#this chanel has all the songs i think

[taylorswiftstyle]

Chiefs vs Buccaneers | Kansas City, MO | November 4, 2024

Vintage ‘Kansas City Leather Jacket’ - no longer available Louis Vuitton ‘Louise PM Earrings’ - $575.00 Chanel 'Quilted Cutout Plate Necklace' - $4,475.00 Retrouvai 'Magna Ring' - $5,855.00 Louis Vuitton ‘Ombre Blossom Open Ring’ - $3,150.00 The Row 'Vintage Leather Belt' - $630.00 AGOLDE 'Dee High Rise Shorts' - $150.00 Dior 'Saddle Bag' - $5,500.00

Let's firstly address the 'debutation' in the room with us. The combination of a black colour palette rendered in a western silhouette or a 'horse girl' nod courtesy of her boots and bag feels as comedically obvious as mashing up "Our Song" with "Call It What You Want" on the Eras Tour stage. I like to imagine that she's smiling about the tease on the inside.

Here, Taylor takes a western style boot for a spin in her Chiefs ‘fit for the day, paired with another Horse Girl chic accessory - a new matte black version of the gold hardware Dior ‘Saddle’ bag she carried from an outing in NYC last month. I personally love both!

When Taylor first made waves at Arrowhead Stadium last fall she spent her first season as a sports spectator developing a recognizable game day uniform. Like any uniform, it was one that centered on crafting style pillars that were identifiable, easily repeatable, and that underscored her overall brand as a relatable public figure while also feeling distinctly separate enough from her other style ‘genres’. This approach is not easy to pull off. It’s intentional and carefully thought out! As all good styling is. But it’s one she exceled at.

To my eye, her three pillars of choice were sentimental accessories, women/locally-owned businesses, and vintage.

Pulling on sentimental accessories like ’87’ rings or a gifted ‘TNT’ bracelet anchored the reason why she was there (to play a loving, supportive role). Highlighting local and woman-owned businesses diffused her gigantic spotlight onto deserving vendors that could use a lift. Lastly, incorporating vintage Chiefs merchandise allowed her to be a loud and proud fan without funnelling funds into bankable NFL wares and gives a +1 to the trend of shopping sustainably by giving love to pieces that already exist in the world.

Here, we see that third pillar of vintage on display in a very covetable oversized jacket. Assessing things on the surface, I think this is one of her best NFL showings. The slouchy jacket looks cohesive with her all black ensemble but the styling with more streamlined pieces proportionally balances out the jacket’s volume. The red lip pulls on the Chiefs colours in the paneling and keeps the eye moving consistently throughout the outfit. Meanwhile the belt ties into both the vintage element of her jacket and the black/gold elements of the rest of her outfit by a more ‘quiet luxury’ brand that she’s worn many times and is thus a recognized, existing designer in her fashion directory. Well played accessorizing!

In the last year or so, Taylor’s approach to jewelry has been: “Yes and”. Since she added three piercings to her lobes in the summer of 2023, she’s been comfortable opting for an earring stack and experimenting with upper cartilage cuffs, multiple piercing threaders, and more. That experimentation has also extended to necklace stacks and “fun” pieces like hand jewelry and bodychains.

Even more recently, her jewelry approach has favoured the big, the statement, and the noticeably monogrammed. Take her repeat LV monogram earrings which we saw at the US Open in September. They’re paired for a double down luxury moment with a statement Chanel necklace.

One of Taylor’s key brand signatures has always been her relatability. Whether that be in her emotionally resonant lyrics or in her easily coppable style. Stylishly, she’s executed this most often through her clothes in the form of the fashionable high/low (pairing high end designer pieces with more ‘accessible’ high street options from lower priced brands). But as of late we’ve seen an uptick in layered luxe. That is, monogrammed designer on designer looks.

Some might find it ostentatious, perhaps even tacky. Particularly given the rise of the “quiet luxury” trend which prizes a “demure” take on spendy fashion. Looks that revel unassumingly in expensive taste. In this moment, to me the logo-mania evokes her increasing confidence and ease in leaning in to bigger, bolder, luxe fashion. And perhaps there’s also something there in confidently and loudly reclaiming your identity with fabulously obvious “self named” pieces.

However! I know holistically the increase of monogrammed luxury during this season of NFL styling has given many pause. Does a heavy dose of monogrammed luxury brands paired with a sustainable vintage piece provide balance … or does it cancel the other out?* I’m curious to hear your thoughts!

Photo by Jamie Squire via Getty Images

[azure-cherie]

PAC : Who of the nine Greek muses do you embody ? A message from the muse

➪Pile : 1-2-3 ☟︎︎︎ 4-5-6 ☟︎︎︎ 7-8-9

Hii loves how have you been , I'm back again with a reading, I hope you enjoy this please choose with your intuition and take what resonates , Reblogs, comments feedbacks everything is highly appreciated ❤️

If you liked this and would like to book or would want a bigger reading on the same topic :

Masterlist , paid readings , paid readings 2

Pile 1 :

Muse of music and lyric poetry

Channelled messages: " let go of societal restraints " , " paint the canvas of your life , write a poem about a wall " , " often see yourself as an ancient women of honour " , " feed the doves "

She comes forth to tell you about your potential how you're a very meditative being , you are so good at chanelling and you should do it more often , ask her to be your guide and write down all that comes through to you flow in your thinking and the ideas that come forth

Lean more into the devotional aspect of your life , see everything with the vibration of love. The trees the humans the animals , devote more into self love and worship the gods you already do .

Learn the right way to connect to the moon , you're in your journey and this is one of the crucial times , you're almost at the end of a karmic cycle stay stiff and strong

Don't get into arguments , if you do have mishaps with someone , lean into releasing the anger through creating music or producing tunes .

Take practical approaches to life , if someone says no to you do the thing on your own , your guides are always taking care of you .

Pile 2 :

Muse of dance and choral poetry .

Channelled messages : " learn about the folk music and dances where you stay " , " when in the blues play the beats " , " give more to the society in forms of art " , " start the YouTube channel"

Your devotion towards your deity or your guides is really admirable and that is something that's one of your best qualities people online or in person admire your liking towards a deity you inspire them .

The calmness of mind that can be attained through yoga is something she wants you to do , imagine a blue beam of light when you meditate , she tells you to connect to your primordial life form your soul .

Know about the necessary sacrifices one has to do in their life , your sacrifices now will bring you rewards later , don't fall for instant gratification

Abundance is soon to come in your life but work on cultivating a sense of detachment towards money , obsession ruins everything.

There might me a rock bottom moment in your life soon , she asks you to remain in your path as a human and as a soul take the lessons and move on soon you will alchemize your pain into passion and glory . You transform everything you're a becon of light .

Pile 3 :

Muse of hymns and sacred poetry

Channelled messages : " Levitate " , " dream big " , " nice downtown tshirt " , " the life that one has is a sum and minus of that they do "

If you're interested in writing do it , there might be an opportunity approaching you soon in this sector , though there's a warning about a setback if you don't take the opportunity at the right time don't worry you'll do great believe in the power of wishes.

You might rekindle a childhood bond on the basis of liking of movies or songs .

Business sector might have new opportunities your fortune is about to change you're gonna have the power to do what you want in your life because you're the creator of it , your destiny is now on hold make the best use of free will.

Connect more to the oceans and moon , fireflies etc , be in nature more and stay grounded .

Honour your soul by serving the temple you're in your own body , take care of your body give it ample rest and food .

Pile 4 :

Muse of tragedy

Channelled messages : " Dwelling on past has no rewards " , " crazy is as good as the sane" , " time flowes and glows and you grow "

Don't choose a hard life away from your desires because you're scared of disappointing people your path is enlightened more as you connect more to yourself .

Give into dark feminine energy and live in your truth , if you remain often confused or scared work on your root chakra .

Connect more to your guides through paintings and leave offerings of metal , feathers , corn etc

It's time to finally shine you're going from the hermit to an influencer you're gonna be famous it might start small but it will build up .

Keep away from external influences that stop your growth drop bad friends and family .

Pile 5 :

Muse of love poetry

Channelled messages: eat healthy and enriching foods , read about the love you already behold , the depths of see are beautiful and so is your heart of depth.

Abundance in the sector of love is coming soon you're gonna make the haters jealous , might even win a pagent or competition.

You might have felt Beauty is your curse but life's gonna show you how it's not you're gonna be so hight so uplifted I see you shining like a star

One has to prepare for glory start by saying affirmations and working on your third eye and root chakra .

Read more about lovers from mythology like Persephone Hades , Aphrodite ares , Radha Krishna etc

The boons served by the goddess are yours to keep and no one can question that , you're being divinely blessed and you'll be happy and dancing soon .

Pile 6 :

Muse of comedy and Idyllic poetry

Chanelled messages: Search for the small joys, poppies , these boots are meant for walking , spring equinox fairy

There's a confirmation in case you wanna go for the acting sector , this sector will require a lot of hardwork .

There's also a warning regarding someone in your job your boss or your guru they might take credit for some assignment you did beware and if possible say no because that thing might get your superior a promotion

You are to search bliss in satisfaction about what you already have the moon is to be admired by you the power to be soked it , are you ready for the full moon .

You're intelligent and people really admire you for that , gemini energy.

Move in your life in your true path of light don't be afraid or dim your light , your aura might have hints of white colour .

Pile 7:

Muse of epic poetry

Chanelled messages: Blow the bubbles up , get into kitchen witchery, Artemis , cry me a river

Don't give people the benefit of the doubt if you don't like someone let them go .

Fame is eminent in your energy, life coaches might help you , your aunt is giving you good guidence follow her .

Do your school projects and specially eat tangerine and other fruits that make you feel happy

Serve the world and create peace each small step is a long one in the collective , small things create big impact do your part and be sure of the effects .

Moon water energy and full moon is great for you to invite luxuries in your life , ground your root chakra and connect to your third eye your ancestors will be sending you messages.

Pile 8 :

Muse of astronomy

Chanelled messages: Fly me to the moon , peals and sandbox , honesty is the best policy , go go cheerleader

The first message for you is to balance all your chakras it's crazy my oracle deck pulled all chakra cards omg I feel like there soon will be a kundalini awakening for you

You're almost in your last stage of awakening get into the cosmic dance of life your life is about to change , abundance is coming

Hard message to get through but someone in your relationship might be cheating or there might be someone who has an eye on your partner and might try to frame them . Only for some people

Listen to your higher self write a letter to them

Your path from now on is of the hermit it might be lonely but it's worth it discoveries are on your way in fields of history, psychology, quantum mechanics etc.

Pile 9 :

Muse of history

Chanelled messages: 13 missed calls , glow up is loading , search in the Egyptian archives , glow and peach coloured cheeks

The number six is significant, also specifically for someone there's this person who is delaying your glow up by doing some nasty as spell , might be a close friend

You are ignoring some signs from the universe , they're coming again and again and you're ignoring it look into it closely , you're elevating in your consciousness.

Your energy levels are high and you're matching ahead in your journey setbacks are never the end the sheer power of desire iss enough to keep going .

You're slowly climbing the stairs of life to become confident and assertive you might even call upon a partner soon who is very sure about themselves.

You should plant more trees and learn about them about their origination etc , i specifically get about Tulsi and the lore behind it . Some others would be eucalyptus, basil and marigold.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this

Have a great day/ night ♥️🌹

[mickyschumacher]

𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: carlos sainz and you have an on and off relationship: full of an alluring pain. and no matter what, it seems you two always come back to one another. 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors DNI), infidelity, toxic relationship, reader has a vagina, unprotected sex (wrap it up like a gift!), reader slaps carlos, crying, ANGST, carlos bordering on being a sadist, cumming inside, fingering in the car, that being said - dangerous car driving, oral sex, incorrect model stuff probs, severely poorly utilised spanish, probs poorly written smut lol, probably missing plot holes but yeh

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: carlos sainz x model!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4k+

𝐀/𝐍: this is poorly based off taylor swift' 'style'. i hadn't realised i turned such a nice song into something well um... not nice? proof-read but as always, don't hold it against me!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈��𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

Before you even started your cat-and-mouse game with Carlos, you were well aware that he was trouble the moment he walked into the room.

Scratch that.

Formula One drivers were nuisances. Ask any other model on the street and they would probably agree with you.

You knew that it was a relationship you probably shouldn't even be in. He was always going to be away in a new country every other week while you were doing photoshoots and walking runways. You would barely have time with each other. You don't think that you could even label such a relationship 'long distance'.

So when your management sent you down to the infamous Monaco Grand Prix as eye-candy, how were you to deny those brown eyes constantly lingering on you, following your body as he sported a smug smile? No one would be in their right mind to not fall for a guy like Carlos.

The heated gazes, the flirty comments, the burning brushes of touch... it was clear for the both of you that you had to be together.

But of course, despite knowing all of this, you couldn't help still feel a bit emotional about your relationship.

midnight

you come and pick me up, no headlights

long drive

could end in burning flames or paradise

fade into view, oh

it's been a while since i have even heard from you

Here you were. In Miami. The sun had fully set and the rare few stars you could find had taken up their night shift.

You were just leaving the office of your management after having a discussion on what photoshoots you were doing in the upcoming weeks and what events you were attending.

Chanel, Dior, Ralph Lauren, YSL, Louis Vuitton...

Brands on any other general day you would've love to talk about. But your mind was in a state of disarray after receiving a message from a certain Spaniard.

hot spanish polla (prick)

pick you up in 15, princesa (princess)

behind your office.

Even now, looking at the message again, you let out a scoff. You scrolled up, finding the last message you had sent to him. In January.

It was currently May.

Your fingers clenched around your phone as you let out a shaky sigh. Despite all the rage you felt, of course you were here, in the secluded area of your company.

You looked down at your clothes. A model life meant wearing 'fashionable' clothes. You, your manager, and your stylist often pre-agreed on the outfits you wore just for the sake of your image. Today, your stylist had dressed you in a black mini skirt and maroon sweater. You neck and ears all adorned in thin gold jewellery while you feet were hugged by a classic pair of white sneakers.

You pursed your lips. At least you looked good.

But of course this was just like Carlos. Speaking, calling, texting... all when he wanted. You knew he was in Miami. You weren't an idiot. You had all of this season's races organised into your calendar.

You were just in disbelief that Carlos had the audacity to even text you after not hearing even a word from him in almost five months.

Your ears perked up to a low rumble of a car entering the area. The headlights were off but you could still spot it's familiar features. You eyed the iconic Prancing Horse and rolled your eyes. The love and hate you had for Ferrari was unexplainable.

The car stopped in front of you and the door of the driver's seat opened. Carlos came out as if he were in slow motion.

You sucked your tongue to your lips upon eyeing his appearance. He was in a black coat, a simple white shirt that stuck to his sculpted body paired with black trousers that brought out his stupidly defined thighs. Those thighs... god, how much time had you spent on them?

and i should tell you to leave 'cause i

know exactly where it leads, but i

watch us go 'round and 'round each time

Carlos waved a hand through his hair and smiled at you. You could feel his eyes waver over you, making you suppress the innate shudder his gaze would usually send you. You couldn't let him think that everything was okay.

He opened the door to the passenger side and gestured for you to come in with an extended hand.

You folded your arms and stared at him. Were you really going to do this? Yes. Was this what you deserved after so long? A man who felt dizzy for you but wouldn't speak to you for four months? Yes and no.... yes.

Carlos narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to look at you. He knew exactly what you were thinking. "Get in the car, Y/N. Before I make you."

There was nothing threatening about his tone. In fact, even if it was, it would be an empty threat. Because at the end of the day, the both of you knew you were going to.

