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roosterforme · 7 months

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The Curveball Part 13 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Molly didn't think life with Bob could get any better. Then their son arrives, and she's proven wrong yet again. She doesn't know what the future holds, but she knows that she wants her family with her for every adventure. And that starts with a trip down a grassy path through some wildflowers.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, swears, pregnancy, smut, 18+

Length: 3900 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story accompanies Batting Practice!)

Check my masterlist for more! The Curveball masterlist

Thank you to @mak-32 and @teacupsandtopgun for the beautiful banners!

With the number of times Bob had to field the question, "So how did you and Molly get engaged?" you would have thought he could answer it by now without blushing. But he couldn't. Not even close.

The only ones who knew what really happened were Nat, Bradley and Molly's sister. Nat kept calling Molly 'a goddamn legend'. Bradley cringed. And Molly's sister just said, "Yeah, that tracks."

But Molly kept those pretty Mrs. Floyd nipple piercings in for him, and he loved her even more for it. Her belly had gotten so big by Valentine's Day, he didn't know how she'd make it all the way to her due date in another four weeks. She looked absolutely exhausted after every shift in the emergency room, and more often than not, she ended up falling asleep on the couch with him after dinner while they watched a murder documentary.

"Mo," he whispered on Friday night after she fell asleep mostly on top of him on the couch, his big hand splayed over her belly. His son was squirming a bit as he stroked her soft skin. She was incredible. His Molly. They hadn't decided exactly when they were going to get married, but she kept talking about wildflower meadows. So he agreed to wait until the summer, after the baby was born.

He had to whisper her name a few times before she jolted awake. "Hmm?" she moaned. "Bobby, I was in the middle of a delicious nap." He kissed her lips when she pouted at him.

"Let's get in bed, Honey," he said softly, pulling her shirt down over her belly. "We have to babysit Ev tomorrow so your sister and Bradley can go out for Valentine's Day."

She smirked at him. "They like to do dirty shit in the Bronco."

Bob just shrugged. "We do dirty stuff in my truck all the time."

She moaned softly as she said, "We sure do, Lieutenant Floyd." Bob's eyes slowly closed as Molly's hand skimmed down his abs and into the waistband on his underwear. "Dirty stuff everywhere. Anything my fiancé wants."

Bob grunted as her small hand wrapped around his cock, and her lips grazed his stubbled jaw. He was getting harder as she stroked him slowly, tongue darting out to taste his neck. "Molly," he moaned, bucking up into her hand as she teased his tip. But she just hummed against him as she jerked him off. And then her hand slowly came to a stop until she was just softly cupping his balls.

And then he heard her soft, even breathing next to his ear, and Bob couldn't help but laugh. She actually fell asleep while she was giving him a handjob. Bob thought for a moment that maybe a less secure man would be insulted, and maybe that's what Molly was used to in the past, but he knew she was beyond tired right now.

He kissed her forehead and gently eased her hand back out from his underwear. "It's bedtime," he whispered, and she jolted awake again.

"No," she said, shaking her head and trying to reach for his cock.

"Yes," he replied with a chuckle as he slid out from under her without being too rough with her bump. "Come on, and I'll rub your back until you fall asleep in bed."

"Mmkay," she agreed, bleary eyed as Bob led her to their bedroom. He helped her get undressed, kneeling in front of her and placing some gentle kisses to her belly like he did every night.

"I love you," he whispered as Molly ran her fingers through his hair. The nightly conversations with his son were something he was definitely going to keep doing after the baby was born. "I can't wait to meet you. We just finished getting your nursery ready. I hope you like baseball, because your Uncle Bradley and I went a little nuts in there."

"That's an understatement," Molly whispered. "They went flipping bananas."

Bob cupped her pretty belly with both of his hands and smiled. "Mommy's right. We did go overboard."

He watched Molly yawn before she said, "It's okay. Everett and Piper will teach him all about baseball." And then she kept yawning, so Bob got her settled into bed with a pillow tucked against her belly. He set his glasses on the nightstand and turned off the lamp. And then he climbed in behind her as the big spoon and kissed the engagement ring she was wearing.

"You wanna talk about baby names?" he asked, rubbing his hand along her side, because he knew it would make her sleepy.

"I only like a handful of names," she replied, and Bob could hear the pout in her voice even though the room was dark.

"Come on, Mo. Literally anything except Everett. Your sister will never forgive you."

"Yeah, but my nephew will think it's funny, and that's almost enough motivation for me to do it."

Bob groaned. "What's your second favorite name?"

It took Molly a few moments, but eventually she said, "I want to name him after you."

"Robert Junior?" he said, already shaking his head. "RJ?" He didn't like it at all.

"No. Your middle name. We can call him Charlie," she mumbled, obviously dozing off.

Now Bob smiled as he kissed his sleeping fiancee on the shoulder. "Charlie Floyd."

-----------------------------

Since it wasn't a leap year, Molly knew Bob wasn't really getting a birthday. "Still only eight years old," she told him on February twenty eighth. She was straddling his lap on the couch, but her belly was fucking enormous now and always in the way. He didn't seem to mind though as he gently held her and cradled her and the baby. She kissed down his cheek until she got to his lips. "You look terrible for your age."

Bob burst out laughing. "Thanks, Honey. Hoping the kid gets your genetics."

"Call him by his name," she whispered.

"Charlie," Bob said with a smile. There was no room left for Charlie to move around too much, but he always seemed to know when Bob was nearby. He was currently squirming so much, Molly was getting heartburn.

"He just wants his daddy all the time," she said, running her hands slowly over Bob's chest. "I want his daddy all the time, too."

"Yeah?" Bob asked cautiously. It was really difficult to fuck now. Molly was always uncomfortable. But she knew Bob was never going to rush her. So they spent about five minutes getting her propped up on the couch with throw pillows.

"This is a lot of work for you to get some birthday sex, Bobby," she crooned as his erection bumped her repeatedly in the leg while he made sure she was comfortable.

"It's worth it," he replied as he sank into her warm pussy.

"Oh, yeah... definitely worth it," she agreed, rocking back gently to meet his slow thrusts. It was unhurried and perfect, and Bob's big hands wrapped around to her belly made her feel safe.

But later that evening, she knew she had to do something she really didn't want to do. "Bob, it's time," she said solemnly as she stood with her jewelry box in both hands.

"I understand," he whispered, taking it from her and sitting down on their bed. He sighed sadly and watched her pull her shirt over her head followed by her sports bra. And then the pretty Mrs. Floyd piercings had to come out. She almost laughed at the sad look on his face as she put them in her jewelry box and closed the lid.

"They'll be back. I promise."

"I know," he whispered, kissing along both of her breasts and nuzzling her with his nose. She felt like she looked all swollen and misshapen, but he didn't seem to mind as he kissed her everywhere.

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"You can't be serious right now," Molly groaned the following night as she nibbled on some pizza. Everyone was out for Bob's fake birthday at the usual restaurant. "You're going to Disney World? Without me?!" she asked Everett.

Bob tried not to laugh as his soon to be nephew looked genuinely upset. "Mom, can we bring Aunt Molly with us?" he whispered.

But Molly just laughed and kissed him. "No, this vacation is for you and your parents. Besides, the baby will be too young this summer. I'll come next time."

"How much longer until the baby comes?" Everett asked her looking at her belly hopefully. "This is taking forever."

"Hopefully just a few more days," Bob supplied, offering Molly more pizza. But she hadn't even finished one slice yet, just sipping some apple juice instead.

"No," she told him. "I don't feel great today."

Then Bob noticed the ridiculous grin on Everett's face where he sat perched on Bradley's lap. "I got a new dad. I'm getting my very own cousin, and even an Uncle Bob!"

"You're living your best life, my man," Molly told him. "It's like you planned this all out."

But she really didn't look comfortable at all, and Bob knew she was struggling with fatigue now. So he kissed her cheek, insisted on paying for dinner, and started to herd everyone outside. As soon as he opened the passenger side door of his truck and tried to help her in, she started shaking her head.

"I'm going to throw up," she insisted and started heading for some of the shrubs along the side of the parking lot. "Oh. Oh no."

But she didn't throw up. Her water broke. Bob froze as Molly turned to look at him as she started crying. "I just peed," she whispered.

Then his adrenaline kicked in fully, and he closed the distance to her. "Honey, I think your water broke," he said gently, and she gasped, panic all over her face.

"No," she said, shaking her head more. "I'm not ready."

"I don't think we have much choice," he told her carefully as he guided her back to the truck. Her sister had already left with Bradley and Everett, so he would have to call them once they got to the hospital. But he needed to focus on this first, because Molly was starting to lose it.

"I can't do this. I can't!" she nearly screamed, fighting him as he tried to get her into the truck. Her pink leggings were all wet, and she was scrambling in every direction seemingly at the same time. "I don't want to," she informed him, eyes wide and unsure.

"I'll be with you the whole time," he whispered, kissing her cheek. He was over prepared. He knew that. But he'd been sending Molly around everywhere with her hospital bag which he had packed for her, and it was currently tucked behind the driver's seat. She was as ready as she was going to be whether she wanted to admit it or not.

Once he was finally pulling out of the parking lot with Molly successfully buckled in, Bob felt the panic as well, but he tried to keep his cool. Then suddenly Molly clutched at her belly and loudly groaned, "Shit."

"What?!"

"Is that a contraction?" she asked, gripping at the door handle. "Shit! Fucking hurts!"

When they finally got to the hospital, things had gotten worse. He took her in through the emergency room since that was where she worked. Everyone ran out to watch Bob wheel her inside in a wheelchair. She was gripping the arms and looking back up at him like he was absolutely ruining her day by bringing her here.

"Molly's here!" one of her coworkers yelled.

Molly responded by crying and shouting, "Fuck!" But nobody seemed to think this was unexpected. They just helped Bob along to the elevator and opened all of the necessary doors to get her to the labor and delivery area.

"Thanks," he told them as another nurse let him know he could take Molly into room two. There were new mothers and nurses pushing bassinets around. It was serene. Peaceful. Really one of the loveliest things Bob had ever seen. And he was currently interrupting it by pushing Molly through as she moaned the f-word so loud and so long that nearly everyone was turning to look.

"It's okay, Honey," he promised as he got her into room number two.

"No, Bob!" she shouted. "It is fucking not okay! I feel like I pissed myself. I look like I pissed myself. And Charlie fucking hates me, because it hurts so much!"

She was doubled over, holding her belly. The pain on her face as she had a contraction made Bob reach for her instantly. A tear slid down her cheek, and she whimpered. And then the obscenities flowed.

Bob tried to apologize to all of the nurses as Molly called them 'fucking assfucks', but they didn't seem to mind at all. He did however close the door as her contractions got closer together.

Hours later, after he had called his mom and Molly's sister and told them what was going on, Bob was exhausted. But he knew Molly was much worse off in that department. She was soaked with sweat and was currently glaring at him.

"I hope you're happy, Bob," she growled, eyes flashing. "Your monster cock did this to me. Lulled me into a false sense of sexual bliss. And then your filthy mega sperm took over, and finished the job."

She looked like she wanted to hurt him, and he had to try very hard not to laugh as he held her hand. "I'm sorry, Mo. I'll never do it again," he promised.

Then she started crying. "You'll never fuck me again?"

"That's not what I meant!" he said quickly, but she was already in tears. And she said the word 'cuntbag' so many times in a row while she pushed that he lost count.

"I see the baby," the doctor finally announced after what seemed like days.

"Get it out! Get it fucking out!" Molly screamed, and Bob felt like screaming too. She had such a tight grip on his fingers, he was sure she cracked some bones.

But when she looked at him, clearly scared, he kissed her sweaty forehead and told her he had never been more impressed by anyone in his entire life. And it was the truth. She looked like she was on the verge of passing out when the doctor announced that it was in fact a boy and gave the time of birth. After Charlie was measured and weighed, one of the nurses placed him in Molly's arms.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered, carefully holding him against her chest with one arm and stroking his cheek with her fingers. "I don't know what to do." But her gaze was transfixed on their son, and her lips were softly parted in wonder. Bob could already tell that Charlie was the perfect baby. Little puckered lips and eyes that were fighting to stay open against the bright overhead lights.

"Oh my god," Bob whispered, leaning down to kiss his son. "Molly. He's actually perfect."

Her fingers stroked along his soft skin while Bob held onto one tiny fist. "He actually is."

---------------------------

The only problem with the next few months was that they flew by. All of Bob's aviator friends had covered the pickup truck in yellow and black BABY ON BOARD signs the day they took Charlie home from the hospital. Molly thought it was hilarious, but Bob grumbled as he removed all of them.

To Molly's extreme annoyance, Charlie seemed to prefer Bradley over all of their other visitors. Everett was overjoyed every time he got to sit with the baby, and her sister was already helping Molly with literally everything under the sun. But it was Bradley who was able to calm Charlie down and get him to fall asleep on his chest.

"I'm the baby whisperer," he informed everyone every time he had the opportunity.

"You're Uncle Turd," Molly told him, but Bradley just smiled at her. She couldn't be too mean, because she needed his help. He was the one who was supposed to be distracting Bob for an entire day while Molly got her wedding gift for him finished.

She wasn't sure what the two men were going to do after the batting cages, but Molly didn't really care. She had approximately seven hours from the time she dropped Charlie off with her sister to the time she had to be back home. The wedding was in a week, the bodice of her dress was sheer lace, and she wanted the tattoo to be perfect.

After she told her tattoo artist the exact placement she wanted and the colors to use, she sat back in the chair in her bra with her arm over her head. Molly looked down at the stretch marks on her still puffy belly. Instead of talking to Charlie there every night, Bob sat in the nursery for fifteen minutes and chatted while he rocked him to sleep. And then he did any number of sweet or dirty things to her before they fell asleep together for a few precious hours until the baby woke them up.

But Bob never once made her feel like her weird looking belly was an issue for him. And when she brought it up one night with tears threatening behind her eyes, he told her she was more beautiful than anything he could have ever dreamed up. And Bob never lied.

"All finished," the artist said, wiping along her skin with a towel one last time and handing her a mirror.

A big, bold violet. A beautiful, blooming daffodil. And even a small pink rosebud. Bob, Charlie and Bradley. "Looks great."

----------------------------

As soon as Molly showed Bob her tattoo, he wrapped her up in his arms. "Gorgeous, Honey," he said, kissing her before examining it a little closer. He ran his fingers along the colorful carnations that were there for her mom and dad, and when he got to the daffodil that she got for Charlier, his fingers froze. There was a small gap between his flower and their son's flower, and when he looked up at Molly she was smiling. "Is it finished now?" he asked cautiously.

She just shrugged. "I'm not sure yet."

Bob would never pressure her to have another child with him. He hadn't really expected to get this lucky in life, let alone feel bold enough to hope for anything more. But that little gap gave him butterflies. Charlie was the sweetest baby in the world, and Bob was obsessed with being a dad. It was his favorite thing. And he wouldn't hesitate to list the condo and find a bigger place if Molly wanted to do this all over again. "You just let me know."

"I will, Coach Cute Daddy."

Bob held her close, knowing they needed to get ready for bed soon. Charlie was still notorious for waking them up at three in the morning to eat, even though he was four months old. Molly kept saying he would probably grow out of it soon, but Bob figured his son loved them so much, he wanted them in the nursery with him.

"Are you ready for Saturday?" he asked, taking his glasses off as Molly climbed into bed.

"Are you asking if I'm ready for the dream wedding that I've spent months planning out? Then yes, I'm ready. All you have to do is show up with the baby, agree to marry me, kiss me, and fuck me. Not all in the wildflower meadow."

Bob kissed along her shoulder as she fell asleep. Molly made him laugh more than he ever had before. And Charlie made him smile more than he ever had before. And by Saturday evening, he'd be married.

----------------------

"I can't believe my wild child of a baby sister is getting married today."

Molly sighed contentedly and said, "To Bob Floyd. The sweet, shy man of my dreams."

Her sister laughed and added, "I don't think Bob was planning on anything like you happening to him."

Molly scoffed as she picked up her bouquet made entirely of gas station flowers. "Anything like me? You mean getting his world rocked and having a kid after being together less than a year? He's lucky."

"He is," she agreed, kissing Molly's cheek. "Now please explain to me why you are getting married with these cheap flowers when there's literally an entire meadow of multicolored poppies and zinnias growing outside?"

Molly pressed her nose to them. "Because Bob picked them up for me last night, and they're my favorite. The other flowers can learn some respect."

"If you say so," she replied, taking Molly by the hand. "As soon as I can give you away, you are one hundred percent Bob's problem." But she was holding tight to Molly's hand, and it sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

Molly walked outside with her sister and started down the grassy path toward the spot where Bob was holding Charlie in the distance. "I will never stop being your problem. And Bradley's problem by proximity."

"Good," her sister whispered, and Molly smiled at her as she cried a little bit. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

And then they walked toward the setting sun past the most beautiful shades of orange, green and yellow Molly could imagine. And it probably wasn't like other weddings, but the best ones weren't.

They stopped so Molly could give hugs and kisses to Bob's parents and the rest of his family. And they stopped so she could get a kiss on the forehead from Bradley. "Love you, turd," she whispered.

"Hey," he said in his raspy voice as she kissed Everett. "You owe me forever for agreeing to coach tee ball with Bob."

"And you owe me forever for letting you marry my sister," she replied easily.

He just nodded thoughtfully. "You're right. We're square."

Molly was laughing as she handed her gas station flowers off to Nat with a hug, and then she was standing in front of Bob and Charlie.

"Hey, Honey," Bob whispered as she took Charlie from his hands so she could hold him for a bit while he napped. She kissed his soft chubby cheek, and his eyes fluttered open before closing again.

Then she met Bob's greenish blue eyes, and he was looking at her like that very first day at tee ball, over a year ago. Like he couldn't believe she was giving him the time of day. She took a step closer to him, and said, "Hey, Coach Cute Glasses. Did you remember your allergy pills?"

"A double dose," he promised. "You ready to marry me?"

"Yes."

Molly held Charlie, and Bob wrapped his strong arm around her waist as they turned toward the sunset. The wedding was short, led by John who married her sister and Bradley last September. And as Molly closed her eyes and kissed Bob at the end of the ceremony, the warmth of the summer evening and the scent of wildflowers washed over her.

The soft nudge of Bob's glasses against her cheek and the way he helped cradle Charlie had Molly leaning in for another kiss. Maybe it would be just the three of them, maybe not. But Molly wanted to take her family on every adventure with her.

"I love you, Cowboy Bob."

Bob smiled and kissed her softly before pressing his lip to Charlie's forehead. "I love you both."

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Ahhhh! Thanks for joining Molly, Bob and CHARLIE on this little adventure! I'm sure they will have so many more together. You can always peep more details about them if you read Batting Practice (and maybe some future one-shots)! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls and everyone who bugged me to make Molly and Bob a thing.

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eddies-house · 8 months

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Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Two - Dainty

W/C: 4.6K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

You need a job, The Bourbon needs a server. The math is there but the owner won't acknowledge it. How will you win over such a crabby man that only sees you as a gnat forcing its way into his space?

A/N: The response I received on the first part fic was so unexpected but I'm so glad everyone liked it!! I can't wait to get deeper into this story

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I’m sorry for running out so fast yesterday.

No. Too forward.

I think we got off on the wrong foot, by we I mean me.

No, not sincere enough.

I just wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly—

“Excuse me, dear?”

Your train of thought was dissolved within seconds as you turned your focus to the older gentleman that had called for your attention. A hum in place of an answer as your brows raised expectantly but ever so friendly awaited his follow up question.

“Can I just squeeze past you to grab that jar of peaches?” He asks, wrinkles around his eyes upturned in perfect harmony with his smile.

“Of course. Yes!” Panicked, you rush to the other side of the aisle, the older man waving you off, insisting that it was ‘quite alright’ while he reached for his beloved peaches.

You’d been bouncing back and forth, up and down between several opening statements to provide Donnie, a sour taste left in your own mouth at the way you left her hanging the day before when she was merely being kind to you. It was something you couldn’t stop, the anxiety eating away at your flesh like bacteria from the fact that you could’ve caused someone to be less than satisfied with their interaction with you, as if you were some kind of service. People pleasing was a disease.

Sometimes the affected party was blind to its symptoms, oblivious to the way their illness consumed them. And that’s why you found yourself purchasing a single pack of gum, eyes large and sorrowful before you were even next in line. Various ways to get the point across were mentally rehearsed and the closer you got to the register, the more you focused on one singular sentence, clinging onto the desire to not stutter or mess it up.

