#[ anYWAYS I AM SO EMO OVER HERE HELP!!!!!! ]

[bandtrees]

i feel like it’s really easy for people to get the impression with my fua stuff that lancaster is my Favorite Character™️ and i do certainly love and think about him a lot and find him the easiest to make stuff for that Appeals To Me because LOOK AT HIM, but the character who is my genuine favorite that i find a lot of comfort in and adore so much that it loops back around to being unable to articulate anything about them is actually love. I cannot express how much i love her.

[thinkin-bout-milgram]

Triage: Initial Thoughts

Hello! Venus back at it again with the 4-5 AM theory time! This time we’re looking at Shidou’s second MV, Triage! 

I’m going to be going through my various thoughts on everything as usual, going point by point to analyze each thing. I’ll be referencing Triage, his first MV Throwdown, and the always-fast audio drama translation by @onigiriico​! 

Alright, let’s do this!

Shidou’s kids died immediately, but his wife had a chance to live.

I’m basically just going to give a quick play by play of what I think happened in the video.

Surprise, Shidou has kids! And a wife, but we figured that already. They’re all very cute and all until they fade out like ghosts pretty early on. Before that happens, though, I think that, chronologically, the opening sequence of Shidou walking with some groceries happens first.

He’s just going about his day, walking around, having a great time. He’s intending to take stuff back to his family and cook dinner or whatever he usually does that we see in the cute scenes.

Then, though, he gets a phone call. He answers it (this is the untranslated “Kirisaki desu” part; please let us know if you find a full translation of what he says on the call there!) and we move on to the next scene. However, later, at 1:57, we hear the line die. I think that this is probably Shidou getting a phone call from the hospital. He sounds casual in his initial response because he probably assumes it’s work related, but once he hears what happened, he drops the line and immediately heads over.

I think Shidou’s kids must have died immediately because of Throwdown. Throwdown has absolutely no references to his kids (though he does mention liking children and stuff like that in his first audio drama, which now kinda stings) and, were he also trying to save them, I’m sure there would’ve been at least some references. 

I think it’s far more likely that, whatever happened, both his kids died immediately, but his wife was in a condition where he could still try to save her. That’s when Throwdown occurs. Shidou probably focused intensely on trying to save his wife as a way to cope with the death of his children. Then, after his wife officially died, it really hit him that he had nothing left, and he was forced to process it. That’s when he started feeling all the guilt and wishing for death. 

This isn’t really relevant, but my best bet is a car crash. It seems like a likely and viable way that his kids could’ve died instantly while the wife could’ve kept living. As a minor note on that, he’s also walking back with groceries, which could indicate that someone else (the rest of his family) might’ve had a car. I don’t remember if Shidou mentions anything about driving or anything like that at any time, but if I had to call a method of death right now, that’s what I’d go for.

NOTE: I do want to disclaim this by saying it’s also possible that one of his kids was the flower person in Throwdown. He gives a receipt to one of his kids, so that could make some sense. I need to go back and compare the flower person in Throwdown with the people in Shidou’s family now that they have appearances. I also need to reread his first audio drama; he says something about it being fitting that Es is judging him, which could check out if his crime relates to trying to save his kid instead. If I am wrong and it was one of his kids that he was trying to save, then everything about what I’m saying still checks out; just swap everything I say about his wife with one of the kids.

Shidou purposefully showed us the least forgivable parts of his crime in Throwdown.

Looking back on it, Shidou painted himself in an awful light in Throwdown, and I’m sure it was intentional. After all, he was trying to get us to give him a guilty verdict. If you say that a prisoner like Muu might have been altering what part of her story we received in order to get her desired verdict in the first round (innocent), Shidou could absolutely do the same thing with a guilty verdict.

He doesn’t show us any of the context of his loved ones and how much he loved them; that was all stuff we had to read between the lines of. We see him butchering plant after plant only to end in horrific failure without ever seeing him succeed at anything surgical. (He still should’ve hypothetically been saving lives while doing all of this; it’s not like he was ONLY killing people.) 

He even shows us the horrified reactions of the loved ones of patients he killed. I can only imagine that he would do that if he was trying to spark a negative reaction in us.

In contrast, this MV is very straightforwardly showing how the day he lost his family went for Shidou and directly examines what verdict Shidou wants (more on this later). I think, therefore, that this is probably a much more honest view of the situation than Throwdown, at least in terms of how Shidou perceives the truth. 

Shidou is constantly plagued by the guilt of what happened.

The simplest way to explain this is with this image: 

When showing Shidou’s family turning to ghosts, he views the man that he used to be as dying with them. Shidou, as he was, is dead. Still, what happened clearly still impacts him. That’s pretty obvious, but I’m talking down to the details. He mentions kids and liking them in both of his audio dramas. Further, take this lovely image: 

Pancakes. Shidou made pancakes for his kids. In BOTH Minigrams 3 (Pancake) and 24 (Pancake: a Second Trial) Shidou is directly shown talking about pancakes and their relation to children. He really wants Amane, the young child, to try some. It seems like he used to make pancakes for his kids before they died. He’s very clearly not recovered in any sense. That’s not surprising, but it’s still something to point out.

Triage takes place almost entirely before and after Throwdown.

That sounds a little confusing, but all I mean is that Throwdown is completely isolated from this MV. Some parts of this MV happen before the events of Throwdown; those are the ones featuring Shidou’s wife and kids, as well as the ones where he simply looks younger. The other parts are clearly looking back at the same time frame, but are from Shidou’s present perspective, here in Milgram. Those are the ones where he reflects on his verdict or directly addresses what verdict he wants.

Most directly, I think the part at 2:14 indicates this. Shidou, looking back on the death he caused (knives in the pomegranates and other food, dead flowers, receipts from the surgeries that we also saw in Throwdown), says “I want to be INNOCENT / I want to live.” That’s him, in the Milgram prison, right now, coming to terms with the fact that he actually, genuinely wants to live right now.

In the audio drama, he’s clearly conflicted. He still says that he wants to die, that he wants to atone for his sins and that dying is the only way he can make it up to the people he killed. He also, though, says that, at least for right now, he wants to live. Futa and especially Mahiru are on death’s door, and there’s no telling what other injury might occur. He believes he’s essential to saving lives within the Milgram prison (and I think he’s 100% right).

He even directly references this in the song lyrics, talking about “extracting the fang.” The fang is clearly Kotoko, given that Milgram has referred to the damage Kotoko does with fang imagery before and given that that’s what he’s currently healing. He has to be the one to save them because he’s the only one who can; as a result, to save lives, he has to care about his life right now. While he’s still unsure of what final verdict he wants, he knows that he needs to stay alive, at least going into trial 3.

VOTE: INNOCENT

Personally, this one’s a no-brainer. Es theorizes in the audio drama that Shidou only harvested organs from braindead patients, and though he never outright confirms it, based on his responses, it seems to me like that’s true. That means his crime isn’t as severe as we initially thought it was.

Additionally, he’s right; he is indispensable to us right now. He outright says in the audio drama that if he stops giving Mahiru care, she’ll die, whether or not anything else happens to her. That basically tells us that voting Shidou guilty means Mahiru dies. That’s not good, and I’d rather avoid prisoner death when we think it’s possible.

I also just don’t think it’s smart to change verdicts on him here. If we decide that, after all is said and done, we can’t forgive Shidou, we should do that with the third verdict. Here, we want to leave both options open. Right now, Shidou is torn between wanting to live and wanting to die. If we switch to guilty, we’ll ruin any chance he has at recovering a will to live and a will to atone through any means other than death. If we want to preserve the option of forgiving him in the end, I think we have to forgive him here. We can debate whether his actions were forgivable or not in the last round.

[athenamikaelson]

Written in the Stars

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader!Soulmate x Elijah Mikaelson PART 1

Word Count- 4.3k

Warnings- Swearing, blood, death, panic attacks, mentions of the confederacy (ew)

A/N- This will be a slow-burn series.

The reader has a brother, I know it’s not very X Reader, but it’s to help the storyline.

I brush down the black tie my younger brother is wearing, the satin fabric making me slightly cringe. 

“Are you sure you’re not going to go? We can go show those stuffy old bitches how to really party.” I let out a small huff at Theo’s question, shaking my head amusingly. 

“I’d rather not spend my Friday night with a bunch of Mystic Falls’ elite. Hearing them talk about how they’re so proud of their southern heritage,” Both my brother and I let out sounds of disgust, “the Confederates lost get over it.”

Theo stands in front of the hallway mirror and goggles himself. Where I am rather introverted, my younger brother is most likely the most self-confident person I have ever met. He has called himself, “A gift to the human race,” on more than one occasion. So it takes him about a good 9 minutes to gaze at himself in the mirror before we walk out the front door to the car. 

We drive in silence, or I drive in silence as Theo hypes himself up in the passenger side mirror. 

After a 10-minute drive that seems to have taken at least twice that time, we finally reach the long driveway of the mayor’s house. 

“Why are you even going to this masquerade thing anyways, you hate dances,” I ask him as we wait behind a line of cars.

“Tyler is my football captain, and this thing is to honor his father, I’m here for my fellow man,” Theo presses a fist to his chest and puts on a fake sympathy look.

“So you’re actually doing it because you want to get on Tyler’s good side so he puts you on Varsity?”

Theo’s sympathetic look drops and is replaced with a shit-eating grin, “You know me so well.”

As we get to the front of the line of cars, I hum along to the Coldplay song playing on the radio.

“So what are you going to do while waiting for me?”

I pull my car up to the front of the “house” which is really just a mansion. 

“I have a feeling you won’t be here very long, or stay out of trouble so I’m just going to park somewhere and wait for you.”

My brother does a look that looks like he agrees with me about him getting into trouble and nods his head in agreement. I put the car in park and Theo unbuckles his seat and gets out, straightening out his suit as he goes.

“Bye nerd, don’t wait up!” Theo yells as he climbs the stairs walking past Mystic Falls’ elite. I let out a sigh and pull away to find a parking spot. 

—

My fingers graze the pages of my book as I glance at the time, Theo has been here for over an hour now and hasn’t shown any signs of leaving. I bring my back up to continue reading when a figure in the distance catches my eye. I lean forward and catch a glimpse of who I believe is Elena Gilbert. Elena’s a popular girl in my grade, who I’ve probably had two interactions within my short time here in Mystic Falls. I don’t know much about her other than that she’s dating some guy named Stefan, her parents died in a car accident and her brother is in the same grade as Theo. Theo and Elena’s brother don’t hang out either because Theo says he’s a “stoner emo.” Theo’s never been one to keep his thoughts to himself. 

Elena seems to walk with a slight limp which makes me slightly concerned but nothing to make me go out and try to talk to her. I hate talking to people in general, especially kids my age. Elena has always seemed nice but I’m not taking the risk.

 Or at least I wasn’t until I saw a man in a mask start following behind her. I may hate interacting with people but I would never let another girl get attacked if I had the power to stop it. The next thing I know I’m hopping out of my car and jogging behind them. 

“Elena behind you!” I yell to her, but I freeze as the man hits her and knocks her to the ground. I let out a yelp as I turned to try to get help but a sharp pain hits my skull and everything goes black. 

—-

“Y/N, can you hear me?” A voice comes from above me and a wave of nausea washes over me. My eyes open and close a dozen times trying to get used to the bright light before I can focus on the person in front of me. Elena Gilbert. Why is Elena Gilbert in my bedroom?  I mean she’s really pretty and all I just thought she had a boyfriend. I’m not a homewrecker. 

“Oh thank god you’re awake!” Elena whisper-yells to me as she brushes a piece of my hair behind my head and grimaces when she looks at my forehead. She brings her hand back and a wave of fear and disgust washes over me as I see her hand covered in a red liquid. Blood. My blood. I try to bring my hand up but Elena stops me.

“Don’t exert yourself we don’t want it to bleed more, okay?” She gives me a small smile but something about it makes me feel uneasy. I don’t understand why until I turn my gaze away from her and look at our surroundings. Dirt-covered walls, glass-covered floors, and a mildew stench are what take focus. I’ve always been sensitive to smells but with the addition of my raging migraine, I am fighting the urge to keep down the rising bile in my throat. 

My breathing starts to quicken and I can feel the start of a panic attack starting to make an appearance. 

“Elena, where are we?” I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t understand what I was saying since my words seemed to be jumbling together. 

Elena glances around us and gives me a solemn look.

“I don’t know, I woke up here a little while ago before I was knocked back out by the people that took us. I’m truly sorry about this Y/N, I would never wish for you to be a part of this.”

I furrow my eyebrows at her last comment as if she were responsible for the reason we were taken.

“It’s not your fault,” I shake my head and start tapping my fingers together one by one. It’s a thing I do whenever my anxiety gets too strong, almost as a way to ground me. 

Elena’s eyebrows mirror mine and she goes to say something but a young man with shaggy hair walks in.

“Oh goody, the other ones awake. How are you doing sleeping beauty?” 

The man starts to walk over to me with a look in his eyes that makes the bile in my throat inch even closer to the surface. But within another second Elena stands from beside me on what I can see now is a couch and blocks me from the man’s view.

“I’m the one you want, Y/N is innocent, just let her go.” 

I want to back Elena up and defend her too but with the migraine and the onslaught of emotions I’m feeling right now being verbal isn’t something I see happening in my current future. 

“You’re right Dopalicious, she’s not, but I can’t just let her go, what if she were to go and warn those friends of yours? Can’t let that happen now can we?” 

Elena goes to stand her ground but within a blink of an eye, Elena is shoved backward and lands on the other side of the couch. I jump backward at the action which gives the man the opportunity to come in front of me. I start trembling as I look up to him I try to push farther back into the couch but I’m squished into it as far as I can go. 

“Stay away from me,” Finally able to find somewhat of my voice again. This doesn’t seem to scare away the man, and honestly, I don’t blame him. My voice sounded like it came from a scared 5-year-old. 

“Just a taste, I’m starving.” My mouth opens to question what he says but a millisecond later I feel myself being grabbed and a sharp piercing attacks the left side of my neck. I’m hyperventilating and screaming at the same time somehow as I hear Elena’s yells from beside us. 

“Don’t touch her!” Elena’s yell comes from beside us and I’m thrown away back onto the couch. I’m disorientated as I look up to see the man before me rubbing his cheek and Elena standing next to him holding her right hand. She’d punched him. My vision strays from Elena’s red knuckles back up to the man, who has something dripping from his mouth. My chest feels like it locks up as I stare at the liquid dripping, everything seems to be going in slow motion for me as I watch the drops start at the man's chapped lips to the drops of blood falling onto the cracked hardwood floors. Wait, blood. He has blood dripping from his mouth. Had Elena punched him that hard? I start to believe that possibility until I feel a wetness drip between my chest. 

My already shaking hand comes up to my chest as I swipe a finger along the liquid. My vision blurs as the red liquid drips from my fingertip down into the palm of my hand. I can’t register Elena’s voice as she kneels in front of me and presses something to my neck. The blood coating my hand is all I can see and smell. 

“Y/N….Y/N! Just focus on my voice ok, breathe. I think you’re having a panic attack.” A cool hand is pressed onto the side of my face and I close my eyes at the embrace. 

“Ok that’s good, I’m going to stand you up to get a better look at your neck ok?” 

I feel like I’m running on auto-pilot or something else is controlling my body and mind as I stand up and grip Elena’s upper arms to keep myself steady. Elena returns the pink fabric from my neck and leans down to glance at the wound.

“Ok, it’s not as bad as I had originally thought. Just keep this here and it’ll help control the bleeding.” 

I must still be in shock because Elena has to bring the shirt to my hand, wrap my fingers around it, and finally press my hand into my neck. The shock of pain washes through me and brings me back to reality. My vision can’t seem to focus on one thing for too long as my eyes keep darting from the blood on the floor, my blood, to the look on Elena’s face, to the man standing behind us with a scowl on his ugly face. Blood, Elena, man. Blood, Elena, man. Blood, Elena, man. This sequence continues until another person enters the room, a woman.

“He’s here.” The woman with a pixie cut says, her voice seemingly scared.

The man next to us shifts his scowl into a look of pure fear.

“This was a mistake,” He rushes over to the woman and shakes his head. 

“No, I told you I would get us out of this. You have to trust me,” She tries to talk him down which only seems to freak him out more.

“No! He wants me dead Rose,”

The woman points at Elena, “He wants her more.” I glance to Elena who is standing in front of me slightly as if to hide me from the two strangers or cannibals. Since I’ve calmed down momentarily and I’ve begun to stop the tears that had unbeknownst to me had fallen on my cheeks, I’ve realized that I’ve been kidnapped by cannibals, that being the only reasonable explanation I can come up with.

The two cannibals start arguing about some man but I turn to Elena who looks almost as scared as I feel. 

“What’s going on Elena, who’s coming?” I whisper to her.

Elena turns her head slightly to me and gives me a frown and a shake of her head. 

“A man named Elijah, but don’t worry ok,” Elena grabs my free hand and holds it in her own, “I’m not going to let them hurt you anymore ok?”

I nod trying to find comfort in her words but the girl in front of me is 17 years old and maybe 120 pounds I don’t see how she’s going to protect us both from two cannibals and whatever mega cannibal these two are terrified of. I don’t know if the other guy is a cannibal but using context clues I’m guessing he is. 

“What are we?” The woman’s voice brings my attention back to them as I see her grab his arms. This seems to calm the man down. 

“We’re family. Forever.” 

I might’ve found this endearing if it weren’t for the fact the man had my blood drying on his upper lip and they were literal cannibals. 

A loud knock startles all four of us as Elena and I both shoot each other wary glances. Our hands are still intertwined. I don’t usually like being touched but given the circumstances I can let this slide. 

The woman looks over at Elena and me as Elena slightly turns her head, “You’re scared.” Elena comments. The woman says something else to her friend and then runs up the stairs 

—

What seems like forever of waiting and pacing around is broken up by footsteps coming from the top of the banister. I can feel Elena freeze up from beside me as we both look up to see a man in a suit staring down at her. The man has dark hair and eyes and a chiseled face. Why is this cannibal not ugly? Wrong Turn had it all wrong. We all stand there watching Elena and the suited cannibal stare at each other. I can feel Elena’s shaking hand in my own and try to comfort her by squeezing her hand to let her know I’m right beside her. That is until the man transports himself from the top of the banister to in front of Elena in the blink of an eye. The movement has me losing my balance and falling back onto the couch. 

No one seems to notice me as my panic attack starts to build up as I try to understand how this is possible. How could he have been that fast, it’s impossible. Oh god, I'm going to throw up. 

“And who is this?” A deep voice comes from above me and my stomach flips at the sound. Defiantly going to throw up. 

“She’s no one. She has nothing to do with this, just please leave her alone.” 

Hearing Elena’s voice makes me raise my head and I regret it instantly because I lock eyes with the suited monster who is now standing above me staring down at me. The man’s face instantly goes slack as his eyes meet mine, a look of recognition seems to pass through his dark eyes as they move fast across my face. The man opens and closes his mouth many times as if he can’t quite find the right words to say. The slack expression from before softens into something that makes my stomach flip again. This guy is so going to kill me when I throw up on his expensive ass shoes. His soft, dark pink lips curve up at the corners slightly.

“You’re real.” 

These are the first words to come out of the man’s mouth. Everyone else in the room seems to know just as much as me with what he’s talking about because they all have looks of confusion on their faces. Feels somewhat comforting to be on the same page as everyone else for once. 

The man doesn’t once take his eyes off of me this entire time though, “What is your name, Elskan?” 

I freeze under his stare and try to avert my eyes, this gives Elena the ability to step in for me. 

“Her name is Y/N,” I look to the man as he mouths my name slightly to himself as if he wants to know how it sounds on his tongue, “Please don’t hurt her Elijah, she doesn’t even know about the supernatural, I’ll go with you willingly.” 

Elena’s words make me freeze up. What does she mean by supernatural? I flinch as the man, Elijah, brings his hand up. This stops him for a moment. 

“I would never harm you. You have my word on that.” I can only sit there frozen as he cups my face with his hand and uses his thumb to brush a stray tear away that must’ve fallen during one of my many panic attacks. He seems delighted at the moment until the soft expression he has on his face darkens into something that makes that bile rise even farther up. His eyes dart from the top of my head and drag themselves down to my chest and neck. I try to move away but his hand has a soft but firm hold on my face. 

“Who did this to you?” 

My eyebrows furrow at his question, and I must’ve not answered quickly enough because he turns to glare at Elena. Which makes her flinch.

“The head injury is from the kidnapping and then the bite is from um,” she glances towards my neck and then to Trevor who looks like he’s about to internally combust. She goes silent again at Elijah’s stare and he turns his attention back towards me. The glare was long gone and replaced once again with a softer look.

“I see. Here,” I have to swallow back down the bile as I watch the man rip into his wrist and put it in front of my face expectantly. I sit there in horror and quickly look to Elena who doesn’t look as surprised as she defiantly should given that this man just BIT HIMSELF. 

“It’s true Y/N, it’ll heal you.” 

I open my mouth to say something which must’ve somehow been an ok to the man as he presses his wrist to my open mouth. I’m about to push him off, or at least try, but stop at the heavenly liquid that spills into my mouth. Elijah brings his other hand up to brush back my fallen hair.

  “Good girl, Elskan.” 

Elijah removes his wrist and I sit there silently staring at my lap as I realize what I had just done. I just drank fucking blood, and I liked it?!??! Oh god, does this make me a cannibal now?

Elijah seems to be fighting an inner battle as he moves his eyes away from mine and onto the man behind us. Elena and I watch before us as Elijah approaches the scared man/cannibal thing. Thing because I’m not sure what the actual hell is going on here. 

“I’ve waited so long for this day, Elijah. Truly very sorry.” 

Trevor says with a bowed head as Elijah circles him. Almost how a predator would circle its prey. 

“Well, no, your apology is not necessary,” Elijah responds but something in his tone doesn’t sit right with me.

“Yes, yes it is. You trusted me with Katerina. And I failed you.”

“Well, yes, you are the guilty one,” Elijah glances at him and then up to the woman, “And Rose aided you because she was loyal to you. That I honor…”

Elijah comes to stand in front of the man, “Where was your loyalty?”

“I beg your forgiveness.”

The oxygen in the room seems to be dwindling as everyone watches the interaction.

“So granted.” 

The deep breath I was to let out is replaced by a scream and I can only watch in horror as Elijah throws his hand over to the man who decapitates him. A heart-wrenching wail comes from Rose and I can’t seem to take my eyes away from the body-less head that is lying in front of me. 

“I’m going to-” Vomit spits from my mouth and onto the floor in front of me, the burning from the back of my throat causes tears to build up and block my vision. I feel someone lift my hand and hold it away from my face. For a second I thought it was Elena before Elijah’s voice came from beside me.

“I’m truly sorry, Elskan. I shouldn’t have done that in front of you.” 

I lift my head to stare at him and find him kneeling right next to me. He reaches into his front pocket grabs a fancy napkin and wipes my mouth with it. Not seeming disgusted just saddened. He wraps his hand in my mind and stands me up. 

“We can leave now, we have quite the journey ahead of us,” Elijah leads me over to where Elena is standing and motions for her to follow.

“No! What about the moonstone?” She questions him.

He stands in front of her with a small scowl, “What do you know about the moonstone?”

“I know that you need it. And I know where it is. I can help you get it”

Elijah nods his head, “Tell me where it is.” 

“It doesn’t work that way.”

Elijah’s eyebrow twitches in annoyance as he glances back at Rose, “Are you negotiating with me?”

Rose just shakes her head and tells him she doesn’t know anything. Elijah then turns back around to stare at Elena for a moment before scowling and reaching up to her necklace, ripping it off. 

“What is this vervain doing around your neck,” He throws the necklace behind him and grabs Elena by the neck, dropping my hand in the process. I go to try to get her away but Elijah shoots me a warning look that has me freezing in place, “Tell me where the moonstone is.”

In a monotone voice, Elena replies, “In the tomb underneath the church ruins.”

“What is it doing there?”

“It’s with Kathrine.”

The rest of their interaction is cut short when a glass shatters from somewhere upstairs. Elijah comes over to me and grabs me by my waist bringing me into him almost protectively. 

“What was that?” He asks Rose.

“I don’t know.”

“Who else is in this house?’’ To which he gets the same response. 

Elijah grabs Elena quite harshly with his free hand and guides both of us to the top of the banister. His hand never moved from the top of my hip. Once we make it to the entryway something rushes by us, Elijah pushes Elena off into Rose’s arms but never drops his hold on me. 

“Up here.”

“Down Here.”

A voice call from the top and bottom of the stairs caught all of our attention. Elijah lifts his hand from my hip and motions for me to go over to Rose.

“Don’t let her out of your sight.” He warns her as he moves to the staircase. 

A moment goes by before something flies through the air and pierces itself through Elijah’s hand. I let out a yelp but Elijah doesn’t even seem fazed. 

My vision is blurred for a moment as I now standing next to Rose with an unfamiliar dark-haired man in front of us. He motions with his finger to be quiet. Ya as if I was going to say anything anyway. 

“Excuse me,” Elijah’s voice comes from below, “To whom it may concern. You’re making a grave mistake if you think that you can beat me. And you can’t. You hear that? I repeat, you cannot beat me. So I want the girls on the count of three, or heads will roll.” 

The man who has his hands on Rose’s and I’s mouths moves his head to glance at Elijah downstairs. 

“Do we understand each other?” 

“I’ll come with you,” I perk up at Elena’s voice. Wondering what the actual hell she was doing. But the blue-eyed man in front of me shakes his head at me telling me not to move. 

“Just please don’t hurt my friends. They just wanted to help me out.”

“What game are you playing with me? Where is Y/N? I won’t be leaving without her.” Elijah’s skeptical voice questions her. There’s a sound a medal, and then a loud boom,  before Elijah lets out a yell. The sound for some reason makes my chest feel like it wants to cave in on itself. Rustling and fighting sounds come from below us before the man holding Rose and I leave. Rose runs after him, but I can’t seem to get my feet to work so I just sit there on the dusty floor staring at the wall peeling wallpaper in front of me. 

A few moments pass before I hear Elena’s voice along with two unfamiliar men, one who I’m assuming is the blue-eyed guy from before. 

“Where is Y/N,” Elena asks.

“Are you talking about that girl that smells like vomit?” A snarky voice questions her. If I hadn’t just gotten kidnapped and had one of the worst days of my life, I might take offense but I did just get kidnapped and honestly, I do smell like vomit so he’s not wrong. 

“I think she’s over there.” 

Footsteps get closer to me as I look up with tears in my eyes at Elena. She gives me a small smile before kneeling and wrapping her arms around me in a hug. 

“What is happening Elena?” 

“I’ll explain everything if you want me to ok? Let’s just get out of here first ok?”

Elena stands up and reaches down her hand for me to take, and with a deep breath, I do.

[phantomskeep]

The Early Bird Gets The Worm - Chapter 1

The Early Bird Gets The Worm

Chapter 1 -  9 Out 10 Doctors Prescribe Child Rearing for Emotionally Constipated Families

Written by @agent-sushi-fbi & myself uwu

Read it on AO3 here!

Masterpost | Chapter Two Was he still wearing traffic light colors? No. Was Bruce going senile as he got older? Yes, and he was gathering evidence of it every day.

Dick wondered once again why they were having so many issues between them as he swung to the next rooftop, landing almost gracefully amongst the leftover rain on the asphalt. Stumbling on his feet was embarrassing nonetheless and he grumbled to himself as he kicked a pebble across the roof, watching as it hit an old AC unit with a hollow clang. Honestly, he came to Gotham to help Bruce out of the goodness of his heart while Tim is out of town and how does the man respond? By treating him like he's still a little Robin meant to dutifully take orders without question!

“Fucking old man, treating me like I'm a kid,” Dick muttered under his breath, not caring who heard him nearby, he was alone on the roof anyway.

“This ‘fucking old man’ can still hear you,” Batman’s deadpan voice came over the line. Dick froze on the spot, shoulders tightening as he heard the quiet undertones of anger. Oops, comms were still on and open to the shared channel… “Either mute your comms or keep those thoughts to yourself, Nightwing.”

Dick pondered for a minute, putting his hand on his chin like he was really thinking on the idea before he responded. “Nope, I'll pass,” he told Batman cheekily, smirking to himself. He was an adult now. While Bruce may have taken him in and taught him all he knew at Dick's lowest point, it doesn't mean the man gets to treat him like a child anytime he comes by home Gotham.

He was his own grown man. Nightwing had his own city to protect now–he was even a well-established member of the hero community in his own right! He didn’t need some emo flying furry telling him what to do anymore. Covering his eyes from the light drizzle that had picked up again, he observed the area below him, staying alert for any sort of disturbance that may pop up and ignoring Bruce’s displeased grunts. It wouldn’t be good if Dick were to miss a crime after their little “spat” earlier, as Aflred would call it. A screaming match was a more accurate description if you asked anyone else, and he was not willing to let it open him up to more criticism from the “World’s Greatest Detective” later on when they were back in the Cave.

Stiffly, the black and blue clad vigilante stalked to the edge of the darkened rooftop, trying his best to not clench his fists like some angsty teenager. What was he even hoping to gain, coming back here? The man stood, pondering as he gazed down at the busy streets of his childhood home. A pat on the head, like the good little dog he was acting like? Bruce calls, so he comes running? Dick scoffed at himself, turning his head sharply. He aimed his grapple, firing it at the corner of a nearby building. With the grace born from years of practice, Nightwing danced between towering structures as he continued his Batman-approved patrol route.

“Nightwing, behave yourself over comms or you will go back to the Cave for the night.” Dick grit his teeth, jaw clenched tight as Bruce tried to basically ground him. He shook his head, preparing to land on the next rooftop, but stopping just shy to grab onto a gargoyle sitting on the edge of a lower office building. Leaning against the cold surface, Dick felt the sharp points of the creature’s horns digging into his back help to ground him in the moment. 

“Batman, you do not have a say over my actions or whether I am benched anymore,” Dick told him, evenly spacing out his breaths as he tried to keep the rage at bay. He felt like there was a ball of heat in his chest he was desperately trying to cool as he methodically rubbed his gloved fingers over the stone ridges of the statue's ugly face. 

“Nightwing–” Bruce started to grunt, so Dick turned off his comms as a response and took in a deep breath of the familiar, smoggy Gotham air. This city may not have been where he was born, and he may not live here anymore, but the man found peace flying through her night sky. This would always be his home. As ugly and villain-infested as it may be… This shithole was his shithole.

Ever since Jason passed, Dick knew things needed to change so he could preserve this feeling and keep this dysfunctional family intact. Tim helped a lot in the beginning, when Dick was too bitter to do more than practically tell a thirteen-year-old to handle a drunkard on his own. But, he's trying to make up for it now by helping on patrol and making them all participate in family dinners twice a month. It wasn't much, and he could admit it wasn't really working since he'd noticed Tim wearing sound proof headphones more often than not when Dick and Bruce were together. It broke his heart that another little brother of his felt like he needed to prepare himself for an inevitable screaming match from his family members. 

Dick was trying, he really was. But Bruce just made everything so hard. 

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of multiple trash cans falling over each other nearby. His face twisted in confusion, eyebrows scrunching together as his head whipped around to find the source of the noise. Body becoming a tightly coiled spring of focused intent, he silently crept closer to where he heard the cacophony. The noise became apparent in the way of a metal lid rolling out of the alley below and into the street like a quarter, spinning and spinning for a moment before falling flat. Dick cautiously peered over the edge of the roof, eyebrow raised at what he could imagine he'd find. A goon passed out drunk? A working girl kicking the nuts of a deadbeat harassing her? An internet famous Gotham-patented radioactive raccoon?

What he certainly did not expect was an unruly mop of black hair peeking out above the trash cans, only visible against the dark of night in contrast to the silver metal they clung to with tiny baby hands. He watched in disbelief as this child (so tiny and cute, he had to admit) stumbled to their feet, swaying as little as they reached for the contents of the trash. Dick felt sick just looking at the spill, but he felt worse knowing the child was doing this out of desperation. Tapping on his lenses, they zoomed in on the kid and he saw how small they were and how scrawny they looked. Alfred would faint at the sight of how skinny this child was and Dick would be right there with the old butler.

Making a quick decision, Dick hastily hopped onto a pipe that clung to the building he stood on and quietly slid down it like a fireman's pole. He didn't want to scare the small child who, at closer inspection now that he was on the ground, looked similarly disgusted at their options before them. The kid was still swaying, the movement picking up in speed before they plopped onto the asphalt, groaning. 

Dick rushed forward, panicking, but his sudden burst of speed startled the child. The tiny twig of a human scrambled back, a weakened wheeze of panic bursting from their lungs as they held out a small hand to ward off the vigilante.

“Hey, hey now,” Dick soothed as he crouched down to make himself seem smaller. “It’s okay, you’re okay…I’m not gonna hurt you.” The practiced “soothe the victim” voice was easy to fall into as domino-covered eyes worryingly took in the shaking child. He wanted to reassure this kid as much as possible, but he knew that he couldn't promise them anything. Making a promise to a child was important, he learned young that if you couldn't keep that promise the child would see it as a loss of trust.

“S-stay back!” The kid’s squeaky voice tugged at Dick’s heartstrings with how much terror it held. “Yo-you can’t t-take me!”

