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arvandus · 4 years

Text

Touch (Pt 6)

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please! Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi terrified you. Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it that way. That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Special thank you to @salvator-heartbreaker who has helped me hash out this chapter and some future plot details; this would not be as amazing as it is without her help!

Chapter warning: Buckle up, y’all. This chapter is LONG. Like, 12k words long (separating it into multiple chapters was NOT an option). Prepare yourself for a roller coaster of feels. Also, please PLEASE be aware of the warning tags.

Recommended Chapter Songs: Overdose by grandson/The Drug In Me Is Reimagined by Falling in Reverse

Part 1 Part 5

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

Part 6 - The Long Night

After Dabi left, you cleaned up the various items around the room. You placed the pills back into your bag from where they were in your pocket. A moment later, you decided against that location and put the bottle under your pillow within your pillowcase. You changed your mind again, taking the pill bottle into the bathroom to stuff it with cotton. It would keep the pills from rattling. You returned the bottle to its hiding place under your pillow. If Dabi came back looking for more, you wanted to have them within reach and not where he’d immediately look for them. You placed the damp washcloth in your hamper and drank some water before lying in bed with your phone in your hand.

You were only on your phone for a few minutes before you felt sleep start to drag at your eyelids, so you turned off your light and put your phone on your nightstand. Sleep was elusive, however. You stared at the ceiling pensively. Something nagged at your mind, but in your groggy, tired state, you couldn’t figure out what it was. You felt each minute tick by with painstaking slowness, frequently checking the time on your phone while your thoughts ran a mile a minute. It mulled over what had transpired, what was said and done, and how you felt… It was like flipping through an entire novel in a matter of seconds and then trying to describe a specific, obscure scene hidden within its pages.

By your fifth minute, you gave up and sat up in your bed. Your hands went under your pillow, feeling the familiar bottle in your fingers.

Realization hit. You quickly turned on your lamp. You pulled the bottle out of your pillowcase and spilled the contents out onto your comforter. You counted the amount and your breath stopped.

No.

You counted again.

FUCK.

You always made it a point to know exactly how many pills you had of anything you carried, but especially so for these pills.

You quickly put the remaining medication back into the bottle, counting them as they fell in with a tap. Then, you got up out of your bed and hid the pills inside an unused pair of shoes which you then put into a black duffle bag in the top of your closet. You only hoped Dabi didn’t come looking for them. At this rate, if he was willing to steal from you, then he’d be willing to rifle through your things.

Betrayal, cold and hard, soaked into your bones. You tried to reason with yourself, to talk yourself through what you knew about addiction, what you had learned in med school. But taking what was learned in a textbook, with no emotional attachment, and applying it into this situation did little to assuage the feelings roiling within you. This wasn’t hypothetical. This was real.

Even worse than the betrayal was the cold hard fact: Dabi could kill himself. And all because you left him alone for less than a minute. Did he already take them? How long ago did he leave your room? Your brain didn’t have time to do the math as you dashed across the hallway to his door.

You didn’t bother to knock – not this time. Thankfully, Dabi must have been so out of it that he forgot to lock it. You barreled in like a fiery chariot knocking down Hell’s gate, slamming the door behind you loudly enough to wake the dead. You didn’t care. In that moment, nothing else mattered but getting those pills back.

Dabi sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He looked up at you groggily when the door slammed. His movements were noticeably slower, his pallor a sickly grey and shining with sweat.

“You took my pills.” You seethed. “Give them back.”

“What?” Dabi slurred.

“My pills, Dabi! Three of them are missing! Give them to me!”

He looked down at his hands as if confused by what they were. “I don’t have them.” He replied.

“Bull-fucking-shit!” you shot back. “I swear to God, Dabi, I will search this room until I find them.”

He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I already took them. And stop fucking shouting.”

“You what???” You gasped. “What the fuck, Dabi?? Why would you do that??”

He stood up now, angry at your presence, at your justified rage that he knew he was responsible for but didn’t want to face. He was barely keeping himself together as it was. His insides felt like a writhing, fiery snake. His head felt filled with cotton. And underneath it all, the pain hummed low like a purring beast. He couldn’t decide if the pills he took were actually working or not. The relief he thought they’d give him evaded him like a shadow.

“I told you I needed more.” Dabi replied.

“Dabi, you can O.D. on this!” you shot back.

“I’m not gonna O.D.” Dabi scoffed as he swayed on his feet. He fought the sickness rolling over him in waves, great crests threatening to drown him like a raging sea. He didn’t need this right now. Not with you here. Fuck. When did he get so fucking weak?

Your body instantly became poised to catch him if he fell. He needed to throw up what he took. That was the only option. Your mind frantically tried to assess if he was weak enough for you to overpower him, to try to put your fingers down his throat to trigger his gag reflex.

“Your drugs are weak as shit compared to what I was taking before. I can handle it.” He continued. “I know what I’m doing.” His eyes were unfocused as they tried to stare down at you.

Suddenly, the wave crested, higher than he could tread. Immediately his mouth began to water in sickly preparation, his gag reflex kicking in while his gut clenched. He stumbled to the bathroom, shoving you aside in the process, just in time to empty the contents of his stomach. It was clear, made of only the water he drank and the partially dissolved pills that he had stolen.

A wave of relief washed over you while Dabi emptied what remained of the drugs into the toilet. A part of you was still angry, wanting to give him an ‘I told you so,’ but you held back, instead keeping an eye on him from the bathroom doorway to make sure he was okay.

Once he was done, he leaned back against the bathroom wall, a pained grimace on his face, the metal rings pulling along his cheeks. His breaths were ragged and heavy. “Fuck.” He muttered. He should have eaten the stupid crackers. What a fucking waste.

Once you were sure he was okay for the moment, you paced back into the bedroom to try to calm your nerves. He threw up what he took. That was good. Of course, that also meant there was no telling how long your meds would stay in his system now, and once they started to wear off, he’d continue to suffer through withdrawal since you couldn’t give him more right away. This was just the beginning for him.

A knock on the door resounded into the room, interrupting your thoughts.

“Don’t answer it.” Dabi rasped from his spot next to the toilet.

You stared at him for a moment and waited while discomfort settled over you like an itchy blanket. You understood his need for privacy, but you also needed help… at least to have someone bring some water and food. It was going to be a long night and at this rate, Dabi was going to become severely dehydrated

Another knock came through, more persistent this time.

“Dabi,” called Toga’s voice. “Are you okay in there???”

Twice’s muffled voice followed. “He probably wants to be left alone. Fuck this guy.”

“I’m not gonna just leave him, Twice. You heard him in there.” Toga replied in annoyance.

Dabi groaned in frustration, his head in his shaking hands in denial. Why did it have to be Toga of all people? She was annoyingly persistent, poking her nose where it didn’t belong and not taking hints when her prying wasn’t welcome. The last thing he wanted was her and Twice standing outside his door while he hurled into the stinking toilet. They’d probably barge in without permission. You seeing him like this was bad enough – but at least he could excuse your involvement as the team’s medic, even if the vulnerability ate away at him. But letting them see him like this? He’d rather light everything on fire.

“Make them go away.” He whispered hoarsely.

You leapt at the opportunity, rushing to the door. You opened it to see Twice in his usual gear and Toga in a pink pajama set, her hair pulled back into twin buns. Her hand was outstretched as if ready to grasp an invisible doorknob.

“Hey guys.” You said through a fake bubbly smile. “It’s okay, I’m in here with him.”

“What the hell is going on??” Twice demanded.

“We heard a door slam, and yelling, and I’m pretty sure I heard someone throwing up.” Toga said crossing her arms.

They heard yelling – did they hear what you had shouted at Dabi? About him taking your drugs? You mentally scolded yourself for being so loud earlier. There had to be some way you could play it off.

You felt your skin get hot with embarrassment. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m helping him out.”

“What’s wrong?” Toga asked nosily. “Is Dabi hungover? He sounds like he’s hungover.”

“Stomach flu.” You improvised. You hoped they believed it. If they did, it’d give Dabi a reason to be left alone by the other league members for a few days while you helped him out.

Neither of them showed any doubt with your explanation. Toga made a disgusted face while Twice sighed. “Well, that’s a fucking relief. But keep the damn noise down!”

You smirked at his dual reactions. “Sorry, Twice.”

“Do you need anything?” Toga asked. “Water? Food?”

“Drugs?” Twice chimed in.

You froze like a deer in headlights for a moment before you realized he probably meant the kind that wasn’t illegal.

“Water and food would be appreciated. Something easy on the stomach, like crackers. And bananas if we have any left. I already have the other supplies I need.” You commented. Then, you remembered - Shit. Your supply bag was still in your room….

“Sure thing, big sis!” Toga replied through a cheery smile, her fangs prominent. “Come on, Twice. You can help me carry stuff.” Twice followed after her and you closed the door with a breath of relief before the sound of Dabi retching again made you go check on him.

His fingers grasped the toilet seat while his body shook, his knuckles as white as the porcelain they held onto. Spit dangled from his parted lips, his nose running, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought his body’s reactions to his poor choices.

After a minute, he leaned back and carelessly wiped his face with his bare arm, the fluids glistening on his skin in the light of the bathroom.

His face was pulled into a grimace, eyes squeezed shut against the brightness, his body slumped against the wall. “You should have taken Twice up on his offer.” He said with a forced grin through wet lips.

“Not funny, Dabi.” You scolded. “Drugs are the last thing you need. Besides, you know that’s not what he meant.”

“Well I certainly don’t think water and some fucking bananas are going to fix this.” He replied sourly.

“Better than your solution of taking six of my pills.” You shot back. “A lot of good that did you, huh?”

He opened his eyes to give you a cold glare, his mouth opening to protest. But his words were cut short by another round of vomiting, nothing coming up but thin strings of yellow bile from his empty stomach while his gut spasmed and clenched. You furrowed your brow. His nausea was getting worse, his vomiting more frequent. You wanted to use your quirk to alleviate his pain, but you couldn’t. Not for this. If his body couldn’t register the pain signals his gut was sending to his brain, then there was a chance the vomiting would stop. Throwing up was what he needed to make sure the stolen pills were out of his system.

Even aside from the vomiting, there was the issue of using your quirk too much, too soon. You could no longer fall back on your pills to manage your own pain if you pushed yourself too far. Your lower back itched uncomfortably, as if the very thought woke up the scarred nerves there, old memories threatening to follow in their wake. You pushed them aside forcefully by focusing on the man in front of you.

If you over-exerted yourself too soon, you wouldn’t be able to help him later when things got worse. Once these pills wore off, which you weren’t sure when that would happen, you wouldn’t be able to give him new ones right away. You were already short three pills after his little stint, and even if you did give him pills, his body might still reject them if it wasn’t ready for them. That would only make things exponentially worse. It was better to skip a dosage now and get back on track with the remaining medication you had. You’d pair what you’d allotted for him with your own quirk as an added relief; you only hoped the combination would be adequate until his pills became available for pickup.

Once he was done dry heaving, you handed him a hand towel from the hanging bar next to you. You had no idea if it was clean – he probably used it to dry his hands after washing them - but it didn’t really matter. It was better than using his arm again. He took it in silence, his eyes avoiding yours in what you could only describe as shame. Your heart clenched. You knew he didn’t mean for this to happen. No one ever does. You wanted to reassure him, to let him know it was all going to be okay, but words escaped you. How could you even begin to tell him something like that while he’s retching into a toilet in the wee hours of the night?

Before you could think of something to say, there was a familiar knock on the door. You forced yourself to step away and answer it. Sure enough, Toga and Twice were there, their arms full of offerings.

“Here you go.” Toga said, her arms filled with six water bottles. Twice also presented an array of items in his arms – a box of saltine crackers, some canned soup with a pull-top lid, and a couple of bananas.

“Thanks.” You replied, taking the items and placing them on Dabi’s desk. You were grateful neither of them tried to enter while you unloaded their arms; perhaps they really did believe Dabi had the flu and were too scared of catching it.

“You can go back to bed if you want. We’ll be fine.” you suggested.

“Let us know if you need anything else!” Toga offered with a toothy grin. You smiled your gratitude and closed the door as they turned to leave.

Once you heard their footsteps fade down the hall followed by the closing of bedroom doors, you returned to the bathroom with a water bottle in hand. You knew food wasn’t going to be an option for a while, but at least this might help. Even if he threw it back up, it was better than bile. But before you could even hand the bottle to him, he convulsed, hugging the toilet again, gagging and coughing. You knelt next to him patiently, ready to offer the water in your hand or the towel now forgotten on floor… whatever he needed.

He spit the drool dangling from his mouth and continued to hover over the toilet bowl with a groan. Everything hurt. His abs, his throat, his sinuses… his head was still muddled from a variety of factors – dehydration, lack of sleep, the drugs. He hated himself, reduced to a useless fucking puddle like the loser he was, and all while you were here watching him. You, who even though he let you down - even though he stole from you - continued to stay and care for him. He didn’t want that for you, and he didn’t want the guilt of your presence continuously reminding him of how he failed you while his body fell apart on him.

“Get out of here.” He said gruffly. “You don’t need to be here for this.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You replied. You knew he was pushing you away and you understood why, but that didn’t matter to you. Sure, you were mad at what he had done, but you also understood he couldn’t help it. His obvious shame was apology enough for now, and his well-being was more important to you than his pride.

“Leave.” He growled.

“I can’t.” You could feel tears start to sting at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t want to leave him. Not like this.

More dry retching overtook him, and guilt began to creep on you like a thorny vine, choking your words from your throat. He couldn’t fight you on this even if he wanted to; was it really fair to stay when he asked you to go? He made his decision clear – he wanted to be alone. Where were you supposed to draw the line between forcing your care on him for his safety versus respecting his need for privacy?

You stared at him as you warred within yourself. He obviously wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, and on the upside, he did throw up some of those pills. But what about later, when the pills wear off and the hunger returns? Could you trust that he would come to you, looking for what he knew you had? Or would he go elsewhere, and risk his safety on something potentially worse? You wanted to respect his wishes, but your body wouldn’t move.

Dabi’s world was spinning; round and round he went, as if the toilet had been flushed and he and his rejected pills were being washed away like the trash that he knew he was. He was breathing heavily now, painful groans falling from his lips. “Get the fuck out, Y/N.”

The sound of your name on his lips for the first time smacked you, your breath catching painfully behind the lump in your throat. You struggled to suppress the tears threatening to unleash themselves down your face. He said your name. He had never said it before. You had imagined that the first time he’d say your name would be a sign of trust and intimacy. This wasn’t that at all. Instead, it was a weapon, a foul word that stung you like a whip.

He didn’t want you here. Maybe your presence really was just making it worse for him. He’d focus more on not wanting you around and fighting your hep than he would actually trying to fight his withdrawal. You had to leave and hope that he would be able to come out of this on his own.

Without a word, you loosened the cap on the water bottle and set it on the floor next to him as a final offering before getting up off the cold tile to leave. You left the bathroom, while the sounds of his continued retching filled your ears. Each cough and gag from his battered throat deepened your guilt, reminding you how your irresponsibility had contributed to him getting into this mess. Yes, he stole from you. It still angered you. But at the same time, you were the one who had all your mental faculties and still left drugs within his reach when he came to you for help.

You placed two water bottles and the crackers on the nightstand for him. Then, you took the half-full trash bag out of his trash can and made sure it was near his bed, just in case he needed to throw up again later.

With one more glance at him through the bathroom doorway while he sat doubled over the toilet, you made your way to the door.

Please be safe, please be safe… you silently pleaded.

Just as you put your hand on the doorknob, you heard a thud.

“Dabi? Are you okay?” you called.

Only silence greeted you. A cold panic set in and you rushed into the bathroom to find Dabi unconscious on the floor, face down in a puddle of water. The water bottle you had left had tipped over, the cold liquid spreading across the bathroom tile and soaking into Dabi’s clothes. You pushed your panic aside as you immediately switched into emergency mode. You knelt by his side and rolled him over onto his back, cupping his face in your hand. His skin felt hot to the touch.

“Dabi??” You called. No response. You checked for a pulse and felt it fluttering beneath your fingers. “DABI??” you shouted as you lightly smacked his cheek. He didn’t respond. His color was lifelessly pale, but his chest rose and fell in slow breaths. He was breathing. You checked his pupils – dilated. He definitely still had your drugs in his system. How much, you weren’t sure. Once again, you were grateful that he had managed to throw up what he could.

His skin was burning. Was it already hotter than a moment ago? Was it a fever from the withdrawal? Or was it his quirk acting up, going haywire without him being able to consciously be in control of himself? The idea of his cremation randomly unleashing itself in the small bathroom made your throat dry up with dread.

You had to cool him down somehow. Dabi’s bathroom had a walk-in shower just a foot away, and you gave a silent thankful prayer to the universe. A bathtub would have made this entire fiasco exponentially more difficult.

First, you had to remove his clothes. They were trapping in his body heat at the moment, compounding his fever.

It wasn’t easy. Dabi was lean, but he certainly didn’t lack muscle, and what he lacked for in bulk, he made up for in height. It was awkward in the small space as you pulled his sweatpants off of him, exposing scarred legs with metal staples curving along his thighs. You left his boxers on. You couldn’t bring yourself to take them off of him while he was unconscious. His head lolled to the side while his eyes, now half-lidded, stared with an empty, unconscious gaze. His shirt was next, wet with sweat, water, and specks of bile. The fresh bandage that you had recently applied fell off as soon as the cotton fabric wasn’t there to hold it in place. The wound was healing, but it was still pink and raw. The slightest amount of pressure would reopen the sensitive tissue, undoing your hard work.

You needed your med kit.

Once he was undressed, you rolled him to his side. You didn’t want him to aspirate if he ended up vomiting again. Then, you ran the shower to let the water warm slightly. It needed to be lukewarm – cool enough to bring down his fever, but not so cold that it would shock his system and make him shiver. Shivering helped to increase body temperature, and that was the last thing he needed.

