[ just a meeting, dinner, and a fuck. itadori didn't object, even when he was side-eyeing the other man the whole time, taking in that smirk and the unspoken words behind it. if this is how dabi has chosen to interpret tonight's events, then he wouldn't ruin it by fighting him for what he truly believes happened. it wasn't a casual fuck. the villain didn't indulge his urges and then left the kid behind in his mess. he was attentive when he didn't need to be. patient when no one asked for it. he understood what this fucking night meant for itadori. in the best way his revenge-craved mind could, within what little compassion he had left in him, dabi made it special for him. how the hell is this a casual fuck? impassive? and he's still here. with itadori. he's still accommodating to him, tolerating this clingy kid and allowing him to end this night, his special night, on a good note. there is an effort, there is acceptance—
it's easy to get heated at how he's steadfast in downgrading his influence on the sorcerer. dabi refused to give power to the one thing that made itadori feel he's fated to die a lonely, miserable death. he's angry because— that man didn't know how much this moment had shaken him. this might be a silly conclusion for some, to be put on a high standard as being saved, while all he got is a sexual experience with a murderer. itadori didn't care about the circumstances. it is what it is. this night is everything he ever needed, and it pissed him off that dabi couldn't see it.
it was hard to swallow it all in, but he did. precious, yet fragile— is his time with this man. ]
... for real? It's that confusing to you?
[ itadori raised an eyebrow, he then rolled over, leaning on dabi's side as he regarded him closer. a slow blink, and with a quiet 'ah!', he realized this is serious. he's not messing with him. ]
I'm talking about holding you as we sleep. No, not like an octopus. I don't want to suffocate you. It's ... uh, it will feel good. For both of us. You will feel ... safe.
[ because, let's be honest, when they're out there— it's never safe. you're always on edge, moving, running, fighting, obsessing, tired, fucking exhausted, out of breath, and then ... return 'home' to an empty bed only to stay up for hours because your thoughts are running wild in your isolation. itadori, at least, is not alone. in a sense he had friends who care about him, who try to protect and support him in his journey. dabi is on another threshold, stubborn and committed to walk through hell on his own; lost all trust and faith in others. he's not even trying. he's done trying. it took itadori back to that smirk, and the pride behind it for denying anyone to presume his actions can be more than emotionless acts; the walls he built around himself seem infinite.
how can he reach him? ]
... Whenever you want.
[ by giving him space. breathe. try again another time. nice and easy. ]
We should try it. I want to be your first in something.
no subject
[ just a meeting, dinner, and a fuck. itadori didn't object, even when he was side-eyeing the other man the whole time, taking in that smirk and the unspoken words behind it. if this is how dabi has chosen to interpret tonight's events, then he wouldn't ruin it by fighting him for what he truly believes happened. it wasn't a casual fuck. the villain didn't indulge his urges and then left the kid behind in his mess. he was attentive when he didn't need to be. patient when no one asked for it. he understood what this fucking night meant for itadori. in the best way his revenge-craved mind could, within what little compassion he had left in him, dabi made it special for him. how the hell is this a casual fuck? impassive? and he's still here. with itadori. he's still accommodating to him, tolerating this clingy kid and allowing him to end this night, his special night, on a good note. there is an effort, there is acceptance—
it's easy to get heated at how he's steadfast in downgrading his influence on the sorcerer. dabi refused to give power to the one thing that made itadori feel he's fated to die a lonely, miserable death. he's angry because— that man didn't know how much this moment had shaken him. this might be a silly conclusion for some, to be put on a high standard as being saved, while all he got is a sexual experience with a murderer. itadori didn't care about the circumstances. it is what it is. this night is everything he ever needed, and it pissed him off that dabi couldn't see it.
it was hard to swallow it all in, but he did. precious, yet fragile— is his time with this man. ]
... for real? It's that confusing to you?
[ itadori raised an eyebrow, he then rolled over, leaning on dabi's side as he regarded him closer. a slow blink, and with a quiet 'ah!', he realized this is serious. he's not messing with him. ]
I'm talking about holding you as we sleep. No, not like an octopus. I don't want to suffocate you. It's ... uh, it will feel good. For both of us. You will feel ... safe.
[ because, let's be honest, when they're out there— it's never safe. you're always on edge, moving, running, fighting, obsessing, tired, fucking exhausted, out of breath, and then ... return 'home' to an empty bed only to stay up for hours because your thoughts are running wild in your isolation. itadori, at least, is not alone. in a sense he had friends who care about him, who try to protect and support him in his journey. dabi is on another threshold, stubborn and committed to walk through hell on his own; lost all trust and faith in others. he's not even trying. he's done trying. it took itadori back to that smirk, and the pride behind it for denying anyone to presume his actions can be more than emotionless acts; the walls he built around himself seem infinite.
how can he reach him? ]
... Whenever you want.
[ by giving him space. breathe. try again another time. nice and easy. ]
We should try it. I want to be your first in something.