Dick slowly lowered himself to fully sit down on the filthy, trash-covered alley. He grimaced at the smell (was that sludge on his glove?) and he crossed his legs, letting his arms hang disarmingly on his knees. Keeping his body language loose and unassuming, Dick smiled goofily at the other. “My name’s Nightwing, I’m one of the heroes here in Gotham tonight. You’re safe now, no one’s going to take you while I'm here.”

Icy blue eyes peered out from behind a dirt-stained hand, reminding Dick of a different time, a different alley-found kid who was taken too soon. By Batman's stinky cowl would he let another one be lost to the horrors of this city as well. When the kid spoke, their voice was full of doubt. “How can I trust you? For all I know you could be some weirdo looking to kidnap me!”

A surprised laugh burst from Dick before he could contain himself, causing the filthy child to flinch away with a startled squeak. He sobered up quickly at that reaction however, leaning away from the kid to give the illusion Dick was no longer directly in their space, but still close enough to keep an eye on them. He's met children like this before, wary of adults or the world around them in general, only relying on themselves at an age where they can't do enough to keep their heads above water. Blinking rapidly at the thought to hold back his tears, Dick remembered when Jason first came to the manor. Even as distant as he was with his brother at the time, he saw how the pre-teen acted out of self preservation even months into Alfred's mother-henning.

This kid had the same fear written in the lines on his young face, as well as the same steel of determination in his eyes. Dick respected it, but he still was worried about this child who looked like they hadn't eaten a proper meal or slept in a bed in months. 

“I might be a weirdo to some people for sure,” Dick agreed casually. The kid blinked in surprise and he grinned a little in triumph, quickly smothering it with a serious expression. Exaggerating his actions, Dick twisted his head this way and that around the alley as though checking for anyone listening in, before he leaned a little bit forward with his hand blocking his mouth. The child shuffled forward a few inches, alternating between staring him down and checking the alley themselves with wide eyes. Dick resisted the urge to laugh again, focusing on trying to ease the kid into believing that he was safe.

“Between you and me? My friends think I'm a super big weirdo for putting peach jam in my pb & j's,” he told the kid, nodding his head sagely. All he got was a deadpan look in response, all of the sudden interest he got was lost from the kid before him.

“So you're not just a weirdo, but also super lame with no taste buds?” 

Wow, okay, so Dick was a little offended… or maybe he was impressed? The kid gave him a look that was reminiscent of Alfred or Jason when he tried to argue he could help in the kitchen. The “are you seriously this stupid to defend yourself like that” look. 

Yeah, maybe a little more offended than anything. Didn't mean the kid wasn't cute while doing it. 

Quick thinking made Dick grab at his uniform with striped fingers, gripping the fabric around his heart. “Ouch!” He wailed dramatically, flopping his legs forward as he used his toned core muscles to lean backwards, careful to not let more of the filthy alley touch him. “Ah! Truly a strong opponent, I cannot win!”

Quiet giggles echoed around the alley, causing Dick to grin in triumph. He titled his head to the side a bit to better see the small child. Their face was scrunched up in mirth, both hands covering their mouth in an attempt to better muffle the joyful sounds trying to escape. Encouraged by this, Dick resolved to continue to give the best performance of his life.

“I will simply never recover,” Dick moaned, making his body twitch dramatically. “This is how I die…the great Nightwing, struck down in a battle of wits by a toddler!” He gasped, reaching one hand up to the sky as he gave his big finale. “I can…see the light! It’s calling me…must…go…” He murmured quietly before giving a final spasm with an extremely convincing “blegh”, letting his arm drop to his chest and sticking his tongue out of his mouth.

As the giggles continued, they got closer. Peaking an eye open just a bit, Dick could see the kid toddling closer to the felled hero. “You’re silly,” they said, poking at Dick’s cheek hesitantly. “That’s not what death looks like.”

Dick could feel his heart shatter. This kid, no more than, what? Maybe four or five years old? This poor, tiny child was trying to correct Dick on what dying looked like. It made Bludhaven’s protector want to just scoop them up and wrap them up in a giant, fluffy blanket and protect them from the world.

“It’s a good thing I’m not actually dead then, huh?” Dick said with a grin, trying so hard to not let what he was feeling filter through. Bright smile for the tiny concerning child, bright smile.

The child cocked their head to the side like a curious puppy. “Well, duh,” the little thing scoffed, relaxing a bit at the horizontal hero. “I'd know it if you were actually dead.”

*****************

He really needed to get some meat on this kid’s bones, like immediately. Dick felt like he was carrying a small bag of potatoes while he grappled through the streets of downtown Gotham towards Wayne Enterprises to meet B for their patrol check in. Maybe if he showed the kid to Alfred, he could just keep him safe at the manor and he wouldn't worry about the tiny thing in his arms being so tiny anymore.

“Where are we going?” A squeaky voice shouted in his left ear. Was there a ringing bell nearby? 

Dick smirked, glancing quickly at the child before shooting his gun at the side of Wayne Enterprises, clicking the side button and rocketing them up the side of the skyscraper. He heard a soft gasp over the rush of wind before his world was filled with small, uncontrollable giggles and Dick tightened his hold.

“We gotta meet up with someone, little one!” He cheerfully shouted back as the duo landed at the top of the tower. With his feet squarely against solid concrete, Dick set the child down to face away from the large drop off the side of the building. He was worried the kid would either get scared, or want to try jumping off and he wasn't sure which was worse right now. A quick glance around told Dick that Bruce was still doing his own patrol. “Just stay away from the edge, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the little sass monster said as they shakily walked towards the center of the helipad. “I’m not dumb.”

“Uh huh,” Dick sassed back as he hovered over the kid. “You wanna tell me your name yet?”

Cold eyes narrowed as the child looked up at Dick. “No, you’re still a weirdo.”

Yikes, Dick thought. Whoever this kid's parents were deserved an award for raising such a menace to society. “Okay, okay,” he said airly. “I’ll figure it out one day, just you watch.”

“Oh, so now you’re a stalker, too?” The kid said as they flopped onto the concrete flooring. “Maybe I should’ve run away. Stranger danger and all that nonsense.” They flapped an itty-bitty hand dismissively.

“I thought we established that I wasn’t a stranger already?” Dick wasn’t pouting. He was an adult, and adults don’t pout at children winning in a battle of sass.

“No, we just established that you don’t know what it looks like when people die. Do you even pay attention to anything?”

Dick rolled his eyes, sauntering over to nudge his foot against the kid's thigh. “I paid enough attention to notice that you're good at avoiding questions. Why is that?”

“Nunya,” they told him. Dick felt the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. No, he would not act like Bruce.

“Nope, I'm not playing that one,” Dick told the kid, who pouted that they couldn't finish the joke. “Come on, I can't keep calling you ‘kid’ or ‘that tiny child lighter than a grape’ now can I?”

They squinted at Dick, crossing their arms awkwardly since they seemed to refuse moving from their starfish position on the ground. “Rude. You talk to every kid you meet like that?”

Dick smirked, “Just the ones who think they’re tall enough to talk back? Where do you reach on me again?” Dick mimed checking the kid's height against himself and stopped with it below his knees. Was it petty to make fun of the small child’s height? Yes, but he didn’t care. “Oh right, sorry but you're not tall enough to verbally attack this adult.”

“Whatever,” they muttered, turning away from Dick. But he noticed the kid kept him within their peripheral vision, just enough of an angle to pretend they couldn't see Dick even if his every movement was being tracked by blue eyes. It was just like how Jason acted, back when he was first introduced to life in the manor. Luckily, that meant that Dick had more than enough experience with snotty scared children to make sure this one kept feeling safe around him.

“So,” Dick said after a few moments of silence. “Like I said earlier, we’re gonna be meeting up with someone. But what I didn't mention was that it's Batman.”

“What kind of name is that?” The kid said, their spunk seemingly reviving itself in the few minutes where they didn’t speak. “Who wakes up one morning and decides to name their kid things like Nightwing and Batman?”

Dick spluttered. “It’s a superhero name, kid. It’s meant to not be normal.”

“You should’ve been named Jeff. Now Jeff is a good name.”

Dick paused, scrunched his nose a little in confusion before responding. “So, do you want me to call you Jeff since you like it so much?”

The kid scoffed, not fully paying attention and obviously still insulting him mentally. “Pffsh, no, call me Danny because my name isn't Jeff, stupid.”

Dick smiled like the cat who ate the canary. “Well, well, Danny is such a nice name,” he told Danny. Dick was enjoying the expression on his face when he realized that he messed up, the horror seeping into his features and a devastated tilt to his lips as he turned to Dick. “Thank you for telling me, now is Danny short for anything?”

Danny pouted and it was so cute Dick wanted to coo and squish his little cheeks. “No, just Danny, you weirdo.”

“No last name?” Dick prodded, poking at Danny’s thigh.

“You’re subtle.”

“And you’re going to answer!” Dick cheerfully said, walking around to stand at the front of the black-haired boy.

“You can’t make me do anything,” Danny glared up at Dick, arms still crossed. “You’re not my dad.”

Dick wasn't sure why that comment stung unlike the others, but he moved past it. He scoffed obnoxiously and mimicked Danny's pose, jutting his hip out in a move of pure sass. “Well I may not be but–”

“Nightwing.”

Dick froze with whatever bullshit he'd pull out of his ass dying on his lips. He saw Danny raise a questioning eyebrow at the scene, clearly interested in the drama, but Dick didn't focus on it. Instead, like always, he responded to Batman's voice. It didn't matter he wasn't Robin anymore and someone else held the title, it didn't matter he was all grown up and had his own name now. When Batman called, a Robin always whistled back, standing at attention like the “good little soldiers” they were. 

Sighing, he turned around and put his hands behind his back, feet spread apart as he nodded at Batman. Because this wasn't his father figure, the man who raised him despite the emotional intelligence of an ant. This was Batman, who didn't take disappointment or inadequacy from his sidekicks. No matter what happens, we'll always be little soldiers reporting for duty, won't we?

“Batman, no unusual activity for the night. There were the two robberies I reported on patrol, as well as stopping a street girl from being taken into an alley and shot. Oracle has the recordings from my suit already uploaded for review.” Simple, to the point, just the way Bruce liked it. All done.

“Hrn.” 

What? What did he forget?

“Hey! Why do you go around with your underwear outside your pants like that?” Danny interrupted.

Oh…right, he forgot about Danny for a minute there.

The silence across the rooftop was louder than any words shouted into the night sky could be. Dick tensed as he shifted, covering more of Danny from Batman's view as he watched the man's cowl wrinkle up. Internally he winced, wishing he had honestly thought this out better but at the time, he had only been focused on gaining Danny's trust. Once he had it, something in him wouldn't let the kid go and, frankly, he didn't want to. But in hindsight, this was definitely not one of his best ideas. He snorted lightly, thinking Jason would have made fun of him for being an idiot right now–like the time he tried to catch a runaway ice cream cart and slipped into a pile of cold sugar that spilled on the ground instead.

“Why do you have a civilian child here, Nightwing?” Batman practically growled, causing Dick to frown and tense his shoulders in a defensive response. He knew the man had been having problems since Jason's death. Tim had been trying his best to help Bruce out of a dark place, but sometimes he seemed to fall back into those old, angrier patterns on them. It was not appreciated, but he knew it took time to work through grief. It was small mercies the man wasn't sending people to the hospital or himself into an early grave on the daily anymore.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, during my patrol I noticed a disturbance in an alley and–”

“He met me! So, why are you looking at Nightwing like he's a bad guy, Batman? Aren't you two friends?” Danny popped up at his side all of a sudden. Dick startled, quickly shooting a glance at where the boy had been five feet away and he wondered at how he didn't hear so much as a squeak until Danny spoke. “You shouldn't be mean to your friends,” he nodded sagely at his own words and Dick held in a snort of amusement. “That's what she always used to tell me.”

Dick paused. Danny hadn't mentioned anyone he knew before now. Ignoring Batman's glowering, he tilted his head down to catch Danny's eyes. But the kid was gazing past them both, the bright blue dulling in the throes of some kind of possible memory. Telegraphing his movements slowly, Dick lightly touched the tips of his fingers to Danny's shoulder and whispered his name. “Danny? You okay in there, bud?”

It took a moment for the kid to shake his head like an old, wet dog, blinking slowly and gazing back at Dick. He nodded, glancing down at his tiny hands as though they held all of the answers to the universe’ most difficult questions. “Yeah, I’m good. Why?”

“You spaced out there a little bit,” Dick carefully told him. He watched Danny’s eyebrow’s furrow and mentally debated pushing. He was curious if the child would open up to him a little despite the hulking bat furry standing behind him like a living shadow. Cautiously, he held his hand a little more firmly on Danny’s shoulder and asked him what he was wondering. “Danny, who is this ‘she’ you mentioned?”

“Uhh…” Danny stalled, titling his head and giving an awkward smile that was barely more than a tick of the lips and didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know?”

“Alright, kiddo.” Dick murmured, a bit disheartened hearing the response, but doing his best to not show it. He gave a sharp nod and turned his head to look at his mentor. “But, yeah, B he’s right. Shouldn’t you be nicer to me?”

“You’re endangering a child, Nightwing.” Batman growled, disapproval practically flowing off the man. It took years upon years for Dick to understand the different levels of Bruce’s inflections and what they meant, like learning a whole new language. But now? It was clear as day to him looking at the man. The big, bad bat was pissed and disappointed at his oldest protege’s actions. Dick tried to not let it hurt him (and show on his face) as much as it did.

But he also felt a flare of anger swell up in his chest. Indignant, Dick stepped forward, close enough to block Danny completely from Batman's sight and get in the Dark Knight’s face. “You want to talk about endangering children, B? You would know all about that, wouldn't you? Picking us up off the streets like party favors.” 

Dick shook his head, a scoff falling from his lips as his hands vibrated with the anger now burning his veins at the hypocrisy of the moment. A quick tug to his leg made him stumble though, and he almost fell when Danny barged past him. A cry on the tip of his tongue, Dick watched as the little tyke stomped over to Batman and crossed his tiny arms. 

“Hey! He may be a total weirdo, but Nightwing is really nice and he's been taking good care of me!” Danny pointed a finger at Batman and Dick realized with dawning horror and amusement that this child was lecturing B, for him. He felt his heart beat as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “So you stop bullying him right now!”

“Kid,” B started gruffly, reaching a hand to grab him, probably. But Danny smacked his gloved hand away and took a shaky step back. He stumbled over his feet closer to where a stunned Dick stood, gaping at the scene before him. 

“NO! I DON'T WANT YOU TO TOUCH ME, I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU SAY! HE'S NOT NICE!” Danny shouted at the top of his lungs, shaking arms firmly clung to either side of him. His body faced Batman, but his head was turned to a spot just over the man's shoulder. The kid started swaying side to side again, and Dick knew that tears were welling in Danny’s eyes even if he couldn’t see the boy’s face.

Dick scrambled forward, recognizing the signs from earlier. The vigilante caught the child in his arms and pulled out his grapple gun. “We will discuss this more later, at the Cave. But right now Danny is upset, so I'm going to take him to Agent A. For the rest of the night, you're on your own.”

He whispered comforting nonsense to the shaking, brooding child in his arms as he walked away and didn't look back. Not even when Danny heavily propped his chin on Dick's shoulder to keep an eye on Batman as they left. “What was all that about Danny? Who were you yelling at?”

Dick was sure Danny wasn’t talking to Bruce at that time, his head had been tilted too far to the left and he spoke as though he were talking about Bruce to someone else. But no one had been there. It made him a little concerned he might have something in his system and resolved to have Alfred examine him after they got some real food into Danny. 

Danny cut him a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, not bothering to move his head’s position and smirked maliciously. If he didn't think everything about this kid was adorable, he'd probably be unnerved at the expression, paired with little baby fangs poking past his lips he hadn’t noticed earlier. Danny replied to him, but in a loud enough voice so that it would carry across the roof to where they left Bruce, no doubt standing guard as he watched them leave.

“I was talking to the ghosts that follow him, duh.”

[keebwee]

randomly remembered i drew this and its very funny bc this is very relevant again. did i have hypothyroidism when i drew this? turns out no i was just havin a weird ass time with my thyroid (hashimotos). NOW HOWEVER. the turns have tabled and i may have it. im getting blood tests (first blood tests of 2024!!) monday to see if it happened bc it is inevitable with me tbh. hopefully i get an answer

ugh

[starryficsfinishwen]

the end of all things — jiyan x f!rover

“I'm going to take care of you.”

Foreign fingers found themselves brushing over a clenched fist. Amidst the cold moon, under flickering stars, golden eyes looked up at him with unspoken resolution. But the general, full of surprise, could only purse his mouth.

“I am a soldier,” he spoke after a while, “I do not need to be taken care of.”

A flower field full of Angelicas. A proud girl and a careful boy. One was deadly, one was reckless. But still, you could only sigh, fingers timidly rubbing his thumb.

With a small smile, you muttered, “I know you are, General. But I am saying this wholeheartedly, without a doubt: I will take care of you.”

Ah, persistent little minx. Jiyan couldn't help but laugh. “I am a medic. I lead an army. I don't need any of your help.”

“Were you not the one who asked me to plant a seed here?” You refuted, tenderly tracing his still-curled fists, “You told me to watch over it.”

“I did.”

“Then what difference does it make?” Pointing it out with a knowing grin, you playfully poked his chest, “Am I not taking care of you in a sense, too?”

Flashes of Jiyan's memory—a medicine box, bloody weapons, Tacet Discords—rush to him wave after wave, but they were silenced as soon as warm hands hastily held his cheek.

“There you go again,” You tsked, “You blanked out on me.”

No one pulled him out of those "childish" nightmares before. No, not his men. No, not those wretched creatures. Only those warm hands and familiar golden eyes. His mouth opened to speak, but no word came out. Slightly closing it, before opening again, but words fail.

Did you ever look so pretty that way? Shining brightly in moonlight, amidst the fresh smell of spring and tangerines, the bloom of Angelicas embracing you. How pretty, how pretty you were—

Soft fingers tracing the outline of his jaw, brushing away the turquoise hair that covered his face, laughing and revelling in the way you giggled at his shocked expression. You, who embodied both chaos and light in one. You, who promised to take care of him—

“I am rotten work; I can be too much.” Jiyan whispered in your palms, trembling lips touching.

“I'll hold you anyway,” you smiled, “I can handle you.”

I broke out of my hiatus just to write this LMAO I badly wanna pull for Jiyan but the last time that happened, he became Emo™️ so now I'm stuck with a C1 Calcharo KEK

[beababoobies]

Hey, could you please do an angel dust x emo reader?

I am going to be using NB!reader for this but please do know I’m quite aware Angel is gay! He is canonically gay and I think that’s cool yippers ok lesgo 🙏🙏 by Emo I wasn’t sure exactly what you meant so I went with like an angry moody bitch with a 2000s MySpace Emo sort of aesthetic. If you want something diff feel free to re-request and specify! Thatz it :3 </3 (also Emo community please don’t attack me you guys are so cool I’m scared of you. I know corpse paint is gothic I swear please you guys are so cool).

Corpse Paint

Angel Dusk X Emo!NB!Reader

words : 1k , warning for mentions of sexual trauma!

You had been staying in this fucking hotel for months. Did it suck ass? Yes. Did you kind of maybe despise half the people here? Oh, absolutely. But - free place to crash, and it’s not like you were doing much with your days anyways, so the “rehabilitation” excersizes only got positivity-toxic half the time. Plus, Charlie let you skip out on them. Her little girlfriend didn’t though, so you were usually there dejectedly. Not anything worse than your highschool experience. 

But you also had Angel. Anthony. Whatever he let you call him depending on the day. And he was half the reason you stayed here. The amount of times you’ve crawled into bed with him and cried? You hadn’t cared to keep track of anymore. A long day, night - of shooting scenes, and you gently comforted him while he laid tiredly in bed, rubbing his back until he fell asleep. Plus, you liked his pig. You and fat nuggets would hangout whenever he was gone. 

You wouldn’t consider your relationship too romantic, but it was unbelievably supportive. You two didn’t really get intimate, due to his work, he didn’t trust anyone he was intimate with. He told you that that could change, but you reassured him over and over that it didn’t ever have to. You were happy gently comforting him. You were happy drinking with him, you were happy to be around him.

That didn’t mean he was completely touch-adverse, though. You exchanged small pecks on the cheeks, held hands - though not publicly, due to some of his fans obsessive behaviours - cuddled up. Charlie had offered to just let you guys share a room, but you had rejected the idea and shut it down pretty quickly. You loved each other very dearly, but sometimes you just needed space. 

Today wasn’t one of those days, though. You, head resting in his lap as he scrolled on his phone, your 2000s MySpace mix playing softly in the background as you looking through a new catalogue of Hell’s Most Edgy with a marker, circling anything you liked, Fat Nuggets sleeping soundly at Angel’s feet, snoring loudly. But adorably. 

“I have a favor to ask.” Angel mumbled out nervously. He hated asking for anything. Especially from someone he had already asked so much of. But you just nodded silently, circling a new, shiny pair of black platforms, before looking up at him with a small smile. “‘Sup, Webs?” You asked, tilting your head as you sat up properly.

“I - well, Val wants to do this shoot today, but he wants me to do Corpse paint. I don’t know how to do.. that. So I was wondering if you could help me out?” He asks with a nervous smile, only to watch the smile on your face grow wide, nodding excitedly as you hopped quickly off the bed to run to your room to get your makeup, disturbing a now cranky Fat Nuggets, who oinked at Angel before walking over to his bed to fall back to sleep. 

You came back into his room, closing the door quietly behind you, box of white cream foundation and a million sticks of eyeliner and other black makeup pencils, along with some dramatic statement lashes and lash glue, sitting down next to him on the bed on your knees, gesturing for him to sit up with his legs out straight. You straddled him softly, opening your box of makeup.

“So, this feels - kind of gross to put on. Gonna survive that?” You ask with a smile, tilting your head as he nodded with a small chuckle. “I’ve had much worse on my face.” He says with a wink and a smile. “I’ll survive.” He says with a shrug as you brush some of his fluff out of his face, starting to paint the thick white foundering over his pale pink fur, watching him awakward my try to avoid eye contact, hands awkwardly shifting, trying not to touch your thighs.

“You can put your hands on my thighs, it’s okay. I’m not going to initiate anything.” You say reassuringly and watch as one of his pairs of hands rest comfortably on your thighs, the other set holding up a mirror so he can see the work you’re doing. You watch him visibly relax slightly. He always is a little paranoid about people trying to be intimate with him - reasonably so - so you make sure to quietly reassure him in these moments. 

It takes a couple thick layers of the face paint to get his Angel stamp of approval, in which you go in with black eye-safe eyeliner for his eyes, coating them in black and following the image he used as reference, making streaks of black run from his eyes. You pierced your lips together as you leaned back to admire your work. “It’s missing something.” You mumble quietly, before peeking up and pulling out a pair of white lashes from your kit, and he smiles. You let him apply them himself, and with some white underliner, it looks perfect.

You give him some black lipstick, too, but that’s about the extent of what he wants. You give him your old lipstick too, because you and him both know he’s gonna need some re-applying. You watch as he walks over to the mirror, admiring your work - a job well done you’re sure - when he smiles at his reflection and the giddy way you smile back at him through your own reflection.

He pulls you up into a big hug and you giggle as he picks you up and spins you around, before you get him to put you down, smiling from ear to ear at how happy he looks with himself and the work you’ve done. His phone buzzes and he sighs, kissing you softly on the head before heading out, not even daring to put his famous sunglasses on and ruin your work. 

A new memory that’s keeping you sane in these old hotel walls. 

[ovaryacted]

Haii :33 idk if you're taking anons but I couldn't let go of this thought w/o sharing !!!

ok so we all know and love emo!Leon but BUT hear me out. Playing with his nipple piercings (or maybe dick piercing 😛😛) YOU FEEL??? Like !!!! Phew. I love emo!Leon so much js like IENEIDB.

AND ITS THE ONLY WAY HE'LL CUM???? Anyways. :P

-🧩 (Hope that emoji isn't taken yet:3)

MDNI/18+. NSFW.

Heyy! I am taking anons lmao I need to add a section on my page with a list of the emojis that are taken so I don't lose track but you are more than welcome to take that puzzle emoji! Welcome to the club!

And yes omg, emo!Leon has completely rotted my brain and he's so fucking pretty (I love @/larvamars on here and their art for emo!Leon so much). Imagine playing with his nipples with that heightened sensitivity he already feels because they're pierced, oh that would be so fun.

Sitting on his lap you kissed him slowly, feeling the metallic circle of his tongue bar flicking against the roof of your mouth. You can't help but moan at the added sensation, his snake bite rings pressing against your lips every time his lips meshed with yours. You move your hand down his chest, thumb rubbing against his hard nipple and stroking the silver bar pierced through it.

Leon shudders underneath you, exhaling a shaky breath as you stroke his sensitive nipple in intricate circles. Your thumb pressed harder against his chest, an audible whimper slipping out of his lips as you kissed down his neck. He loves this part, letting you do whatever you want with his body, becoming your canvas to explore.

Throwing his head back, he laid down on the couch, feeling you suck at one nipple, lolling your tongue around the nub until he shook. You could feel the titanium bars in your mouth, pinching his other nipple and making him groan. At this rate, it won't take much to reach his limit, his mind going blank as you leave a teasing nip against his warm skin.

Curious hands go towards his pulsing cock, running a gentle finger over the underside of his twitching length. You lightly grazed one metal bar, then a second, and finally a third, Leon's thigh twitching the more you touched him. You continued to run your fingers up and down his body, holding him upward and pressing your thumb harder into his pierced skin. His fingers came to wrap around your wrist, thrusting his hips towards your touch and craving more.

"You want to cum baby? Is that it?", you asked him teasingly, watching as he nodded dumbly and bit his bottom lip.

"Yeah. fuck, please...I need it", hazy blue eyes glanced at your face once more, and you gripped him harder, giving him a squeeze before you started to jerk him off.

He moaned out at the harsh touch, your movements sending him reeling into his climax. You kissed him as he spilled over your hand and stomach, making a mess and hissing against your mouth at the sensitivity of his body afterward. Pulling away, you gave him a kiss on his cheek, reveling in the soft smile he gave you from relief.

"Wanna go again?", you suggested, grinning when he nodded at you enthusiastically.

"Good boy", your hand instantly went back to touch his cock, going down on your knees to give him what he wanted.

[midnightlizard]

Why can't everyone just go away, only you can stay

Wanda Maximoff x gn!reader

Summary: After a bad mission, your girlfirend is there to help you

Warnings: canonical violence, hurt/comfort at it's peak

A/N: I wrote this years ago so I don't really like it, but here it is. Also, I had emo Wanda in mind but it can be any era

Word count: 1518

-

-

"How is that cut? Need any help?"

you raised your head form were you were sitting on the quinjet while mending your forearm, to look at the blonde.

"don't worry I got this, I've had worse, anyway."

you signed, smiling reassuringly.

"okay." Clint sighed.

"I'll do your report, we've held the same position so I'll just have to change some words."

He stopped you before you could interject

"you need some sleep"

and without another word, he went to sit in the pilot's seat, leaving you there.

>>>>

As soon as the team got off the plane, you went straight to your room and locked the door.

Meanwhile, Wanda was with Natasha in the kitchen, preparing dinner for the two of them. They stopped once Steve came into the room.

"hey Steve, already back?"

"the mission ended before the time, so here we are." he answered the assassin's question, while picking up some leftovers from the fridge.

At this, the witch tilted her head "something wrong?"

The captain sighed "I wasn't there, you should ask them yourself"

The two redheads looked at each other, exchanging confused stares.

>>>>

Wanda decided to give you some space, she knew that once you were okay you would be the one coming to her.

Only this time, it didn't happen. Two days have passed and you were still in your room, which meant you hadn't eaten anything.

The other avengers have tried to get you out, like Tony asking for help in the laboratory, or Thor stating he wanted to play some 'Midgard games'.

But they only got silence in return.

The witch took matters into her own hands.

She went in the kitchen, fixing you a quick meal and grabbing two water bottles, before knocking on your door.

No one answered, so she tried again, this time with her voice.

"(Y/N)? It's me, it's Wanda. Please open the door."

she waited a few seconds, before she resumed talking.

"at least take the food, you can't-"

Her voice died in her throat when she heard the door open.

Having her hands full, she used her powers to open it completely and closing it once she was in.

Your room was always messy...but this, Wanda has never seen all this chaos. Clothes were all over the place and everything that was normally on the shelves was now on the floor.

The rays picking through the blinds being the only thing illuminating the room.

You still wore your dirty and bloody suit, whose blood it was she couldn't tell.

You were sitting on the bed, looking at the hands on you lap. The redhead left the food on the nightstand before sitting beside you. She didn't dare touch you, not knowing what reaction it would have led to.

“I didn’t want you to see this.”

You suddenly said, breaking the agonizing silence in the room.

"honey it's okay, I don't care about the mess, I only care that you are fine."

She put her hand on yours, only for you to swiftly getting away.

"well I am, if you didn't know I can heal my body, so even if I get hurt it doesn't matter."

You replied a little harshly. You noticed your tone and looked at Wanda for a brief second but couldn't bring yourself to say sorry, you just didn't want to talk and make everything worse.

Your girlfriend, thankfully, understood the venom in your voice wasn't aimed at her. She couldn't read your mind, no, but she could distinguish volumes and velocity of your thoughts, and with time she was able to associate them with your feelings and emotions.

Loud and messy cries was all the scarlet witch could hear, which only meant one thing, you were scared.

So she tried with the sweetest voice she could master.

"angel, do you want to talk about it?"

You jumped off the bed and started pacing around the room, fidgeting with your fingers.

"I-I had to hold position, but-but there was a bomb. They put a bomb where we were supposed to stay and then, I-I tried to reject- Clint was busy-"

Your poorly formed speech stopped once you felt warm hands on your cold cheeks. You were starting to have a panic attack, sign the sokovian knew all too well.

"please look at me, shh it's okay. You don't have to explain. (Y/N)-"

She took one of your hand and put it on her chest, to let you feel it rising and her heartbeat.

"you're okay love, just follow my breathing, the mission went well, Clint is fine, you are fine, you are here with me you hear me?"

She kept looking into your eyes, searching for any reaction.

At this point you didn't know if she was using her powers or it was her aura, all that mattered was that in minutes you calmed down. As slowly as one could, you loosely wrapped your hands around Wanda's waist.

Once she sure it was okay to move, she made the final step and wrapped you up in a hug, her chin on your head, resting on her chest, while the sokovian run her hands through you hair.

As she tried to move the two of you to bed, the witch heard your arms tighten around her middle, and your flebile voice whispering- "Can we just stay here for a moment?"

"I’m not going anywhere."

>>>>

After probably half an hour you raised your head and without a word, connected your forehead to hers.

Once you opened your eyes, you found her already looking at you with a smile.

"hey."

"hi" Wanda nudged you nose with her own, before connecting your lips in a long but simple kiss, neither of you moving, only slightly smiling.

The woman took your face in her hands

"can I mend your cuts?"

At your nod, the readhead took your hands and brought you to the bathroom and sat you on the sink.

While she was looking for the first aid kit you started fidgeting with your hands.

"something wrong baby?"

She tilted her head, preparing the alcohol on the wadding.

"it's just-" you hesitated for a moment, softly laughing

“I’ve never had someone taking care of me before.

I'm sorry for reacting that way...and for locking myself here"

"it's okay, you won't have to worry about doing it all by yourself anymore, even when you feel like no one is there, I'll always be here, ready to help you, got it?"

"good" she added after you nodded, booping your nose, causing you both to giggle.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked, once silence settled in.

"when have you ever asked?"

So she did.

As you were enjoying the kiss, you suddenly felt the cut on your forehead burning, causing you to pull away.

"ow, what the hell?"

"sorry baby, I have to disinfect it or it's going to get worse" she looked at you sympathetically, which was enough to convince you.

After a short while, you raised your hands, bringing them on the edge of her jeans and opened your legs, to bring her closer. Once she was done she kissed the top of your head.

She grabbed the end of your shirt and slowly started to undress you, only leaving the pants on.

"take a bath love, I'll be right outside, okay?"

>>>

After you got out of shower, you found some pants with your comfort hoodie on the sink, while your suit was nowhere to be found.

When you came back to the bedroom, you found your girlfriend wearing one of your sweatshirt. A smile made its way to your face.

"I kind of wanted to ask you to stay here because I don’t wanna sleep alone tonight, but it looks like you have already decided" you finished with a shrug.

She blurted out a laugh, coming in front of you.

"I didn't want you to sleep alone, and I also missed you, so it's a win win."

The readhead mormored with a blush on her cheeks.

With the grip she had on your hands, Wanda dragged you to bed and made you sit on the edge. "come on, eat something" she encouraged you, putting the plate on your lap. It was nothing too sophisticated but you still ate it within minutes. And once a water bottle was offered to you, you quickly drank it all.

When she was sure you took full care of yourself, well you both did, she laid in bed, getting behind you.

You instinctively turned around and closed your arms around her waist, laying your head on her chest, while she ran her hand through your hair.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

The remark caused you to scoff and her to laugh, before continuing with her speech.

"and I love you, always and forever."

She laughed again when you nuzzled your head in her neck, not knowing how to take direct words of affection.

"goodnight, my love"

This time as a response she heard your breathing even out, meaning you were already asleep, her not being too far from you.