Once the water was running, you took one last look at the man laying unconscious on his side before making a mad dash out of his room and into yours to grab your medical bag by your bed. There was no time to double check the supplies in it; you only hoped you had what you needed. You grabbed a couple of clean towels from your own bathroom before running back into his room, thankfully unnoticed in the empty hall. It took less than a minute.

You bandaged his wound back up quickly, while he was on his side. It wasn’t the neatest work, but it would do for now. Already, his body temperature was noticeably higher than when you had left him. There was no time to check it with your thermometer - it was a race against the clock, now.

You rolled Dabi back onto his back to try and rouse him once again, picking him up slightly so he lay in your lap, while you called his name and cupped his cheek. His eyes fluttered open slightly, his head shifting at the sound of your voice, before his eyes closed again. You cursed under your breath and laid him back down the way you had him before while you checked the water temperature. It was warm enough, or so you hoped, since his own temperature kept rising. You turned off the water briefly to retrieve the unconscious man.

Finally, you were ready. You tried to grab Dabi from under his armpits, but his skin was almost too hot to touch for an extended period of time. Definitely quirk related. You grabbed a spare towel and tried again, this time protecting your hands and arms against his scalding skin. You wrapped your hands around his chest, your arms under his armpits, and began to drag him to the shower stall. You tried your best to be mindful of his scars and staples, hoping that dragging him across the floor wouldn’t tear anything. For a shower that was so close in proximity, it took a painstakingly long time to get him into it and properly positioned before you could step out and turn the shower back on.

Lukewarm water sputtered out of the showerhead, drenching his body from the chest down. The water steamed upon contact, reacting to the heat rolling off of him like asphalt on a hot summer’s day. Dabi stirred slightly, roused to consciousness by the sensation and the change in temperature. He looked around groggily until his blue eyes settled on you. You waited for him to say something, but no words came as his dazed eyes seemed to lose focus. The only sign that he was still somewhat conscious was the occasional slow blink while he watched you take a wet washcloth and squeeze it over his head to let the cool water soak his hair and dribble down his face and neck. The water trickled down his forehead to his brow, and you tenderly wiped it away with the washcloth to keep it from getting into his eyes. You followed the contours of his face with the cool cloth, along his jawline, across his cheeks.

Dabi closed his eyes for minutes at a time, only opening them briefly as you adjusted the water temperature slightly and again as your ran your fingers through his wet hair, moving the dripping strands from his forehead so you could see his face better. Color slowly began to creep back into his skin, the water no longer steamed. What you were doing was working, and you were grateful – so grateful – that you hadn’t left him yet. The rush of time slowed down. Dabi’s eyes closed again as you quietly hummed to yourself as you cared for him. It helped to calm your nerves and pass the time.

After what felt like ages, you finally checked his temperature, this time with the temporal thermometer you had in your bag. The number that beeped back at you satisfied you enough to turn the water off. You gave Dabi’s shoulder a small shake, and his eyes opened to look at you under heavy lids.

“Come on.” You whispered. “I need you to stand up.”

He licked his chapped lips as he braced himself into a standing position with your help and made the two feet distance to sit on his toilet, his wet boxers dribbling puddles of water onto the floor. You covered him in two towels, one for his head and one for his shoulders, before you stepped out of the bathroom for a moment to get him fresh clothes.

You realized quickly that he’d need to change out of his wet boxers – something you hadn’t considered earlier when you undressed him. You gulped briefly. Could he even do that on his own right now? He still was out of it and needed assistance just to stand.

There was no way around it. You’d have to help him.

You grabbed a pair of fresh boxers, black jersey shorts, and a white tee before returning to the bathroom. He was in the position you left him, the only difference being that he was now leaning against the wall while he sat on the toilet. His eyes were closed at first but they opened slightly when you nudged him gently. He still looked completely out of it.

Even so, you talked to him. “Dabi,” you whispered. “I have to change your boxers so I can put dry clothes on you. I’m going to help you stand up.”

He gave a slow blink but made no attempt to move or speak. As you wrapped your arms around his chest to help him up, he didn’t fight you, leaning his weight into you just enough to rise slightly from his sitting position. You weren’t sure how conscious he really was for this. Was he aware of what was going on, of what you were doing? Or was his body going through the motions, barely registering his environment? You hoped it was the latter.

“I won’t look.” You promised. You looped your fingers into the wet waistband and pulled it down, before letting him sit back down on the toilet. With your eyes respectfully averted, you pulled the wet material off the rest of the way down his legs and off his feet. You quickly dried his legs off before grabbing the clean boxers you had set up on top of his sink, the only dry spot left in the bathroom. Through the use of touch, you were able to put his feet into them and pull them up just above his bent knees. His shorts followed until both items were pulled up as high as they would go in his sitting position.

“One more time.” You said. With him braced against you, you grabbed both waistbands and pulled his clothes on. A moment later, he was sitting back down, properly covered. You proceeded with your administrations now that the hard part was done. You dried his hair with the towel still on his head, and then dried his torso and arms using the towel on his shoulders. By the time you were helping him with his tee shirt, he was starting to show some cognizance, pushing his arms out through the holes himself once you got them into position.

Quickly you flushed the toilet he was sitting on, washing away the contents from earlier, and gathered the soiled clothes and towels from the floor before taking them to the laundry hamper in his room. It was still dark outside, and you wondered what time it was. 3:30am? 4? You had no way of knowing; you had left your phone in your room. With the situation no longer critical, your adrenaline finally started to drop. Exhaustion pulled at you, a heavy blanket threatening to smother you until you surrendered. You were so tired, that even Dabi’s bed looked inviting at this point.

You forced yourself to keep going.

You grabbed one of the water bottles from his nightstand, hoping that you could finally get him to drink something now that the vomiting was over and he was starting to gain awareness again.

When you came back to the bathroom, Dabi looked up at you as you entered, his eyes truly seeing you for the first time.

“You’re still here.” He slurred, his voice raspy.

“You noticed, huh?” you gave a small smirk, an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

He was quiet for a moment and looked down, confusion on his face. “I told you to leave.”

“Yeah, well I was going to, but then you passed out on the bathroom floor.” You replied. “I couldn’t just leave you there.”

He didn’t respond. The fight in him was gone for the moment. He was placid now, almost childlike. You opened the water bottle and handed it to him, but he turned his head away.

“Please, Dabi…” you begged.

He looked back at the item in your hand and stared at it for a moment before finally taking it and taking a small sip. He grimaced painfully.

Of course; after all that vomiting he did earlier, his throat probably hurt like hell.

You pointed at his neck. “May I?” You hoped he understood.

He seemed to. He lowered the water bottle from his lips to allow you access to his throat, and gently you placed your hand over it, feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed against your cool touch. Your quirk seeped into him like honey into a cake, coating his throat and washing the burning pain away.

He swallowed again, this time without flinching. His eyes stared at you, still hazy, but with the hint of something lively in them –a flicker of kindling. He took your hand from his neck and moved it down to his abdomen.

“Here.” He spoke.

You understood, but you hesitated. Would you be able to keep your quirk focused on just the nerves of his muscles? Or would it go deeper than that, impacting the nerves in his gut? That could have its own effects – he won’t feel the burning in his gut, but he also won’t feel hunger for a while, and may not feel that urge to vomit again even if his body needed to later.

“Just a little bit.” You replied.

You felt your quirk trickle into him, like water through cracks in concrete. Once your quirk felt the resistance of the deeper layers of muscle and tissue, you pulled your hand away. If you pushed any further, it’d be too much. He might feel some pain still, but it should be mitigated at least.

“Drink more now. Please.” You ordered.

He obliged, drinking the water in large, thirsty gulps for the first time that evening. Once he was done, he wiped his mouth and handed the empty water bottle to you. You set it on his sink next to the faucet, in case it needed to be refilled later on.

“Come on,” you said. You kneeled down and put his arm around your shoulder, helping him stand. “Let’s get you into bed.”

He didn’t respond; instead, he let you lead him out of the bathroom to the edge of his bed where he fell into it. You debated on whether or not you could leave him there and finally retreat to your room for much-needed rest, but you decided against it. The meds that were flowing in his system were going to start wearing off soon. He will be hungering for more, and you won’t be able to give it to him this time. If you left him alone here, he’d either somehow end up back in your room hunting for that hidden bottle, or he’d go out on the street to try to score whatever he could, no matter the consequences.

There was no choice. You had to stay. And when his pain became too much, you’d help out as best you could. Maybe you could mitigate the symptoms enough to last him until tomorrow evening. By then, you could start him back up on your pills.

You hoped you could handle it. You’d already used your quirk three times tonight - twice just now, and once earlier when you treated his burn in your room. Already, the environment seemed a little harsher to you. Light was brighter, noises louder… It wasn’t too terrible just yet, but all of your senses were heightened more than they were before. The damaged nerves on your back, always hidden by your shirt, itched irritably. It was still bearable – for now.

A sense of trepidation filled you. You’d gone so long without over-exerting your quirk… it had taken only one time to experience it, and you vowed to never let it happen again. Then again, you never expected to be single-handedly dealing with drug addiction and withdrawal for a man who takes enough opioids to take down an elephant.

You peaked at him in his bed where he lay curled up on his side. His eyes were closed for the moment, but you weren’t sure if he was asleep or not. Without disturbing him, you managed to steal a spare pillow from his bed. Then, with a heavy, resigned sigh, you laid down in front of his door, his pillow your only comfort. If he tried to leave, he’d have to go through you. The window was unguarded, but you weren’t too worried – you were three stories up. The building was an old hotel, so all fire escapes were located at the end of the hall, and he was in no condition to try to climb down the rusty drainpipes.

Despite the hardness of the floor and the coldness of the air, sleep claimed you within seconds, the scent of Dabi enveloping you.

As you slept, Dabi stirred restlessly in his bedsheets, his mind drifting between a vague wakefulness and dreams.

There was humming. Someone was singing. It soothed him.

He blinked.

You were talking to him, but he couldn’t make out the words. Something cool and wet passed across his forehead. Was this real?

He blinked.

Your face peered up at him, filled with a loving concern as your hand cupped his cheek, your thumb stroking across his stitches softly. Was THIS real?

He blinked.

He stared at himself, his scars gone, his hair a deep red. His blue eyes echoed his other self like an infinite row of mirrors.

He blinked.

He tried to speak, but pills kept falling from his mouth, choking his words. He couldn’t breathe. His other self stood before him, hands cupped and outstretched as the pills filled them and overflowed, scattering over the floor like a child’s marbles.

He blinked.

All he could see was a blue sky, but there were sounds. The sound of children’s laughter, the sound of a ball being kicked. The was a faint smell of dirt in the air. He was happy.

He blinked.

A woman sat near a window, bathed in sunlight with a white bundle cradled in her arms. Something about her was oddly familiar, yet he couldn’t place her. She sang. “My little Shouto. My sweet, little Shouto…” A baby cooed. Her face turned to him, but her features were hazy, hard to see through the dust that danced in the sunbeams. She reached out a long, slender hand. “Come here, Touya. Meet your little brother.”

He blinked.

He saw the woman again, standing at the end of a lake dock in a white dress, her hair billowing like a white flag of surrender. The lake was smooth as glass, a white mist ghosting over its glossy waters. He knew her.

Mother.

He tried to call to her, but his words were silent, falling from voiceless lips like birds with broken wings. She put one foot out over the water and fell silently, disappearing beneath the murky depths without a splash. A cold dread filled him. Frantically, he ran towards the water, but before he could dive in, the water on the lake erupted into orange, writhing flames. The wood beneath his feet crackled and charred, flames licking at his legs, his arms, his face. The dock broke and suddenly he was drowning, boiling water filling his lungs. Unseen hands grasped at his limbs, pulling him down, down, into the darkness, his flesh turning to ash beneath their touch.

Dabi woke with a shout, his eyes wide and filled with a wild fear. He felt restrained, his legs unable to move.

“Hold him down.” Said a familiar, gruff voice. The smell of cigarette smoke choked him. “I told you this would hurt, kid.”

Suddenly, your face came into view, hovering over him with your hands on his shoulders, shaking him. “Dabi. Dabi!” you called. You stared down at him with worry, dark circles under your bloodshot, tired eyes.

You were here.

The waking nightmare lifted and suddenly he was gasping for air like a deep-sea diver, heavy breaths filling his lungs as he broke through the surface into consciousness. “Y/N?” he said, his voice sounding strangely strangled to his ears. His eyes looked around frantically, taking in his room. A dark twilight was starting to emerge from the clouded, early morning sky outside, dark blue-grey contrasting with the yellow light seeping from the edges of his closed his bathroom door. The colors framed your face as you spoke to him

“Hey, it’s okay.” You said soothingly. “It was just a dream.”

His bedsheets were tangled around his bare legs like a snake. Dabi kicked them off and sat up in his bed with a wince. “I need some water.” An open water bottle appeared in front of him, which he gratefully took and drank.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

Dabi handed the bottle back to you without looking. “I’m fine.” He said gruffly; more so than he intended. But he wasn’t fine. Everything hurt. His head was pounding. His damaged nerves were starting to scream while his body felt as if it had been forced into a box that was too small, aching in places he never thought it could ache. Underneath it all, humming low like a wild animal growling a warning, sat an uneasiness - a dark, nervous energy - threatening to envelop him and wrap him up tightly in despair. Flashes of dreams – or were they memories? – threatened to drag him back down into the darkest parts of himself.

Dabi grappled for control, but he was losing.

You placed a concerned hand over his and he withdrew from your touch, the affection foreign to him. The heavy weight of shame sat deep in his gut as he took in your weary face. Somewhere, beneath the noisy din of his mind, a thought occurred to him: this was taking its toll on you too.

“Why are you still here?” he asked as he laid back onto his damp pillow, his arm over his eyes.

“Because you need me.” You replied.

He clenched his jaw. “No, I don’t.” The words were feeble and weak in his mouth, not an ounce of truth in them. You both knew it.

“I’m too tired to argue with you.” You stated as you rubbed at the bridge of your nose.

“Then go to bed.” He replied.

You wanted to growl in frustration, your own exhaustion making your fuse especially short. If he could just not fight you every step of the way, that’d be great.

“The last time I almost left, you fainted on the bathroom floor in a puddle of water while your body tried to combust itself. So no, I’m not leaving.”

Your tone allowed no more room for argument, your words forcing Dabi to sulk silently. He sat up from his reclined position, his long, scarred legs swinging over the side of the bed to plant firmly on the ground. His leg began to bounce and jitter, an attempt to relieve the irritated, unfocused energy that swirled inside of him like a cyclone. He felt like hell. He was a desert, his body and mind parched as the drugs in his system began to dry up. Even the slightest bit of movement set his nerves ablaze, pain coursing over his skin like a wildfire. He was tired… so fucking tired.

You reached across him, your proximity allowing him to smell the shampoo in your hair as your arm and shoulder pressed against him. For the briefest of moments, he felt something akin to peace break through his stormy mind like sunlight. It was short-lived though. Your closeness left as quickly as it had come, taking the sunshine with it.

“Hey…” you whispered next to him, a pack of crackers in your hand. You opened the packaging and handed him one. “Try to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” He replied.

“I don’t care. You need to eat.” You replied.

He didn’t have the strength to fight you. Begrudgingly, he took the cracker and nibbled on it. There was no pleasure in it, his jaw going through the motions like a machine as he chewed and swallowed.

You continued to talk to him, your voice soft, as you handed him another cracker. “You’re going into withdrawal again.” You stated.

“I know.”

“It might actually feel worse this time.”

“It does.”

Your face blurred as another wave of fiery pain washed over him, making him double over, the cracker crumbling like ashes in his fist. He gasped and panted against it, his body shaking from the stress.

You placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Let me help you.” You said. “Let me use my quirk.”

For the briefest of moments, Dabi’s pained expression lifted, and you could see the desperation in his eyes. “It won’t be enough.” He replied.

“Let me try.” You begged.

He stared at you. It was either this, or drugs.

He nodded.

You took his hand in yours and began to trace your fingers along his staples, your quirk seeping in. He inhaled a sharp breath. The pain dissipated where your touch landed. It soaked into his aching bones like heavy rainfall on a burning forest. There was a moment of clarity, the sensation so shocking that it distracted him from his suffering. Slowly you let your hands follow up the length of his arm, following his scars and leaving a humming numbness in its wake. Then, you took his other hand to continue the same treatment on the other side.

Dabi stared at his painless hand in vague fascination. It didn’t seem like it belonged to him. His vision blurred, memory replacing reality.

His hands were smaller now, the stitches gone. The skin was bubbled and blistered, and he could hear his own quiet sobs as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Hey, sweetie.” A soft voice called. Pale, white, delicate hands wrapped around his own damaged ones.

He looked up to see his mother smiling at him. It was a sad smile, full of love, but never quite reaching her tired eyes.

“It hurts.” He sobbed.

“I know.” She soothed. “It’s okay.” A cool frost began to ghost over his damaged skin, soothing the burning, throbbing pain.

“Why does my quirk hurt me, mommy?” he heard himself ask.

“It’s my fault, honey.” She whispered, tears stinging her grey eyes.

“It’s not your fault.” Dabi whispered.

Your touch on his collarbone pulled him back to reality on a thin, white thread.

“What was that?” you asked, your fingers pausing in their work.

“What?” he replied, disoriented.

“You said ‘it’s not your fault.’” You replied with a confused look. “What’s not my fault?”

“Nothing.” He responded as he turned his head away from your prying gaze.

You didn’t pursue it. Dabi was grateful. Instead, he felt your cool touch return to his collarbone to trace along the muscles of his neck and shoulders. While your touch helped initially, the cloud of suffering followed close behind from the places you had yet to reach, a parade of aches and throbs blaring their horns against his brain. His body focused on the noise and continued to shiver and shake while he struggled to keep himself focused.

His face was next, so you cupped his cheek in your hand and gently returned his averted gaze to you. His blue eyes locked with yours, and you stared into them for a moment, captivated by their beauty, aching with their suffering. He didn’t deserve this. Any of this. You could only hope that what you were doing was enough, that it could make a difference.