You internally sighed, before walking up to the open door. You turned your head to him and gave an amused huff. "As if you would, Sainz."

Carlos flashed his classic grin, the very one that had gotten you into this mess in the first place, and watched you enter his car.

By the time you had but on your seatbelt and rested your arm on the door, Carlos had finally sat next you.

"You look good, cariño (darling)," Carlos murmured, bringing your hand up to his mouth to leave a small kiss.

You clenched your jaw at the fiery tingle that sprawled across your hand. You snatched your hand away. "I know. I look good all the time," You mentioned curtly.

Were you being a bitch? A bit catty? Simply put, yes. But you thought a man who usually got what he wanted deserved some sort of catty behaviour.

"Four months, Carlos, four goddamn months... of nothing," You sighed out.

A remorseful expression fell over Carlos' face. "I know. I'm so sorry, cariño. I don't have any excuses."

You huffed once again with an irked smile, folding your arms while you looked out your window. You could think of one. But maybe it wasn't time to bring it up right now. You were tired of this game already. You would rather a false peace than the raw reality.

Your eyes peered over to him. "Long drive home?" You asked.

Carlos smiled softly at you. "As per usual."

You nodded slowly and Carlos turned the key of the car. The engine came alive and seemingly so did he as his hand naturally fell to your thigh while he reversed out.

you got that james dean daydream look in your eye

and i got that red lip classic thing that you like

and when we go crashing down, we come back every time

'cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

you got that long hair slicked back, white t-shirt

and i got that food girl faith and a tight little skirt

and when we go crashing down, we come back every time

'cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

Carlos could feel your eyes on him as he drove down the empty, long roads of Miami, dotted with the sparsely spaced palm trees swaying in the warm summer breeze.

Your eyes trailed over every inch of him. His hair. His eyes. His lips. His neck. His body. Every crevice. As if you were trying to print an image in your mind.

You always looked at him like that. Carlos remembered asking you about it. "What are you looking at?" He would ask.

"Just you," You would retort, "I just can't believe someone like you exists."

Carlos would chuckle and question what you meant by that. You simply said he reminded you of James Dean. Even now. His hair was slightly grown and slicked back with the heat of Miami. His entire aura was smug and intoxicating. The entire world could see Carlos Sainz as the Spanish romantic driver, but you knew that behind that warming exterior, was something dirty... troublesome in the best way, in fact.

You, god, you were the complete opposite. Y/N L/N. The good girl model. Pure. Untainted. The type of model you would see in spreads of brands right after they had a controversy because your angel aura would put anyone back in the good books. No matter how revealing your clothes were or how much skin you had on display, you were somehow still the epitome of unadulterated goodness.

There was a saying that people often associated with good girls like you. Every good girl wants a bad boy to be good just for her.

You wished that wasn't true. How desperately had you avoided all those flashy teenage popstars and actors. But here you were inevitably falling for an intoxicating Carlos Sainz. Time and time again.

so it goes

he can't keep his wild eyes on the road

You let out a shaky sigh as Carlos' hand travelled closer and closer up your inner thigh. "Carlos," You warned, eyes widening slightly as those brown eyes were planted firmly on you, taking in every little movement of yours, instead of looking at the road.

"Yes, my ñina bonita (beautiful girl)," He answered almost questioningly in a teasing tone.

"Keep your eyes on the road," You weakly mumbled.

You both watched his fingers linger up your skirt. His fingers danced across your burning skin and paused at the thin material covering your core. You sucked in a sharp breath once those fingers met your panties.

Carlos grinned at your shaking eyes and the warm dampness on his fingers. "You make it hard to look away," He confessed earnestly.

You could feel his fingers rub your pussy ever so slowly, only just grazing over that sensitive nub of yours.

"Jesus fucking christ, Carlos," You hissed out, hips bucking at his touch.

Carlos could feel his pants become incredibly tight all of a sudden. The control he had over you was so enthralling that he wanted to simply stop in the middle of the highway, grab you by yours hips and fuck the living life out of you.

What a sight that would be. You straddling his lap, soaking his trousers as your ass rested against the Ferrari symbol embedded into the steering wheel. He would make sure that the brand he represented would be covered in your cum after he was done with you.

Carlos sucked in a sharp breath. "Jesus fucking christ, indeed, cariño," He managed to get out, blinking hard at the road in front of him.

He watched out of his peripheral vision as your head fell back against while his thick fingers pushed past your panties and slid against your drenched folds.

His fingers ventured and craved a journey, feeling each crevice of your pussy. Carlos thrusted his fingers into your warm walls, briefly watching you envelope him entirely.

"Fuck, Carlos," You moaned out, hand instinctively reaching out to covers his. You couldn't tell if you wanted him to stop in this horny haze or push him in even further.

It must have been the latter as you could feel his fingers delve further into you. Carlos let out a strangled moan, foot pressing further on the accelerator. He needed to get you home as fast he could.

takes me home

the lights are off, he's taking off his coat

i say "i heard, oh, that you've been out and about with some other girl"

he says, "what you heard is true

but i can't stop thinking 'bout you and i"

i said, "i've been there too a few times."

By the time you had reached home and got to your bedroom, the entire of your house remained living in the darkness you had found it in.

Carlos and you didn't need lights. If there was anything he was purely confident about, other than his driving of course, it was your body. He knew it like he knew those race tracks. Every curve. The distance from your breasts to your pussy. How long it would take you to cum. He knew it all.

Carlos shrugged off his coat somewhere onto your floor, needing a release from the heat surging through his body. Your shoes and socks he had pulled off in a haste as well.

His lips had found yours as his hands roamed your back, pulling him closer to you. His fingers snuck past the hem of your shirt, brushing your bare skin while reaching up your torso to find a neat surprise.

"No bra," Carlos' hoarse voiced queried with the sound of a smirk playing at his lips. At least thats what you could assume in the dark.

Carlos inched you towards your bed as if it was a second nature to him.

The soft silk sheets he had bought you last year consumed the both of you as his fingers brushed past your nipple.

You released yourself from this kiss at the action, gasping for the air that Carlos had taken from you.

"I heard you were with some other girl. Is this what you did with her?" You finally asked, feeling a small smirk grow onto your face despite the annoyance running through your body.

You could feel Carlos stop moving, probably boring those beautiful brown eyes of his into you.

He knew what you were talking about. February. Pre-testing season. The drivers, some staff and their partners had gotten together to celebrate the upcoming season.

Lando, like the photo lover he was, had decided to document the night with his camera and post it to his Instagram dedicated to photos, lando.jpg.

You had clicked on it a few hours later, deciding to see how much fun they were having while you were doing a photoshoot with Kim Jones. Pictures of Charles dancing terribly with Max had made you laugh. Carmen looking concerned for George's wellbeing as he took shots had made you laugh even harder. There was also a photo of Alex and Lily being the cute paddock couple they were while Carlos was drunkly looking into the camera

But then your fingers stopped on particular photo of Carlos.

He looked good, you could not deny him that. Flushed skin, hazed eyes, the perfect smile... all while dressed as the Madrid's richest.

But lo and behold, that wasn't the only thing getting your attention. Instead, it was the girl in his arms. The same girl who in the next few photos had her lips on him and his hands on her ass. You could even spot a fresh hickey that wasn't on her neck in the previous photo.

God, the comments and tweets were coming in at lightning speed.

user55: who's the girl? i thought carlos was with y/n?

user04: maybe they broke up?

user16: wasn't just with her for new years? jfc, that man needs to get a grip

mickyschumacher: y/n deserves better than this

user44: i wonder if she knows?

Quite soon after, Lando had taken down the post, apologising to you profusely. You reassured him it was okay, even though deep down you were exhausted of this.

Not only had Carlos been going around with another girl, but he didn't even have the decency to say sorry. He would rather say nothing.

Carlos didn't know what was worse. His growing guilt or the fact that your reaction was making him harder.

His fingers skimmed across your swollen lips. "Obviously what you saw was true. But the thing is... I can't stop thinking about you and I, princesa. You consume me for every second of the day. Even if I don't show it. Fuck, I have a ritual before every race, you know? To cum to your name... to your body."

Was is it a poor excuse? Yes. It didn't even explain why he had done it in the first place. But the most damning thing was, you didn't care. Or you could care less to begin with.

Instead you were turned on. The pool in your panties had gotten even bigger as you released a light moan at his words. Your hands travelled to his waist, peeling off his white shirt while he raised his arms. The combination of your body heat was so high that it could almost be considered unsafe for the average human.

"You're a lucky man, Sainz. I can't stop thinking about you too."

Carlos could only let out a moan at your words, removing your sweater before bringing his lips to your nipples, dividing his attention to them equally. His hands were busy unbuckling his belt and taking off his trousers.

Your hand reached into his long hair, gripping the locks tightly as he moaned against your breasts. You could hear the clink and thud of his belt and pants hitting the floor as he pushed up your skirt, unbothered to take it off.

In face, these mini skirts were going to be the death of Carlos. He loved them on you. It wasn't just the easy access to the heaven down there. But if he had to explain it, it was the way they rested on your thighs. Laying there simply, not doing anything but creating a monster in him.

Carlos pushed your panties to the side, plunging his fingers into you without any warning. He could feel you arch your back and push your head into the bed while you writhed under his touch.

"Fucking hell," You swore, clenching your thighs around his hands.

Carlos chuckled. "Such a dirty mouth, princesa," He stated before speeding up his pace.

Your loud moans echoed within your empty house. Your hips bucked into his hand, fucking yourself faster on him to chase the release he had built up in the pit of your stomach.

"You wanna cum, Y/N? Hmm? Tell me?"

The sweat was building up on your skin as Carlos had added his thumb over your clit. He rubbed his thumb briefly in slow circles but he had given up on the teasing. He wanted you to squirm in his hands because that's how much pleasure you were receiving. He flicked the nub in fast motions, dropping his warm spit into your hot folds.

"Holy–Carlos!"

Carlos smirked at the ironic combination of words following out of your mouth. Yes, he was holy. But if he was that divine, you were no angel. You were a sin. A goddess. A she-devil.

"I would love to watch you cum, princesa. I really would. But my cock is begging for you, hmm? I think your pussy deserves some attention that isn't my fingers, no?"

Carlos had stopped moving his hand and removed his fingers from you. He could feel you shake in his hold. From anger or pleasure, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he had left you begging for more.

Although it must've been anger.

Because almost immediately, he had heard it before he felt it. The sharp whack of the air. The burn on his cheek almost sizzling.

You could feel his hot gaze pierce through you as your chest heaved up and down in frustration. "You're a little shit, Carlos," You groaned. "Sorry, no. What was it in Spanish? Polla? Yes, fucking polla."

The room had turned eerie in seconds. Carlos' silence had started to worry you. You could still feel his gaze and hear his laboured breathing but he was saying nothing.

Suddenly you felt his hands wrap around your waist and move to his lap. You let out a gasp at the bare cock you had been placed upon and the sloppy lips resting near your ear.

"I think I need to fuck the nice back into you, princesa, no? Maybe if you become my little divine goddess, I'll let you cum, hmm? What do you think?" Carlos' whisper was hot and heavy in your ear. "Use your words, mi amor (my love)".

Goddamn it. He had broken out the 'mi amor'. The only thing that had you hanging by a thread. The sliver of hope that whatever you and Carlos had going on was more than this. That you truly loved one another.

"Yes, Carlos," You said, bringing a gentle peck to his lips.

You could feel him smile against your lips. "There's my good girl.''

Carlos pushed your panties aside, assured that you were stretched out and wet enough by his fingers. He grabbed his cock and was overcome with a shudder when rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds.

"Spit, cariño," His voice commanded.

You gathered all the saliva that had easily accumulated after salivating for this man and let the warm fluid fall from your lips.

Carlos couldn't see but he could just imagine if the lights were on. The bubbled liquid falling from those pretty lips of yours, turning into thin strings as they had perfectly landed on the slit of his cock.

He didn't even have to say anything as your nimble fingers rubbed your saliva over his shaft. You could hear his heavy breaths in the air and a small sigh of pleasure came from his lips. "Baby, let's get me in you, hmm?"

You let out a small whimper at his words before releasing a strangled moan as you pushed his cock into your pussy. You could feel each swollen and puffed out fold take him in and your warm walls wrapping around him tightly.

Carlos shut his eyes tightly. "Mierda (shit). You feel so good, princesa," He groaned, lifting his hips up.

You moaned in agreement, throwing your hands around his neck as he thrusted in and out of you.

The concept that cock could made a person dumb often sounded strange. But with Carlos, it was true. You couldn't do anything or say anything but moan in pleasure.

"Lamp. I need to see your face, princesa," Carlos muttered out in awkward pauses, rutting his hips against you in an angle that almost made it impossible for you stretch your arm out and turn on the lamp.

A yellow illuminated the room and finally, you could see each other.

You had made eye contact with Carlos. His eyes bore into you while his mouth was agape as if he was constantly ready to moan. His normally slicked hair was now tousled courtesy of your fingers.

Jesus, was he a sight to behold.

But Carlos didn't think any less of you. God, how were you even real? Your skin was flushed, hair sticking out in every direction, sweat and traces of your wetness across your body and your eyes: dazed with lust and bordering on the edge of being fucked out.

But most especially, those goddamn lips of yours. They were painted with red when Carlos had first picked you up. The red had faded, only trace amounts left mixed with the red flush of the swelling he had brought by kissing you. What a vision you were.

Your eyes flickered to the specifically red cheek that faced you. God, this man knew how to make you feel for anything. His hips jerked into you, pushing his cock deeper as every second passed. The spell he had on you was serious; dangerous.

You could feel a glaze of water fall over your eyes as your fingers brushed his reddened cheek. His skin was still warm from your slap. Carlos shivered at your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

"I'm sorry, Carlos," You murmured out so quietly that if he wasn't listening so intently, he would've missed it. "I didn't mean to."

Carlos could feel his heart pace as you softly kissed the burning skin of his. It was as if you were kissing his pain away. A warm tear from your eyes had fallen onto his cheek, making his heart melt.

Carlos could feel himself tighten at the action, even more so when you clenched your walls tightly around him.

"You think you deserve to cum, mi princesa?" Carlos queried, wrapping his hand around your jaw and making you turn to face him. His eyes shook at your teary eyed gaze. The mascara and eyeliner you wore had broken down. If he hadn't felt so soft for you, he would've teased you and said you looked like a racoon.

Carlos could feel you start to shake as you buried your nails into his skin. To his surprise, you shook your head no. You begun to slow your pace and clench around him, only trying to get him off.

"Oh mi amor, mi ñina bonita, you deserve to cum. You deserve a lot more than you know," Carlos whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear. He planted a soft kiss to your forehead before bringing his thumb to your clit, rubbing hard and increasing the speed of his cock thrusting in and out of you.

You couldn't help but let out a sob mixed with both pleasure and sadness. A wave of euphoria convulsed within your body as Carlos staggered to a halt in you. His cock twitched and throbbed, spilling his hot cum into your walls.

You bought Carlos into a tight hug, pushing yourself further onto his cock, making him groan again and release a few more ropes of his cum into you.

Carlos brought his lips to your shoulders and left a small trail of kisses as the two of you calmed down.

The double meaning to his words had thrown you off.

You could tell what he meant.

This why he had reached out in the first place.

His guilty glances. The poor excuses.

This was the last time.

Whatever this was between you... it had to end.

You both needed to move on.

But especially you.

It was a gutting feeling to know. But Carlos was right. This sadness, this anger, this toxicity could go on no longer. Despite being heartsick, you were happy though.