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist - MCU Masterlist

General Masterlist

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── PURSUIT // ONE

Series Synopsis: When your cousin goes missing right before he can challenge the Champion of your region, you must embark on a journey of your own in the hopes that one day, you might finally find him — wherever he may be.

Chapter Synopsis: You decide to embark on a journey. However, when you release the Pokémon that Shoei gave you before he left, you realize that you’ve met her once already.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Barou & Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.3k

Content Warnings: pokémon au except i make the world emo and infest it with blue lockers, angst, character death, familial bonds, found families, male-female FRIENDSHIPS, a slow burn so insane the main love interest isn’t even in a solid amount of chapters, it’s my world i do what i want which means liberties are taken, near death experiences, this story is long bro literally everything happens in it the amount of arcs i have planned is insane, original characters because reader will NOT be the only girl i refuse to write in conditions like that, this is being written as if gen vi is the last generation to come out because i cba to catch up on new pokémon lore

A/N: okay so here’s the ACTUAL first chapter of pursuit (there is a prologue though so please read that if you haven’t yet) LSKDFJSD tbh i was expecting to get further in the story with this one than i actually did but oh well!! anyways the first of reader’s traveling companions will be introduced next chapter so feel free to guess who it is hehe (hint: it is a blue locker)

tag list (send an ask to be added): @sharkissm @koffeekat @noble-17

“You’re a trainer, aren’t you?” the police officer said. She was squinting at your license, which displayed your name and status. You furrowed your brow at her, wondering how that was even relevant, and then slowly, you nodded.

“Yes, I am. One Pokémon,” you said.

“What kind?” she said. The Gogoat by her desk sighed, getting up and spinning in a circle, adjusting its position so that it could lay its head on her lap instead of atop its hooves. You took your Pokéball off of your belt, setting it on the desk in front of you and shrugging.

“No idea. Shoei gave it to me before he left,” you said. “He told me it’s the destructive type, so I shouldn’t release it until I’m ready to go on a journey of my own.”

She wrinkled her nose, muttering something under her breath that you couldn’t quite make out but which probably referred to how you were taking advantage of the league’s goodwill, and then she handed your license back to you.

“You’ve been coming and asking us to look for your cousin, Shoei Barou, for the past couple of years,” she said. “And you get the same answer every time, correct?”

“Yes, but—” you began. She cut you off before you could continue, her expression severe, her fingers resting atop your Pokéball in impatience. They were painted, and the sparkling navy winked in the harshness of the overhead lights.

“Like we previously discussed, you’re a trainer,” she said. “Why don’t you begin your own journey and look for him yourself?”

You had considered the idea before. You had a Pokémon, though you knew not which sort it was, and thanks to Shoei, your registration was already completed, so when it came to legality, there was nothing stopping you.

“I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t know anything about training or battling or — or any of that. And we’re so far from Lumiose that it’s not like I can go to the professor for help.”

“You’re in secondary school, and all they do over there is study. You probably know much more than an average trainer, especially starting out,” she said.

“It’s all theory, though,” you said. “Nothing to do with actual fieldwork.”

She rolled the ball towards you. You caught it before it could fall off the edge of the desk, clipping it back to your belt with a murmured apology.

“Most trainers don’t even have that, but they manage, don’t they? This really is your best option, Miss L/N. Regardless, this station will no longer hear your complaints,” she said. “The so-called case of Shoei Barou isn’t one that we are interested in investigating. There are actualdisappearances and crimes that warrant our attention.”

“I see,” you said. “Well. Thank you for your time.”

The Gogoat huffed as it watched you leave, and you gave it one final backwards glance before the door to the small office shut and you were left standing by yourself in the lobby.

Coumarine City felt smaller nowadays. When you were younger, it had seemed so vast as to be unknowable, but now, you could count the steps between the Pokémon Center, the Gym, the school, and your house without batting an eye. You had changed, Shoei had left, and yet the old footpaths were still exactly the same. It felt incongruous, disingenuous even. You thought that there should’ve been some great marker of the shift, some expansion of the bustling place, but there never was.

“Mother, father,” you said that night when you were all eating dinner together. Your mother’s Espurr was watching you with her wide lavender eyes, though the glare of your father’s Heliolisk was enough to dissuade her from any thievery, and you sat across from your parents, your knife clinking against the edge of your plate when you set it down. “I’m thinking of becoming a trainer.”

“You already are a trainer,” your father said, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

“I mean, going on a journey and all. Like a proper trainer,” you said. The napkin fluttered out of your father’s grasp, and your mother’s eyes widened against her will. They, like Shoei’s parents, did not yet believe that his disappearance was out of the ordinary, but there it was a sort of wishful thinking. None of them considered it to be strange because they did not want it to be. Because that meant that he might be in the kind of trouble that they were powerless to rescue him from, and that powerlessness was something that they were not ready to accept.

“A journey?” your mother said, her voice breaking for a moment. You knew what she was saying, though she did not speak it aloud: that going on a journey was what took Shoei from you all, and that she could not survive it if you vanished, too. You understood. It was why you had delayed for so long — your parents, your dear parents, how could you leave them when you were so ill-prepared, when you did not even have a great desire to do so in the first place?

“Yes,” you said. Your Pokéball, which was still on your belt, warmed again, and you wondered if your Pokémon could understand what you were saying. Was she curious at the prospect of going on such an adventure? Did she long to battle? Or were you simply reading into things too much? The warmth could mean a million things, or it could mean nothing at all, and you’d be none the wiser. “The police department recommended it.”

“Why would they do that?” your father said.

“They told me it’s the only route I have left for finding Shoei,” you said.

“Y/N, you know—”

“No, I don’t!” you burst out before your mother could finish. She frowned at you, clearly taken aback, and you ducked your head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t agree. This isn’t just some run-of-the-mill training jaunt he’s on, and we all know that. If nobody else will do anything, then what choice do I have? He gave me a Pokémon. It’s about time I use her, anyways.”

This time, the ball grew hot enough to almost scald your skin through the fabric of your pants, and that was how you knew for a fact that it wasn’t a figment of your imagination. She was trying to say something, and you had an inkling that it was related to this half-baked plan of yours.

Your parents exchanged looks. Sometimes you thought that they must be able to communicate with their eyes alone, because neither of them said a word, yet within seconds, they were turning towards you in unison, both a peculiar mix of exasperated and concerned and, if you really read into it, proud.

“If you think it’s best, then we can’t exactly stop you,” your mother said.

“We haven’t been able to stop you since Shoei made you a trainer,” your father added, smiling ruefully. “That reckless cousin of yours. I’m sure he had good intentions with it, but he could’ve at least asked first!”

At this you could only chuckle, because all of you knew as well as each other that Shoei wasn’t really the type to ever ask for permission. Not once in his life had he ever done such a thing, and even imagining him doing so felt like you were going against his character.

“I’ll leave soon,” you said. “Once I settle my affairs with the school. They’ll probably be happy to see me go. I’ve never really fit in with the rest of my classmates.”

It didn’t matter that you were one of the best students there. All that your teachers and peers and principal saw was the Pokéball on your belt, which glowed like a beacon, alerting them all to how you were different. You weren’t like the others. You relied on your trainer’s stipend to pay for your tuition, and your Pokémon was the battling sort instead of a docile companion occasionally employed to defend you from a wilder Pokémon’s aggression.

People placed bets about what kind of Pokémon you must have. They never told you, but you were aware of it anyways. Some of them were kinder, presuming that it was an Espurr like your mother’s, or perhaps a Helioptile, the pre-evolution of your father’s Heliolisk. Those who liked you very much — or very little, if they meant it in a mocking way — claimed it must be one of those more elegant types. Perhaps the rainbow serpent Milotic, or a pale, iridescent-winged Butterfree. Others, who found great pleasure in looking down on you, assured their friends that it was a small, mousy Rattata, purple and fat and nervous, with quivering ears and overgrown teeth.

Even you did not know. Shoei had not bothered to tell you before he had left, and you had not yet released her, so whenever people slyly asked you which battle-partner rested on your hip, you could only shrug and tell them that you weren’t certain. This was almost always met with disdain, for if they had braved asking you, then they had the kind of curiosity which couldn’t be sated with such a noncommittal and vague answer.

When you got to school the next day, you rubbed your Gogoat companion on its soft cheek. It cocked its head at you, obviously confused — it didn’t know that this was the last time it would see you, though when you smiled at it sadly and murmured goodbye, its ears drooped, and you thought that it must understand in its own way.

Instead of going to class, you went directly to the principal’s office. She was a tall woman with a face like a Geodude’s, permanently set in a severe frown that was only exacerbated by the slicked-back knot she kept her thinning hair in, and she had never once said a kind word to you. You didn’t know if she was incapable or if it was just that you did not pay enough money to draw it out of her.

“Miss L/N,” she said when you walked in without knocking. She was hunched over a stack of papers, and she did not look up when you entered. In the corner, her black-and-violet Grumpig looked at you, its beady eyes the same shade as the dark pearls on its head and chest, its pink snout twitching in the same distaste it always showed you. “You should be in class.”

“I’m leaving,” you said. You knew it was abrupt even as you said it, but there was no point in delicacy at this late stage. Your mind was made up, and there was little chance that the woman before you would try to stop you, so what cause did you have for tiptoeing around the matter?

“Leaving?” she said. That piqued her interest enough that she looked up at you, her glasses sliding down her nose. Pushing them back up, she narrowed her eyes. “On a journey, I presume?”

“That’s correct,” you said. She didn’t ask you why, only pressing her lips into a thin line, white around the wrinkled edges from the force of it.

“It’s about time,” she said.

“Yes,” you said.

“We at the school wish you luck. Communications will be sent out regarding the reimbursement of your tuition for the rest of the semester,” she said, rattling it off in a robotic, trained voice that almost put you to sleep.

“Thank you,” you replied, just as mechanically. “If that is all?”

“I would suggest you visit the Pokémart before leaving,” she said.

“I was already planning on it,” you said. “But I appreciate your counsel.”

You turned to the door, your fingers resting on the polished handle as you prepared to open it. Before you could push it down, however, the principal cleared her throat, motioning with her hand for you to stop. Her Grumpig’s ears swiveled in distress, which was odd coming from such a self-assured species, and her own expression was a similar blend of anxious and intrigued.

“Hold on,” she said. “Release your Pokémon first. I wish to see it.”

“New policy?” you said, raising an eyebrow at her. As far as you knew, school officials had no right to demand you release your Pokémon for them, especially given that you were leaving the institution, but it wasn’t like you read the code of conduct regularly or anything like that.

To your surprise, she shook her head. “Personal curiosity.”

The principal’s office wasn’t exactly the place you had dreamed of releasing your partner for the first time, but then again it was just as good as any other location, so why delay? Plus, at least this way the Grumpig was there to corral any unruliness should it manifest — some kinds of Pokémon enjoyed testing their trainers, and though you didn’t think Shoei would have given you one of those sorts on purpose, it remained that the dispositions which agreed with him weren’t always the sort that the general populace found tolerable.

“Alright,” you said. Unclipping the ball from your belt, you pressed the seal once to enlarge it, rolling it in your palm while you waited for the principal to give you some kind of signal. She nodded, and you tossed the Pokéball in the air, triggering the mechanism which would release its contents from stasis and allow her to reform in the real world.

Even before your Pokémon had fully coalesced, the Grumpig was squealing in fright, crashing backwards into the wall, the whites of its eyes showing, its breaths shallow as its chest heaved. You frowned, because there was no reason that it should be so frightened of a relatively low-level Pokémon such as yours, but then an eerie howl stabbed into your eardrums and you understood at once.

Your Pokémon came up to just below your waist, and she had short black fur, pointed ears, and a red muzzle. Bony ridges criss-crossed her back, her ankles, and her forehead, giving her a menacing appearance that was only furthered by the knife-sharp fangs peeking out of her mouth and the growl rumbling in the back of her throat.

“Houndour?” you said. At the sound of her name, she shifted towards you, and immediately her tail began wagging, her mouth opening as she panted happily. A lump formed in your throat the longer you stared at her, and then you crouched, wrapping your arms around her muscular shoulders. She smelled spicy and hot but also sweet, the way pepper jelly or cinnamon tasted, and her nose was cold when she pressed it to your cheek in a fond greeting.

“Your Pokémon is a Houndour?” the principal said. Houndour cocked her head at the principal, one ear still turned towards the Grumpig in the corner, the other pricked forwards at the woman.

“Not just any Houndour,” you said, straightening but still keeping a hand atop Houndour’s head. “Shoei’s Houndour’s sister.”

The principal was wary now, she had been ever since you had released Houndour, and for good reason — the species had an ominous reputation, and most people thought that they and their evolutionary counterpart, Houndoom, were beasts sent to drag humans to hell for any perceived wrongdoings. To make things worse, any sense of comfort that her Grumpig might’ve afforded her was vanished, because it could do nothing against Houndour, who as a dark type was immune to psychic attacks.

“How do you know?” she said.

“I know,” you said. Houndour sighed, the exasperated exhale releasing a wisp of smoke that curled and dissipated into the air above her. “Well, that’ll quell the bets. I guess nobody managed to guess correctly.”

“Nobody would’ve!” the principal burst out, taking out a Pokéball of her own and returning the Grumpig before putting the ball in her desk drawer. “Who in their right mind would give a dark type to a beginning trainer?”

“Not all of them are like that,” you said. “You’d know that if you ever read the material that all of your students are forced to sit through. Of course, no one in their right mind would give someone without any other Pokémon a Sneasel or a Purrloin, but as a general rule, you won’t find a Pokémon more loyal to their trainer than a Houndour. Anyways, this one is special.”

It wasn’t her place to question you further, so whistling for Houndour to follow you, you slipped out of the office and left the school behind for good.

As you walked to the Pokémart, you noticed that people gave you a wide berth, eyeing the Pokémon trotting along at your side with no small amount of suspicion. Houndour paid them no mind, though, and so neither did you, humming to yourself, entirely relieved that Shoei knew you well enough to give you her.

“You’re a first-time trainer?” the cashier at the Pokémart said, peering over the counter at Houndour, who blinked back at him innocently. “Okay…I suppose you’ll need potions and some basic Pokéballs, then. Twenty of each should last you until you can make it to the next town, I’d say, if not further.”

“That sounds good,” you said.

“Do you want to pay for those on account or in cash?” he said.

“What does on account mean?” you said.

“It’s a way for trainers to get necessary supplies even if they’re lacking the immediate funds. Basically, everybody who buys from a Pokémart gets an account created for them, and they can choose to put their purchases on that account and pay them off at a later date,” he said.

“That sounds easily exploitable by someone who doesn’t mean to ever pay back,” you said.

“Balances are due every month, the day after stipends are released. You’ll accrue interest on them after that, and if it’s been too long, your account will be frozen and authorities will be contacted,” he said with a shrug. “It really is meant to help people out, but the choice is yours.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to come back here in a month’s time regardless, so it doesn’t matter,” you said.

“No, no, they can be paid off at any official Pokémart,” he said. “Of course they took that into consideration.”

“I see,” you said. “Then put it all on my account, if that’s alright.”

“Perfectly fine by me,” he said, typing something into his computer, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Your stipend for the month had gone into your tuition, and until you got your reimbursements figured out, you’d rather not waste any more money unless it was an emergency. Besides, if the option was there, you supposed you might as well familiarize yourself with it.

“Is that everything, do you think?” you said.

“Unless you want an item for your Pokémon to hold in battle,” he said.

“An item?” you said. Although you knew so much about Pokémon biology and various scientific theories regarding them, you hardly had a clue about even these most basic concepts of battle. They weren’t considered important for those of you at the school to learn; after all, besides you, no one was even registered to be a trainer, so why would they waste the time?

The cashier snorted. “I guess you really are a first-time trainer.”

“Obviously,” you said. “Why would I lie about that?”

“Pokémon can hold items — according to league rules, it’s a maximum of one, though it’s also fine if you don’t give them any — that’ll aid them in battle. Some trainers will give them berries that’ll negate side effects from various moves, and others will give them stones to hold that’ll boost their stats. It’s up to you, though. Plenty of people don’t give them any items at all. You’ll have to get rid of the one your Houndour already has if you want to use one while battling, though,” he said.

“What do you mean? She doesn’t have any items,” you said. He clicked his tongue, pointing at Houndour’s neck.

“That counts, even if it doesn’t do anything,” he said. You followed the line of his index finger, furrowing your brow when you realized he was referencing the silky red collar tied in a bow at her scruff. There was a stone embedded in it that sparkled at her throat, and even before the cashier could say something, you were shaking your head.

“No, that stays,” you said. “It’s important. Maybe not for battle, but for me.”

“Alright,” the cashier said, clearly unaffected. “It’s your decision. Here are the potions and Pokéballs you asked for.”

He slid the assortment of things across the counter, and you swept them into your bag, which had already been emptied of your books and the rest of your school supplies. Waving at him, you exited the Pokémart, making your way to your house for what would probably be the last time in a while.

“You’re quite a bit bigger than the last time I saw you,” you said to Houndour as you walked, scratching her under the chin idly when you reached the road and had to wait for a car to pass by. “When’d Shoei get around to capturing you, too, huh?”

Your father had taken off of work to wish you farewell, and your mother was at home as she always was, so you did not even have to call out their names when you entered the house. They were waiting in the foyer, Heliolisk and Espurr by their sides, though when Houndour padded in behind you, Espurr hissed, darting to hide behind your mother’s leg.

“A Houndour?” your father said, raising his eyebrows. Houndour barked at him; you couldn’t quite tell what the bark meant, but it was a harsh enough sound that your father winced at it. “What was Shoei thinking?”

“I know her,” you said. “That’s probably it.”

“What do you mean?” your mother said. “Since when?”

“Uh, it’ll probably make you angry,” you said.

“Huh?” your father said. “It’s not like we can do anything about it now.”

“You’ve got us curious,” your mother added.

“It’s kind of a long story,” you admitted. “But as with most things, it begins and ends with Shoei.”

Your cousin lived on the very edge of Coumarine City, on the outskirts right by the winding road to the cliffs and the coast, and so whenever your family visited his, the two of you would sneak off to the beach to play. It was dangerous, because neither of you had Pokémon, but with your youth came this notion of impunity, and since nothing had happened thus far, both of you believed that it would continue in that way until the end of time.

“I’m going to be a trainer one day,” Shoei told you, helping you down from the narrow ledge that you had to leap from to make it to the sand of the shore. You were still too frightened to jump by yourself, and he was patient enough that he did not tease you for it, only taking your hand and letting you clutch his arm for balance.

“Of course,” you said. “I will, too. It’s not uncommon.”

“Not for the stipend,” he said. “I’m going to be a proper trainer, with a full team and everything. You’ll see. I’ll do the league challenge and join the conference once I have all of my badges, and then after that I’ll beat the Elite Four and Mr. Mikage. Then I’ll be Champion. The best trainer in all of Kalos. That’s what I mean.”

“How, though? Neither of your parents have battling Pokémon, so you can’t use their partners to catch your own, and we’re way too far for you to go to the professor’s lab in Lumiose and get one of the official starters from there,” you said.

“I don’t know,” Shoei said. “But I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” you said.

“Do you think I can do it?” he said.

“You can do anything,” you said. His chest puffed out a bit at that, and he grinned at you. He hardly ever smiled, so you took it as a treat, beaming back at him.

“That’s right,” he said. “I can do anything.”

“Ooh, look at these!” you said, stopping in your tracks and bending over to dig around in the sand, pulling out two twin stones with a flourish.

It was your favorite hobby, finding shells and pretty things to admire before you tossed them back into the sea, but there was something different about these two. There were clouds in the air, and yet they shone as brightly as if the sun’s rays were concentrated on them, a soft pink shade like dawn, cut through with a streak of black as dark as a shadow. Weathered by the tides, they were slick in your hand, and you dropped them into Shoei’s pocket for safekeeping.

“You want to take those home? Normally you throw shards of sea glass back into the ocean,” Shoei said.

“They’re nicer than normal,” you said. “You can keep them, if you want. Like a present.”

He scoffed. “I’ll probably just throw them away.”

You pouted. “If that’s what you prefer.”

He could only maintain his gruff expression for a moment before softening and ruffling your hair. “I was only joking. I’ll put them on my bookshelf and think of you every time I see them.”

Immediately, you brightened, because back then your mood’s rise and fell was almost entirely dependent on him. He noticed, but he only wrinkled his nose at you, grabbing you by the back of the shirt before you could fall into a tide pool.

“Watch where you’re going,” he said, holding you in place as you craned your neck in wonder. The water was so clear you could see every little plant and shell growing in its depths; at the bottom, there were even a Krabby scuttling about, though when it noticed you, it dashed back to hide amongst the stones, too shy to provoke you even though you had no Pokémon of your own.

“It’s so pretty, Shoei,” you said. “Can we look for more?”

“Sure,” he said. “Our parents won’t be expecting us for a bit, so as long as we don’t go too far and remember the way back home, it shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Yay!” you said, tugging on his sleeve. “Let’s go that way! Or, wait, no. That way!”

He poked you in the side as you tried to make up your mind. “How about both? Just choose one to start with, and then we can head in the other direction afterwards.”

“Good idea,” you said, picking at random and setting off with Shoei in tow.

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon wandering up and down along the line of pebbly sand where the waves broke, pointing out bits of shells and smaller Pokémon to one another when you saw them. It was dangerous, no doubt about it, but the danger added a certain thrill to the otherwise innocuous activity, and so neither of you minded too much.

Some hours passed — was it two or three? You didn’t know — before you heard a bone-chilling sound, one which wasn’t supposed to be heard around Coumarine City but which was engraved into both of your brains from various horror films regardless.

“Was that a Houndour?” you said, pressing closer to Shoei. “I thought that they were only found around Geosenge Town, though?”

You were suddenly hyper-aware of the sun setting in the distance, as well as the fact that we had somehow managed to travel far enough from your typical spot that it would take you ages to find your way home. The Houndour howled again, and Shoei scowled deeply, the lines of it etched into his forehead.

“Let’s investigate,” he said.

“What? Shouldn’t we be running away from it?” you said, yelping and following as he charged towards the source of the sound.

“Either it’s a trainer’s Pokémon, in which case I want their advice about going on a journey, or it’s somewhere it’s not supposed to be, in which case…” he trailed off, a determined set to his mouth as the two of you ran. “We just need to be quick so we can get home in time.”

It was a few minutes later that you skidded to a stop in front of a small cave with a Houndour sitting in front of it, howling and howling. Now that you were faced with the Pokémon, you realized it was not as large and intimidating as the movies and its reputation made it sound; for some reason, its cry, too, felt more mournful than anything.

When it noticed you and Shoei, it flattened its ears and tucked its tail, rocking back on its haunches and baring its teeth with a warning growl. Shoei held out a hand, averting his eyes and speaking in a soft whisper so unlike his typical rough tone.

“We only want to help you,” he said. “How’d you end up here, anyways?”

The Houndour stared at him for a heart-stopping instant. You were as still as you could be — even if the Pokémon didn’t seem as demonic as it did in the movies, it remained that it was considerably more powerful than a Krabby could ever hope to be, and furthermore had a famously more aggressive temperament than the skittish denizens of the tide pools.

Flames coated the Houndour’s mouth, and you cringed away from it, but Shoei was still, not gazing at it directly but refusing to back down, either. The Houndour took him in before abruptly extinguishing the fire, tilting its head towards the mouth of the cave and then whining at you entreatingly.

“Sounds like he wants us to follow him,” Shoei said, ducking so he could enter the cave. You crept in behind him, narrowing your eyes against the darkness; although you did not complain, the Houndour must’ve sensed your discomfort, because with a rumbling from deep within its stomach, it formed an ember, holding it in its mouth instead of spitting it out so that it could light the path forward.

When you reached the hollowed out main room of the cave, the Houndour stopped, barking and pawing at the stone. Shoei brushed the sand off of the Houndour’s back and then knelt so that he could inspect what the Pokémon had brought you to see: another Houndour, this one lying limply on the cold, stony floor.

“There’s two of them?” you said.

“If I had to guess, they got separated from their pack during that storm we had a few days ago. The rain would’ve washed away all of the scents they found familiar, so their best option was trying to find some kind of shelter,” Shoei said. “That must be how she got hurt.”

The smaller Houndour’s paw was matted and sticky with blood, hence why she could not get up, though she did lift her head a little, wagging her tail at you when she noticed you were there.

“They’ve come so far,” you said. “Why didn’t they stop at Shalour? That’s in between here and Geosenge.”

“With all of those birds hanging around there? They would’ve been Mandibuzz food in a heartbeat, especially the injured one,” he said.

“I see,” you said. Mandibuzz weren’t native to the Kalos region, but the gym leader of Shalour City specialized in flying types, so he was always introducing new species to the area. “What should we do?”

“The wound’s old. If we can clean it off, it’ll heal on its own. She probably has Flash Fire for an ability, so a burn won’t do her any harm, which means the brother can cauterize it without an issue,” he said, scooping the Houndour up without much ceremony. Normally, it’d be impossible, but she was small for her kind, and Shoei had always been stronger than most his age.

The older Houndour lit the way as you emerged onto the beach, where Shoei found a nearby tide pool, using the briny water to rinse the blood from the wound. The female Houndour was trembling, no doubt because the water was an unpleasant feeling for a fire type such as herself, but there was nothing to be done about it besides working quickly, and admirably, she did not make a sound the entire time Shoei was working.

“This is the kind of thing you have to deal with as a trainer,” he said once the paw was cleaned and the pink gash was exposed to the sun. “Of course, a potion would cure this in a minute, but we don’t have any on hand, so it’ll have to wait. Hey, you. Can you use Ember on her injury?”

The older Houndour seemed uncertain, but to your surprise, he did not protest, only creeping forward and nudging his sister in apology before breathing a fire the size of your palm directly onto the wound. Curiously, she did not react beyond glancing at the light it gave off, and Shoei scratched behind her ears.

“Is that the effect of Flash Fire?” you said.

“Yup,” he said, waiting for the flame to die out and then lifting the Houndour in his arms again. “It’s common amongst Houndour.”

“What does it do, exactly?” you said.

“Gives them immunity to fire-based attacks,” he said. “All in all, it makes sense, given that they hunt in tandem. It wouldn’t do for the pack to injure its own members while chasing after prey, yeah? In fact, fire only boosts their special attacks.”

“Special attacks?” you said.

“Ah, it’s a league term for non-physical attacks,” he said. “They needed a way to differentiate it for bettors, since most Pokémon are only good in one area or the other.”

“I get it now,” you said. “So, like, being hit with an Ember would make her own Ember stronger?”

“Exactly,” he said, setting the Houndour down where you had found her and patting you on the head. “Good job. You’ll make a great trainer yourself someday. Maybe almost as good as me.”

“I don’t want to be a trainer,” you said. “I just want to live at home with everyone and go to school and be happy.”

“Is that so?” he said. “Then that’s what you should do.”

Arranging the Houndour into a more comfortable position, he turned to the older one, a serious expression on his face. The Houndour was still, his tail held straight in the air — alert, wary, but not distressed. You knew that much about Pokémon behavior from your early-level classes.

“Is there an easier way to our house from here?” he said to the Houndour. “Take us to it if there is.”

“How would it even know where we live?” you said.

“There’s very few Pokémon with a better sense of smell than the Houndoom line,” he said. “Go on, then, Houndour. Take us home. She’ll be alright for the few minutes you’re gone.”

The older Houndour gave his sister a worried look, but he must’ve felt as though he owed Shoei a debt, for he slunk out of the cave with his nose against the ground, nostrils flared as he tried to pick out a trail. You and Shoei watched for a few minutes before the Houndour suddenly froze, raising one of his front paws and extending his muzzle forward.

“What’s he doing?” you said.

“Pointing,” Shoei said, a tinge of disbelief in his voice. “I knew the Growlithe in the police force are trained to do it, but I didn’t realize that Houndour do it naturally.”

“I bet Houndour would be a great police Pokémon if people weren’t so scared of it,” you said, your sentiments towards the species far more charitable now, as the two of you followed the Houndour up a winding path that you had never even known existed.

Before the sun had even finished setting — which was miraculous, given how close to the horizon it had been when you had set out — the Houndour had led you to Shoei’s backyard. You could hear your parents talking and laughing with one another, contemplating calling you both back for dinner, and you were about to run inside when you realized Shoei was still lingering back.

Pausing in your tracks, though you doubted he noticed that you were listening to his conversation, you tried to quiet your breathing so that you could hear what he was saying to the Houndour, which was as motionless then as it had been when the two of you had first found it.

“Meet me here in a couple of days,” he said. “I’ll get a potion by then and use it on your sister’s paw so she doesn’t have any lasting side effects from the injury.”

The Houndour sneezed at Shoei, which you supposed was his way of assenting. Shoei laughed, which was a rare sound and also a wonderful one; then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him move to offer the back of his hand to the small Pokémon, who sniffed it cautiously.

“Hey, Houndour. I’m going to be a trainer one day — a Champion, in fact,” he said. “So don’t go home, okay? Even once your sister is better, don’t go home. Find me again, and come with me.”

The Houndour did not make any moves of agreement nor dissent; instead, he just disappeared into the lengthening shadows of the night, leaving you and Shoei behind in the trimmed grass of the lawn, where no wild Pokémon would ever dare to tread.

A few moments later, though, the night was split with a howl, high and sinister and uncanny, and once more Shoei laughed, because that was all the answer that he needed.

[fridaynightmassacre]

literally just want a emo boy x coquette!reader 😔

emo boy doesn't know it but he's quite popular with the girls bc of his pretty face and his long messy hair, and the piercings on his face and his tats on his body makes the girls fold but they never actually interacted with him and the reader is like very quiet, not popular bc she just transferred, just in her little pink world until emo boy is like seated next to her??? anyways they talk blah blah blah become friends and then they both eventually start to like each other. ANYWAYS reader invites emo boy over to her house to HANG OUT and/or play some games or something and then emo boy out of nowhere starts flirting with reader, making suggestive jokes or whatever. you can finish the rest, I am absolutely sorry if this was confusing or what not, it sounds so much better in my head 😭

ANON. YOUR BEAUTIFUL BRAIN.

length: roughly 2.4k words

“Yeah, he’s like..” Emily, your closest (and currently only) friend had said to you before cutting herself off to glance across each side of the essentially empty hallway, shooting you a glance she smiled deviously. Leaning in slightly and pushing up the bridge of her short oval glasses, Emily continued to speak, albeit in a much more hushed tone.

 “He’s like this totally emo guy, the whole package y’know? That spiky shaggy hair and dark clothes, and his face is all pierced. Like, both sides of his nose and everything.” 

Emily paused, placing a finger on her chin in a moment of thought, once it seemed she had recalled what she was looking for, she resumed. “I've heard he’s even got tattoos! Like, I mean I've only heard that, since I personally have only seen him like all covered up, but Miyah- you know Miyah? She’s in our lit class. But yeah, Miyah said she saw him last week in a tank top and he’s like completely tatted. Oh! And he’s super tall!-” you raised your hand and mumbled when she paused “Emily?” she tilted her head to the side in response. 

“I just..asked who he was, since we’ve been seated together. Thank you for telling me! But i’m not sure I needed much more than ‘emo’ to assure Emily (and to reassure yourself) that her prattle wasn’t a big deal, you forced out a laugh, wincing when it came out a smidge louder than intended. You had only been here a week or so, and hoped you wouldn't start the next one with no friends at all. Emily slapped her hand over her mouth, face red with embarrassment. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry-” in her silence you attempted to reach a hand out and place it on her shoulder, a small piece of comfort, however, she had decided to launch herself at you and squeeze as tightly as she could. While you spluttered and wheezed a breath Emily squealed and buried her face into your shoulder. 

“I’m so embarrassed! You must think i'm totally guy crazy, right? I SWEAR I'm not! He’s just- you’ll see!” In response, you tapped her back to signal a need for breath, coincidentally at the same time as the warning bell for class rang. Emily released you and stepped back, ever the dramatic, she sighed wistfully and clutched her chest. “Just as I was preparing to gush about him again, here comes your cue to leave!” a sigh from her. “Well, I guess it can’t be helped-” Emily punctuated the pause with a fake sniffle, obviously meant to elicit laughter. You giggled sweetly, to which she seemed pleased. “I guess i’ll see you tomorrow, and text you after class?” you offered, tilting your head off to the direction you were headed, Emily nodded, and with a pair of exchanged goodbyes you split paths.

Of course, as it always has been regardless of the time you leave, you’re extremely early to class. There isn’t a seat filled besides your teachers, who sat with his back to you reading off of his phone and copying the contents onto a notebook labelled “teach”. You slid into your assigned seat, as gently and as quietly as possible in hopes that if you’re quiet enough, you’ll be forgotten when class commences. You’ve never even been particularly shy, just quiet, but the way the other girls in your class had whispered when the groups were announced, and how Emily had spoken of this guy made your chest squeeze. Popular guys tended to be assholes, and while you had never spoken to anyone really emo before, you assumed that popularity affected them the same. 

You decided that if perhaps if you focused on looking your best, some of your anxiety would decrease. And so, you produced your cherry printed compact mirror along with your tinted lip balm, applying it sparsely to achieve the perfect plump, freshly kissed looking lips. To make them more juicy, you dabbed on one of the clear glosses in your bag, you spritzed a nice vanilla scented perfume back over the spots you had that morning and smoothed out your pretty, flowy, knee length off white (although in some lighting, it leant to more of a pale yellow) cotton babydoll vintage nightdress you had worn along with a cherry patterned cardigan, and white tights. You tapped your flats against the floor, dressing extra femininely was always something that brang you confidence, and by god you needed it now.