Your fingers rushed and fumbled clumsily across the lower half of his face and beneath his eyes. You couldn’t quite explain why. Perhaps it felt too personal, even after all you two had been through so far. You barely touched his lower lip, the sensation of its roughness sending electric tingles up your fingertips. You desperately wanted to slow down, take your time, and cherish. But you couldn’t. Such exploration was far too intimate to happen here, now, under such heavy circumstances.

You paused for a moment in your administrations as sweat started to break across your brow. The light from the bathroom felt unusually bright to your eyes and you could feel a headache start to form. A shiver began to take you as your body became increasingly sensitive to the cool temperature of the room, each soft gust of air from the open window feeling like an icy blast. Even your hearing was more sensitive – you could hear Dabi’s heavy breaths as his body struggled; you could hear the early morning sounds of songbirds beginning to sing as the sky gradually lightened outside. The rumble of a car passing by on the street sounded like a freight train. All of your nerves were beginning to tingle, and you became increasingly aware of the texture of the clothing on your skin, the feel of Dabi’s staples beneath your hands. Most of all, the scarred nerves on your back were beginning their own little dance, sending small shoots of tingling pain up your spine.

It was already happening. The feedback from your quirk was starting to cross the threshold into painful overstimulation. It was happening far sooner than you had hoped. But then again, you’d already used your quirk three times within the past eight hours, and your body was already at its limits in other ways. Even quirks could be impacted by physical fatigue, dehydration, hunger… it was like trying to run a marathon on zero sleep and an empty stomach.

Dread settled into your empty gut, making a home there out of wild, thorny weeds. They tangled themselves in your limbs, slowing your movements as your mind began to race. Would you really be able to help him?

Your worried thoughts were interrupted by the sound of multiple ‘dings’ coming from Dabi’s phone that sat neglected on his nightstand, as a series of text messages came through. Each ding vibrated your inner ear at the loudness. A few minutes later, you heard the sound of bedroom doors opening and closing in the hallway. Your hands froze over Dabi’s skin as you waited and listened. Muffled voices vibrated on the other side of the thin walls, your sensitive ears picking up every word.

“Why the hell do Kurogiri and Shigaraki have us getting up so goddamn early?” Twice complained.

Spinner’s voice answered. “He said he’ll explain it to us downstairs. Something about our next mission, I guess. Something to do with the Yakuza.”

A loud yawn came from Toga. “Couldn’t it have waited?? I still need my beauty sleeeeeep….” She whined.

Magne’s voice soon followed. “You’re already beautiful, sweetie.”

“You’re the best, Magne…”

Their voices faded as they entered the old elevator at the end of the hall, it’s off-key ding marking the closing of the doors.

A heavy silence followed. You and Dabi were alone now, the entire floor empty. A confusing combination of relief and anxiety washed over you. The privacy was good, but then again, there was no one around to help if you really needed it.

You returned your gaze to Dabi who sat in silence while his withdrawal continued to wash over him. If your quirk had helped so far, you couldn’t really tell. His breaths were still labored and his vision unfocused as his body shook slightly. He sat there as if waiting. Waiting for you? Or was he still falling in his mind, waiting to crash hard across the sharp jagged rocks of his withdrawal before you could catch him?

He had more scars you needed to tend to… on his legs, his back, his left side just below his ribs, and over his hips, the dark tissue disappearing beneath his shorts. This wasn’t even counting the rest of the pain he felt everywhere else in his body simply from not having any drugs in his system. You were only able to do damage control on the parts that hurt the most. What if it wasn’t enough? It wasn’t a possibility you had considered before.

You swallowed, your mouth and throat dry. You had to try.

“Let’s take off your shirt.” You said. “It’ll make it easier for me to reach your other scars.”

He didn’t respond to you, his gaze unfocused.

Scars… scars….

The word echoed in his mind, and he followed it as it led him down an invisible road to another memory.

“Eww, look at his scars!” a kid said to his friend, his finger pointing.

The friend wrinkled in disgust. “Gross!”

“Dabi?” a voice called. He turned and saw his sister. His brow furrowed. Something wasn’t right. The name didn’t match the movement of her lips…

“Dabi??” your voice cut through, and the memory disappeared.

Dabi looked up at you, confused. “Hm?”

“Your shirt. We have to take it off.”

He silently lifted his shirt over his head, while you watched him with worry. It wasn’t hard for you to figure out what was happening. He was having long moments of non-responsiveness, getting repeatedly lost in his thoughts. You didn’t know much about him, but you could hazard a guess that this guy probably did not have a happy backstory. Villains never did. No doubt the lack of drugs in his system was bringing up that backstory for him right now. The concern, however, was that that was something that was completely outside of your scope. Physical pain was one thing. Mental pain was an entirely different beast. All you could hope for was that your physical treatments could help him enough that he could handle his mental issues by himself.

You took a moment to assess his body and how it was responding to your quirk. His leg no longer bounced, and the shivering was reduced. He showed no hesitation or pain when he removed his shirt. It was definitely doing something.

It gave you hope.

You kept going, your hands washing over wherever the scars presented themselves. Your relief continued to pour into him, but it was impaired now, impacted by your body’s need to limit itself. It was like holding your hand in increasingly hot water – at some point your body was going to recoil to protect you before you burned yourself. You were pushing yourself dangerously far, but you didn’t have a choice. If you stopped now, all of this would be for nothing.

As you struggled to treat every damaged part of him, your heightened senses became worse and worse. And the scar on your back… the one that you always kept covered, the one you never told anyone about because of what it represented… that hurt the most. It burned nearly as fresh as it had when you first got it, a hot searing pain, and panic started to seep into your mind.

You forced yourself to focus on the present, to keep yourself in control. Your hands were on his legs now. You counted the staples as your fingers passed over them.

One, two, three, four, five…

This was the reason you needed your meds. Everything else you could handle on your own. But the scar… the scar always hurt if you pushed too far, and the memories associated with it were never far behind. And this was the farthest you had pushed in a long time

Six, seven, eight, nine…

But you couldn’t take your pills. And you couldn’t cry. Dabi would see it, and there was no telling how he would respond. You silently clenched your jaw and hoped that he didn’t notice the sweat across your skin or the way your hands were shaking now.

Finally, your hands reached his feet, and you couldn’t deny your fingers rushed across the staples that marked the end of your journey. Your touches were done, your quirk spent. Your body was tensed now, each muscle tightened in an attempt to keep yourself together.

You looked back up at him and watched him intently, hopefully, forcing your eyes to focus on him and only him, as you tried to tune out the rest of the environment that was demanding your attention. His body no longer shook. But his eyes were still glazed over and his hands were still wrapped around his core. Was he still in pain? Or was he holding himself for comfort?

Although the battleground of Dabi’s body was more balanced now with your help, the war within himself was far from over. His muscles still ached where your hands had yet to reach, and his head still hurt almost to the point of sickness. But most importantly, while your touch soothed the physical, the mental was left unbarred. The demons of the flesh were replaced by demons of the past, as memory after suppressed memory crashed back into Dabi’s defenseless mind.

“Don’t stop.” He begged in a strained whisper. “I need more.”

Your eyes widened. You didn’t have any more. You gave everything you could and now you were hanging on by a thread.

You no longer had the will or strength to hold in your emotions. Tears slipped down your cheeks, wet roads marking your failure, your failure to subdue his suffering as you had promised.

“I can’t.” you sobbed.

He stared at you foggily, confused by the tears on your cheeks. Were you crying?

“Are you crying??” demanded a deep, angry voice.

Dabi squeezed his eyes shut against the sound, as memory mingled with reality. It sounded real.

Dabi knew he was hallucinating from the withdrawal. Years of dependency had the wires in his brain crisscrossed, and now they were misfiring as it tried to process the trauma he had neglected. Even so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his father was here. He sensed his towering, overbearing presence, could feel the heat of the fire rolling off of his broad shoulders. He wasn’t ‘Dabi’ in that moment. He was ‘Touya,’ small and weak. He couldn’t suppress the fear that followed, crawling up his skin like a thousand ants. He wanted to run from it, but he couldn’t.

This was hell. He was in hell. He couldn’t make the voices stop, couldn’t make the memories disappear. He was cornered, with no way out.

Dabi craved surrender, to satisfy the addiction and let it wash over him. He wanted it drown his shame and agony, leaving nothing but that comforting, vengeful rage he was so used to. It was the only thing that worked, the only thing he believed in. If he could just get the right drugs, enough drugs, then all of this would go away. It was his only option. Earlier was just a mistake, his broken mind reasoned. He wouldn’t have thrown up those pills if he ate something, after all. This time… this time, he’d be okay. He ate those crackers, didn’t he?

Desperation fueled him, fear and exhaustion consumed him as he locked his eyes on you with intense purpose. “I need those pills. NOW.”

You shook your head vigorously as your words fell from your trembling lips. “I don’t have them.” More tears slipped down your cheeks.

“ARE YOU CRYING??”

A child sobbed.

“Get up. I SAID GET UP.”

Dabi’s blood went cold. He knew this memory. No, no, no…

Dabi leapt out of his bed, nearly knocking you over in the process.

His frantic eyes spotted your medical bag against the wall and before you could even get off the bed, he was dumping its contents all over the floor. Scissors, gauze, over-the-counter pain medicine, and a variety of other items rolled across the hard wood with a clatter. You winced. He threw the bag aside when he couldn’t find what he wanted.

“Where did you put it??” Dabi demanded. His world spun, but he managed to find the wall with his hand and used it to brace himself up.

“I can’t tell you that.” You replied as you stood up.

“So now you’re keeping them from me?” he seethed.

Now that he knew the drugs weren’t in the room, you knew he would try to leave. You made yourself stand up, stifling a cry with a bite of your tongue as your shirt rubbed against your back, to position yourself between him and the door. Fear coursed through you. Even though he was weakened from all that he’d gone through, you knew he could easily overpower you.

You put your hands out towards him cautiously. “We either deal with this now and be done with it, or we deal with it all over again later when the pills run out. You’ve already been through so much. Please, Dabi, don’t give up. You can fight this.”

“You’re pathetic. Weak, like your mother.”

He covered his ears, a futile attempt at blocking the voices from within.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t fight this. The pain was too much, the exhaustion too heavy, the emotions too raw. He needed the drugs. His survival depended on it. Without them, he would go insane. Hadn’t he suffered enough? He wanted to scream, to break things, to ignite his cremation and send everything to ash, including himself. But he didn’t. Perhaps it was the cowardice of dying, or the dissatisfaction of unfinished business, or even the simple fact that you were here with him. Instead, he tried to step around you, but you matched him move for move, blocking his exit. He was trapped.

“Get the fuck outta my way.” Dabi growled.

“No.” you said firmly, even as your body shook in fear and pain. Your eyes were trained on his hands. What if he decided to use his quirk? He wouldn’t… would he?

His face contorted in rage. Betrayal, his mind seethed. You cared more about protecting your precious stash than you did about him. How could you be so fucking selfish?

“You just want to keep the pills for yourself.” He spat.

His accusation shocked you. “W-what?”

“Admit it. You’re a fucking addict just like me. THAT’S WHY YOU WON’T LET ME HAVE ANY!”

“I’m not!” you protested. “Dabi, I’m trying to help you!”

“I’m sorry!” Touya begged. “Let me try again. I just wanna be like you! I wanna be a hero, too!”

“You’ll NEVER be like me! You’re a DISGRACE! A failed experiment!”

“No, no, NO!” Dabi shouted as he squeezed his eyes shut, his fists pounding his head. He opened his eyes, a wildness in them that terrified you. He grabbed at you then, his long fingers wrapping around your biceps with shocking force as he prepared to physically move you from his path. You cried out in pain, his touch like knives against your sensitive skin.

“Dabi, stop it, you’re hurting me!” you cried.

Your frantic words cut through his crazed mind. He stared at you, bewildered, taking in the terror in your eyes, the tears on your face. He saw his hands gripping you, your arms bent up in front of you defensively in fear.

In fear of him.

He let you go, stumbling back a step. He stared at his open palms in horror, his chest heaving. He’d grabbed you. Hurt you. It was his worst fear come to life. He really was like him.

His hands morphed before his eyes, the scars and staples vanishing, and suddenly they were bigger, rougher. They were his father’s hands. And as he looked up, he no longer saw you. Now, he saw his mother, her eyes holding the same fear yours did a moment ago, a fear he’d seen countless times as she tried to defend her children. Those eyes were now trained on him, and it felt as if his soul was being ripped to shreds.

“I-I’m sorry.” He stuttered. He needed her forgiveness. Did he even deserve such a thing? He fell to his knees with a choked sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeated.

You stared in shock as you watched him fall apart before you, rambling apologies and broken words falling from his lips. You whispered that it was alright, but he couldn’t hear you, too far lost in whatever nightmare he was stuck in. You knelt next to him and placed a gentle hand on his back, rubbing small circles in the space between his shoulders.

He could feel it… his mother’s touch, cool on his back and warm on his soul. He was falling and no longer knew where he was. He only knew that this touch between his shoulder blades was an anchor to a place he couldn’t reach, a place he longed for but never believed existed for him. It was an exoneration, made of mercy and love, sewing together his broken pieces with a golden thread. He wasn’t worthy of it. He cried.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you bore witness to his agony, this unknown monster that haunted him as he sobbed, completely dismantled and unaware of your presence. There was nothing you could do, no way you could help him through this. All you could do was be here for him. You wouldn’t let him go through this alone

You wrapped your arms around his head as you buried your face into his black hair, your own tears running down into his dark strands. His body responded, lean, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed himself against your stomach and suddenly the two of you were entwined, with him halfway in your lap, gripping you like a child would his mother as his body shook and his tears ran hot into your clothes.

With every inch of you on the brink, your body screamed at his iron-like grip around your waist. Even so, you twined your fingers into his thick hair, bracing the palms of your hands against his sweating skull. With one last surge, you drew what you could of your quirk, scraping the dredges of your ability, and pushed, deep into his brain where the pain still sat like a bullet in a wound that couldn’t heal. A choked sob escaped your lips as your body was pushed passed its threshold, your world exploding in color, sound, and pain. Dabi’s own sobs fell silent and his body went limp in your lap, his arms around your waist going slack. He was unconscious.

A deafening silence fell across the room, slowly replaced by the sounds of daily life from outside – the bustle of traffic, someone’s radio blaring, people laughing. It felt out of place in contrast to all that had transpired and clashed harshly with your ears. The sun was completely up now, the grey haze of morning burned away. It seeped past the cracks in the curtains, a beam of light streaking across the floor to kiss the face of the man now passed out in your lap. The brightness of the sunlight made you squint against it, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You watched the tension in his face disappear, furrowed brows and wrinkled forehead smoothing over, his lips parting in a relaxed breath. It was the first time you’d ever seen him look so peaceful.

You watched as your tears fell on his pale cheek to slip down and catch onto a metal ring. Suddenly, you were doubled over him, sobbing violently into his shoulder. The rollercoaster of all that had happened crashed over you in unrelenting waves as your body screamed at the entire loudness of the world around you. As you cried, the broken man beneath you slept. There was no waking him now; his own exhaustion had claimed him once you hit his withdrawal at its source.

After what felt like ages, your sobbing subsided, and your tears dried up. Your body and soul were spent. They screamed for relief, for silence, for sleep. Slowly, you removed Dabi from your lap before finally staring at him, asleep on the floor. There was no way you could get him back into his bed, but you’d do what you could to make him comfortable. Even the slightest bit movement was agony, but you forced yourself forward with painstaking slowness. You managed to get the pillow you had borrowed under his head and draped his blanket over him before you grabbed a water bottle for yourself and downed its contents. You followed it up with a banana, although your stomach roiled slightly, the pain in your lower back bringing forth a wave of nausea that you fought with clenched teeth and deep breaths through the nose.

Every movement was stiff and calculated to try to mitigate your own suffering as you gathered the items Dabi had emptied across the floor earlier. When you finally left his room, it felt like entering another dimension, the hallway oddly quiet and peaceful.

On tired, aching feet you crossed the hallway to your room and entered. As soon as the door closed behind you, you dropped your bag and headed straight for the bathroom. As you passed your closet, you eyed the duffle bag stashed up high in your closet, your mind longingly thinking of its hidden contents. You did your best to ignore it. The idea of having to go through it all again because you couldn’t exercise self-control was enough to keep you from giving into temptation.

Instead, you pulled your over the counter pain relief pills from your medicine cabinet and took four of them; they might not work as well as what you were used to, but it was better than nothing. Your body screamed for sleep, but you knew that sleep would elude you as long as your senses were going haywire and your back burned.

So, you closed your bathroom door to plunge yourself into darkness and turned on your bathtub, adjusting the temperature to an equilibrium that matched with your own body. You undressed yourself, slowly, grateful to no longer feel the itchiness of the cotton on your skin while the soles of your bare feet complained about the cold hardness of your bathroom floor. Once the tub was full and the faucet turned off, you entered the water slowly and submerged yourself until only your mouth and nose were above water.

Immediately, a familiar, comfortable silence fell over you as the water entered your ears and muted your hearing, your closed eyes blocked out any remaining light that the bathroom door couldn’t eliminate, and the water caressed your skin in a gentle, numbing embrace.

This was what you needed – sensory deprivation. Or, at least the best you could do with your current situation. A heated pool was more ideal of course, but clearly not an option right now. You could feel the edges of the tub press on your skin where you couldn’t quite fit or where the water wasn’t quite deep enough to fully support you with its buoyancy. But still, it was far better than anything else you had at your disposal.

If it weren’t for the fear of water getting into your nose and lungs, you would have fallen asleep right there in an instant. Instead, you lingered, your mind filled with memories and thoughts of the gauntlet you had somehow managed to survive. You wondered if Dabi would remember all of it when he finally woke up, or if some of it would get lost or buried.

Will he be okay after you used your quirk on his mind? You hadn’t thought about it when you did it – your instinct took over, fueled by desperation and emotional turmoil at seeing him fall apart in front of you against his will. You’d never used your quirk like that before, and it scared you.