“Hey you’re back!” Donnie greets. “Thought for sure we’d scare you off by now.”

With a wince, you hand her your pathetic excuse of a conversation starter, a pack of spearmint gum with your trembling hand. If she notices she doesn’t bring attention to it, instead she gracefully takes the pack and rings you up.

“N-no, no. I don’t scare that easily.” You try to convince yourself more than her.

You note that the shop is nearly empty once again just after a handful of customers had done their shopping and went on with their day. A few patrons still linger, carefully picking out each item from their weekly grocery list; however, you wouldn’t know they were there if not for the squeak of their carts every few feet as they inched forward.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Donnie respectfully hands back the gum in exchange for your cash. A crinkled five that had seen better days.

For a moment you debate fleeing once again, nerves tingling and breathing becoming shallow before internally reprimanding yourself. You can cry all you damn well please in private but right now you need to stand up to the little voice in your head. “Yeah. Um, I just–I wanted to say I’m sorry for running out so suddenly like that.” It didn’t come out as smooth as you’d planned but you’re hoping it came across as sincere enough. If you could at least look forward to a friendly face at the supermarket every week, well it would be a win.

“Honey, I don’t get offended easily and it seemed like you had places to be.” She waves a dismissive hand in the air at your apology, not unkindly, more so letting you know you didn’t need to be so formal with her. And yet you couldn’t help yourself, an unwanted backstory spilling from your lips almost like second nature. Excuses plucked from the top of your brain.

“I didn’t–I didn’t mean to leave and just not introduce myself. I just got caught up, with moving and all–”

“You don’t owe me an explanation. Just your name and we’ll call it good.” A genuine smile stretches across her face, contagious enough that your lips tug upward as well as you offer your name, a proper introduction this time.

Your shoulders relax ever so slightly, not fully letting your guard down but no longer feeling the need to tense every muscle in your body. It’s then that you realize that this is the only grocery store that you ever found visually appealing, with its darker toned walls and red checkered floors, the lighting not being so fluorescent and in your face, a bit dim even. Which for some may be a flaw but for you it was perfect. You don’t feel so exposed and couldn't be perceived so clearly, the ideal cocktail of a situation for someone so socially anxious.

“I, um, I saw your sign.” You gesture to the letters reading ‘help wanted’ posted against the window. If you could land a decent job then maybe living wouldn’t feel so terrifying. Then again, several things would come into factor other than just your means of income.

Donnie’s expression turns empathetic and you can feel your breath hitch in anticipation for a brutal rejection. To be told that you had it all wrong, that you were too unprofessional and too meek and that your help was most definitely not wanted here, that you shouldn’t have even stepped foot in this town to begin with. The five stages of grief practically take over in mourning over the loss of a potential job.

“I’m real sorry but we already filled the position. Tom was supposed to take that down around two weeks ago.” She sounds irritated at the mention of what you assumed to be her coworker. “Can’t rely on anyone.” She sighs, striding over to the window and pulling the sign from its temporary home only to abandon it behind the shelf that displayed several boxes of cigarettes.

“Oh I’m–”

Before you can even begin to apologize for something completely out of your control, Donnie’s eyes light up at something, or rather, someone behind you.

“Hey, Ed! Isn’t The Bourbon hiring?”

All she receives in return is silence and when you dare to peek over your shoulder behind you, you briefly meet the eyes of the neighbor you had the displeasure of running into twice the day before. Today he fronts with a black leather jacket and the same black jeans with rips in the knees. The only thing noticeably different is the chain now dangling at his side and the band shirt you’re unable to read, the letters obscured from your view. Oh, and a few chunky rings decorating his hand that should make him look tacky as hell but somehow they pull the look together.

“I dunno, who’s asking?” He counters, brow raised as he glances at you once more. You’d barely even spoken a few words to the guy and he was acting as if you committed the most heinous act against him.

“Ed.” Donnie warns.

“Don, she wouldn’t last a day.”

You were beginning to think that this so-called ‘Ed’ was going to turn into an issue…fast. Who was he to judge a stranger who he knew absolutely nothing about. His audacity startled you and while you should step in and defend yourself, you can’t bring yourself to do it, tongue tied in every literal sense, words caught in the back of your throat like they were physical refrigerator magnets lodged in place.

“You don’t know that!” She grins at him, a grin that silently says ‘watch it’. “Honey, you got any work experience?” Attention shifting to you, you felt as if you were burdening two people who had everything figured out in their quaint little lives, guilt plaguing your mind at the fact that you’d shaken things up between what seemed to be good friends or maybe even just well acquainted individuals.

“I–uh–yes. Yes, I’ve worked at the–at the library and-and–”

“The library?” Ed questions. You didn’t dare answer, knowing very well he wasn’t seeking a response. “What good would that do me in a bar?”

“Well I–”

“Think The Bourbon’s too rowdy for someone like you.” He continues, only fueling your inner rage as well as pricking the embarrassment that held a permanent home within you, your cheeks flushing hot and palms becoming clammy.

“I’ve also worked at a diner. Back home.” Somehow you find a voice, one that isn’t shaky and timid but rather more calm and collected regardless of the absolute fear that pounded in your heart.

Both Donnie and Ed stare, seconds passing that only feel like lightyears. Ed still seems bored beyond comprehension, opening and shutting his wallet as he narrows his big brown eyes. You aren’t sure what to do next, if you should make a dramatic exit once again or continue proving yourself to some stranger who had no business even making you do such a thing in the first place.

“A diner.”

He says it like a statement rather than a question, as if to mock and discredit you.

Tears are not an option, tears are not an option.

“See she’s got experience!” Donnie attempts to mend the situation, acting as an unofficial moderator.

“Don, no offense but I came here to buy the usual, not recruit.” Some cash is slapped onto the counter, his patience clearly wearing thin by the way he begs with his eyes. Donnie’s tolerance appears to be at a dangerously low level based on the glare she forces upon him. You were beyond unprepared to witness a standoff in the middle of the supermarket at 5:00 PM on a Wednesday.

“Thought you were desperate for a server.”

There’s some bite behind her words, focus never wavering, the two seeming to have a telepathic conversation right before your eyes until Ed breaks the stillness in the air.

“Not in the slightest. Can I have my shit now?”

Donnie’s sigh lets you know Ed has won and in the process, drained her energy. Reluctantly, she snatches the cash from the counter and opens the register before grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the shelf behind her and handing them to him along with his change, an unfriendly exchange. It doesn’t seem to bother him as he clutches the cash and the pack in his hand, not even sparing you another glance on his way out.

Clearing your throat, you pull Donnie’s attention away from the insufferable man now making his way down the cobblestone sidewalk outside. “It’s okay. I’m sure other places are hiring.”

She rolls her eyes and you know it’s not meant for you but you can’t shake the paranoia that screams that she might be fed up with you as well. “Don’t mind Eddie. He acts like a hardass but he’ll come around.”

So his name is Eddie. You only nod in response, unsure of where to steer the conversation from here.

“He’s like a scary dog. He’ll roll over for the right people. So if he doesn’t take to you, don’t take it personally.” She advises.

“Yeah.” You whisper.

You were so going to take it personally.

–

As it turns out, no one in Knife’s Edge was hiring, not a single soul seeking a random girl from out of town who urgently needed a job. Not that you could blame them, they had it all figured out. Many of the shops were owned by families thus being run by said families and not requiring the additional expense that would come with hiring another person. And those that did seem to hire outside of their family had already filled in every necessary position.

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. This is what you get for uprooting your life and sticking it somewhere it probably didn’t belong.

And now you were moping along the cobblestone, trying to figure out how to pay the bills, working out how much of your savings you could survive off of until you’d run out. Then The Bourbon came into view. Almost like it wanted you to see it, the beaming red lights spelling out its name specifically for you to see. Mainly because it was the only place you knew to be hiring despite what Ed–or–Eddie–whatever his name was, had said in his unpleasant remarks from earlier. It seemed to be your only shot at employment.

The bar had a few neon signs flashing in the window, one being the very obvious ‘open’ sign and then of course one that read ‘happy hour’ with a margarita. The rest appeared to be different beers they might have on tap. It didn’t look like anything fancy but didn’t seem like a hole in the wall either. The exterior was paneled in wood just like almost every other building in the area, giving it a cabin feel without actually being a cabin.

Dread settled in the pit of your stomach from just staring at the place so if you were going to act, it needed to be now, before said dread morphed into pure panic. This was going to determine your foreseeable future, if you couldn’t land this job then you might as well toss yourself right back down that mountain with no money and no plan, right back to square one.

The door was heavy, built out of metal and a bell ringing just above, notifying any staff and patrons of your presence which you could do without but you had to push yourself. If they were staring, your gaze was glued to the ground and you didn’t notice, too occupied in rehearsing an improvised script in your head. Some kind of rock or metal song blasted through the bar and you weren’t sure if it was overstimulating or comforting. Your initial thought was that for being in a small town, they would be inclined to play country music so it only relieved you that your possible future workplace wouldn’t be subjecting you to the unbearable twang you just couldn’t seem to stand. You’d endure it when all was said and done but it was appreciated that it was one less nuisance in your life.

It was a standard bar, the atmosphere mellow with dull lighting and a haziness smelling of tobacco swirling throughout the room. What immediately drew you in was the obvious game of bingo, suddenly shifting what was a designated spot for happy hour and a cheap therapy session with the bartender into a retirement home full of seniors. A man that looked to be in his fifties sat on a stool on the tiny stage in the corner, calling out numbers, which elicited a few victory yells from those who had obviously been having better luck.

However odd the scene may be, several senior citizens occupying the tables of a bar at happy hour, business still seemed to be booming considering that it was a weekday. Aside from the group of elderly yet energetic individuals, there were also what looked to be the regulars perched on their assigned stools at the actual bar. They paid no mind to the intense game happening behind them, sipping away at their beers and mixed drinks leisurely.

A vacant seat called to you, two more on each side guaranteeing that you could sit comfortably without awkwardly scooting in next to someone and disturbing their possible winding down time, no doubt trying to blow off some steam after work. That’s why people came to bars, right? It was lost on you, this wasn’t your scene and if you’re truthful, you’re not even sure you should be here begging for a job in the first place. That Ed guy clearly didn’t take a liking to you and though you didn’t exactly have any knowledge on his role within The Bourbon, he seemed like he had a say in the day to day operations just based on the tiny snippets of information you picked up on. Hopefully someone with the same level of authority would be working now and actually respect you as a person enough to at least give you a chance.

Playing it cool—as cool as one could be with constant nagging thoughts and shot nerves, you decide to plant yourself down on the stool, the worn leather material partially squeaking in protest as you wiggle into a comfortable enough position, setting your bag in your lap and clutching it in paranoia. A glance from the left to the right and back to the left lets you know that no one seems to mind your presence though you still close in on yourself regardless, taking up the least amount of space possible.

The bartender, a man maybe in his early twenties who had short dark hair seems preoccupied as he shakes a drink while balancing a conversation with another man at the end of the bar, the two laughing every other sentence like old friends. And so you wait. Never intentionally draw attention to yourself and never disturb anyone else’s night until you find it polite to chime in when the bartender doesn’t seem as busy. Even then, he doesn’t hear your small ‘excuse me’ every time he rushes by onto his next task.

A sad little ghost settled among lively customers, you don’t seek pity, only a glance your way so that you could get this over with and either face rejection or anxiously resume the job search. Though no one seems to bother looking your way, you can’t help the heat traveling to your cheeks in pure humiliation, the fact that you’re the only thing out of place weighing heavily on your mind. More celebratory howls and yells sound from behind you, the room erupting into laughter shortly after from a joke you didn’t care to understand. Even a few select chuckles are heard from the men scattered along the bar.

“Do you just not listen?”

A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts, forcing you to peek up from where your focus remained on the bartop, where moments before you’d seemed entranced by the surface. In reality you were running in circles in your head, hoping to make sense of your current situation. Through your lashes you saw him. Ed. Or Eddie. You didn’t put much effort into feeling too bad for not remembering his actual name, especially when he’d never even had the decency to ask for yours. His leather jacket was absent from his torso, now only showing off a plain black t-shirt that also allowed you a view of various tattoos scattered along his arms. You were first drawn to the faded bats on his forearm before becoming puzzled by what seemed to be some kind of a doodle on his inner bicep, not a very good one at that. And then you remembered he’d asked you a question.

“I’m not allowed to have a drink?” You ask innocently. Genuine innocence. No sarcasm. You weren’t brave enough for that.

“Only if you’re not here to also beg for a job.” He grumbles. A man a few stools over gestures down for another round and in response, Eddie nods coolly. With a certain kind of smoothness, he pulls a new glass out before slamming it down on the counter. “If you are, the answer is still no.” The way he quickly pours liquor into the shaker seems so effortless, measurements probably burned into his brain that allow for more efficiency on busy nights.

“Can I at least speak to someone in charge?” You do your best to keep your voice steady and unwavering in the presence of someone with infinitely more confidence than you, his eye contact never breaking.

“You’re lookin’ at him, doll.”

His voice drips with his signature condescending tone, the corner of his mouth pulled up slightly in a smirk. One that tells you that you’ve hit a dead end.

“You—oh.” Like an idiot, you swallowed any words that bubbled in your throat, unable to find it within yourself to at least come up with a snarky comeback.

“We’re not hiring.”

“That-that’s not what Donnie said.” Lousy. The argument just seemed to fall from your tongue involuntarily, not much thought put behind it before coming to fruition. It would only give him more ammo.

His eyes further surveyed you, meticulously analyzing your every move, every twitch of every muscle in your face. An unwanted spotlight shining on you, revealing every flaw in your approach to the current conversation. You wanted a job and he wanted nothing to do with you, your last statement only sealing your fate, only giving him more reason to deny your advances.

“Donnie doesn’t work here does she?” Without expression, he begins expertly shaking his concoction, forearms flexing with the movement. He was a character, some kind of figment of your imagination. He had to be. You’d never encountered someone so standoffish, so ill-tempered, especially toward someone he’d never even met before, already passing judgment on you based on seconds of interaction.

Ignoring his rhetorical question, which came off as more of a deterrent than anything, you pursue a fair conversation, a deserving interview at the very least. “Listen, I’m a really hard worker and—“

“And a fast learner right?”

The interruption was unwelcomed though you gave no indication that it was, face set in a straight expression as you processed his uncivil personality. You couldn’t even find it in you to convey shock, your brain malfunctioning upon his words, outdoing himself with every sentence he uttered.

“Well, yes.”

“Of course. And you can multitask too I bet?”

This wasn’t the interview you were hoping for, this was downright degrading.

“If you would just let me talk.” You plead, fingers digging into the wood of the bartop.

“Listen, kid.” The liquid he had been shaking for quite some time is poured into the glass, an amber colored liquor filled to the brim.

Kid?

If you had the guts you would degrade him right back. But you were you and you could only sit and take each hit to your fragile mental state with as much grace as possible. And soon after the tears would come. Not yet, though. Not just yet.

“You look like you’re about to cry and you haven’t even been hired. What makes you think you can handle a full house on a Friday night?” The drink is topped off with an orange twist and a black cherry before he slides it to its awaiting consumer, not a drop spilling over the edge of the glass, clearly a perfected craft that he was proud of.

When he’s met with silence you gather that he thinks he’s won just by the smug look on his face, barely there but still evident nonetheless. That little voice inside your head screams at you to keep pushing, keep bugging him until he has to give in. Even if by pure annoyance. And although you can feel yourself trembling in terror, something urges you to just gulp down the fear and prod at the arrogant man just beyond the bar.

“I work well under pressure, I’m very organized, I’ll clean on my down time…” You begin to list off your abilities and if he wanted to stop listening, the way he glared at you wasn’t convincing you that he was going to.

This time his response is delayed rather than the other way around, suddenly at a loss for words as his large eyes take in your sudden change in demeanor. Your slight assertiveness takes him by surprise, you can tell from his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. It’s all a front for you to at least get one foot in the door but as they say, ‘fake it ‘til you make it’.

“No.” He answers suddenly, sternly. His disinterest is obvious when he pulls out a rag and starts wiping down the counter, no longer letting his gaze fall on you but instead, the droplets he works vigorously to clean up.

If he wants a fight, then a fight he shall receive.

“I’m a team player, I’m super reliable, my time is flexible, if you need me in a pinch consider it done–”

“Do you understand social cues?”

Ouch. If you had an inflated ego it would’ve surely been destroyed by now but you were already working with close to nothing.

“Yes.” You reply, not a trace of sarcasm, only an honest answer.

“So I think by now you’d understand. We. Are. Not. Hiring.” Each word is enunciated and slathered thickly with bitterness, topped with the intention to send you running like a dog with its tail tucked in between its legs.

What he doesn’t know is that your soft spoken voice and bashful exterior isn’t all there is to you and that deep down, if you wanted something, you were stubborn and able to manipulate the situation should it be required in the most dire of situations. Whether it would work on him seeing as he was also just as stubborn, if not more, you weren’t sure yet.

“Are you turning me away because I’m a woman?”

The pure horror in his eyes almost makes you chuckle because now you know you have the upper hand and had anyone overheard, they would probably question their beloved local bartender’s work ethic.

“I mean–not that I’m accusing you…” You were definitely accusing. “I just don’t see any other women working and–”

It doesn’t have the effect you’re hoping for as he leans toward you, forearms resting on the bar, his eyes returning back to their spiteful nature while he taps his clunky rings against the surface in thought.

“I’m turning you away because you don’t belong in a place like this. Things can get rough and you’re…too dainty.” His voice is much more hushed than before but his expression remains serious, without a trace of that stupid smirk.

Dainty? Dainty. Noted.

“What–you don’t think a woman can handle–”

“It’s not about you being a woman.” He seethes. “It’s about the fact that you are dainty. Polite. Shy. I can’t have that when I’ve got a few drunks refusing to leave at 2:00 AM.”

“I know when to hold my own. Especially if it's for a job.” You attempt to convince him.

“What, so you’re just gonna respectfully tell them to leave, then what? These guys get out of hand, I can’t be babysitting you, I’ve got a business to run.” He reasons, straightening his posture, conversation already forgotten as he starts to turn away before you speak up again.

“At least let me prove you wrong before you dismiss me.” You quietly demand, hands clasped in front of you. “Think I can handle a group of senior citizens.” You motion to the intense bingo game still going strong behind you.

With a roll of his eyes, he seems to ponder his thoughts, bouncing them around in his head. An exasperated sigh escapes his parted lips while a hand drags down his tired face.

“One night. A trial. If you can handle it, fine. You’ve got a job.” He finally declares. “But if I have to stop what I’m doing to babysit you or you so much as–”

“I’ll find another job. Promise.” You nod persuasively, a glimmer in your eyes that he doesn’t miss but quickly ignores.

“Good. Tomorrow night. Eight. And just this one time you can park in the back lot.”

He tries to dismiss himself again but your next question forces him to linger a little bit longer. He was patient, you’d give him that.

“Wait–what, what’s the dress code?” You ask sheepishly, a contrast to the business woman you’d molded into just seconds before.

He does a once over, as if to judge your fashion choices but what he ends the conversation with only leads you to think that he favors one word way too much.

“Casual. Nothing too dainty.”

~end~

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goldenseresinretriever · 2 months

Text

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 13

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Chapter CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, arguing, dead parents, mentions of major character death, fluff, angst, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to @pwficrecs who was the ONLY person to bring up an important point that gets addressed in this chapter, thanks so much for reading! ��🩵

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

“You must think I’m so selfish.” You can’t meet Bradley’s eyes as you fiddle with your phone.

“I don’t.” He reassures you, fingers threading through your hair where it’s fanned out slightly across his chest. His other hand wraps around your waist, holding you against him, rubbing absent circles against your hip. “When was the last time you called him?” You’re curled against Bradley’s chest, lying on his bed as you attempt to put yourself back together after the fiasco at Mav’s. Bradley hadn’t pushed you, just dutifully drove you home to his apartment before carrying you over to the bed and holding you.

“I don’t know.” You admit quietly. “It’s not that I’m mad at him or anything. I don’t blame him at all, you know? It’s just that if I do call him…” you trail off and Bradley nods knowingly.

“It’s real.” You nod against his chest.