Because even if this ended, you had gone out in style.

𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[ghettogirly]

Hey, hope you're doing fine. Can I request something when Armando has to watch over the reader because she knows something about the cartel , she sees things you should have not seen , wrong place , wrong time for her. Even though they always argue, she knows that he always protects her. She does the same for him.

Kinda relates to a 'pieces of her ' on Netflix 😭 when they were in that hotel room

Him and I - g easy

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒: 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐗 𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀𝐇 (𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐅𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐂)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

-> synopsis: Miyah has a past that not even she knows about. Thinking her life was all normal, she is suddenly thrown into a whirlwind when an intruder breaks into her house. Are we prepared for her journey of not only finding herself but the answers to her past?

-> format: story.

-> theme: angst.

-> warning: mentions of violence, use of the n-word, mature language, themes of break-ins.

-> authors note: so i have turned this into a series!! i really want to write the pieces of her plot because i loved that show, but in a different type of way! thank you for requesting this! my update schedule is going to slightly change guys due to me getting more of an intense workload from my sixth form so i hope you all understand! 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝💕.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟏: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐈𝐍.

Trash clinked across the floor as a gust of wind swept it by. Desolate and quiet, only a couple cars were parked in the large space. A dark no

Heels were heard clacking off the floor as a brown skinned girl walked over to her car, clutching her purse with one hand while the other was angled in the direction of her mercedes benz. Opening the car door, she climbed into her seat.

Plopping the chanel bag that wrapped around her arm onto the passenger seat, the woman clicked her tongue while turning on the ignition. Settling into the seat, sighing as she recollected the hectic day that occurred.

“I really need to get home.”

Pressing onto the gas pedal while putting the gear stick into reverse, Miyah pulled out of the car park from her work place onto the highway. Flicking the headlights on, she started to drive down the road. The hum of the tyres mixed with the slow jam of the radio, lowly playing throughout the vehicle. Pink LED lights illuminated the interior of the car contrasting with the midnight black sky, coating the exterior as it hung over the trees and the wildlife surrounding the road.

The small screen of the navigation shone brightly in the woman’s face as she glanced down at it.

“15 minutes.”

Driving down the road, Miyah nodded her head to the slow beat of the rnb song playing through her sound system. Tapping her index finger onto the wheel she drove down the highway, content with her life currently. Life was hectic but she was satisfied.

Pulling into her gated residence, Miyah rolled down her window to enter the code into the pad. Once confirmed, she parked up her car at the front of her door before slipping out, grabbing her purse.

Opening her door, the hallway and living room was automatically irradiated by the modern lights that hung off her ceilings. Cylindrical pillars stood at every sharp corner, contrasting a classic element with the modern theme of her white and black marble interior.

Slipping off her heels, Miyah sighed in relief. “I really need to go to sleep.”

Shaking her head, she ascended up her stairs into her bedroom. A queen sized bed layered with fluffy comforts and duvets were placed in the middle of the woman’s bedroom. The colour scheme being white and grey , matching with the fluffy, white, circular carpet that was under it. Walking over to the bed, she placed her bag by her cabinet before flopping down on the bed.

“Why did i even become a lawyer again?”

That was a good question.

Why did she become a lawyer?

When thinking about society and the world today, you would think that the law reached everyone. Helped victims by putting away those who made their life hell but, we are wrong. Everyday, domestic abuse cases go silent, the justice system not caring enough for those who get abused in the relationships. Mainly women but also men becoming apart of the statistic of abuse victims, which could’ve been prevented if someone would’ve just listened. Child abuse cases go unheard until the severity of the abuse ends up in a death, which could’ve been prevented if someone would’ve just listened. Even random spree attacks which could’ve been prevented if someone would’ve just listened and understood that persons mental health.

I wanted to be the one to change this. To be able to keep law on track with the fast pace of the ever changing world. To be able to stand up for people who looked like me and those who were me.

And also for you mom.

Changing into her silk pyjamas, Miyah sat on her bed cross legged with her ipad on a stand. Parting her honey brown hair into 6 boxes with a rat tail comb, she braided two plaits in each section, ready to go to bed. Slipping her black bonnet on top of the loose braids, wanting to protect her curls from future breakage.

The girl pulled down her light, turning it off before getting underneath the covers. Closing her iPad, she sunk her head into the silk pillows that happily embraced her, closing her eyes.

It was pitch black in Miyah’s room. Not a shred of light peeked through her curtains. Stirring, she sat up. Glancing over at her alarm clock, the red bold numbers stating 3:32am. Sighing, she got out of bed, putting on her fluffy slippers.

Walking down the stairs she flicked the kitchen lights on, changing the settings to dim, not wanting to fully wake herself up. Grabbing a glass, she filled it up with water before taking a sip. Sighing, Miyah popped the now used glass, back into the sink before heading towards the stairs.

Something stopped her.

A rustle was heard from the living room next door. Slowly crawling into the kitchen, Miyah slightly opened the drawer for the utensils before grabbing a sharp knife. Peeking around the counter a black figure appeared before her.

“Who are-“

Wasting no time, the figure quickly punched Miyah causing her to stumble back. Throwing another punch to her chest, the figure then raised their fist, angling it towards a certain direction before throwing another. It was pretty clear they were male. Adrenaline ran through Miyah’s glands which secreted them into her bloodstream, activating her fight or flight.

Dodging the fist that was coming her way, she ducked and kicked the male in his balls before quickly running up the stairs. Loud banging was heard from within the room due to the stomps coming from the woman. just before reaching her bedroom a hand grabbed her ankles, brutally dropping her down on the marble floor.

“Fuck!! Get off me!”

The mystery man then swiftly got on top of Miyah, wrapping his rough hands around her neck before harshly gripping it. Pain and frustration overcoming the poor girl

“Stop..”

Pressing down onto her neck mired the man added more pressure, forcing less and less oxygen to not enter the girls body. Miyah’s muscles started to become frail as less oxygen was reaching the muscles, building more lactic acid causing them to become tired.

Slowly, her life began to slip away.

Her mind flashed to a deserted beach. The blue crystalline waves crashed against each other, slowly overlapping one another. The sky transitioned from a purple to orange ombré as the sun was setting, the orange rays shining onto the brownskin girl that stood there in the middle of the beach. Her curls waved in the wind due to the gentle breeze coming from the west.

A gentle tap was felt on Miyah’s shoulder, causing her turn around.

“It’s not your time.” The figure said before disappearing.

Suddenly, she was back in the present. Still feeling the man strangling her, a surge of strength powered suddenly came through.

Grabbing the nearest plant pot, she cracked it over the intruders head causing him to stumble back in pain. Gasping for air, Miyah panted heavily.

Yet, the man was still not done. Stomping over to her, he attempted to kick Miyah who was on the floor, out of breath. “Nigga, what- the fuck- is your issue?”

Quickly sliding out of the way, Miyah grabbed the man’s leg causing him to fall onto the floor, before grabbing a picture frame off the wall and violently smashing it off the intruders head, knocking the consciousness out of him.

“That’s what you get bitch.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[🌸] 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @thedarkworldofhananerea @shurisgf @milliumizoomi @armandosbabymama @tyneshaaa @dyttomori @5tarlan7 @deadpool15 @yeahnohoneybye @believeinthefireflies95 @wizewhispers @amplifiedmoan @sarcasticbitchsblog

[rinseis]

PLAYING FAVOURITES — GOJO SATORU

❥ gojo satoru is one of the most popular names in japan. when he becomes a judge-slash-leader on a dance show, he takes an abnormal amount of interest in you, making everyone else effectively jealous of you. problem is, if either of you want anything to happen, you have to keep it hidden from public eye. you think it’s best to wait, at least until the show’s over, but unluckily for you—gojo has always been impatient with what he wants.

word count. 5.9k ♱ content warnings: female reader, modern au, celebrity!gojo, dancer!reader, scandals, gojo is kinda a lot unprofessional, nsfw - mdni, porn with plot, mentions of BL, alcohol, gojo eats you out, penetration, fingering, orgasm denial, no condom was used (you kids stay safe, use condoms), pet names (baby, pretty, princess), geto sees you naked, slight action on a motorbike, mentions of masturbation/vibrators. mdni banner by @/cafekitsune :)

Fame, wealth, prestige.

Over three million followers. Everyone either wants him or wants to be him. Always decked out in his sponsors’ clothes—this season it’s Chanel. One of the favourite faces for Vogue. Praised as an all-rounded genius; there’s rarely anything he can’t do, being a model, actor and dancer with hobbies ranging from skateboarding to professional motorcycle racing. There’s nothing that Gojo Satoru seemingly lacks.

Except maybe in the professionalism department. And that’s only because he met you.

Being the judge in a dance competition that’s being broadcasted internationally comes with a set of unspoken responsibilities, namely: you do not sleep with any of the contestants. It’s not his first time on this show, so he already has a reputation built as the strict but kind and professional judge (and also the hottest one to grace everyone’s tv screens). But since week two of knowing you, he’s already crossing boundaries—putting his work ethic to the test.

When the team he has to train celebrates their earlier victory against another, he treats everyone to drinks at one of the most bespoke places in Tokyo, holding it in a private room away from paparazzi eyes. Gojo makes sure you sit right next to him too, because like hell is he letting his favourite be at risk of some other guy’s touchiness.

Not him though. It’s fine if it’s him.

As everyone gets talkative and debating among themselves about who’s the better dancer, Gojo takes the chance to lean closer to you, his hair brushing your face. You stiffen up a little, in that adorable way he likes whenever he’s near (because you’re a fan of him before this, he knows—he can tell), before you ultimately loosen up as he puts a soothing arm around your shoulder.

“Not feeling so well today?” He asks, because you’re particularly quiet tonight, more so than usual, and he’s curious. He’s always curious about you.

You chuckle, taking a swig of your beer. “Just tired out from earlier,” you tell him, and he guesses it’s because of today’s recording. Gojo knows, of course, because he pays special attention to you.

He watches every move you make, every smooth curve, relishes in your movements, especially when you dance to an especially sexy song. Gojo isn’t so subtle either, always cheering after you end your set, always making comments that the editor would probably have to cut out most of the time, praising you with words like i could watch you… dance all day and every time you dance i fall in love all over again. (With dance… of course.)

So much so that every other contestant there is envious of the attention to detail you get when it’s Gojo’s eyes on you. They can only dream of it.

“How’s your legs? Heard they cramped up earlier,” he asks, daring to put a hand on your thigh, gently rubbing up and down, the hem of your skirt reacting to his movements.

You nearly choke on your drink, but you don’t reject him anyway—letting him rest his hand on your inner thigh. By the looks of it, you’re enjoying it too, aren’t you? That smile you’re suppressing isn’t very convincing if you aren’t.

But Gojo likes to be a little piece of shit, he likes to play games first—and he wants to play with you, because he thinks you’re oh so pretty and oh so talented, and you’re kind of fiesty too, during training, making him question all the boring models he’s ever dated just for their bodies.

Are you going to be the same? That’s what he wants to find out.

When the celebration ends, he makes sure he sends everyone on a cab back to the recording building, the residential apartments sponsored by the show being right next door to it. Except for you though. He holds you back from entering the last cab for the group, knocking on it to let the driver know to drive off.

Then, with a devilish grin on his face, he grabs a spare helmet and offers it to you.

“Wanna ride?”

Ten seconds later, you’re riding pillion, holding onto Gojo because you’ve never ridden on a back of a motorcycle that’s going this fast before. You should’ve known, really, because what other speed would an adrenaline-loving professional motorbike racer drive on? Judging by the look of his bike, it’s probably not actually allowed to be usable on the actual roads too—it should only be driven for races.

Not that Gojo cares, because he knows he’s the best and he wouldn’t let you get hurt. You thank god he chose not to drink tonight. You wonder if he drinks at all, now that you think of it. But Gojo accelerates and all your thoughts go out the, well, wind? You hold onto him tighter, and you swear you can almost see a smirk if not for the helmet in your face. He’s not even wearing a helmet, for fucks’ sake. Just how much of a daredevil is he?

To his credit though, he manages to get you to the destination safely, without a hair out of place for him because somehow, no matter what he does, he always looks drop-dead gorgeous. Talk about being born with good looks, good body, good everything. No wonder all the luxury brands are scrambling to be his sponsors. He could probably make trash bags look expensive.

When you get off, you realise that you’re not at the usual building, with grey walls and a shoddy exterior. This time, you’re face to face with a sleek black high-rise hotel, the kind that you think probably only the elites in society can afford. Just when you’re about to question Gojo on his intentions, he cuts you off.

“Do you mind? This place belongs to my friend, just gotta check in on him for a bit,” he tells you, looking at you expectantly, as though he’s daring you to say no. But you gesture for him to go ahead, and that shit-eating smile is back on his face.

Once you’re inside, you’re met with a floral aroma that’s not too pungent, the entire lobby enveloped in a bright warm light, filled with attendants who bow at the sight of Gojo Satoru strolling in, decked head to toe in Chanel (of course), who in turn ignores everyone else and pulls you by the wrist with him.

You sit by the bar as you wait for Gojo to finish conversing with his friend, who’s sat in the far corner of the hotel restaurant, table filled with paper and files that you’re not envious of. The life of the rich seems too complicated for you. You’re happy just being yourself and enjoying trying to make a living out of dancing.

From the corner of your eye, you can faintly make out his fox-like eyes, jet black hair—he’s a stark contrast to Gojo, who seems to be more rainbows and sunshine. You don’t know what his name is, but he gives you a smirk when he catches you staring, and you abruptly turn away, embarrassed from getting caught.

“You here with Gojo Satoru?”

The bartender appears in front of you, looming tall as he looks down at you. He has jet black hair too, but he’s more buff than Gojo and his friend—the type who looks like he can manhandle you if he wants to. That scar on his lip makes him look dangerous. A white rag is slung over his shoulder as he uses it to wipe the glass down.

You nod, trying not to appear too friendly. You never know what these men might be thinking. “Yep, but I’m just a nobody so don’t worry about me,” you tell him once you realise he’s pouring you a shot.

The man scoffs, his voice getting even lower. “Nobody that’s around someone like Gojo Satoru is really a nobody,” he tells you, sliding the shot glass over the counter.

You’ve already drank a lot earlier, but you can hold your own, so you accept it anyway, with the plan of asking to put it on Gojo’s tab if they ask you to pay. You think a single shot here can cost at least three hours of your wage.

“So you know Gojo well, then?”

Admittedly, a part of you is curious to learn more about Gojo. The one every tabloid uses to boost their viewers, and the one who seemingly dates a new girl every other month, and the one everyone somehow either wants to be, or wants to get with. You included, if you’re not being in denial.

“Only as much as I observe,” he tells you bluntly. The only reason he’s talking to you is probably because he’s bored out of his mind since you’re the only one there apart from the other two guys.

So you decide why not? You don’t think you’re about to ask Gojo about himself, so maybe the bartender is the next best thing. “Do you happen to know why he doesn’t drink, uh—”

“Toji.”

“Toji.”

“Simple, he’s a lightweight, that’s all,” Toji tells you, rolling his eyes. “Took him two shots to get tipsy and by the time he took the third shot he was all whiny and ended up throwing up in that pot over there,” he nudges his head toward the plant nestled at the corner of the bar, his irritation earning a snort out of you. Judging by his tone, he probably had to be the one to clean it up.

“Hey, are you shitting on me to my student?”

Gojo’s behind you before you know it, an arm slung around you as his friend takes to the other side of you, showing you an interested gaze.

Toji barely pays Gojo any mind, putting away the glasses. “Ah, Satoru, looks like you got a new favourite huh?”