There was nothing you could do but wait. Wait and see what happened.

You left the bathtub once the water started to get cold and dressed yourself in your softest article of clothing before falling into bed. Your blackout curtains did their best to block out the daytime, but nothing could be done for the noise, the old windows made of thin glass. But fatigue pulled heavy, its weight stronger than your quirk’s feedback. Time lost its meaning as sleep finally found you, pulling you into its gentle arms while visions of Dabi filled your dreams. __________________________________________________________________

Part 7

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Taglist (always open!): @lemonfvck @vs-redemption @inanabsentia @sheedaabee @toshiuwuu @marydragneell @chillinwithmybakubros @genuinelytodorokisbitch @sam-i-am-1025 @redflannel @axerrri @necccomancy @miadraws0 @hot-pocket01 @hopelessdisasterr @dummythiccwitch @villainsdeku @aquzairus @officialtrashbusiness @hemdem018 @purplesweethart @doebopeepeebbod @ghost-of-todoroki @marvel-philosophy @lysawayne @udontneedtokno @citrussaurus @littleladdty @starsforannie @zunmie @mae-rd @mrsreina @ohh-takuuu @ih8beefnoodles @kellyyween @jojoniles @steale24

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thegirlwhomoanedwolf · 4 years

Text

Truth or dare

(Halloween party truth or dare)

*reader has plot of Elena

Damon x Reader

Warnings: 18+, slightly rough

It had been months...

months since (y/n) had been touched by a man. Her last intimate moment had been a gentle kiss with the person she swore she would never willingly touch. But things change and she would have never forgiven herself if she let Damon die without showing him how much she cared. She was prepared to grieve the man who had gotten under her skin, against her best efforts. She had realized a part of her would die with him.

Along with that part would be the guilt she carried. The way she would get excited when he would walk into a room. The sick feeling knowing she could easily have him if she just asked and how sometimes she fantasized about what he would do to her when she finally gave in. That didn’t compare to the worst of her crimes. There were times she had made sure Damon would hear her moans and cries as Stefan thrusted into her.

“Please harder,” she would beg her voice echoing throughout the boarding house. Always one to please Stefan did as he was asked. He didn’t care if Damon heard. He wanted him to know (y/n) was his and that he would never be able to experience the heaven that was being inside of her. If only he had known she screamed and begged hoping his brother was listening. Sometimes she even imagined Damon with flushed cheeks, his need for her burning through him like a fire he couldn’t put out. She would imagine him with his head thrown back and his eyes shut tightly as he stroked himself pretending he was the one responsible for her pleasure.

She would shriek “ Oh my god, please, I’m gonna cum,” when her fantasy had gotten her to her peak and even louder and raspier “ I want you to cum with me!” Her (y/e/c) eyes would slam shut as she thought of Damon stroking his cock faster and being pushed over the edge with her. Self hatred would wash over her afterwards knowing she betrayed Stefan but no one but her would ever know.

(Y/n) couldn’t help but feel some relief knowing the man she truly wanted could no longer plague her relationship or mind. Though as soon as her mirror image walked into his room with with a crimson colored bottle that was the cure, (y/n) felt more relived then she ever had in her life. That relief soon ended when Katherine happily announced that Stefan had given himself to Klaus to save his brother.

................................................

It was a cool fall day in Mystic falls. Four months after stefan left and made it clear he was not coming back. Damon Salvatore sat on his leather sofa reading from dust returned by ray Bradbury getting himself thoroughly into the fall spirit. His favorite time of year. The sound of the crackling fire place and smell of leaves falling outside was the perfect combination for relaxation.

“ Damon! Why aren’t you answering my calls I’ve been trying to reach you for hours?,” Carloline Forbes voice boomed, the door slamming shut behind her.

He looked at her pointedly “ Well maybe I put my phone on silent so I could have a relaxing day without someone needing my help for a mundane task any human could fufill.”

Caroline huffed, “ this is a big deal Damon, Tyler’s mom has the flu so now we don’t have a place for our yearly friend-o- ween party!”

Damon Laughed, “ friend-o-ween? That’s the best you guys could come up with?”

“ We made it up in middle school and it’s cute!,” she argued. “ please Damon no one else can have it at their house.”

He sighed “ fine.”

Caroline shrieked and jumped “yay! I’ll go get all the decorations!”

.................................................

What was supposed to be a relaxing day turned into hours of assisting Caroline in decorating the boarding house until it looked like something out of a movie. The lighting was dim. Orange and purple lights were strung throughout the house giving it a spooky yet enchanting glow. There were real pumpkins, fake pumpkins, spider webs, skeletons and other spooky decorations. It really was overkill but he did have to admit he enjoyed the finished result.

They stood finally finished Caroline grinning. “ This looks amazing. Oh! I forgot about the food! I’ll have Matt bring the snacks by before everyone else gets here. I have to start getting ready. I’m running behind! You better have a costume Damon!” She said so quickly it’d be hard to understand if he wasn’t supernatural. She left slamming the door behind her.

With an hour to go Damon walked upstairs deciding to take a shower before the party. He stripped his clothes and turned the shower on high heat enjoying the steam that filled up his large room. He decided he would just splash some fake blood on himself as a costume and his mind began to wander to (y/n) wondering what she might wear. He liked her sexy nurse costume but it probably had too many negative emotions attached to it after the last time she wore it. Damon felt guilty over what had happened but all he could think about right now was how badly he had wanted her that night. He could have thrown her in a school bus and fucked her for hours he had been so worked up from her anger towards him. His cock got hard at the thought and he moved his hand down his chiseled wet abs and gripped it.

He started to stroke it thinking of what he normally did, memories of (y/n) moaning and cumming. He should feel ashamed or grossed out by the fact it was because his brother was fucking her but he didn’t care. He could easily remember those sounds and pretend they were caused by him. He stroked himself even faster imagining the school bus fantasy. His arm supported him against the glass wall as the other twisted and began to stroke himself faster. He was so close he was going to

“Damon!,” Matt’s voice yelled from downstairs and Damon had never wanted to kill Matt more than in that moment. He lost the coiling feeling in his abdomen and shut the water off quickly. Pissed he quickly threw on pants and a white v neck.

Once downstairs he helped Matt set out all of the food besides the pizzas Caroline was ordering. If only he had showed up one minute later, Damon thought still extremely frustrated. He splattered some fake blood on his white shirt and face. Then put Caroline’s cheesy Halloween music on that she said he HAD to play.

The door opened and he got excited hoping it was (y/n) but to his disappointment blondie appeared with Tyler and witchy. Bonnie wore a black latex bodysuit with cat ears and Caroline was wearing a black lingerie nighty with animal ears as well. “ I see you decide to go as a slutty hamster,” he joked confused by her outfit.

“ I’m a mouse duh,” she said pointing to her ears the reference lost on him.

Bonnie looked at Tyler in his football jersey and Damon in “ blood” splattered . “ I see you two put in a lot of effort,” she joked.

“ if you want me to take it all off all you had to do was ask bon bon,” Damon joked back as she rolled her eyes.

Everyone moved to the kitchen snacking on chips and soda waiting for the pizza to arrive while Damon anxiously waited for (y/n) . The pizza delivery guy arrived before her much to his dismay and Caroline seeing the look on his face added “ It’ll be worth the wait Damon,” as she smiled. He ignored her not knowing what she meant and poured himself a bourbon as they all sat around eating pizza. When the door finally opened Jeremy came in first wearing a black hoodie as usual (y/n) following behind him.

Damon’s eyes bulged and he tried to stop another area from doing the same as he saw her costume. She was dressed like a playboy bunny and it was the least clothed he had ever seen her. Now he really was hating Matt because tonight was going to be torture until he could relieve himself.

.....................................................

A few hours later they all sat in a circle on the floor in front of the crackling fireplace, filled shot glasses in front of each of them as Caroline yelled. “ Okay never have I ever, so if you have take a shot! Also no lying.” “ I’ll go first! Never have I ever had a one night stand.” Damon and Tyler took a shot.

Bonnie went next, “ never have I ever kissed a girl.” Everyone took a shot besides Bonnie and learning this new fact about (y/n) was making it even harder on him. Especially since he was trying not to stare all night as is.

Tyler went next “ never have I ever slept with Damon Salvatore,” laughing as Caroline hit him and took a shot.

Matt went next following Tyler’s lead , “ never have I ever fantasized about Damon Salvatore.” Also looking at Caroline. She took a shot.

“ Wow I’m hurt Matt,” Damon joked and noticed out of the corner of his eye (y/n) taking a shot too. He thought he could explode right then. He clapped his hands getting everyone’s attention . “Alright this is dumb, lets do truth or dare, you know there’s nothing I won’t do.” He winked. Since it’s my turn I’ll go first he turned to (y/n) whose heartbeat immediately increased.

“ (y/n) ,” he said slowly. “ truth or dare?”

She figured he saw that she had taken a shot for fantasizing about him and knew he would probably ask about that so in this case dare was the safe option. “ dare.”

Damon smirked, “ I dare you to tell me what you fantasized about me doing.” Her face went red.

“ That’s not how it works Damon it has to be an actual dare,” Bonnie said trying to cock block him like usual.

“ Fine,” he looked at (y/n) who was still flushed “ Then I dare you to kiss Caroline.”

(Y/n) crawled over to Caroline on her hands and knees seductively. Her pink body suit showing off her ass with a cute little bunny tail on it. She sat in front of her moving her blonde curled hair behind her ear and passionately kissed her. Caroline wrapped her hands into (y/n)s hair as they moaned into each other mouths. They pulled away laughing and at this point all the men were slightly hard. (Y/n) crawled back to her spot next to Damon and glared at him. Worried what his dare would be after that so he picked truth.

She acted like she was thinking it over “ have you ever jerked off while thinking about me Damon?” She asked trying to embarrass him, making everyone but Caroline slightly uncomfortable. Only because she knew (y/n) and Damon just needed to bang it out already.

He kept eye contact, “ right before everyone got here I was thinking about you in your sexy little nurse costume. Oh by the way Matt thanks for interrupting right as I was about to cum.”

His answer was followed by a few ewww’s and Jeremy, Bonnie and Matt deciding it was time to go. Now it was Caroline’s turn and she was playing matchmaker “ (y/n) truth or dare,”

“ truth,” she responded nervous yet excited.

“ what is your naughtiest fantasy of Damon?”

(Y/n) froze debating on lying but new the supernaturals would easily be able to tell. Looking down ashamed she responded quietly, “ that he would jerk off while hearing stefan and I ... well you know.”

Damon couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t always stefan after all. Had she wanted him the entire time? Did this mean she was purposefully being loud? Was she always thinking about him when her and his baby bro did the deed?

Tyler interrupted his thoughts. “ Caroline truth or dare ?” He said quickly trying to move things away from (y/n) who was obviously embarrassed.

Caroline’s face lit up, “dare.”

“ I dare you to kiss me.” Caroline moved over to him getting into his lap kissing him their bodies pressing close together as Damon and (y/n) looked at each other awkwardly. Caroline let out a small moan and Damon coughed loudly trying to remind them they weren’t alone.

Feeling turned on from so many of the events that happened today and now knowing how long (y/n) had been wanting him physically Damon looked over to her yet again. “ truth or dare ?”

Her face was flushed from Tyler and Caroline’s show of affection and it reminded her how badly she needed intimacy. Damon was sexy all the time but now with his tousled hair and blood spattered shirt he looked rough and it was making her think about all the times he had gotten bloody to save her. How strong and rough he actually was. She wanted to be closer to him she hoped choosing dare would grant that wish. “Dare.”

He patted his lap “ come sit.” She crawled over to him and took a seat in his lap her back facing his chest and his arms wrapped around her tightly. She could feel the buldge underneath his Jeans and her core tightned feeling him pressed against her. He ran his nose along the inside of her neck and whispered “ your turn.”

She responded the need for him finally taking over. “ truth or dare Damon” she said in a husky tone her face turned towards him looking into his eyes, her need evident.

“ dare.”

“ kiss me,” she dared and without hesitation Damon pulled her face to his forcefully. They moaned into each other’s mouths and Damon wrapped an arm around her and the other in her hair after throwing her bunny ears off of her. Well aware of what was about to happen and in need of release themselves Caroline and Tyler snuck out unnoticed.

Damon pushed (y/n) unto her back hovering above her, their lips always connected. He pressed her body firmly into the floor grinding into her core enjoying as she bucked her hips up to meet his. He moved his mouth to her neck kissing it aggressively. “ I want you so fucking bad (y/n) ,” She trembled underneath him.

“ please Damon.” With that he sat back and ripped off her tiny pink body suit leaving her in a black bra and panty set. She sat up and kissed him pulling away to lift his shirt over his head. He picked her up easily sitting her on the leather couch closer to the lit fireplace. He stood in front of her and she fumbled slightly trying to get his pants off as quick as she could. Her eyes widened when she unzipped his black jeans and realized he was going commando and he was BIG. His large erection sprung out of his pants standing proudly in front of her face. He stepped out of his pants and was going to resume undressing (y/n) but that thought was forgotten about when she wrapped her hand around him and did and experimental tug.

She looked up at him her (y/e/c) eyes meeting his blue as she stuck her tongue out and slowly licked his tip a few times before wrapping her lips around him completely.

“ fuck (y/n) ,” he moaned as she went further down on him, bobbing her head up and down on his length. She began to use her hand stroking what couldn’t fit in her mouth. Damon wrapped his hand around her throat gently pushing her off of him knowing If she continued he wouldn’t last much longer. Using his grip on her throat he pushed her back into the couch and crawled untop of her kissing her passionately. His other hand reached being her back unclasping her bra and she gasped as the cool air hit the newly exposed skin. He began to kiss down her neck his fingers traveling to play with her over her soaked panties. “ so wet.” He moaned against her neck as she began to grind into his hand.

Damon moved lower sucking her nipple into his mouth gently nibbling on it as he slipped his hand underneath her underwear making direct contact with her clit. “Please Damon, I need you inside me,” she cried desperately wanting him more than she thought was humanly possible.

He lifted his head from her breast looking down at her. The need evident in her eyes and ripped her panties off of her. Hovering over top of her he grabbed his member and and ran it along her folds watching as her wetness coated him. Looking down at her biting her lip he asked , “ are you sure you want this?”

“ I’ll always want you Damon,” she replied the sincerity clear on her face. With that Damon slowly guided his head into her. He watched her face as she slightly winced and leaned down to kiss her softly. He moved back and slowly slid farther into her. He kissed the side of her face gently trying to remind himself she hadn’t had sex in months and stefan wasn’t as well endowed as he was. Her tightness was testing his will power but he didn’t want to hurt her.

“ are you doing okay?,” he asked moving his hand down to her clit softly rubbing her knowing it would help her adjust more easily.

She moaned her eyes shut tightly the feeling of him stretching her so far. “ yes,” she lifted her hips trying to show him she wanted more , “ I want all of you Damon.” With that he pulled almost all of her heat and thrusted back in completely connecting them.

“ yes!” She cried out feeling like they were made for each other. He pulled back again and thrust in slow and deep enjoying the look of pleasure on her face. He continued his slow thrusts rolling his hips into her filling her all the way. He sat back and watched as her folds gripped him tightly. The view bringing him closer to his release. Damon sped up his pace slightly pulling out mostly than thrusting back into her using more force than before. He could feel her pussy begin to tighten around him and moved to rest his forehead against hers.

“ I want you to come for me (y/n). ” He sped up his circles on her clit and thrust into her harder and harder his abs tensing trying to hold off his orgasm.

(Y/n) began to tremble underneath him, “ I’m close!” she exclaimed. Her legs began shaking uncontrollably the pleasure like nothing she had ever experienced before.

“ me too ,” he grunted on the edge “ I want you to come with me.” He thrust again softly whispering “ come on baby, come on my cock for me.” Feeling her walls start to pulse around him.

With that she cried “ yes! I’m cumming, Damon yes!”

“ Fuck (y/n) ,” he growled, her walls gripping him harder pulling his orgasm from him as he continued to move inside of her.

They lay there still connected the aftershocks traveling through their bodies. He kissed her before slowly pulling out and rolling off the couch onto the soft carpet in front of the fire place. He patted next to him. “ join me?”

She slowly moved beside him her muscles already sore from her incredible orgasm. He played with her hair as she asked him “ truth or dare?”

“ truth,” he responded not questioning her motive.

“ Do you love me Damon?”

“ I always have (y/n),” he paused “ do you love me?”

“ yes, I always will .” With that he brought her mouth to his sealing their love with that one special kiss.

#Damon Salvatore #Damon Salvatore smut #Damon Salvatore imagine #vampire diaries #vampire diaries smut #smut #vampire diaries imagine #Damon imagine #damon x reader #damonxreadersmut #damon salvatore x reader #damonxelena

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ladyanaconda · 3 years

Text

Helluva Dad Vol. 3: Nerd

As I mentioned in the first one-shot, the events of the Harvest Moon Festival took place before Murder Family in this AU, so the discovery of the angelic weapon went differently. In other words, this prequel is where the canon divergence begins. Enjoy!

*HB-*

It's gonna be nice working with him. I asked him if he wants to join I.M.P.

Moxxie couldn't get those words out of his head. Striker working at I.M.P.? As much as he hated to admit it, he could actually picture it. The cowboy was an ace at… Well, everything, as far as he knew. This didn't mean Moxxie was happy at the prospect of having him as a co-worker, however. Striker had done nothing but rub Moxxie's lack of physical strength and 'balls to his face; heaven, even Striker's five-year-old kid made fun of him in a more innocent, child-like manner.

Moxxie felt a pit in the bottom of his stomach; if Striker does join I.M.P., where would this leave him in the company? Blitzo's the boss, Millie the powerhouse, and Striker might as well replace Moxxie as the weapons expert, not to mention become an additional powerhouse. Where would that leave Moxxie? Besides, he wasn't sure if he wanted to work with the guy who humiliated him via song, the one thing Moxxie thought he'd at least be better at.