“I text him for holidays and stuff, but I haven’t called in years. And I haven’t been home at all since the funeral.” The word tastes funny on your tongue but something about saying it to Bradley seems to loosen the tether that usually seems to tighten around your heart when you so much as think the word. You pause for a second and the two of you lay enveloped in the comfortable silence before you whisper. “If I call him, will you stay with me?” Bradley moves the hand that’s in your hair to lace with the one you have placed over his heart.

“Of course, I’ll stay. I’m not going anywhere, Honey.” You squeeze your eyes shut as you repeat his words in your head like a mantra even as your heart thunders that it’s a lie. That you’ll wake up one day and he’ll be gone. You take a ragged breath before unlocking your phone and tapping a few times before the dial tone is suddenly too loud. Your hands shake and Bradley puts the phone on speaker before taking both of them in one of his, squeezing tight as his arm at your waist pulls you impossibly closer. The phone lays on his chest ringing shrilly until you hear a click as the call connects.

“Hello?” Your father’s voice fills the bedroom as he calls your name in a questioning tone.

“Hi Dad,” you hate how weak your voice sounds. “It’s Thanksgiving.” Not a well wish as much as a statement and he falters for a second before he responds.

“Yes, it is.” He pauses for a moment and neither of you move to break it before he continues. “You said you’re in San Diego now? How is it there?”

You can’t help the small smile that twists your lips. “Not nearly cold enough for Thanksgiving.” You glance out the glass door to the balcony and the bright, cheery, San Diego sun that shines down like it's the middle of July. Your father chuckles softly. “How’s Bridgeport?” He snorts on the other side of the line before grimly declaring, “Too cold for Thanksgiving.” You giggle before you realize you’ve done it. “It snowed last night. You’d think it was Christmas already.”

“Soon,” you remind him.

“Soon.” He agrees. “So,” he continues after a moment, “do you like it?”

“I think I do.” You reply, smiling absently to yourself. “It’s different, but a good different.” You hesitate before adding, “She would have loved it here, lots of sun.”

Your father is silent for a long moment before he replies and you can hear the wistfulness in his voice, “That she would have. She always hated the winter.”

“Which makes no sense since she was a skater,” you point out as you always used to tell her.

“You can always skate inside, no excuse for the sun not to shine.” He recites what your mom would always say when you asked. Your smile deepens and for a moment, the heaviness in your heart lessens. The two of you sit in silence for a long moment before he speaks up again. “Are you happy, sweetheart?” You feel the tears pressing up against the backs of your eyes as you blink rapidly, trying to hold them at bay.

“I am, Dad. I’m really, really happy.” You don’t miss the way your voice cracks and Bradley squeezes your hands. You press the side of your face harder against his chest.

“Good, that’s all she ever wanted for you.”

“I know,” you choke out the words as the tears start rolling down your cheeks.

“That’s all I ever want for you too.” You nod wordlessly against Bradley’s chest at your father’s words.

“Thank you.” Your words are barely intelligible at this point. “I love you, Dad.” It comes out like a wave breaking through a dam and you bury your face in Bradley’s chest as your entire body heaves with the force of the silent sob. He squeezes you so tight that it feels like he’s trying to hold the pieces of you together as you splinter.

“I love you too.” He says and he seems to understand that you’re beyond words and the line clicks once again to disconnect. Bradley pulls you impossibly closer like he’s trying to climb into your body and put you back together himself and you simply press closer as you shake. Eventually, the exhaustion sets in and you drift into a deep sleep in his arms.

***

A few days later you’re frowning at your empty refrigerator. There’s a tidy line of empty Tupperware on the counter that you need to return to Mickey and your stomach lets out a yowl of protest at the lack of food in your apartment. You tell yourself that it’s because you’ll be leaving for Philadelphia in a few days. There’s no point in buying groceries that will just go bad while you’re gone. At least that’s what you tell yourself as you open up the food delivery app and mournfully begin to scroll. All of a sudden the screen changes and Bradley’s face smiles back up at you, a photo taken on the beach in Virginia, his curls a windswept mess. You smile as you answer the call.

“Hey Bear,”

“Hey Honey,” you can hear the smile in his voice. “What’re you up to?” You groan, shutting the fridge and leaning back against it.

“Trying to figure out what I’m doing for dinner. You?”

“Perfect timing then, I was going to ask if you wanted to come over for dinner.” You perk up instantly. Your stomach lets out a particularly loud and enthusiastic growl before you can accept his offer. “Honey… please tell me that wasn’t your stomach I just heard.” You can hear the exasperated concern in his voice and wince.

“It’s not. I got a dog.”

“Liar.” You let out a groan of resignation. “When was the last time you ate?”

You hesitate for too long before muttering, “I had an energy drink this morning.”

“Honey.” His voice is firm.

“I ran out of food last night, okay. And I didn’t want to buy anymore since we leave for Philly in a couple of days anyway.” You explain petulantly as you frown in the direction of your traitorous fridge that’s put you in this position.

“Honey, we don’t leave for Philly for a few days, what were you planning to eat?” You can tell he’s fighting every instinct in an attempt to be patient with you.

“Takeout, probably.” You say as nonchalantly as you can. You hear him poorly suppress a groan. “But that doesn’t matter now, because now I’m eating with you.” You try and lighten the mood but you can tell you’re failing.

“Honey, get your ass over here, now.” He growls and you giggle.

“Just my ass?”

“Honey,” his voice is low, dangerous, and reminds you of that night in Denver. “I will come over there and throw you over my shoulder.” You hate the way your thighs clench at the idea, fighting the urge to reply with “Promise?”

You clear your throat so you don’t sound too breathless as you reply, “I’m on my way.”

***

When you reach Bradley’s apartment, Tony lets you in, following to scan you onto the elevator with a gentle smile. “Thank you, Tony.” You say, returning his smile.

He shakes his head, “Thank you, Miss. Mr. Bradshaw’s been a lot happier since you started coming around. You’re doing him a mighty world of good if you don’t mind my saying so.” You feel your cheeks heat at the compliment.

“He’s doing me a world of good too.” You assure him.

“Good, you have a good evening, Miss.”

“You too, Tony.” You give him a small wave as the elevator doors close and you head up to Bradley’s apartment. When you reach the atrium, you cross over to Bradley’s door before knocking. You wait a minute or two until you hear the lock turn and Bradley’s smiling down at you. “Hi Bear,” you beam up at him and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you inside, pressing you against the door gently as he teases the tip of your nose with his.

“Hi Honey,” Your stomach yowls as a delicious aroma drifting in from the kitchen tickles your nose. Bradley frowns, eyes gazing down at your stomach and your arms wrap around it self-consciously as you avoid his gaze. His fingers raise your chin so your chagrined gaze meets his concerned one. You expect admonishment but instead, he simply says, “Let’s get you something to eat.” He presses a quick kiss to your cheek before pulling away and lacing his fingers with yours as he leads the way to the kitchen. You bemoan the loss of his touch, wishing he would have given you a real kiss before you remember the rules. The ones you’d set and he’d been respecting ever since you’d gotten together. He wouldn’t kiss you, even if he wanted to. You knew that much to be true and yet it still sends a pang through your chest. You’re torn between appreciation and pain. You don’t have the confidence to ask for more, to remove the rules from the equation. It has nothing to do with an unwillingness to give yourself to him because God knows you’ve already done so despite his knowledge of the fact or not. More like you’re afraid that when you finally do, it’ll all be too much and you’ll mess it all up by running for the hills again. And you can’t do that to him. You can’t be the next in a long line of people to desert him. After all, you love him.

Bradley moves to a pot on the stove and stirs it as you watch from where you’ve leaned your hip against the counter. You think about boosting yourself onto its surface and watching from there but you don’t want to take too many liberties. After all, it’s only your fourth time here. Even if you’ve sat on the counter before, that was because Bradley had placed you there and you don’t want to get in his way, so instead you offer to help. Bradley looks up from the pot, a soft smile on his face before he nods at the cutting board next to you. “Could you finish dicing those peppers for me?”

Oh no. You didn’t really think this through, you realize, as you turn to the half-cut bell peppers on the cutting board. After college, you’d gone straight into living most of your year on the road with whatever teams you worked for. In college, you’d either been too busy as an athlete or Mickey’s roommate and hadn’t ever learned to cook. While Mickey’s a natural in the kitchen, yet another way he takes after his mother, you’re borderline useless. After you almost chopped your finger off the first time you offered to help him, Mickey relegated you to dish duty as well as washing whatever vegetables needed to be prepped and occasionally stirring the pot. You’re not exactly eager to admit your helplessness to Bradley, especially after volunteering your nonexistent services so you turn to the cutting board before picking up the discarded knife. You wrack your brain for anything Mickey’s told you over the years while examining the pieces that Bradley’s already cut. They’re fairly small. You swallow, hard. You know you should just ask for a simpler task, perhaps switching places and taking over the stirring from him, but your pride and apprehension won’t let you. You want to help, you really do. So you steel yourself and reach for the half-cut slice of bell pepper that Bradley had clearly been working on when you arrived and carefully line up the knife. Your cuts are uneven and jagged, the skin catching on the blade of the knife and you frown at the too-large pieces you’ve cut. You do your best to hold the pepper still, trying again, attempting to make the pieces smaller but to no avail. Your frustration causes your concentration and knife to slip and you hiss, jerking your hand away from the board as you clutch your bleeding finger to your chest.

“Honey?!” Bradley calls in alarm at your reaction, crossing the distance between you quickly, his hand closing over your wrist and wrestling it away from your chest so he can assess the damage. You bite your lip in shame and pain as Bradley examines your cut finger. You watch his shoulders loosen slightly as he confirms. “It’s not deep, thank goodness.” You’re taken by surprise when he brings your finger to his lips, taking the cut tip into his mouth. Suddenly the pain is the last thing on your mind as his tongue wraps around the digit, soothing it. He releases it from his mouth as quickly as he put it in there. “Let me grab you a bandaid from the bathroom, Honey.” He disappears down the hallway, leaving you to process what just happened. You’re still standing there in a stupor when he comes back with the bandaid, taking your hand in his again as he wraps the cut. “Honey?” He cups your cheek, concern in his voice as his thumb traces the apple of your cheek. “You okay, sweet girl?” You blink rapidly, turning your head to look at him, embarrassment heating your cheeks as you nod in his grip.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sorry.”

“For what?”

“What?” You blink at him, brow furrowing in confusion.

“What’re you sorry for?” His thumb traces your cheek again, searching your eyes with his brown ones.

“Do you want a list?” You joke and he frowns, his other hand reaching to sling around your waist and pull you closer. You ramble on, ignoring his lack of answer, eyes darting everywhere but his. “For making you worry, for distracting you, for getting hurt, for ruining your peppers,” he turns suddenly at that, his frown fading as he takes in the sight of your attempt at dicing the peppers.

“Oh Honey,” his voice is so soft, so gentle that you feel the self-consciousness clawing at your throat again. “Baby, why didn’t you just tell me?” He doesn’t reprimand you, hell he doesn’t even look like he’s upset. You shrug.

“I’m the one who offered to help so I figured I should try.” You murmur. “I just, I don’t really cook… like ever.” You wince as the admission passes your lips. How embarrassing must that sound to your boyfriend who invited you over for a homecooked meal that’s clearly second nature for him to make? Bradley frowns at that.

“Then what do you eat, Honey?” You feel your cheeks heat.

“Mickey meal preps for me when he’s making stuff for him and Bob.” You admit, cheeks flaming. “Or I eat at his place, and when I run out I just get takeout.” Bradley shakes his head in disbelief.

“Did you come here from New Jersey with Garcia?” It’s not the question you expected but you shake your head.

“I was with the Jacksonville Icemen before this.” His eyebrows raise.

“So what did you eat while you were there?”

“A lot of takeout…?” You wince as you admit it.

“Honey…” He groans as he leans his forehead against yours.

“I know,” you murmur, “Mickey’s always lecturing me about it.”

“When you don’t have food?” He says sternly as you look into his stormy brown eyes. “You come here. I don’t care if I invite you or if you invite yourself here. You need food? You come here and let me take care of you.” You swallow hard at the intensity in his eyes.

“Okay. Okay, Bear.” You give him a tiny smile and he returns it nuzzling your nose with his before pulling away and yet again you wish he would kiss you.

“Now come here,” He picks up the knife as you obey, gripping your hips gently to position you in front of the board, standing behind you. You feel your breath catch at the feeling of his chest that brushes up against your back every time he breathes. He takes your left hand in his, leading it to grip the pepper, his fingers arranging yours while his right hands you the knife, carefully arranging your hand around it and easing it over to the hand holding the pepper. He gently guides your movements and you watch the knife cut through the pepper with ease and perfect small pieces. You’re struggling to focus on the task at hand, your brain trying its best to commit the form Bradley’s using to memory so you can learn but a hazy fog in your mind keeps distracting you with each brush of Bradley’s chest against your back and squeeze of his hands holding yours.

Somehow, you manage to survive the rest of the chopping lesson before Bradley directs you to take a seat at the island while he finishes the cooking. Your stomach gets out another loud growl when he finally places the finished pasta in front of you and you glare down at the traitorous organ. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he comes around to sit next to you. You let out a truly unholy moan around the fork in your mouth as you take your first bite. The pasta is an explosion of flavor on your tongue and you turn to see Bradley watching you with an amused smile on his lips. “That good, huh?” You nod enthusiastically as you scoop up another bite.

“It’s delicious.” You watch as he takes his first bite, eyes closing before squeezing tight. “What, do you not like it?” You ask tentatively before he shakes his head, eyes still screwed shut.

“It’s perfect.” He whispers and his voice trembles slightly. You reach out a hand to cover the one that’s tightly clenched in a fist on the table. The tense flesh unclenches under your tentative touch and you lace your fingers with his, squeezing gently.

“You okay, Bear?” You whisper and he wrenches his eyes open and when he turns so they meet yours you almost jerk back at the raw turbulence in them. You push off your chair, closing the distance between the two of you. The position is awkward but you wrap your arms around Bradley’s hulking frame. He buries his face in your neck and you feel him shaking, bringing a hand up to stroke at his curls in an attempt to soothe the ache you can’t name.

You’re not sure how long the two of you stay that way until Bradley finally speaks against the skin of your neck. “It’s my mom’s recipe. Dare gave it to me. It’s my first time making it.” You squeeze him close as your own eyes fill with tears.

You pull back, easing his face out of its hiding place to cup it in your hands so he can see the sincerity in your eyes as you say “It’s perfect.” His whisky eyes are watery. “I love it.” You add before you lose your nerve and you see something flicker in his eyes before he drags you against him, mouth slanting over yours and you’re gasping at the intensity of the kiss. His tongue licks into your mouth and he tastes like pasta and smells like home. As quickly as it’s there, he’s pulling away and you lean forward, chasing his lips as he breaks the kiss, eyes wide with shock.

“Honey,” his voice is ragged and ruined and it goes straight to the place between your thighs. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t, I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you place a finger against his lips and the words die on them as you shake your head.

“Kiss me, Bradley,” your voice is as wrecked as his and his eyes widen in surprise. “Please, please kiss me.” He doesn’t hesitate this time, pulling you close and molding every inch of you against every inch of him. You sigh against his lips as he moves against you, controlling the kiss as you simply drift along in an ecstatic wave of bliss. Your tongues dance frantically as you cling to each other like being apart will cause either of you to combust. Your mind is empty except for Bradley, Bradley, Bradley. It doesn’t go further than kissing, the two of you are content to explore the expanses of each other’s mouths. Eventually, Bradley pulls away and your chests are rising and falling like you’ve run a marathon. A thin trail of saliva connects your lips and you suddenly feel shy as Bradley brings up a gentle knuckle to break it, before pulling you close to him, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Hi.” He whispers and you smile softly.

“Hi.” You whisper back. Anything that could have come next is interrupted once again by your indignant stomach growling in protest of the interruption to dinner. Bradley chuckles as your cheeks heat.

“Come on Honey, let’s get you fed.” He stands, and you back up begrudgingly as he takes your plates over to the microwave. “What do you say we eat on the couch instead?” You know exactly what he means and you nod, heading over to the other side of the living room. When Bradley comes back, he sets down the plates on the coffee table before sitting down and pulling you into his lap. You reach for the plates, before frowning. In your current position, there’s no way both of you can hold plates and eat comfortably. While you’re distracted, mulling it over, Bradley’s already found a solution. A forkful of pasta taps against your lips and your eyes widen slightly as you open obediently and Bradley feeds you a bite of pasta before forking the next bite into his own mouth. You give him a shy smile as you chew.

When the pasta is gone and your finicky stomach is finally sated, you’re lying against Bradley’s chest while he traces absent shapes into the skin of your arm. You’ve been sitting in comfortable silence for a while now when you finally speak up. “Bear?”

“Yes, Honey?” You hesitate before continuing.

“Do you think, if I found a recipe, you could help me make one of my mom’s?” You feel him tense slightly against you before he pulls you close.

“Of course, Honey, I’d love that.” You feel your heart flutter in your chest at the promise.

***

The next day you’ve started prepping for the Philly trip since you’re already set for the home game tonight against Vancouver. You’re in a good groove when a knock at your door startles you. You glance at your calendar quickly, wondering if you’ve forgotten something brow furrowing when you don’t see anything scheduled for now. “Come in!” You call out to the knocker and the door opens to reveal an unexpected guest. “Dragon? What can I do for you?” You haven’t spent much time with the younger Simpson and you’ve spent far too much time with the older one. Mickey has mostly good things to say about her, though, so you flash her a smile even as you can see the storm brewing in her eyes. She comes in, crossing her arms across her chest defensively and you can’t help the way you tense up. “Would you like to take a seat?” You offer, trying your best to dissolve whatever this invisible tension between the two of you is. She frowns before taking you up on your offer. She sits back but even as she looks comfortable, you can tell she’s like a snake poised to strike. “So, what can I do for you, Dragon?” You ask again, hands twisting under your desk as you struggle to maintain your composure.

“What the fuck is going on between you and my dad?” She spits and you blink, surprised.

“Nothing.” You answer and her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Seriously, there’s nothing going on between us.”

“You’re not dating him, then?” You choke, eyes wide as you gape at her brazen accusation.

“DATING him? GOD, NO. I’m dating Bradley!” You shriek, the shock of the conversation’s direction sending your composure out the window. Dragon’s eyes widen in surprise. The two of you sit in thick, uncomfortable silence before she finally speaks.

“Then what’s going on between you and my dad? You’ve been going everywhere with him, it doesn’t make any sense.” You heave an exasperated sigh as you slump back in your desk chair.

“He and my mom used to date back in college at Yale.” Dragon’s eyes widen again and they rake over you, she looks suddenly ill as she croaks out.

“Oh my god, are you my sister?” Your eyes widen in surprise before you bark out a laugh, shaking your head as you struggle to wrap your mind around this conversation.

“No, no, my mom didn’t meet my dad until two years after she broke up with yours. There’s no way we’re siblings.” You swallow hard, as you try to reign in your composure. She relaxes even as her frown deepens.

“So you’re not his kid, and he dated your mom almost thirty years ago, so what gives? Is he dating her now?” You blink, surprised before shaking your head. “My mom passed away eight years ago, and he knows that.” Your voice is softer. It’s still hard to say but it hurts less than usual.

Dragon’s eyes widen and you see guilt shine in them as she sits back in the chair. “Sorry, I didn’t, I didn’t know.” You wave her off.

“It’s okay.” You sigh. “Look, Dragon, I don’t know why your dad insists on whatever is going on between us, but I promise it’s not romantic. He just seems to want to talk to someone and well, he tells me about my mom, and it’s nice sometimes. It’s mostly awkward though, but I don’t know how to tell him I’m not really interested in having a relationship of any sort with him. You know how he gets and he’s my boss and I just really don’t want to piss him off and everything’s been respectful if a little weird. I think… well I think he’s grieving in a way. He didn’t know my mom was dead until I told him and I think they were really close when they knew each other. And I know everyone grieves differently so if talking about her is what he needs, it’s the least I can do. I mean, it's been eight years and I still miss her every day.” Dragon nods, but you can tell she’s clearly in pain. “Dragon,” she looks up at you, “Are you okay?” She frowns, and you watch emotions twist and turn in her features as she chooses her words before she sighs.

“Look, I… well, my dad and I kind of have a weird relationship if you can even call it that at all.” She mutters bitterly with a tired laugh. “He was a big shot hockey player so of course he wanted to pass that down. And then my mom had a girl. It didn’t matter though, he made hockey our whole lives. He was so busy being a coach that he didn’t ever bother being a dad. So like… I never got to do that kind of stuff with him, you know? Dinner? Sports games? We never really talked, we didn’t spend time together without hockey getting brought up.” And then you understand the emotion you’d been seeing in her eyes. Jealousy. Jealousy because you’re getting the attention that she’d been wanting and deprived of for her whole life. You feel sick as you avert your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” She shakes her head.