To fill out more of the time before the other students rushed in, you slowly organised your notebooks by colour, it seemed you had gotten so engrossed in whether if organising by the rainbow was the way, or if organising from light to dark was prettier that you hadn’t even noticed when the room filled, or when the seat beside you scraped backwards against the floor, and a body filled it. Yes, you didn’t notice much of anything at all, until a pencil tapped the closest of the two books you had been swapping back and forth. Your head snapped to the side, chewing your lip in embarrassment over being caught, as you raked your eyes up the torso who was beside you. 

“Ah- Alex, right?” you managed to force out, more from intimidation than infatuation. Emily had in fact been completely right in her description, he was quite tall. If you had to give an estimate (although you had never been good at guessing heights, god bless you) you would have guessed around 6 foot 3 or 6 foot 4. His hair brushed against his left eye and travelled down to his collarbones, which had been covered with a rather tight fitting t-shirt, displaying some band name you had no chance of deciphering. He wore a simple silver necklace, paired with a studded bracelet on one hand, and a black rubber wristband on the other. What Emily had not informed you of was the fact Alex had a surprisingly shy smile.

“Yeah, i know who you are- oh god. That sounds creepy huh?”Alex offered you a smile, flipping his head to the side to push his bangs out from his eye. You giggled. “Yeah, a little bit.” You swallowed thickly, he seemed nice, and you wanted to make a good impression now that you knew he wasn’t a total jerk right off the bat. “I’m sorry for not noticing you- and well, everyone- come in! I was just kind of…” you gestured to your arrangement of notebooks to which Alex nodded at gravely. “Ah yes, the deeply intriguing task of arranging books by colour.” he smirked, and a giggle bubbled its way up from your throat, and out of your mouth. 

The rest of the class speed by quickly, with the two of you chatting, joking, laughing and ultimately powering through your shared assignment so quickly that it had been completed before the teacher could even announce you were to work on it outside of school. As the rest of the class packed up their books and stationary, you sheepishly smiled and turned to alex. “Do you want to come over?I mean, we’ve already finished the assignment, but you’re really fun to talk to. We could play games or something?” Alex returned your smile, his long and thin fingers playing with the rip over the knee on his jeans.

 “Yeah, sounds fun. Do you take the bus?” 

“I do, yeah!”

“Sounds cool then, I'll get an uber home or something after.” You smiled and nodded vigorously, quickly packing yourself up and waiting for your new companion to do the same. After a moment of Alex essentially just sliding his things from the table into his open bag below, the two of you pushed through the crowd of students, Alex’s head bobbing above most of them. Once you had successfully escaped the maze that was your school (and the either jealous or incredulous looks from your female classmates), it was simply a matter of getting on the bus, exchanging glances and small smiles as you waited for your stop that had of course, been conveniently located at the front of your small house.

“I’m not gonna have to meet your parents, am i?” Alex joked, sliding out of his seat. 

“Of course not, I live alone!” You smiled brightly, oblivious to Alex’s jaw dropping.

“In this economy?”

“Oh, the house was my aunts, she’s also paying the bills until I finish school and find a job.” Although still amazed, and perhaps slightly jealous, Alex understood this more. He made a sound of acknowledgement and rolled back his shoulders, swinging his arms by his side as you produced your house keys from your cardigan pocket and unlocked the front door. 

“Sweet place.” Alex whistled, eyes tracing every corner of your entryway and living room. “So, where are we hanging out?” you slipped your shoes off (prompting Alex to hurriedly do the same). And pointed to one of the doors off to the side. “My room, I don't use much else of the house, except for when my parents or aunt visit, so pretty much everything of mine is in my room.” Alex nodded, idly reaching up a hand to his face to fiddle with his snake bites as you finally undid the last buckle on your shoe. Gesturing his arm out in a “go on” motion, you smiled and led the short way across the room to your door, leading him inside to your quite frankly, adorable room.

“I like it, very….vintage.” Alex mused, before flopping backwards onto your bed, the force making your pillows bounce. You laughed, grabbing a few game disks out from your collection and two controllers on your way to sit next to him. “What do you wanna play? I’ve got multiplayer and single player…” you trailed off as you flipped through the multiple options, ranging from girly games to retro horror. “Oh, sweet! I didn’t know anyone else here was even aware that Zombie Driver existed!” chimed Alex, grabbing the disc case out of your hands. “Oh, yeah! It’s my dads one, but we played it a lot when I was a kid, so i brang it with me! Is that the one you wanna play?” you giggled when Alex took the disc out of your hand, his expression and excitement reminding you of a kid on christmas morning. “Yeah!- ah, sorry for snatching, i know its rude” This made you giggle again, rolling your eyes as you turned the console on and trading the controller for the disc. You jumped off your bed and slid across the floor, swooping down to open the case and slide the disc into the open slot just in time. 

Alex whooped when you joined him back on the bed, occasionally glancing over at you with when he beat something particularly hard and pouting cartoonishly when he died and had to hand the controller over to you. The two of you eventually settled on almost a rhythm of glances and smiles, pouts and groans. It was calm, and almost domestic. Something out of a tooth rottingly sweet fluffy fanfiction. The thought was enough to make you chuckle into your fist, causing Alex to look over at you to see what was so funny, and die horrifically in the game. ‘Wh- that was totally on purpose! You distracted me!” He laughed, you laughed harder in turn, shaking your head frantically. “That’s so not fair! You can’t use the fact you’ve got a cute laugh to get your turn faster!” 

You felt your face heat up, and Alex knew he had you. “I mean it, you can’t use being pretty to cheat either.” He smirked, leaning in ever so slightly. You tried to speak, but you could only smile shyly and turn your head to the side, tucking your hair behind your ear and glancing at him. “Oh, back to miss mysterious from school huh? Or did i get you all shy from just saying you’re pretty?” to this you snorted, “don’t tease me! I didn’t mean to make you lose! You could’ve simply asked me what was so funny.” You lifted your head in false indignation, and Alex scoffed. “I think i’ll tease you as much as i liked, you didn’t mind it the first time.” And with the way he looked at you them, all of a sudden it seemed the game had been forgotten. As well as everything else in the world, it was just you and Alex in the small bedroom. When you didn’t respond, Alex placed the controller to the side of him and craned his neck down to meet your gaze. 

“Well?” Alex tilted his head, brown eyes staring deep into your own,when you broke eye contact your eyes immediately darted down to where his shirt had ridden up slightly you could see the deep V going down into his jeans. The sight caused you to gulp, mouth dry when you looked back into his eyes. “My god, you’ve known me one day and you’re already staring at my dick?” your face tightened and felt so hot you knew for sure that it must be so incredibly red. And your fears were confirmed when Alex leant back and cackled to the ceiling. 

“I’m sorry!” you squeaked, grabbing a pillow to smother yourself with. “I d-didn’t know you were ACTUALLY looking!” Alex managed to push out between hysteric fits of laughter, you groaned and threw the pillow at him. Unfortunately, the tousled hair it caused and the bright red and slightly sweaty face he had from laughing caused you to have even more perverted thoughts. As though he could read your mind, Alex waggled his eyebrows at you. “Oh my gODDD” you threw another pillow at him. He caught it this time, placing it down next to where you were and laying on it. “My bad, I'll stop. It’s just you look cute when your face is all red, and when you throw shit at me.” you leant over to the bedside table, grabbing a paperweight. You raised an eyebrow quizzically and when Alex shook his head vigorously with “no!”s tumbling out of his mouth, you cackled yourself and placed the small weight back behind you. Alex huffed, flipped his bangs again, and looked up at you for once. The two of you exchanged smiles as the sun began to set behind the clouds and you realised how late it was. 

“So, wanna stay the night?”

apologies if tbis sucks I wrote it all in one sitting no beta read no edit its 1am help me

[dawn-moths]

"Chanel Perfume"

CHAPTER 3

Tomura & Dabi x Female Reader

word count: 30,800+

part 1 * part 2 * part 3 * …

(Following the success of your trio’s first big robbery, the three of you decide to keep up with the good luck you’ve seemingly found yourselves in. Between getting high off adrenaline and laying low to avoid attracting attention from the cops that have begun poking their noses into your neck of the woods, you further explore your relationships with both Tomura and Dabi. However, when Tomura goes on an overnight supply run for your upcoming mission, you and Dabi end up getting closer than you ever could’ve previously imagined.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! pretty plot heavy with some smut, oral sex (both male and female receiving), alcohol consumption, drug addiction and abuse, reader has trauma, mentions of suicide attempts, mentions of child abuse and abusive parents, reader is estranged from her family, inspired by the music video for “365 Fresh” by Triple H, songs mentioned in this fic are “Chanel Perfume” by Derik Fein and “My Heart” by Twin Wild.

*ao3 mirror*

***

His head is leaned back over the edge of the tub, eyes peacefully closed as you run cold water through his hair. It drips down his neck, little blue-black rivulets racing each other over his tattooed skin before they slip beneath the collar of his tattered t-shirt and disappear, the logo for some old emo band printed on the front. You take this rare moment of gentle tranquility to watch him, studying his face. The rise of his cheekbones, the curve of his cupid’s bow, the sharpness of his chin.

Then those clear blues flutter open, catch you staring, and he takes a long beat to study you right back. Finally, he says, a lulled breathiness to his usually jagged, viper’s strike of a voice, “Is it done yet?”

Snapping out of your trance, you swallow and blink back embarrassment. “Uh, I think so,” you reply, quickly standing to fetch the rough old bath towel lazily folded and placed on the edge of the sink, holding it out for him to take.

As Dabi dries his hair, now freshly dyed thanks to your expertise, he also stands, heading over to the sink and causing you to sidestep so he can take a look in the mirror. The upper left corner has a thin crack cutting through it, the glass speckled with the ghosts of precipitation that haven’t yet been wiped away. A few faded smudges of indigo spot the stainless steel basin of the sink. You tell him some acetone nail polish remover should get rid of it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, too preoccupied with judging your handiwork, making sure there’s none of that telltale white still peeking through at the roots. “Everything in here is old anyway…”

You take a seat on the closed lid of the toilet as you continue to watch him, gaze following the way his big, slender hands run through the back of his damp hair, tousling it around to rouse the spikes back to life. A carnation is inked over the top of his right hand, the image suddenly striking you as out of place amidst all the flames and stylized text and other odds and ends that mark his flesh.

He cracks a smirk, side-eyes your reflection in the mirror where he already knows you’re watching him. “You did a pretty decent job, huh?” he asks rhetorically.

“Well, I am a hairdresser,” you remind him. Then, to yourself, under your breath and forlorn, “Well… was, anyway…”

Gaze turning back to his reflection, Dabi huffs out a cruel exhale of a laugh and says, “You’re still hung up on that?” You flash him a slightly wounded look but he continues. “Jeez… Didn’t know working in a shithole barber shop was your dream job. Guess forty thousand dollars don’t help make that loss any easier.”

It wasn’t my dream job, you want to snap back. But it was my normal. 

It was your normal and now it was all gone.

“Whatever,” you reply, curt and cold, standing from the toilet and going to stride past him. “I’m gonna go see if Tomura wants a haircut—”

He grabs your wrist as you pass him, the sudden, unexpected contact stopping you in your tracks, though his grip is loose. And you’re looking at him. And he’s looking at you. And, for a moment, it’s just the two of you standing alone in the tiny bathroom beneath the dim yellow light.

“Scissors are in the kitchen…” he speaks, letting you free as his voice, low and almost shy, disrupts the thick silence that has gathered between you two.

You don’t give any acknowledgement to that statement. You just walk away, hoping to slow your quick-fire pulse before either of you starts getting any other ideas.

***

ONE WEEK AGO…

Twenty-four hours ago, you’d been icing bruised wrists and smudging lipstick and mascara across your face. You’d been gearing up for a risky robbery that might just cost you your life if things didn’t go according to plan.

Yet, somehow, even with the “plan” going to hell and back again all within the first thirty minutes or so, you’d come out on the other side in one piece. And, not only that, you also now had about fourteen-thousand and three-hundred dollars more to your name. That was to say, after the forty-three thousand grand prize had been split three ways.

“Hey…” Tomura greeted you through a wide yawn. It was the afternoon after the cash had been counted and you’d all now caught up on some much needed sleep.

“Hey,” you responded, quiet and through a sparing smile. You’d been curled up on the couch, enjoying the silence the place collected while the boys had been resting following the all-nighter it had taken to crack the safe. You’d done a little more digging into Dabi’s things— found some books, a deck of cards, some old sketchbooks containing what you could only assume were ideas for tattoos he either had gotten or still wanted, and, last but not least, at the very bottom of a scuffed wooden box buried beneath it all, a faded photograph containing the remnants of a family, their faces burned out as if someone had held a lighter beneath just to watch the images warp and blacken, all except for one.

It was a little boy, perhaps around the age of ten.

He had the same sapphire eyes and, now you knew, snow white hair as Dabi did.

You put the photo back in the box, face down just like you’d found it, closed it, and reburied it back beneath all the dog-eared books.

But, since finding it, no matter how hard you tried to forget about it, to pretend you’d never even seen it, you couldn’t.

It was easy to ignore the fact that all of you, the outcasts of society, had once belonged to families. Had parents. Maybe even a sibling or two.

It had been so long since you’d thought about the little girl you once had been, scared and unloved and just trying to survive. But, looking at the boy in that photo, there was a strange part of you that, in hindsight, didn’t feel so alone.

“What’cha got there?” Tomura gestured to the book currently in your hands— the one you’d decided to omit from the paperback burial and take a gander at to pass the time— some mediocre horror novel likely adopted from the discount bin at a bookstore or swiped from the edge of someone’s yard sale.

You held the cover up to show him and he scoffed at the cheesy-looking font, coming over to join you on the couch. He took the book as you held it out to him. “Wow…” he said, sarcasm already detectable in his tone, “And he knows how to read? Guy’s just full of surprises, isn’t he?”

You snickered at the comment, grabbing the book back before your page was lost.

“It’s not half bad, actually,” you said. Then, with a little more honesty, “Well, actually, some of the descriptions are kinda gross and the main character keeps making dumb decisions, but the overall plot has potential.”

“Oh yeah?” Tomura leaned in closer to you, as if trying to get a peek at one of the paragraphs, but then you closed the book and set it aside, not caring about losing your place anymore. It’s not like you planned on actually finishing it anyway. Instead, you cupped his cheek and lightly guided his head down to rest on your shoulder, stroking your fingers through his fluffy silver waves, catching on a few knots.

“You should really let me cut your hair sometime,” you suggested, remembering his denial to your request the last time you’d asked. It was nearly down to his shoulders, and while he didn’t look bad with long hair necessarily, you still figured a little trim couldn’t hurt.

“Later…” he mumbled, turning his face in towards your neck, comforted by your scent and your body’s warmth. And then his arms were wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to him, and all you had to do was melt into his touch, both of you feeling safe within each other’s embrace.

You stayed like that for a long time, long enough to drift off into a light sleep, exhaustion still clinging to you like the dust that settles after being stirred up by a breeze, only ever shifting, never truly leaving.

A few hours later, the sky still bright with the last few shades of daylight, you stirred to a low, indistinguishable whimpering sound.

Carefully, so as to not disturb him, you stealthily shimmied from Tomura’s grasp, making sure to lay his head down in a comfortable position now that your shoulder would no longer be serving as its resting place, and cautiously shuffled further down the maze of halls and cubicles to investigate. The closer you approached, the more the pitiful sounds began to sound like words, though what exactly they were was still mostly indistinguishable.

“…Don’t…”

The voice was broken with a pained whine, high and trembling.

“…Please…”

The syllables were slurred but still held a sense of urgency, as if they were trying to escape before they were choked on.

“…I won’t…”

You turned the corner into what you now recognized as Dabi’s room, finding the spindly length of his form curled in on itself, blanket throw askew and limbs tensing periodically as his brow twitched into a furrow and a frown tugged down at the corners of his barely parted lips.

The moment you actually saw his mouth move, witnessing as the words, “…Somebody help, please…” were muttered out through a shaky exhale, something inside you flexed cold and sharp with a disturbed kind of sympathy.

You crept closer, lowering to kneel before his place on the floor, a hand reaching out to shake him awake as the next round of pleas began to spill from him, but the moment you made contact with his shoulder, Dabi’s eyes snapped open and he flinched back from your palm.

“What—? What happened?” he blurted out, panic stricken and shallowly panting. He tried to blink through the dim darkness that filled his little cubby of a room, one of the few cubicles with a makeshift ceiling to help keep out the daylight, and register the silhouette crouched before him.

“It’s just me. It’s ok…” you cooed, keeping a bit more distance now to give him space but wanting so badly to comfort him. “Everything’s ok. You were just having a bad dream. You—” But he sat up, a hand pressed to his clammy forehead, looking caught between confusion and a confession as his jaw flexed.

Then he said, low and gravelly, “Get out.”

“What?”

He shot you a scathing glare, cobalt cutting through the dark. “I said— Get. Out.” And it was with pure hatred that the order was spit through clenched teeth, almost in a whisper, as if he was trying to hold back the rush of rage that was threatening to surge towards the surface.

You didn’t wait to be told twice. You rose from where you knelt beside him and scurried out of the room, resisting the urge to glance behind you after you crossed the doorway’s threshold.

Dabi could tell you’d stopped a few paces out of his sight, standing there waiting and conflicted, before continuing on back towards the main den.

He pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to quell the threat of oncoming tears, and waited until his trembling subsided to emerge from his nightmare’s shadow.

***

Two days after the heist by the bay, your bruises were beginning to fade from deep navy to sea-sick yellowish-greens. Dabi’s elbow was indeed, as he’d so eloquently put it, “fucked”, but he’d snapped enough bones to tell a fracture from a full break. He wrapped it in a makeshift sling, for a little while at least, but then he got tired of only having use of one hand and abandoned the remedy, figuring he’d risk the pain. Not mention, with the help of his little white pills, he probably wouldn’t feel much of anything at all once one hit his tongue.

“You really don’t know any doctors?” you’d pressed him as you attempted to bandage up the bullet graze to his calf. “I mean, I’m not saying they even have to be licensed. Just anyone with enough medical knowledge to—”

“I already told you,” he reiterated, irritated. “Any of the guys I did know belong to rival gangs or cost too much to contact.” He sucked in a hiss and winced when you dabbed disinfectant to the deepest part of the wound, nose scrunching with discomfort. Then he continued, “Besides, it’s not like I haven’t had a concussion before.”

You ceased your attention to his injury, looked up at him from where you sat between the couch and the coffee table, his leg stretched out to rest across the table while you worked on patching him up. “Dabi,” you stated, stern and serious. “I don’t care how many you’ve had, a concussion isn’t something to take lightly. If you don’t get it checked you could—”

“I’m not going.” He cut in, firm and final, like a petulant child, holding your gaze until you were forced to look away and resume addressing his wound.

Passive-aggressively and under your breath you argued back, “Well what good’s all this money if we can’t use it for the things we need?” Dabi shifted his leg from your reach as he bent forward to pluck the roll of gauze from your hands and then stood from the couch. “Hey!” you scolded him. “I wasn’t done yet!”

Starting to wander off to some other part of the warehouse he droned out a simple, “I’ll finish it myself.”

You watched him disappear around the corner and let out a frustrated sigh.

“I swear to god…” you muttered to yourself, going to rub your temples out of habit but then wincing as you touched the tender bruise that blossomed there courtesy of those bastards from Jiro’s gang who’d been rough with you. You pulled your hand back as if expecting to find it red and shining with blood, motions temporarily frozen as you stared off into space, some of that night’s mishaps beginning to replay in your head.

Tomura said your name then, causing you to look over and see him wearing a relaxed grin, which dropped into concern the moment he saw your eyes wide and startled. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, coming over to be by your side. “Are you ok?”

You opened your mouth to speak, most likely to lie, to shake your head and say, “Nothing,” but as his fingers lightly brushed back your hair to take a closer look at your bruise, your eyes began to well with tears as the tiniest squeak escaped your lips.

“Did he hurt you?” Tomura growled, already looking ready to take vengeance if Dabi had done anything. But you seemed to find your voice then, simmering his bubbling wrath as you explained that, though behind you now, that night kept returning to you when you least expected it. All those grabbing hands. The way they’d ignored your pleas and screams. Treated you like you weren’t even human. The scar that cut through that man’s crooked smirk. The taste of the blood in your mouth as you bit down hard. All of it. All of it. All of it, still too much to bear.

And Tomura felt horrible, because he had no idea what to say to you. How could he comfort you? How could he tell you it was all ok now when, in reality, things were only slightly less fucked than they were before?

Leaning in to press your forehead to his shoulder, you choked out the words, “It hurts…” and that…

Well, that was just about as close to having a broken heart as Tomura had ever felt.

Offering consolation in perhaps the only way he knew how, he put his arms around you and stroked gentle lines up and down your back. “I know…” he said. And then, darker, as if looking into the eyes of all who’d ever hurt you, “I know.”

“You two love birds done cryin’ all over each other?” Dabi sneered as he strolled back into the room. 

Tomura shot him a scathing, scornful glare, but ultimately stayed quiet. It wasn’t worth engaging with Dabi, especially when a fight was all the guy ever really wanted.

When the two of you continued to ignore him, Dabi grabbed his jacket and slipped on his boots, announcing to the two of you, “Well, I’m headin’ out for a bit. Don’t raid my shit again. I’ll be back later…” Through a sniffle, you asked him where he was going. Hand on the door’s metal push bar, he threw his head back and pretended to ponder that question. “Uhh… How ‘bout, none of your fucking business.”

The door was slamming shut behind him before either of you bothered to offer anything back in reply. Though, Tomura spoke for you both when he said, “Something is seriously fucking wrong with that guy.”

You felt the weight of your sorrows beginning to lift then, exposing you back to the odd reality that was your current situation— several thousand dollars richer yet still in hiding nonetheless.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to go out…” you said.

Dabi’s exact words had been, “Now, they’re gonna be searchin’ the outskirts high and low for us for at least the next couple of weeks, so it’ll be best if we stock up on the shit we need ASAP and then lay low till things settle a bit.”

“Yeah, well, he seems to think he’s the exception,” Tomura muttered, pushing up to stand and offering you a hand to pull you to your feet. With his fingernails lightly scratching at his neck, he proposed, “What’d ya say we get outta here for a bit too?”

You gave him a warning look. “But what about—”

“They won’t find us,” he said, sounding a little too sure for your liking. “At least, not where we’ll be going.” The scheming smirk he wore then caused your expression to shift into something more skeptical.

“What do you have in mind?” you asked, curious nonetheless.

“Do you trust me?” was all he gave as an answer.

You fought with your better judgment for a moment, then ultimately landed on the decision that life was too short to spend it living in constant fear. So you followed Tomura out of the narrow downtown alleys, winding and weaving your way the long route around just in case. You thought he was taking you somewhere into the nicer parts of the city, but when the two of you turned off into a foresty area and began walking uphill, you were wondering just what exactly he had in mind.

No matter how many times you asked where you were going though, he wouldn’t tell you.

“It’s a surprise,” was all he kept saying. So you started guessing. “Even if you guess right, I’m still not gonna say.”

But then finally you saw it, and when you did, it nearly stopped you in your tracks.

You had to lay low. You all knew that. But after all that you’d endured, all that you’d survived, how could you not at least let yourselves have a little fun?

***

Back down that long, unrelenting stretch of desolate road, past the vandalized billboard of the crying woman, turning left at the next abandoned intersection only to drive for what felt like a fucking eternity, Dabi pulled the shitty, half-broken down “rental” car (a favor cashed in from an old acquaintance) up to the dilapidated building shrouding the warehouse that served as Spinner’s contraband museum.

He gave a series of quick, aggressive knocks on the rusted metal door, impatiently waiting outside and kicking stray rocks with the toe of his boot to bide the time it took for Spinner to come and unlock it.

Before the trader, collector, dealer— whatever it was Spinner considered himself— could even get the door open all the way, Dabi snapped his sapphire gaze up to meet him and blurted out, “So, do you got what I need or not?”

Spinner winced at the sight of him, the tattooed vagabond more gaunt and haggard than he’d appeared the first time, skin pallid and clammy, dark circles carved out beneath sharp cobalt that made them appear even brighter and more menacing than usual.

“Uh… Would you like to come in, or—?”

Dabi hastily shouldered his way past the reptile-enthusiast, navigating deeper through the maze of stolen or illegally-procured goods. Spinner let out an exasperated sigh as he shut and locked the door behind him, starting after Dabi before he could mess with anything. This definitely wouldn’t be the first time a disgruntled or overzealous client came storming through for one reason or another, but with the way Dabi’s head was on a swivel like a hunting dog trying to sniff out his beloved painkillers, Spinner was getting worried things might escalate if they couldn’t agree on the right price.

“Sure, just make yourself at home, man…” Spinner grumbled, swishing his green hair out of his eyes, a new streak of purple freshly dyed through in the front. Then, with a more severe tone as the junkie began to dig through one of the bins sitting off to the side, he said, “Hey! Don’t touch that!”

When Dabi seemed to ignore him, Spinner approached and placed a hand on his shoulder. He’d only meant to snap him out of it, but a split second after contact was made Dabi was whirling on him with a wild-eyed look and a snarl vicious enough to cause the dealer to retract with a blatant wince.

“Where the fuck are they?” Dabi barked, going to search through the next bin of miscellaneous items.

“Jesus, man, just chill out!” Spinner snapped. While his client’s back was turned he discreetly reached for his pocket knife just in case things really started to take a turn, but then he let out a sigh and asked, “You want oxy or vicodin?”

Dabi peered over his shoulder at Spinner like an animal in the night, eyes glowing with something hungry and sinister. Spinner could see the way his hair stuck to the back of his neck with sweat, the way his hands were beginning to shake and how his bloodshot eyes were beginning to water.

He’d tried to hold himself together to the best of his ability when he’d been around you and Tomura, not wanting to show any signs of his sickness lest you two take him for weak. Besides, it’s not like his disheveled appearance had raised any real alarm bells from either of you. Dabi always sort of looked like he’d just narrowly escaped some harrowing event after several nights with close to no sleep. But the moment that door had closed behind him, he’d taken off with a desperate urgency. How he’d managed to even drive all the way out here without running himself off the road was a mystery, if not impressive to some degree, but one thing was for certain.

Dabi was deep in withdrawal and if he didn’t get his addiction back fast he was going to be in for one hell of a bad time.

“Fuck— whatever you got, man,” he replied, voice cracking with relief, a wheezing whine laced through the swear.

Spinner dropped the switchblade back into the pocket of his cargo pants and sighed to himself. He turned, nodding his head down the adjacent hall. “Well then follow me.”

The journey from the Lost and Found section of Spinner’s museum to the Illegal Substance wing felt like a fucking eternity for Dabi. Half of him wanted to double over, vomit, then curl in on himself as a wave of icy hot pinpricks wracked through his aching bones. The other half knew he was so fucking close to some relief that he better keep moving.

“Y’know, I’ll be honest with you, man…” Spinner began, continuing to wind down different narrow pathways carved out through the claustrophobic maze of man-made alleys, Dabi feeling like the walls were closing in on him more and more with every staggering, vertigo-inducing turn. “Tomura might’ve vouched for you and all, but I don’t trust you as far as I can fuckin’ throw you.”

Dabi’s vision was doubling, his ears ringing loud enough to drown out the second half of Spinner’s candid confession. He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. So long as the buyer got what he wanted, he could care less about what the seller thought about his character.

“Here.” Something was pressed firmly into Dabi’s trembling hand and when he came to he saw Spinner standing before him and wearing an expectant look. “I’ll cut you a deal, but just this once…” He seemed to ponder over something for a second, then said, “So how ‘bout you give me five hundred and we consider this case closed, yeah?”

Dabi didn’t remember pulling out his old wallet and thumbing through the wad of cash he’d shoved between the worn leather. Didn’t remember handing it over to Spinner and walking back out to the car. He didn’t recall popping the cap on the bottle and pouring two of those little white pills into his palm, tossing them back and dry swallowing them, waiting for the drugs to take effect.

He only became coherent again once they kicked in, stabilizing him just enough to turn the key in the ignition, put the car into drive, and make his way back down that long stretch of lonely road. He parked the car a few blocks from his own warehouse and felt his mind clear enough to feel himself shift back to the misery he’d come to know as normal by the time he was slipping through the backdoor and slinking down that blue inferno vortex of a hallway.

When he shouldered open the door into the main living area, he half expected to see you and Tomura doing something gross— like openly cuddling on the couch or staring at each other with those cringy googly eyes that made Dabi want to put his head through a wall— but all he was met with was the stark and sobering silence of the empty space.

“Hello?” he called out, just for good measure. Pacing through the makeshift rooms, he kept poking his head into the usual places he’d expect to find you. “Helloooooo…?” You weren’t in the kitchen or the bathroom. You sure as hell weren’t in his room— he would’ve killed you if you were— and neither of you had left a note or clue of any kind that let him in on where you might’ve gone.

But why would you?

He didn’t feel the need to explain himself to you guys, so in what world would you owe him that kind of courtesy?

Well, maybe they’ve finally decided to go and run off into the sunset together, he thought to himself with equal parts sarcasm and dismay.

Dabi returned to his dark little cubby of a bedroom, pulled the curtains that served as the door closed, curled up on his mattress, and hoped he could get some rest. Ever since he’d run out of pills he’d barely slept more than a few hours, let alone an entire night uninterrupted, whether by night terrors or pain.

When his head hit the pillow and he closed his eyes, it felt like a matter of minutes before he was knocked out cold. And it felt good to sink into the nothingness. He just hoped that, when he woke, he’d hear the quiet shuffling of feet or the muffled mingling of familiar voices from the living room.

***

The metal skeleton of what had once been a functioning amusement park rose up from the vine and weed infested grounds. The overgrown attraction stood eerie and looming, carefully shrouded by the canopy of pine that blanketed the mountainside. From the highway streets below, you could pass by this place and never even know it was there. But, like Tomura, if you knew to look for it, it was just a couple miles trek through the trees.

“Oh my god…” you sighed through a smile, slowly turning in circles once you found yourself standing in the middle of what had been a lively, light-filled hub, once upon a time. “How did you even find this place?”

“I have my ways…” Tomura answered, leaning against the beam of one of those spinning swing rides, arms crossed over his chest and wearing a crooked smile of his own. “But you haven’t even seen the best part yet.”

You turned back to face him, wearing a mischievous smirk. When he didn’t offer any further details, you playfully urged, “Well, lead the way then, Captain.”

Tomura blew out a breath of amusement through his nose, swiveling on his heel, and waved you after him as he said, “Follow me.”

Navigating your way further through the rides— go-karts and roller coasters and kiosks that used to sell sweet, sticky caramel corn and melty, sugary soft serve— you tried to imagine a time when this place was brimming with tourists and loud with the kitschy carnival music that had been composed to grab the attention of every eager child that crossed paths with the tune.

You imagined, had you and Tomura been able to attend while the place was still in business, that maybe you would’ve convinced him to participate in one of those stupid water gun games where whoever filled up the meter through the mockingly small target first would win one of the big plush lions or dragons or bunnies slouching up on the top shelf of the prize display, each one holding hope in its shiny black plastic eyes to have a home by the end of the night.

He’d probably scoff at first, say something about how those games were rigged so that no one could ever really win any of the good prizes, but then he’d see the way you eyed that bunny, its fluffy white synthetic fur and rosy pink cheeks reminding you of a much smaller, much rattier relic from your childhood. You’d act like it wasn’t a big deal, like you didn’t want the cheap toy as much as you really, really did, and try to brush it off, say he was right and those games were a waste of money anyway.

And maybe you’d make it on another ride or two before Tomura eventually caved and gave it a go, watching the participants play a round before quickly securing his seat on the brightly colored vinyl stool that seemed to have the most powerful water gun. And so he’d play, trying his damnedest to win, maybe getting it on the first try, or maybe on the fourth, but one thing was for certain.

You guys weren’t going home until he’d won you that rabbit.

And when he finally did, you’d smile big and bright, pretending for a moment that the world you lived in outside of this place wasn’t terrible and dark and lonely. You’d hug that rabbit— the one that was almost half your size, you realized only once it was in your arms— close into your chest and then lace one of your hands with Tomura’s, gently tugging him down for a kiss.

And despite how much he’d grumbled about it before, Tomura would have no regrets about doing it. Because something so simple had made you so happy. And he’d do anything to be the reason for that smile appearing on your face.

It was the smile that gave him hope.

The smile that convinced him to keep on living.

“Well…” he said, hopping the short metal barricade and helping you over the side as well. “I hope you’re not afraid of heights…”

The two of you had reached the end of the park, the sea of green creeping in to drown out the sparse remains. Rounding the short curved path, the trees cleared and revealed in their wake a giant ferris wheel, its evenly spaced yellow and blue and red passenger cars dangling and swaying with a light creak from the structure like raindrops about to fall from an awning.

“I’m not afraid of heights,” you told him, almost as if, after all you’d been through, to have such a fear would be ridiculous. “But, wait…” You stared up at it, craning your neck the closer you approached, a subtle dread sinking slow and heavy in the pit of your stomach. “You’re not actually thinking of going up there, are you?”