The way he says new favourite implies there’s an old one, and going by the news you’ve seen of him circulating online, there’s not really anyone that qualifies, with every relationship being such a short fling. Is that what Toji means or is he hinting at something else?

It’s like Gojo can sense the gears turning in your head, so he gives you a quick flick on the forehead before turning his attention back to the bartender. A childish grin appears on his face, one that you’ve never seen him show on tv before, or throughout recording. “How about you give us each two shots?”

“No.” Toji’s refusal is quick and crisp clear.

Beside you, Gojo’s friend snickers, amused as he swirls his own liquor of choice in his glass. “Satoru, stop trying to bully my bartender into quitting.”

“Then try to hire a more competent one,” Satoru sneers, Toji’s deadpan expression and Satoru’s childish one on par with each other.

Ignoring them, Gojo’s friend reaches his hand out to you, a friendly smile on his face. “I take it you’re Y/N?” He asks, and you nod politely, shaking his hand. “Geto Suguru,” he introduces himself, and your ears perk up, somehow finding that name familiar.

“Heard of him?” Toji asks you, entirely ignoring Gojo now, who’s pouting as he reluctantly takes a seat beside you. When you struggle to place it, Toji helps you out. “He’s an actor too, played as Satoru’s lover in one of the dramas.”

Your eyes widen as Geto suddenly looks exactly like the character he was acting as, his face growing more familiar by the second. He groans, rolling his eyes, and Satoru’s on your other side faux gagging with his tongue sticking out.

“Don’t remind me,” Geto sighs just thinking about it, “we had that entire fanfiction saga after that ended, too.”

When you turn to Gojo, he only side eyes you and tells you, “don’t even ask.” So you make a mental reminder to google it yourself later.

As much as you like socialising with celebrities that are way above your status, you feel the sleep catching up to you, the exhaustion from earlier creeping its way back in.

“I think I’m just gonna head back first,” you tell Gojo, finishing up your drink and getting up, but Gojo’s big hands find you first, holding you in place. It’s kind of hard not to let your heart flutter when you’re in such close proximity with someone who’s too utterly gorgeous for his own good.

Gojo opens his mouth just briefly before holding himself back and then just offering a smile. “You tired?”

You want to say you’re not, because if you’re being honest, you don’t get opportunities like this often, this being the first time you’ve actually had proper alone time with Gojo outside of your training, and even that you were surrounded by cameras watching your every move.

“Kinda,” you settle for, and it’s like Gojo senses what you’re thinking of that he offers you a cheeky smile.

With his fingers around your wrist, he pulls you with him as he exits the bar, an amused Geto left behind, whispering something you can’t hear to Toji, who shakes his head as though he saw this coming.

“Where are we going?”

When Gojo turns around and winks at you, you can only hope he doesn’t actually feel your pulse racing from where your hands are linked. It’s honestly irritating just how charming he can be.

He’s quick on his feet, the light reflecting off of his studded jacket as he drags you with him across the lobby to the lift, swiping a card and then pressing for the rooftop, the glass elevator smoothly bringing the both of you up. You turn around to face the view of the city, and your eyes light up.

It’s not like you’ve never seen the Tokyo skyline before, but to see it like this; undisturbed and in the company of someone you admire—it feels kind of unmatched.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Gojo’s voice flows through your ears like honey, his eyes piercing even as you look at them through the reflection on the elevator window. You only nod, mesmerised by both the view and the person. “I convinced Suguru to buy this place and make something out of it, used to be just an abandoned building at one point.”

And now it’s one of the most prestigious hotels in all of Tokyo, with a view that’s hard to beat, and a rooftop that’s entirely too beautiful that you wonder how long they spent just on the design alone.

The scenery distracts you from the fact that Gojo’s fingers are intertwined with your own as he brings you onto the rooftop, walking you to a corner where a thick wooden table sits, a single wooden ashtray in the middle.

Gojo lets go of your hand to sit on the table, feet propped up and body leaned back on his palms as he smirks to himself, satisfied that you find the view just as nice as he does.

You’re completely absorbed by the scenery before you, leaning against the edge, wide starry eyes looking at every thing in sight. Gojo wonders if you know how pretty you are, if you know what you do to him. Every single time he sees you, he has to hold himself back from acting out of line thanks to all the cameras surrounding you. That, and the warning given by the producers to keep things professional.

But Gojo thinks fuck being professional, because neither of you are being watched right now, and he knows he’s not the only one out of the two of you that’s aware of the chemistry between you. Your lingering eyes, the way you always look out for him, the way you willingly let him cross the line sometimes.

Slowly, he comes up behind you, mirroring your pose, arms leaning against the edge too, enveloping you in between his body. It’s shameful really, that if you didn’t have restraint, Gojo won’t have it either, but it’s all up to you. His right hand comes up to brush against your cheek, and he can tell by the muscles on your shoulders that you’re stiffening up—he’s been paying attention to your body way too much. He can argue it’s his job, but never when it comes to you.

Even now, when he’s so unashamedly staring at how your top hugs your body so well, how your skirt is at a length tempting enough to hike over your ass. Just imagining what you look like underneath all that is enough to make him hard, his hips instinctively closing the gap between you.

Your head’s been muddled for a while now, and you gasp at the feeling of Gojo against you. You’ve thought of this situation before, of the physical attraction between you and Gojo coming to a head, but you’d always thought to leave these kinds of things until after the show’s over. Seems like Gojo has the opposite thoughts, those same views seeping into your own head, making you reconsider, and it looks like he’ll come out on top.

You can’t help but let out a whine as you feel his big hands on your inner thighs, beckoning you to spread them for him. It’s pitiful how easily you obey, and Gojo is just as desperate, your stomach being pushed further against the edge of the railing.

In spite of it all, Gojo’s trying his best to limit himself to this, his hands squeezing your thighs in frustration. “Fuuuck,” he groans as his fingers sneak up against your underwear, feeling how wet you are already. “If you don’t stop me I don’t know if I can control myself.”

It’s really unfair of him to say that, you think, when he’s the one who’s been coming on to you. Still, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying this, if you said you didn’t want this too.

“You’re supposed to be the teacher, shouldn’t I be the one following your lead?” You ask back, breathless from how Gojo’s already rubbing circles against your clothed clit, his dick only getting harder as he continues to press himself against your ass.

If you were being completely honest, you’d been waiting for this for a while. An entire month feeling the tension between the two of you without acting on it. An entire month of dancing together, training under him, sometimes with his big hands on your waist and you having to pretend that this doesn’t affect you at all. Your patience is wafer thin by now, and Gojo’s is probably even thinner.

You hear Gojo suck a deep breath before he forcefully turns you around, his half-lidded eyes filled with lust. Your gaze falls to his pants, the outline of his dick way too obvious against the expensive fabric. You swallow the lump in your throat; he’s so big you wonder if you can actually take him.

With a smirk, Gojo sneaks his fingers back up under your skirt, pressing against your clit, “just wanted to see what you look like when you feel good.”

This scene is so surreal that you wonder if you’re dreaming. Renowned celebrity Gojo Satoru who’s famous enough to be a household name with a fairly decent reputation is actually here with you, right now, aching for you so badly that he can’t control himself?

“What are you thinking about, pretty?”

His nicknames are going to be the death of you. He’s been controlling himself until now, so you’re not surprised if he’s pulling out all the stops tonight.

Your own eyes mirror his expression, the desire no longer tolerable to control. Usually you’re fond of playing games but this time you’re way too impatient to wait any longer.

“I think… I want you,” you tell him honestly, and for a brief moment you think you see the pupils in his serene blue eyes dilate before his gestures turn feral, his hunger blatantly obvious in the way his hands grip your waist, firm and strong as he kisses you, hips grinding desperately against you, chasing the friction he so badly needs.

“Fuck this is gonna be so bad if we get caught,” he mumbles in between kisses, both of you entangled with each other, your fingers grasping at his hair, his own hands squeezing your ass as he groans at how perfect this feels.

In the moment, you think you couldn’t care less. “Guess we just have to make sure we don’t get caught,” you tell him, and you feel him smirking against you.

“Knew I liked you for a reason,” he chuckles, lifting you up to sit on the edge. He can tell from the way your body reacts that you’re nervous. “Promise I won’t let you fall. Trust me?”

Do you even have any other choice?

You nod, and his childish grin gives you a whiplash. “Ha, good girl,” he praises you before kissing you silly, his one hand holding you in place while the other slowly slips your underwear off, discarding it to the ground. Gojo looks up at you one last time as though making sure you’re sure about this, and the moment you nod, he’s on his knees, trailing kisses on your thighs.

The only thing you can do is watch as he gets dangerously close to your cunt, beautiful eyes watching your expression as he gets closer. He always likes to look at you. He wants to observe just how insane he can make you feel. He wants to know just how badly you want him too.

His strong hands push you forward slightly, his head completely between your thighs now as he gives your clit a small lick, enjoying the sound of you squealing when he does so. He doesn’t hide his mirth, chuckling as he dares himself to taste more of you, licking a fat stripe up your pussy, groaning from how good you taste. Better than he imagined. Better than when he jerked off to you that one time after rehearsal. Better than anyone.

Your fingers yank at his soft white locks as he loses himself in you, groaning in satisfaction as his tongue flicks in and out of your warm pussy, your thighs locking around his neck, your hips grinding against his lips and begging for more.

“You’re driving me fucking insane, you know that?” Gojo asks, his eyes failing to watch your expression now that he’s busy staring at how wet your pretty little pussy is.

From above, you relish in the way Gojo can’t seem to get enough of you, his lips filled with your slick, cheeks and ears red from whatever he may be feeling. It’s a side you’re sure that’s hidden from public, and call you silly but you think that kind of makes this special somehow.

He doesn’t spare a second in standing up and lifting you off the edge, letting you down gently on the table, flicking the ashtray away. Gojo’s hands slowly hike your skirt up over your stomach, unbuttoning your shirt, the moonlight illuminating you in all the right places. His lips move to your stomach, pressing light kisses on your body, trailing upwards to the valley between your breasts, his free hand unclasping your bra in one swift motion.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes against your skin, his lips grazing against the goosebumps that form. Your head tilts up, your back arching as you feel his fingers entering you, one first before the second one slowly joins, Gojo’s ever observant eyes watching as you moan from the pleasure, fingers picking up the pace because he decides he likes the way you sound. “Feels that good, huh?” He asks when he feels you clenching around him.

Your eyes fly open as you meet his own, the yearning from your gaze in full display, your whimpers are all you can let out because Gojo doesn’t let you breathe from his kisses now. He thinks you’re fucking addictive, thinks he was doomed from the moment he first saw how you moved, dancing with just the right force, eyes ogling at your body every single second, always looking for you in the crowd of contestants.

“Gojo—”

He immediately shuts you up with a forceful kiss, his fingers stilling inside you. Gojo’s eyes look into yours, a gentle dominance in his sneer. “Satoru,” he corrects you.

First name basis isn’t something you thought you’d ever get to do with him, but it’s not like you don’t like the thought of it.

“Satoru,” you breathe out, earning a peck on your lips as you say his name.

“What is it?” He asks, almost mockingly, because he knows exactly what you want. Gojo’s fingers move achingly slow inside of you, pushing against that spot you like—he’s already familiar with you just from this brief dalliance alone. “Hmm, can’t understand if you don’t use your big girl words.”

The way he sounds so condescending is downright humiliating, and yet your pussy clenches around his fingers that it takes everything in him not to concede so easily.

Thank god you do though.

“Satoru please fuck me,” you plead, tears in your eyes and looking just so absolutely delectable that he gets the flicker of a thought that he doesn’t want anyone else to get to see you in a state like this. Only him.

He plays right into your hands too, letting his pants and boxers pool to the floor, one of his hands pumping his cock, precum leaking from the tip, his mouth falling open as he slowly enters you, eyes rolling to the back of his head as you take him in.

“So fuck—fuckin’ tight,” he grunts, slowly pushing into you, your perfect tits earning a squeeze as you try to adjust to his size. Gojo looks at where you’re connected, praising you with a flurry of good girl and your pussy’s fucking made for me.

You knew he was big, but it’s so much more than you anticipated, even harder with his thumb pressing down on your clit, teasing you and waiting to see your limit. He’s smirking down at you, though your eyes are squeezed shut to see it.

“What? Wanna cum already? That fast, baby?” He mocks, starting to rub your clit. To think, he’s not even all the way in. God, you’re so fucking perfect. Gojo doesn’t think he’s ever felt so much satisfaction from teasing someone before that he wants to tease you even more. Pinching on your nipple with his other hand, he makes you squeal. “Baby baby, be a good girl, okay?” He whispers, pressing a kiss on your cheek, “better not cum until I tell you to.”

“I can’t-can’t hold it in—” You’re already struggling to think, let alone speak, and that’s exactly what Gojo likes. The way you’re so vulnerable for him, completely different from your demeanour when you’re dancing.

Tilting his head, he grins as he thinks of an idea. “If you can’t hold it in, ‘m afraid I’ll have to punish you,” he says, fingers tracing the outline of your jaw, loving how you’re completely at his mercy.

“Wha- how?” You’re quivering, your body so so close to your high, your willpower threatening to break any second now.

Gojo chuckles, low and deep, as his mouth moves to your ear. “If you can’t be a good girl for me tonight, I won’t touch you ever again,” he whispers, smug as he watches you pout, knowing he’s got you figured out. You want this as much as he does. He doesn’t think he can follow through with that at all, but you don’t have to know that.

All he knows is that you’re buying it as you nod, holding it in. He kisses your forehead as he resumes pushing inside you, watching as you struggle not to cum just from him entering.

“Oh god, you feel so f’kin good, baby,” he praises you again, watching as he’s fully inside of you now, tears falling from your eyes.

He starts moving slowly, getting your pussy to adjust to his girth, laughing at how you’re trying so hard not to let yourself go. You might possibly be one of the most amusing girls he’s ever met.

“Hmm, you’re so sensitive… want me that bad, pretty? Want me to fuck you again after tonight, is that it?” His tone has a lilt to it, and even though he’s mocking you for it, truth is, he’s throbbing inside of you, his own seed threatening to spill out at any moment.

Still, he supposes you’re being so obedient, nodding profusely like that, so worried that you won’t get his attention anymore that he guesses he can throw you (and himself) a bone.

“Mmm, maybe I should go easy on you, huh?” He acts as though he’s not completely a gone case, as though he’s not driven insane like you are. “Want that, baby?” Gojo’s fingers pinch on your clit, and god damn it your mewl is too cute to resist. You nod, not even knowing what for but knowing you need it.

“Want me to let you cum?”

You nod again, and Gojo’s chuckling.

“Still want me to fuck you after tonight?”

You nod again, much more, and Gojo’s ego has never been boosted higher. You’re holding it in so bad, clenching around him so tight that it nearly hurts.

“Fine, cum for me.”

Not even a second later, you’re screaming his name and cumming around his cock as he thrusts into you, riding you out, watching as you squirt all around him, using all his energy to keep himself from spilling inside you because that won’t do.

Gojo pulls out, spilling his load all over you—your chest, your stomach, your clit, watching him taint your body and watching as you let him, the sight of you an absolute hot mess as you pant under him.

It’s adorable, really, how you’re seemingly spent just from that. It’s even more adorable how you think he’s already done with you.

But before Gojo can say anything else, you hear a familiar voice cut in.

“Least you guys could do is lock the door, you know?”

Shooting your head to the side, you see Geto there, a mirthful smirk on his face as he waves hello. You’re mortified, already trying to cover yourself up, Satoru’s cum staining your clothes. Satoru himself, on the other hand, appears unfazed as he pulls his pants up, sighing.