“There was no way for you to know.” She sighs. “He never seemed happy with my mom, not really. And then they got divorced the second I moved out. I wonder if it’s because of your mom?”

“He was going to propose to her.” It’s out before you can stop yourself. Dragon looks surprised. “Senior year of college, he was going to propose to her after they graduated. They’d been dating for all four years and it just felt natural. Except, his mom didn’t want him to marry my mom. She cornered my mom and begged her not to marry him. She thought my mom wasn’t good enough because she wasn’t from a rich or prominent family and was just marrying your dad for his money.” You scowl in distrust. “She wasn’t though, she was a professional athlete bound for the Olympics, she didn’t need his money.” That’s always enraged you, that someone would think your mom would stoop so low as to chase a rich man’s money.

“So he broke things off? Chose his mom over her?” Dragon asks and you shake your head.

“She broke things off. She didn’t want to cause any issues between him and his mom so she told him she needed to be able to chase her goals and career without worrying about anything tying her down, especially when they’d both be traveling constantly for their jobs.” Both of you sit in a long silence.

“So he had no idea.” Dragon whispers and you nod.

“He still doesn’t.” She looks at you, surprised.

“You didn’t tell him.” You shrug.

“Why hurt him any more than he’s already been hurt? It’s not going to change anything.” She arches an eyebrow.

“It might make him stop doting on that crusty old bitch.” Your eyes widen.

“His mom’s still alive?!” She nods grimly.

“Very much so, and still very much still a nightmare.” You grimace. “Look, it’s your information to share. He wouldn’t believe me even if I told him, but he’d believe you. But I promise you, no matter how bad you feel because she’s an old lady, it doesn’t excuse everything she’s done.” Her eyes flash with a fire that tells you that there’s more to this story than you know.

“I'll think about it,” you say and she nods, seemingly satisfied. “And Dragon, for the record, I’m on your side here. I don’t care who he was to my mom, I know how he’s treated me, and treated my friends, and that’s what’s important to me. Just because I’m putting up with him doesn’t mean I like him.” She gives you a half-smile.

“Good to know. Bob has nothing but good things to say about you, you know?” You feel your cheeks heat slightly at the unexpected compliment.

“He’s a good guy.” You agree and she smiles bigger now.

“Yeah, he really is.” With that, she stands and leaves you to finish your work even as the gears in your head digest all this new information.

A/N: DadClone rumors have officially been SQUASHED at long last, hee hee

#you catch more bees with honey // sdd #ycmbwh // sdd #san diego dogfighters #san diego dogfighters au #san diego dogfighters hockey au #top gun maverick hockey au #tgm hockey au #top gun maverick #TGM #bradley bradshaw x reader #Bradley Bradshaw x you #Bradley Bradshaw #Bradley rooster Bradshaw x reader #Bradley rooster Bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster x you #no use of y/n

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ivystoryweaver · 2 months

Text

Decadent chapter 13

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Summary: A passionate night together leads Miguel to accepting your darkest desires...and giving in to his own

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Content: nsfw, 18+, unprotected p in v, creampie, biting, scratching, blood consumption, multiple orgasms, overstim, reader is consensually incapacitated and her body used, bondage, oral - f. rec, face sitting, aftercare, not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY on Decadent...

"You're sure? You're okay with...what we just did - when I cut you and..."

"And scratched me and sucked me and drank my blood?" You shrugged one shoulder, easing your thighs across his lap. "I can see how it sounds when you say it out loud," you admitted, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Maybe it's you who needs to accept the monster in me."

Since you and Miguel made things official, you had grown quite comfortable sleeping on top of his massive chest.

It wasn’t that you spent every night together. He still disappeared most weekends....which you finally asked him about.

"I promise I'll tell you soon," he swore, so earnestly you couldn't find it without yourself to doubt him. "It's...a lot to take in."

Accepting his word as a sign of trust, a part of you still wondered if you were naive. Perhaps Miguel spent weekends galavanting with a secret family (or something equally horrible.) Your neighbor/friend Gwen teemed with sordid suggestions.

But you loved him. Your heart won out and you made a deal with yourself, agreeing to give him a little more time to explain.

Work in the lab continued, as did a search for a cure for Miguel's blood addiction/weakness. In the mean time, Miguel drank your blood, rather than get as weak and as sick (and irritable) as the last couple months.

At first, he insisted that you draw blood in the lab, but after spending several nights with you, his baser cravings grew too powerful to resist. Using his talons, he would scratch marks into your supple skin and drink from fresh wounds. Burying himself deep inside you while he drank elevated the pleasure exponentially for you both.

Which is where you found yourself right now.

The two of you barely stumbled into his penthouse apartment after work before he tore your panties (again) and stuffed thick fingers inside you. That was well over an hour ago.

Now, he rested against the headboard of the bed, his thick, muscular thighs stretched out along the mattress. Seeing this god of a man stretched naked especially for you never ceased to thrill.

Tipping his chin up only slightly, he beckoned you wordlessly toward him, patting his lap invitingly.

Wetting your lips, you eyed him hungrily, climbing obediently, spreading your slick thighs on either side of his legs, teasing his cock with your sopping cunt - your slick and his spend leaking out of you from the previous round.

"How are you hard again?" You giggled, pushing your fingers up over the breadth of his shoulders before tasting his lips one at a time.

"Mmm...told you. Superhuman stamina," he murmured, licking hotly into your mouth. Powerful hands gripped your hips as he tried to slip inside you again. "I didn't wear you out, did I?" He teased.

"No way," you fired back, easing off his lap to turn away from him. Before could grumble out a protest, you sank down on his thick cock, rotating your hips, riding him in reverse, your back arching in rapture.

"Fuck, you feel good honey," he groaned, his jaw going slack at the sight of your eager body ready to fuck him so good after he'd taken your body all evening. Talons extended to tauntingly scrape along the delicious curve of your back before sliding up your sides to cup your soft mounds. Taking the weight of your breasts in his palms, he fondled you gently, helping you move your lithe body against him. You purred in satisfaction as his thumbs brushed your hardened nipples.

Your drenched, slippery cunt felt incredible to Miguel, but you wanted more friction. With a slight whine, you rocked your hips faster, pushing up on your knees and dropping down hard until you found a vigorous rhythm bouncing on his cock.

"Faster?" He taunted against your neck. You could feel him smirking.

"Harder," you panted. "Fuck me hard. Need more."

Miguel growled out an incoherent response, gripping your hips and using his superhuman strength to work you over his length, slamming you down over and over again.

His appetite for blood had returned to normal, so starvation and weakness no longer plagued him. But this...hours on end in bed together - he was dying to sink his teeth into your flesh - despite having sworn he never would again.

"Miguel, harder," you whined, even as your sounds of pleasure ascended embarrassingly loudly. "Faster, please. I need...I need..."

He knew. He felt it too. You both craved the deep, primal, monstrous connection that had formed between you so early on.

Yes, he was certain of exactly what you wanted.

"I'm hungry," he groaned, fingers sliding around your throat. Roughly grabbing your jaw from behind, he tilted your head to one side, exposing more of the smooth skin of your neck.

He was fucking you so deep, but now - the possibilities made you wild with desire. “Please, Miguel. You can taste me.”

Damn. That was probably going to upset him. You'd promised not to ask him.

He dragged a talon across the side of your neck, growling as a sprinkling of blood sprang from your soft, sweat-soaked skin.

You felt the warmth of his tongue, wishing he would give in and sink his fangs into your flesh.

Unsure if Miguel gave into his cravings or if his fang slipped and sliced you - you felt that familiar pain and your heart both soared and sank. Because he would surely stop, horrified.

His massive chest rumbled with a hungry moan so powerful, you felt his deep satisfaction vibrate through your whole body.

“It’s okay, baby,” you panted, reaching blindly behind you to card your fingers through his thick waves. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Need you so much, Miguel.”

He apparently passed the point of needing permission, squeezing your throat a to the point of pain. However, the elation of him drinking you, the delicious pressure on your throat, the brutal slam of his cock plowing you so deep inside had you shrieking in pleasure as your walls clenched around him, your body rocked with a powerful orgasm that made you tremble and shudder against him.

Right as your pleasure crested and started to subside, you felt his fangs pierce your neck, fully. This was no accident and there was no turning back.

Lips sucked as his tongue laved ravenously, drinking until the venom in his fangs weakened you into a limp doll.

Lightheaded from blood loss, you slumped over.

Miguel laid you gently down, staring, conflicted, at the wounds in your neck, oozing with life-giving blood. Yet his cock twitched, aching for another release.

Gripping your thighs, he spread you apart, running his tongue along his fangs to collect excess blood.

“Fuck you’re pretty for me like this, muñeca,” he panted, recalling the sounds of you begging for this night after night.

Even if he punished himself for it later, you loved when he used you like this. It felt so wrong that you somehow craved it. You couldn't feel him fucking you, but his loss of control as he got off using your body - you wanted it. You only hoped he wouldn't back down.

His massive chest heaved as crimson eyes darkened lustfully. With his grip on you firm, he thrust inside your pliable, bleeding, paralyzed body with one deep stroke.

He molded you like a doll, like his dirty little toy. The languid, loose weight of your lifeless limbs added pressure as he pushed in and out of you.

“I could do anything to you and you’d let me. I know you want it. Want me to use you.” Lifting one of your limp legs over his shoulder, he groaned as your head lolled to the side, your vacant eyes unable to meet his.

You were spread so wide from him - soaked from endless hours together - of his cum and your slick heat. His balls slapped messily against your cunt as he fucked you so deep… he knew you would be sore tomorrow but he couldn’t find it in him to slow down.

When he was close, he pulled out of you - not that you could feel it - before jerking himself and spilling all over your breasts and your neck, leaving you a used-up, lifeless, fucked out mess. Panting harshly, he admired his handiwork, eyes raking over your beautifully ruined body, covered in his spend from your jaw down to your knees.

He didn’t even ask permission before reaching for his phone to take your picture. Not that you could protest in this position, but the thought that he wanted to remember you as his ruined, used toy made you fucking feral.

Flopping down on the mattress, Miguel tried to catch his breath for a moment. Even with his stamina - the exhilaration of finally feeding on you again was overwhelming.

After a few moments, he gathered your sweat and cum covered body into his arms and took you to the bathroom. Holding you gently, he ran a bath, adding some oils and salts before easing into the luxury garden tub with you.

He cradled you in his arms sideways, with your cheek laying against his chest.

By now, the paralytic was wearing off and you could feel the pain of the wounds in your throat. You hissed as the warm water stung the scrapes and bite you had sustained.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, starting to carefully wash you.

"Don't - " you started, but he hushed you.

"I'm not sorry for what we did," he clarified, brushing his fingers over your cheek as he gazed into your eyes. "I'm only sorry that the water stings."

You slowly nodded. "It felt good, Miguel. It's been so long. I wanted it so bad. Don’t be mad."

"I’m not mad, baby," he assured you, touching his forehead to yours.

You let out a sigh of blissful contentedness. "Feels so good."

A chuckle rumbled in his godlike chest. “Even when you can’t feel anything because you’re paralyzed?”

Gazing deeply into his eyes, you wet your lips before kissing him softly. “Remember, I’m the monster here,” you whispered against his mouth. “I…crave those things. I want you to bite me and use me. Fuck, it makes me want you so much.”

With that confession, you slipped your tongue into his mouth, hand blindly grasping in the warm water, hoping to find his cock hard again.

His superhuman stamina did not disappoint.

“Again, mi amor? You’ll be sore for days,” he chided, a bit condescendingly, one corner of his mouth curling in amusement, even as his crimson eyes widened in wonder that you still wanted more.

Biting your bottom lip, your eyes dipped coyly as you tugged on his thick member, stroking him just the way he liked.

He groaned, “You’re insatiable.”

“You gave me everything I wanted tonight,” you murmured against his lips, working your palm up and down his length, sloshing water sloppily. “Ask me for anything, Miguel, and I’ll say yes. Anything.”

“Corazón,” he moaned, hips shifting, fucking up into your grasp. “Anything?”

Your teeth tugged his bottom lip into your mouth, nipping tauntingly. “Yes.”

Nodding, he started thrusting again. Felt too good not to come if you were offering.

Your lips fused again in a heated tangle as you stroked and tugged him to orgasm.

The two of you managed to clean up and get something to eat before relaxing upstairs in the spacious den, cuddling together in his oversized chair. By this point you were dying to know what he would ask of you.

But you were distracted as he kissed you breathless, holding you like a treasure.

Miguel laid you open on the plush, expensive carpet, stripped your clothes off your body and spent the next hour with his tongue and lips all over you. He kissed you until you were dripping and arching into him, desperate for more. He nibbled at your breasts, littering them with tiny scrapes and cuts, sucking your nipples even as he drank warm red liquid.

He could no longer deny how hard it made him - how possessive over you he felt - knowing he could mark your body - that you wanted his marks on you - you craved them. Something dark lived in you and he was beginning to accept it. To need it.

Down he went, kissing the softness of your tummy, sucking marks into your thighs, passing an hour of attention with you panting his name, begging for what you really wanted.

Firing his warm, sticky webs to hold your thighs apart -spread so wide for him - he gazed down at you, desperate and writhing.

Finally, finally, he lowered his mouth to your cunt, nudging at your swollen clit with his nose. His warm tongue met your sex and your back arched violently as you came instantly. You felt him chuckle against you, inside you - his tongue thrusting in and out - the rumble of his laughter sending shockwaves up your spine as he purposely overstimulated you.

After an eternity of teasing, it was too easy to get you to orgasm, but he didn’t let you come down and you coudn’t find it in yourself to ask him to stop or to tap his shoulder for a break. No, instead your heels dug into his muscular back - your thighs slung over his broad shoulders as you bucked up frantically into his waiting mouth, fucking his tongue. Your shrieks of overstimulated pleasure tapered off into pathetic whimpers as he found the rhythm he knew you loved.

His superhuman strength allowed you to fist and pull his dark waves as hard as you wanted - to wildly buck and push his face harder into your sex. He could take anything you could give.

As if sensing you needed it harder, wilder, he rolled you over and pulled you down on his face, supporting your weight as you smothered his mouth with your pussy. He lightly smacked your ass, and, as if spurring a horse into action, you moaned embarrassingly loudly, riding his face as hard as you would his cock, as carelessly as you would use a toy in your bed alone.

Grabbing his hair again, you slammed his head down onto the carpet before yanking it up, using the would-be painful motion for more friction to fuck his face.

You and Miguel had done some dirty, wild things, but he’d never really felt this much unbridled loss of restraint from you. He moaned into your pussy, wishing he could fist his cock to the absolutely wrecked, desperate, filthy sounds echoing off the den walls - the squelch of your soaked cunt, slapping and dripping down his chin, making a mess of his hair, the carpet, of the both of you.

You came on his face only a moment later and before you were even halfway through your high, before the slight chance to start coming down presented itself, he laid you down and started working his tongue gently all over your pussy lips, your thighs, even your ass to clean you up.

“Miguel, fuck…fuck, it’s too much, oh f-fuck!” But since you didn’t safe word, he didn’t relent until you were a blubbering mess, having lost track of how many times you came, if you were currently coming now or coming down from a high.

He never used more than one finger and his mouth, but you finally passed out from exhaustion. He loved that he could do that to you without venom.

The next morning, you woke up clean, wounds appropriately dressed, in Miguel’s freshly made bed, wearing his t-shirt. It took you a few minutes to get your bearings when he entered with a tray of breakfast.

You sat up, feeling the slight sting of fang punctures in your neck and a sore, overused cunt.

“Corazón,” he breathed, rushing over to your side. “How are you feeling?” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, his eyes flickering all over you.

“I’m good,” you assured him, reaching to caress his cheek. “I’m a little sore, but for all the best reasons.”

To your delight, he nodded and rolled with it. “You’re a dirty girl,” he chuckled with a shrug. “And dirty girls end up sore.”

Gasping in mock-surprise, you whacked him with the back of your hand. “Miguel O’Hara!”

“Don’t try to deny it,” he fired back, catching your flying hand and tangling his fingers with yours.

The two of you shared a few kisses, and, as you started eating your breakfast, you admitted to him that you were thrilled that he finally seemed to be accepting your dark side.

“It’s not darkness,” he finally answered, surprising you. “Reaching for your hand, he brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “It’s devotion.” He placed a kiss to your hand. “It’s acceptance.” He kissed your forehead, then looked down into your eyes. “It’s everything I’ve ever needed.” This time, he kissed your mouth.

“That’s why I want you to live here with me.”

Seeing your eyes go wide, he squeezed your hands. "You can keep your apartment if you want. I'll even pay for it. But..." His eyes dipped almost shyly as he exhaled in a rush. "I love you. So...move in with me?"

The air rushed out of your lungs as your cheeks heated at such a request. "Of course I will. I love you," you confessed. "But..."

Massive shoulders sank as a worried frown tugged at the corners of his kissable lips. "But?"

Caressing his fingers, you swallowed hard, but held his gaze bravely. "First, I need you to tell me where you go all weekend."

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arteastica · 4 months

Text

Early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (20)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 2.1k

If you were ever asked to describe nostalgia to someone who has never experienced it before, you would say it’s like walking down the hallways of a museum at sunset, with nothing but the sound of your footsteps as company, echoing down seemingly infinite walls decorated with sepia memories that belong to happier, distant times.

For you, nostalgia was always the one who spoke most clearly in the silence, and just like the corridors of that metaphorical museum, it just so happened to be ghost-quiet in your office that evening. And in such solitude, when the only heart beating in the room belonged to you, your otherwise welcoming workspace became an echo chamber of unsought feelings and unwanted thoughts.

You looked at his empty chair. So much for a quick ride. You thought. It had been hours since him and Lord Koch had ventured into the field, and even though the Sun had decided to call it a day, you hadn’t. According to the clock ominously ticking on the wall before you, as well as the animated chatter coming from the dinner hall downstairs, your shift had ended a while ago, yet somehow you found yourself still sitting at your desk, fountain pen hovering over boring administrative stuff you had read at least three times that day, working extra hours, all because you didn’t want to go home.

Not without seeing him first.

Making sure he got back safe was part of the reason, albeit a small one. Because, if you were to be honest, in the end the decision to stay working overtime for free, had come down to something way less noble. It was simple: If you were still in your office by the time he came back, there was a chance of something happening, there was a chance of something changing between the two of you. And that possibility was enough remuneration for you.

Your eyes, however, begged to differ and, tired of looking at the same words over and over, decided to wander around the room until they found the big window behind his desk. The sunset sky, with its sad pinks and nostalgic blues, held nothing but the promise of more loneliness. And that melancholic palette you would’ve otherwise found pretty, as well as the empty chair behind his desk, acted as nothing but a reminder of how much you missed him, and you didn’t mean just today.

You missed how things were back then. You missed the warmth of his skin and the gentleness of his touch. You missed getting drunk on the rich sandalwoods of his hair: musky, earthy, a little sweet, and just the right amounts of spicy. You missed the addictive taste of his lips as well as the velvety, honeyed words that would leave them in your most intimate moments. And most of all, you missed the way his cobalt eyes would make your heart soar whenever you looked his way and found he was already staring.

That was the best feeling.

And it had been so long since the last time you had experienced it.

The calendar would argue it had only been a week, but if that was the case, then that week surely had the personality of a month. The clock would call it nonsense, saying that time was measured and constant. You knew that Leon, however, would agree with you.

‘Alike are time and water.’ He had told you just earlier that day, as he read out of a small leather notebook snippets of what was, in his own words, ‘some nonsense’ he had written on his way there. ‘Flowing slowly one drop at a time, or rushing by in the blink of an eye.’ You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. “And then I look at you and watch it freeze, knowing little has it to do with the mesmerizing view, when I find myself in the midst of that algid winter that is you.’

Maybe it was the bright oranges and mellow pinks of the sky you were staring at, or the connotation of endings that sunsets have, but your vision started to get blurry.

And sitting there, listening to the distant clatter of cutlery, unsure if the thing beating in your chest was a knot or a heart, you felt forgotten. Like the stuffed animal nobody packed before moving out, or the grandmother nobody visits anymore. And you had no one else to blame for that.

