Midnight Skies - A DabixReader Story

Patching Up

You had tried to keep away from him after that, escaping to your room for the rest of the day as much as you could. He seemed to catch onto what you were doing though, calling you loudly occasionally, specifically by the nicknames you'd foolishly thought would stop once you gave him your real name.
The second you'd begin to feel comfortable again, enjoying your own space and pretending there wasn't a League of Villains member in your living area, there would be a raspy voice calling out "doll?" or "princess?"
When you'd had the thought cross your mind to escape out of your bedroom window, only to be called out to again, you almost wondered if it really was you with the mind-reading Quirk, or if he somehow reversed it straight back onto you.
"What?" You reply a little more snappy than you'd responded the first few times, your feet hitting the floors with a bit more purpose than the times before, too.
When you see his face, you understand this time it wasn't just to waste your time checking you were still in the house, blood quickly pouring down his face, through his fingers as he holds a hand over his cheek.

His sapphire eyes meet your own from the corners, a flash of embarrassment in them that you'd never seen before.
"What happened?" You ask, watching as droplets of blood stain a cream coloured pillow below his hand with a cringe.
"Just get a needle and thread." He grunts, his eyes shifting away.
You bite back the urge to comment on how charming the request was, tempted to ask for a 'please' as well, but the crippling frustration he was doing well at keeping in his psyche was enough to put you off trying to push the boundaries of his temper.
"Alright." You huff, backing away from him slowly, still keeping your eyes on the blood dripping with small, rhythmic thuds through his slender fingers and onto the couch and floor.
You turn your back to him when your back hits the glass doors separating your living room and kitchen from the bedroom and bathroom, going to fetch the first aid kit for the second time since he barged into your home uninvited.
With a sigh, you bring the kit to the bleeding, scarred man cradling one side of his face on your sofa, his frustrated thoughts filling your head again, more and more the closer you got to him.

You almost go to tell him to tone it down, a habit you formed at a young age, having been told that trying to be polite with a Quirk like yours may not always work, and never having been made to feel uncomfortable about asking people to get out of their heads for a bit. After all, people usually were mortified to learn you had heard everything they had thought anyway. But a reminder to yourself that he wasn't aware of your true Quirk stopped you before the words could get out, your mouth snapping closed instantly.
"Smart." He comments the second you do it, as though he was expecting a sarcastic comment to leave you instead of what you actually wanted to say.
You ignore it, pulling the needle and thread out of the kit, keeping your eyes on the tools instead of meeting the burning gaze of Dabi, squinting slightly as you thread the needle as slowly as possible, even now not really wanting to unnerve Dabi with your inexperience with giving homemade stitches.
"Let's see then." You say, motioning with your hand to move his own away from his bleeding face.

"You're doing it?" He asks with a raised eyebrow, his speech a little awkward and slurred.
"Well, I assumed so." You murmur in response, mentally kicking yourself for not thinking he may want to see to it himself. "Must be easier that way, right?"
His eyes scan over you, the frustration in his head simmering for a second before his inner thoughts spoke up again, going through all the negative things you could potentially do if he allowed you to patch him up, things you honestly hadn't even thought about, and likely would never have done, a lot of the things being far too creative for your stressed out mind in this situation.
"Hope you've got a strong stomach." He replies finally, the words slow as they leave him before he moves his hand away from his face, revealing the injury to you.
You can't help but wince slightly at the reveal. It was probably the goriest sight you'd seen in person. Luckily with his stomach injuries, most of the blood had dried, making it seem a lot less intense than it probably would have been if it was fresh.

You can't help but let out a small, surprised hiss when your own head is suddenly filled with what appeared to be a compilation of every single time a woman had winced in response to Dabi, it only lasting for a split second before the walls went up and it was silent again.
His cobalt blue eyes rest on you after the hiss, frustration hidden deep within them, probably trying to silently tell you to get a move on with it, likely unable to speak clearly and without pain now his hand had moved away and the two toned pieces of skin on his cheek had separated slightly, exposing the muscle underneath the scars, blood still trickling down to his jawline.
"Looks sore." You comment, leaning closer to his face. The comment felt obvious, but the compilation of grimaces you'd seen, as well as the sudden silence from the bleeding man in front of you told you that it was the right thing to say to soothe his ego a bit. Half wanting to avoid any negative reaction from him once he'd been stitched together again, and half still wanting to make it clear you weren't a bad, judgemental person.
You'd never even really thought twice about how other people may view his scars after all.

His eyes avert, thankfully, the closer you get to his face, allowing you to wince again freely as you slowly slide the rougher feeling skin up towards the unmarred section.
"This is probably gonna suck." You warn, readying the needle against the rough skin, surprised to not get a jolt out of him as soon as the sharp end made contact.
Instead, his eyes roll towards you and he gestures with a bloodied hand down the entire side of his body with a sarcastic smirk before moving his eyes away again.
Despite your shaking hands, and briefly forgetting what predicament you're in, you laugh slightly at his reaction.
Pushing the needle through the first layer of skin without a reaction, you smile as you reply: "Fair enough."