“And maybe you shouldn’t be watching other people fuck, Suguru,” he says, completely unbothered still, and you’re wondering why until Geto speaks again.

“Aww, thought we could share this one too,” he sighs, and his disappointment sounds fake, like he knew all along Satoru wouldn’t go for it. But all you can think of is that he added too—so they’ve shared girls before? You can only imagine just how well they know each other.

In one swift motion, Geto is beside you, seemingly admiring all the places where he knows Satoru’s touched, his hand on your back while he kisses your cheek, before he’s pushed back by Satoru himself.

“Don’t touch her,” Satoru snaps, removing his shirt before you realise he’s offering it to you to wear, now that yours is dirty. He covers your body with his own while you change out of it, with Geto continuing his facade.

“Oh? This is a first, Satoru. You, not willing to share with me?”

Despite their words, the atmosphere isn’t tense at all, and you guess that’s just how close they are.

Satoru scoffs. “Told you, this one’s all mine,” he proclaims, a little hint of smugness in his voice. This time, without waiting for Geto to respond, Satoru grabs you by the arm and waves a hurried bye! to his friend before escaping his sight.

As you take the elevator back down, you’re still trying to process what happened, between fucking who’s supposed to be your teacher and judge in a competition to having Geto witness you nearly naked after getting fucked by his best friend.

Is this really your life right now? You’re really not just making this all up in your head?

In front of you, Gojo’s busy typing away on his phone until the elevator dings, snapping you both out of your reverie. He can tell you’re dazed, but to be really honest, he takes that as a good thing so he gleefully takes your hand and pulls you along with him, briefly giving you a once-over, loving how you look in his shirt. Maybe he should give you more shirts from his closet to wear for your performances. He’d definitely get a kick out of it.

When you reach his motorcycle again, you stop short before asking him again, “where are we going, Satoru?”

You’re still calling him Satoru. He grins. He likes that—likes the show of intimacy, even if it can only be in private.

Gojo revs his motorbike, gesturing for you to just get behind him, which you do—like the good girl he knows you are. He waits until he’s driving away before answering you.

“I was thinking my place,” he says, riding faster, his dick growing hard just thinking about fucking you again.

And it’s like the wind against your face knocks some sense into you again, realising that you and him aren’t just two people separated by your statuses in the world; that the Satoru you know is no longer just the Gojo Satoru you’ve read about in countless tabloids and videos. You came on the show, Satoru took an extreme interest in you, and you’re both now probably violating the rules by, well, fucking, and neither of you want to stop now either.

Just like he’s got you wrapped around his finger, he’s at your every command. Because he wants you. And you know that. And it’s fine if it’s just physical, because you doubt it will go anywhere either.

So maybe it’s okay to let loose.

Your fingers drop to the hem of his pants, palming his cock through the fabric, and Gojo grunts from how good it feels, the motorbike swerving a little when Gojo can’t keep control, distracted by your ministrations.

“Hah, you’re a little fucker, aren’t you?” He chuckles, going fast enough that no one can see what you’re doing, not that there’re a lot of people at this time of night anyway.

“Yeah, what can you do about it?” You tease, feeling a little more comfortable now, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

Satoru clicks his tongue, smirking as he looks at your reflection through the mirror. “Careful, pretty, or I’ll make you wear a vibrator the next time we have group rehearsals.”

You fall for it, furrowing your brows. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Satoru laughs out loud, going even faster now, your arms instinctively hugging him round the waist, not daring to tease him anymore—and you should’ve taken that he’s a professional racer before you started teasing him, really.

Daring to turn around to look at you, he smirks. “We’ll see,” he chuckles, “I’m supposed to be your mentor. Can’t let you off the hook that easy, princess.”

Of course, later that night, you’re caught in between Satoru and his inexplicably expensive silk sheets, situated in his all-too-big penthouse suite, moaning his name over and over, his teeth marking your breasts, cock dragging along your gummy walls and fucking you until you can’t think of anything else but him.

As Satoru watches you cum for the fourth time that night, he smirks, watching you writhe underneath him. Yeah, he definitely won’t let you off the hook. Who knows what’ll become of both of you once the show ends? But for now, as long as it’s still going on, he’s going to have his fun with you.

In secret.

[sincerlycas]

pretty lady.

summary: a connie drabble where he has to deal with dating the most prettiest girl.

warnings: mature scenes, slight smut, etc.

commission for: @tojisblondebimbo

don’t forget to dm me for commissions <3

connie loved you with his hearts content, he loved when you would come up to him squealing because you got a new dress, he loved the way how tight the dress clunged to your body leaving no where for imagination. your ass pocking out the bottom of the dress when you would bend over showing your lacy thong clinging to your mound so tightly.

connie loved the fact you were so damn pretty, you were hard headed and stubborn, but soft and poise. he loved how sometimes your beauty could get you anything. for example, you forgot your purse in the house so you turn to look at connie while pointing at the Chanel bag “pa pleaseee I’ll pay you back!!” shaking his head he agreed to buy it knowing damn well you won’t pay him back. but he knew something was up when you seemed to forget your wallet multiple times. what can you say, why would you spend your own money when your man is right there?

but you being pretty can also cause problems. the amount of times he had to beat niggas asses left and right because they couldn’t keep their hands off you. sometimes he wished you wore a plastic bag over your head when going out. he wished your dresses weren’t so mesh and tight on you showing everyone a preview of what’s up under there. but it’s not really his baby’s fault that she’s so pretty so all he can do is grunt about it and move along while rubbing onto your ass any chance he can.

the times he really loved though was being between your legs sucking with his hearts content. looking up momentarily seeing your bambi watery eyes staring right back at him, your plump lips letting out the softest whines possible. slurping sounds filling the room as you rock back against his face trying to catch your nut. connie’s tongue did wonders that sometimes you had to deprive him from the pussy. like one time he wanted to fuck while you guys were at a family gathering and cupped your pussy with his hand after slipping it through the slit of the skirt “connie !!” “whatt? let’s go in my old room hm?”

your hair messy and all over the place, makeup and lip combo smeared, legs kicking around everywhere, toes curling, back arching off the bed “you taste so good mama~ how come you won’t sit on my face forever huh~? don’t that sound like a good idea pretty lady~?” slapping the side of your thighs with pinching your overstimulated clit. “what you think mama~? tell ‘pa’ what you thinking in the pretty little head of yours~” biting your lip you grabbed his hand making him hover over you. watching your plum lips connie heard “you won’t be able to handle it pa~” did I forget to tell you he loved that slick mouth?

he couldn’t leave you alone even if he tried. you were a little bit toxic. everytime he went to do a deal you would latch onto him telling him if he left you in the house alone for an hour max you would leave. of course knew you were bluffing but he still sighed a stayed with you a while longer knowing if he you guys broke up, you’d find a nigga the same day. ouuu he was just like the song area codes by kali, that one line that said “matter of fact, scratch that imma send you a stack just cuz you fine as hell” and bitch that nigga hand you two racks!! while saying “give me a show and I’ll add an extra hermosa” who were you to decline the offer?

overall being connie’s pretty girl had many perks it’s a 10/10 experience <3

[pbnbucks]

kk fluff request from my girl @ashortyluvsports

word count : 279

warnings : nothing but sweet love

summary : car rides with kk and her flirty self

“you dont need nobody else i swear, i want you all to myself because im selfish, yea” kk sings at the top of her lungs practically dedicating the song to you earning sweet giggles from you.

“now that ive got you here, girl i aint gon play with you” as she points at you admiring you as the windows are rolled down with the wind blowing in your hair as shes driving you downtown.

“girl you know you the shit, balenciagas on your kicks” she grabs your chin pulling you in for a long kiss “i love you baby” she says as she gives you another kiss but this time it being shorter

“i love you to kamorea” she smiles at your response focusing her eyes back on the road. “baby you can have anything you want all you have to do is ask” you just laugh at the girls terrible singing

“kk i think the world has had enough of your singing” you skip to the next song as it plays Chanel by frank ocean.

“yea whatever i can be the next Beyoncé” you side eye her because Beyoncé is a stretch “don’t do Beyoncé like that kk” she looks over at you not removing her eyes for a while

“yes kamorea?” confused on why the girl has been staring at you for so long “your bath water should be bottled up and sold for millions if dollars”

your taken back by the girls response “excuse me..” instead of saying anything she takes her eyes off of your a shrugs “just saying” you sit back in your seat fixing your seatbelt “thank you i guess?”

“your welcome sweetheart”

[glazedsnail]

Gus Invests in a Karaoke Machine

I woke up this morning and thought this very normal thought:

What song would the bachelor.ette.s sing at karaoke?

Not what they like to listen to, not what they'd want to sing in any normal state.

What they would belt out with a buzzed heart.

So here we go:

Harvey -

And he's absolutely CRUSHING it, everyone in the saloon is floored by how Harvey chanel his best Tim Curry. They're stuck to his lips for every notes with antici... ...pation.

He even shakes his hips, straighten his leg, put on the greatest show. Walk over the patrons, flick their chins, he's not much of a man by the light of day, but by night... Oh yeah. Even grabs Shane's pint in the process, sits on the counter to drink off it. How 'bout that?

Unfortunately he doesn't remember much the next day and wonders why people started calling him Dr Frank-N-Furter for a while.

Elliott -

Starts with a whisper from the heart, making the townspeople think aww he so shy, but then he just FLIES and SWINGS from the chandelier. He IS the bird, he IS free, and he clearly doesnt care if he sings off key.

Beating to the sound of his own untuned drum.

There's a lot of hair flip, and the scream inside that he was hiding FLIES OUT.

His throat hurts the next morning, but he sings for love ♥

Shane -

He wasn't going to partake, but when he heard the few notes from the song coming on as Gus put the machine on Shuffle he simply HAS to grab the mic and DESTROYS it with all his heart.

Oh so you think you got him figured out? THE SEASON'S CHANGING BITCH. Don't you try to save him. He's your HELL he's your DREAM.

The saloon is stunned. He doesn't sing well (like, at all) but damn his heart and soul ARE in it, and it shows. When he's done they're all a bit lost but damn the applauses come soon enough.

He forgets all about it each time.

We wouldn't want him any other way.

Sam -

He tries to pull Seb in, he wants to get Seb to sing with him. He wants to sing Kiki Dee's part solely but he ends up singing both, weirdly harmonizing with himself?? Like it's almost spooky how good he switches from one voice to the other.

A lot of ooh-hoo ooh-hoo but damn this man has a built-in pitch checker, each notes is hit with the precision of an opera singer. He puts the light in your life.

The song ends but he continues with an endless loop of:

Don't go breaking my / Don't go breaking my / Don't go breaking my / Don't go breaking my (please someone take the mic from him)/ Don't go breaking my/ Don't go breaking my...

Sebastian is almost sad he didn't get to sing with him after all but they make it a point to sing it every Karaoke night from now on (and they're perfect, everyone comes in just cause they know this will happen.)

Seb -

Are you a man? Cause I'm a biitcchhhhhhhhh.

Everyone is taken aback, flummoxed, even. How does Sebastian move that way? Who taught him? How flexible is this man? With all due respect, everyone's in heat?? I mean look at him. Rev his engine til you make it purr??

Robin and Demetrius are a bit....puzzled but, man, look at the way he moves. Don't try to give him shit he earned the right to be like this...

Get in loser for the...JOYRIDE micdrop

Immediately acts like absolutely nothing happened. Everybody else follows.

Alex -

Lots of pouting and squinting, finger pointing and shuffling. Each time poiting to a different person, making their heart flutter for a bit.

TELL ME WHY - and everyone else joins in.

He's the bad boy of the backstreet, he is your fire, your one desire. His hands on his body, a lot, A LOT. Is he singing to himself?! That's a lot of body touching...Alex calm down. Pull your shirt down.

His shirt is on the floor by the end of the song, and grabs it to wipes himself with it like he's James Brown. He's having fun and is that not what karaoke's about?

🎶🧑‍🎤🎶🧑‍🎤🎶🧑‍🎤🎶🧑‍🎤🎶🧑‍🎤🎶🧑‍🎤🎶🧑‍🎤🎶🧑‍🎤🎶

I'll do bachelorettes next.

[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~)

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 9/24/2024

you might be wondering “is my dear friend tumblr user girlfriendsofthegalaxy still unemployed?” the answer is yes. take this cat off my hands please i don’t think he’s causing the unemployment but he certainly isn’t helping

listening

via Wendy @dying-suffering-french-stalkers, Huoy Meas' ប្រគល់ក្ដីស្នេហ៍មកខ្ញុំវិញ. figuring out what this incredibly zippy Cambodian rock song is named and what it's about was really difficult bc spotify is a bane upon this earth and won't let you fucking copy-paste and OCR was not working on the Khmer script. i ended up listening to the first couple seconds of each of her songs on apple music, and finally figured out this roughly translates to Give Me Back My Love and is about begging a fuckboy for closure.

via the spotify discover weekly, Night Club's Pretty Girls Do Ugly Things. all Night Club's songs sound the same so if you like one, great news! i had this song on for a full gregorian hour bc, i am only a tiny bit ashamed to say, i was storyboarding a The Man With No Name fancam to this. i think it would go pretty hard.

Smoke you like a cigarette Choke you like a lariat Fatalistic tourniquet Do you want more?

-

reading

thank you mackintosh.

i did not Adore any of these comics from the library. i sort of enjoyed Night of the Ghoul, a one-volume TPB by Scott Snyder and Francesco Francavilla. i think ive blogged about this before but every once in a while i'll get a bee in my bonnet to read some horror comics even though i am a giant baby about horror movies.

Night of the Ghoul is about how you can't save your dad from PTSD but also about a lost horror film and also about the extremely dad behavior of tracking down every scrap of info about an auteur. there's also a monster.

the subtle art changes from present day to the remains of the film to the non-film flashbacks are well done, imo. the cover screams mignola but the inside pages are really fun pulp nonsense. i love a piece of genre writing that rolls around and delights in being a piece of genre writing.

im doing my level best not to get sucked into tiktok but i DO love watching this lady revive antique nail polish and look for dupes for shades from like the 20s. she found an almost exact dupe for a shade produced during wwii which is crazy insane to me!!!

-

watching

The Asphalt Jungle (1950, dir. Huston), it's a very painterly heist noir. i even like Sterling Hayden in one of the more prominent roles, even though i think he generally has the appeal of undercooked dough.

much like Fritz Lang's M, it presents the criminal element of the city as its own class with its own reputation and reference systems. it got in some trouble with the censors for having a VERY clearly laid out heist plan and execution. it's also got the babiest Marilyn Monroe in one of her earliest roles

this was such a gloriously messy movie. everyone is such a fucking mess. this woman only known as Doll is heartbreakingly, head over heels in love with Sterling Hayden's character. she's a little flighty and bumbling and silly, but determined! they're constantly orbiting the gravitational weight of her desire for this man and desire for a real life with this man. and that's just one subplot! she has maybe five minutes total screentime! she should have gotten a supporting actress oscar!!! everyone acted their fucking hearts out and it was so much fun to watch!

