spilled myself into my own hand, my vision blurring once again. Panting, I withdrew my hand from my trousers, staring down at the mess I'd made.
What the hell had I just done?
The realization hit me like a gut punch, cold and unforgiving. I shot up from the bed, my operated lower body shaky beneath me, and limped toward the bathroom. My hands fumbled with the faucet, water splashing everywhere as I scrubbed my hands and wrists, desperate to feel clean. But it didn't help. The thought—theact—clung to me like grime that wouldn't wash off. Her face. Her voice. Her touch. They looped endlessly in my head, each replay more vivid and damning than the last.
What is wrong with me?
She hadn't done anything inappropriate. Not really. Maybe a flirtatious remark here, an uncomfortably close touch there—but nothing that should've made me... touch myself. It wasn't her fault. That made it worse. The weight of the blame settled squarely on my shoulders, crushing and inescapable. I gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles is all on me.
The realization felt like swallowing glass. My chest ached with the shame of it, my stomach twisting like it was trying to punish me from the inside out. How was I supposed to face her again? The next meeting was in three days. Three days. That was barely enough time for me to get my head on straight, let alone prepare to look her in the eyes without remembering... that.
"No," I muttered, forcing myself upright, glaring at my reflection as though it were someone else entirely. "Calm down. She doesn't know anything."
Yeah, didn't know.
"If I avoid her, she won't notice anything." The logic was shaky at best, but it was all I had. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, hoping the bite of pain would silence the voice in my head whispering otherwise.
You're a disaster, Shigaraki.
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. My mind was a mess, looping between guilt and denial like a broken record. The image of her face wouldn't leave me, lingering with the same maddening persistence as the heat that hadn't quite left my skin.
Ugh, I could punch myself for this.
I won't be able to look at myself in the mirror for the next few days, but hey—thanks for reading anyway! (´౪`)