Joe and Lynn never liked Moxxie for Millie from the beginning. 'Too much of a wimpy fag', he overheard them say more than once. 'He can't handle something as simple as gathering eggs from the chicken coop*, how is he going to protect or provide for Millie?' Striker, on the other hand, was strong, imposing, fearless, manly. They treated him more like a son-in-law than Moxxie even if the cowboy wasn't wedded into the family. Moxxie was no fool; he'd seen his parents-in-law subtly trying to get Millie alone with Striker and have them spend time together, practically screaming 'dump your wimp of a husband and fuck this real man'.

These thoughts crossed Moxxie's mind as he climbed upstairs. Everyone else was outside, which was good because he wanted to be alone right now.

There was a thump in one of the rooms. Following the sound out of sheer curiosity, Moxxie noticed a white glow filtering underneath the door. Hey, isn't it Striker's room? Moxxie has a policy against entering someone's bedroom without permission, but his spite towards the cowboy imp and curiosity got the better of him.

He found little Jake on the bed. The impling looked frightened for a second until he noticed it was only Moxxie. "You not daddy!"

"What do you go there, little fella?"

"Nothig!" Jake spread out his arms in a feeble attempt at hiding whatever thing was on the bed. Moxxie only had to take a few steps forward to peek over Jake.

"Oh, my crumbs!" There, in a long case, was a beautiful black rifle with silvery designs that almost seemed to glow with a heavenly light. "A genuine carmine crafted blessing-tipped rifle."As Moxxie tried to touch it, Jake snapped his teeth at his hand. "Hey, watch it!"

"No touch! Daddy's rifle!" Jake growled adorably. Geez, the brat's got his father's awful character.

"How… How in the fuck did he get one of these?"

"Why don't you ask me, little dude?" Moxxie and Jake froze, though the latter seemed more like 'shit I'm in trouble' than 'shit I'm dead.

Striker was leaning against the door, arms crossed. He didn't look very happy.

"Boy, I thought we'd talked about this already," he told Jake sternly.

"I… I just wanna touch it, daddy." Jake whispered timidly.

"W-Why do you have this?! Mister!" Moxxie asked nervously. "You are aware this kind of weapon can kill…"

"...Demon royalty?" Striker finished grimly.

"Yes, that."

"Duuh! That what it for, dummy!" Jake stuck his tongue at Moxxie.

"Kiddo, Mrs. Lin is baking the lava berry pie you like so much. Why don't you go take a look while daddy has a word with Moxxie?" Did Striker just call him by his name? Jake yelled happily and climbed off the bed, speeding out of the room.

Moxxie felt a shiver down his spine as Striker closed the door shut behind him. "Well, I'm… I'm relatively concerned by your possession of this…" he stepped back warily as the cowboy walked towards him with a devilish grin, eyes glowing as he came to a halt right in front of Moxxie, silently staring down at him. "I'm also glad my instant dislike of you has been validated!"

Neither moved for a while. Then, against Moxxie's expectations, Striker gently moved him aside to gently run his fingers along the weapon's side. There was a sad, almost nostalgic look on his face.

"I cherish it, you know. It used to belong to someone who was very dear to me. Nowadays I rarely use it, though. So it's more like a memento." Moxxie was quite surprised at the emotion in his voice.

"Then you have used it."

"Well, I wasn't always a farmhand, little fella. Let's say I'd make a living as a hitman." Striker sat down on his bed, eyes on the rifle. "Whenever people wanted someone dead, they'd call me. Kind of what you guys do at I.M.P., but down here in Hell." He sighed. "Then my… priorities shifted."

Moxxie was about to ask him what he meant when he spotted a small box full of toys. "...Jake."

Striker nodded. "When Jake was born, I realized that kind of job endangered both my and his life on a nearly daily basis, so I had to retire and find a safer job. It's not as exciting as the thrill of shooting people's brains out of their skulls, but it puts bread on the table."

Moxxie wasn't sure what to say. Tentatively, he sat down next to Striker, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. He wasn't pushed off, so he guessed it was okay.

"You've done a decent job, you know. He's a good kid… Most of the time." he murmured the last part.

An awkward silence followed until Striker spoke again. "So, Blitz said you're I.M.P.'s weapons expert."

"I am. Why, is it such a surprise for you?"

Striker shrugged. "What can I say? You don't give that impression, wimp."

Offended, Moxxie pulled out his pistol. "Walther P.38!"

Striker raised an eyebrow. "Looks pretty anemic compared to the peacekeeper."

"It's not about size, you know. It's about stamina."

"Is that so?" Striker smirked. "What can you tell me about the Thompson submachine gun?"

"Fifty rounds a drum, twenty-five a mag!" Moxxie said in excitement. "It's a good weapon, but its cocking mechanism always jams. The Russian P.P.S. personal assault weapon is a better choice."

"Maybe, but in the end, it's the experience that wins the day. It's not all about firepower."

"Indeed! I mean, even the best gun in all of Hell can be wasted in the hands of a newbie."

Striker laughed and gave Moxxie a strong pat on the back, unintentionally sending him to the ground.

"Not bad, wimp. Looks like you are good at something, after all."

Moxxie blinked in disbelief. "Was that a compliment?"

"Don't get used to it, little nerd." Striker chuckled, smirking. "You still have a long way to go to earn my respect."

"Who're you calling a nerd?!"

"Bowtie, fragile arms, pushover, you're afraid of a mere rooster. Should I continue?"

"For your information, I'm not afraid of the rooster!" Moxxie crossed his arms. Striker raised an eyebrow. "...I simply don't like the idea of getting infected with the avian flu, thank you very much."

Smirking again, Striker closed the case and walked out of the room. "Nerd."

"I'm not a nerd!"

*HB*

*A callback to the scenes in some movies when someone goes to the chicken coops to collect the eggs and is attacked by the rooster. Come on, you can't tell me you don't see this happening to Moxxie. And if living roosters are a pain, just imagine one straight from Hell.

#helluva boss #helluva boss fanfiction #striker helluva boss #helluva boss au #helluva dad #helluva striker #oneshot #canon divergence #helluva boss moxxie #helluva boss jake

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senorarelojes · 3 years

Text

Ficlet: The One Where Fletch Has Sex Powers

A crackfic based on @pinksyndication's running joke about how Fletch always teleports to wherever Dave and Alan are having sex.

Tags: Crackfic, Nonsense, Getting Caught, OOC-ness Rating: Mature

All in all, Andy Fletcher was a Very Good Boy. He didn't take drugs (he didn't care what anyone said, pot wasn't a drug) and he liked drinking, but he treated the fans well and he never slept with any groupies. And it appeared that the other guys were starting to be swayed by his good example; all right, Martin was Martin, but Dave and Alan seemed to have stopped bringing girls back to their rooms. In fact, now the two of them would often head back to the hotel together after their gigs and afterparties, grinning and whispering about something or other.

“What do you think those two are up to?” Martin said, when he and Fletch were waiting for their drinks at the bar one night in New Orleans. They were watching Dave and Alan leave the club together, and Dave must have been drunk because he was holding onto Alan’s hips for balance. He did that a lot these days. Fletch thought Alan was a very good friend for tolerating that much touching.

“Dunno,” Fletch said, knocking back the whiskey a grateful fan had bought him. It burned all the way down, warm but funny in his stomach. “Dave said sometimes they read the Bible together.”

Martin laughed until he almost choked on his drink, Fletch patting him on the back until his airways were clear again. “He really said that?” Martin gasped.

“Yeah, must’ve heard him wrong,” Fletch said with a grin. “He said something about getting to know Alan biblically? Must have been stoned out of his mind.”

Martin’s brow was now wrinkled in confusion, his mouth open to ask something before they were waylaid by a group of very excited fans in very little clothing, and Fletch got distracted (okay he was faithful to Grainne, but he wasn’t a priest) and he forgot all about their topic of discussion.

Besides, the whiskey earlier was making him feel a bit odd.

***

A few days later, Fletch was still feeling the effects of the whiskey that fan had given him in New Orleans. He wasn’t sick or anything like that; he just felt like a toy soldier whose key had been wound too tightly, like all his senses had been heightened. If Martin was flirting with someone, Fletch could almost hear Martin’s heartbeat racing as though it were his very own. When one of their female roadies bent over their synths and treated Daryl to a view of her cleavage, Fletch could smell something warm and vanilla-ish, like the spiced fruit cake his mother used to bake.

The worst one was that he also seemed to have gained the knack of accidentally walking in on people making out or about to have sex. On tour, this was a most awkward scenario as Fletch had to work with these people day in and day out for months, so he most definitely did not want to get a glimpse of anyone’s arse or naughty bits. He got into the habit of knocking on any doors to announce his presence beforehand, which was most annoying as Fletch liked the freedom of going where he pleased on tour.

He almost wanted to tell Martin about the very odd things happening to him recently, but he knew Martin would just laugh it off so he decided not to. Strange things happened on tour all the time, and Martin would just tell him to be careful and watch where he was going. Besides, Fletch felt fine beyond the odd thing about his senses being magnified.

Then it all came to a head one night.

After their gig in Los Angeles, Fletch had decided to skip the afterparty because he was a bit too flushed and sweaty. Afraid that he might be coming down with the flu, Fletch went back to the hotel shortly after Dave and Alan themselves did. Ringing room service and ordering himself a nice hot tea and a bacon sandwich, Fletch decided a bath might be the best thing after a long gig; he didn’t care what Alan had to say, all that clapping would tire anyone out.

Fletch had his late dinner, then drew his bath and sat in the steaming hot water for a good thirty minutes, ignoring the moans he was hearing next door. (This was now a nightly occurrence that he attributed to the hotel’s thin walls, trying not to think about how that had never been a problem before). But after it got a bit too obscene for him to ignore, he got up and reached for his towel, drying himself and draining the water.

Fletch was almost done when his eye fell on the bathroom counter, then he frowned down at the items scattered around the bathroom sink. Those were not his toiletries. For one thing, there were too many bottles of cologne and aftershave, and there was also make up - make up! - on the counter. Where the fuck had they come from? Fletch’s heart was starting to thump loudly in his chest in panic. This didn’t look like his bathroom.

Then he heard voices from outside.

Now his heart jumped up into his throat, leaving him stricken in fear. Had robbers come in during his bath, or did fans manage to track him down? He pressed his ear against the door, startled when he heard Alan’s voice. It was both disconcerting and soothing to hear him talking, because at least it was someone he knew and trusted. Then again, what the fuck was Alan doing in his room? Maybe he’d broken in to play a prank on Fletch.

Fletch found himself grinning. Well, two could play at that game.

Flinging open the door, Fletch shouted, “Surprise, Wilder--” but his voice died because a sweaty Alan was naked on his bed, balls deep in someone who was face down in the pillows.

For a long moment, it was hard to tell who was more horrified: Fletch, or Alan, who was staring back at him in shock.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” they both asked at the same time, before the person Alan was fucking raised their head.

“Charlie, what--” A red-faced Dave was blinking at Fletch, who just stared at him, then Alan, then him again.

That was the point where Fletch passed out.

***

When he came to, he was resting on the two-seater sofa near the window. Dave and Alan, who were both wearing the hotel’s fluffy bathrobes, were peering down at him anxiously. “Is he alive?” Dave asked, palming Fletch’s forehead.

Fletch batted his hand away with a squawk. “Don’t touch me with-- that! Who knows where it’s been!” he shouted, scrambling away from the two of them.

Dave actually had the good graces to look hurt. Hurt! As though he was the one who had walked in on his two bandmates plowing each other like a cornfield. “My hand’s clean, it’s not like I had my fingers up Alan’s arse or something,” he said huffily. “We did that yesterday.”

“Dave,” Alan said in warning. “Not the time, mate.”

“He insinuated I was dirty,” Dave protested at the same time as Fletch yelled, “Stop telling me things!”

Alan held out his hands for calm. “Okay, look. Andy, why were you in my bathroom?”

Fletch rolled his eyes. “Excuse me, this is my room.”

Shaking his head, Alan looked even more confused. “No, it’s not. It’s mine.” And sure enough, it was only now that Fletch had a good look around. He could see Alan’s various leather jackets hanging in the wardrobe, his suitcases and boots lined up against the wall.

Now Fletch really, really felt ill. “I need to lie down.”

“You are lying down,” Dave said. When Alan shot him another glare, Dave got all huffy. “What? I can’t point out facts now?”

“This still doesn’t explain how Andy ended up in the bathroom,” Alan said, running his hands through his hair. Then Dave flattened down a cowlick that was sticking up at the back, and Alan shot him a very fond smile. Fletch could hear his heartbeat kicking up too, just like Martin’s had when he’d been flirting with that cute girl.

Oh. Oh no.

“I think I have sex powers,” Fletch said faintly.

Dave and Alan just stared at him. “How hard did he hit his head when he fell down?” Dave whispered to Alan.

“No, you don’t understand.” Fletch told them about the whiskey from that fan, then about his tendency to sense people’s heightened lust, as well as the odd thing about walking in on people in various states of intimacy. Dave just looked confused, while Alan seemed thoughtful.

“I think I’ve heard of this before,” Alan said, pacing about his room while Dave not-so-subtly tried to look up his robe. “It must have been a charm a fan had given to you.”

“But why?” For the life of him, Fletch couldn’t figure out why anyone would do this to him.

Alan shrugged. “Happened to a mate of mine. It usually wears off after a week or so.”

“A week’s a very long time to stop teleporting to where people are having sex,” Fletch said in a huff, before he gestured between the two of them. “Also, when did this bloody happen?”

Dave blushed a deep beetroot red, while Alan cocked an eyebrow at Fletch. “Really? You just gained sex powers, but you’re more concerned about Dave and I making love?”

Fletch had to hold his breath before he gagged, while Dave’s blush deepened, hearts practically glowing in his eyes. “Oh, Al--”

“Okay, I’m going to use my sex powers and, um, teleport out of here,” Fletch muttered, but Alan and Dave were starting to get all handsy again so Fletch didn’t wait and bolted out of the room, running straight to Mart’s.

***

As Alan predicted, Fletch’s sex powers went away a few days after the incident with the two of them. But although he didn’t have those powers anymore, it was hard not to notice whenever Alan and Dave snuck off together. So when Martin commented on it, Fletch told him.

“How did you find out?” Martin was half-sober, so Fletch was counting on him to remember this conversation in the morning.

“My sex powers,” Fletch said.

“Your sex what?” Martin goggled at him, so Fletch told him everything that had happened. At the end of it, Martin didn’t quite look like he believed Fletch, but he wasn’t quite laughing him off either.

“So do you still have them?” Martin asked after a long silence, staring down at his own tumbler of whiskey with suspicion now.

“I hope not,” Fletch said miserably. “I probably already need years of therapy after catching Alan and Dave like that together.”

Martin was starting to smile again. “At least Dave wasn’t lying when he said he was getting to know Alan biblically.”

“You’re a silver lining kind of bloke, aren’t you?” Fletch rolled his eyes at him, because he really wasn’t kidding about the therapy.

Martin patted him on the back sympathetically. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink then. What do you want?”

“Anything but whiskey,” Fletch said, because really, he never wanted to get sex powers again.

#dalan #fanfic #crack #pinksyndication #I had the worst writing block #so I wrote this to try and get over it #clockies' crap

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gangrenados · 4 years

Note

Heyyy, can you do Dick Grayson with the tea thing please 💞

This has been in my drafts for so long! Omg sorry 😭

Anyway, hopes you like it 💖

lemon tea; what are mornings like with them?

In those weird occasions that Dick stays in bed with you, he tends to engulf you in a tight grip. Dick likes to have you near him when he's sleeping and it's a good thing since he hogs the sheets.

He's looks so cute with his hair disheveled and his lips pouted, you really don't have the heart to wake him up.

And when he wakes up he pepper your face in kisses before finding the will to get up and start the day.

peppermint tea; what do they get excited about?

Dick gets happy to think about you two having some alone time togheter. It's hard to find time for yourselves when the tower is full of people all the time and also you have to run around fighting crime and dealing with your normal job.

Even staying in the house with no one but you, just watching a movie sounds heavenly to Dick.

chamomile tea; what is their sleep schedule like? does it change around their s/o?

Dick always says that is important to have a decent amount to sleep because if you're sleepy you wouldn't do things alright, but this man can go three days without sleeping and be fine (but it's insane the amount of caffeine he consumes). He's such an hypocrite.

Dick truly wants to go to be bed with you and wake up the same way, but it's hard for him to leave all his work behind. He does tries to be with you at bedtime at least two days a week.

earl grey tea; how did they court their s/o?

This man is a flirt and he will use all his knowledge in the matter to his advantage. Dearing smiles and sublets remarks here and there to make you think about him, it's such a good luck that he's a nice dude, the kind who makes you want to befriend him or be his someone other.

osehip tea; how romantic are they? how do they show affection?

Dick is a romantic guy but not to the point that gets overwhelming. He leans more to the simple things like buying your favorite desserts when he's coming home from work or just swept you off your feet as you hug and spin just to annoy you a little bit.

But his favorite thing is trap you in a hug and pepper your face in kisses, he will tell you a few sweet nothings before fully kissing you.

black tea; what do they look for in a person?

Someone who he can rest with and forget about all the horrible things he has seen, I feel like he would want to have a connection, someone he can let himself be without fearing he will be disappointment if he puts aside his leadership.

Someone strong minded and kind will be his first to go.

pomegranate tea; at what point did they know they loved their s/o?

Both of you were in the rooftop, side by side with just a thin blanket covering yourselves from the cold night.

Dick's nose was pink and he was lightly shivering but he didn't wanted to go back to the mansion and brake your little moment togheter.

Yeah, the cool breeze might be the cause of a potential flu, but it was worth it if he could spend more time with you, laughing you asses off at some stupid joke and just killing some time togheter as you waited for the sun to appear.

"Oh my God! I love you so much!" Dick blurted out as he whipped away some tears; you freeze in the moment those words left his mouth and it the moment he realized what he just confessed he blushed." Fuck, did I just said that?"

matcha tea; how and when do they propose to their ms/o?