-

playing

monument valley is in the netflix games library this month (i don't actually know what their liscencing agreements would even look like, they and the studios they worked with were very tightlipped about that when they were rolling this out three years ago) but i assume it's going to be on the service for a while. i have never played this game, which makes me feel a little bit like a bad gamer. you can tell it's ten years old from some of the color and texture choices, but WOW did literally everyone take inspiration from this game.

this is the platonic ideal of a phone game. i get why everyone went insane about it and there was a brief boom of geometry-based puzzle mobile games. it is MUCH much harder now to get people to pay money to play a game that has a planned endpoint and planned number of levels, so netflix is a good home for it.

i was often frustrated but always delighted. the level below involves making something happening that made me genuinely gasp out loud in glee. well worth the annoyance of downloading the netflix app and scrolling through the poorly labeled and poorly sorted carousel of games.

great retrospective, a bit about how you need to have tiny teams go off and just kind of fuck around and bring weird stuff back, and a lot about how they actually designed the levels

The end result had a pixel-perfect axonometric aesthetic that not only went hard on its references to Dutch master artist and printmaker Maurits Cornelis Escher, but also dug deep into classic video game design, going right back to early arcade machines and 8-bit titles. Each of the ten levels is like a piece of fine furniture, built with invisible dovetail joints and inlaid with marquetry, stuffed with secret compartments and little design flourishes. Gray cites the world of theatre and stage design, as well as graphics, as important keystones in the way the levels were constructed. ‘Ken would always talk about flower arranging, and how you frame a silhouette of a level on the screen,’ he says.

-

making

update on the Phantom Menace fabric: pinked the raw edges and threw it in the laundry again with a very large quantity of vinegar. 50% poly was too high for it to really do anything, which is interesting. it didn’t lessen the seam edge effects either, which is a little annoying bc the seams were so gigantic and that’s a good chunk of fabric to lose. i am going to buy a camp shirt pattern at some point when i have money again but for now it goes in The Box

also! thrifted a pack of o-rings for jars for a dollar and finally put my grains etc in my pretty jars. they’re going to live in the pantry but today they live out on the countertop

[h00nerz]

spots on!

THIRTY-EIGHT / i should have known

prev | masterlist | next

warnings: mentions of violence/murder, mention of cheating kinda, that’s it afaik

word count: 4.5k (sorry)

THE LAST FEW DAYS HAD BEEN A WHIRLWIND OF EMOTIONS. Not only were you still trying to decide how to proceed on your Chat Noir issue, you were also battling a never ending wave of anxiety. 

You had never been invited to a fancy event before—and definitely not a fashion event. You still couldn’t believe you had gotten an invitation to the Choi Designs launch party. For the last few weeks you had known about it, you’d spent every second you weren’t thinking about Chat Noir trying to plan the perfect outfit. You needed to prove you knew a thing or two about fashion before you attempted to network with the other attendees. 

The fashion world was extremely daunting, but you were confident in your abilities. Even though yes, you were wracked with nerves, you also knew you would be able to pull out on top alright. Design was in your blood, and today was the day you would get to prove that. 

Today was not going to be about Yeonjun, or Chat Noir, or any man for that matter. 

“Okay, Jeongin just texted me to tell me he, Gyu and Heeseung are on their way.” Sieun announced as she walked into your room. After lots of convincing, you had finally agreed to let Heeseung drive the five of you to the event, so long as he dropped you off a block away. Apparently Beomgyu had gotten the okay from Yeonjun to take Jeongin and Heeseung, so now you were all going. 

You nodded, while you smoothed your hands over the bottom of your dress. You had decided on a mini dress inspired by vintage Chanel you made recently, and a long black ribbon tied around your neck that trailed down your back. To top it all off, you wore your most expensive pair of black heels, courtesy of Choi Designs themselves. It was elegant, but also cute. 

“Ahh, Y/N! You look so good!” Sieun sang, running up to hug you from behind. You giggled and looked away to try to hide your embarrassment. “You’re going to knock the socks off of everyone there!” 

“Yeah, I hope so.” You said quietly, your eyes trained on yourself in the mirror. “Sie… Can you tell me that I’m a good designer? That I’m going to make it? I’m just really nervous.” It was an embarrassing thing to ask her, but she was your closest friend. If anyone was going to ease your nerves, it was Sieun. 

She smiled at you through the mirror, then gently spun you around to face her. “Y/N. I’m not just saying this because you asked me to. You are seriously one of the most talented people I know. I mean, you designed your own Ladybug suit, and you designed this gorgeous dress… You’re going to get offered internships to all of the best fashion companies in this city.” 

Her hands gripped onto you tightly, and you could feel your nerves slowly melting away. “Just… If you end up becoming a rich and famous designer, you can’t forget about me, okay? We still need to start our magazine together one day.” With that, she pulled you in for a tight hug, burying her face in your neck. 

You hugged her back, smiling into her long, blonde hair. “Thank you. And don’t worry, I don’t think I could ever forget you.” 

A loud, horrible noise filled the space outside your apartment, and unfortunately you recognized that song. “Jesus, Hee has got to get a new horn for that thing.” Sieun muttered, pulling away from the hug with a quiet sniffle. 

You giggled. “He needs to get a whole new car is what he really needs.” 

The two of you left your apartment, and wandered down to the street to see that Heeseung had actually parked semi-normally (his front tire was up on the curb). Even more surprising, it looked like he had taken Dongshik through a car wash. 

“Ladies!” Heeseung greeted you, sticking his head out the car window. “You both look great, especially you, Sieun. Y/N, you look okay.” 

As Jeongin pulled open the van door, you frowned. “So, we don’t both look great?” 

Heeseung hummed. “I guess not. Just Sieun.” 

You rolled your eyes. His attempt at flirting was pathetic, really.

As you got into the van, Jeongin stared at you with wide eyes. “Wow, Y/N. You look pretty. I mean, not pretty pretty. Nice, I mean. You look nice. Just normal. I haven’t ever considered you attractive. That would be weird. You’re my friend.” He started to ramble. 

“Why are you acting like a freak?” You asked, sitting down next to Beomgyu in the backseat. 

“I’m not! Stop looking at me!” Jeongin cried out, and turned to rest his head against his window. 

Beomgyu nudged you. “Did you make that dress?” He asked. 

You nodded. “Yep. Just finished it a few nights ago.” 

“Cool. It looks really nice. Like something Yeonjun’s dad would make.” He told you encouragingly, and you couldn’t help flushing at the comment. 

“Thank you, Gyu. That means a lot coming from someone who barely knows anything about fashion.”

He frowned. “Hey! What’s that even supposed to mean?” 

“It’s not a bad thing! It just means if you think it’s good, then maybe it is good!” You insisted, grabbing onto his arm to reassure him. 

He glared at you, but still smiled. “Don’t worry. Yeonjun’s dad will offer you a job on the spot. We all know it’s true.”

“Yeah, he would be crazy not to.” Jeongin added.

God, you hoped so.

IT TOOK YOU A WHOLE TWO SECONDS TO SPOT HIM. Even though he was just in a sleek, black suit, and seemed to blend in with the crowd, he still managed to stick out like a sore thumb. No matter how hard you were trying to move on from him, you would always be able to pick him out even in a crowd of a million people. 

There was just something about Choi Yeonjun that would forever draw you to him. 

You were standing by the entrance of the event with your friends, getting a good look at all the guests. You recognized quite a few designers, as well as some models and journalists. The guest list was as if someone had taken all of your favorite inspirations, and sent them all invitations. Intimidated wasn't a big enough word to describe how you were feeling. 

And then you saw him. He was talking to some people, laughing as though he didn’t have a single care in the world. His dark hair was slicked back, with a few strands strategically pulled out to fall in front of his eyes. He clearly wasn’t wearing a shirt under his suit jacket, as his bare chest was exposed all the way to the third button. Choi Yeonjun looked beautiful. 

For a second, you felt the river of your feelings beating against the dam you’d built to hold them back, creating cracks and threatening to break through. But, then you saw her. Choi Yena, with her arm looped around his own, looking up at him with eyes full of adoration. 

The river started to still. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Sieun asked, appearing at your side. She looped her arm through yours, the same way Yena had to Yeonjun. 

You glanced over at her, and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” When she didn’t seem convinced, you flashed her the most genuine smile you could muster up. 

“Come on, let’s go say hi to people!” Beomgyu shouted, squishing in between you and Sieun to throw his arms around the two of you. 

Just as you were about to ask what people?, he started leading you in the direction of the last person you wanted to talk to. “What? No, Beomgyu. I don’t wanna talk to him.” You said quickly. You tried your best to stop him, but your heels were making that a bit difficult. 

“Come on, just for two seconds! And his dad is over there, you wanna talk to him, right?” He whined into your ear. He was right, unfortunately. You were most looking forward to talking to Mr. Choi, and he was standing near Yeonjun and his girlfriend. You supposed this was the best time to introduce yourself. 

“Hey! Jun!” Yeonjun’s attention to whatever conversation he was in was lost when Beomgyu called out his name, and that was when his dark eyes landed on you for the first time that day. You should have looked away, and avoided his gaze, but you couldn’t. You were like a moth, and Yeonjun’s eyes were made up of flames. There was also something so familiar in them, something so…

A thought appeared in your head. A terrible, almost invasive thought. It couldn’t be true, though. That would be crazy, insane even. It would mean you were an absolute idiot. Worst of all, it would mean…

Your fingers drifted up to your lips, and you found yourself avoiding looking at Yeonjun. 

“Oh, babe! Are these your friends?” A feminine voice cooed, and you felt yourself grow nauseous.

“Y-Yeah, some of them. Yena, this is Beomgyu, Sieun, Heeseung, Jeongin, and…” He paused, swallowing hard. “…Y/N.” 

“Oh, Y/N! She’s the designer, right?” Yena practically gushed, and you nodded weakly. “Did you design that dress? It’s seriously gorgeous, I need one of those! It’s gorgeous, right, Yeonjun?” You glanced up to see Yeonjun staring at you, his eyes still widened like he had seen a ghost.

“Yeah. Gorgeous.” He replied, without ever looking down at the dress. 

You glanced away, hoping to find some sort of way to escape this conversation. By this point, you were sure your embarrassment was becoming visible, and if you stood there any longer, you thought your head might end up exploding. 

“You know, Y/N actually designed both Chat Noir and Ladybug’s suits.” Sieun randomly decided to inform the couple, and you practically snapped your neck to stare at her incredulously. 

Yeonjun, who had just taken a sip of his champagne glass, started choking. 

“Wow, really? I mean, I had heard about Chat Noir, but I didn’t know she did Ladybug’s too.” Yena continued the conversation casually, her gloved hand gently patting Yeonjun’s back as he coughed into a napkin. 

“Most people don’t.” You said through gritted teeth. 

Yeonjun finished coughing after a minute, and flashed you all an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I don’t know what just happened. Um, Y/N, I didn’t know you knew Ladybug.” He tilted his head at you curiously. 

“Oh. Umm, no, I wouldn’t say I know her. It was actually Sieun who set it all up! Yes, Sieun! You know, she’s good friends with Ladybug, so when she mentioned needing a new suit, Sieun recommended me!” You were impressed by how quickly you made up the lie, and Yeonjun seemed convinced enough as he nodded slowly. 

Beomgyu, Heeseung and Jeongin had seemingly checked out of the conversation a long time ago, and you noticed a slight redness to their eyes as they took turns investigating a centerpiece. You couldn’t believe you had let Heeseung drive you there when he had obviously smoked something. 

You glanced around the crowd of people, until your eyes finally fell on the person you wanted to talk to: Mr. Choi. And luckily for you, it looked like he was about to wrap up his conversation, which meant there was an opening for you. 

“Um, it’s been really nice meeting you, Yena, but I’m hoping to go get a word in with Mr. Choi, so I’m going to head over.” You gave the girl a polite smile, and were starting to walk away when you felt her grab your wrist. 

“Wait! You should have Yeonjun go and introduce you! It’s his dad, after all!” She suggested, an almost crazed smile playing on her lips. 

“What a good idea!” Sieun added in. You sent her a you-told-me-you-would-keep-me-away-from-him glare, but she feigned innocence as she grinned at Yena. 

You awkwardly glanced up at Yeonjun, who seemed just as unnerved about the idea as you. “Oh, I’m not sure—I mean, if you want me to, that’s fine, but—if you’d rather go alone—“

“Nonsense! Of course she wants you to go with her, babe!” Yena practically shoved him in your direction. 

The last thing you wanted was to introduce yourself to one of your icons, and make yourself look like a fool due to your crush on his son. The darned haired boy looked down at you, smiling apologetically. And in that moment, it hit you:

You’re totally not over Yeonjun.

“Um, then, shall we?” He asked. 

“O-Okay.” You stammered out. 

You shot Sieun one last glare as you and Yeonjun started to walk off in the direction of his father, and then the two of you were alone together. As you walked, you had to keep your arms folded across your stomach, too scared of the possibility of your hand brushing against his. You couldn’t believe yourself. Just a few days earlier, you were making out with Chat Noir on your sofa, and here you were, freaking out over the same crush you thought you were through with. 

A small part of you wished the cat man was there. He had always been good at relaxing your nerves. 

“I’m sorry about Yena. She can be a little… Pushy sometimes.” Yeonjun randomly spoke up. 

You laughed. “Yeah, I can see that.” 

He laughed as well, and if you could bottle up the sound of his laughter and keep it forever, you would. For a minute, the space between the two of you grew quiet, and even though the thought of talking to him terrified you, you also hated the silence. 

“Yeonjun?” You called out his name quietly, and he looked down at you with curious eyes. You swallowed hard, your hands becoming clammy. “I—you don’t have to do this. I don’t want…” Your voice trailed off as you tried to find the right words. 

“You don’t want…?”

“I don’t want you to think I’m only friends with you so I can get close to your dad.” You finally said. 

The space became quiet again. 

He sucked in a breath. “So, we’re friends?” He asked, a hint of doubt in his voice, and you felt yourself start to panic. 

“Oh! I mean, I think we’re friends, but if you don’t consider us friends, then that’s okay. I don’t want to overstep and be weird or anything, I just thought—“

“Y/N, relax.” You watched as he rested one of his hands on your shoulder, your eyes growing wide. “I think we’re friends. It’s just nice to hear it from you.” He spoke quietly, and you felt your face become warm. 

When you finally gained the courage to look up, you were surprised to see how close the two of you were now. His dark eyes were gazing into your own, flickering between them as though he was looking for something. Then, they dipped down to look at your lips. 

“Yeonjun! Y/N! Yeonjun quickly retracted his hand when a voice called out to the two of you, and you turned around to see Kai running up to the two of you. “It’s Beomgyu! He’s in the bathroom, throwing up, and he keeps asking for you guys!” 

You furrowed your eyebrows, looking over at Yeonjun to exchange a confused look with him. That didn’t exactly sound like Beomgyu. But, there was really no reason you could think of that Kai would be lying to you, so you let out a sigh. “Okay, take us to him.”

IN HINDSIGHT, YOU DEFINITELY SHOULD HAVE KNOWN KAI WAS MAKING THINGS UP. But, it seemed like being in Yeonjun’s proximity was enough to cloud your judgment, like his presence was intoxicating to you or something. You weren’t thinking very clearly as you trailed behind Kai towards the bathrooms, instead you were mostly focusing on how good Yeonjun’s suit made his back look. 

You were a bit confused when you made it to the room Kai was claiming to be the bathroom, and found not only all of your friends, but most of Yeonjun’s as well. 

“He’s in there!” Sieun exclaimed dramatically, pointing a finger at the door. “One second he was fine, talking to Jeongin and Heeseung about the tablecloths being used, and the next, he said he felt like his stomach was going to explode, and he ran into the bathroom!”

“Okay, but why does he want us?” Yeonjun asked. 

“I don’t know, he said he wanted his two closest friends!”

You looked over at Sieun, looking for any sign of a lie in her face, but saw nothing. Either she was a really great liar, or something was actually wrong with Beomgyu. You let out a frustrated sigh, looking down at your white dress. 