Tomura flashed a look that was half-pleased, half-pleading. He continued on towards the control panel, likely long dead at this point, rusted over from the weather if not corroded all the way through.

“Y’know, the first time I found this place—” He pried open the control panel with only minimal struggle, exposing the tangled jungle of wires within. “I thought I was gonna use it to… Well, y’know…” He gave a lazy half shrug, as if casually talking about one of his previous suicide attempts was no big deal. Though, you supposed, when someone had once been as desperate to die as him, something like that started to feel like any other Tuesday. “Anyway, figuring out this one still worked was honestly just a complete coincidence.”

He fished out two of the wires, their frayed ends faintly sparking as he struck them together a few times in quick succession. You heard him mutter a curse under his breath when, assumingly, the desired result failed to follow. In the meantime, he continued, “I used to climb it. Use the maintenance ladders, y’know? And so—” He struck the wires again, a brighter spark emitting that time. “One day, I thought, hey, wouldn’t it be nice to take one more spin on one’a these, see one last view before—” When he struck them that time, the spark caught and the machine whirred reluctantly back to life, cutting off the end of his confession.

“Oh my god!” you laughed, too lost in the spectacle of it all to remember to ask him to finish telling his story, as hard as it may have been to hear. “You actually got it working?”

Tomura’s leisurely movements suddenly picked up pace, him taking you by the hand and helping you up onto the ride’s landing as the wheel slowly began to turn, its old bones groaning with stiffness and age after being stirred from such a long slumber. “C’mon, quick— Before it gets going too fast!” he instructed with a kind of giddiness you weren’t used to seeing from him.

Together, the two of you leapt onto one of the gondolas and took your seats across from each other, Tomura pulling the little safety door shut behind you.

“Are you sure this is safe?” you asked him, probably not quite as concerned as you should’ve been.

But Tomura just gave a playful roll of his eyes and said, “Do you really think I’d take you up here if it wasn’t?”

Soon, you found yourself carefully shifting over to sit beside him, nestling closer to his side. “And how about this?” you asked. “Is this safe? Or will the whole thing tip?”

He slung an arm around you, gently pulling you a little closer. “Trust me, it would take a lot more than us to flip this thing.” Then, gazing out at the growing horizon, almost wistfully, he said, “Y’know, I really didn’t think I’d ever be back here. Especially not with—”

But his admission was cut off with a kiss, your lips finding his and helping him get lost in a different kind of memory. A reminder. A little something to convince him that he’d stayed alive all this time for a reason. That he should continue to live, to fight for every day he had because life was too fleeting to dwell in the shadows of the past.

“Thanks for taking me here,” you said, voice soft and loving. You rested your head against his shoulder, content. “I really love it.”

Tomura settled his head atop yours, slightly flexing his fingers where they were interlocked with yours a little tighter. He wanted to thank you for allowing him to make new memories here, ones that weren’t all despair and death and the darkest times in his life. But instead all he said was, “No problem.”

***

The precinct was buzzing with conspiracies and chaos. After a bust on one of the dilapidated old warehouses that sulked on the city’s outskirts, the cops turned up with an array of weapons, drugs, and various other kinds of contraband— though suspected it was mere crumbs compared to what the main haul had been before whoever had been holing up there had cleared out— as well as copious amounts of blood that forensics could only conclude had lead to one unfortunate person’s death.

The crime scene investigators had collected various DNA samples, mainly fingerprints and an amalgamation of hair strands, and while they’d been able to link some of these samples to suspects with a previous criminal record, there were still a few gaps in the overall investigation that had Keigo Takami and some of his team scratching their heads.

“Anything new?” one of Keigo’s co-workers asked as he peered over the blonde’s shoulder at the computer screen. 

Keigo clicked through a few more of the mugshots they’d linked to the scene so far. Mostly low ranking gang members or guys who’d been arrested once or twice for more minor offenses. “Nothing yet…” he sighed, chin resting in his palm as he stared at the profiles with about as much interest as one would have watching paint dry. “Although…”

He let his next thought trail off as the following mugshot popped on screen amidst his mindless clicking. It depicted a teenage boy, perhaps around the age of seventeen, with spiky white hair and piercing blue eyes. He looked miserable and murderous all within the same image. Keigo stared into his digital eyes for a while longer, then perked up as something deep within his brain seemed to click.

“What is it?” his colleague asked, sensing Keigo’s razor sharp intuition kicking in. “Think you got somethin’?”

Keigo read the name beneath the photo. Touya Todoroki. The Chief’s son, undeniably. He’d always been vaguely aware of his boss’s dirty little secret— how his only son had run away from home at the age of sixteen, fallen into a life of crime, though the way Enji told it made it sound like he had no idea how Touya had turned out that way.

Keigo clicked past the image and pulled up the next one. “Nah…” he shook his head. “Doesn’t strike me as the ringleader type.”

After that, his colleague mumbled something about how overtime was probably about to pick up and then sauntered off to poke around in someone else’s work rather than continue with his own. Keigo peered over his shoulder, made sure he had at least a little privacy, then clicked back to the photo of the white-haired boy.

As far as police records were concerned, the last time the Chief’s troublemaker son had been spotted was when this mugshot had been taken and then his father had bailed him out after twenty-four hours spent in holding. Enji’s side of the story was that he’d tried to reason with Touya, convince him to come home, but the boy had blatantly refused, departed holding, and disappeared again soon after. As the years went on with no sight of or contact from Touya, Enji could only assume his sole offspring was dead. But, looking into those eyes, seeing the violence, seeing the resolve, Keigo had a hard time believing that someone like that would lay down and die so easily.

Flipping open his notepad, Keigo scribbled the name down, along with a few notes listed in his profile like a few of the tattoos he’d had— at least at the time, but he was sure, if he really was still alive, by now he’d have more— and also some of the persons of interest he’d been linked to back in the day. He pocketed his notepad, closed out of the profile catalogue, and logged out of the computer. He’d finish off his workday doing some private investigating of his own.

Plus, he wanted to keep things on the downlow for the time being. He didn’t need to inform Enji about the sudden and rather concerning reappearance of the child he’d proclaimed dead, or dead to him, in this case. As far as the Chief needed to know, the blood had belonged to another lowlife criminal and they’d catch his cronies soon enough. Case closed.

But what had really piqued Keigo’s interest was how this all connected to the barber shop murder, and you, and all the other bits and pieces he’d been collecting along the way.

If he reached a dead end, perhaps he’d have no choice but to bring it to the Chief’s attention, get a few extra resources to fill in the gaps (he knew Enji trusted him enough to give him whatever he asked for— anything for the precinct’s golden boy, of course) but for now, he needed to follow his instincts, and his instincts told him to pursue things on his own.

Plus, he’d always been curious as to what kind of person Enji’s son really was.

***

It looked like it might rain again soon, a veil of thick cloud cover creeping over the city skyline, a mere sliver of azure sky left unswallowed on the edge of the horizon. As the setting sun cast a pale glow of gold across Tomura’s skin, you took a moment to study him, tracing the lines of his profile, his features a unique contrast of sharp and soft.

“Can I ask you something?”

Tomura looked over at you, and you could almost see the daydream die in his eyes.

“Sure,” he said.

“Do you remember the first time you wanted to…” You tried to search for the right words, wanting to be as delicate and respectful as possible, but none seemed to turn up.

Tomura’s gaze fell to his hands, fingers loosely fidgeting in his lap as he resisted the urge to itch. He let the question he knew you were trying to ask turn over in his mind a few times. Then he let out a gentle sigh through his nose and replied, “Yeah… I was five.”

Anger.

Confusion.

Grief.

So many emotions ran through you all at once you couldn’t separate one from the other.

“Tomura…” you said, pleading and heartbroken as you tried to meet his downcast gaze. “What do you mean you were five? Five? I mean— What— You—?” You couldn’t even get the sentence out, so many questions tripping over each other on your tongue that it all just turned to incredulous sputtering.

He shrugged, lips parted with the opening lines of a tragedy, silence choking out the trauma that clung to him, haunting him like a ghost, invisible but ever present.

After what felt like an eternity, his brow becoming more and more furrowed as he relived the pain, relived the rage, he said, slow and wrathful, “My dad…" A thick swallow. "He used to beat me. And my mom…" The clenching of his jaw. "I dunno. I think when I was a kid, I used to think she’d just watch. Like she’d just let it happen. But now I think maybe he was beating her too. Or maybe he wasn’t. I don’t know. But she was clearly afraid of him enough to not intervene…”

You felt his hand under yours, though you didn’t remember deciding to reach over to place it there. You just listened, trying your best to hold back the tears you felt threatening to well, the back of your nose stinging in warning.

“I had a sister,” he admitted. You thought you saw a flicker of a smile when he continued with, “And a dog. And my grandparents even lived with us too, for a while…” He told you about his sister and his dog and his grandparents. The memories he offered of his other family members were mostly bits and pieces, nothing too specific, but when he started to talk about his dog— a corgi that had been named Mon-chan— you didn’t think you’d ever seen his eyes light up like they did then.

It sounded like that dog had been his best friend for most of his childhood, his only companion on the evenings when he’d been banished to the corner of the backyard by his father after some bout of abuse. But, despite the horrors he’d had to endure, when he spoke of Mon-chan he couldn’t help but smile.

You wished that did anything to ease the weight of what you’d learned.

You wondered how many of those scars that hid under his sleeves had been inflicted upon him by others.

“I don’t think I knew what suicide was back then,” he eventually said, a bitter, cynical smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth now. “All I remember is wishing there was a way I could just escape from it all. A way I could disappear and just not exist. I thought about running away, but I was so scared of what would happen if someone found me and brought me back there— brought me back home and I—”

It was years away from him, almost another lifetime ago, yet it was like he was still that scared little boy, even now. When you looked at him, you could see that he thought he was still just as helpless, just as alone.

“Anyway, when I was ten, I found out my dad had these pills. Some kind of heart or cholesterol meds or something, I don’t even know. But he kept them on the top shelf of the cabinet over the sink where I guess, when me and my sister were kids— or, y’know, smaller than we were at that age— he thought we wouldn’t be able to get ahold of them…”

You could picture it. The bright orange plastic of the prescription bottles standing out like a lure from amongst all the whites and browns and grays of the other items clustered on the shelf. Tantalizing. Tormenting. Tempting with the promise of what swallowing the entire bottle would bring. The slow descent into a vast, numb darkness that would finally put an end to all the suffering. That would finally bring him peace.

Y’know, as long as someone didn’t find his comatose body before the effects could set in and rush him to the hospital in time to get his stomach pumped first.

“And did you?” you eventually asked after a prolonged bout of silence, your voice barely above a whisper. “Take the pills, I mean?”

Tomura let out a sigh through his nose, gazing out at something in the distance as if searching the silhouette of the trees would spell out an answer that made it all make sense for him.

“No,” he breathed, so quiet you’d nearly missed it. Then, clearing his throat, he spoke a little louder, “No, I just started hurting myself in other ways, getting as close to dying as I could without actually committing to it.”

There was a creak and a jolt and then suddenly the gondola swayed to a halt, leaving you suspended at the very top of the ferris wheel. You gasped and clutched him, your heart dropping, for a split second fearing that he’d get his wish and you two would plummet to your deaths right then and there.

Once the rocking slowed, you cautiously peered over the side at the vast drop below and said, “Um, is this part of it or…?”

Tomura clicked his tongue, leaning further over the guardrail than you ever would’ve dared, just the thought of it making your stomach turn. “Yeah, this happens sometimes…” he admitted, slouching back against the bench with a sigh. “It’ll pass eventually. We just have to wait it out…”

You scooted closer to the center of the car, not wanting to be anywhere near the edge, distressed. Tomura’s unbothered nonchalance seemed to wear off gradually when he realized this, resting an arm over your shoulders and tugging you a little closer into his side. The wind began to pick up and you nuzzled further into his chest, closing your eyes and trying to calm yourself down.

“Don’t worry,” he attempted to comfort you, the usual rough edge to his tone smoothing to something softer and more soothing. “We’re fine. It won’t be long. Promise.”

You believed him, and luckily within the next five minutes the wheel began turning again, lowering your car closer to the ground. But still, once the initial adrenaline of falling into an early grave if this rusted metal death trap decided to finally give out faded, you were grateful for the small moment of respite with your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart.

The ride wouldn’t stop on its own though, so once you were three cars from the landing platform, he informed you that you’d have to jump off similar to how you’d jumped on. Tomura went first, dropping from higher than you would’ve thought safe in order to be at the landing in time to lend you a hand.

Once you were safely back on solid ground, Tomura went to switch the ride off, the ferris wheel groaning to a rickety halt after a couple of minutes, abandoned gondolas swaying in the wind, those dark clouds inching closer by the second.

“So,” he said as you began to exit that area of the park, “What’d ya think?”

“I think I probably prefer being on the ground,” you shamelessly admitted, but then added on a slightly more encouraging, “But it was still really cool. Thanks for taking me.”

You grabbed his hand and he interlocked his fingers with yours. “Think you’ll be up for the roller coaster next time?” he joked, and you gave him a nudge.

“You wish,” you chuckled. “But seriously, I mean, how many people do you think even know about this place?” He told you, of all the times he’d come to explore it over the years, he’d never run into another soul in the entire park. Only ever the sporadic graffiti that was sometimes left behind in another explorer's wake.

It was his secret base. His safe place. Nothing but out of service machinery and a fence of overgrown greenery and the open sky above.

He would’ve killed to have known about it as a kid. Had any place he felt like he could sneak off and escape to for a little while. It wouldn’t have fixed things, but it maybe would’ve helped make them a little more bearable, at least.

“Oh, and, by the way,” you began, “I won’t tell Dabi about this place. It’ll be our secret.”

Tomura scoffed. “Only use he’d have for this place is a new backdrop to get high in, probably…” Then, slightly more irritated, “Where the hell does he go all day anyway? It’s not like he’s got a job or anything.”

Half of you was curious as well, but the other half thought that you really didn’t want to know.

“Who cares,” you concluded. “But hey, I’ve got an idea—” Tomura gave you an inquisitive look, though when he read the mischief in your expression he slowly began to turn a little more cautious.

“What…?” he asked, though sounded like he wished you wouldn’t answer.

“Do you trust me?” you asked, turning his previous words against him now, shooting him a devious grin.

He rolled his eyes, a crooked smile cracking across his lips. “Sure, but can I at least have a hint?”

“It’s a surprise,” you repeated. “And don’t bother guessing, ‘cause even if you guess right, I’m still not gonna say.”

“C’mon…” he chuckled, though it sounded laced with dread.

“Oh, you really walked into that one, didn’t you?” you teased.

“Ok, fine,” he said, trying to feign annoyance but more than content to play your little game. “But if it sucks and I hate it then we’re leaving.”

“It won’t suck,” you said, sounding as if you were offended he’d question your choice of activities. “Though, you might hate it, at first. But you’re not allowed to leave!” You leaned against him, sending his next step a little off balance and making you giggle. “But it’s only fair,” you told him. “You got to take me somewhere, so now it’s my turn to take you somewhere.”

Tomura didn’t like his odds, the way you were making it sound, but you were right.

Wherever you were about to drag him, even if it sucked and even if he hated it, so long as you stayed, so would he.

By now, he was pretty sure he’d follow you anywhere.

***

The club lights danced in a rainbow of electric color across the crowd, the thumping bass of loud music buzzing in your chests as you and Tomura sat at the bar, two shots down and a third on the way. 

“No,” he’d stated with an unamused drone as you’d stood before the entrance to the establishment. “No way. C’mon— You’re really gonna make me do this?”

“Yes,” you’d replied, firm and unyielding as you began to approach the front doors with his hand still clasped in yours. “It won’t kill you to let loose a little! Plus, I wanna dance, so either you’re gonna dance with me or you’re gonna stand by the wall and watch as some other guy dances with me.”

That had shut him up— after he’d let out a disgruntled groan and carried on like you were marching him towards a root canal instead of a nightclub— but ultimately he complied.

“Hey!” you’d called over the initial burst of music that was seeping through the second set of doors. When he looked over at you you pulled him in for a kiss, fleeting but firm, then said, “Till death, what’s left, right?”

You weren’t sure why you’d said it. You supposed it had just felt right at the time.

Tomura’s eyes widened a fraction, as if those words had awoken something within him. Sparked a sudden and life-altering epiphany. “Till death,” he repeated with a raspy rise of his voice, “what’s left.”

And with that the two of you had submerged yourselves into the thick neon atmosphere of the club's maw.

Now, you shouted over the commotion as the end of one remix blended into the beginning of the next, “Oh— Wait, I love this song!” already sliding off the barstool and drifting towards the packed dance floor, expecting Tomura to follow you, but when he didn’t budge you stopped mid-stride and turned on your heel. “C’mon!” you beckoned, your beaming smile almost enough to convince him to join you, as much as he loathed the idea of becoming part of the claustrophobic, undulating mass of bodies swaying, thrashing, and grinding.

“You go ahead!” he called back. Your smile fell. The next round of shots arrived. Tomura plucked one up from the counter, merely studying it for a short spell before he said, “I’m good here, I think.”

Until he would inevitably see a stranger approach you like you’d warned him of, at least.

You flung your arms over his shoulders, hooking your chin there, and whined “C’mon, dance with meeeee…” as you nuzzled your cheek, already dewy from the combined sweat of the grimy population, against the rough skin of his own. “Pleeeeeeaaaaaase!”

Tomura felt his resolve waver, a jenga tower one block away from crashing down. He flexed his jaw, gripped the shot glass a little tighter. “I dunno…” he shrugged, averting his gaze and trying to suppress a nervous smile. “I don’t really think it’s my vibe.”

“Tomura,” you said, suddenly turning serious, gently grasping his chin between your fingers to turn his face towards yours. “Just give me one dance, then we can go back to Dabi’s.” Then, through a sultry smirk, you added, “I promise I’ll make it worth your while…”

To this, Tomura huffed out a dark chuckle of a breath, threw back his shot, then also helped himself to yours, and next thing you knew he was sliding off his stool and following you deeper into the crowd as you led him by the hand to the center of the chaos.

And while he was undoubtedly stiff and awkward at the start, the more you seemed to let go and just allow your limbs to flail wild and free as you jumped and stepped and swayed to the beat, the more he seemed to try and follow.

Tomura was smiling the next time you looked up at him— actually smiling— big and bright and still a little crooked, though to you that only added to the charm of it all. It was the kind of smile that reached his eyes, filled them to the brim with carmine elation. You could hear him laughing, the song simmering a little in preparation for the beat to drop.

But he wasn’t happy because of the song or the rare opportunity to dance without a care in the world.

He was happy because he was realizing, not for the first time, that all of this was real.

You were real.

You were his.

You were all his…

“Hey!” you called over to him, flinging your arms over his shoulders again, clasping your hands around the back of his neck, sweat dampening his silver waves, the sheen causing him to glow under the neon flashes that cast saturated swathes of blue and purple and orange over his pale skin. Once you had his attention, you thought you might say something else. Thought you might say something you meant in the moment but might regret once the high of the night wore off.

So instead, you opted to lean in and kiss him, deep and slow that time, savoring the taste of his mouth against yours, the spice of the alcohol on his breath mingling with your sweet saliva, warmth flooding you through and through. And despite the amount of strangers currently surrounding you, in that moment, it felt like you were the only two people in the room.

“I—” you started to hear him say once you broke away, but the rest of his sentence was indecipherable and lost amidst the increased volume of the song.

“What?” you shouted, that gleeful smile splitting across your face once more.

Tomura then shook his head, wearing the remnants of his own grin, and replied, “Nothing! But do you wanna get out of here after this?”

You gave his hand a squeeze, hummed out a pleased, lilting note he wouldn’t be able to hear. You two had had your fun, even if just for the duration of one short dance. It was time to lay low again. But you both knew that laying low had its own benefits just as well.

“One more song!” you bartered.

You just needed one more song before you shed the carefree skin that you’d once been allowed to live in and went back to being an animal caught halfway in the hunter’s trap.

***

It was late by the time Dabi’s warehouse came back into sight. Well, actually it was extremely early in the morning, the storm having already come and gone during the hour or so you two had been inside the nightclub, the only evidence it had happened at all being the slick pavement and the humid scent still lingering in the air.

When the two of you stumbled back down the hall marked with the glowing blue inferno, your muttered flirtations and simpering giggles echoing off of metal and concrete, neither of you cared whether Dabi would be waiting on the other side of that door or not. You were going to have sex no matter whose ears were around to hear or whose eyes were around to see.

You were both shameless.

Ravenous.

Alight with a new outlook on life.

You were a tangle and limbs and teeth and tongues as you burst through that heavy metal push door, Tomura trying to strip you of your clothing like he was going for the new world record of undressing another person and his only competition was you. Pieces of black and white fabric were soon strewn across the warehouse floor, a trail of t-shirts and jeans and underwear leading to the couch.

When you were beneath him and his body was against yours, he swore you were something more than human. An angel. A god. A being that transcended all logical description. Your breath became his breath and his breath became yours, drinking in each others’ air as your kisses became so fervent it was like you were trying to consume each other. Like you were trying to become one. Your hands became cartographers, mapping out each others’ bodies like you were hoping to plot the next great civilization, sculptors kneading the clay that would become the most beautiful masterpiece.

“Tomura…” you sighed, clasping your hands behind his neck as his lips sucked gentle bruises against your throat. “You know… Once all this is over… and we make enough money to leave this place…” Your words were interrupted with a soft mewl as he found the tender spot by your jaw, the shiver that ran up your spine melting into a spread of sated warmth.

You nearly forgot where you’d left off. What you’d wanted to say. Every kiss he placed upon your skin was pulling you further from the future and anchoring you closer to the present. But you wanted to tell him.

You wanted to tell him that you wanted him to come with you.

You wanted a life with him. A normal one.

“Hm…?” he hummed, urging you to finish your sentence, but it was already lost to you amidst the subtle pleasure.

Gazing into his eyes, getting lost in all that vibrant red, you just smiled at him, nudged your nose against his, and replied, “Nothing… I’m just really glad I met you, is all.”

For someone who’d been starved of it as a child, convinced himself he didn’t deserve it as a teen, and believed he’d die without ever having felt it into his young adulthood, the way that Tomura had learned to love since your fateful encounter in the street that night was startling.

The way he loved you shouldn’t have even been possible, given his history.

But, even without him saying it, you could feel just how much he cared for you. What had started as a one night stand after perhaps the most traumatic moment of your entire life had led to a certain kind of intrigued fondness. You’d woken up next to each other the following morning, shared breakfast at the shitty diner on the edge of town. You’d gotten roped into a robbery but lived to tell the tale. You’d cheated death. You’d laughed about it. You’d cried. You’d danced.

You loved him too.

“Tomura, wait.” You stopped him before things could really escalate. He swished the hair that had fallen into his eyes out of the way and patiently awaited your next words. You wrestled with a nervous smile and lost, splaying a hand across his chest and giving a gentle push. He reluctantly retreated, sitting back on the couch and looking like he was wondering what he’d done wrong.

Then you flashed him an expression that was a little more sultry, humming out a lilting note of amusement as you shifted to climb atop him, straddling his lap and placing both hands on his shoulders.

“How about…” you pretended to ponder. You cocked your head at him, the scheming grin you now wore only stretching wider. “You let me take care of you this time?”

Tomura’s eyes widened, the rise of his throat bobbing with a particularly hard swallow.

“Yeah?” he seemed to question, quirking up one sparse brow as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

“Mmhmm…” you nodded, urging him to get more comfortable as you slid further down his form, laying on your stomach between his legs. Pearly beads of pre-cum were already beginning to leak from the blushing tip of him, his length a little more intimidating to you from this angle.

But you wanted to do something special for him.

After tonight, you figured he deserved it.

You began by pressing a kiss to the head, a small tremor wracking through him as he draped his arm across his eyes and craned his head back against the arm of the couch. Next you gave his cock teasing little kitten licks, the salty taste of his arousal coating your tongue as you pressed it flat and dragged a fat wet stripe up his shaft. Tomura bit back a moan, tensing as you started easing him into your mouth and down your throat, more sounds of pleasure breaking through to cut the silence of the empty warehouse as he felt you tightening around him.

Selfishly, he bucked up into your mouth, forcing himself a few more inches deeper and causing a muffled whimper to squeak from you as tears welled in your eyes. He curled a fist in your hair but he was gentle. He didn’t pull. He just wanted to feel its texture. He was stroking your head, broken whispers of “oh god, oh god, oh god” muttered out in quick succession before a strained “Fuck—” was punched from his lungs.

You could’ve finished him off that way— would’ve, if you hadn’t had a few other things in store— but he was reaching his limit. You figured you’d better change the pace of things a little bit.

He let you pull off of him, thick strands of spit keeping the two of you connected until he reached forward to wipe your mouth with the pad of his thumb, half-lidded gaze glowing as it landed upon you as if you were something ethereal. But if he thought you were done, he had another thing coming.

You swallowed thickly, wincing at the soreness that had already begun to form in your throat in such a short time, but kept things moving.

You sat up again, scooting closer to him. Beginning to stroke him with your hand, you soaked up every one of those strained whimpers and hisses that escaped from between his clenched teeth. “I told you I’d make it worth your while,” you reminded him, working him up just enough to tease him. You probably could’ve had him cumming in a few minutes, at the rate he was already twitching under your touch, but what fun would that be?

You wanted this to last for a little while, at least.

He was panting hot and heavy, mouth left agape as his stomach continued to flinch, probably a few more strokes away from spilling into your hand, but that’s just when you’d slow down, or stop, or do any other thing that made him cast you a pleading look. It was oddly intoxicating, holding that kind of power over his body. It was almost like you couldn’t believe it was you who was doing this to him, like you kept trying to prove to yourself it wasn’t just some kind of coincidence that he was coming undone beneath your touch.

But you’d had your fun.

Now, you’d give him what you both wanted.

Tomura gripped your hips, helping you to slide down on his aching cock, taking his time, letting you feel every vein and ridge of him. Any power you had prior began slowly seeping out of you as he filled you, already nudging against the sensitive, spongy spot deep inside your cunt as he gave you time to adjust to the familiar, welcome stretch.

But really, with you on top of him, it was still up to you when things would start moving.

Your first bounces were tiny and shallow, lust glazing over your mind as he helped lift you further off of him so you could slam back down, before long the two of you working in tandem to pleasure each other to completion.

Tomura lived for the music of your moans, revived every time one of them clipped off into a whimper or heightened in pitch. His eyes had been squeezed shut for a while now but he forced them a fraction of the way open. He wanted to burn this image of you— head thrown back and bruised neck bared, lashes fluttering, pretty tits bouncing with every repetitive motion as you worked yourself up and over your own sharp edge— into his mind, seer it into the tissue of his brain so that he’d never forget this memory.

But then he was losing all control and coherency and spilling inside of you, flooding you to the brim with thick, sticky warmth. You trembled and tensed with a silent cry seconds after, your silken walls trying to milk every last drop from him.

You couldn’t help but hunch over him at that point, both of your chests heaving with exertion, bodies slicked with a thin sheen of sweat and the air thick and humid with the scent of summer sex. Tomura turned his head and pressed a kiss to your forehead from where you rested against his shoulder, allowing himself to stay inside you a little longer, to enjoy the intimate warmth your body gave him.

He wondered how every time you two did this it seemed better than the last, how you kept on surprising him.

Out of all the hows, whys, and what ifs though, the main thing he couldn’t seem to figure out was why you’d chosen him. Or rather, why you kept choosing him. On one hand, he knew he probably shouldn’t dwell on it. He should count himself lucky and not sink into thoughts of self sabotage. On the other, he feared you’d wake him up from this dream he felt like he was living in as of late and he’d come to find that what you and him had going on had actually ended the morning after that first time in your apartment.

If that were the case, he hoped you’d let him sleep for a little longer.

“Y’know…” Tomura murmured later as the two of you lay together, you already halfway to dozing off. “Truth be told, I don’t even really care about the money…” He sounded like he was talking to himself more than anything. Like he was simply voicing his thoughts out loud. “I never had much to lose to begin with. When you found me, all I really had left to lose was my life. And thinking up all these crazy scenarios about what being rich could be like is fun ‘n all but…” He glanced at you, all closed eyes and shallow breathing. You were probably asleep already, yet still he couldn’t help but finish the thought. Looking back to the crumbling ceiling, voice barely above a whisper, he said, “All I think I ever really wanted was to be loved.”

And, even with no one around to hear it, admitting that was the scariest thing Tomura had ever done.

***

Dabi staggered from the darkness of his den the following morning, feeling ten tonnes lighter and, for once, well rested. He felt like a new man. Reborn. The dark bruises usually caving in under his eyes and the clamminess of his skin had dissipated. And he actually had an appetite for something other than illegal substances. This new hunger was a foreign feeling to him. He’d known hunger before. He’d known starvation. But, after a while, the knot that twisted in his empty stomach had gone numb and died, his body finally adapting to malnutrition.

That morning, he could’ve eaten an entire breakfast buffet and still had room for dessert. But all he had in his kitchen were some half-stale snack foods and a couple cans of beer, so he consumed everything he could get his hands on then grabbed his keys and his coat, planning on heading out to the nearest konbini to legally purchase anything that looked good.

He thought to ask you and Tomura if you wanted anything, then remembered that he hadn’t seen you two when he’d come home last night. Suddenly he felt a little less hungry.

But, against his own will, he hoped that, when he walked out into the missmash of broken down curb-side furniture that he called a living room, he’d see you two curled up on that couch.

He hoped that you hadn’t truly abandoned him.

His breath nearly caught when he turned the next corner, relief flooding him when he saw the two of you all tangled up in each other under a frayed old patchwork blanket, still weighed down by the heaviness of a deep sleep.

And Dabi almost let himself feel happy. He almost let himself simmer in the fact that, for once, his life didn’t feel like it was collapsing down around him.

But then he remembered how it should’ve been him sleeping with his arms around you, how he should’ve been sharing body heat under that thin blanket.

Dabi forced himself to look away as he passed the couch, making sure to let the door slam on his way out.

***

In the blink of an eye three more months had passed.

You, Tomura, and Dabi had stayed busy over the summer. Dabi’s long list of vengeances wouldn’t rob themselves, after all. And so the three of you had steadily increased your catalogue of stolen goods and dirty money, every target you hit never having seen you coming. But as Dabi’s index of enemies you had left to steal from seemed to shorten, your own tally of adversaries was getting so long you’d just about lost count.

The night after your second heist, the high of risk and success still coursing thick through your veins, the three of you stayed up into the early hours of the morning talking about what kind of lives you’d have once all was said and done and you left this town for good.

“I’m gonna get a motorcycle,” Dabi shared, “something expensive and fast, and I’m gonna get the hell outta this shithole town.”

“And then what?” you’d asked. “Where will you go?”

“Dunno,” he’d admitted. “But it would be somewhere far away. And I’d open a tattoo shop there.” He nodded towards you. “And what about you? What’ll you do?”

You took a moment to think about it, then said, “Honestly, I don’t need anything crazy. I’d just like one of those nicer apartments in the city center. Maybe I’d own my own salon, since that’s all I’ve ever really been good at. But more than anything I just don’t want to have to worry about keeping the lights on or wondering if I’ll have enough to afford groceries anymore.” 

Dabi nodded, either like he understood or like he thought that didn’t sound too bad, then the two of you turned your attention to Tomura.

“Me?” he’d emphasized, as if he’d forgotten he could be perceived in the room. “Uhhh… Well I guess…” He glanced at you, then back to the pale red lines that were appearing against his wrist from where he'd begun to scratch absentmindedly at his skin. “Well I guess I’d just go with you, if the invitation was extended… Figure things out from there…”

You leaned forward and placed a peck to his cheek. Of course you’d invite him. At this point, being without him didn’t feel right. Besides, one way or another, Tomura would follow you anywhere. You guys were sort of stuck with each other.

It was just another reminder that when all was said and done it would be Dabi who ended up alone, always the odd man out.

Now, with the first few weeks of fall kissing your noses with cool, brisk air whenever you walked outside, the three of you had fallen into the illusion that your lives were completely different than what they’d been when you’d first met at the start of the year’s most humid season.

You kept the bulk of the cash stashed in a fireproof safe hidden in the wall where part of the foundation had begun to crumble away, one of several movie posters and art pieces that now decorated the warehouse— which had become much cooler and cozier over the past several weeks— plastered over the gap. You all had your own rooms now, though, more often than not, you and Tomura slept together in yours.

You had beds. You had new clothes and places to keep them. You’d all pitched in to buy a new refrigerator, a kitchen table and three chairs, a flatscreen TV, and, Dabi’s personal favorite, a new couch. Two of them, in fact. God knew how fucking desecrated the old thing was after you and Tomura, among himself, of course, had been done with it.

You guys also had a car now. As in, you actually owned one. You figured you’d have to, eventually. You needed a reliable getaway, if anything. The boys had sent you to pick it out. You were, after all, the least suspicious of the three of you. And you knew how to charm your way around the dealer. You’d chosen something unassuming. Something black to blend in better with the downtown city streets at night, but not something so nice that it would attract the attention of anyone more inclined to vandalism or thievery. You’d paid for it outright and in cash.

You’d been teaching Tomura how to cook. You’d been cutting Dabi’s hair. One night the three of you even indulged in a nice dinner out. The place wasn’t anything five star— that would’ve been too risky— but it was better than a konbini or a diner and it was good fucking food.