If you could, you would have pinned everything on time. On how it makes children turn into adults and forget to write home. On how it turns friends into strangers. On how it makes people grow tired of each other. On how it was starting to make him feel fictional, making you wonder if whatever beautiful thing you had, ever even existed.

If you could, you would have excused yourself behind ignorance, hiding under the blanket of confusion, claiming you didn’t know what happened.

You wished you could. But you couldn’t.

You couldn’t, because you knew exactly what had happened. You had heard the words leave your mouth that morning. Very clearly, even through the loud sounds of your own pleasure. You had said them. Words that he probably didn’t need. Words that had been distasteful enough to push him away.

Guess that saying I love you can sometimes make you unlovable, after all.

He did warn you, after all: Scouts don’t start families.

They avoid love.

They don’t marry.

But, who was even talking about marriage?

Beginning to grow frustrated with yourself, you tried to blink your feelings away. But the more you tried, the more they would pour out, and the more your eyes would start to burn as a result.

And that was a problem because, in that very moment, you heard the unmistakable sound of his footsteps down the hallway.

You rubbed your eyes one last time as they approached, trying to erase any traces of your lingering melancholy, and when the door opened, your fingers hurried to fiddle with whatever papers they found in the top drawer of your desk.

You didn’t know if he had even thrown as much as a passing glance your way, but judging by the discreet, distressingly quiet way in which he headed straight to his desk without uttering a single word, you could be forgiven for thinking he hadn’t even noticed your presence at all.

And it hurt. It sure did. His silence was so sharp it stabbed the deepest part of your chest. So loud it broke you like the wailing of singers is said to shatter glass.

But, if you were to put yourself in his shoes, you would understand.

Why would he say anything?

You tried to reason with yourself while your fingers caressed papers and closed drawers.

Why would he say anything to his dumb, incompetent assistant?

If you were him, you wouldn’t utter a single word either, out of fear of being misunderstood. Because, in the presence of someone as foolish as her, any simple, commonplace action could risk becoming fuel for even more stupid, delusional ideas forming in her little head.

However, although it had taken that little head a while, it was finally beginning to understand.

That she was just his clumsy, fuckable assistant who, after opening her legs for him a couple times, had accidentally fallen in love in the process. Nothing more than a stupid, inexperienced city girl who didn’t know anything about life in the Survey Corps.

But that same city girl was starting to learn. Yes, she was was.

You rose up from your chair.

It may take her a while, but she always learned.

You walked towards the fireplace.

And once she learned, she made sure she never forgot. Never forgot that she was hired to make his job easier, not harder. To handle his mail, not to warm the left side of his bed. To administer schedules, not to moan his name. To revise budgets, not to beg for orgasms. To bring him tea, not more problems.

And like so, with all that in mind, you retrieved the kettle from the fire.

It wasn’t hard to believe that the Commander of the Survey Corps had other things in his mind. More important, better things than his foolish, lovestruck assistant.

You carefully poured boiling water into a porcelain cup.

But to this foolish, lovestruck assistant, the problem was accepting all the aforementioned.

You sliced a lemon and watched it sink into the water.

It was hard to accept that he didn’t feel the same way you did. It was hard to accept that his lips didn’t instantly curve at the sight of you, the same way yours did at the mere thought of the cobalt in his eyes, and that little frown he did when he was tired. And you didn’t need to look at him to know he had it on his face right now.

You didn’t demand to be the first thought he had when he opened his eyes, nor the last one when he closed them at night. But you just wanted to be a thought.

Just a thought. Maybe the one he had when the first snow fell, or when new buds sprung upon old trees. When the first rain of the summer fell on him while out on the field, or when a gentle breeze mischievously shifted his hair out of place in the fall. Or when it lovingly caressed his cheeks in passing, just like you would right now.

If you could.

You knew you shouldn’t, but you threw a glance his way. He was sitting at his desk, head down, hand busy on what you guessed was the report about the new horses. And it was so very funny. If you had it in you, you would have even snorted. How something that could bring so much joy could also bring so much pain. And even more puzzling it was, how a heart could feel both at the same time.

He was so beautiful. Sunshine strands falling on his face, hiding the depths of his thoughts. The genius of those strategies that were always several moves ahead of what anyone was capable of.

So attractive. The frown in those jungle eyebrows telling you it had been a tough day for him too.

You forced your eyes to look away.

Of course anyone would fall for him.

You thought as you added a spoonful of honey and watched it melt into the boiling water.

Maybe you could forgive yourself for having done just that.

You picked up the tray with whatever steadiness your trembling hands were capable of, and, in the company of a desperate, uncomfortable hammering in your chest, cautiously made your way towards him, the hesitance present in your footsteps making you feel as if you were in some sort of cage, approaching a wild animal.

It shouldn’t be like this. You had been bringing him tea for months. Every night. Without fail. So, why did it feel as if it was a complete stranger you were about to serve? As if you didn’t know how many cubes of sugar he took or how many spoons of honey he enjoyed.

“Be careful, in case it’s too hot.” You warned him, carefully placing the tray on the empty corner he always left for his tea. “I didn’t know when you’d be coming back, so I wasn’t able to let it cool down first.” You avoided looking at him, although it wouldn’t even matter if you did, because from the corner of your eye you could tell he was doing just the same. Head down, eyes on his papers, just like yours were on the tray, as you took your sweet time adding sugar cubes to his cup.

He likes it sweet. His tea. Very sweet. You reminded yourself, stirring as slowly as you could, praying the sugar cubes would also take their sweet time melting. Because, some hopeful, silly part of you still believed he would say something. You needed to confirm he could still see you. You needed to make sure you hadn’t become a ghost from his past. Not yet.

And for that purpose, even the coldest ‘Thank you. You may go’ would do it for you.

If you couldn’t have his hand to hold or his arm around your shoulders, the smallest word of acknowledgment would be enough.

But when none of those came, you realized you had no choice but to leave. Quietly. Collectedly.

Despite the painful knot stuck in your throat.

Leave. To your room. Where you could take care of it. Where your eyes could bleed an ocean, eroding the boulder-like thing you had for a heart. Chilling what was once warm inside.

“If you don’t need anything else, Commander, may I be exc-”

“Are you going to him?” The sound of his voice made your heart explode inside your chest, and its abruptness left you wondering if he was even talking to you.

You wanted to believe he was, but he kept his head down, pen in hand, unmoving; making it hard for you, in your desperate state of mind, to tell.

“Commander?”

“Are you going to meet him now?” He asked again, and this time his eyes found yours, dissipating any doubts you may have had.

And you would have allowed yourself to indulge in some form of cheer, happy he was starting any sort of conversation with you.

You really would have.

If only his eyes weren’t the color of a midwinter night, starless, pitch black, so dark it was impossible to see what was hiding in them.

But something was for certain: whatever it was, it wasn’t there this morning when he left.

next chapter

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death-feeder · 5 months

Text

No Nut November 18

This one is for all the little Hansels out there looking for their own witch remember the time you and your sister got lost in those creepy woods? As you hunger was so torturing as you two reached a little house between the trees it first looked like a wood house but the closer you two came the house you smelled q delicious mix of chocolate with caramel biscuits with jelly of cupcakes with cream of candy and all those sugary treats your empty belly make you start running to the house as you want to reach your hand out to knock at the door your stop for a second that beauty smell don't came from inside the house this smell comes from the house itself it's made of all this delicious sweet dreams you can't holding back start with the door handle it's made of a sweet cream filled donut the tast is mind blowing and you need more of it starting with the corner of the wall it's sweeter than the donut soft like warm chocolate you barely can hold back as the melting chocolate keep running down your lips in the same time you sister eat few honey buns and is full looking at you keep eating bite after bite of this house as she realize that your little boy belly pretty much fills out your before wide shirt "my brother shouldn't you stop eating so much you sure already full" all you heard was your chewing all the delicious sweet food as a skinny women with red hair steps out of the chocolate door looking at the mess you made out of her house and smirked "my my oh you two looking so lonely out here what happens?" As you try to open your mouth to answer the nice woman you just brought up a massive burp who made you blush and you sister took the word "firs sorry my brother eat so much of your house but my little brother and I got thrown out at home because our parents couldn't afford so much food" the women comes closer "you two need a place to live and stay I can take care of both of you" she looked at you "how old are you little boy?" Caused by all the sweets you poor stomach started hurting what made it difficult to answer but you managed to get out a "10 years ma'am" she carefully pulled up your shirt and exposed a big round and deeply red blushed belly "you eat too much let me help you" she started whispering something and layed down her hand on your full belly and it suddenly feeled like it's empty again you just took the new room and restarted eating more of the hous then the woman turned away from you and looked at your sister Gretel "and you how old are you? And what's your twos names?" You sister was little scared of the dark looking woman and her abilities but answered with "this is hansel my little brother and I'm Gretel and I'm 13" the women smiled at her "oh how sweet you two are come in there is more even better food for you hansel" you barely was able to get your double stuffed belly up to walk but something pulled you inside you sister helped you up "what happened to you your clear full how you can still eat more?" Than inside a massive amount of sweet food was towered everywhere and the women widen her arms "all this food is for you sweetie" and you gave in eating while the years passed by your stomach grow bigger day by day and with it you your hunger for this food you now 16 and you sister 19 she became a beautiful slender woman with red hair and she helping the now old lady keeping you eating over all this years you two learn a lot about and from the women her name was Gretel too and she also had a brother she never speaks of and instantly called for a meal when you sister or you tried to ask about him the next two years passed by and you seemed to pack on weight even easier it's you 18 and your sisters 21 birthday you nearly filling the house in size your chest hurts from eating and breathing as the old woman looked at your sister "your finally old enough to get part of the circle of witches you just have to end the ritual yourselves turn the chocolate house into a oven and grill him for the circle as meal the last thing you remember before the cold darkness was a hell like heat

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red1culous · 1 year

Text

Touch

Do hands coax? You had always wondered to yourself. Not just any pair, but hers. Like a barometer hers were an impetus for the erotic. You look down to your intertwined hands and smile inwardly. Natasha is speaking about something. Something you had lost track of about 13 sentences ago.

Instead you were more focused on the sensation of your palms pressed together and fingers interlaced. She traces lazy shapes on the inside of your palm with her littlest finger. It tickles but soothes at the same time. It feels erotic, it feels romantic.

Every few minutes she looks at you for acknowledgment before continuing her monologue. She suppresses a giggle as she recounts something about Clint purposely turning off his hearing aid during meetings.

She readjusts her hand in yours, slotting them tighter together. You chuckle at her story and she raises your linked hands and places a kiss on your knuckles.

Dexterity, you think. Manipulation, emotion, need, a driving impulse…the movement of her speech was accentuated in the movement of her hands. You take note of how her skin was the colour of warm honey sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar freckles across high cheekbones. She was exquisite. A natural beauty. There was something familiar about her. She felt like what love feels like.

You lean over and slide your free hand across her jaw cupping her cheek. The action startles her a little. She stiffens and then…surrenders as she stumbles over her words. You gently brush your mouth across her parted lips swallowing the rest of her sentence. The kiss, although not lasting more than a couple heartbeats was provocatively warm and sweet. You can taste the perfume on her skin and the silk of her mouth and you’re sure she can feel the pounding of your heart on the tip of your tongue.

“Did you do that to stop me talking?” she says a little breathlessly after you separate.

You smile. “Depends. Do you mind?”

She gasps feigning hurt. Her smile mirroring yours as she scoots closer. Raising an eyebrow she challenges, “you know can kiss me anytime you want to”.

You hum at her words and pull her towards you yet again.

#natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #redfic #touch #natasha x reader

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arvandus · 1 year

Text

Touch Pt. 13 - Relapse

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

**18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI**

OVERALL FIC WARNINGS: Soft!Dabi, F!Reader with a fictional backstory, fanon version of past events (I started this before the canon stuff dropped), manga spoilers, canon deviation, drug abuse/withdrawal (with inaccuracies since it’s outside of my experience and relies on research and imagination), violence, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, hurt/comfort, pining, slow burn, eventual emotionally charged SMUT, all characters will be written with complexity (i.e., no one-dimensional/hateful representations). *please pay attention to specific warning tags within each chapter!*

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Explicit 18+ themes, drug use (opioids, weed, alcohol, smoking), drug dealing, drug withdrawal, chronic pain. Primarily a Dabi POV chapter, Reader is minimally present.

Chapter Song: Go Easy On Me (Stripped) by Matt Maeson

Part 1 Part 12

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Chapter 13: Relapse

He was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming, but he didn’t care. It was the only way he could have you, the only way he could satisfy that deep, devouring desire that threatened to consume him and shred him to pieces.

Your soft lips locked over his, your hands on his jaw as he opened his mouth hungrily to welcome your wet tongue. Your body was pressed against his as you straddled his lap, your soft thighs framing him. His hands roamed your sweaty skin, deft fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, exposing your cotton-clad breasts to his gaze. The bra you wore was strangely familiar, its simplicity echoing like a forgotten memory in his mind, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was you, the feel of you, the heat of you, the taste of you... he buried his face between your breasts, his tongue flicking out to lick the sweat there, and you moaned against him, your fingers tangling in his hair as your hips ground down into his lap, desperate to feel his firmness.

This. This was all he wanted. He wanted to bury himself in this place, bury himself in you until he forgot who he was. He wanted to freeze himself into this moment and let the rest of the world fall away.

But he knew any minute now it would change. This moment would vanish, this wanton picture of you bursting into an explosion of blue flames beneath his sweating palms only to be replaced by nightmares.

His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into flesh as if it had the power to change fate, to change the inevitable rising of the sun.

Any minute now.

You whispered his name desperately against his lips, the heat of your breath like warm honey, before trapping his lips with your own again, your body moving against him.

He wanted to close his dreaming eyes, to let himself sink into the feeling of you, and yet he couldn’t – if he did, then you’d be ripped away from him, taken hostage by the monsters in his mind.

‘Not yet.’ He thought. ‘Don’t go.’

But you didn’t go. Not this time. Your skin still felt warm against him, the touch of your flesh soft and familiar. So familiar, and yet... something was different this time.

It felt real. Too real...

Dabi’s eyes shot open, and the first thing he saw was the back of your head. His breath stopped in his throat while his chest pounded, bewilderment locking his body in a frozen panic. His eyes darted around the room, taking in what he could see as he slowly began to make sense of what his eyes were showing him.

He was in your room. The early grey light of morning seeped in through a crack in the curtains, stretching across the lower half of your bed to end at the closed bathroom door. It wasn’t as bright as his room in the morning, your bedroom facing west instead of east. But it was enough to allow him to see the details of your space draped in a monotone hue.

The memories of the previous night bubbled forth like flotsam. Compress, you, your sensory overload, Dabi fighting to carry you, the waiting, the darkness, the conversations, your hand on his shoulder...

Dabi’s pulse slowed, and he once again took in where he was and what he was feeling, his gaze shifting around slightly.

He felt warm, and he realized he was pressed up against your back with his right arm trapped under your head. His left hand was resting on your hip, his thumb tucked beneath your shirt where it rested against your bare skin.

No wonder it felt so real...

You were so warm. The scent of your hair tickled his nose, and he fought the urge to inhale, his muscles tensing against the instinct to pull you even tighter against him and bury his face into your neck.

Instead, he watched you silently, taking in the steady rise and fall of your breathing. You were still asleep – that much he was grateful for. He wasn’t sure how you’d react to waking up with him wrapped around you the way he was. To make matters worse, the dream he’d been having was still very much present in the forefront of his mind, and his pants felt uncomfortably tight against the pressure that had made itself at home within his black jeans.

You shifted slightly in your sleep, your rear rubbing against his groin, and his fingers tensed on your skin. A part of him wanted to push you away, the other part wanted to pull you closer and-

You shifted again, blissfully deep in dreamland, unaware of your actions, as you pressed further against him. This time, Dabi’s entire body stiffened as he clenched his jaw.

God damn it. You weren’t even awake and you were torturing him.

He wondered what you were dreaming about but before his imagination could go too far, your head moved slightly, a soft, innocent moan coming from your dreaming lips. The sound alone sent an electric jolt through his body right down to his jeans and ignited a war in his brain between his arousal and his common sense. How quickly his body wanted to respond on instinct, to see if he could pull that sound from your lips again, this time with more... intention.

But the fantasy of that thought was in stark contrast to the reality of the situation, and the deep thrumming of his pulse shifted like a pendulum from arousal to panic. If you woke up right now, to the touch of his hand on your side and his hard-on pressed against your ass through no fault of his own... Dabi imagined the slap you would deliver to his face. Maybe even take a couple more staples out of his cheek while you were at it.

Dabi removed his hand from your body and rolled to his back before he did something incredibly stupid. You were still pressed against his side, his right arm still trapped beneath your neck. The touch of you felt like fire against his skin, every undamaged nerve on high alert, but at least it was manageable. And most importantly, you stopped moving. Deep sleep had claimed you once again, and Dabi was mentally thanking whatever deities granted his silent plea.

Silence stretched, long and painful as he laid there, still as a stone, forcing steady breaths in and out of his lungs. His dream of you still had its grip on him, and Dabi struggled to think of things that weren’t you in an effort to cool the hot desire that still coursed through his blood. But it was in vain. You were everywhere – your scent, your warmth, the weight of your neck on his arm, your ass nestled into the crook of his hip and looking awfully cute in your pajama pants that he’d personally selected for you last night. His blue eyes caught the shape of your bra on the floor, abandoned and forgotten, and it immediately brought forth the dream he’d been having, with your legs straddled across his lap, and your breasts-

Shit.

This obviously wasn’t working, and now the binding pressure in his pants was beginning to get uncomfortable. He adjusted himself outside of his jeans in an effort to relieve some of the discomfort, to find a position within the dark denim that didn’t feel like being bound in a torture device, but all it did it was make it worse.

Dabi needed to get out of here. He needed the privacy of his own room so he could handle the problem in his pants and finally have his first rational thought of the day.

He began scanning for his things. His shoes were on. His wallet was in his back pocket. His phone- where the fuck was his phone? He was holding it last night when he fell asleep...

His free hand tried to search the covers, his head tilting slightly to look over the edge of the bed. Finally, he spotted it, on your nightstand next to your own. You’d plugged it in for him, your own phone left uncharged.

His chest constricted slightly.

Dabi carefully reached over your sleeping form and grabbed it, making every effort to not touch you more than he had to as he deftly unplugged it with one hand. He paused when his face was mere inches from your cheek thanks to the angle of his reach, hesitating for just a fraction of a moment to drink in your features.

Fuck, you were pretty.

Then the moment passed, and he averted his gaze and retreated carefully back to his side of the bed. The device was safely in his fingers, and he laid back down before finally releasing the breath that he’d been holding.

Time froze as Dabi noticed a text message notification from Giran. His pulse spiked as he unlocked his phone and opened the message.

Hey, kid. I found someone who has what you need. Lemme know if you’re still interested, and I’ll give you their contact info. It’ll cost ya, though. Prices are up right now. This guy ain’t cheap, but his stock is legit. Lemme know if ya need a loan.

Dabi’s eyes widened, and instantly, everything shifted. What had started as an awkward morning of silent suffering now shifted to a single-minded focus.

He could get his drugs. Today.

A wave of relief washed over Dabi, transforming into giddy excitement. He could almost remember the feel of them, the low hum of constant peace. It was so very different from what you gave him. Your pills and your quirk helped, but it wasn’t the same. The pain was always too quick to return every time they wore off, and mentally, well...

Something was always missing, something important. Something vital. Something he needed more than anything.

Silence.

His life had been so much simpler with his own pills. They kept the pain within his heart buried deep under a constant stream of artificial chemicals, and hid away the old, dusty memories, the ones that used to make him smile when he was young. In its place it left an empty space, a residual footprint of old things lost, those rooms of his mind abandoned and locked. Joy was a figment of the imagination, a secondhand experience lived by a stranger. Sorrow was a small footnote, the undertone that set the tempo for his rage to thrum against, transforming tears into spiteful laughter. With everything else buried deep, it’d allowed him to focus on his anger, his bitter need for justice, giving him the strength to pursue his mission with single-minded focus at the cost of everything else.

His drugs were the double-edged sword that would bring him both victory and destruction. They were a necessity that allowed him to transcend his limits so that he could see his work done. Then he could vanish like the ghost he was, let his quirk take him like it was meant to. Maybe then it’d finally be over, and he’d finally have the peace in death that he’d never been able to find in life.

That was what he always believed, at least.

‘Promise.’

