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Cut off. Dabi feels like he's losing his mind.

It's been like this for months, this frantic hysteria that builds under his skin, refusing to leave like the smoke that usually pours painfully through the cracks in his skin. There isn't anything in the world like this agony; and Dabi knows pain, knows every type of it, knows the way it damages and deranges, knows... it's likely too late. He feels insane. Addicted. A word repeats in his head:


Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Shouto.

He feels like he can hardly breathe as his body moves without him, slinking quickly through the dark, movements demonic, possessed. He can hardly track his thoughts. He hardly knows why.

Why he needs him.

Why he has to see him.

Why he sent that first message, months and months ago, drunk fingers slurring through a message set to his long-lost brother’s phone.



Todoroki Shouto


Why he needs to be with him. Why he needs to touch him. Why he needs his name in his mouth, every syllable hanging from his teeth like dripping meat. 

Why he needs him to open his eyes and see who he is (he’s his fucking brother, Shouto, why.)

Why Shouto. Why, Shouto. Why.


It’s far too easy. He’s almost lost count as many times he’s already done this (though he hasn’t, it’s been nearly two months now, almost sixty whole fucking days of sneaking around, staring at his window, creeping down the hall, smelling the air of his bedroom, leaning into his blankets and breathing in and imagining him in bed, before him, next to him, moaning), and it’s made all the easier when he remembers Shouto is home for the holiday. Back at the beautiful estate he’d abandoned all that time ago.

Returning only drives that delirium inside him into a fever pitch.

Dabi slips inside like he’s a fucking teenager again, going straight for that weak old hole in the far wall that his lazy drunk of a father never saw to get fixed. He squeezes through that patch of rotten wood, brushing away the fibers of the plants his dear old dad had opted to hide the damage away with instead... and then he stalks forward.

The frenzy in him grows. The anticipation. 

Shouto’s room is in the same place it always was. It takes a few minutes to get there. He leaves his shoes in the front, manic giggle forcing itself into the air as he makes himself at home, as he passes everyone’s rooms, Natsuo’s (empty), Fuyumi’s (beckoning), his father’s (...).

Shouto doesn’t lock his doors. 

It’s been years and he still trusts that no one will disturb him in the night.

Or he wants it.

The door hardly even creaks as Dabi inches it aside. The change in the air wafts into his face, the scent of Shouto’s body, his hair, fresh from a bath. He nearly groans, a shiver scratching up his spine and forcing him forward. Shouto lays bundled on the bed, covers drawn close, comfortable as he rests. There’s a furrow between his brows that make Dabi’s knees weak at the sight of it.

He stalls, just for a moment. Looks away, catches his breath, tries desperately to steal control of his body back. For a few moments, he pretends to look around the room, poking through his things. Shouto keeps so much of his room bare, most of his important belongings likely back at the UA campus.

Dabi runs a few fingers along his desk, searching for something. Photos, maybe. Something he can use to remember how they were. Confirmation that he’s really been erased from his family’s history, or maybe proof that he’s still wondered about.


He tears his eyes away before he can find his answer. Dabi looks at Shouto again, watching him sleep.


He’s done this a few times now. Stood in the room, hiding in a shadow, staring. Trying his hardest to determine if Shouto, his being, his very existence, was nothing but an awful hallucination designed to plague him. He always managed to leave in the end, sated and starved all at once, trying to resist whatever it was that had him pulled to him inside.

But now...?


Why fight it?

When he needs him...? When it hurts.

When he just... wants...


Dabi moves to the bed, lowers himself down on his knees. The headiness of a ritual hits him, his breath catches at the prospect, mind reaching for a memory he refuses to occupy. He stares into Shouto’s face, gaze tracing his cheek, eyes, strands of hair, the plumpness of his lip. He keeps staring, watching him inhale, and exhale, feeling his own chest, rising, and falling, to match. He stares until he aches, the space where his thoughts should be searing so hot it goes white. 

Dabi leans in, a gasp escaping, until he can press their foreheads together.

He waits for him to move away. When he doesn’t, he reaches down and palms himself, cock already hard against his hand.