The more jobs your trio seemed to pull off together, the more amicable you all became. Or rather, the more amicable Dabi became. 

He smiled more. Laughed more. He stopped insulting you and Tomura and became less snappy, so long as he kept a steady supply of his beloved painkillers on hand. The three of you seemed happy. Like you were a family. Like you could spend the rest of your lives together. As if all of this would never end. As if you’d only ever succeed, never get caught, and never fail.

Everything was going so smoothly it was almost scary.

But the three of you really should’ve known better by now that when things seem too good to be true, that usually means they are.

***

“You seen this yet?” one of Keigo’s colleagues tossed a newspaper— one of the small-time ones half full of cheap gossip and trashy advice that no one really read— onto his desk.

Keigo eyed his co-worker as he leaned forward in his chair, hair mussed and dark circles beginning to form under his eyes from too many sleepless nights as of late. Because, yes, he’d seen it. He’d been following every scrap, morsel, and tidbit of information that seemed even remotely connected to that initial warehouse bust and the murder that had accompanied it for the entire summer. Most of his investigating and research had been on his own time, but the more frequent and high stakes the robberies in and surrounding the slums were becoming, the more likely it was looking that he was about to be getting paid for at least some of the overtime.

When the Chief officially assigned him to look deeper into the matter though, it was under the pretense that these criminal activities were creeping closer to the main hub of the city. Because who cared if the savages that scampered around the slums were getting robbed? The police weren’t paid to protect them. What did those people even have that was worth protecting anyway?

“Looks like you get to do your favorite thing again, Hawks,” the Chief had commented through a sarcastic scoff. “You run with any of these crowds in the past?”

Undercover work was, after all, Keigo’s specialty. Whether or not it was his favorite was a different matter, though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t get some kind of cruel satisfaction out of it, especially the moment right before a case came to a close.

“More or less,” he’d told the Chief with a shrug as he took the briefing report from him, casually flipping through it with little interest, “I’ve succeeded at pretending to, at least, so…” Then he reached the suspect page and stopped cold.

There was an array of photos, at least ten different profiles of past convicts, and while any of them could’ve been picked out of a lineup to fit the part, something about how blatantly obvious it felt didn’t sit right with him.

Besides, they were all men.

Keigo knew at least one woman was involved in all of this, same as he knew it had been a woman who’d killed that barber shop owner at the start of the summer.

And while he didn’t yet know how you fit into all of this just yet, his intuition told him it would only be a matter of time until he did.

There was also the fact that a certain Chief of Police’s estranged son was missing from the list of current suspects. Touya Todoroki’s mugshot had been among those linked to the warehouse bust but was now conveniently absent from this new group.

“Just be careful,” Enji cautioned, shooting his most promising young detective a wary side glance. “And if you think any of them even remotely recognize you, get outta there. It’s not worth it to—”

“Relaaaaaaax…” Keigo cut in, trying to suppress the urge to roll his eyes at the lecture of concern. It was no secret to anyone in the precinct that Enji Todoroki basically viewed Keigo as the son he never had (though, unlike a majority of the others, Keigo knew he had had a son, at one point or another), gave him special treatment and basically anything the detective asked for. Keigo sometimes wished that weren’t the case though. Because, for as useful as unquestioned resources could be, the constant micro-doses of that concerned parent attitude that Enji seemed to inject into their interactions tended to make Keigo’s skin crawl.

Having grown up as a street orphan, you’d think he’d crave the care, the praise.

But all it ever really did was stir up his unsettled resentments.

“I’ve got this,” Keigo assured the Chief. Then, almost to himself, “I mean, when have I ever gotten caught?”

To this, the Chief clapped a hand on his shoulder and encouraged him to get started as soon as possible. “I have full faith that, if anyone can track down who’s responsible, it’s you, kid.”

And while Keigo might not’ve known who was responsible yet, he did have a pretty good idea of where to start his search.

***

These days, the narrow maze of alleys you and the boys had learned to call home felt so much smaller. You’d started learning what it was like to live a little, after all, and even just a single sporadic night spent in the heart of the city and all its glittering temptations and luxury had broadened your horizons more than all three of you had once thought possible.

It was sort of crazy how a lot of money, the right wardrobe, and a little bluffing could get any one of you into pretty much anywhere. Your catalogue of characters, aliases, and disguises had grown quite considerably over the last few months, as had your acting abilities.

You’d been the daughter of a beauty company CEO, the wife of a pro athlete, the personal assistant of a celebrity that was currently in town, and the manager of an up and coming pop star. Tomura had been a top twitch streamer, the adopted son of a wealthy tech-startup owner, and a “faceless content creator”, whatever that meant. Dabi had been a social media influencer, a renowned tattoo artist, and, his personal favorite, much to your and Tomura’s disdain, a popular porn star.

You’d spend slow afternoons practicing your personas in front of each other, giving and taking notes on how to make them more believable, whether by script, body language, or confidence, and once all three of you felt the facade was solid, you’d enter that identity into the rotation.

Though, seeing as tonight all three of you seemed to have some time off from your more nefarious extracurriculars, you’d all opted to just be your usual selves. Which meant Dabi was out on a cigarette run while you and Tomura probably got busy doing something together on the new couch that would make it glow under a black light.

Little did you know though, that while your trio hung up the masks, a new player had just entered the game.

And Hawks was the boss battle when it came to playing pretend.

When he’d started to trail Dabi, he hadn’t had any real reason to suspect him, other than him being a shady guy in a shady part of town. From his current angle, all the detective could see was a tall, lanky, thin silhouette shrouded by a black hoodie, some faded old ripped jeans, and some scuffed lace up boots. It wasn’t until he waited across the street while his suspect purchased a fresh pack of Marlboros in the adjacent konbini that he caught a glimpse of all that ink peeking out from his sleeve cuffs and the neck of his t-shirt, the shiny tousle of raven spikes fighting their way out from under his hood, and the extended family of silver piercings climbing up both his ears that his intuition kicked into overdrive.

Hawks pulled up his own hood, hiding his golden locks, which were in desperate need of washing at the moment, beneath the tattered grey sweatshirt he’d borrowed from the station’s lost and found that smelled like someone had doused the thing in cheap cologne to cover up the stink of even cheaper weed serving as the perfect centerpiece for his disguise. To make matters even more convincing, he’d dropped a few pounds and hours of sleep from his regular schedule over the last week since he’d been assigned this investigation. He was the picture of a perfect addict.

And Hawks knew one when he saw one.

And Dabi was definitely in that club, in one form or another.

Before he’d even exited the corner store, Dabi already had a cigarette between his teeth, pulling out a lighter to activate his current vice before shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pocket, continuing on at a leisurely pace. Hawks pushed off from the cool brick and followed a good half block away, keeping his gaze mostly downcast except to glance up and make sure his target was still in sight, until his mark turned down into what he assumed was another side alley about twenty minutes later.

Hawks didn’t miss a beat. He turned down the same alley, the long stretch of it only visible to him for a moment before he found himself suddenly and unexpectedly being grabbed by the throat and slammed against the closest wall.

“You make a habit of followin’ all kinds of people,” Dabi asked, the question a threat spit through clenched teeth, “or only the ones who are more inclined to break your fuckin’ neck?”

Hawks raised his hands in surrender, golden eyes gone wide with fear as he sputtered out a panicked, “I-I was just lookin’ for some kickers, man!” The end of his sentence cracked with the ghost of an upturned shriek. On one hand, he needed Dabi to believe he’d truly caught him off guard. On the other, Keigo had actually been caught off guard. And as he flicked his eyes back and forth between all that vengeful cerulean, something told him that this guy wasn’t bluffing about the neck breaking comment. “I thought maybe you might be the guy!”

Dabi tightened his grip a fraction, leaning in closer to Keigo’s face as if he’d find a lie quivering somewhere beneath his features, then eased up and backed off, shoving the blonde away from him and back into the brick wall to create some more distance.

“Jesus, man…” Hawks coughed, gripping his own throat and wincing when he touched the newly bruised flesh. “Sorry for the mix up, but I just need O, bad. You wouldn’t happen to know—”

“Don’t know a damn thing,” Dabi cut in, back to his usual disposition of not giving a shit as he began to walk away. “But, word of advice, dude. In the future, it’s probably not a bright idea to sneak up on people like that…” Something akin to both amusement and malice flashed through his eyes as he concluded with a sharp crack of a smirk, “Next time, whoever’s waitin’ around the corner might just kill ya.”

He seemed more than content to let a nameless addict wither into the early stages of withdrawal in between those bricks, but Hawks was far from done with this interaction.

“Hey!” he called out, and he could tell how Dabi was debating with himself whether to give him the time of day or not as his next step skidded before he finally came to a halt, peering over his shoulder at him. He didn’t approach, per se, though he did take a few hesitant, shuffling steps forward. “You hear anything about those robberies lately? Like, the ones happening ‘round here?” He gave a brief pause but Dabi didn’t answer. He didn’t so much as blink. “Well, the thing is, my last dealer got caught up in some of that stuff… No idea where he went. Won’t return my texts or my calls. Hell, I even went right to his place and waited an entire day and nothin’. Anyway, I guess I’m just try’na figure out if anyone maybe knows anything about who’s involved. I mean, for all I know, he gave up dealin’ ‘cause he makes more money robbing all these gangs I keep hearin’ about…” It was a little hard to study Dabi’s facial expressions from this far away, any minute twitch or flicker of fear, doubt, or knowing lost between the distance, but his body language gave away nothing. Still, Hawks wanted to hear him say something. Even if it was just a simple repetition that he didn’t know anything.

After a nervous chuckle, he concluded with, “Shit, man, I mean— I-I’m reachin’ my limit here…” He shuffled a half pace closer, arms out to signal open defeat, a pleading edge of desperation woven into his trembling tone, “If you got any contacts, I swear I’ll make it worth your while.”

Dabi seemed to roll something over in his head then, though whether it was reluctant sympathy or annoyance, Hawks couldn’t tell. Then he turned back to him and said, “Look, man. All I know about the robberies is that, whoever’s goin’ around hittin’ these gangs or whatever, they clearly got shit worth stealing and I sure as hell don’t. So, if you ask me, don’t go walkin’ around actin’ like you got it made and you’ll probably stay off their radar, or whatever.” He took out his pack of cigs, shook a new one free and lit it up.

Then, unexpectedly, he actually offered one to Keigo.

And, though he’d quit smoking when he’d been taken in by his foster family at thirteen, Keigo reached out and accepted the peace offering with a shaking hand, perched it between his lips and muttered out a quick, “Thanks,” before leaning forward to let Dabi light it. As he breathed in the sweet, burning nicotine, he felt like he was a kid again, hungry and alone as he survived these very streets, waiting for the day he’d find a way to fly far, far away from here and maybe become somebody.

He and Dabi smoked in silence for a short bout, Dabi scanning Hawks as he did so before eventually saying, “Y’know, if it’s painkillers you need, I might know a place.”

Hawks felt the familiar spike of electric victory zipping through his veins but forced himself to stay in character. If he showed even an ounce of smugness now he’d ruin everything.

“Yeah?” he pressed, trying to sound pathetically optimistic.

“Sure,” Dabi shrugged, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke up into the air above their heads. “But the guy’s pretty on the down low. I’d have’ta let ‘im know you were comin’ before you showed up.”

Hawks said he’d take any info he had, growing progressively antsier the closer he came to obtaining what he needed this man to believe he was quite literally dying for. And when Dabi told him about Spinner’s operation on the edge of town, Keigo knew instantly exactly who he was talking about.

He’d had a run in with the collector before, after all. Only, back then, it had been a certain scrawny, silver-haired individual who’d blown Spinner's cover. He hadn’t seen that guy since but now he couldn’t help but wonder if Dabi was connected to him, too, somehow.

“Shit, man, I really owe ya…” Hawks said, Dabi tossing down the finished cigarette and stomping it out with the toe of his boot.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, now seeming like he was really going to leave. “But, hey. I’m serious about what I said earlier. Watch out down these streets.” He cracked another one of those sinfully charming smirks, tossed the blonde a flirtatious nod. “It wouldn’t be the first time one’a you pretty ones got left for dead in the night out here, y’know?”

At that, Keigo couldn’t help but blush. What could he say? He hadn’t taken Dabi for the type. But that, among other things, had conjured up a unique interest in Dabi for him. He had a hunch that told him that guy definitely knew a lot more than he let on. Perhaps he’d run into him again sometime, repay the cig he’d bummed, and continue chipping away at what the stranger knew.

“Oh, I’m Dabi, by the way,” said stranger introduced.

Keigo nodded at him, decided to steal the nondescript name of one of his co-workers as he said, “Kaito.”

Dabi nodded back, tugging his hood further over his hair. “Well then, Kaito. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

And with that, Keigo let him slip away into the night.

***

Intricate fanned out displays of cash lay scattered in controlled chaos around you and Tomura as you sat cross legged on the floor and divvied up the earnings from the most recent job. Dabi had been gone for a while even though he’d said he was just heading to the corner for some smokes and would be right back, but by now you guys were used to that. In the meantime, you and Tomura traded anecdotes from your pasts, this time trying to stay within the vein of happy ones, though when you ran out of those, you just settled for ones that were amusing.

“I ever tell you about the time I almost got arrested?” Tomura eventually offered up, asking the question with a smirk that hinted that he’d either narrowly escaped or given the cops hell. Probably a mix of the two.

“No,” you scoffed, cracking a grin, curious. “When was this?”

Thumbing through his current bundle of bills, Tomura said, “A few years ago. And Spinner was there, actually.” He set the stack aside, went to reach for the next one and shrugged. “Well, he was involved, at least. Technically, when the cops showed up, he was the one who had to deal with them.”

You began scooping up the counted piles, wrapping rubber bands around them so they could be placed into the safe once all was said and done. “Damn. And he stayed friends with you after?”

Tomura handed you a few more rubber bands when you struggled to reach them and you muttered out a thank you before he said, “Oh, yeah. I mean, at the end of the day, they couldn’t get any solid charges on either of us, though if they would’ve found out the operation Spinner was running, things probably would’ve ended up a little differently…”

He gave you a basic rundown of how the almost-catastrophe had happened. Tomura had met this guy online who frequented a forum for one of his favorite games at the time. They started talking. Got decently close considering they’d only ever communicated through text on a screen. Then, the next thing he knew the guy was asking to meet up at a bar halfway between them on the edge of town.

“It didn’t feel shady, at the time,” Tomura explained, absentmindedly tapping the wad of bills into a more even stack on the floor. “I mean, the guy knew what he was talking about. Must’ve done a lot of research if he hadn’t been at least partially into this stuff beforehand. And, anyway, something brought up the whole suicide thing and…” He blew out an exasperated sigh through puffed cheeks, like he was still blaming himself to this day for being so gullible. “He even tried to make me think he could relate…” You stopped bundling bills, giving him your full attention.

“And then what?” you delicately pressed after a while of Tomura falling silent.

“And then he asked me if I’d ever tried these drugs. Like, to overdose, y’know? I said I’d gotten my hands on some before but just never, well, y’know. At least, not yet. So then he was all like, ‘well where did you get them?’ and I was all like, ‘oh, I know a guy,’ and one thing led to the next and a few days later he’d tracked Spinner down and, well, Spinner can smell an undercover cop from a mile away, so…”

You briefly recalled a bit of conversation exchanged between Tomura and Spinner the first time you’d met the dealer, back when the three of you were trying to sell the car Dabi had stolen. Something about only bringing people Tomura knew personally (as in, enough to know they weren’t undercover cops) to his warehouse because of this aforementioned incident.

“And, what?” you asked. “He never tried to like, come and find you again later?”

Tomura continued counting out the cash, thus recommencing the assembly line of counting and bundling you two had pretty much perfected. He said, “Well, yes and no. After Spinner chewed me out for basically delivering a narc to his doorstep I checked online and the guy’s whole profile was completely wiped. All our messages, any posts he’d made, all of it was just gone.”

“And?” you pressed, nearly on the edge of your seat now.

Tomura shrugged. “And then I was walking near the shitty apartment complex I was practically squatting in at that point and saw a car that was just a little too nice to belong here. Caught a glimpse of his stupid blonde hair through the back windshield and knew he was probably staking out the place hoping to catch me doing something illegal or something. I dunno…” He shook his head, chewed on the inside of his cheek. Then he said, “Anyway, I just turned into the nearest alley and didn’t come back till the next day. I grabbed my shit and left. Crashed at Spinner’s for a while till I found the next place. Haven’t seen the guy since.”

“Why do you think he targeted you though?” you asked. “I mean, this message board, forum, whatever… You said it was for a game, right? What about that was so suspicious?”

Tomura wrestled with a guilty smirk and lost. “Well, it was a game about dealing drugs. I mean, harmless enough, except for the fact that it was, like, super realistic. So you had real drug dealers who also got into the game who were popping onto these forums and giving real advice. So, yeah. The message boards were pretty sus. But as for why he targeted me…” He paused for a moment, combed through the particular history before responding, “I think he probably was doing the same thing to a lot of guys. Luring them in under the pretense of false interest, getting to know them better, convincing them to let their guards down, then sniffing out which ones were actual leads and which ones were just guys who were into edgier IPs.”

You could’ve come up with about twenty other questions based on the last bit of that story alone, but before you could, Tomura added, “It just goes to show you might think you know someone, and they might act like they actually give a shit, but at the end of the day…” He cast his gaze upon you then, something vicious and skeptical glimmering in that carmine glare. “It can all just be a bunch of bullshit.”

You weren’t afraid of him. Even when he’d been forced to hurt you before your first heist together you’d never looked at him and thought he would ever do anything to actually harm you. But just then, you found yourself wondering…

What would it take to cause Tomura to kill?

“Well you know I’d never do that to you,” you found yourself defending, half out of comfort and half out of fear. “The three of us are a team now. We’re not going to betray each other. And, besides…” You flashed a devious smile, all sharp edges and gleeful sin. “If anyone was going to betray anyone, it would be you and me against Dabi.”

You felt some tension subside when Tomura’s gaze softened, some of his suspicion melting back into that underlying loneliness. “I know I can trust you…” he admitted, sounding like he was relieved, his throat bobbing a few times as he swallowed in quick succession. He cleared his throat, reaching one of his big, rough hands out to place on your knee, his thumb gently stroking your skin there. You stared at the cross-hatching of scars that ran over his alabaster flesh, once again finding yourself wondering how many of them had been self inflicted. 

You slid your hand under his, intertwined your fingers and raised his hand to your lips so you could press a gentle kiss to the back of it. You reminded him that the two of you would be ok so long as you stuck together.

“I know,” he said. Then, in a murmur, as if only to himself, he repeated, “I know…”

The scariest part was, Tomura thought he was genuinely beginning to believe that. It gave him hope. And hope, he knew, was a dangerous thing for someone like him to have.

“And what about Dabi?” Tomura then asked, tone dropping to something darker and more skeptical. “Do you think we can really trust him?”

You wanted to say yes and fully believe it, but the closest you could get to telling the truth was, “I think so,” which was honestly as much as you could hope for in terms of staying optimistic about the current relationship between the three of you. “I think he’s warmed up to us a little more, y’know? And, besides…” You scooted over to lean into Tomura’s side, allowing him to slip one of his lanky arms across your back and gently tug you closer against him. You rested your head against his chest as you continued, “It’s not like we could do this without him. We might as well make as much money as we can while things are still going smoothly, and if things take a turn we just get out. We run.” You peered up at him, though found he wasn’t meeting your gaze and was instead staring out into space with a slightly tense and troubled expression. “By then we’ll have enough money to go anywhere we want.”

Tomura wished he could dwell in the same fantasy as you. He wanted to, but again, historically, him and hope didn’t mix well.

“Well, I’m not a fan of the guy,” Tomura stated, “but as long as you’re still in on these jobs, then I guess I am too, so…” You smiled at him, let out a lilting note of a hum before pressing a quick kiss to his cracked lips. Then, Tomura said, “But yeah, once we have the money, let’s just get out. Let’s get as far away from here as we can. We can still get that nice apartment you want. You can still open your own salon…” It seemed, for better or for worse, some hope was going to force its way into his thoughts after all. “I just— I want a life with you. You’re the first thing that’s made me wanna live— not just for a little longer but, I mean, as long as you’re around, I wanna be around to be with you, so…”

“Tomura…” You sat up straighter, shifted to sit facing him a little more now, wearing a new expression of intensity. “Is that what you really want? I mean, I think it’s just—” You struggled to find the right words. To get your point across in the way you wanted to. “I think it’s important for you to also figure out what kind of life you want aside from me. Not that I don’t want you to factor this—” You motioned back and forth from yourself to him. “Us— into the whole thing but…” You were starting to feel like this all wasn’t coming out the way you’d intended. Getting a little frustrated with yourself, you sighed and leaned back against him. “I just want you to be happy, too.”

“Of course I’m happy,” he said, like it was offensive you’d ever think otherwise. And then he fell silent, jaw clenched in contemplation. When he opened his mouth again to speak, all that seemed able to come out were stuttered fragments. Apparently, he was frustrated he couldn’t find the right words either.

After a few failed attempts to articulate himself, you stopped him. “Tomura,” you said. “Just shut up and kiss me.” He only stalled for a moment, eyes widening in that way that said he wasn’t sure if he’d heard what you’d actually said or only what he was hoping you’d say. But then he was obliging you, things soon escalating until he had you pinned beneath him, your clothing tossed carelessly over the side of the couch, your pleasure echoing faintly throughout the warehouse as it so often did.

***

Red yarn stretching from clear thumb-tacks cut diagonal, criss-crossing lines across a map of the downtown city. On one side of the slums there was a photo posted of the murdered barber shop owner, the establishment in which he’d been killed circled in thick red ink. On the other lay the abandoned warehouse, also circled, the photo present next to that location that of the deceased gang leader, Jiro.

Smaller photographs surrounded the dead barber shop owner, one for each of the four women who worked there. Two had been crossed off with red X’s, those suspects deemed innocent, however your photo and the photo of the colleague who’d called you the morning after the murder remained unmarked. Still potential killers in this case. Though, including your colleague in that demographic had merely been for the purpose of keeping the potential for other theories open, mostly to appease the Chief. Keigo knew the only one he really needed to keep an eye out for was you.

The group of side-characters surrounding Jiro were that of his most recent gang, as well as some past members that could’ve had possible motive to come back to finish some unresolved business. The image of seventeen-year-old Touya Todoroki was circled several times over in red. Keigo didn’t yet know why he felt like the boy’s ghost had risen to claim revenge, but he knew better than to ignore a hunch when it was this strong.

Your photo was connected to your boss with red string, and the detective kept glancing from you to Touya. You to Touya. You. Touya. You. Touya.

You and Touya.

Keigo stepped back, traced the layout of the streets with his eyes, followed the maze of alleys from the barber shop back to your apartment, which was also circled. You didn’t live too far. But you hadn’t been back to the shop or your apartment since fleeing.

Keigo stopped, reminded himself that, as much as his intuition told him you were involved, there was also a small possibility that you were somehow a victim in all of this as well. Because he also had a theory, albeit not a very viable one, that a third party had come in, killed your boss, kidnapped you, and you were dead at the bottom of a ditch somewhere out where the road turned into a dusty wasteland of vandalized billboards and dilapidated buildings.

He looked back to the Chief’s son, those striking blue eyes blazing even though the low res image the printer had reluctantly spit out. He approached his conspiracy, research, whathaveyou, closer again, so close that his nose was only a few inches from touching the map as he squinted at Touya’s photo.

“How’s it goin’ in here?”

Keigo pinched Touya’s photo between his fingers and quickly gave it a sharp tug, stuffing it into his pocket as he turned to face Enji with a tired grin.

The Chief stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe looking both curious and amused. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in Keigo’s ability— quite the opposite, in fact— but, well, it was just the sight of a Red Yarn Conspiracy Board that always seemed to pop up in cliche detective films that had both of them feeling a bit silly.

“It’s getting pretty late,” Enji reminded him. He nodded towards his map and then jokingly said, “That’ll still be here in the morning if you go home and get some sleep, y’know.”

“I was just getting ready to pack up,” Keigo lied, Enji sauntering further into the room with a lazy stride, clearly in need of some rest himself. “But I think I’ve almost figured out the connection.”

Enji and Keigo stood side by side, both of them staring at Keigo’s work with a slight tilt of their heads, contemplative. Then Keigo pointed at the photo of you and said, “Whatever’s going on here, she’s at the center of all this.”

Enji let that sink in for a moment then asked, “How so?”

“Because,” Keigo explained, “I think maybe these guys—” he pointed to the warehouse group, “have something to do with her disappearance. And that could potentially link them—” He pointed back to the barber shop, “to this.”

“And all those robberies that have been popping up downtown?” Enji further inquired, almost like he was testing Keigo.

Keigo paused, took a moment to come up with a decent hypothesis about that. “I still think it’s all connected. I think someone connected to these guys from the warehouse had something to do with the barber’s death and is now committing these robberies. Or, who knows…” He shrugged. “Maybe the barber was involved in the whole scheme but knew too much and wanted to squeal so they had to off him. There could be any number of possibilities but I know somehow she’s at the center of it all.”

“And I know,” Enji pressed, “that you need to get some rest.” He pat Keigo on the back, pulling him from his intense concentration. “Tomorrow is a new day. I always find clarity comes from looking at things with fresh eyes the next morning. Plus, can’t have my brightest detective sleepin’ on the job now, can I?” 

Keigo promised he’d be falling right into bed the moment he got home (most likely another lie) but he just had one last thing to do before packing up shop and heading out.

Enji let out a weary chuckle and said, “I admire your commitment to the job, Hawks, I really do, but seriously. Don’t work too hard. If your health starts to suffer because of it, we’ll all be at a loss.” After that they bid each other a good night and said they’d see each other in the morning.

Once he was sure Enji wasn’t coming back, Keigo pulled the crinkled photo of the Chief’s son out of his pocket, studied those striking cerulean eyes that he shared with his father again.

And then it hit him.

He’d seen those eyes before.

He’d seen those eyes glowing through the dark, hidden beneath spiky black hair and a hood pulled low.

Keigo felt like he couldn’t breathe, bouncing back and forth between believing the realization he’d just unlocked and brushing it all off as just another wild theory.

But just how many people have eyes like that?

So, as he left the office that night, as he caught a cab home, as he changed out of his button up and trousers and brushed his teeth, staring down his weary reflection in the bathroom mirror, as he got into bed and stared up at the ceiling in the dark, he just couldn’t get the image out of his head.

He could still hear his raspy voice clear as day.

“I’m Dabi, by the way… Maybe I’ll see you around…”

Keigo closed his eyes, felt that familiar, sick satisfaction creeping over him, the sadistic excitement that came with setting a trap and knowing it was only a matter of time until he lured his target in.

But why set a trap, Keigo figured, when he already knew just where to find his prey.

***

A few hours had passed since you and Tomura had concluded your extracurricular activities on the couch, both of you having dozed off under one of the fluffy blankets you’d purchased as an essential in this cold, concrete box the three of you had learned to call home. If you hadn’t been a light sleeper before, you definitely were now that you’d started living with two men. More so about Dabi than Tomura but, needless to say, when both you and Tomura heard the heavy footsteps echoing down the long hall that no doubt belonged to the third member of your trio, which was destined to be followed by the telltale creak of the main door opening into where you both were laying naked beneath the blanket, the two of you jumped up from your resting place in unison, frantically gathering your scattered clothing and trying not to laugh as you whispered urgently back and forth.

“I’m jumping in the shower!” you declared, already halfway to where the crooked little cubicle was located. Meanwhile, Tomura was tugging on his clothes as he side-stepped into the kitchen, hastily pulling his shirt over his head as he heard Dabi enter, grabbing one of your iced teas out of the fridge and leaning against the counter as he attempted to act natural.

He heard Dabi mutter something from far off accompanied by the rustling of plastic grocery bags. Then he called out to the two of you, sounding slightly irked, like he was wondering why you’d decided to leave all the cash you were supposed to be counting unattended, before Tomura heard his gait growing closer to the kitchen.

As an afterthought, Tomura opened the iced tea and took a few quick gulps, trying to pretend he’d been casually sipping at it for some unspecified amount of time. When Dabi appeared in the kitchen’s entryway, he stopped short upon laying those sharp, scrutinizing eyes upon Tomura, the bags of groceries swaying slightly in his grip.

“Hey…” Tomura greeted, trying to play it cool.

Dabi narrowed his eyes and cocked his head slightly to one side as he returned the gesture with a skeptical and accusatory question of, “Why is your shirt on backwards?”

Tomura’s posture stiffened slightly and he forced himself to take another sip. “Is it?” he asked, feeling his heart rate increase slightly, on the cusp of being caught. “Huh… I didn’t notice.”

Still watching Tomura out of the corner of his eye, Dabi set the groceries down by the fridge and wandered closer. Tomura fought the urge to make a get away. He knew he’d only seem more suspicious that way. “Where is she?” Dabi then asked, which pissed Tomura off more than anything.

“In the shower,” he responded with only a slight attitude, figuring honesty was harmless in that case, though he quickly learned he was wrong to assume that.

Dabi stood before him, leering, trying to lean over him with the few extra inches of height he had on Tomura. “Why’s the money still out?” he asked. “What? You two get bored partway through and decide to take another little field trip?”

To that, Tomura wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he sort of just shrugged and responded, “We just took a break, man. It’s not a big deal—”

Then, startling Tomura into a reflexive flinch, Dabi leaned in closer than he’d ever dared get before and actually sniffed him.

The moment their eyes met again, both sets of them wide with confusion and horror, Tomura knew that Dabi knew what the two of you had done while he’d been gone.

“If you two fucked on my couch again,” Dabi sneered, absolutely livid and alight with the promise of violence if Tomura so much as twitched, “I will fucking kill you.” He gave Tomura a shove, once again treating him like he was trash, like he was nothing, but that time Tomura didn’t just take it. Because as Dabi turned his back to pay the fridge a visit, like he had no fear of retaliation from Tomura, Tomura went and shoved him right back. Hard.

“First off,” Tomura corrected him, seething now, “it’s not your couch. We all chipped in to get the new ones, so that means all of us can do whatever the fuck we want on them whenever we want.” Dabi’s eyes were white hot murder as they bore into Tomura, the sheer audacity for him to oppose him in such a way tempting him to wrap his hands around his throat and finally deliver him to the death he’d once so desperately wanted.

Dabi reached forward and twisted a fist in the collar of Tomura’s backwards shirt, yanking him forward. “Listen here, you little shit—” he growled through clenched teeth. He opened his mouth to spit out some venomous retort, but before he could, your voice filled the space instead.

“What’s going on?” you asked, wrapped in a towel and still dripping wet as you stood in the doorway, looking concerned and on edge. You’d rushed out of the shower the moment you’d heard raised voices, though were trying to act like you were just happening by.

Two sets of eyes, one red and one blue, both landed on you at the same time, all three of you now held hostage in a thick, tense silence.

Dabi blew out an agitated exhale from his nose and then let Tomura go. He felt like he’d just managed to get into your good graces— well, your decent graces, more like— and didn’t want to jeopardize that all because some scrawny loser had set him off. Tomura, meanwhile, still seemed poised to strike.

“Nothing,” Dabi lied, then giving the groceries sitting by the fridge a lazy nod. “There’s food,” he said, now acting like he hadn’t just looked like he'd wanted to skin Tomura alive. “Y’know, if either of you are hungry.”

You glanced at Tomura, who then pushed off from the counter and announced he was going to take a shower now that you were done, stalking off without giving you so much as a hint that something more was going on here as he passed you in the doorway.

“I’ll come eat after I get dressed,” you agreed, a noticeable shakiness still clinging to your voice. After that, you promptly continued on to your own room.

Once he heard the hiss of the shower turning back on, Dabi grabbed a can of beer out of the fridge and sat at the table, absentmindedly playing with the pull tab as he let his mind wander.

Inevitably, he began to think about you, fantasizing about creeping down the hall and carefully peering through the gap along the side of your door, watching as you dropped your towel to the floor, all your clean, soft skin on display as you rubbed that subtly sweet smelling lotion you were always trying to convince Tomura to try all over yourself, palms carefully tracing over each and every one of your alluring curves.

Then, just as you’d slip an oversized t-shirt over your damp hair, Dabi would retreat back to the kitchen, lying in wait for you to re-enter. In his fantasies, sometimes you exchanged a few words beforehand. Sometimes you didn’t. But it didn’t really matter, because soon he’d be undressing you all over again, bending you over the counter, one of his big hands clapped over your mouth to muffle the sounds of your pleasure as he fucked you deep and slow, savoring every second spent inside your tight wet heat, Tomura none the wiser while the water washed over his head and drowned out the betrayal happening just a few rooms away and—

“What’s the matter?” you asked as you stepped into the room, a slight smirk tugging at one side of your lips. Dabi was visibly red from the neck up, his breathing stuttering a little as he stared off into space, which happened to be in your exact direction. “You catch a fever while you were out or are you just happy to see me?”

The joke was made in harmless jest, but, for a moment, Dabi couldn’t tell whether he was still inside his daydream or not (especially given you were wearing one of his oversized t-shirts, one that you’d still held onto back when the three of you were still occasionally sharing clothes). Then, seeming to snap out of it as you began digging through the various bags of food, he scoffed and said, “Don’t flatter yourself.” Unfortunately, it came out sounding a lot harsher than he’d meant it to.