The word echoed in his mind like a faint whisper, a reminder of something that should have never been said, hastily spoken from an immature, inexperienced heart. Dabi pushed the thought away swiftly before it could worm its way deeper into his mind.

Still, he couldn’t help but look at you. You looked so peaceful right now, content, even. The steady rise and fall of your breaths, every muscle of your body relaxed and loose in perfect comfort. The corners of Dabi’s lips pulled down in a frown, his brows drawing together slightly.

You wouldn’t like it. Dabi knew that. You’d try to talk him out of it, telling him that he didn’t need to do this. You’d say that you were already working on it, that his pills would be ready for pick up any day now. That if he’d just hold out a little longer...

Dabi rubbed at the bridge of his nose as he began to feel the dull throbbing of a headache. Irritation simmered and he stared at the text message again.

He didn’t want to wait any longer. He didn’t want to be held back from getting what he needed. Even if you did manage to get his pills for him, you’d want to control his access, out of concern for his safety. Your intentions were pure, but the thought soured his mind. He didn’t need a babysitter. And he didn’t want to delay what he was owed. He respected you, and valued his growing bond with you, but he’d be damned if he let anything get in the way of his purpose, even you. He’d already wasted enough time. Endeavor was ripe for the picking now that he was the number one hero, and Dabi was on borrowed time.

And yet, even so, in this moment with his phone hot in his hand and the thin black line blinking in the text message box, he hesitated. It left him feeling bewildered and frustrated at his own inaction; he’d never hesitated, not once. Not for this. But now, here he was, deliberating as if one wrong move would cost him more than he was willing to pay.

Discomfort tightened in his chest like a coiled snake.

If this had happened before last night, he would have left the instant he got the message without a second thought. But now...

Now it felt like he was being ripped in two, pulled in different directions.

Something was different, a shift in his world that had happened right beneath his feet. Dabi couldn’t quite put words to it and what it meant and that irritated him more than anything. Yes, he felt closer to you. Yes, he could finally admit to himself that he cared about you, although to what extent, he couldn’t quite say; there were things he felt that he didn’t yet have words for, and he wasn’t ready to define them. But his goals hadn’t changed. His focus hadn’t changed. No matter how he felt about you, taking down his father took priority.

And yet, all he could picture in this moment was the disappointment on your face and the hurt in your eyes once you’d learn what he’d done. Because you would find out. As soon as you woke up and he was gone without receiving your help, you’d know.

Dabi stared at you again, long and hard in the silence of the morning as he absently tongued at the wound in his cheek from where you’d ripped out his staple the night before. He could feel the pain there now that your quirk was starting to wear off, throbbing in tandem with his growing migraine as last night’s pills burned from his system. The ache made his jaw stiff and his teeth felt like they had needles shoved into them.

It was a pain you’d given him, the consequence of your generosity. The crying, the screaming, the agony you’d suffered as your quirk turned on you because of him... And before that, it was the bruises on your arms, the fear in your eyes, the constant state of exhaustion that hung on you like a shroud...

So, this was probably for the best, right? He’d be back on his own pills, with his own supply, and you’d be free of him, free of his constant need of you. No more sensory overload. No more late nights dealing with his bullshit.

But even with that obvious fact, Dabi felt a resistance within himself, a selfish stubbornness. He knew that doing this would drive a wedge between you that could not be undone. It’d be the highest betrayal, undoing everything you’d sacrificed for him, everything you’d worked for. There would be no forgiveness after this. It would erase every heartfelt conversation, tarnish every vulnerable moment.

The thought tasted bitter on his tongue. He’d just finally allowed himself to tear down the wall he’d built against you, for the first time allowing himself to connect with another person. That act alone had cost him more than he’d expected, opening up a vulnerability within himself that he was still grappling with. And you’d met his vulnerability with grace and kindness, which was far more than he deserved. He didn’t want to give you up. He didn’t want to lose you over this. He’d grown accustomed to having you around, always there when he needed you. Always being checked on, always being seen. He liked it. The way you made him feel... your smile, your touch, your quirk-

Your quirk...?

Something intangible tightened around Dabi’s throat, cold and hard. It took him a long moment to be able to put a name to it.

Fear.

Because the fear of losing your quirk and how it made him feel had nothing to do with feelings. It had everything to do with addiction. And he knew better than most how addiction preyed on the mind, warping and twisting lies and illusions into false truth.

Maybe all of this... whatever this was... these feelings he felt, this attraction that consumed him... maybe it was just because of your quirk and your pills. Was he really attached to you? Or was he attached to his addiction of you? Did he just trade one drug for another?

Was none of this real?

You. You were real. Your words and your hand on his shoulder last night were real. Your kindness and friendship towards him were real.

But that didn’t mean that his feelings were real. It could just be his addiction, a monster in sheep’s clothing, a leech looking to attach itself to whatever will feed it. Dabi was familiar with it, had watched with dulled, detached interest as it had drained liquor bottles and gone through opioid medication like they were candy. But this time was different. Because this wasn’t alcohol or pills. This was you, a person. A person that, for better or worse, Dabi gave a shit about.

Dabi rubbed his hand down his face, stopping over his mouth as his fingers tightened around his clenched jaw. He stared at the message again. The chasm of conflicting desires sewed shut, two roads coalescing into only one option.

He was going to get his drugs. Today.

It was the only option that made any sense. You’d stop suffering because of him, and he’d get back to his mission of taking down Endeavor. And then maybe he’d finally be able to figure out what was real and what wasn’t.

Dabi slowly slipped his arm out from under your neck. You shifted slightly but stayed deep in slumber. His body ached all over, a combination of lingering exhaustion and the downward spiral of his withdrawal beginning to sink its teeth into his bones. As he stood up, a fiery zap shot up his leg, and he nearly buckled back down onto the mattress. His teeth bared as he sucked air into his lungs.

Shit, shit, shit. That desperate need filled him again, and he immediately felt the pull of you and all you offered. He needed your pills, your quirk. Anything to take away the pain.

He loathed it. He loathed his dependency and the way it controlled him and sapped him of his strength. How the hell was he supposed to meet up with Giran’s source when he could barely even make it to his room?

He’d have to wake you. You hid your pills from him, after all. It wasn’t like he could just help himself to your bag and leave you a note.

An idea lit up his pain-addled mind. If he woke you up now, then you wouldn’t suspect anything once he left. He could get his drugs and you’d be none the wiser. Maybe he could get away with it... maybe he could keep it secret... maybe things wouldn’t have to change...

All he had to do was wake you up. Ask for your pills. Let you use your quirk.

Dabi looked at you again. The wound in his cheek throbbed, a warning. The night before flashed again in his mind. His hands clenched into tight fists as he stood rooted to the floor.

He couldn’t.

He refused.

He’d have to figure it out on his own. He had cigarettes, he had alcohol, and he had weed. All of them were poor substitutes for what he really needed. But a deep hit of a joint and a couple of quick shots of cheap whiskey would be better than nothing, and he could keep a pack of cigarettes on him to help with the jitters until he met up with the dealer. Besides, once he got his pills, the problem would fix itself.

He just had to survive long enough. He could do that; he’d done it before when his bottles had run dry. Only before, the drought he’d experienced had been mere hours instead of days.

With a final glance at your sleeping form, Dabi left, careful to make as little noise as possible as he opened and closed the old door.

Once he’d crossed the hall and made it safely into his own room without being seen, Dabi took a deep breath of relief. Another arrow of fire laced between his shoulder blades, and he buckled, crouching down to sit on his heels against his closed door. A second wave came soon after, this time igniting up his neck, blending into the ache of his wound on his cheek. It made his vision blur, and he shut his eyes against it, letting it wash over him, helpless.

Once the pain subsided, he settled down and leaned his head against the cold wood, his breathing ragged. He could already feel his body begin to sweat.

Shower. He needed a shower.

Dabi pulled himself up and made his way into the bathroom where he turned on the shower faucet. As the water ran, he pulled out his phone and texted his response to Giran. He declined the offer for the loan; he knew better. A loan from Giran was a loan that never got paid back. He’d have to find his cash in other ways.

Then, he stripped down and entered.

Dabi cursed as soon as the cold water hit his body and he leaned forward to prop his forehead on his fist against the cold tile as the icy tendrils ran rivers down his skin.

For minutes he stayed that way, letting the cold compete with the frayed nerves and aching muscles. As he stood there, he kept glancing at his phone resting on the counter, waiting to see it light up, to hear the buzz. Panic began to fill him as he waited, staring, silently begging for Giran to respond.

What if he missed his chance? Did he wait too long? What if you wake up before he can leave?

But then he saw it – the familiar screen of a new text message, the phone vibrating on the countertop. Dabi snatched it immediately, careful not to get the phone too wet from the stray shower drops. He quickly opened up the message, and there it was...

An address. A time.

And a note of urgency – the seller had another buy lined up but was willing to meet Dabi first to see what he offered at the behest of Giran, thanks to Giran’s good reputation.

Dabi frowned at the information. The meetup time meant he had to leave. Now. Which didn’t give him much time to put together enough funds for what he was about to do.

Still, he had to try. Dabi shot back a quick confirmation text.

Then he finished his shower and dressed himself. He threw on his hoodie, sunglasses, and stuffed his face mask in his pocket. Where he was going, he wasn’t anticipating being seen by any heroes who might know his description, but with his current weak condition, it was better safe than sorry.

Also, his hoodie made it easier to hide stolen wallets.

Dabi downed whiskey straight from the bottle and found an old joint inside one of his jacket pockets. He lit it with his finger, taking a long drag of it into his lungs. As he waited for the effects to kick in, he began scrounging his drawers and his pockets for every single wad of cash in his possession. It didn’t take long until he’d overturned nearly every pants pocket, every cubby and hidey hole. He frowned at the pitiful amount crumpled into the palm of his hand. His gap in his medication had left him unable to find work doing seedy jobs for hire, or even just simple pickpocketing or robbery. Between the two weeks of no work and the money he’d spent on ramen and junk food, his savings was severely dwindled.

Would it be enough?

Maybe he could borrow some cash from the other League members. After all, they were able to go out and steal whenever they needed to. Surely they had something they could give him...

But the longer he lingered here, the smaller his chances of leaving before you woke up. Not to mention there’d be questions, and prodding, and each conversation would steal precious minutes from an already tight schedule. He could end up missing his appointment entirely.

Well, that obviously wasn’t an option. He’d just have to find ways to line his pockets during his commute.

Dabi took another long drag of his joint, the smoke swirling out of his nostrils on the exhale.

He'd have to be careful about it, nothing too showy or noticeable. No flames. No dead bodies. He didn’t want to make himself noticeable to heroes. In his current state, there was no guarantee he’d be able to fight or escape if he got caught.

Pain curled itself along his neck and a wave of nausea followed soon after, twisting his gut. Dabi sucked air through his teeth before forcing a few quick breaths through his nostrils, fighting back the impending sickness watering his mouth. His vision blurred. His entire body tensed, waiting for it to pass. After a moment of intense focus, it subsided, vanishing back to blend into the dull hum of suffering that was beginning to shroud him like an invisible cloak. His vision refocused and he stared at the crumpled joint that was now clutched tight into his fist, its ashes littering the floor.

Fuck. He didn’t even get to finish it.

His pain was getting more unbearable, the withdrawal creeping up like a swiftly rolling fog.

Borrowed time...

Decision made, Dabi stuffed the cash into his pockets. He grabbed the whiskey bottle one more time and took a quick swig from the neck. Then he grabbed his dented pack of cigarettes and stuffed them in his jacket pocket as he headed downstairs, careful not to make too much noise past your door. He could only hope the stench of his self-medication didn’t wake you.

He left quickly, forcing himself out in the bright daylight before any of the league members could ask about his whereabouts. Once he’d put sufficient distance between himself and the hideout, he pulled out his phone and entered the address into the navigation.

------------

You were unpleasantly woken up by the all-too-familiar skunky smell that seeped beneath your door, invading your space. Your senses were still a little on edge from last night, and the odor assaulted you, causing you to scrunch up your nose and pull your covers over the lower half of your face.

You stirred and rolled to your back, your hand reaching out next to you to meet only empty space and cold sheets. He was gone.

You sat up quickly, your brain swiftly putting the pieces together. The stench of weed, his absence, and the very obvious fact that it was morning and you hadn’t treated him yet.

Maybe he was self-medicating in his room, biding his time as much as he could to let you rest. Maybe he was just having a smoke and nursing a bottle of whiskey until you showed up.

‘That idiot, why didn’t he just wake me?’

You threw the covers off and slipped your feet into your shoes before leaving your room. You crossed the hall and knocked on Dabi’s door, and you held your breath as you fidgeted and bounced nervously.

Surely, he’s in there. Any minute now, he’ll answer the door, giving you one of his half smirks as a wall of smoke hits your face.

But nothing but silence greeted you.

You knocked again, banging harder this time. Maybe he was really fucking high and napping, or in the shower...

He had to be here. He had to be.

He wouldn’t leave, right? Not in his condition, not without receiving your help. You had everything he needed here. You had a system, a plan in place. It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough. It was working.

Unless...

Unless he found something better.

You pounded on his door again, this time letting out your frustration, panic rising from your chest to your throat.

“He’s not there.” Grumbled Shigaraki’s voice. You spun to face him as he stood a few feet away, drying his hair with a towel.

You swallowed. “Where did he go?”

“Dunno. I heard him leave a few minutes ago. It’s not my job to keep tabs on you guys.” Then his red eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem?”

You hesitated. “No.”

Then another entirely different thought came into your mind just as Shigaraki turned to leave.

“Wait!”

Shigaraki paused and half-turned to face you, the towel now draped over his shoulders.

“What happened to Compress?” you asked. “Is he okay?”

“He’ll live.” Shigaraki replied. “He’s still recovering with Giraki.”

Elation filled you as you inhaled and released a deep breath in relief. “Thank God...”

“God had nothing to do with it.” Shigaraki replied casually. “ Garaki said your quick thinking probably saved his life.”

You felt your skin flush at the praise. “Thank you.”

Shigaraki stared at you a brief moment before turning and retreating to his room. Once you felt free of his scrutinizing ruby eyes, you turned and hurried towards the stairs.

You stumbled into the common area to see Toga, Spinner, and Twice playing cards.

“Have you guys seen Dabi?” you asked.

“He left.” Toga answered.

“When?”

“I dunno, like five minutes ago?”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No? He never tells us anything,” Toga pouted. “He stunk to high heavens, though.”

Spinner scoffed. “That’s nothing new. He always seems to be on something one way or another.” You froze at Spinner’s casually astute observation, but kept silent.

“He’s probably back to recruiting members for the League. It’s all he cares about.” Twice said. “Guy’s gotta get a life.”

You ran for the door. Five minutes. Surely, he couldn’t have gotten far in five minutes...

You stumbled outside, your eyes squinting hard against the daylight as you covered your brow with your hand. You scanned up and down the street, looking for his familiar form, his dark sweater or swirling jacket.

But there was nothing. Dabi was gone.

“Shit.” You muttered.

You went back into the hideout before too many people started to notice you standing out in your pajamas.

Three sets of eyes stared at you as you closed the door behind you. “Does anyone have Dabi’s phone number?”

----------

The bus was fuller than Dabi thought it would be, and it was working in his favor. He’d already managed to snatch two wallets, one from when he stood waiting for people to step off the bus, and another as everyone shuffled in to find their seats. All of the seats were taken now, with a few people forced to stand. Dabi stood as well, positioning himself to be conveniently in the way of anyone who opted to leave before he reached his designated stop.

An old woman stood next to him, her metal rolling cart in front of her, its handle held in her gnarled fingers. She was short, barely coming up to his chest thanks to the hunch in her back. He stared down at her through his dark sunglasses, taking in the look of her clothes, her belongings. She’d gone to the market evidenced by the bok choy sticking out of the bag in her cart. Its green leaves drooped in the heat of the bus, surrounded by all of the warm bodies and closed windows. Her other hand held the vertical bar, and she swayed like a leave on the wind with each bump and jolt. It was obvious that she didn’t have much of value on her. Nothing but a simple gold band on her finger, its surface scuffed and worn as if it had sat there for decades.

Still, the elderly were more likely to carry cash on them then the younger generations, who relied more on credit cards. With her purse bag zipper already open, it had taken just a quick dip of his fingers to snatch the worn leather wallet and tuck it up his sleeve.

Dabi’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t have to look at it to know it was you, but he did anyway. He stared at the number with no name attached, a strange awareness leaking through his muddled, inebriated mind. Now he had your number. You’d offered it to him before, and he’d declined. What a shitty way to finally get it.

“Someone special?” the old lady asked.

Dabi turned the phone to silent and shoved it back into his pocket. “No,” he replied.

Just then the bus hit an especially deep pothole. The old woman to stumbled, tripping over her cart and landing on the man sitting in front of her. His coffee spilled all over his cheap suit, and he cursed.

“What the hell!” he shouted. He shoved the old woman off of him, and Dabi subtly positioned himself to catch her body against his to keep her from falling back.

Others stared at the man in reproach, but no one spoke up as the old lady stammered an apology, pulling out her kerchief to wipe away at the stains on his clothes. He batted her hands away from him. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he demanded.

The man pulled the string above the window and grabbed his things in a huff as he made his way to leave. “Clumsy old hag...” he muttered under his breath.

Dabi’s eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses.

The man made his way to leave, and Dabi blocked him just enough to bump shoulders with him, which earned him a glare. “Outta my way, jackass,” the man huffed.

As the man exited the bus, Dabi felt the weight of the new wallet now held snuggly in his hand within the sleeve of his hoodie. He wasn’t sure if it had much in it, but even so, a twisted sense of pride lit up his veins just the slightest. Dabi wasn’t very picky on who he stole from, but this one felt especially good.

Once the man was gone, the old woman wiped away the remnants of coffee from the now open seat and sat down. On the next stop, the seat next to her opened up and Dabi gladly took it, his head swimming from the constant motion. His headache was worsening again, the numbing fog he’d induced earlier through alcohol and weed starting to dissipate. He was grateful for the sunglasses, but the heat of the bus was stifling. He forced open the window latch and inhaled as soon as the crisp air hit his lungs.

“Thank you,” said the old woman.

It took Dabi a moment to realize she was talking to him. “For what?”

“Opening the window. It’s gets so hot on these buses sometimes, and my old hands can’t open the latches anymore.”

Dabi grunted. He hunched himself over as his stomach twisted uncomfortably and his leg began to bob up and down. His phone buzzed again, and once again, he pulled it out and stared at the number. Again, he silenced the call, sending it directly to voicemail.

A sharp jagged pain cut across his back and his muscles tensed as he braced himself against it until it passed, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Whoever it is must be worried about you.” She commented, her voice cutting through his haze.

Dabi kept his eyes closed and didn’t respond, hoping she would stop talking to him. He didn’t like when strangers started talking to him, especially nice old ladies that he’d just stolen from.

He heard a panicked gasp, and he opened one eye to see the old woman desperately rummaging through the contents of her purse.

“Where is it?” she asked herself. She looked at Dabi, her wrinkled eyes desperate. “Have you seen a wallet? It’s brown leather, torn on the edge...” she returned to rummaging through her things. “I know I had it, I paid my bus fare, and...” her expression fell with each passing moment, and she looked on the verge of tears. “Oh, no no no...”

Dabi sighed inwardly and snuck the wallet from his sleeve before pulling it out from behind him as if he’d sat on it.

“Is this it?”

Her face lit up instantly as she took it from his hand. “Oh, bless you! Thank you, I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost it... It must have fallen out of my purse earlier...”

Before Dabi could close his eyes again to wallow in his failure, she’d opened the worn leather to show him a picture of an old man with glasses. “This is my late husband. It’s my favorite picture of him and it’s the only copy I have.”

Dabi stared longingly at the yen notes that were poking out of the top edge, his eyes barely registering the photograph she was showing him. He gave another brief grunt and went back to closing his eyes.

She continued talking. “I take it with me everywhere I go. Makes me feel like he’s still with me.”

Dabi shifted uncomfortably, leaning his head back against the window as his leg continued to bob.

Silence fell again and he listened to the sound of her once again rummaging through her purse.

Then Dabi felt a small nudge against his shoulder and he opened his eyes to see a folded 1000 yen note.

“For your help,” she explained.

Dabi hesitated for a moment before taking the cash and pocketing it.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. He stared ahead of himself at the person across from him reading the newspaper, Endeavor’s face plastered across the front. His hands balled into fists and he felt his temperature rise slightly. If he could just go one day without seeing his damn face...