“I swear to god, if he gets vomit all over this dress, you’re all paying for it.” You snapped, making sure to point at Soobin specifically. 

With that, you opened the door, Yeonjun standing close behind you. But, when you peered inside the room, it was very obviously not a bathroom. Instead, it looked more like some kind of supply closet. There were some folded chairs lined against the wall, and some shelves that looked like they held some cleaning supplies. 

“This isn’t a bathroom…? Where’s Gyu--?”

Before there was even time for the question to leave your lips, Yeonjun was stumbling into you as though someone had shoved him from behind, forcing the two of you into the room. 

“Sorry, guys!” You heard Beomgyu yell, before the door was slammed shut in your face and locked.

You couldn’t believe it. Your stupid friends who knew you were trying to get over Yeonjun decided to lock you into a room with him! Apparently you were friends with a group of sick and twisted individuals. An angry growl ripped through your throat, and the next thing you knew, you started pounding your fist against the door.

“Choi-Fucking-Beomgyu, you open this fucking door right now!” You screamed, and swore you could hear his muffled giggles from the other side of the door. You tried slamming your fist against the thick wooden door a few times, but one particular strike caused you to hiss in pain and forced you to stop. 

“Shit, are you okay?” Yeonjun asked quickly, rushing over and cradling your hand gently. 

You nodded. You were still seething with rage at the fact you were cooped up in here with him, but could feel it slowly dissipating. “I’m so sorry. My friends--our friends are so dumb. I-I don’t even know why they would lock us up in here together.” You muttered, glancing over at the door. That was a lie, you definitely knew why they would do that.

Yeonjun let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I have a few ideas.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked, looking up at him suspiciously. Did he know about your crush on him? Had Beomgyu told him? Oh, you were totally going to beat the shit out of him when you got out of there.

“Oh… Nothing…” He let go of your hand, and instead reached up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. 

You nodded slowly, and leaned back against the wall. He was pressed against the one opposite of you, taking an interest in his dress shoes that he lazily clicked together. You weren’t sure what your friends were trying to accomplish, since there was no way you were going to confess to Yeonjun any time soon, especially not in some supply closet at his father’s party. 

Speaking of his father, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to meet my dad, and some of the other people here.” He spoke quietly.

You shrugged, pressing your lips together. “It’s fine. I guess I can always meet them some other time, right?” You smiled at him weakly, and he nodded. “I still have time… I think.” 

“You’re going to be fine, Y/N. You know, I meet a lot of young designers who come and do work for my dad and whatnot, and I don’t think any of them hold a candle to you.” 

You met his gaze with wide eyes. “Really?” You asked. 

Suddenly, you were hit with a wave of deja vu. This was exactly like your conversation you’d had with Chat Noir a few days ago, where he was comforting you about the exact guy you were talking to now. The guy who you thought had never really noticed you before. But, also the guy with a girlfriend. You had almost forgotten all about her, which you felt like made you a horrible person. 

“Um, Yena, she’s nice.” You said. 

“Yena. Yeah, she is. She’s very nice.”

The atmosphere had become so awkward, you wanted to scream. 

“About Yena… I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, but--”

Once again, just when the conversation was starting to get somewhere, you were interrupted by the feeling of your phone buzzing. You held up a finger, indicating for Yeonjun to pause, and dug your phone out of your small bag to see a text from Sieun. 

so… lol we messed up and the lock on the door is broken…

and

please don’t hate me

someone at the party just got akumatized

You gaped at your phone with wide eyes. “Shit…” You mumbled on your breath, wandering over to the door to give the handle a wiggle. You weren’t sure why you were expecting anything to happen. You were about to just transform into Ladybug right there, then remembered that Yeonjun was stuck in the room with you. “Shit!”

“What is it?” The man in question queried. 

You let out a frustrated sigh. “Um… Our friends broke the door… And apparently someone got Akumatized out there.” 

Yeonjun’s dark eyes widened. “Are you serious?” He demanded, and you nodded feverishly. 

“Yes!” You groaned. Then, an idea struck you. “Wait! I think I know somebody who can help! Hold on…” You opened up the Twitter app, thumb darting around to open up your direct messages. 

“Wait, it’s okay! I’ll get my dad to send someone over and fix the door!” Yeonjun tried to assure you, but you ignored him, opening up your messages with Chat Noir. 

s.o.s i’m locked in a room at this party and someone got akumatized 

You sent him the message, and less than ten seconds after you sent it, you heard Yeonjun’s phone go off. 

Oh.

The room became silent, as the two of you stared at the phone in his hands. Just to test it out, you sent another message, and his phone went off again. 

Oh.

“Y/N, I can explain--”

Your head was spinning. Of course, the possibility of Yeonjun being Chat Noir had crossed your mind a few times before, but you had never actually seriously considered that it could be true. The possibility of your annoying partner being the boy you had been crushing on for years? Yeah, okay. It sounded like some sort of sick joke. Truthfully, Yeonjun was the last person you had realistically thought could be Chat Noir. Or, maybe you’d just been so in denial about the possibility, you had missed all the signs. 

The universe was playing a sick joke on you. 

“So… You’re telling me… You are Chat Noir?” You whispered. 

There was no use in denying it. Instead, he nodded slowly. 

You felt dizzy. “But—you—“ It felt like the air was being stolen from your lungs, so you decided to pause for a moment, leaning up against the door for support. 

He said nothing. Instead, he stared at you with wide eyes, like he was carefully surveying you for each and every reaction you were having. 

“Have you just been playing me this whole time?” You whispered. He sucked in a breath, like he was ready to start denying it, but you jumped to cut him off. “Because I thought you liked me, really liked me, but you have a whole girlfriend. Oh God, and she’s so sweet, does she know you’re Chat Noir? Does she know you’ve been coming to my apartment at night to see me?” 

“No! No, it’s not like that! Yena and I aren’t even really dating!” He assured you quickly, speeding across the room to pull your hands into his own. 

As he did so, you gazed down, imagining his gloved hands being the ones to hold you. He wasn’t dating Yena. Well, that was good to know. Still, it didn’t make the situation any better. It didn’t change the fact that Choi Yeonjun was Chat Noir, and you had no clue. 

 “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner. I was too blinded by my crush on you, I should have been able to figure this out sooner.” 

Yeonjun paled. “You have a crush on me?” 

“Yes, you idiot!” You exclaimed, snatching your hands away from him. “I have for a long time, and everyone knows except for you, apparently! But that’s not the point, the point is, I should have known!” 

“How could you have known?” He was trying to comfort you, but instead it was just ushering a confession out of you, those little words that would change everything between the two of you more than it already had. “Honestly, Y/N, the thought of telling you crossed my mind, but… Ladybug would have killed me.” 

“I should have figured it out because I am Ladybug!” 

The words slipped through your lips before you had the chance to think them over and stop yourself. Your hands darted up to your mouth to cover it, as though it would be able to take it back. 

It couldn’t. 

Yeonjun looked like he was about to tip over and pass out. 

There was a creaking sound behind you, and you slowly turned to see the door to the supply closet being peeled open by a cringing Soobin. The rest of your friends were gathered around, peering at the two of you with wide, curious eyes. 

You had a sneaking feeling that the door was never broken, and there was never an Akuma. Your friends had made it all up to get you and Yeonjun to confess your alternate identities to each other. Oh, you were going to kill them all. 

“So… Did you guys talk?” Jeongin asked, flashing his cute bread smile at you as if it might make you forget what they did. 

It did not, in fact, make you forget. No, you were so consumed with rage, you wouldn’t be surprised if you got Akumatized right then and there. Not even Jeongin’s sweet smile could calm you down now. 

Before you were able to stop yourself, an angry scream ripped through your throat, and you launched yourself at your so-called “friends”. 

Discussing your true identities with Yeonjun could wait. Now, your top priority was going to be murdering all of your stupid friends. 

authors note: so… yeah… it happened 😅😅 surprise!!! i wonder how they are going to react now that they know this….

tag list: (closed) @therealhyunjingf @jakeshands @impureperhaps @mazeinthemoon @tyunlatte @loveliii @exohclipse @17szn @txtbrainrot @bubblytaetae @serafilms @iirene304 @snowfalltxt @choistick @lost-leopard-beanie @taekwondoes @captivq @aestheticsluut @suburbiataehyung @cecedrake2217 @omiomipepperoni @ttyunz @stellz581 @cher-bears @tyunner @eggomi @rikismiel @vianna99 @certainyouthpeanut @cookiehaos @90sni-ki @http-gyu @iad0ru @viagumi @reverbtunes @fatoompie @ka143 @sserafimez @hoonjjun @ahnneyong @cutiespaghetti @wonioml @emohazuzworld @taylvvrr @cowsmicwu

[hotasfahrenheit]

i've seen a lot of people loving Ming's look for the last chunk of episode 10 and different commentary on it and just wanted to throw out there that the first thing it made me think of is G-Dragon and his love of Chanel women's blazers. i know basically Ming's whole wardrobe has been luxury brands this whole show, and i have no idea what brand that blazer is, but i'm sure it's expensive as heck.

if you're not into kpop enough to know who GD is, he's an absolute fashion icon and easily one of the most influential kpop idols of all time, so Ming being inspired by his fashion choices would completely make sense and just continue to show off the fact that Ming is a rich bitch 🤣

i find it interesting that if you think of it that way instead of thinking of it as a Hilary Clinton Blazer (which IS funny) or a white woman outfit, it changes the center of Ming's choice of clothing to being more about a potential statement of his own fame and power in the entertainment industry as well as this situation. G-Dragon is hugely successful and popular even now, with BigBang on hiatus for years at this point (even if you consider Still Life as a full comeback which it wasn't since there was no album (i cry about this song somewhat regularly don't look at me)), and despite all the various controversies and nonsense that he's dealt with through the years both as part of the group and on his own. Ming is clearly into fashion and as a model and actor would absolutely know who G-Dragon is and thus would also probably follow his style choices avidly.

Ming's clothing through this whole show has been a lense on him as a person- wealthy, stylish in his own clothes, but doing things like wearing Joe's tshirt, treasuring the watch Joe bought him, asking for the matching pajamas; wearing that blazer he's evoking a powerful, notorious public figure who has weathered hardship and scandals and fluctuating public opinion and still come out on top every time. Doing so when he's meeting with Tong to put him in his place, as a popular and famous member of the entertainment industry meeting another popular and famous member of the entertainment industry, he's absolutely sending Tong a message that he is more powerful and very certain of his place in the world, and will be able to handle anything Tong can throw at him.

continuing to wear that blazer when meeting with his father is a declaration of war.

[accio-victuuri]

i know it’s early to interpret the song based on the teaser lyrics but with what we have, i think we can see what the subject and message of the song is. it is in the point of view of someone who appreciates everything that happened to them both past and present. and isn’t that such a good outlook?

wyb is not credited in the lyrics, but the composer is the same as like the sunshine. lyricist is dongyufang. but again, wyb definitely had some input and the song speaks to him or else he won’t sing it.

now it’s time for some clowning. you can interpret this and stretch it however you want based on every line but i’m just including some connections noticed by cpfs. 🤍

I love early spring and i will love late autumn. I love black hair and i will love gray hair.

the black and gray ( white ) hair in here most likely can talk about himself that he will love his youth and as he ages. it’s all good. but ofc the cpn spin is the contrast in their hair for a time. xz’s black and wyb’s is white ( chanel ). it’s giving the caption he used for his bday that he celebrate with xz on cql set ; that what he decided when he was 21, he will continue on till 81.

the white hair is reminding me of that old sus cpn and the lrlg that joked how xz is stressing wyb out with worry and he will have white hair because of it 😂

I love the wandering people coming home to their doorstep.

This is a line that i guess both of them can relate to, because of how many times in the year they spend away from their home. How they are both wanderers, but what he loves the most is when he/them gets to go home. No matter where they go, they will have somewhere to come home to. This line is also similar to LTS, where he goes — you’ve been wandering for a long time.

if you wanna go years back, there was a rumor that after the filming of cql, they had no contact but there was a sense of hoping to be with each other again.

I love the new and i will love the old. I love waking up from dreams and i will love daydreaming.

the love of new and old here is so romantic, at least to me. it may have a more general feeling in different interpretation, but to me, it’s someone who loves the relationship when it was new and no matter how long it lasts. wyb also loves to joke around xz being “older than him” but the truth is he really doesn’t care. if his comments about xz looking so young and how he doesn’t feel the age gap at all is any indication.

next is the subject of dreams ☁️

this one is the real hammer if you will. it brought us back to xz’s bazaar love confession and how he connected to dreams and waking up to it as when he found the one he loves. they are each other’s dream that has come to life. 😭😭😭😭 ( the bazaar confession is a pretty well known cpn so i won’t explain at length here. i talked about it before on my blog too )

I tightly hold on to the people i love. I love everything I lost in the past.

how he holds on to the people i love, which i think is very true for yibo. that he has a close set of people with him and his inner circle is trusted. but at the same time, he still appreciates those who lost in the past. again — very yibo. even if there are people who he had some falling out with, he won’t speak anything bad about them. and maybe if one day, they ask for forgiveness, he will grant them that.

i’m really looking forward for the two new songs! for his nye performances! the cpn we get is just a bonus! ❤️💛💚

[kanmom51]

JK live 21 July 2023 London - Part 1

cr./to the creators of the content used in this post.

This is a big one.

So big that I had to split it into 2 parts.

It might feel a little repetitive at times, but here's the thing, JK repeats himself A LOT in this live. He's making a point. Driving it in. Making sure we understand. Like really get where he's going with it.

A defining moment I would say. JK continues to tell it as it is, and he's getting bolder and bolder.

I mean, JK has been giving us these in abundance, but this one is big not only because of what he says during the live, but also the timing of it all.

But before I sink my teeth into the live itself I will start with the numbers. A fun start to it all.

JK started the live on 21 July 2023 11:42 pm or 23:42 London time.

11:42 and 23:42

1+1+4+2=8

2+3+2+4=11

8/11

Now let's look at the date:

21.07.2023

2+1+7+2+2+3=17

And if you go by 21.7.23 then:

2+1+7+2+3=15

Take your pick:

8/11/15

or

8/11/17

What do you think – a coincidence?

And now let's get it.

Do we start with what he was wearing? Distressed jeans, not sure of the brand, and another Masion Mihara Yasuhiro T-shirt (I think that by now we agree this is the Jeon-park go to brand of late). Also has his bracelet and the pinky ring.

You know - the what seems to be new and special pinky ring (which god dammit he sure did abuse during the live).

Intentional or not, that ring was front and centre during the live, and intentional or not it put the wooga ring theory to rest. You know, the whole Coco Chanel stupidity. Done and dusted.

JK came live telling us he's tired (you could see how tired he was) and was going to wash up and go to sleep. But obviously he had thing he needed to tell us before, so he came live, a little (more like a lot) charged up (alcohol charged up), and understandably so. A little or perhaps in this case a little too much liquid courage can take you a long way if there is much you feel you need to say.

JK told us in his Weverse interview that he puts in thought before doing a live. And even though in this case he said he just turned it on without any thought, perhaps the timing was without any thought, because he did have notes prepared with what he wanted to say on the live (he literally looks through them before he pops off to the toilet mid live). He definitely had things to say, to share, to get off his chest. Being rather intoxicated the way he was I feel like he struggled a bit to articulate at times the message he wanted to convey to us. But at the end of the day/live, I think that the message was rather clear, and I will get to it further on in this post and part 2 of the post.