You plucked out a spicy chicken wrap and a bottle of ramune before seeking refuge at the table (which was now big enough to seat all of you at once, not that “family dinners” were a very common occurrence) and shot Dabi a look that, if he let himself be delusional enough, felt a lot like flirtation. “Someone’s snappy tonight,” you remarked, semi-teasingly, semi-accusingly. Then, “What? They run out of your favorite cigarette brand at the store or something?”

Dabi pushed up from the table, went over to scavenge through the bags himself. Then, with a sigh of defeat and a package of pre-made yakitori pulled from the grocery store haul, Dabi sunk into the seat at the table opposite of you. “No,” he replied, trying (and failing) not to sound so defensive. Softening his tone a bit, he started again. “No, sorry, it’s just…”

Your dinner was raised halfway to your mouth but, upon his uncharacteristic hesitation, dare you catch a glimpse of vulnerability shining through the cracks, you placed it back down on its wax paper packaging that you’d spread out like a placemat and asked him with genuine concern, “Seriously, what is it?”

The sudden shift had surprised Dabi, too. He was usually so good at concealing his true emotions beneath a careful mask of indifference that even he began to believe nothing really mattered to him. But the longer he looked at you, eyes tracing over the faded logo on that old shirt, the more so many unwanted memories began to fill him. First, in a slow drip, like a leaking faucet, then, like a burst pipe. A flood.

After a while of uncomfortable silence, Dabi looking haunted, he said, “I just realized… that today’s the day… I ran away from home… when I was a kid.”

His confession was full of odd, unnatural pauses, as if he were reliving those memories between the gaps. But you could see it in his eyes, in that far off stare you thought you’d mistaken for frivolous fantasizing before.

Dabi could still remember what that day— that moment— felt like, even after it was an entire decade behind him.

Your first instinct was to reach forward and place your hand on top of his, a signal of silent solidarity, an unspoken apology for all that he’d suffered, but you resisted. In your experience, all open sympathy earned you was a bark or an order or a threat.

Too much tenderness scared Dabi half to death.

He figured he should kill it before it killed him.

“Can I be honest with you?” you asked. Dabi pulled his gaze up to meet yours from across the table, feeling a cold sweat breaking out across his skin. He hadn’t thought about the anniversary in a few years now. He’d always been alone and high out of his mind or busy running a risky job with a gang he was currently hitching a ride with for it to occur to him.

But now he was beginning to form some fragile semblance of a family again, and as much as he craved that stability, he also feared it. The simple notion of family was enough to evoke so many painful memories.

“I can’t say I know what it’s like to run away from home,” you admitted, hoping you’d be able to find the right words this time around. “But I do know what it’s like to—” the admission caught on your tongue, as if your body wouldn’t let you say it, wouldn’t let you tell another soul what you’d tried to forget and lock away for so long. You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like you didn’t have much of an appetite either. “I know what it’s like to walk away from your family.”

Dabi kept his gaze trained on you now, your own having drifted down to the tiled floor.

“I mean, it’s not easy, even when you know it’s what’s best for you. And I just couldn’t— I mean, after everything I couldn’t—” You felt the sting of oncoming tears prickling in your nose, biting back the words you still couldn’t say out loud.

You flicked your stare back towards Dabi when you heard him shift in his chair, the wooden legs scraping against the uneven floor. “It was easy,” he stated, voice dark and low. “For me, it was…” He puffed out a sigh, leaned back in his chair, eyes searching the bare infrastructure of the high ceiling. “It felt like it was either me or him and I chose me. I mean, at that point, it pretty much was…” He paused, seeming to be living outside the memory more than in it now. Like he was watching it from a window while he stood across the street rather than being inside the house. He’d regained control, or at least some false sense of it. “My dad. Y’know. He was…”

“Abusive.” you completed, as if you knew that much firsthand. It sounded halfway between a question and a statement.

Dabi gave a weak nod. “Yeah. Though that never seems like a strong enough word for it.”

He seemed to be content to let the conversation end there, and you’d be lying if you said you were eager for it to continue. But still, you took a chance. Whether he was going to bare his teeth or not was irrelevant to you now. You’d regret not reaching out to comfort the injured beast more than you’d regret getting bit.

“For what it’s worth,” you began, “it’s not your fault.”

Dabi felt something in his chest tighten. Not with anger. Not with fear. But with longing.

“Thanks…” he muttered. Then, after a moment, “Same goes for you, y’know. Whatever happened. It’s not your fault.”

***

You stayed at the table with Tomura while he ate after his shower, Dabi having abandoned his seat the moment he entered the room and began digging through the bags, taking his barely touched yakitori with him to retreat to his room. You hadn’t managed to finish your dinner but were willing to reluctantly pick at it while Tomura scarfed down about two and half salmon onigiri and an entire bento all on his own. Looking at his spindly form you tried to work out where he kept all those calories.

But once everyone had finished eating and Dabi had reemerged from his den, the three of you decided you were well overdue for a team meeting.

Now, displayed across the kitchen table was a makeshift game board that served as the 3D model for your latest scheme, a crudely drawn blueprint of where your next hit would take place scribbled down on several miss-matched pieces of cardboard that had been taped together. Around the perimeter sat three game pieces— an origami star crafted from part of a takeout menu, a 500 yen coin, and some little magical girl cellphone charm trinket that had been plucked off the street— all of which were meant to represent the three of you.

Dabi plucked up his piece— the 500 yen coin— and slid it around to where there appeared to be a loading dock around the back. “What about—” he began, but you cut him off.

“No, see— ‘Cause— Look…” You pointed out the two points marked out on the board and drew an invisible path from each of them with your fingers out to where his coin now sat. “They usually post guards there, remember? It’s too risky, especially if you get back there and it’s locked.”

Tomura slid his paper star, which you’d folded for him, temporarily entertaining both of the boys as you’d done so, towards the left side of the building. “Well what about through here?” he asked, tapping on where a door had been marked down, a little asterisk beside it noting there hadn’t been a chain lock around it the last time you guys had scouted it out.

“Well, no,” Dabi interjected, “‘cause look at that.” There was a note that a lookout was usually making the rounds on the second floor, the vantage point easily visible from the window which overlooked that side of the building.

You studied the map, troubleshooting different routes until you thought you discovered one that might work. “Oh, how about this…” You moved your cell phone charm over to the upper right side of the blueprint. It was close to where the guards ran thickest, but, if approached stealthily enough, it provided the perfect blindspot from the other lookouts posted around the back and upper floors. “We might need some kind of distraction to draw them away, but…” You chewed your lip as you flicked your gaze between Dabi and Tomura. The boys ran through a few possible scenarios, some with diversions and some without, but at the end of the night it seemed like that was the most viable option.

“We’ll need some supplies,” Dabi reminded you, running through the list in his head. “Weapons, lock picks, a new safe crack— and one that we won’t have to leave behind this time— just to name a few.”

You all knew that this meant another routine trip to Spinner’s, which you’d all taken turns on running. Technically, it was Dabi’s turn to go again, which irked him because that meant you and Tomura would have even more time alone together (he was still pretty pissed about earlier, though he was trying to keep you out of it), so when Tomura volunteered to go instead, both you and Dabi were surprised.

“Are you sure?” you asked him.

“Sure,” he shrugged. “I feel like I could use a drive.”

“Wait, you’re leaving tonight?” Dabi asked. “Like, right now?”

“Why not?” Tomura asked. “The sooner I leave, the sooner I get back.” He started to head towards his room, likely to pack a quick overnight bag.

“But it’s already so late,” you reminded him, as if he’d forgotten. You almost sounded like you were asking him not to go, like you weren’t ready to be without him yet and waking up tomorrow to find he’d already left would be easier. “Why don’t I go with you?”

“It’ll be alright,” he assured you, seeing the worry in your eyes and placing a hand gently between your shoulder blades, pulling you closer as he kissed the top of your head. “Plus, you should probably lay low for a little while longer. Not to mention the less any of us are seen together, the better.”

Defeated, you stood in the hall between the kitchen and your rooms and watched Tomura go.

“He’s right, y’know,” Dabi said, leaning in the kitchen’s entry way and trying not to look smug as he crossed his arms over his chest, tattoos on display from where they unfurled from under his t-shirt’s collar and sleeves, a tapestry of black and grey like smoke creating images from a crackling fire. “Don’t want the cops catching onto any patterns or anything…”

Tomura was already heading back out with a small duffle bag slung over one shoulder. He looked to Dabi, asked if the keys were still in the usual spot by the door, and Dabi nodded, trying not to show just how much he was enjoying the fact that, for once, he’d have you all to himself in the warehouse.

“I probably won’t be back till morning, early afternoon at the latest,” Tomura informed you as you trailed after him on his way to the door like an anxious puppy. You told him to be careful, that if any trouble arose he should just get out and— “I’ll be careful,” he promised you, giving you another kiss, this time on the lips, in hopes that it would help reassure you. “I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.”

And, with that, he left, the door shutting behind him with a final and damning click.

You felt incredibly pathetic standing before that door, just staring at it like you were going to wait there all night, like you didn’t have the power to open it and go after him, like you really were a helpless little creature anxiously awaiting its owner’s return.

You heard movement as Dabi settled himself onto the couch that faced the door, the one opposite of where you and Tomura preferred to commit unforgivable acts when it came to communal living, turning and feeling even more helpless when you noticed how openly amused he appeared to be acting now.

“So…” Dabi stared you down with something hungry, something dangerous, as he suggested, “It’s just you and me now, huh?”

***

Keigo had watched as the numbers lighting up the digital alarm clock on his bedside table climbed to their highest double digits, then switched over back into singles. One o’clock, two o’clock, soon to be three AM taunting him in a shade of red that made him want to wince, to just turn over and retreat back into the dark his closed eyes provided.

But no matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t shake this feeling— this urge that told him to get up. To get back to work. To follow this new lead.

2:43 AM.

He sat up with a groan, limbs feeling heavy but his mind buzzing with both anxiety and that addictive curiosity that made him so good at his job.

He slipped into a hoodie and some jeans, grabbed the keys to the undercover cop car Enji let him keep parked outside his condo, and headed for the darkest parts of town.

He parked on the street near where he’d first spotted Dabi. He waited. Then, by the time it was 3:15, he started to think maybe he was just getting paranoid.

What was he hoping to accomplish like this? Who was he hoping to find?

But that’s when he saw him, caught a glimpse of that shock of silvery-white hair through the untinted windows of a black Toyota that was slowly cruising by, the driver wearing the same distinct features as a certain suspect dug up from his past.

Hawks killed the headlights, waited until his new target was almost out of sight, then began to follow.

He wanted to laugh, borderline hysterical after so many sleepless nights and overworking. I mean, just how lucky could one guy get?

Because, while Tomura hadn’t been Keigo’s original mark tonight, there was one thing he knew for certain.

Wherever Tomura was headed, it was bound to give Keigo another piece of this puzzle he’d found himself so obsessed with as of late.

And, who knows.

Maybe it would somehow end up leading him to Dabi after all.

***

“Got any nines?” you asked.

In his signature droning drawl, Dabi replied, “Go fish.”

You grabbed another card from the deck, puffing out a sigh as you scanned your evergrowing hand. Either you were hopelessly shit at this game or Dabi was hardcore cheating.

“Ok, how about any threes, then?”

Dabi didn’t even look over the cards in his hand, of which there were only four, as he said, “Go fish.”

“Are you cheating?” you accused for the fifth time since you’d started playing.

Every time before that he’d had some sarcastic or witty remark to throw back at you, but that time he only smiled, placed his cards face up on the table, and admitted, “Yeah.” He had a nine, a five, a three, and a six. He leaned back to sink further into the couch, admiring your look of annoyance and betrayal. “Just wanted to see how long it would take for you to really catch on.”

You threw your cards at him, sending them fluttering in all different directions as he let out a laugh. “You’re such an asshole,” you said, trying to suppress a smirk. Then, pushing up from the floor to stand, your legs a little stiff from where they’d been crossed for too long, you told him, “I’m done playing games if all you’re gonna do is cheat.”

You were planning on heading to your room, turning in for the night and hoping you’d be able to fall asleep without Tomura’s familiar warmth beside you, but Dabi didn’t seem intent on letting you go so easily.

“Hold on a minute,” he seemed to tease, a mischievous lilt to his tone as he stood as well. “You’re not seriously gonna give up just like that, are you?”

“Give up?” you repeated, incredulous at how effortlessly he could twist things. “You can’t even play Go Fish fairly! You really think I’m gonna trust you in anything that has actual rules?”

Dabi couldn’t help but find it cute how seriously you were taking this. But it also gave him an idea.

Because, if you were that willing to follow the rules, he could only imagine how seriously you’d take something with actual stakes.

“Alright, how ‘bout this,” he proposed. “You give me one more game— and I won’t cheat— and if you win…” He paused, trying to think up something he could offer that would actually entice you. “If you win, I’ll give you half of my share from what we collect on the next job.”

You couldn’t even believe what you were hearing, eyes widening with disbelief, but still shining with the challenge nonetheless. Then you narrowed your gaze at him, distrusting. “And how do I know you’re not lying?”

Dabi quirked up an inky brow. “You don’t, but—” You scoffed and turned on your heel, making it a few more steps before he quickly cut in with, “Wait, wait, wait— Ok, how ‘bout this—” You stopped and glanced at him over your shoulder, chagrined. “If you win, I’ll give you ten thousand dollars from my personal stash right now.”

You let that hang in the air for a moment.

“Ten thousand,” you restated. “Right now.”

“If you win,” he clarified.

Keeping your skeptical stare trained on him, you stalked back to your previous perch and reclaimed your seat. “Ok. What’s the game?”

Feeling victorious and a little luckier than usual, Dabi slouched back into the divot his weight had pressed into the couch and steepled his fingers together. “How about we make this a little more interesting?” He gathered all the cards that were strewn across the table, reshuffled the deck, then asked, “You ever play poker before?”

You had, once, with a long lost ex-boyfriend of yours. But it had been a long time ago and you’d forgotten the rules. Dabi had no problem re-explaining them to you, going over the places you were confused until you were sure you understood. He didn’t want you to have any excuse to accuse him of foul play. Plus, he actually did intend on playing fair this time. He wanted to earn this win, knowing victory would taste all the more sweeter for it.

“But here’s the catch,” he said just as he’d finished dealing out the cards. “Each time one of us loses a round…” Those brilliant blues scanned you up and down, unable to hide that cruel smirk that inevitably split across his lips at the thought of what he was about to say next. “We remove a piece of clothing.”

Your eyelids dropped to something half-lidded and starkly irritated as you said, unamused, “Strip poker? Really, Dabi?”

“What?” he baited. “You scared?”

With a roll of your eyes and a light puff of sarcastic laughter, you replied, “Make it twenty thousand, and you have a deal.”

When Dabi didn’t even hesitate as he agreed with an eager and resolute, “Deal,” you began to feel a sense of confidence, thinking that he was in way over his head. Unless he was some sort of master poker player, it seemed both your chances were about even. Plus, now you were locked in. Focused. You’d risk showing him your underwear for twenty thousand dollars. Hell, you would’ve done it for ten, but you’d wanted to see just how desperate he really was.

Turns out you both had a habit of testing each other just for the hell of it.

“But, just for the record,” you told him, “if you win, I’m not giving you shit.”

What Dabi wanted to say to that was, if you lost, you would’ve already given him exactly what he wanted, but he held his tongue. It would be more fun to watch you slowly devolve into the realization that you’d played right in his hands rather than show that card to you just yet.

But first you had to even the playing field. “Lose the jacket,” you told him, totaling up your articles of clothing.

Dabi eyed you as he shrugged off the worn leather. “Relax,” he teased. “The round hasn’t even started yet.”

And so the game began.

The first round was simple enough. You bluffed your way through losing your socks, but soon after had no choice but to pull them off your feet and toss them aside when Dabi caught on. The first garment you got off of him, by his choice, mind you, was his shirt. You forced your eyes not to wander the exposed plane of his abdomen. He was thin but undoubtedly had a layer of defined muscle beneath all that pale, tattooed flesh. When he caught you staring, he’d say something along the lines of, “Like what you see?” and you’d have no choice but to act like you’d been trying to figure out what some of his tattoos even were.

“What, did a kindergartener scribble that one on you?” you shot back. “Or did you just do it yourself?”

He let out a dark chuckle, clearly amused at your attempts to insult him. Then he’d say, “No more stalling. You’re up,” forcing you to take your turn.

The next article you lost was, reluctantly, your shorts. Your oversized t-shirt was big enough to protect your decency for the time being, though just a quick peek at your lacy panties was enough to begin to rile Dabi up. Dabi’s socks were the next to go on his side. When the inevitable moment arrived and you had to decide between abandoning your bra or giving up the t-shirt, you had a short internal struggle before ultimately deciding on the shirt.

“Last round,” Dabi announced, still holding onto his jeans and the boxers you assumed were beneath them.

You didn’t know how badly the odds were stacked against you right now. Dabi kept that secret skillfully concealed beneath a stone-cold poker face. What he lacked in the cards he more than made up for in his ability to bluff. Too bad he had about ten years of experience over you on that front, back when he used to bet a lot more than the clothes on his back when he’d played with criminals two decades his senior.

“What’s it gonna be?” he pressed, growing impatient as you took your sweet time.

You flicked your gaze over to him, annoyed, then back to your cards. “I’m thinking…”

“About what?” he further taunted. “Whether you’re gonna ditch the bra or the panties first?” He began to laugh at his own joke, but the look you shot at him next stopped his mockery short.

“If you’ve cheated even once—”

“I haven’t,” he assured you. Though, honestly, that only made you feel worse.

You let out a sigh, knowing you were defeated, and threw your remaining cards down on the table for him to see. “Guess that means you win then,” you admitted, depressed. You went to reach around to unclasp your bra as you said with an extra serving of scorn injected into your words, “Hope you enjoyed the show—” but he stopped you short as he said, “Wait.”

You paused, giving him a confused look, like you thought this was some sort of trick.

Before you knew it, Dabi was sitting across from you on your couch, a foreign kind of softness to all his usual sharp edges and hot-to-the-touch surfaces. You weren’t accustomed to him looking at you like that— like he was about to break, like he was already broken and needed you to help put the pieces back together— and it scared you. Made your breath catch and your bare body freeze, a wave of chills rising over you and making the hairs on your arms stand on end, electric with suspense.

Neither of you said a word. You felt like you could barely breathe.

“Dabi…” you murmured, voice delicate and trembling. “We can’t…”

Then, finally, only when his lips were an inch away from yours, did Dabi whisper, “Tell me to stop then.”

He gave you a good solid ten seconds before your silence gave him an answer, the denial on the tip of your tongue but unable to make the leap from your mouth and into the air between you.

His lips touched yours, gentle at first, as if testing just how far you’d let him go. And then, when you began to return the gesture, mind gone numb from the shock of it all, body now moving on its own, all that softness was burned away by the blazing inferno of so much pent up desire.

There was no going back now.

What’s done was done.

And what was to come neither of you were going to try to stop.

***

The outskirts of town were pitch black at this time of night, the headlights carving out a shallow pool of pale light through the endless void. Dust swirled before the light like oil in water, a certain fluidity to its movement as the particles gave way to the intersection. Tomura was actually enjoying the drive, quietly humming along to the radio and turning it up a bit as “My Heart” by Twin Wild began to crackle in and out on the far off station’s fading frequency.

Spinner’s wasn’t too far now. Tomura even thought he could just make out the twinkle of the dim LEDs bleeding from the highest windows of the warehouse if he leaned in towards the windshield and squinted a bit.

“She could have been special to me,” he melodically mumbled along with the singer, already knowing the words by heart. “She could have been mine…” Lightly drumming the steering wheel along with the beat, he sang a little more confidently, “We could have been lovers to the— To the end of time…” He turned it up higher, allowing himself to let loose a little now that he’d found himself alone. “Just another thing in my way, and it won’t last one more day—” But as his hum overlapped with the singer’s notes that time, he stopped short.

Because another set of headlights had just switched on behind him, the glare shining through the rearview mirror and causing him to wince into the sudden burst of blinding white. As the chorus kicked in, the car in pursuit gradually began closing the gap between them.

Tomura pressed down harder on the gas. So did his follower. And while Tomura had never been in any real car chases in his life (he’d only learned to drive just recently, when you guys had split the bill on the new car, you taking him out into the parking lot of an abandoned mall and trying your best to teach him the basics) he’d seen enough movies and played enough video games to guess that that was likely where things were headed.

By the time the second verse began, Tomura was climbing towards eighty miles per hour, the speedometer’s little red needle gliding higher over the numbers as the car behind him seemed intent to match his speed.

“Alright…” Tomura said to himself, killing his headlights and slowing down a fraction. Then he flipped the rear view mirror into night mode to dull the glare and scowled, unable to see the face of the driver behind him. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

He turned the radio’s volume to max and then…

Then Tomura fucking floored it.

Hawks switched on the undercover cop car’s lights and siren, zooming down the desolate expanse of road after Tomura, white-knuckling the steering wheel and gritting his teeth as he tried to keep his lights on the car in front of him while Tomura did reckless, chaotic zigzags over the dirt, stirring up more dust behind his wheels and decreasing the detective’s visibility of him.

Good thing Tomura knew more than one way to Spinner’s. And while the long route wasn’t optimal, it was going to serve as an excellent escape plan in this case.

That was, so long as the rickety old bridge he was going to have to cross to exit city limits didn’t crumble to debris beneath the wheels as he raced across the pass.

My heart only knows this one song, those words how they echo on…

The music was bringing him alive, electrifying his senses and pumping even more adrenaline into his blood as he swerved hard down a hill, offroading the rest of the way to the pass while the syncopated oscillation of red and blue splashed against the dashboard through his back windshield.

It’s the voice that follows me, it’s that never ending beat, ‘cause there’s only one thing that my heart is set on…

The bridge was rarely ever used anymore. Not since the main city had paved a better, and much safer, way out of its designated territory. The only ones who even really knew about it were those who had reason to venture this far out into the middle of nowhere— meaning mostly criminals or truckers— so Tomura was banking on the fact that this cop wouldn’t see it coming.

Not until it was too late, at least.

I feel a hunger deep inside, from the dreams that plague my mind…

The crumbling desert provided a bumpy ride, Tomura barely swerving out of the way as tall, bendy cacti suddenly appeared before him, popping up like looming ghosts in his path. But Hawks wasn’t going to let him escape that easily. His car jumped and jostled down the hill after him. He had no idea where Tomura thought he was going, besides further into the desert, yet still he blindly followed.

I crave a different kind of high, no pill could bring alive…

For a moment, Tomura feared he’d turned off too early and missed the bridge over the canyon entirely, which meant he could find himself tipping off the edge of a cliff and being swallowed up by the drop below any second now. But then he saw it, just off to his left, and gave the gas pedal another harsh stomp as he pulled the wheel, nearly flipping the car.

But he wouldn’t die.

Couldn’t.

Not tonight.

Not when you were waiting for him.

‘Cause if I make this world mine, I want you by my side…

Tomura barely caught a glimpse of the old wooden bridge as the cop car lights doused it in the fading shades he’d soon associate with his victory, but that was probably for the best. If he would’ve had time to notice just how dilapidated and sagging the structure had become since he’d last seen it, he probably would’ve hesitated— or worse, slammed on the breaks— and gotten himself caught.

But he didn’t.

He could visualize the train tracks that waited on the other side. He’d follow them back to the main road and end up at Spinner’s an hour late, but in this case, better late than never seemed like an understatement.

No matter what will be, I do it all for you and me…

He felt the entire car sway and the surface beneath him creak and buckle as the front tires clattered against the bridge.

“Not good!” Tomura shouted over the music, the final chorus thrumming through his chest in heavy vibrations, nearly loud enough to drown out what very well could’ve been his final words.

He felt the back right tire stick on something and then drop as one of the ancient planks of the pass was punched out beneath it, somersaulting down into the cavernous trench below. The lights from the cop car were getting brighter, the siren getting louder, and Tomura let out a sound halfway between a growl and a scream as his beat up converse sneaker pressed so hard on the gas he swore it was going to break. The wheels spun until they conjured smoke, and then, by some rare stroke of luck, the car pulled itself back onto the bridge and rushed the rest of the way across just as several more big gaps were dug out behind it, rendering the bridge useless now.

Tomura didn’t even realize he’d made it across in one piece until he glanced in the rear view and noticed his pursuer was growing smaller in the distance, Hawks having been forced to slam on the breaks and swerve to the side of the broken bridge in defeat, killing his siren but letting the lights continue to spin as he watched Tomura race further into the desert until he disappeared entirely, the silent beat of red, blue, red, blue consumed by the darkness of what lay beyond the cliff’s edge like a black hole asphyxiating all visible light.

For a while, the detective just sat there, staring out at the vast expanse. Then, seeming to regain some of his senses as the weight of his defeat settled heavy over him, he slammed the steering wheel and shouted out a rageful, “Fuck!” before switching back to his headlights and putting the car in reverse, hoping he’d be able to find his way out of this wasteland before sunrise.

And Tomura—

Tomura was laughing.

He was cackling as he sped beside the train tracks, damn near hysterical.

Because he was alive.

He was free.

And he was going to have one hell of a story to tell you once he made it back.

***

Dabi’s warm hands weighed heavy on the bare skin of your waist, calloused fingers brushing against your ribs as you settled further into his lap, your own fingers clasped behind his neck, feeling his body heat seeping into your palms. The crackly old radio continued to play softly from elsewhere in the room, slow, nighttime music echoing faintly throughout the warehouse.

“Comfortable?” he murmured to you, scooting you a little closer to him, gaze sultry and half-lidded, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallowed all of that scorching sapphire. You’d gotten better at holding that gaze, always so ablaze with intensity even when he was trying to act cool. For so long you could only see hatred in those eyes.

Now, you saw nothing except unbridled desire.

Your voice was barely a whisper as you gave a feeble nod. “Yeah…” you confirmed, little fingers gently carding through the fine inky tufts at the base of his neck. His nose was nudging against your jaw, coaxing you to tilt your head back, allowing him more access to the sensitive flesh of your throat. When you complied, he began to press a constellation of kisses there, chaste and teasing at first, but then, gradually, more open-mouthed and sloppy, tasting the salt of your skin like he was trying to memorize it.

And it felt so good. God, it felt so good. Different from the way you were used to, but no less intoxicating. Before long, he had your eyelids fluttering closed and that slow drip of warmth rolling through your veins, surrendering to his touch like you’d done this a million times. Like to end up here was inevitable.

But when you closed your eyes, your imagination filled in the shifting darkness with shades of ivory and carmine, pale skin and a plethora of scars.

“Dabi, wait…” you sighed, giving his shoulders a light push until he paused.

“What?” He was searching your eyes, something scared and frantic nestled deep behind his stare, like he was already halfway to losing you. He’d tried to figure out a way to get you all to himself for so long, he didn’t want it to be over before it even began. He sounded like he was already pleading when he asked, “What is it?”

“It’s just…” Tomura, you thought. How could you do this to him? After everything you two had been through? After everything you’d shared? “I just think— Maybe we—” You felt the threat of tears beginning to prickle in your sinuses and you bit your lip.

“Hey…” he cooed. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s ok,” he tried to assure you, his voice hushed and urgent. When he saw your vision mist over, he clicked his tongue and pulled you against his chest. Feeling him hug you was a little odd, at first. Foreign. To be given any comfort from him at all was strange, but, as guilt-inducing as it was, welcome all the same.

He stroked your back for a little while until you seemed to calm down, and then he said, as if trying to convince himself just as much as he was hoping to convince you, “He doesn’t have to know, alright. He never has to know.” With the words whispered into your hair and another tender kiss placed to your bare shoulder, Dabi had you letting out a shuddering exhale.

You wanted to believe him.

But then again, when had he ever told the truth?

“Y’know…” you began again, deciding to change the subject as you pulled back from his embrace, meeting his eyes for only a moment before you looked away and sighed. And then, absentmindedly beginning to trace along the lines of some of the tattoos on his shoulders and arms with the tip of your finger, you said, “When I killed my boss… Y’know, back on the night we first met…” The image of all that blood flashed through your mind, making you wince. “I mean, I didn’t mean— I didn’t plan to, but…”

But it had been either him or you.

“Listen,” Dabi said, a slightly sharper edge to his voice now. “Whatever you did back then, it doesn’t matter now, ok. What’s done is done, and besides…” His hands were resting on your hips now, giving you a light squeeze as if trying to drive the point home with the press of his fingertips. “If I were you, I would’ve burned down that place with him inside it. Fucker got what was coming for him.”

You let out another exhale, leaned forward to press your forehead to his, adjusting your position in his lap as your hands found their way to his shoulders. Eyes closed, almost serene, you said, “I wish I would’ve thought of that…”

It was at that moment Dabi realized you hadn’t moved on from that night. A part of you was still stuck in time, still the terrified victim who’d been forced to become a murderer and then leave everything she knew behind.

He could relate.

He almost considered telling you his side of the story, but before he could you said, “But I guess you’re right. What’s done is done. I can’t change that now…” You pulled back from him, but only a fraction, your gaze still downcast. “I just wonder how long it’ll be before one of those cops who keeps coming down here catches me and—”

“No,” he cut you off, lifting your chin so you were forced to meet his eyes. “You’re not gonna get caught, ok? None of us are. Not while…” we’re together. He looked away for a moment, swallowed down the rest of that vow. Clenching his jaw, as if suppressing anger before flicking those bright blues back to your face, he repeated, more resolute that time, “You’re not gonna get caught.”

In a broken whisper, you said, “But I’m scared, Dabi…”

His palms glided over the tops of your thighs, gently kneading the plush flesh there for a moment while he bought himself some time to think. Once his touch stilled he said, “I know. But there’s no use worrying about it right now. Besides…” Long, slender fingers brushed a few strands of hair behind your ear, hands that had once been so dangerous and rough now granting you the most tender of touches. Through a crooked smile and a little cruel humor, he added, “If it makes you feel any better, if any of us go down, we go down together, at this point.”

You didn’t want to think about any of it, to be honest.

That’s what had gotten you into this current situation to begin with.

You’d been desperate to forget. Desperate for a distraction. Needing something— anything— to make all those voices in your head that constantly told you that it was only a matter of time until your life was truly over to stop.

And Tomura had left.

There had only been Dabi.

And so Dabi it would be, at least for tonight.

“I just hope he’s alright…” you muttered, Dabi’s hands beginning their slow journey around your body again, his mouth nipping at your neck. “Maybe we shouldn’t have sent him alone. I mean, I know Spinner’s his friend but… I dunno… What if he runs into trouble on the way…”

“Don’t worry about Tomura,” Dabi mumbled against your skin between a hickey and a kiss. “He’s fine. He wouldn’t ‘a volunteered if he didn’t want to go alone anyway. Look—” He pulled back from you, though kept firm purchase on your hips to keep you straddling him for the moment. “I got somethin’ that’ll help you relax…” he offered, half sly and half sympathetic. “Y’know, if you want it?”

You knew what he was tempting you with.

Those little white pills.

The ones he used to make his own voices stop.

“I dunno, Dabi…” you replied, nervous about the idea but curious nonetheless. “I’ve never done anything like that— I mean, how strong are they, really?”

Dabi flashed one of those deviously confident smiles, the kind that said he’d already thought he’d won, and then he was carefully lifting you from his lap to stand and go over to retrieve where his jacket lay in a pile of worn black leather on the floor. You stayed on the couch and watched, heart beat picking up speed a little.

“I’ll just give you half a dose,” he reassured you, like doing unfamiliar drugs was nothing to worry about. Maybe for him it wasn’t. But for you, despite all the other things you’d tried since finding yourself in this part of town, vicodin or any of its other addictive cousins wasn’t one of them. Dabi fished a crumpled up baggie from one of his pockets and gave it a little shake, peering through the clear plastic and trying to count how many he had left. “It’ll be fine. Here—” He was back standing in front of you again before you’d had a chance to make a decision, holding out one of the little pills towards you in the center of his palm.

You eyed the pill then flicked your gaze back to him.

“Ok, but what does it do, exactly? I mean, how long does it last? Does it—”

“It’ll just help you relax,” he explained, taking a seat next to you, pinching the pill between forefinger and thumb now. He held it up, as if intending to feed it to you.

He could see it in your eyes, how badly you wanted to work up enough courage to try it. He’d help you. He’d stay sober while you got high, this time around. He’d make sure you didn’t float too far away. He’d watch over you. Make sure you were safe.

His smirk was returning, slowly spreading across his lips as if he were trying to suppress his true intentions for as long as it took you to open your mouth and let him place the drug on your tongue. When he said, “I promise, baby. It’ll help you feel good,” well…

You were going to find out now whether you could really trust him or not.

Dabi gently cupped your jaw as your mouth opened for him, carefully placing the pill on your tongue as if its precise location affected its strength. He offered you one of the half empty water bottles sitting on the coffee table among the forgotten cards to wash it down with, and once you’d swallowed he cooed, almost lovingly, “There we go… Good girl…”

He looked pleased, though with himself or with you, you weren’t quite sure. 

It didn’t take long for the effects to set in, or for you to reclaim your previous position settled comfortably over Dabi’s lap. He’d shed his jeans somewhere along the way, moving on to free you of your bra. Everything felt like it was happening too fast and too slow all at once. Like all your senses were dulled and alight at the same time. So you closed your eyes, chose to focus on the sensation of his touch and the quiet sounds of the crackling radio that you’d tuned out halfway through your third round of Go Fish.