The old woman’s voice cut in again. “...You look like you’re having a rough day,” she commented.

“Not for long,” he replied curtly.

She took out a bottle of aspirin and opened it, popping a couple of the contents into her wrinkled, frail palm. She held them out to him in offering.

Dabi let out an exasperated sigh. “Look, lady, I’m fine.”

“Hm... maybe something stronger...” she muttered. She put the pills away back into the bottle and began to rummage through her purse again. Dabi leaned his head back and contemplated getting off the bus early. He just wanted some damn peace and quiet while he suffered on his commute...

Another tap on his shoulder got Dabi’s attention, and he turned to see an open tin canister with a single rolled joint inside as the old woman gave him a knowing smile. It took him by surprise, and he stared at the offer dumbly.

“What’s that?”

“You know what it is,” she chided. “Just take it. I can see you need it.”

Dabi took it. “You’re not what I expected...” he replied.

“I use it for my joints. Arthritis, you know,” she explained.

“What if you get caught?”

The old lady laughed. “What’re they gonna do? Throw me in jail?” she laughed again. “No, they’re too busy catching real villains to deal with an old lady like me. Besides, on this side of town, no one cares. You could light that right now and the bus driver won’t say a thing.”

Dabi was tempted as he stared at the joint now resting between his fingers.

He glanced at her purse. “Why not get a prescription for pain meds? It’s legal and stronger.”

“Ah, no.” she replied. “Nasty stuff, those opioids... seen one too many old friends get lost to it. This works just fine for me.”

Dabi’s gut sank in disappointment.

He stared at the joint in his hand then back at the empty canister. He handed it back to her.

“I’m fine.” He replied.

“I have more at home, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I don’t need it,” he said.

He’d had enough charity and pity from others to last him a lifetime.

The old lady gave a small laugh. “I’ve been around a long time. I know withdrawal when I see it.”

Dabi’s mouth pulled into a frown behind his mask and he took the joint back begrudgingly. He put it in his pocket, to save for when he reached his stop.

“Are you trying to get clean?” she asked.

Dabi glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his blue eye locking with hers behind his sunglasses. “Not really.”

“Hm, you should.” She replied.

Dabi’s mood soured at the unwelcome critique.

“Not really an option,” he replied. To make his point, Dabi pulled up the sleeve of his hoodie just enough to give her a glimpse of his scars. Her wrinkled eyes widened slightly.

“I see,” she replied. “That’s unfortunate luck.”

“Yeah.” Dabi replied. The next stop was his, so he stood and pulled the string by the window. “Thanks for the joint.”

“You’re welcome.” She replied.

He turned to leave but she called to him one more time.

“Call her. Don’t let her worry.”

It was just a lucky guess on her part, but when Dabi looked back at her, he could see a hint of pain in her eyes. For the first time since she came onto the bus, he wondered about her, about her life and her experiences. Did she lose someone close? A child? A friend? A spouse? He glanced at the old wedding band on her finger and he tried for a moment to recall the face in the photo she’d shown. It cut through Dabi’s sickness enough for him to hesitate.

Call you... he couldn’t do that. Not now. If he heard your voice, he might...

Pain danced along his sweaty skin causing a wave of nausea and he forced himself forward. Without answering, he looked away and stepped off the bus.

----------

He was screening your calls. You knew it. It would ring a couple times then go straight to voicemail.

‘ Leave a message.’ *BEEP*

“Dabi... please call me back. Please. This is important,” you said as you struggled to keep your voice from shaking.

Please don’t do this...

Mental images of Dabi passed out, overdosed in an unknown alleyway flitted through your mind.

Please come back to me...

----------

A short walk and one joint later, Dabi found himself within eyesight of an uneventful building in a poverty-stricken neighborhood without a hero in sight. He looked at the address number on the map, and identified it as an old hole-in-the-wall eatery. Its windows were frosted over in yellowish tones from years of sun damage to its laminated surface and it was marred by so much graffiti that he couldn’t even see inside.

He ducked into an alleyway a couple of shops down and pulled the stolen wallets from his pockets and sleeves. One by one he checked each of them for cash, pulling what value he could out of them before incinerating them in his hands.

Once all the cash was gathered, including the yen note the old woman had given him and what he’d started off with before he’d set out this morning, Dabi’s total cash amount was around 10,000 yen. While that amount would have fetched him a half a bottle of pills before, he had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t be nearly enough this time around.

Dabi slipped a couple of the coins in his back pocket, enough for the bus fare home. The small bit of change wouldn’t make much difference in the deal anyway, and he didn’t want to get stranded so far from the hideout.

The joint the old lady gave him helped a little, but it wasn’t nearly enough. His booze had worn off, leaving his headache worse than before, the weed making him foggier than ever. And the pain... the pain hummed along, unforgiving and relentless. His gut felt twisted and on fire, his legs ached miserably.

He knew it was going to be a rough meeting. Offer too little to start, and the dealer would laugh in his face. Offer everything up front, and the dealer would take advantage and inflate the price, banking on his desperation.

There was nothing else he could do about it. He’d just have to try to get whatever he could. Maybe he’d be able to get just enough to last him until your source pulled through. Either way, he needed this.

Dabi left the alleyway, the cash stuffed deep into his pockets.

Dabi stared at the door handle, his hands clutching the hidden bills and coins in a death grip. That uncharacteristic hesitation took hold again and your face flashed in his mind again. His phone felt hot and heavy in his pocket. He wondered how many messages you’d left. He wondered what they said. Were you angry? Crying? Telling him to go fuck himself and that you hated his guts?

Dabi clenched his sore jaw. You wouldn’t understand.

He was doing this for you.

It was what he wanted to believe at least, even as his fingers twitched, dreaming of the feeling of the yellow bottle in his hands, of the weight of the pills resting on his tongue.

He opened the door.

The smell of food hit his nose, making his burning stomach churn. He hadn’t eaten anything all day, but he knew in this state, nothing would stay down anyway. To his right sat the only other person in the small food joint. He didn’t look up when Dabi entered, his eyes busy with the folded newspaper in his hand, but Dabi knew it was the man he was looking for. A magazine sat next to his half-eaten plate, a picture of All Might across the cover.

Without so much as a word, Dabi sat down at his table. The man didn’t bother to look up, his eyes still on the paper.

“Not even gonna order something to eat?” he chided.

Dabi stared at the untouchable spread of food in front of him as the man took a bite. Dabi’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Not hungry,” he replied.

Already, Dabi was being put at a disadvantage, cornered into showing some of his own hand by the simple choice of eating or not eating. He was either too poor to afford food, or too far into withdrawal to want to eat. Either way, his choice communicated desperation.

The man finally looked over his paper, his dark green eyes locking with Dabi’s through salt and pepper bangs. This guy was good, and had likely been doing this for years, maybe decades. The man returned to his meal without a word.

Dabi hated men like this, men who got cocky on their ability to lord their goods over the needy, the poor, the desperate. And Dabi hated being all of those things. It was a cold reminder of how far he’d fallen from grace, from how far he’d landed from his birthright.

If they had met in an alleyway, Dabi could have taught him a lesson about arrogance. It was his favorite lesson to teach, after all...

But the man was smart, and now doubt was experienced in dealing with men like Dabi. There was a reason he chose an eatery rather than a more secluded meeting place. And there was no telling what sort of quirk this man may have in retaliation.

So, Dabi resigned himself to waiting, each minute ticking by slower than the last. The migraine tightened its chokehold on his senses, making the daylight coming into the establishment brighten, dark spots starting to float in his vision. The itchy irritation of his healing burn began to grate on him, and he fought the urge to move his body within his hoodie to provide some semblance of relief, knowing you’d scold him if he reopened the healing tissue.

“Are we gonna wait here all day?” Dabi finally snipped. “I got shit to do. If you’re just here to waste my damn time-“

“I’m here as a courtesy to Giran.” The man wiped his mouth and put down the newspaper. He eyed Dabi up and down, his eyes narrowed in judgement. “Hm. Look at you. Let me guess. Fire quirk? You look like you’re already on death’s door, probably be dead in a year. I don’t know what he sees in you that makes you think you’re worth my time or my resources.”

“I have money.” Dabi replied.

“Not very much, apparently.” The man replied, his eyes on Dabi’s clothes. “And for how high in demand my resources are, I’m afraid you may be below my price range. I have to maintain a respectable business, and if word gets out that I’m giving handouts to street rats, then every rat will come knocking.”

“Then why bother meeting?” Dabi’s limited patience fraying. He did not run out here, risking everything, just to be told no. “Why waste my fuckin’ time?”

“You misunderstand me. I’m not wasting your time. You’re wasting mine.” The man picked up his newspaper again, but Dabi’s hand stopped it from blocking his view of his face.

“Giran said you were willing to make a deal,” he hissed. The paper beneath his hand started to smoke.

“HEY!” interrupted a deep voice. Dabi turned to see the store owner glaring at him. “No fucking quirks in here, got it? Take it outside if you have to.”

Dabi suppressed his rage and crumpled the burning paper in his palm, snuffing out the fresh embers before they could cause more damage.

The store owner held his glare a moment longer, his mustache bristling, then turned away to return to cleaning his grill, muttering, “Fire quirks. I fucking hate fire quirks...”

The man stared at his ruined newspaper for a moment before setting it on his now empty plate. “Giran gave you false information. I said I was willing to meet. The deal depended on this meeting, and I must say, it’s not going well for you.”

Dabi’s jaw clenched tight and the pain from his torn staple blossomed. It flooded his brain, sweeping away the rage only to replace it the fresh memories of how he’d gotten the wound. It helped him refocus his temper... barely.

Besides, killing the dealer certainly wouldn’t look good for Giran’s image. Impact Giran’s reputation, and you lose Giran’s support. And Dabi couldn’t afford to lose that, even as a member of the League.

The pain throbbed, and Dabi forced his wounded ego aside.

“I’m willing to pay,” he grumbled.

“How much?” the man asked.

Dabi pulled out the cash he had in his pocket and put it on table, papers laid out and yen coins ringing. It didn’t matter that the owner was there, able to see it. He was sure this wasn’t the first deal to go down under his roof.

The man stared at the money before he began to pick them up one by one and straighten them as he counted. Dabi watched silently. When the man was done counting, he set the money back down onto the table and pursed his lips.

“Is this some kind of joke?” the man finally asked.

“The hell you talking about? This would get me at least half a bottle.”

“Not in this economy it won’t. Did you hear about the shipment that got intercepted? Feds and heroes were all over it. They’re still following leads and plucking up users, dealers and cartel throughout the city. Half the dealers aren’t even selling right now, waiting for this whole thing to blow over.”

“It’s all I got.” Dabi muttered.

The man eyed him for a long moment, before finally speaking. “It’s not enough.”

Dabi scowled and reached for his cash, but the dealer’s hand got to it first, sliding the bills and coins back towards himself.

“However... I am willing to be generous today.” He replied. “It’s not enough for the whole bottle, but it can cover some of the pills.”

“How many?”

“Five.”

Dabi’s jaw dropped. “Five??” he shouted angrily.

The owner slammed down a clear plastic bin filled with vegetables and gave Dabi a hard glare. Dabi clenched his teeth and his fists and lowered his voice.

“Five??” he repeated. “That’s extortion and you fucking know it.”

“It’s business. Supply and demand and all that,” the man replied with a casual wave of his hand. “And if you can’t play by the rules, then maybe you shouldn’t be in the game.”

Dabi pursed his lips again as he struggled to hide another sharp snake of pain that laced along his arm. “What’s the dosage?”

The man pulled the bottle out of the inner pocket of his jacket and showed it to him before hiding the bottle away again.

“That’s it?? That’s half than what I was getting before.”

“Like I said... hard times. You should feel lucky that there’s any still on the market at all.”

Dabi’s leg began bouncing vigorously under the table as he weighed his options, but his options were limited. He had no more money, and he had nothing else to barter with.

“Let me see one.” Dabi ordered.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“To make sure it’s legit. You can’t just raise the price that high and not expect me to check.”

The man silently pulled out the bottle again and showed Dabi the pill between his thumb and forefinger. Dabi leaned forward and stared at it with narrow eyes. It had the right color, and there… the stamp of authenticity, proof that it was made in a pharmaceutical lab.

Still....

Dabi held out his hand. “Let me hold it.”

The man pulled the pill back out of his reach, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Then he slowly handed it over. “Don’t try to take it.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot.”

Dabi held the pill in his hand, checking the weight, the shine of it, and once again looking over the details of the number stamped on the side. It was legit. Dabi felt the loss of it as soon as he handed it back to the dealer.

“Fine.”

“What was that?”

This fucking asshole...

“I said fine. I’ll take the five pills.”

The man grinned, and Dabi fantasized about knocking out his perfect teeth before setting his face on fire.

“A wise choice.” The man took a small dime bag out of his coat pocket. Then he opened up a clean napkin and counted out the pills in front of Dabi. Once Dabi nodded his approval of the five pills, the man put them into the small baggy and handed it over, pocketing Dabi’s cash with his other hand.

Dabi took the bag and carefully put it in his hoodie pocket.

“Don’t lose them.” The man commented sardonically. Then he stood up and went over to the owner, slipping him some of the cash Dabi had paid him. The man gave a curt nod and pocketed the bills. The dealer turned around and winked. “Cost of doing business, am I right? Pleasure doing business, kid.” And with that, he left.

Dabi sat for a few minutes, staring at the half empty plate and burned newspaper. The magazine was gone, to be used as a way to discretely hand over the rest of that bottle to someone with more money.

A wave of self-loathing and hatred washed over Dabi, but he stuffed it down before he let it consume him. If he dwelled on it much longer, he’d burn this whole building to the ground.

With a stubborn set of his jaw, Dabi grabbed what remained of the food on the plate and ate it quickly, the taste like ash on his tongue. Then he pulled out the small bag and grabbed a pill, downing it with what remained of the dealer’s water glass.

He had to eat something if he wanted to keep the medication down, and there was no point in letting food go to waste. Especially when his own pockets were now empty.

Dabi stared at the rest of the pills, debated swallowing another, but decided against it. He had to make it last. He had to make it worth it. The guilt crept up again, unwelcome and intrusive. He forced it down again and pocketed the little bag back into his jacket.

Then he stood up and left.

Dabi eyed the street up and down for the dealer, but he was already long gone, no trace of him anywhere. Dabi kicked an empty soda can in frustration. How he would have loved to have cornered him...

Probably a teleportation quirk... Dabi thought. It was the only possibility that made any sense, why he’d be willing to meet in broad daylight with the risk being as high as he made it out to be.

Begrudgingly, Dabi made his way toward the bus stop, his hands in his pockets.

The bus back was less packed than the one he came in on; he found a seat towards the back where he could watch people come and go in solitude. He knew he should stand again, wait for opportunities to pick more pockets in order to line his own empty ones. But at this point, the combination of sleep deprivation, withdrawal, dehydration, and starvation were all beginning to take a toll on his weak body. All he wanted was to sit and wait for the opioid to take effect, to feel that high that he’d missed for so long. All he wanted was a reprieve from life.

Ten minutes in and it hit him like a wave, washing over him, cleansing of him of his discomforts. A part of him wanted to cry at how good it felt. The blissful blanket of pleasure surrounded him, cradling him like an infant as the beast of addiction purred contently in his veins. Euphoria warmed his blood until he was floating, protected and safe from the harsh pain of his body and the world around him. It hit harder than he’d expected, but then he realized he’d been without them for two weeks, even with your pills to offset his withdrawal. His body had already started to forget, resetting years of carefully laid out neural synapses.

Either way, he didn’t mind. If anything, he was glad it was working as well as it was; he’d been afraid the pills would be useless at their lower dose. But now he was grateful – so, so grateful – that he’d managed to negotiate for at least some of them. He’d forgotten how good it really felt, and he let himself soak in the bliss as he sat on the bus. People came and left in a hazy blur. Dabi stared out the window, the motion of the bus lulling him into a half sleep as he finally began to surrender to the exhaustion of his broken body.

But the smaller dosage had its own small consequences, its effectiveness wearing off faster than he’d hoped. It seemed like he’d barely closed his eyes before being woken up again by the throbbing pain in his head and aching limbs. What had it been? A few minutes? His eyes noted the shift in the shadows and daylight within the bus, the rays now coming through the opposite side. No, hours had passed. How many? The nausea was awakening in his gut. His awareness began to sharpen, jagged and cutting, unwanted emotions beginning to bubble to the surface like black tar. Not enough. He needed this, for just a little bit longer. He pulled the small bag out of his pocket and swallowed another pill. His phone buzzed in his pocket but he didn’t feel it.

A few minutes later, he sank back under, safely nestled in the pill’s effects. Time lost its meaning. Business signs and streetlights lit up, one by one in the late afternoon that steadily faded to twilight. They blurred as they passed, like watercolor across a page that made the faces on the billboards blur and fade into a sunset palette of oranges and blues.

Dabi missed his bus stop. And the one after that, and the one after that. It wasn’t until he saw the harbor spread out before him that he realized he’d reached the end of the bus route. The sight of the water called to him, and he quietly he got off, his feet never quite touching the ground.

He walked to the edge and stared out into the water as stars began to awaken and twinkle. Storm clouds hugged the horizon, and the cold, damp gust of wind across the water brought the promise of night-time rain. The bridge crossing the bay was lit up in white lights, the low distant hum of traffic floating over the lapping waters at the base of the wall.

Dabi felt content. For the first time, his world was quiet, the struggles he’d been grappling with faded and disconnected. The memories of his troubles were softened around the edges, blurring into the hazy background until nothing was left. Nothing left but you. Your voice, your gentle laugh, your soft touch. Memories of happy moments drifted forth. You throwing a napkin at him. Eating ramen in your room. Laying on your bed as you treated him in the late hours. Your feet stretched out across his lap as you slept.

Holding you in his arms after he’d caught you.

Waking up next to you.

He stood there as time passed, and all that kept coming up in his mind was you. You, you, you. He felt warm despite the cold, and he knew it wasn’t because of his quirk.

So maybe it wasn’t just addiction after all.

A sinking feeling began to grow in his chest, its weight an ache that he couldn’t quite name.

‘Promise.’

His own word echoed in his head, the hazy memory drifting up like a leaf caught in a gentle breeze. The weight of it stifled his lingering high, pulling his thoughts back closer to the present.

What did he promise again...?

He struggled to remember, but the details were slippery, fading in and out of his mind. All he could remember was your face in the dark, the feel of your chin between his fingers. You were sad about something...

BZZ BZZ BZZ

Dabi pulled his phone from his pocket to see a series of text messages.

Are you okay?

Where are you?

Please call me.

Dabi, I need to know you’re okay.

He could hear your voice in the words, and with it he finally remembered.

‘I don’t want to end up alone again...’

Reality sharpened around him as his senses began to return – the chill of the damp cold night air soaking through his clothes, the itching on his back, the ache in his legs. The pulsing in his temples began to throb, and he closed his eyes against it, pressing his fingers against his closed eyelids.

The medication was finally wearing off, and now Dabi realized how much time must have actually passed. Twilight was long gone, the dark of night in full swing.

When he opened his eyes again, your words blared bright in the backlight of his phone screen.

I need to know you’re okay.

You were worried.

Of course you were. You always worried over him.

‘I don’t want to be alone again...’

You were alone now, stuck back at the hideout, desperately sending messages into the void and hearing nothing in return. And it was his fault, his choice. He left you alone.

But he’d promised...

I did it for you, he thought.

It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours...

You did it for yourself, a voice in his head answered back.

Anger welled up in his chest.

“GODDAMN IT!!!” the curse ripped from his lips, and his fist collided with the wooden telephone post next to him. The pain of the punch erupted across his knuckles and his wrist, but he didn’t care. He punched it again, with his other hand. Then he did it again. And again. Blue flames licked and teased off his knuckles, little dancing demons that left scorch marks on the damp wood before being snuffed out on the next hit.

Over and over Dabi punched, as if the pain could erase his mistake, could erase the mental picture of the look on your face that you’d give him once he returned. But it didn’t do any of those things, and he kept punching until his knuckles were raw and bleeding, littered with splinters.

He didn’t stop until the familiar sharp pain of his damaged nerves lit a streak of agony up his leg, just as it had that morning. He buckled, collapsing to his knees before falling to his haunches until he was leaning against the post, his breaths heavy. His hand instantly went to his pocket, eager for relief. Just as he pulled out the last three pills from the little bag, he froze. He stared at them, his hand shaking from the adrenaline and the withdrawal. They were small, harmless looking things, but they felt heavy, filled with guilt, accusation, and dependency. They drew his attention like the gravity a dead star threatening to suck him in until there was nothing left.