What I do want to say now is that this young man is phenomenal. He is a phenomenal artist, a worldwide celebrity, and yet he is so real, so genuine, authentic with his fans. He allows us, total strangers in, in ways I have never seen another celebrity allow. He genuinely feels love for his fans and he genuinely wants to be able to have these open sincere conversations with them. How someone can feel malice or hate towards this young man, someone who everyone that gets to actually meet him has nothing but kind and positive words to say about him, I just do not know and will never understand.

So, his promotions are over.

How many days was it since the song dropped?

8 days you say?

And that's why he went live.

Was that the alcohol hitting?

2 minutes in and we have the dainty Koo hand.

JK talked about how he had a lot of fun doing the BBC 1 performance. And having army there with him gave him energy. It's something he realised. The difference between having Army in front of him or not, just how big that difference is to him. He also shared that health wise he actually felt worse. Coughing, difficulty breathing (we saw some of it in the behind short of the BBC 1 performance), which, when you think about it, makes his performance even more amazing.

JK repeats this quite a bit in the live.  His love for army, how army give him energy, how army push him to be a better person, a better artist.  How grateful he is for army. You can also see just how much he misses performing in front of his fans, misses doing their concert.  He says it outright, that he’s made to do concerts.  Left me wondering if that was him inadvertently spoiling something.  With him you never know, lol.

JK also mentioned how he enjoyed performing in the live shows, even though he was off key in the live performance (guess he’s talking about BBC Radio 1).

Listen, the man has been performing live for several days now with a seriously bad cold.  A cold that effects your hearing, your throat, your breathing, your voice.  And with all that he’s done phenomenally (my word of the day).

Ok, so if I had to tell you in a nutshell what JK talks about in the live (difficult task but I’ll try), I’d have to say that around 90% of this live was JK loving army.

As simple as that.

Drunk sincere JK gushing over army, telling us how much he loves us, how we cheer him on, how hearing army made everything better for his performance, even made his sore throat and coughing go away just before the performance.  How army supported him, how he cares for army and loves army.  Wait, I feel like I’m starting to repeat myself.  Thing is, that’s exactly what JK was doing.  90% of it was that.

Then JK talks about his promotions and how army cheering him on throughout that period made him happy.  Well, the good side of sm that is.

The promotion period felt short to him (which it was), and stuff didn't fall into place (GMA's for example), and yet :

This here was JK letting us know he's been monitoring sm.

He knows the good. But he also knows the bad and the ugly. And there is so so much ugly going on right now. Which could also be another reason why he felt the need to come forward and say the things he does later on in the live.

Breaks my heart. Knowing that they know about the crap so called fans come up with on sm. And knowing this JK makes it abundantly clear there is a difference between those 'fans' and army, that he loves beyond imagination.

JK goes on to say, again, how happy he is to meet us. Doing the lives too. Communicating with us. He likes it. Well, we do too.

JK tells us he ate well after the performance given it was his last one and he also drank and is "kind of drunk right now too".

He is so self aware. He knows that being drunk will loosen his tongue. He knows that he might say something he shouldn't say (question asked is according to whom? To Hybe? To the fans? To himself?). And yet he will continue to talk to us.

Again JK telling us he is a person just like us.

He's being open and honest and just showing so much vulnerability.

Can we take a moment and appreciate this?  I know I keep repeating myself, starting to sound like a broken record here, but I think we don’t appreciate him enough. I think that much of what he gives us is taken for granted, and it shouldn’t.  He is honest and open and wears his heart of his sleeve and allows himself to show us vulnerability. How many idols or celebrities do you know that do that?  Let us in.  Not all the way just yet, but he wants to. He really wants to be able to show us his true self.

He also wants us to understand that he’s a person just like us.

The whole “let’s be friends” is also part of it.  He doesn’t look down at us, and how many celebrities do you know that are like that? That look at you, their fan, at eye level.  That don’t feel they are better or more worthy than you. That see themselves as an artist but there to create art for you to enjoy.  That are forever grateful for your support of them.  That will be happy to acknowledge you if you approach them, even on their free time (and I’m not talking about fucking sasaengs that stalk them, but army that recognize them and dare to talk to them, yeah like the girl at the stop shop in CT).

All he wants is to be able to be honest and act naturally with army.  Because, for him “army is the best”.

And he continues, because so what? army is sincere, what is there to hide, being sincere with Army, that's what he wants.

Doesn't need anything else. army is the best. He's comfortable, he's having fun. From now on it's going to be like this.

"We might curse at each other later on..." - so also telling us things we might not like to hear? Like you do with a friend?

He is constantly making a point of a. how important army is to him and b. that he wants to be friends with army, be able to talk to us casually, like a friend, and vise versa, act naturally. Bottom line: did I mention friend zoning yet?

Act natural.

Now that is a loaded term. Because to act naturally means be yourself, no walls, nothing holding you back (well in the context of this is who you are as a human being and not putting on a façade or as JK usually puts it, not wearing a mask). Acting naturally is acting like you want to, like your nature, and not like others want or expect you to. That's how JK wants to be with us. But being like this means lifting that mask. And he's in the process of doing that. He has a little, but even as he puts it later on in the live, there are still hidden parts of him, parts we don't know, and I do think that he is over that. He wants to show us him. No unnecessary masks. Whoever will accept him and love him will. Those that don't, well, you can't be loved by everyone. And this is grown up, mature and very intelligent JK, who understands that, and has decided that he is not going to live his life trying to appease those that will never approve of him, the real him. Those who care about him, he will do everything for. Those that don't, those that hate, as far as he is concerned they can continue to live their lives, he has mentally cut ties with them.

JK talks about how army is better than anything. That he kind of feels bad for his parents because of army's significance to JK. I don't think it's about loving army more than his parents. It's about the importance that army has for JK, army that followed and protected him for 10 years since his debut (a time that his parents weren't really able to be there for him, not as much as army was, is what I think that JK is saying).

And for those people he wants to be honest. He feels that for the people that protected him over the past 10 years, the ones that love him, he owes honesty.

But what is that honesty he keeps talking about? Why does JK feel the need to repeat this time after time during his live? I'd say because he feels that at the moment, until this point in time, he hasn't been fully honest with us. And perhaps he's also a little weary of how army will accept that honesty, how army might react to JK without that mask. I do think that there is so much more coming from JK.

This for him is only an opening shot!

We need a comedic pause for a second here, cause things, they got heavy there for a second. Phew. Thank you JK. Drunk neuro-divergent JK being distracted by the creepy statue, lol.

I actually feel like he himself needed that pause (he takes a few like that throughout the live), and what better than taking the time to pick it's nose, clean dust and have a conversation with a statue?

Now how can you not love that person, eh? I really don't get people that hate him. It's the same level as those that hate JM. Those two human beings are the most precious lovable (add fucking gorgeous too) people EVER. They WERE clearly MEANT for each other. So how can people hate either of them? Both of them? Who they are as individuals or as a couple? How????????

But obviously there are many who do. Sad. It's sad they exist and I also feel sorry for them too. Because being filled up with so much hate that you feel the need to turn it on someone who is a stranger to you, someone so loveable as those two young men means you are a very sad and unhappy person yourself.

Ok, this wasn't supposed to get too deep. Not this part. This was supposed to be the fun part of this post.

🤷‍♀️

JK goes on to give us a little more detail about his dinner - with staff celebrating the end of his short promotions. He ate and drank, which was hard work, lol. He says he's a pretty simple person, enjoys the simple things, but regrets he also forgets them pretty fast, and wants to make an effort to make the memories and feelings last longer.

JK, like RM, Suga and JM before him talks about the day they comeback together.  It’s not about if, it’s about when this happens how wonderful it will feel.  You can see he is genuinely excited for it. "it's going to be amazing". His words.

And once again he talks about his gratitude and how thankful he is to army for today (his performance), and for the experiences he had, and will need to put much more effort.

When I said that 90% of this live is JK talking about army, his love for us and what he needs and wants to do for army I wasn’t kidding.  This is the thread right through the whole live.  Army love him. Army cheer for him.  He has to do more for army. Be worthy of our love for him.

As much as we give him love, he needs to fill something for all of us, and he is trying to.

But he also wants to be comfortable with army (again, something he repeats multiple times through the live).  And this, my friends, is where JK friend zones us.  Like completely.  Like with no shame, lol.

This is also when JK lets us know he knows he's being criticized online. He drinks, that's him. People might not like it, it's their prerogative - "do whatever you want". And this is also not the last time JK mentions being criticized for drinking or being disliked/hated.

JK being super chill, and yet tells it as it is:

In other words, when JK talks about the army he loves, the army he is grateful for, the army he feels indebted to, well, that most definitley doesn't include those that are hating on him, or those that will not accept him for who HE is, real JK, the one that wants to feel comfortable when interacting with army, the one that wants to be himself and not a puppet or persona that is being forced on him. He is past that. And he is being loud and clear about it too.

"We might be strangers but I want to feel comfortable with you".

Act natural, be comfortable, those words on repeat. JK driving it in again and again.

He wants to get closer, and closer, again, means bringing down those boundaries around him.

Please tell me who asked him to grow a beard in the comments, I'm coming for them... Thankfully he just doesn't have that facial hair growth, phew. Can he pass that on to my husband please? I mean, shaving in the morning and by late afternoon try to get near him you'll be stabbed in the face.

I digress, my husband's facial hair is most definitely not something you would be interested in.

JK's on the other hand...

Well, according to him he literally has none, so there you have it.

Love how every time he's either checking out his skin or his facial hair we are getting a JM in our face. Fun!! He does say he wanted us to have fun!!

And here comes the comment about the 'dirty' version of Seven.

Love love love love the way JK dealt with this one.

Yes, he might have been a little all over the place, but first of all his reaction to calling it dirty. Second, even almost as drunk as a skunk he kept his composure and tried to explain his pov.

This is one of the times he reminds us of his age, of how many years it's been since his debut. And this is something I felt he was trying to achieve by releasing the explicit version of the song - the understanding that he is no longer a child. That the fandom needs to accept he is a grown up, stop infantilizing him. That he can say fucking and the world will not stop turning on it's axis. That he can sing about sex, that he, god forbid, might be actually having sex too (like the reaction of some of this fandom to this song, as if this is a revelation, something unbeknown to us all, that JK, a 25 yo man, is sexually active).

And when he says he's almost 28 yo (Korean age) and goes on to say "but I know why army loves me", is his acknowledgement of said infantilizing. The fact that army see him as the youngest, the maknae, and not a full on grownup. And those are things he was thinking about while deciding which version to release.

He wants acknowledgement as a grown up and as an artist and he felt that he needed to release the two versions to achieve that.

He wanted to change that image of him, and for that he needed to change himself.

He wants us to accept him, the changed him, but he's not going to force us to.

So here's the thing. This isn't even half way through the live. And there is still so much more to come.

There are a few words that keep coming up on repeat in the live that I can think of off the top of my head.

Army, of course, grateful, fun, happy, natural, comfortable. All seem to be said with ease, even lightly, but all with extremely deep meaning behind them.

I'll leave you with that food for thought. Why is he repeating these words? What is he trying to tell us? What next?

Part 2 to follow shortly.

[romiantic]

YOU KNOW YOU LOVE ME !

NOW PLAYING…circus by summer walker

YOU KNOW YOU LOVE ME, you love him but does he love you like you do?

INCLUDING hawks, pro-basketball player!aomine, singer!eren

READING: black!fem!reader

GENRE + WARNINGS: angst + suggestive, toxic nigga behavior from all characters

A/N: this was a very old wip I found which I gained a lot of motivation to write :). also eren is supposed to mirror drake in his part, I feel like fanon eren is drake in a different font 💀

HAWKS, the #2 pro-hero, the man who sends away smiles at fellow citizens and takes pictures with cheery children. The man who had girls squealing and wishing to be in his “entourage”. Just one night with the handsome man and they’ll be satisfied with life, maybe some money as well. Though, they don’t know that it’s the same man who had your head spinning like a damn wheel, wondering day in and day out why you are still trying to put effort into something that you don’t even know will work. But…he convinced you otherwise; giving you bouquets of flowers when he comes home, good morning texts, sweet loves by the night. If all this he does/gives to you, why aren’t you together? What’s stopping you two from an official label?

He pushes it off, he keeps saying he’s not ready. He doesn’t think he can juggle being a pro-hero with a girlfriend. Such a ridiculous and stupid reason but when you tried to talk yourself out of it, you were convinced by sweet talks that he needs you and you know your heart yearns for him. You couldn’t break his heart by leaving, could you?

AOMINE isn’t the best at displaying his love for you but he tries, rarely. He has stated himself that he isn’t really a lover boy but in his heart, he knows that you both belong together. He just can’t find it in himself to show you. Especially with the glitz and glamor of being an all star basketball player, love for him may not be suitable. Well, publicly being in love, to be exact. The blogs, the allegations, the scandals, it would all be too “out there” and Aomine has a very private life to abide by. Being famous and having people invested in his life is one thing but allowing his lover in the spotlight? Nah, he wouldn’t do that to her.

But then again, the gifts he buys you remind you that he still thinks about you and loves you dearly. The dainty bracelet from Chanel, the bouquet of roses he leaves on your nightstand, the occasional messages he sends, they all mean some sort of value. Even if the man who sends them isn’t ready to push his love further like you want it to be.

EREN, everyone’s favorite certified lover boy with the voice as comforting as the blues but the lyricism of an aching heart. Quite odd considering that the amount of love he displays to the world, mostly his fans, you don’t tend to see it? A questionable trait for a man whose songs are about girls who have treated his love like a used rag, but yet he has the similar traits to said girls. He sings constantly about wanting to be loved in a way that makes him feel unstoppable, safe, and comfortable but he rarely shows that with you. To make matters worse than they are, he would say that what y’all have is nothing too serious so why take it serious?

Though, the male singer will always remind you of how much he loves you when it’s just the two of you. You’ll always remember after his shows when the room is hot and full of his “love” with steamy kisses and bodies tangled up in this so-called “love” he wants to claim.

⭑ shoutout to tia for proofreading, thank you twinnnn 🫶🏽

⭑ *gasp* mia doesn’t write something spiderman for once 😱

⭑ lemme know which was y’all fave to read !

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: Ephesians 2:4-5

MAIN MASTERLIST

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟥 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖼. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[simplykorra]

little lights in dark places - chapter two

It’s when she passes by the front door that Ava sees her.

Beatrice.

With all the chaos of the afterparty, Chanel and Lilith yelling at her and promising to fix her car, then JC - she’d almost forgotten about Beatrice.

Here’s the thing, Beatrice is fucking attractive. She does not in any way fit into this space - which is only more evident by the fact that she’s sitting out on the front porch, alone, nursing a near full bottle of beer.

Still, she’s a goddamn vision or something. Her black button down shirt is fully unbuttoned now and Ava can see the white tank top she has on underneath of it. A chain hanging around her neck that disappears beneath her undershirt - tucked neatly between her breasts.

Her bun in the back has fallen a little, a few quick shakes of the head and it’d come out entirely.

Though Ava can think of a few ways she could get it loose.

Which is not great because she’s still wound up and JC was no fucking help.

For now though, Ava decides to reign it in. She’s in no shape to get flirty and Beatrice looks like she’s a few bad songs away from tossing her beer to the concrete and running away.

“You know, the party’s in the house.” Ava says with a smile as she steps out onto the porch and gets Beatrice’s attention.

Even earning a little smile, it’s pretty. “I’m afraid I’m not much for partying.”

Ava hums and moves to lean on the pillar opposite of Beatrice. “This isn’t really your scene, is it?”

“Am I that obvious?”

CONT ON AO3