It happened a few years later after you started to date. Everything was going so well, so the idea just popped on his mind one day and he started working out with it.

He would be nervous, but will try to hide it, remembering the words of encouragement his teammates and family gave him so when you noticed his way behavior, Dick told you what was on his mind, how he felt about you and then he proposed to you in sweet yet direct way because he was afraid he might stumble over his own words.

chai tea; how do they spice up their relationship?

This man is down to try whatever it is in your mind, power play? Done, dom/sub? Done, roleplay? Fucking done.

Dick likes to be the one on top, tie you up and have you at his mercy, seeing you trembling and whimpering because of him makes him happy.

He might try to convince you to give it a shot to new risky position, the ones who left you wondering if you're gonna have sex or play twister.

hibiscus tea; what’s their favourite place to take their s/o?

He likes to go to the record store in search of his favorite albums or hidden gems he think you may like.

It may sound like a simple date, but he likes to calm of it of just walking around with you, hand in hand and spending some time in the store to go for something sweet to eat after it.

green tea; how do they comfort their s/o?

Dick wouldn't leave your side, too scared that might get worse. If you're sad he's going to let you cry or rant about what's bothering you if you feel like doing it, if not then he's going to hold you until you don't need him anymore.

russian caravan tea; how experienced are they with relationships?

Dick has been in few so he knows the drill of being the boyfriend of someone. however, the fact that everyone is different makes it interesting, almost like a new challenge.

english breakfast tea; would they want a family?

Dick wants a family of his own and all the nice things that with it.

He sometimes daydream about you and him living a happy life together, married and with a child, maybe two. Yeah, that's his happy little fantasy that he hopes will come true one day...

rooibos tea; what’s their favourite thing to do with their s/o?

Dick love to take you out when the fair comes to the city, he loves everything about it: the pretty lights, the games and just the fun atmosphere.

He will do his best to win you a big prize and expect him to be cocky all night if he gets to do it.

Also he's a sucker for lazy days. Staying in pajamas/undies all the fucking day without liabilities? Perfect. You get to snuggle and make out as you have a movie marathon which you will forget pretty quickly cuz things got hot between you two.

Tag list: @c0-77 @la-femme-lupita @nervousfandom @jasontoddismyhusband

#answered #tea prompts #dick grayson hc #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson headcanon #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson #titans headcanon #titans headcanons #dc titans #titans imagine #nightwing imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing #batboys preference #batboys imagines

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everybodyscupoftea · 4 years

Text

sick (of you)

pike jj x reader

cody and jj are idiots, you have to deal with it

pre-relationship - sorry but i’m sure y’all knew it was coming eventually

(warnings: cursing, zero? editing)

“I told you,” you paced, “I literally told you fucking idiots that it was a dumb idea. And did you listen to me? Of course not. Don’t know why, I’m clearly the smartest one in the group.”

JJ was sitting on the couch, arms crossed petulantly, frowning, until he couldn’t hold his breath any longer and had to open his mouth to breathe.

“Fucking mouth breather,” you muttered. “Hey,” JJ protested, sounding stuffy, “it’s not my fault, it’s Tyler’s. He’s the one that challenged us in the first place.”

“And if Tyler challenged you to jump off a cliff,” you started, only to be interrupted by the man himself.

“Now there’s an idea.”

“No,” you glared at him, “no dying on my watch.”

“Simply do not watch,” he shrugged.

Ignoring him, you went on, “Now all you idiots are sick and who has to house you for the time being? Me. Because the rest of the house kicked you out so you didn’t spread it to all of them.”

“I really don’t think we would,” Cody spoke up for the first time.

“I really think you would, boys are fucking gross as it is.”

“Yet here you are,” JJ smirked.

“Only because I love you guys, I wouldn’t otherwise.”

“Hmm, I disagree, you’re simply the best of us.”

“Well I certainly suppose that’s the truth,” you decided to take the compliment even though Cody was clearly just buttering you up.

You sighed, as JJ coughed pathetically, “Some soup would be awesome,” he suggested.

“Sure. I’ll order some from Panera. Then Tyler can babysit while I take a shower.”

“Woah,” Tyler held his hands up, “why do I have to babysit?”

“You’re the reason they jumped into the pool in 20 degree weather asshole. Reap what you sow,” you pointed at him accusingly.

He sighed, put upon, “Fine.”

“You guys are just lucky Zach is out of town because if he weren’t and I couldn’t see him until you fools get better, I’d be mad.”

“Where’s Zach?” JJ asked, sitting up.

“He’s with his parents for the next two weeks. He’s coming back straight after Christmas.”

Cody waved his hand, “It’s fine, we’ll FaceTime him eventually.”

Tyler left after a day because he didn’t want to get sick. He said it wasn’t his fault they forgot to get their flu shots. Which, to be fair, it wasn’t yours either, but you were nice enough to let them crash on an air mattress in your living room for the time being.

And to your fear, they got stir crazy quick. Cody was the first to start whining, “We’ve literally watched everything on Netflix.”

You raised your eyebrows, “They literally posted a new season of Criminal Minds yesterday that we haven’t even started yet. I’m literally waiting on you hand and foot. Not getting paid and risking my health. What the fuck could you possibly be complaining about?”

Cody did at least have the decency to look a little chargrained, “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

You sighed, thinking a few seconds, “I could paint your nails if you want.”

JJ brightened immediately, “Yes please. Can you do Christmas colors? Tis the season and whatnot.”

Standing from the couch, you shrugged, “Unsure, let me go check what colors I have.”

There was no green, but you did have red and white, JJ hummed, “Candy cane. Good enough for me.”

“I’m not doing stripes,” you warned, “but I’ll alternate fingers.”

“Deal.”

So you settled in, all three of you on the floor, and started the new season of Criminal Minds. It started quiet, but Cody got antsy quickly and started talking, “So, how are things with you and Zach?”

“Good,” you answered, tongue sticking out a bit in focus, “I talked to him last night. Things are going well at home. As well as can be at least.”

JJ knew nothing about Zach’s home life and the pressure his family but on him, but Cody did, so he nodded understandingly, “Fuck, well I’m glad it’s not a total shitshow.”

“Yeah. When he gets back we’re celebrating our anniversary. It was actually a few weeks ago, but obviously finals and now he’s not here so.”

“Oh yeah, what are you getting him?” JJ asked eagerly, crossing his legs and leaning forward on his elbows.

Your cheeks heated up, “It sounds so dumb, but I was planning for the main gift to be me telling him that I love him.”

Cody cooed and JJ wrinkled his eyebrows, “You haven’t told him yet?”

Sighing, you looked up at him, “No, why?”

“Has he told you?”

“Well, yeah.”

JJ hummed, “I see.”

Defensively, you crossed your arms, “I’m not obligated to tell him just because he’s told me. That’s not how relationships work.”

JJ’s eyebrows shot up and he held his hands out, “Hey, not accusing. Just wondering. It’s not personally how I’d like things to be done.”

You scoffed, slamming the cap back into the nail polish bottle, “Well guess what, you not only have zero say in my relationship, you also have zero control over me or my feelings. Zach and I have talked about it and turns out he’s not a selfish dickhead and understands where I’m coming from.”

Cody raised his eyebrows at your snap and put a hand on your shoulder, “Help us understand, sweetheart. Talk it out.”

Without meaning to, you teared up, frustrated that you had to defend yourself to two boys who didn’t really need to know, but you were going to do it anyway.

“I don’t want to say I love you to someone until we’ve been dating at least a year. Because love is a choice, feelings of attraction are how two people get together, but feelings fade, ask literally any girl. Based on how you know that person, you choose to keep being with them. You choose to love them despite their flaws, despite their mistakes, and despite the things you may not like so much about them.”

You paused, taking a shuddering breath and blinked back the tears, “And once I’ve chosen that person for a year and they’ve chosen me. Then I’ll say it. Because being in love with someone isn’t something I just take flippantly, it’s not just a word to casually throw around. It means something to me. So I’m sorry if my reasoning isn’t up to your standards.”

They were both quiet for a moment, JJ wouldn’t meet your eyes, but Cody lunged forward, wrapping his arms around you tightly. For a split second, you melted into it before realizing he was there because he had the flu and jerked away.

Face hot you stood up, “Finish your own nails, I’ll be in my room.”

Pacing a few times, you turned your phone over in your hands anxiously. You didn’t have anything to prove to them, you and Zach really had talked about it. But as tears rose in your eyes, and your throat tightened, you dialled the number.

Zach picked up on the second ring, greeting you breathlessly. You could hear the smile on his lips and had to wonder how the fuck you deserved this sweet sweet boy. And it was very clear to you, you loved him, would keep choosing him because no one else knew you quite like him, not even your friends.

“Hey hon,” you managed to croak out.

He sounded concerned, “What’s wrong, sweetheart.”

“I just,” you paused and twisted your fingers in your shirt until you’d calmed down, “I wanted to let you know that I love you.”

Zach was quiet, stunned into it if you had to guess, and he eventually whispered back, “I love you too.”

It gave you enough relief to lay down and relax. The two of you spent the next few minutes catching up, and eventually went silent, listening to each other breathe.

“I missed you,” you whispered, and then a bit louder, “or I guess I should say miss.”

“I miss you too, so much. I want to see you, and my parents haven’t been,” he paused, looking for the word, “good enough to justify me staying here.”

You sat up, excited, “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Oh my god. Okay, I’ll see you soon?”

“You absolutely will.”

When you walked back out to rejoin the boys, you felt significantly better. Sitting down, in the armchair instead of the couch with them like you had been, you told them cheerfully, “Better get well soon because Zach is coming home early, and I’m ready to see him.”

Cody cheered and JJ looked at you with a face you couldn’t quite figure out. After a few seconds, you got a bit annoyed, “What?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled, finally looking away.

day 16 of @obxmermaid‘s holiday challenge: under the weather

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fic #pike!jj #cody and tyler #outer banks #outer banks fic #obxmermaidholiday #frat!jj

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faeriescorpio · 3 years

Text

Damien Time Travel Chapter 5

Damien stood by the door of the coffee shop, nearly twitching with anticipation and the need for answers. He checked his watch. The Colonel was five minutes late.

"Damien!" Came a gleeful cry, and Damien's vision was obstructed by hands swooping in from behind him to cover his eyes. "Guess who?"

"William," he greeted, smiling in relief. "How are you?"

"Brilliant!" Came the response, and The Colonel all but fell into his seat, grinning. "I went safari hunting again and almost got a lion!"

Damien tried to make a smile that wasn't a grimace, and William grinned, so he must've succeeded. He felt incredibly tense, still haunted by what the District Attorney had made him realize.

"How have you been?" William asked back. "I thought you were always working!"

"I'm taking a small break," Damien said. "I got a little sick, but I bounced back alright." William leaned forward with a gasp, eyes wide, and Damien twitched in surprise.

"What are you-"

"An illness?" His wild-eyed friend demanded. "Did you throw up? Did you have to call a doctor? Did you have to go to the hospital?"

Cursing himself for bringing up his 'minor cold' to The Colonel, who traveled far and wide and saw all sorts of germ-related horrors, matched with the recent end of the Spanish Flu Epidemic (god, he wishes he wasn't living in the 1920's and was back in his wonderfully safe, vaccine-filled world of 202- well.)

"It was nothing! I was out for a day!" Damien rushed to calm him. "I'm perfectly fine, as you can see."

The Colonel looked at him for a moment longer, eyes filled with concern, then tilted his head.

"Alright," he said. "I suppose you called me to just 'catch up' out of the blue, then."

"Maybe I did," Damien retorted, and William huffed in amusement.

"Right, Mister Do-Things-Efficiently wanted to leave Mark's party for having fun, and catch up now!" He guffawed, and Damien frowned as he remembered his fears.

"I have to admit," Damien stated, hiding his nervousness behind nonchalance. "When you first responded to my phone call, I was ecstatic. But what on earth are you doing in town?" It was something that was worrying him terribly, but he hid it behind a friendly smile.

"Oh," The Colonel laughed, rubbing the back of his head almost sheepishly, "Alright, alright, I'll tell you." He leaned forward, and Damien, still incredibly tense with nerves, followed suit.

"I was hoping to see some old friends," William said, smile fond, and reached forward to poke Damien in the chest. "I was under the impression that some of my friends were big hot shots too busy working!" Damien flushed.

"Wait, you just wanted to see me?" Damien said, eyes round with surprise and relief. Maybe this had happened the last time around too, only his secretary might've deflected William's call. Which would've been a shame, but at least this wasn't some unknown side-effect from messing with the timeline.

"And that fine district attorney you've got there!" William continued boisterously, and Damien flushed again as several customers at the coffee house looked over at the loud voice.

"William, that better not be inappropriate," Damien said, face flaming. William snickered, lacking any sense of self-embarrassment.

"Well, it's true," He said. "Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, but I'd like to get to know my friends!" He leaned forward. "They're the one that leaves the building with you, in the gray suit, right?"

"Have you been stalking us?" Damien asked, and the Colonel laughed again.

"I just wanted to make sure I was about to bother the right person!"

And then Damien had a brilliant idea. Oh, oh, why hadn't he thought of this before? It would stop every problem that was about to happen right in its tracks! He wouldn't have to worry about the mansion party because-

"Why don't you meet them? I can get a little party together, October 13th, Friday?" He offered with a smile. "You can get to know them and we can have some fun!"

"But that's the same day as Mark's party," William said, eyes suddenly narrowed, and Damien swallowed as he remembered that as exuberant as both versions of his old friend could be, the older version before becoming Warfstache was still incredibly intelligent underneath that raucous noise.

"Um, " Damien said, "Well,"

"What aren't you telling me?" William demanded suddenly, pressing his hands against the table. Damien blinked, internally panicking.

Oh no, oh god, what am I going to say-?

"I don't know why he invited us!" Damien blurted out, and William stared at him behind his strange glasses.

Damien had meant, 'I don't know why Mark invited me and the District Attorney', but then his mind kicked back into gear and he realized he could spin this in his favor.

"I don't know what we're celebrating," He continued, and William leaned closer, and his voice became hushed. "We haven't been all together as a group like this in years, and now just out of the blue he invites us without even coming up with a reason why?"

"I see," William said, eyes narrowed, and Damien realized with a start that their faces were inches apart, and he pulled back a bit.

"It is suspicious," William continued, voice dropping low, and he brushed his fingers against his mustache absent-mindedly. "I can't help but wonder..."

"Wonder what?" Damien asked, and Williams shook himself like a wet dog shaking off water, or a man trying to shake off unwanted thoughts.

"Nothing," The Colonel said, and stood up suddenly. "It was good to see you, but I must get going."

"Wait," Damien said anxiously as William headed for the door. "Are you coming to my place Friday?"

"I don't know," The Colonel said, and Damien's heart sank like a rock. "I don't know..." He sighed. "I want to believe that Mark has good intentions, and unless you have solid proof telling you otherwise...?" He let his words trail off, and Damien drooped. William nodded like he saw what he expected.

"I'll see you later, Damien," He said, exiting the shop, and pointed at the mayor. "And I expect you to introduce me to that friend!"

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dignitywhatdignity · 3 years

Text

NaClYoHo Day 28

Traditionally I don't count the days I'm temping, but I fully plan to at least chug my way through the photo books if nothing else, so eff it, I'm counting it. I did lose part of last week; I expected that Veterans Day wouldn't count, but then %yo got sick so I lost the 12th, too.

It's been too long since I updated this, sorry (she says as if anyone cards).

So what have I been up to?

Last I checked, the sunflower seeds aren't ready to harvest yet.

Asbestos guys are coming this weekend. I need to fill out some paperwork for the floor replacement guys, so that's a task for today. FIL is working on the walls. Husband is TV shopping online, and either today or tomorrow I'll see what Consumer Reports recommends.

Our few Thanksgiving decorations are up. Still don't have more than a tentative plan as to what we're doing.

No word on when the school pictures will be in.

I plan to make some appointments this week, although I doubt I'll attend more than one before the month is out.

I've done some online Christmas shopping, and I plan to start my in-person shopping in earnest this weekend (largely to avoid my MIL, with whom we are staying while the asbestos guys do their thing). If all goes well, we'll take pictures on Sunday.

I need to find the list of gifts from 1yo's baptism. I found a little but not much.

My nightstand straight-up broke, so I am gonna replace "clean and organize" with "get new". Should be easy once we have our correct dimensions.

Current date: 11/15/2021 Current score: 22/91 = 24%

Make this list.

Garden 2. Buy some spring bulbs 3. Plant the bulbs 4. Check fridge for bulbs. 5. Prune the sunflowers 6. prune the Shasta daisies ✅ 4. Cut down the sunflowers 5. Dig up the sunflower stalks 6. Harvest the seeds. 10. Repot houseplants

Basement 8. Set up direct deposit for the insurance 9. Upload pictures to FEMA portal 10. get an asbestos appraisal 11. Figure out insurance-vs-fema money situation. 14. Get asbestos removed 15. Get floor refinished 16. Get the walls fixed ✅ 17. Get the walls painted 18. Buy a new rug 19. Put all the furniture back 20. Buy a new couch 21. Buy a new TV 22. Replace the other stuff we claimed 23. Submit receipts for depreciation. 25. Buy new desk chairs.

Halloween 12. Have 5yo hang his window clings 13. Dig non-Christmas holiday box out of the garage and pull out Halloween decorations 14. Buy pumpkins 29. Buy 5yo’s costume

Thanksgiving 30. Put Halloween decorations in non-Christmas box and pull Thanksgiving decorations out 31. Figure out where we’re going when and what we need to bring.

Masks 16. Line the white knit mask. 17. Finish knitting the blue knit mask. 18. Line the blue knit mask. 35. Start another knit mask.