He recalled all of the ways he’d convinced himself it was worth it. How it would free you from his clutches, how he’d be able to get himself back on track if he could just get some. They had promised relief, freedom. But Dabi knew it was fake, knew it was a temporary fix. They’d be used up by morning, and then he’d be back where he’d started. And you... you would never trust him again.

Yet he still wanted. He craved. He stared at the pills and licked his chapped lips. He picked one and brought it to his lips.

‘Promise.’

Dabi hesitated, his hand shaking.

Then with a frustrated yell, he threw the pill into the harbor, followed quickly by the remaining two, still tucked into their little bag.

And just like that, they were gone, swallowed up by the night, their contents lost to the lapping waters. Dabi stared at the black water dumbfounded at himself as regret settled in the form of aching limbs and a pounding head.

Stupid fucking idiot, he told himself. Why did you do that?

The voices in his head didn’t respond, the answer buried too deep for him to find.

A raindrop touched his head, and then a moment later, another landed on his hand. More and more began to fall, speckling his hoodie, his head, the ground around him. A flash of lightning lit the sky, followed a moment later by the loud boom of thunder. The drizzles instantly turned into a downpour, and Dabi sat in the rain, letting the cold wash over him as the raindrops sizzled on his hot skin. If only it could wash away his mistakes.

But it wouldn’t. He’d have to go back eventually and face what he’d done.

He’d just gotten you back. The one person who gave a damn about him, and the first person to truly see him for who he was. And now he was going to lose you - all over five, measly, stupid little pills.

Dabi forced himself up and walked away from the water’s edge. He held his phone inside his pocket. He should respond to you. Let you know he was okay. But it was pouring buckets now. He needed a safe place. He made his way back to the bus stop, where the awning that covered the bench from the elements gave him the protection he needed. It certainly wasn’t perfect, with the wind blowing the rainwater sideways with each gust, but it was enough for Dabi to pull his phone out and hunch over it against the elements.

He found another missed message from you, time timestamp on it from fifteen minutes ago.

Please come home.

Dabi tapped the message box, and the little text bar blinked, waiting. Dabi stared at it, his fingers frozen.

As if you had sensed his hesitation, your number popped up, his phone buzzing with each silent ring. His thumb hovered over the red button before switching to the green and tapping it.

He put the phone to his ear and waited, his mouth dry, tongue stuck.

“Dabi?? Dabi, are you there?” your voice came through, slightly choppy from the interference of the weather and the poor cell phone service. But it was there, panicked, and shaky with worry. It grounded him instantly, and he finally found his voice.

“Yeah. I’m here.” He finally said, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Oh, thank God,” you breathed. “Are you okay?”

Dabi hesitated a moment, before answering. “No.” He was far, far from okay, he realized. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been okay in his entire life.

“Are you hurt??”

Another pause. “No.”

A half lie he realized as he inspected his knuckles on his free hand.

“Okay. Are you close by? Are you able to come home?”

Home...

Dabi felt a stone form in his throat and his eyes began to burn. He rubbed at them with his thumb and forefinger, refusing to cry so many times in a single week. He cried all the time when he was younger and weaker. He wasn’t weak anymore.

He cleared his throat.

“I don’t have any bus money.”

“It’s okay, Kurogiri get you. Where are you?”

Dabi looked at the map next to him, encased in plastic on the inside of the bus stop.

“I’m at bus stop 23, at the harbor.”

“Okay, stay there. I’ll let Kurogiri know. Do you want him to transport you to your room?”

“Yeah.”

“Dabi, don’t hang up.” You ordered.

Dabi didn’t answer, but he didn’t hang up either. He could hear you on the other end of the line, opening and closing a door, the sound of footsteps, your muffled voice talking.

A moment later, the familiar black portal opened up to his left. Dabi hesitated then stepped through.

-----------------------------------

Chapter 14

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#dabi x reader #dabi x you #soft!dabi #tw:drugs #tw:alcohol #tw:smoking #tw:drug withdrawal #tw:drug addiction #angst #pining #touch #Touch chapter 13

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rosemariad · 2 months

Text

Supernatural season 14

Oh boy!

So Alt-Michael has taken over Dean’s body and absconded to parts unknown - what an unprecedented plot twist who could’ve possibly seen this coming, certainly not Dean, the one guy who doesn’t trust angels and has a history of being short-sighted & making shitty deals.

Since this is season 14, and there’s only 1 more season after this, I presume Dean will never grow out of these bad qualities 🤦🏾‍♀️, so…moving on.

Check you out Sam, leading your new band of hunters, like some sort of Hunters Incorporated©️. I’m glad Sam gets to spend more time with his mom, but he won’t let her take care of him 😔😭

Was it me or did that Michael & Anael scene feel like Jensen x Danneel role play 🤣 - at least when he caressed her face. Like really bro? I don’t think the scene would’ve played out that way if the actors weren’t actual husband and wife 🤣

Shoutout to Supernatural for keeping Mark Pellegrino employed lol 😂😂 cuz I don’t see Why the fuck he’s still around if the devil is supposedly dead - wasn’t Mark P. also doing 13 reasons why around this time?? Anywho, Nick, luci’s longtime vessel, isn’t dead???? What does Nick have that jimmy novak didn’t (or literally any other angel vessel for that matter) — plot convenience? That must be it 🤣🤣🤣

Cas honey, why are you letting these demons beat you up? Cuz Dean is gone on your watch? cuz im sorry there’s no way im believing Cas was weaker than all them demons. That’s also plot convenience IDGAF!

After yet another demon-hunter showdown, Mary and Bobby are spotted sharing a beer & flirting…I wish John were around to see this AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Oh Jack, poor guy feels worthless for having no power. He should’ve been like ‘Castiel what’s it like being worthless?’ since that was Castiel’s arc for a minute too, which again fuck Supernatural for. Cas had like 1 badass moment last season when he fried Donatello’s brains but that’s it. Meanwhile Nick totally called Cas out, bringing up Jimmy again and driving that guilt straight into Castiel.

Alt-Michael is recruiting?? Brief Dean cameo in 14x02, you give him like 2 lines, wow 😒. Even Sam got more screen time in 5x22 swan song…but Dean suddenly comes back at the end of the episode???? Nah, bullshit!

Also lol karma for Dean in 14x02 when Jack is like, ‘Dean doesn’t matter’, Michael has to be stopped. Ahahahahahahaha. He was the so called pragmatist when it came to Jack, now it’s Jack’s turn. Castiel’s face when jack said it tho…

Dean got stabbed by AU Kaia? What?? Oh look yet another instance of Dean running away from his problems and pain and being a dick to Kaia (though she's technically a different person) again! Good for you tho AU Kaia for giving Dean a taste of his own medicine and telling him off.

Bobby leave Sam alone, I’m here for his captain my captain era. The lovable giant is doing his best!

So some necromancer gets away from Jack & Dean but we’re not gonna see her again, right??? There’s just a little over 30 episodes left in the show at this point. They probably didn’t know that at the time though.

Shoutout to the devil for basically condemning his child to die from a lack of grace :/ while Cas was able to survive (cuz plot convenience most likely) Jack as a nephilim was unable to do so. Gabe’s spare angel grace couldn’t help (I wonder if he were still alive in canon, if it would’ve made a difference. Oh well).

So this is where Cas made the deal with the empty (yes I know about it, how doesn’t everyone that shit went viral the very night it originally aired amidst the infamous nail-biting 2020 election week), tumblr is still serving the memes to this day.

Cas doesn’t want the Winchesters to know cuz Dean 😭 idc, if I was Jack I would NOT keep that secret. Dean would know IMMEDIATELY.

I think more angels died, but heaven hasn’t fallen yet…right? They keep coming back to that. Hm…

Nick’s arc is…bleh. Pretty sure in his desperation he just brought Luci back from the empty…welp. I guess when you’re an archangel who was predestined by God to fight in a fateful epic battle against your big bro, you just get certain perks in the afterlife 😒

Sam doesn’t want Alt-Charlie to go when its like bro! She. Is. Not. Charlie!!! For fuck sake guys SMH, let her live her fucking life! God forbid she want to run away to fucking safety and not die bloody like her counterpart 🤬

Bobby and Mary run off to a cabin for weeks on end 😏😂 to recuperate, sure Mary 🤣

Garth is back! Working as a spy for the Winchesters, oh dear Lord no. I know he makes it to season 15 but maaaan I don't like this….

The nerve of Dean to challenge Alt-Kaia to either hand over the weapon or kill her. What if she just killed him? Also, can't they just replicate the weapon for their own uses? All they would need to do is ensure they're using the same materials Kaia did when she forged the weapon in her own world.

How many hits to the head is Sam supposed to fuckin' take? I feel like it's happened more in this season alone than the entire show so far? He should probably be dead at this point 🤣

Jack got taken, oh no! why didn't Michael kill him? To take him as a ward? Seriously? Whatever.

And it turns out the past episode was a long con to get Dean right where Alt-Michael wanted him. I know there was a catch to him letting Dean go in 14x02.

So Alt-Michael chose to trap Dean in…contentment? With Pamela Barnes? And they weren't even a couple, just friends. She called him out on something.

Why not have him be with a real girlfriend of his, like Lisa or even Cassie? I’m supposed to believe Dean's dream is an unsuccessful bar living out his days with a platonic lady friend??? Really??? Bullshit!

John returns for the final time to go back to 2003? Okay. His hair is cut and grayish. Lol so I’m gonna see that as John gained some weight (from food/drink or muscle training idc) and dyes his hair black but the root are grey and come out every so often 🤣 but yay JDM I wish you had been in more episodes! Oh well.

So no one’s gonna talk about:

a) Adam’s existence

b) Bobby X Mary or how Bobby essentially replaced john as the father/husband by getting involved with Mary AND being a surrogate father to Sam & Dean (with a clear preference to Dean but whatever)

I’d care more about Sam & John’s convo if we had more time with them together on screen. But it was nice to see them squash their beef.

Dean & John’s convo was faaaar too brief. But insightful to their relationship. John wanted dean to have a family, echoing his wishes for his eldest in season 1 in his convo w/ Sam.

But Dean was like I have a family 🥺 my emotions!

Back to the Michael bullshit – a fight with a gorgon fucked up his containment so he literally broke out of Dean's body and killed all the hunters who were conveniently at the bunker when they brought an unconscious Dean back there. Even poor unfortunate Maggie. For a second I thought Mary would be there since Maggie mentioned she was on her way back but no, he ended up possessing Rowena.

Then they bring the old angel torture device of disabling our heroes' ability to breathe, like in the season 5 premiere, making them blind (that's new) and making them hurt.

Jack gets his chance to take Michael down, and takes his grace??????

Oh Sam bby, it's not your fault. Those people were doomed no matter what. TBH I'm surprised they lasted this long. But cuz he's a Winchester and he was raised by Dean & they've rubbed off each other too much at this point (nobromo), he decides to focus on yet another case even when Dean himself isn't willing since big bro has pointed out they have done 3 cases back to back. They're not the young men they used to be lol.

Cas goes with Sam to a milkshake town and given his legendary levels of awkwardness he's immediately seen and called out for his inherent queerness by the townsfolk (in all senses of the word).

Aw Sam wants to stay, ofc he does. This town is simple and peaceful. He could use some of that. Too bad this place is making people's heads explode.

This is why we can't have nice things.

Ah subtle there Supernatural, making Jack, a Nephilim who's the offspring of the devil himself choose between angel and devil food cake 🤣 Dean why would you put him in that position?

Cas why you gotta be snitching on Sam to your boy bestie like that 🤣 – typical boyfriend tomfoolery

Oftentimes since Jack started in this show, he's felt like an intern and 14x16 is one of those times. They don't wanna bring jack along so they think to leave him alone doing chores. Good Lord.

Oh honey Sam you didn't have to tell the sheriff you're not FBI, just stick to the monster stuff. He knows what's up.

And Jack sweetie pie you don't need to impress those kids. He should be hanging out with kids his own age. Just Jack with a bunch of babies 🤣. So cute! My headcanon is that he can actually talk to them. At least then it wouldn't have ended with a stabbing. Thankfully he cleaned up his mess, even though the local kids are terrified of him. It’s a shame he doesn’t have friends. If only he was allowed to have Claire in his life.

They finally resolved the Nick storyline (I hope) by killing him off via Jack but Mary is not happy. She’s concerned. She’s been concerned about him the whole frickin episode since he sassed her as they tried setting up a game night with Dean.

It’s like these people keep forgetting what Jack is capable of.

He didn’t have to relish the kill though. On the other hand, it felt like Mary’s concern was a bit much — if it were me I would’ve kept my mouth shut as to not upset a powerful fledging being into killing me by accident.

So Mary dies…again.

This is also why we can’t have nice things. I know Dean’s never gonna let this shit go. Sure Cas has fucked up a bunch, but killing a direct blood relative of Dean’s…nope. That’s unforgivable. I know they’re not gonna let Dean kill off a kid but I know he’s NEVER ever gonna forget Jack’s role in Mary’s (second) demise.

Why couldn’t you leave the boy alone Mary?!?!?!!?!

The boys show up, did they not circle back to pick up their mother? Seriously? Goodness Lord. So depressing watching the brothers just assuming their mommy’s coming back 😭

Cas (cuz of course this shit went tits up while Daddy was away) calls Dean to get caught up on what happened the last episode and is concerned that the Winchesters left their mom alone with Jack. Then why did you leave him Cas? You could’ve taken him with you. Like it would’ve been better if one of the brothers was alone with Jack? Badasses they may be, but they would’ve ended up just like Mary let’s be honest. The only difference would’ve been whichever brother got got would’ve come back. Mary will not be getting that special treatment…

Jack is tripping out since he murdered his foster G-maw - ends up flying all over the world (so his soul is definitely gone? But if it were gone, would he even care about killing Mary? everyone’s trying to track him down IDK why he doesn’t just destroy the phone he has. We get flashes of Mary & Jack’s time together and technically I believe she spent the most time with him (at least in season 13)

They’re still giving Mark P work on this show making him the manifestation of Jack’s subconscious cuz the kill is driving Jack insane 😭🥺 He’s reacting so much like a little boy who knows he fucked up it that makes this so much sadder 😭 Jack’s being driven mad with grief.

Oh fuck they’re going to where she died. Oh fuck.

WTF is wrong with these people! He’s a fucking boy! A super power nuke of a boy, but still a fucking boy! Like the Winchesters never made a mistake! What about the nurse who got killed in 4x22 by Sam? All the people Dean slaughtered under the MoC, as a demon! That’s just off the top of my head! No but cuz they’re the fucking protagonists 😡🤬

Samuel Winchester you know manipulating this child Is 5 different kinds of fucked up!

Jack why did you call it an accident! Did you not want to use the words murder? Destroyed? Obliterated?

Dean you piece of shit, why are you lying to this boy!!!!!! You know Jack’s desperate to make peace with you, and you lead him to a grave he’s never supposed to escape?! Poor thing Jack was sooo scared!

Sam, the regret is gonna eat you alive! Sam, for fucks sake, SPEAK THE FUCK UP! You clearly got shit you wanna say, fucking say it!

Dean you’re surprised Jack’s going along with it?! Of course he’s gonna go along with it, he wants to please you, you shady, manipulative BASTARD!

That’s right Castiel stand up for Jack since nobody else is willing to!

Oh boy, the celestial boy is freaking out. Claustrophobia was kicking in, this shit ain’t gonna end well. It’s a dark day when a psychological manifestation of Satan is making sense more than everyone else.

I’m not surprised Jack got out though. That box was made for an archangel and he isn’t that. He’s a nephilim, technically a different entity, right? now, the Winchesters have a pissed off mega-powerful creature on their hands. Great job team 🤣

that’s right Jack, give them a piece of your fucking mind! Fuck ‘em up queen.

Oh shit! I’ve watched this part a dozen times on YouTube, the part where jack makes the whole world tell the truth no matter what! Donald trump is canonically Crowley’s bitch! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

All hail the stapler queen! Iconic!

And God reveals Himself, what grand timing! He says He came for Cas’s prayer (but Cas prayed to Him in season 6 too, no?) but then He states the real reason for His arrival — Jack.

Meanwhile Jack went to see his real G-maw, not a good plan Jackie boy. She’s put 2+2 together that her daughter Kelly is NOT ok and now Jack has to confess the truth. (Where’s the dad? Was the actor unavailable or dead at this point?)

Sam was outed to love Celine Dion (I love her two Sammy it’s ok, her songs are AMAZING! My favorite is it’s all coming back to me now, I crush that shit in karaoke.) Dean follows a mommy blog 🤣 of course he does, probably cuz he identifies with her more & loves that her life is so full of shit (like I said, he identifies with her).

God don’t sanction lying, the real God would never do such a thing. Isn’t it like the 6th commandment, thou shall not lie? Like dude, the fuck?!

And no, writing means telling stories that are often made up but it’s not meant to deceive anybody. But Hollywood on the other hand…yeesh.

Dean breaking Chuck’s guitar 🤣

Chuck saying ‘DON’T!’ Having Dean shook 🤣

Why are you asking them how things are, like you don’t know?! You’re omnipotent!

They canonically made the British queen a lizard? Damn. These old Americans (the writers) are dicks!

Finally Sam is speaking up! Thank God!

Dean stop blaming people, Jesus, it was an accident (Jack you phrased it sooooo poorly though)! shout out to Sam for taking it this so well cuz he’s been through too much this season alone. He lost a whole fucking army, then his mom after he got to know her this time! And the concussions! So many concussions.

Angry Cas is sooooo fucking hot 🥵 when he slammed that truck with his fist 😏

Awww the first thing he does when he sees Jack is hugs him. Jack needed that so bad!

The biggest travesty is we never got to see the SquirrelVerse!

When Sam asks if God is watching them — Sam do you even know what omnipotent means?!

It’s just like I said in season 11. God doesn’t owe anyone anything. But everyone owes Him everything. He gave everyone the freedom to choose, for better or worse. But this iteration of who God is seems to watch what people and creatures decide to do with their lives. He made the weapon to see who among Sam, Dean or Cas would take it and strike Jack down.

So ultimately when Dean tracks Jack down and Jack throws Cas into a tombstone and Sam is running dramatically to stop it, Dean ultimately decides not to kill Jack. But why though? He kept talking shit about how Jack needed to be dealt with, but when the moment comes, he won’t do it?! I mean I’m glad but it doesn’t really make sense?!

Was it the puppy eyes? Did Sam teach Jack that trick? But Jack closed his eyes at the last second???

Oh Dean, you’re such a fucking softie. That’s on you God. You made him softer than Mr. Pillsberry.

If anything, Dean is the step daddy. Cas is Daddy. And then there’s Uncle Sam 🤣

Sam is many things, but stupid is never one of them. Naïve maybe, trusting, desperate. But not stupid. And not crazy, this time 🤣

I will say what makes this story compelling is the fact that the Winchesters find themselves locked in a cycle of violence at the hands of their Creator, and they’re refusing to commit further acts of violence in effort to stop it all and rebel against their cruel, dispassionate maker. But they have no means to back it up…today.

Not the Burger King catchphrase🤣🤣🤣

Not Jack being…smote?

Not Dean being yeeted into another tombstone?

Sam, why did you think that was gonna work on God? He made the weapon. You really think He’d make something that could kill Himself? Nah bruh.

So we’ve approached the ending of the penultimate season. 20 more episodes to go! Ah!!!! I’m excited but also not since the ending is what I know (mildly).

Side note - Sam & Dean still don’t know about Castiel’s bargain with the Empty (kinda seems pointless since God killed Jack anyway…Cas basically fucked himself for nothing 🤦🏾‍♀️ [I know how it ends but yeah still])

It’s not about the destination though, it’s the journey (I keep telling myself that).

God said fuck y’all. Shouldn’t’ve poked the bear…now these poor innocent people gonna die like sheep to the slaughter. Y’all got a lot of cleaning up to do and with so little people to help you.

So did God undo all the killings the Winchesters did? Cuz damn….that’s 10+ years of work undone. In 1 moment.

They’re not getting out of the cycle anytime soon.

#supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #rowena macleod #mary winchester #john winchester #jack kline #chuck shurley #destiel #deancas #bobby singer #charlie bradbury #rowena supernatural #supernatural season 14

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