His fingers slip down his pants next.


He holds onto himself with a simmering hand, temperature spiking until it’s punishingly hot.


He says his name quietly, letting it rumble low in his voice, feeling a few drops of precum collect and dribble down over his fingers.

This is what you do to me.

Frantically, he moves his hand, managing a few quick strokes, panting as he tugs fast at his cock. His eyes flutter and roll but he keeps them open, practically drooling as he focuses on his brother’s face with a hazy glower, soft moans starting to build in his chest. Mind otherwise blank, he only thinks of his desire. He waits for Shouto to awaken, startling into alertness, scared and screaming as he sees what’s happening. He imagines the horror of it, waking up to some creep getting off to the sight of someone dreaming, how disgusted he’ll be in his perverted older brother, how he wouldn’t even know


Dabi tenses, gasping out again, mouth dropping open as he cums into his hand. His whole body shakes against the bed, hand snatching forward to steady himself as he grabs at Shouto’s sheets and pulls. More of his body reveals itself as his blankets move. Shouto’s wearing simple pajamas, dark blue in color.

Dabi swallows hard, gathers himself, panting and staring hard. A tremble settles over his shoulders, reaching into his chest. He keeps gripping himself, feeling himself go soft, hardly waiting even a moment before he’s stroking himself again, needing more, needing more.

Possessed again, Dabi touches his face, tilts it towards himself until Shouto’s eyebrows twitched at the feeling of his hot breath against his mouth. “Shouto,” Dabi groans again, deliriously groping him now, his fingers clawing at his clothes, shoving past his collar so he could clutch at his chest, gripping it tightly until he can force himself into cumming again, just at the feeling of his skin under his palm. 

“Shouto-” He feels old burns on his skin, digs his nails into them until Shouto noises in his sleep, moving his hand to cup around the soft cock resting between his legs.

Quietly, he fondles him, gentle despite the screaming violence of his thoughts. Shouto starts to whine, hips moving into his hand. Dabi’s jaw clenches as his cock throbs and pulses, dribbling further into his pants.

“C’mon, wake up...”

His voice whimpers out of him as he nestles closer; he kisses the corner of his mouth, moans again with his lips pressed into his cheek, cums with a desperate keen that makes his whole body burn. 


Dabi forces himself to stop before he breaks, wheezing in air as he stills his hand. He trembles. The air around smells like sex and burning flesh. His own cock twitches anxiously against his fingers, Shouto’s gently filling with the dreamiest of paces. Dabi stares at him, still on his knees. The distraught reverence of it all hypnotizes him for one long moment. Like discovering religion. Dabi feels strangely born again, lost in the helplessness of his lust.

He laughs, throat so tight it’s a bittersweet pain.

“Hey... Shouto...” Dabi whispers, lips dragging against his cheek again. His tongue slips out to lave against his skin, he moves, body easing off the floor and onto the bed, over his body, a motion so delectable and perfect he wants nothing more but to repeat it over, and over, for the rest of his fucking life. 

He wants nothing more.

He needs... needs Shouto to open his eyes.

Dabi nestles his face into his neck and breathes in, grinding his hips against his little brother’s.

“Hey, Shouto...” he says again, bucking and groaning, rutting against where his slutty little brother was hard in his sleep. “Wake up. Wake up--”

He’s definitely rousing. Definitely shifting more and more on his own, the soft sounds leaving him growing sentient, filling with confusion, alarm. Dabi feels himself start to laugh, humping against him as his words leave him, so fucking close he could scream.

“Look at what...  you... do to me...”

Shouto jolts. Dabi’s hand slaps over his mouth, the other grabbing his jaw, holding him still and quiet as he suddenly thrashes awake. He holds him until he realizes, eyes widening and flooding with terror and rage, disgust, fear, panic, fear

Shouto goes still, completely rigid against the mattress. Dabi tilts his head as he looks down at him, devouring his expression, hips rolling slower and slower until he finally calms and stills as well.

Suddenly, and finally, Dabi feels... sane.



Dabi grins, leaning in to speak into Shouto’s ear.

“... I warned you... Shouto.”