Photos 20. Download the official school picture 21. order this year’s pictures 22. parcel out pics for relatives 23. Buy frame for school pics 40. frame the wallet-sized

41. Deal with papers ✅

Medical 26. find glasses prescription 27. order glasses from zenni 28. make GP appointment 29. Attend GP appointment 30. Ask GP about therapy 31. Ask GP about ADHD 32. Make OB/GYN appointment 33. Attend OB/GYN appointment 34. Get flu shot 35. Get the kids their flu shots.✔ 36. make dentist appointments 53. attend dentist appointments

Christmas 38. Make a list of needed gifts ✅ 39. Inventory purchased gifts 40. Shop ✔ 41. Pick out kids’ holiday outfits 42. Take holiday photos 43. design and order cards 44. Compile, mail merge, print addresses 61. Order stamps

photo books 46. Did I ever finish the 2019 book? 47. Compile 2020 pictures – my phone 48. Compile 2020 pictures – husband’s phone 49. Compile 2020 pictures - 5yo’s camera 50. Compile 2020 pictures –BIL 51. Compile 2020 pictures – facebook 52. Compile 2020 pictures – my parents 53. Compile 2020 pictures – desktop 54. Compile 2020 pictures – laptop 55. design 2020 photo book 56. Order 2020 photo book 73. repeat process for 2021 book

74. work through mending pile

Finish thank you notes 59. the last of last Christmas (yes I know) –J&S gave castle blocks, pirate stickers, bath book and toys, pelican sorter –J&D gave crayons, sketch pad, tiles, bead maze 60. 1yo’s baptism -MIL and FIL: hosting. diapers and formula. cake. $$$? -???: Noah's ark book and toy 61. 5yo’s birthday 78. 1yo’s birthday

79. Organize the coupon drawer ✅

Fridge 64. Contact paper 65. Magnets 82. Organize

83. Bag up clothes for Goodwill

Decorate 5yo’s room 68. frame lighthouse pics 69. Hang all art and pics 86. Hang growth chart

Decorate 1yo’s room> 87. hang art

88. replace and organize nightstands

Windows 73. Measure all windows ✅ 74. get new blinds for bedrooms 91. get curtains for bathroom, 1yo’s room, kitchen?

#naclyoho

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harrysgloves · 4 years

Text

Line Fine (Chapter 8)

>>>Catch up with the Fine Line Masterlist!

word count: 1.9k

story summary: Since you were kids you and Harry had always walked that fine line of friends or something more. Now, pregnant by someone else, you find yourself staying with your long time best friend after things go sour with your boyfriend of 3 years.

Singlemom!Reader x Harry Styles

chapter summary: You meet a new friend when Harry’s late to your appointment.

warnings: Language

a/n: Now that I got ‘In The Middle’ out of my head and published, it’s back to our regularly scheduled programming. Yes, I know I’m not funny...

>>><<<

You sat nervously in the doctor's office waiting room. Yes, you had been here a million times before for gynecologist appointments but never for obstetrics. The whole place seemed different now that you sat on the other side of the waiting room.

Your hands ran down your pants as your feet bounced up and down on the floor. Harry should have been here already. Your hands fumbled around for the phone in your purse. Pulling it out to check your messages again. No new notifications. No new messages. Nothing.

You knew he hated doctors offices but he promised you that morning he'd be there before running out the door to meet Mitch for something he said was important for the upcoming album. Your appointment wasn't until the afternoon so you didn't think anything about it. Figuring he'd be back way before you had to leave. When he wasn't, he called to tell you he'd meet you there.

Now, here you were absolutely alone. Sitting in a cold waiting room waiting for your best friend because your baby daddy couldn't be bothered to answer his fucking phone for almost 3 weeks. Rings of children crying beside you made your anxiety spike. The pediatrician section of the waiting room directly beside the obstetric side.

You silently cursed the fucker who came up with this layout. Obviously they'd assume every pregnant person would be comfortable hearing and watching little kids run around. You weren't that person. No you were absolutely petrified.

"First kid?" The guy beside you asked as he bounced the baby he was holding on his lap. Your head snapping to him as your anxiety raged through your mind.

"’S that noticeable?" You asked, your legs tapping faster on the floor as you stared a hole in the wall opposite of you.

Your eyes moving back to him when he let out a laugh. Your eyes racking over him.

He was cute. His dark hair piled in soft curls on top of his head. Light eyes that only had a slight trace of dark circles underneath of them.

No ring on his hand.

You smiled easily, sitting back in your seat. If Harry was going to be late the least you could do was chat up this guy.

"I'm Matt and this," he said as he leaned down to his baby's level, "this is Roman."

You moved forward in your seat. Your eyes blinking a few times at the baby in front of you. You were going to have one of these in a few months. The realization sinking deep into your mind as you stared at the child in front of you.

His dad waving his hand back and forth as you said hi to him.

"He's adorable." You said as the little boy continued to coo and talk up a storm to no one in particular.

"He's only cute when he's not fighting sleep." Matt said with a smile, his hand running over the top of his child's hair.

"They do that?" You asked with a slight panic. You thought all babies loved to sleep.

God, you had no idea what children did.

"Sometimes, they're curious little things. Want to know about the big world around them. This one is extra nosey." He said as he booped Roman's nose. His little baby hands holding on tight to his dad's as he squealed loudly.

A smile across your face as you stared at the baby in front of you. Maybe they weren't so scary. This one was definitely cute.

"You here by yourself?" He questioned, shaking you out of your trance like stare on his kid.

"Oh," you paused, looking around again only to see Harry still hadn't arrived. "My friend was supposed to be here but…"

"Mhh." He hummed, "his mom was supposed to take him today for his shots. She bailed at the last minute. Guess I should have listened to that whole "don't have a baby with someone you don't know" bullshit."

You laughed, shaking your head. A smile creeping on your face as you licked your lips.

"Guess I should have listened to that too." You said back not missing the way his eyes lit up as he looked at you.

"Know this is a bit weird, hitting on you in a doctor's office."

"Oh? That's what you're doing?" You said with a cheeky smile as you looked at him.

You still got it. You thought to yourself.

"Must not be as good at this as I used to be."

"No, you're doing great." You reassured. "My appointment is in 5 minutes though so you might want to get to the part where you ask for my number."

He let out a small laugh nodding his head as he handed you his phone for you to put your number in. Your fingers worked quickly to put in your information when your name was called.

"I'll be calling, Y/N." He said as you stood up from your seat. A bit giddy you'd been hit on. That was always a good feeling.

"Look forward to it."

>>>

Your legs hung over the paper lined table. Swinging them back and forth slightly as the very sweet nurse asked you a shit ton of questions.

"'M 'ere!"

The door to the room being thrown open. Harry standing there out of breath like he'd just ran a mile.

"This must be dad." The nurse said as she looked up from her clipboard.

"Oh no, this is, unfortunately, my best friend who was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago." You said with a hint of anger etched in your voice. Not even looking at him as he took a seat beside the table you were on.

"'M sorry. I lost track of time and-"

The nurse cut him off as she continued to ask you questions. Her voice ringing high in the room around you two as she tried to avoid a fight breaking out.

He shouldn't have said he'd come if he didn't want to be here.

You sighed as the nurse finally left the room. Your eyes on the ground as you reminded yourself to not be too hard on him. It wasn’t like he had to be here. This wasn't his baby.

"'M so sorry." Harry said as he stood up from the chair. His arms around you as you hugged him back.

"'S okay. Know you got stuff going on. You still made it." You said as you buried your head in his chest. His head resting on top of yours.

"'M still a dick." He said, making you laugh as you pulled back from him. Your eyes connected with his that were filled with regret.

"You hate doctor's offices and this isn't even your baby. It's really okay."

The door opened right as he was about to speak. Whatever words he was about to say quickly being shoved back in his mouth as he pulled away from you.

"Alright, Miss Y/L/N, let's start with the easy stuff. How have you been feeling?" The doctor asked as she shut the door behind her. Your eyes on Harry as she sat in the chair with wheels across from you.

"Uh, sick to my stomach a lot and really tired. Feels like I got a real bad flu some days." You nervously fiddled with the end of your shirt as you tried your best to not chew on your nails in front of the doctor.

"Real common for this time in your pregnancy. We can prescribe some pills for nausea."

She clicked away on her keyboard that sat in front of her, barely looking at you but you didn't mind. You were just trying to not have a full fledged panic attack in front of someone you didn't know.

Harry's hand reached up to hold yours from his seat when he noticed your nerves not settling. You smiled softly at him. Silently saying thank you.

"As for the tiredness that usually wears off around the second trimester and come back again in the third." She turned around to give you a soft smile as you nodded your head. Understanding the next few months were going to be hell on your body.

"You're 10 weeks, so we won't find out the gender this time but we can still get a look at the baby. Make sure everything's going okay. That sound good to you two?" She asked as she stood up from her chair.

"Yeah." You and Harry both mumbled out.

Your stomach churned as you laid back against the table. Your eyes followed the doctor as she pushed forward an ultrasound machine beside the bed. Her hands gestured for you to lift your shirt.

You were somewhere between nervous and excited to see the baby as the cool gel hit your stomach. Your breath catching in your throat when the wand hit your stomach.

Nothing coming into sight on the little screen.

"'S that normal?" Harry asked on the edge of his seat as the wand moved over your stomach.

"Oh, yes. Sometimes they like to hide." She said as the wand pressed deeper into your skin.

Your eyes moved over to the screen again when you heard Harry take in a deep breath.

There they were. Your future baby curled up in a little ball. You felt your eyes start to water when it did a little flip and started jumping around inside of you.

You couldn't feel the movement yet but know the baby was actually in there, moving around. Living. It made your heart swell with emotions you've never felt before.

"Wow." Harry mumbled from beside you. His hand over top of yours in an instant.

"This one's really active. No wonder your stomach is so sick." The doctor said as she moved to get another look at the baby from the side.

"That's normal, right?" Harry asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked intensely at the screen.

"I promise, I'll tell you if something isn't normal." The doctor said with a smile as she clicked a few buttons on the machine. Pictures printing out on the side of it.

Her wand pulled off your stomach quickly, handing you washcloths to wipe off the gel on your stomach. You felt an unfamiliar sinking in your heart as you wiped your stomach clean. You could have looked at your baby on that screen all day long.

"Healthy looking baby. That's great." The doctor said cheerfully as she handed you the pictures she had printed out. Harry craned his neck to get another.

"Only thing we have to do is keep an eye on your blood pressure." She commented off handedly as she cleaned up the machine.

"Wot?" Harry asked from beside you. A sinking feeling in your stomach setting in as you tried to telepathically tell the doctor to shut up.

It was only a tad bit high at the beginning of your appointment. Which you were sure was because of your anxiety and not anything more serious.

"Ah, see this one doesn't like to tell you things. Maybe you should be at the beginning of the appointments from now on." The doctor shot at Harry. Your laugh rung around the room as he nudged you with his elbow.

"Her blood pressure was a little high. It's common in the beginning. Only thing you have to be careful about is it not getting too high or when it drops back down, that she doesn't faint."

Harry's eyes widened as he looked at the doctor. His mouth practically on the floor as he stared from her to you. A very annoyed look across your face.

The last thing you needed was Mr. Overprotective hovering over you all the time.

#Harry Styles #Harry #Harry Styles x Reader #Harry Styles x Y/N #Harry Styles x You #Harry Styles Fanfic #Harry Styles Fanfiction #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Writing #Mine #Fine Line #FL

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jaeminlore · 5 years

Text

The World is Ending and I'm With You

SPINOFF | PLAYLIST (pls listen while you read)

summary: and i won't sleep through this. i survive on the breath you are finished with. words: 6.1k+ category: angst, fluff, suggestive, mark won't stop talking about how he used to be a cub scout warning(s): death, religion mention, death mention, implied sex ohoho i'm getting bold, littering (not from mark bc he's a good boy), unedited a/n: john mayer song that's kind of an easter egg, and a poem at the end by someone called s.b.,,, also you don't have to read the spinoff to read this one :) but it does take place in the same universe/timeline.

You never were one for smoking. Your mother always told you it would increase risk of cancer, and in turn, death. But now the world is ending, and your mom hasn't been home in a few days. So, you smoke.

The convenience store you work at doesn't have many packs left. Your manager has some stupid rule about rationing stock now that delivery truck drivers are quitting at a rapid rate. They don't want to be stuck on the freeway when the meteor hits. Which makes sense to you, but it's all your bitter manager seems to complain about.

You take a pack out from behind the clear screen and extract a stick. You're in the middle of lighting it with a lighter that most certainly isn't yours when a wide-eyed boy appears in front of the counter. He dumps a basket full of snacks onto the register, followed by a plethora of hygienic products.

"You worried we'll run out?" You try to joke. Really, this is a small town, and your store is the biggest one in town (which isn't saying much at all.) It's completely possible.

The boy shrugs. "I'm gonna hit the road before everything goes down. I don't want to be here if a riot starts. Also, I want to find my soulmate."

"Don't we all?" You say, blowing smoke out of your mouth.

The boy coughs and gives you a short glare. "Something to look forward to, at least."

You throw the still-lit cigarette across the store. Part of you hopes it will catch on something and burn the store to the ground. But it goes out on the cold linoleum floor. You look at the boy again. "I'll give you all of this for free if you let me come with you."

(Mark isn't sure why he chooses a road trip in the first place. It's not like his beat up old van can outrun the end of the world. Maybe deep down, he hopes it can.

He also isn't sure why he's let you tag along, save for the fact that he really needs to stock up on food, just in case. And he's also lonely. Maybe talking to someone will calm his restless soul.)

Mark has a giant van. There's a mattress in the back, complete with a blanket and pillow. He tosses his groceries in the back and clumsily shoves the key in the ignition. "Are you sure about this? I'm going across the country."

You light another cigarette. Five packs stolen from your store sit in his glove compartment. "We have what? A week left? I have nowhere better to be."

He takes this answer and begins to drive. The radio is staticky, but you can make out the preacher's message of salvation in the last days. You wonder if it gives the boy comfort. It gives you anxiety, so you take a long drag and focus on the weird way the cigarette smoke warms your mouth. "I'm Y/n, by the way."

"I'm Mark." He turns down the radio. "I'm pretty sure my soulmate is in California, based on my tattoo."

"Okay," you say, because you really don't care. You haven't believed in soulmates since your parents got divorced. You throw the cigarette out of the window and try not to think about the way your moon tattoo burns against your collarbones. "Does your tattoo say California or something?"

"No, it's just a sun."

You want to call him dumb. Or stupid. Or an idiot. "California isn't the only place on earth with a sun, you know. And apart from that, it's a huge state. How are you gonna find your soulmate in a week?"

Mark takes an anxious sip of his gas station slushee. "I know it's stupid, okay? But I feel drawn there, so it's my only shot."

You lower the sun visor and grab the pair of aviators that are hooked onto it. "Well I feel drawn to the sea, so let's go to the beach first."

(Mark wants to tell you that he knows he won't find his soulmate. His soulmate is probably dead with the rest of the world that got caught in the atmosphere change. His soulmate is probably farther than California, but for some reason the state is stuck in his mind.

He remembers his aunt's beach house. Solar generators for electricity and water. A familiar place to stay in the end. But for now, he wants to take his chances on the road. He doesn't want to be dormant, and he knows you don't either.)

Mark hits Oregon at three in the morning. He nods off once and veers into the side of the highway before you finally convince him to pull over for the night.

He parks at a truck stop and the two of you take showers, using what products you and Mark bought (stole). You use more than you need. Shampoo gets in your eyes.

Your eyes are still burning when you meet up with Mark at the van. He's already asleep, an open bag of chips beside him. He must've been too tired to even eat.

The back of the van is covered in those battery-powered clip-on fans from the mall kiosks. Mark told you earlier that he had bought them on sale. You had asked earlier why he hadn't just stolen them.

He told you he believes in heaven, and doesn't want to hurt his chances of getting there. You told him you don't think good works matter anymore.

You eat the chips and fall asleep beside him, ignoring him as he mumbles random phrases in his sleep.

(Mark lays down on the mattress. The van is hot, even with the windows cracked, even with the cheap fans, so Mark feels his skin beginning to get sticky with sweat. He doesn't want to eat. He doesn't want to sleep. He doesn't want to breathe in this foggy air and think about the inevitable.

He wishes you would just come out of the shower and join him. He waits for what seems like ages, until he's too worn out to keep his eyes open. He falls into a restless sleep, not noticing the way the mattress dips when you join him.)

"My dad was a mafia boss," you say, spitting a sunflower seed shell onto the dashboard. The Clash is playing from Mark's radio, and the station wavers in and out as you drive across state lines.

"Really?" You've found that Mark's eyes grow obnoxiously big when he's surprised about something. His mouth forms a little 'o' shape and his voice grows softer. It's adorable, so you make it your mission to surprise him as much as you can. That, and road trips are pretty boring when the world is ending.

"No."

"Come on!" Mark pouts. You can see it in your peripheral vision. "Stop lying to me. I bet your dad doesn't even have a cool job."

"Guess then," you taunt. "By the way, we passed the California-Oregon state line like, five minutes ago."

Mark gasps and rolls down the window, looking back towards the passing highway, as if the sign is going to still be there. "I can't believe I missed it! This could be it. This is where we find our soulmates."

You spit out another shell. "I'm hoping my soulmate's name is Long Beach because that's where I'm going."

"Let's stay together," Mark says. He's biting his thumbnail, eyes towards the empty road in front of him. "I don't know how many more of us will be left."

You want to correct him and say that there are plenty of people left, and yet you know that a lot of people took the pill. Or got sick. Or killed in a raid. Funny, a meteor is scheduled to hit the earth and people decide to leave early. Or they lose their humanity entirely, and take people out with them. Truthfully, there aren't many people left at all.

"Okay," you say. Your eyes stay on his face a little longer than necessary. You take note of his wide, innocent eyes and wonder if he even understands what's happening. Or maybe he just looks like that. But really, all it does is make you want to protect him from the inevitable.

Maybe there's a secret spaceship you can hide him in, and he can start a new, albeit solitary, life on the moon.

You'd never make it to Area 51 in time. That's where they keep the spaceships, right?