The song on the radio began to change, a series of sultry guitar chords bleeding through the crackling feedback, slow and then sharp, evenly spaced with a short pause in the middle, just long enough to take one quick breath, to let the sonics sink in.

Through the hazy, lulling high wafting through your brain, you swore you’d heard it before. A long lost memory of a summer evening spent on a rooftop somewhere returned to you, though only briefly, like the breeze that had combed its gentle fingers through your hair as the familiar, rolling melody played from inside the house, the window you’d climbed out of open to let your bedroom’s light reach out into the dusk beyond.

As the singer’s voice began, raspy and rich, Dabi’s hands cupped your breasts, enamored by the softness of your skin, a wave of chills rising over your flesh despite the consistent warmth emanating from his touch as the rough pads of his thumbs teased at the perked buds. You let your eyes flutter open, then closed again, sinking into the song, disappearing into the moment.

High off love… Love’s a drug…

His mouth was against you, sucking a trail of bruises from the hollow of your throat, across your collar bones, your chest, all the way to the sensitive peak of your nipples. You became clay in his hands, pliable and obedient to how he wanted to mould you.

Young and old… I crave your soul…

A soft, broken mewl escaped your lips, Dabi’s cock aching at the sound. He lowered you to lay back on the couch, leaving a trail of kisses down your sternum, the soft rise of your stomach, as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down just below your hips so he could press his lips there as well.

Those summer nights, summer nights in June…

He’d gotten too hard, too fast, just the mere sight of you stripped down and baring the parts of your body he hadn’t been allowed to see until now— the parts he’d only been able to fantasize about— stirring that dangerous, carnivorous arousal deep inside of him. By the time he was removing your panties, having half a mind to keep them for himself once you two were done, he felt himself straining painfully against his boxers, a precursory hiss escaping through clenched teeth.

Your sweet Chanel perfume…

His mouth continued to travel lower, finding you where you were most sensitive and wanting. The first kiss he pressed to your cunt had you shuddering and keening, his tongue gently teasing you there for a while, keeping you carefully perched on that fine, razor’s edge of pleasure. He couldn’t let things be over too fast now. He was intent on savoring you like this for as long as he could bear.

I’m drunk in love, drunk in love… With you…

“Dabi—” The broken cry of his name lilted off your lips, sweeter and more sacred than any music he’d ever heard. Your fingers were twined through his hair, gripping those inky spikes for dear life as he dipped his slick, wet muscle deeper into you, obscene slurping sounds emitting as he dragged his tongue between the dewy petals of your folds, spearing his tongue into your dripping hole just to earn another one of those beautiful moans from your pretty little mouth.

He glanced up at you from between your legs, all that entrancing blue reminding you of how you’d felt staring up at the clear, open sky from the top of that building. The one the three of you had found yourselves on after narrowly escaping that chase. The serenity that followed the adrenaline. How so much chaos had wrought so much peace in its wake.

Baby I’m a savage for the dirty little things you do…

When Dabi flashed you a casual smirk, you thought maybe he’d go easy on you. Keep things slow. Smooth. Controlled. Helping you towards that peak more so than forcing you there.

But then something sinister fizzled behind those eyes and he proceeded to return to his treatment of your pussy more viciously than before. Like the world was about to end. Like you both were about to die and this was the last thing you’d ever get to experience. Like time was running out.

You’re my ecstasy, fire gasoline… You can pour yourself… Right on top of me…

But he was a master of that tortuous push and pull, knowing just when to ease up or intensify his ministrations in order to let you come down or work you back up. Every flick of his tongue against your swollen, sensitive little nub was intentional. Enough to make your thighs tremble and try to close around his head. But those long, spindly, ink-covered arms of his would always wrestle them back open again, looping around the back of your thighs to pin you down.

You can kill me any way you’d like… You can stomp on my heart and dice it with a knife…

“Dabi—” you moaned, the second syllable clipped as it pitched higher. “Please—” You sounded so pathetic. So helpless under his spell. It was almost enough to make him weak. To leave him his own kind of breathless, desperate mess beneath the brand of magic you bestowed upon him.

But as the single plea of, “Stop—” was uttered through a shaky exhale, Dabi felt a hot barb of fear stab into his chest.

Maybe the enchantment had finally worn off.

But that request was followed by a slightly more hopeful, “Wait…” and that, Dabi could deal with. He lifted his head slightly, gazing up at you expectedly, patiently, which took just about all the fragile willpower he had.

The thing was, you didn’t want this to be over too soon either. 

You were actually enjoying yourself. Enjoying him enjoying you.

You beckoned him closer, urging him to climb further up your form, close enough that you could reach down between your bodies and palm him through the thin fabric of his boxers, pulling another one of those sharp hisses and a clipped gasp from him.

He’d wanted you to keep playing games with him, though it seemed he forgot that games took two.

Oh, but don’t you, don’t you ever leave…

A soft gasp escaped your own lips once you felt how hard he was, a damp spot already having formed against the black material of his underwear. You wanted him to let you touch him unrestricted. Good thing he wanted that too.

He pulled himself free of his confines and let you get a good look at him. His length was intimidating, to say the least, but the drugs hazing through your brain kept you too calm to wonder whether you’d truly be able to take him or not. If he would even be able to fit.

But Dabi had made up his mind long before you two had even gotten here, even if only just in the privacy of his own sick imagination, that he would make it fit.

I’m beggin’ you please…

You were the one working him up now, his panting breaths picking up speed, hot exhales fanning against your neck as he curled over you, rib cage expanding and contracting rapidly as you got him close.

Dabi grabbed your wrist, forced you to stop before things could go too far.

He wanted this to be perfect. He needed it to be.

If he only got one chance at this, with you, he wasn’t going to waste it.

And as the song began to pick up into its final act, Dabi decided it was time for a change of scenery.

You’re my ecstasy, fire gasoline… You can pour yourself… Right on top of me…

Dabi scooped you up from the couch as if you weighed nothing, all those boney limbs turning out to be a lot stronger than you would’ve previously given them credit for. He carried you through the hall of patchwork rooms all the way to the dark little nook he called his own and carefully laid you down on the mattress, which was still pushed into the furthest corner on the floor. He mumbled something under his breath that you didn’t catch, but the tone of his voice alone seemed to tell you that, whatever was about to happen next, it was going to be one hell of a ride.

He gripped both your wrists in one slender fist, pinning your arms above your head, taking a moment to savor the sight of you like this, burning it into his memory. Through the blurry dark you swore you could see his eyes glowing, two pin dots of sparkling sapphire twinkling over you like they were the stars in your night sky.

His breathing was still coming out in short, shallow puffs when he said, “Tell me you still want this,” like he was begging you with all the reverence of someone praying to a malevolent god, fearful and desperate and trembling with the last ounce of hope they had left that maybe they’d be spared.

Before answering him, an image flashed through your mind, intercut with that first night you met and everything went wrong. Because, somewhere tucked between all that animosity and terror, there was a different life where Dabi was the one you’d taken back to your apartment. One where you woke up next to him and the two of you shared breakfast at the diner on the border between the city’s shimmering heart and the jagged skyline of the outskirts. One where maybe Tomura hadn’t joined the two of you in the car at all. One where he was reduced to a mere memory of a stranger that had almost been left for dead in the midnight streets.

But even if you could go back and change things, would you?

“I…” you began, not missing the way he hung onto that single letter like it would grant him the deliverance he so desperately needed right now.

You couldn’t forget Tomura. As much as you felt you were betraying him right now, you’d never be able to let him go. You weren’t in the right state of mind to figure out what you’d do once he returned tomorrow morning, how you’d navigate the new dynamic between the three of you that was sure to rear its head sooner or later. So, for now, you let yourself stay in the present, or at least what little was left of it.

“I want this,” you nodded.

Dabi let out a breath he must’ve been holding in, relieved. Elated. Feeling like he was living in some kind of dream. Then he leaned in, giving you another kiss, his grip around your wrists loosening just a fraction. He said, “I’m gonna take real good care of you, baby. Promise,” and then you felt one of his long digits prodding at your needy little hole, slipping in and nearly pulling a moan from his throat at just how tight you were.

By the time one finger became two, beginning to assist in preparing you to take him in full, you were already beginning to writhe atop the tousled sheets, breathing picking up speed as the pleasure began to course through you sharper and heavier than before.

You winced when his leaking tip caught on your entrance as he dragged his length along your soaked folds, collecting more of your wetness to better aid you both with what came next. All the while, Dabi kept muttering, “Gonna make you feel so good,” only punctuated by a punched out, “Fuck—” once he slid a few inches in, gritting his teeth over a groan as your silky walls clenched hard enough around his cock to make him see stars. A feeble cry left your mouth as he slid the rest of the way in with one quick, harsh thrust, both of you stilling for a moment to adjust to the feeling of each other.

You were trying to pull your wrists free from his grip, wanting to touch him, to clasp your fingers around the back of his neck, dig your nails into his shoulders, pull his hair as he fucked you— anything to anchor you to him more than you already were. When Dabi noticed your resistance he let you go, took to balling the sheets in his fists instead while your little hands squeezed around his biceps.

Then he started moving, hips rolling slow and controlled at first, fucking into you as deep as he could before pulling almost all the way out, your hold on him tightening as you flinched with pain when his cock brushed against your cervix, both of you hissing and moaning in tandem when you constricted around his cock and he hit that sensitive, spongy spot deep inside of you.

“Fuck, baby—” Dabi growled, beginning to pick up speed. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in impossibly deeper, and that nearly had him spilling into you, filling you to the brim with his balmy seed. “God— Feels so good—!”

He wondered if Tomura had experienced this level of ecstasy the first time he’d had you like this, or any time after, for that matter. It was blinding, unreal, and Dabi already knew he would do anything to make sure he could taste it again.

Your mind went numb as your legs began to tense and shake, that tightly wound coil in the pit of your stomach about to snap. After a few more strokes, Dabi had you throwing your head back in a silent scream, the column of your neck bared for him where he took the liberty of sucking a new bruise into your flesh before scraping his teeth across your throat. You came undone for him, your cunt squeezing around his cock with a strength that was almost painful. Dabi sunk his teeth into the meat of your shoulder to try and muffle a whine. He gave himself about five more seconds before he lost control.

But, for some reason, just as he was about to finish, something possessed him to pull out of you, instantly making a mess all over your stomach and thighs in his haste.

“Fuck—!” he wheezed, collapsing over you. He hissed out a swear and an apology, barely able to catch his breath. But you didn’t even seem to notice, and if you did, you didn’t care.

All you cared about right now was having him close to you, beckoning him back for another kiss, catching his bottom lip between your teeth and nipping at it, causing a quiet gasp to catch halfway up his throat. Feeling that pinprick of pain, he pulled away, his tongue darting out to tease at the bite and tasting blood. When his eyes met yours again and you let out a pleased little note, he shuddered.

You were just full of surprises, weren’t you?

“Now we’re even,” you said with a devilish little grin. At first, Dabi considered you, confused, but then he glanced at your shoulder where the imprint of his teeth stared back at him with the angry red indents he’d left branded into your flesh.

He couldn’t help himself. He leaned in to kiss you again, though this time you both bared a lot less teeth towards one another, the previous passionate intensity melting into something much more slow and savoring. Neither of you were sure how much time passed as you traded saliva and stroked each other through the come down, and while most of your worries had seemingly burned away for the moment, Dabi felt that familiar sting of regret stirring up within him once more.

Because, fuck.

He could’ve had this the entire time if he hadn’t been so god damn stupid.

So selfish.

So jealous.

Though, now that he’d tried it once, just like his favorite little drugs, he doubted he’d be able to quit you for very long.

“Touya…” he suddenly said, the name no more than a panted huff, so fast and fleeting you’d nearly missed it.

Through your own shallow breathing, you asked, “What?” and he simply repeated himself, as if hearing those two syllables again would bring you clarity. “Who’s—”

“That’s my name,” Dabi quickly amended, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling, limbs splayed carelessly across the old mattress, all prior sharpness gone, leaving behind only a cracked and fissured kind of melancholy. He turned his head to look at you with those bright cerulean blues. He said, as if it were a threat, “That’s my real name…”

And maybe you should’ve recognized that as your chance to run. As your chance to get out before it was too late. But you’d already come too far. Done too much.

The only thing that felt right was to close your eyes and fall asleep in the dragon’s den.

***

(Hello everyone, and thank you so much for coming back for chapter three!!

I’ve been enjoying working on this series so much and have had that final Chanel Perfume scene living in my head for two whole years now! I’m excited to flesh out Reader and Dabi’s new relationship and all its turbulence in the chapters to come.

Anyway, as always, I sincerely hope you enjoyed and please look forward to the next chapter! Byyyyye~)

[h0n3y-b33z]

Wrote something from what a friend said.

What said friend said was this:

Ink or Blue: “Dream! We need you to help save the multiverse again!”

Emo Dream: “YOU’RE NOT MY DAD, I DON’T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU. *EMO MUSIC*”

So I wrote a fanfic off of it. Or is it considered a one shot???

The sirens are blaring, there's dust every where, knives and bones in many piles off dust. The feeling of the place is suffercacting and dark, like being trapped and water boarded.

It felt like if hell had frozen over.

"ugh booossss! You said we'd have fun!" Killer complains like an impatient child. Nightmare, to whom the assassin had been talking to, taps his foot impatiently, where are they? Those damned stars should be here already. "Shut your damn mouth Killer." Nightmare angrily demands of his servent. "You said we'd get to fight the stars! An' I don' see 'em!" Killer continues on, Murder and Horror walking up to the two now. The swirling sound of a portal opening catches their attention, a sadistic grin returning to Killer's face. "Finally! been itchin' for a fight." the assassin says as he and his teammates ready themselves.

The golden portal forms, opening and letting the Bad Sanses see their enemy

Wait it's just Swap?

The skeleton who resides in the au Underswap steps through the portal, his hammer at the ready and eyebags under his sockets. His expression holds irritation. "Underswap Sans, to whom do we owe the pleasure?" Nightmare greets the short but surprisingly chubby skeleton with a dark voice. "all alone? Did your 'friends' finally leave you?" He chuckles darkly, his singular eyelight never going away from Swap. In response to this, the star sans looks at Nightmare then at the portal. "one second...." he says and quickly rushes through, leaving the Bad guys confused.

Swap returns, helping Ink drag Dream out of the portal. Dream, dispite usually the brightest, looks unbothered and irritated, wearing a red and black stripped hoodie, ripped jeans and army boots. Another detail that can be noticed is that he has heavy black makeup applied to his eyes. Dispite what many may think, the guardian of positivite emotions is infact heavy dispite his small stature and body. The bad guys can hear Ink trying to convince Dream to fight.

The guardian mumbles, not truly caring. "speak up Dream! We cannot hear you" Ink says, tired and yet energetic. Swap nods, annoyed. The negativity was delicious in Nightmare's opinion. Dream shoves his friends away and stands up, irritated. The bad guys wonder what the hell is going on with the usually joyful Dream. "i said: everyone's gonna die anyway so what is the point?"

Oh.

Oh no.

Ink gasps dramatically, his hand to his chest. Swap sighs and turns towards Nightmare. "Could ya give us a minute? I'm so sorry"

He says. Dream groans. "don't apologize to them."

He says, his arms crossed. Killer now notices that dream is in gosh darn Gucci. What the hell is going on. Horror is so confused and Murder is just staring as Ink begins to lecture Dream on safety and kindness.

"you're not my dad! So don't act like it you soulless slime." Dream says, taking his headphones off his neck and putting them on, the music being so loud that the bad guys can hear it clearly.

Swap groans "Well I technically am so help us or so help me I will take away your make up and make sure you do not go to sephora or whatever it's called!" he says, taking away Dream's headphones. Killer burst out laughing, this was the beat sht he's seen all week, well maybe besides Nightmare falling into glitter. "oh my gosh! Dream's turned emo! This is funking gold!" Ink nods "yeah! And Swap is terrible at being a dad!"

Swap is about to snap back when Nightmare yells out "WHAT THE FUNK!?" It was safe to say that Nightmare was royally shocked, or pissed. Could be either with the guy.

The groups were silent, except Killer whom was still dying from laughter as this was comedy to him. "Sephora?! Why the *hell* would you allow him to go to that hell dump!? I'm am absolutely disgusted in you Dream! You're supposed to be the better twin!" Dream looks at his brother, and with zero expression says this: "why are you an anime sex genre?" silence. Absolute silence.

[xxxninjaxxx23]

You brought the light I needed in my life

Part 2

(The next morning)

I don’t know something about this song just seems so genuine when the morning sun is beaming through your window. Maybe the opening beat got to me 🤷‍♂️

(Tara’s Pov) I woke up to the sunlight beaming in my face once again. ‘sigh’ I told Sam numerous times that I wanted blackout curtains for my room but she insisted on slim curtains that let sunlight in my room anyways. She said something about being too emo or like that character Wednesday Addams who’s actually my favorite.

I face planted into my pillow “I guess there’s no point In going back to sleep.” I climb out of bed and head into the kitchen to eat breakfast. “I don’t smell anything or hear the stove running. Cereal it is then I guess.

As I finished pouring some milk into my bowl of cereal, I heard Sam walk in the kitchen, turning the stove dial “Oh come on!! I just poured a bowl of cereal!”

Sam put her hand over my mouth “Shhh! Y/N is still asleep and put some pants on Tara.” I looked down, forgetting that I only wore a long over shirt over my body.

“Eh fine, I do it in a minute. But first. I want to know about Y/N sleeping in your bed, did you touch first base with them already?”

(Sam’s pov) Of course she would ask that “No Tara I didn’t touch, first base….the hangout with really fun and all but…..I don’t know. Do I really want to put a blind trust In someone again?”

Tara ate her cereal “You “trusted” them enough to sleep in the same bed as you.” She then smirked “Don’t think I didn’t see you cuddling with them, lover girl, last night to be exact. I took a pic of you both because you looked so cute together. The post already has a bunch of likes and still going.”

I almost dropped the bacon when I heard that “You did what?! Why would you post pictures of my private life Tara?! That’s so not cool!”

Tara flinched a bit “Jesus Romeo, don’t get a stick up your ass. But at least everyone will know you can have a romantic relationship with someone.” Sam glares “No Tara that is personal. It’s no one’s business of what I choose to do in my life…look I don’t know if I really want this because, who wants to be in a relationship with the daughter of the first Ghostface killer?”

Tara shook her head “Sam…you really need to stop letting this get to your head and give Y/N a chance. You deserve love too.”

I kept my focus on the bacon “I always tell myself that. You’ve seen how it ended with Ritchie and I can name a few others that were no different than him.”

“Suit yourself” Tara said as she finished her breakfast and went to watch tv in the living room, putting her bare feet on the coffee table again.

I threw the bowl in the sink and bolted to the living room “Tara how many times do I have to tell you?! That is not a footrest!” I pried her legs off the table, earning a glare from Tara. “Well you don’t want to rub my feet. I’m just resting them” she said.

I rolled my eyes “If I give you a foot rub, will you stop putting them on the table?” Tara nodded as I sat down next to her “Alright. Put ‘em here on my lap.”

(Y/N’s pov) My eyes fluttered open from the morning sunlight in the room. “Well that was some dream I just had… I wish it didn’t have to end soon.” Oh well, I’ll see if Sam wants me to help her make breakfast.

As I leave the room to the kitchen, I find Sam sitting on the couch with a girl “Umm am i interrupting something?” The girl bursted out into a laughing fit “Tara stop it!” Sam said. ‘Tara’ quieted down with her hands in her lap.

“Well Sam, are you gonna introduce me to your new “friend or what?” I could have sworn I saw her wink.

Sam clears her throat “Y/N this is my younger sister Tara. Tara this is Y/N my new lov-Friend!” Sam quickly said, hiding her blush but Tara noticed “Weellllll I’m going to get ready to start my day. You two kids have fun here or wherever but not too much.” She said winking once again as she left to her room.

I was stunned “Well your sister is quite….something. At least she doesn’t dislike me, that’s a start.” Sam shook her head “She’s quite a handful and a gremlin. Always never afraid to speak her mind, even if it is the harsh truth…but that’s why I love her.”

I nod “She’s capable of standing up for herself and becoming independent her age, that’s quite impressive. Seems like she learned from her wonderful sister who guided her.” I said, sitting down next to Sam.

Sam smiled then looked down at her watch “I do have to get ready in a bit. You want to share that breakfast with me.?” I nod “I thought I smelled bacon” we both laughed.

(Later)

(Tara’s pov) I was tapping away on my phone in the diner, waiting for Chad to get here. Sam came by noticing that I was here “Did you actually bring money this time or do you want to add another free meal to your huge tab?” I smiled “No, not this time. I managed to bring my wallet.” I picked out the item I wanted then Sam left with the written ticket.

“Ok now to wait for Chad.”

(Sam’s pov) I brought the order ticket over to the cooks then decided to mop the corners when I saw how dirty they were. Y/N really is one of a kind, I’m glad I made a good first impression on them. I smiled as I got the bucket and mopped up the cobwebs and stains.

“Aww my little girl is growing up too fast. Already found a new partner to kill later down the road I see?” Said a voice I’m all too familiar with….I wish I hadn’t heard him but he follows me around like a fly on paper. I looked up to see him sitting at the table in front of me.

“What do you want?! I told you to stop talking to me!” He grinned. “That’s no way to talk to your father now is it Samantha?”

I gripped the mop “I’ll ask one last time. What. Do. You. Want?”

He puts a hand on my shoulder “Nothing really, just concerned about the new (boyfriend/girlfriend) you picked up from the pen again. Still looking for a worthy one just like your old father hm? Only they don’t really know about us.”

I scoffed “There’s no “us.” I’m not like you and never will be!” He crossed his arms with a smirk “You always say that but what’s gonna happen if this new person finds out who you are? Either they would cut you off or attempt to kill you and piss on our legacy like those others did! I hate to be a downer sweetie but you’re gonna end up going down my path again if they choose the second option.”

I gritted my teeth throwing the mop at the wall “Shut up! Shut the fuck up! That wasn’t me becoming Ghostface! I killed Ritchie because he tried to hurt my family! My other relationships left and never came back, because of your stupid legacy!!”

He didn’t speak for a bit but nodded his head “touché princess, touché. It seems like you have a lot to think about. Like it or not, you have to watch your back with this new love interest. Don’t hesitate to use the knife and gut them if you have to” Then he vanished.

I cover my face for a bit and let out a breath before finishing my task.

(Tara’s pov) While I was waiting for my food, I watched an interesting show Sam just put on in the corner. ‘She’s probably thinking about him again. Billy is a part of her after all’ “Hey love, did you order anything for me?” Chad said, laughing. I smiled and shook my head “No big guy I didn’t. But that’s ok because I ordered a decent sized sandwich we can both share.”

He gave me a peck on the lips “Alright, sounds good to me.”

A few minutes later, I see Sam walking out with a tray that had my food. But halfway to the table, she stopped and stood still for a bit. “Sam?” Her eyes went wide for a second and her shoulders tensed. “Sam…you ok?” Then the tray dropped, spilling the food all over the floor. She collapsed, breathing rapidly with her fingertips on her head.

The manager walked out from the kitchen “What’s going on? Sam-“ Chad and I rush over to the pair, I already seen this enough to know what it is

“Sir! She’s-she having a panic attack.” The manager got concerned and reached for the phone “That won’t be needed sir. I’ll handle this.” I walk slowly towards Sam and placed both hands carefully on her arms “Sam…Sam, it’s ok. I’m right here, just breathe carefully ok? Do it with me…1….2….3….breathe.”

Sam relaxed her shoulders and let her hands hold mine as she calmed her nerves down. After a couple of deep breaths Sam was back on her feet but she collapsed into my shoulder, crying her eyes out. I hugged her back, trying my best to comfort her.

“I’ll go clean the mess up” Chad said, I nodded.

(Sam’s pov) I have no words on what just happened an hour ago but the next thing I know, my boss is speaking to me “Sam…I think it’s best if you head home and get some rest, I’ll cover it from here and make sure you get you paid.” It’s clear he wasn’t in the mood for an argument either so I took off my apron and thanked him as I headed home.

Halfway to the apartment, I collect my thoughts.

‘God what I mess I am. I can’t even have one good thing in my life without my dad following me everywhere I go, running his mouth. I hate to say it but he’s not completely wrong. I really like Y/N and all but what makes me think they won’t be another Ritchie? Then I would have to kill them and be lonely once again.’

I wiped my eyes ‘sometimes I wish I could go back and destroy that fucking mask, then yell at my grandfather for driving dad towards insanity.’

As I made it home, I decided to take a shower. I got a few text messages one notably being Y/N saying they would like to do another movie night soon. A few tears rolled down my face and I didn’t have the strength to reply back.

After my shower, I heard a knock on the door “who is it?” I asked. “It’s Y/N” I opened the door and smiled a bit, “hey, what are you doing here?”

Y/N fixed (his/her) hair “Ah yes. I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by and say hello. I also live in this complex too by the way.” I was taken back

“Wow, so I guess we’re new neighbors then?”

“Fraid so” Y/N said.

I rubbed my arm “Well….you can come in if you want. I was just going to pour a cup of wine.” Y/N smiled “My favorite! Make that two cups I will pour for us.”

I sat down on the couch resting my eyes as Y/N offered to serve the wine.

(Y/n’s pov) ‘ok…I have to tell her. This could be my chance to start something new between us’ I whispered as I took the full cups to the living room.

I set the cups down and took a seat next to Sam. We sipped our wine and stayed quiet for a while until I decided to start a small conversation about our hobbies and our takes on romance novels.

“I’ve been….thinking about you a lot.” Sam said, at the end of our conversation. It surprised me a bit but gave me a pinch of excitement! “R-really?”

Sam breathes a bit heavily before speaking “Unfortunately I have been, a lot and….I’m afraid.” I gently took her hand into mine and she accepted.

“What’s there to be afraid of? I was actually going to confess my thoughts to you as well. I know we haven’t known each other for that long, but I’m feeling something between us the more we see each other Sam and it still continues to grow.”

Sam nodded her head, frowning “I-I like you Y/N I really do from the bottom of my heart but….I’m just not ready for another relationship yet, I’m sorry.”

I tilt my head down in a bit of disappointment, despite her request to stay with her last night and sleep in the same bed as her. “It’s because of your last relationship isn’t it?” Sam nods

I look up at her. “I understand. I won’t force you or rush into something you don’t want too soon…or at all. I’m fine with us being friends if you want.”

Sam caressed my hand “I think that’s for the best….I just need some time to process everything that’s going on in my messed up life. If I CAN get my head straight then maybe we might have a chance after all.”

I gave her hand one last gentle squeeze “I’ll be waiting for you when that time comes.” Then shared a hug before leaving.

(Later that night)

(Tara’s pov) The arcade was fun a second time! Despite Chad breaking the joystick off the giant claw machine in the end. At least the owner was nice enough to let me have a prize from the machine before throwing us out. Chad dropped me off but had another class tomorrow so he went home to rest.

As I unlocked the door and closed it, I hear Sam’s faint crying coming from the living room. I peek around the corner to see Sam drinking a cup of wine as she let her tears fall.

I wanted to comfort Sam but seeing her in that kind of state told me to leave her alone for a bit. So I went into my room and changed into my night clothes.

“Oh Sam…..what have you done?”

I tried my best to fall asleep, hoping she would be ok to talk about this tomorrow. Or whenever she can.

(To be continued. No worries, am already working on a part three)

[sempsimps]

cheslock / reader with a crush

little idea i had a while ago, where you struggle with playing piano, and cheslock comes and helps before leaving again, and you get quite confused, i guess.

it was drudge time, i always finished my work beforehand, so i spent my time practising this song that i was finding difficult, but once fully played, it sounded amazing. so i sat in the music room, the annoying piece of scripture in front of me as i awkwardly stretched my fingers, trying to figure out this one note. It never sounded quite right. in frustration, i slammed my hands down on the keys and let out a small sigh, lowering my head onto the instrument, which it let out a sad strangled cry from my face being on it.

"oi get off of 'er"

my head shot up, and so did the keys as i looked towards the voice in fear. i instantly noticed that it was the purple house prefect, and i panicked in my reply.

"i am so sorry! im just getting really frustrated...."

"Well, that's great and all, but don't take it out on Estie."

"Estie? t-the piano you named it?"

"so what if i did?"

"Sorry, uh, just surprised"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, what do you need help on anyway?"

"Oh, uhhh, just this one note I'm struggling with, I don't get how my hands could possibly move over to play this at the same time, and it sounds funky"

"Oh, thays easy"

Chelock walked over swiftly and moved to lean over my shoulder, letting a small hum out while reading the sheet music, giving another hum before his hand moved above mine the remaining one shifted my hand over one key. It was so simple, and he was only doing a small favour, but his body felt too hot against mine, I felt my face flush in heat at the closeness. 'no no no don't think like that he is a prefect, and he probably doesn't even have time for this, let alone anymore.' his voice snapped me out of my trance.

"See if you just move that over here, and it's immediately better"

I was slightly frozen, so my hand movement was still stiff, but yeah, it was way easier to play. a smile made its way across my face, but it dipped as I felt the prefect move.

"Alright, well, I'm glade I helped and all that. but don't hurt Estie, or I'll give ya a Y got it?"

"Right, got it, sorry, again"

And just like that, he left. my words fell on deaf ears at that point. the lingering touches on my hands stayed for what felt like an eternity, and my face was warm. but I shake it off and start to play this song again with the advice, which sounds a lot better. 'god, he's good with his hands. Wait, hold on-' I shake my head to clear the thoughts. But my mind did wander to him at lunch later that day 'I wonder if he would - no, never mind, it's stupid'.

Aaaaaaaaaa I don't know how to end shit so here I guess anyway hope that was okay a little short but it gets me back into the swing of writing and I need to get more emo twink content out I have a lot in drafts almost ready to go so this is just that start i promise and i have lots of Gregory becuse i am a simp for that man

[queerpossumtrenchcoat]

Let's talk gender expression, awful haircuts and realisation of who I am! I came out as gender fluid approximately around the age of the third picture above- and I got an awful haircut to match it, but at the time I felt like THE gender vibe; I was 13, or so, and didn't realise I looked like I'd had a fistfight with a weed whacker. It was a stepping stone however, for me to discover who I was; after this time I started to experiment with my look, name and pronouns, leaning more towards he/they and slowly changing my name from Jaimee to Jai and or James- small steps, I know, but crucial ones in me realising my dead name no longer really fit me as a person. James was a family name after all. Finding myself wasn't always glamorous, the look wasn't always particularly handsome or pretty, it was colour the tips of my hair with sharpie markers and conditioner until my hair had a distinctly petrol-and-macadamia type stench or cutting it with a cheap, disposable razor which ended up giving me hair reminiscent of the early 2000s emo scene (which I totally was, even if I only saw 6 years of the 'early 2000s!'). I would hack off chunks, flatten my chest with cheap Duct Tape and wear boxers I stole from my dad in order to feel some semblance of who I was, using makeup to poorly build cheek bones and eyebrows so I could look like my hero at the time, Brendon Urie (God, that aged poorly..) In time I got creative, I learned that my parents wouldn't let me get a 'real boy's haircut' so I'd have to improvise; here came the next 6 months of beanie hats and ponytails pulled over to create a 'boy fringe' which, in retrospect, was giving more Justin Beiber than Emo Quartet, but that all chained when I turned 16 and... Got to dye my hair for the first time!! It was the greatest experience for my gender to date!! My mother bought me midnight blue hairdye for my 16th birthday and helped me dye it; I looked in the mirror at my fairly short ish, dark blue hair and I saw it. I saw him, stood staring back at me with tears in his eyes. I saw ME. I told my girlfriend, at the time anyway, straight away and she accepted me with open arms- I think she was expecting the genderfluid-to-trans masc timeline, which funnily enough he followed in 2022 during lockdown. Lockdown dug its claws into my gender and expression quite deeply; while at home with my mother, father and two very young siblings I came to experiment with my gender a lot more, dressing in more masculine clothes and cutting my hair off for 'sake of ease', or that's what I told my parents anyway- they believed it too, surprisingly. I went through college having to somewhat pretend I was just a feminine man, I was exhausted and on the brink of suicide, as most people my age at the time were, and went by Eden because it seemed more palatable to the others around me- didnt stop me being picked on, but it wasn't by students... It was my own teacher! Shout out to Miss Dunsby! Then I dropped out of college. I picked up a shitty little cafe job as a barista and linecook, cooking meals, making coffees, pretending I gave half a shit about a joke I'd heard over and over again; I dyed my hair neon green and used my pay checks to get it cut SHORT short for the first time- I looked hella fine, in my opinion, but I was also starting to realise something.. Maybe I had been right the first time, because I didn't feel like a man all the time. Back to the drawing board... One shaved head and a job at a gay bar later, I started using the art of drag, performing as a female persona, to realise that I was Masc-Agender, like a boyish presenting genderless person. Easy enough, I suppose. I started wearing makeup, being myself and wearing whatever I damn pleased, uncaring of social cues and rules, I was me. I was happy. I AM happy. If there is anything you can take away from this, once you find the part of yourself you can express your feelings, thoughts and emotions with, go wild!! I did and it made realising my truth so much easier!