(Mark doesn't know how to tell you that he doesn't even care about this stupid soulmate thing. He just doesn't want to be alone. He doesn't want to say that, because it means he has to vocally admit that he is alone. Truly. Not by choice.

He was out of town when his family got the flu. The atmosphere got too much. Whatever sickness killed and left as soon as it came, took them too. And he had to go. He had to get out, as far away from the east coast as he could. So he decided on the west coast. And then he decided on you.)

"Let's get our tan on!" You joke. The clouds are heavy and dark above the water. It looks like the sky and the water are becoming one, however slowly or quickly. You grab Mark's elbow and pull him towards the sea.

The waves roar against the silence of the land. There's a family down the ways, barely noticeable under the pier. You watch a seagull fly down towards the family and steal something. The little girl shrieks, but you don't know if it's in excitement or fear.

The beach is distractedly empty. No people — save those already mentioned — are anywhere to be seen. There's debris everywhere: old umbrellas, coolers, and towels are half-buried in the sand.

The tide is coming in higher (something the news channel probably warned about) and for some reason, it makes the world feel incredibly small.

Mark has already got his legs in the water. It's lapping at his clothed jeans, but he doesn't seem to mind. His back is turned to you. He's facing the horizon, still and silent.

You hate to ruin this for him, but as the mood grows more dismal, you want to lighten it.

You sneak up behind Mark and jump on his back. Your weight catches him off guard, and the two of you plummet into the cloudy water. Mark yelps when the water hits his torso. You fall in after him and grip his shoulders. Closing your eyes tight, you hold you breath and lift your face above the surface. "Feel refreshed?"

Mark coughs. He rubs his eyes, wincing when the salt reaches beneath his lids. "Why would you do that?"

"It's fun," you say.

Mark begins swimming into the deep water. He looks a bit like a lost child, doggy paddling in the vast sea. He grins, and his lips are a bit lopsided. You notice his cheeks grow hollow when he smiles. "You scared me, Y/n."

The sentence ends timidly, like he isn't sure if he's allowed to say your name out loud. But you like it. It's hesitant and soft; loud because it's the only word spoken for miles; quiet because it's Mark. You wonder briefly how to get him to say your name again.

The two of you swim until you can't touch the sandy floor below you anymore. Mark holds his own, but you struggle a bit. "They were right about the tide getting stronger."

"Here," Mark swims over to you and wraps his arm around your waist. "Stay close to me."

Something akin to reticence settles against the wall of your skull like the numb reminder that this is all very weird. Mark is a stranger, and you're cross-country with only him. It bothers you that your mind is already growing attached; your heart already growing attracted. This is the last thing you need to happen during your last days on this literal godforsaken earth.

You swim back to the shore first and lie on the sand. It clings to your wet skin. The tide laps at your feet. The sun is going down, and the air feels overwhelmingly muggy. You close your eyes.

(Mark thinks about the waves. He thinks about the frequency of your voice when he splashes you. He thinks of how your smile seems even prettier at this time of day. He thinks about the way you pulled back when he asked you to stay. While he knows this isn't exactly the time to fall for someone, he can't help but feel like he's starting to.

He watches you fall asleep in the sand. Your cheeks are red. Your eyelashes flutter against the tops of your cheeks. Your lips are chapped. Mark finds that he wouldn't mind kissing you. Or just simply being by your side.

For a few solitary moments, he doesn't even think about the end. Just the now.)

It feels like you blinked, but when you reopen your eyes you find that time has certainly gone by. Mark is sitting a ways away, stoking a makeshift fire.

"I was a Cub Scout," he says.

"I need a smoke." You go back to the van and pull out a pack and a lighter. Your brain feels fuzzy from having fallen asleep on the beach, and your back itches from the sand that has scratched its way down your shirt. To distract yourself, you lean against the van and take a drag; look up towards the sky.

It's a dark reddish black, some ominous code that the world is definitely coming to an end. Clouds swirl hazily against each other and you can see that a storm seems to be forming over the ocean. Months ago this would've been beautiful. An instagram-worthy shot, a coffee pot topic, and nothing more.

Right now it sends a chill down your spine.

You drop the cigarette and head back to where Mark is sitting. He has some kind of pot out over the fire, and what looks like a can of soup inside. The can itself is tucked neatly in the little box Mark has beside him. You wonder why he cares so much about a planet that's already dead. "Thanks. For, uh dinner."

"Yeah," Mark clears his throat and shifts in the sand. "That's what friends are for."

"We're friends now?" You raise your brow at Mark while he hands you a bowl of soup along with a spoon.

"I sure hope so," Mark quips. "I don't make soup for just anybody."

You laugh at that. Your heart stirs in excitement. Your stomach growls, so you ignore the heaviness in your chest and take a bite of your soup.

That night you fall asleep with a belly full of food and sand down your shorts. It's half-ideal, half-hell, but Mark gives you a hug before the two of you tuck in, so it's okay.

(Mark wants to say that he wishes the two of you were friends a lot sooner, but that would be weird. He's only known you for like, three days. Maybe he's delirious.

But he gives you a hug before you fall asleep anyway. He hopes you can't hear how fast his heart is beating. It's stupid anyway, he thinks.)

Four days left. Give or take. You aren't completely sure to be honest, and that brings on an entire onslaught of horror that you've never really felt before. There's something so terrifying about this whole thing. It's like you've knocked on Death's door, and you have no idea when he's actually going to open it.

Mark hides it well. He drives the two of you down to Hollywood Boulevard.

It's trashed. What was once the walk of fame is now defaced with graffiti, food, trash, and what looks like human feces. You throw up in the fake bushes and Mark pats your back while you do.

"Guess I won't get my picture with Kermit the Frog then," you joke.

Mark's eyes suddenly widen. He grabs his backpack straps. "There's a Kermit the Frog star?"

"Yeah," you laugh at Mark's expression. "My aunt was obsessed with The Muppets. She had a laminated picture of the star in her sewing room."

Mark bites his lip and averts his eyes. "I have a Polaroid. Not much film, but we might could get a few pictures."

The stars have to be cleared first. Mark comes up with the idea to sneak into one of the restaurants nearby and using their cleaning supplies. And since you have all day and nothing to lose, you agree.

The thing about a large and empty place like Hollywood Boulevard, is that every shadow feels like a threat. Memories of dystopian movies come flooding through your memories when Mark hands you a giant broom. You wonder if some evil man with a god complex is going to come and kidnap you both.

But the only people the two of you ever see is a man in a small shop that looks like it contains weed.

You and Mark sweep away as much debris as you can, while avoiding anything that came out of a human body. The graffiti covers a lot of the stars, but after a few hours of walking and sweeping, the two of you find it.

"Kermit," Mark breathes a side of relief before laughing out loud. His laugh is stark against the silence.

You join him anyway. "I can't believe we found Kermit! My aunt would be so jealous right now."

"Your aunt sounds weird," Mark says, no real bite to his remark.

"She is," you confirm. "She's up in Maine somewhere. At least, you know, last I heard."

Mark senses the change in tone and drops his backpack to the ground. He pulls out a baby pink Polaroid camera. He points it at you. "Say cheese, Y/n."

There's your name on his tongue again. That sound itself has you beaming as you lean against the brooms long handle and cock your head to the side. The camera clicks.

Mark takes out the picture and shakes it before he looks at it. "Cute," he says casually, then he tucks it in his shirt pocket.

"I want to see it," you say. You hope that if you don't acknowledge the warmth in your cheeks, Mark won't either.

"Too bad." He sticks his tongue out at you. And before you can retort, he squats down beside the star. "Okay, let's get a picture of this bad boy."

You squat down too. You match Mark's peace sign and smile in the direction of the lens. The camera clicks.

Nothing comes out. "Shit," Mark mumbles to himself. "I guess I had a lot less film than I thought."

You're about to apologize, feeling like maybe you should've put up a bigger fight when he offered to take your picture.

Mark seems to read your mind. That, or he's just too nice for his own good. He pats his shirt pocket and gives you a generous smile. "Worth it, though."

The sky is getting progressively darker as the two of you walk around, occasionally pointing at places you would've liked to go, had the circumstances been different.

You both eat from snacks you find in a convenience store. You take the rest and leave it in the truck. "What should we do now?" Mark asks.

The light from the store across the street flickers. You look at the neon leaf and then back to Mark. "Have you ever gotten high?"

(Mark has gotten high before, and he tells you so. What he doesn't tell you is that the picture in his pocket is getting heavier as the seconds pass. What he doesn't tell you is that this picture may be the only evidence left of you in a few days. Maybe it will disappear with the rest of them. Mark briefly wonders if a fireproof box would work against the end of the world, and whatever that entails.

He wants to tell you that he would immortalize you in a million different pictures if he could. He would show the dying world a million different ways to breathe again.

Instead, he only nods his head. "Yeah, but it's always fun to do again.")

You're positive it's the fact that you've taken one too many hits of whatever joint that weed guy rolled up for you. 'Said it was his best; he was saving it for something special. Since the world is going to hell, he shared it with you.

And now you're in the bed of Mark's van, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the way Mark's lips wrap around the joint. He has a really pretty mouth, you realize, and you want to say it out loud but something heavier takes hold of your chest and you bury it down with all of your other fears and revelations.

Mark coughs. Puffs of smoke blow out into the hot van, and he winces at the smell. "Didn't the guy say this was the special stuff? Why does it still stink?"

You take the joint from him and package it up, hoping to save it for another day (or maybe you just don't want to get so high that you can't focus on Mark's face.)

Mark scrunches his nose and leans back against the cool window of the van. "We should sleep outside tonight. It's too hot in here."

"Under the stars?" you ask. You feel your heartbeat pick up, but it falls just as quickly, and you settle back into the blankets. "Don't wanna move."

"I'll move you," Mark says, a mere whisper against your right side.

You watch him open the trunk. He hops out. "Come on, Y/n. Take my hand."

His hand is warm and calloused and rough and you want to ask him if he can actually play that guitar in the back of his van or if it's just for show. Mark lets you sit on the concrete of the pier. It's warm beneath your skin. Mark parked the van right against the pier, so the two of you could sleep right next to the edge.

While you hang your legs off of the edge, Mark drags the mattress out and pushes it right up to the railing. "Didn't peg you for a stoner."

You grab the blanket he throws at you and lie down on the mattress. "I'm not," you say, no bark to your words. "You're just better at it than me."

"At smoking?" Mark laughs. "I only took one hit. You took, like, four."

"So?" You pout and refuse to return his stare. Instead you try to focus on the stars, and the way their alignments seem off. You wonder if it's the end of the world, or if it's just the weed. "I wish we had more time."

The candor in your voice causes Mark to finally settle down. He lays down. His shoulder brushes against yours, and when his fingers twitch, his knuckles touch yours. It stirs up a gentle longing in your heart. What might be. What never was. You turn to face Mark. "We haven't found your soulmate, yet."

Mark lets out a shaky breath. Something between a gasp and a sigh. He blinks, looks at you like he's indulging, and blinks again. "I don't know if I want to."

(He knows he doesn't want to. Hasn't for a long time now. But your innocent worry has him thinking. Has him wondering how much a soulmate is worth in the end.

He thinks of how you let your guard down when you're high. He thinks of the jolt of electricity that zips down his arm when your fingers touch his. He thinks of your face, so close to his and yet he's so, so afraid of leaning in. Or letting go. Or scaring you away.

Mark doesn't have to find his soulmate. There's no time, and no lead. He thinks that he'd be disappointed anyway.

At the end of all things, he thinks he'd just rather be with you.)

"Where'd you even learn how to siphon gas?" you cough. The air is growing thinner. An estimate of three or four days left, and the air is beginning to fall against the atmosphere like a weighted blanket. Ash and dust rise from the ground, and you keep a bandanna around your nose most of the time.

Mark spits gasoline out of his mouth and shoves the nozzle into his van. "Cub Scouts, remember?"

"Who knew Cub Scouts would prepare you for the end of the world." You kick the van's back tire.

Mark lifts his own red bandanna around his mouth. His jeans are scuffed up from the dirt and grime of the gas station, but the fact that he keeps his shirt tucked in and fastened with a belt is more endearing than it needs to be.

"Too bad I never earned my saving-the-world badge, right?" Mark chuckles. A sad silence follows.

You slip into the passenger seat beside Mark and place your hand over his as soon as it's placed on the gear shift. "What did you want to be? Before the news?"

Mark opens his mouth. Then closes it, laughs to himself and shakes his head. "It's stupid."

"It can't be stupid," you say. "Nothing you like is stupid."

Mark's neck flushes red. "I, uh, want to be a rapper."

"Still?" you whisper.

"Is that pathetic? To pretend the world isn't ending?" Mark lets himself glance at you for a solemn moment.

"I don't think so," you say. "If I've learned anything from you at all, Mark Lee, it's that you're full of hope. That's not pathetic at all."

Mark flips his hand over so that your fingers intertwine with his. "Thanks. You, uh... You've taught me a lot of things too."

"Like what?" You lift your feet onto the dash and squeeze Mark's hand.

"I don't want to say right now."

"Okay." You pull his hand into your lap and run your fingertips over his calloused palms. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you this, but do you play guitar?"

"Yeah," Mark turns down a neighborhood of beach houses. "Remind me to play for you sometime."

(Mark likes the way you touch him first. He likes that you let him hold your hand. He likes that you pull his hand into your lap. He feels so much peace that for a brief moment, he thinks that if the world were to end right now, off-schedule, he'd be okay with it. He doesn't know how to tell you that you're teaching him to be okay with the end. He doesn't know how to tell you that he finds forever in these small moments with you.)

Mark takes you to his aunt's empty beach house and the two of you move your stuff in. He finds the solar generator, and the two of you take showers for what seems like the first time in awhile. You don't feel like wearing anything, welcoming the generated AC. But, out of respect for Mark, you adorn undergarments and a large t-shirt stolen from his "clean" suitcase. (He has a "clean" suitcase and a "dirty" suitcase, which is another thing you really admire about Mark.)

When you come out of the shower, towel around your neck, Mark is sitting on the corner of the bed. His own towel has been thrown over the window-side wicker chair, covering a starfish pillow.

What startles you is the fact that he isn't wearing a shirt; only a pair of black sweatpants. A pair of glasses you've never seen before are perched atop his nose. They slip down every time he looks towards the neck of his guitar. He strums out a sour chord and scrunches his nose. "Ah," he shakes his head at the instrument. "She needs a good tuning."

You're drying your hands with your towel, eyes hazy and focused on the way Mark's bare shoulders tense every time he strums a particularly bad chord.

Mark Lee is really pretty. His black hair is still damp, and a few droplets fall onto his cheeks. "Here," you rush out, not wanting another distraction in his favor. "Let me dry your hair. You'll get a cold."

Mark sets the guitar aside and you stand between his legs. "What song should I play for you?" He closes one eye and peers up at you with a close-lipped smile.

You hum. Toss the towel over his face so he won't notice how warm your face is getting. You dry his hair off with a few massages. "What's the one that makes you most happy?"

"I dunno," Mark says. "I like Come Back To Bed."

"Then sing that one to me." You toss the towel to the floor. For a moment, you wonder what it would feel like to run your hand through his hair. After all, you did just dry his hair, which is kind of an intimate thing already. But maybe touching it would be crossing the line. Maybe reaching out to tuck that stray hair back behind his ear would reveal too much. Unravel what you've been trying not to show.

But the world is ending, so it's time to have courage. You swallow your fear and reach out. When you run your fingers through his soft hair, Mark sighs in content. "That feels nice."

"Y-Yeah?" you say, because anything else would come out as a squeak.

Mark's eyes are closed. He leans into your touch and when your hand trails down the side of his face, behind his ear, he places a kiss against your inner wrist. "Yeah," he says, breath hot on your skin. "I'm... I'm glad I went into that convenience store a few days ago."

"Me too." You sense the mood drifting, so you sit beside Mark and pat his guitar. "Now play me something."

Mark nods, a big dazed. He picks up his guitar and begins to sing to you, and you think his voice sounds like the hope of a new dawn.

(Mark wants to bottle up the color of your blushing cheeks and paint the sky. He wants to hold you close to him and kiss you breathless. He wants to say so much more than he does.)

Mark makes eggs. You make waffles. They're both a little burnt, but they're made with love, so it's fine. You eat as much as you can, tired of all the convenience store food. "Thank God for your aunt's well-stocked, solar-powered beach house."

Mark giggles. "You know, she was gonna sell it later this year. She wanted to move to the mountains."

"I'm glad she didn't," you say. "This isn't a bad place for... you know."

Mark blinks. Solemnity drowns his face. "She rented a cabin in the mountains. Didn't want to die in the city she was born in. This was the best place I could think of for the end."

"Do you think it will hurt?" You don't want to ask, because it's such a dismal concern. However, you wonder if you're the only one worried about your last moments.

Mark shakes his head. "I think it will be very quick. Like a sneeze."

(Mark wants to say that he's terrified of a slow death. Or dying before you. Of having to watch you die, or leave you alone in this world. He wants to say that he's scared to death and every step feels like a closer one to the grave.

He thinks of telling you, but what difference would it make?)

That night after your shower, you find Mark in the kitchen, washing the dishes. "You don't have to do those, you know."

You wrap your arms around Mark's waist, and as soon as you make contact, he shudders. His body slumps against the sink and he hiccups a sob. "I'm scared, Y/n."

"Mark..." you turn him around as gently as you can and pull him into your embrace. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

"Times almost up," he chokes. "We don't know if it will happen tonight or tomorrow– and I don't want to leave you."

He lifts his head from your shoulder and presses his forehead against yours. It feels a bit like the way a cat might ask for a scratch. But it feels more like Mark wanting to be as close to you as he can. From here, you can see his wide eyes magnified from tears. He sniffs.

You bump your nose against his and shift your hands up to his shoulders. "Mark, I think I love you. I know it's too soon, but we don't really have much time anyways, so I thought I should tell you. I know now isn't a good time, and I'm probably being extremely selfish for saying it while you're crying–"

"You're not," Mark blurts just before he kisses you.

He holds your face in his hands and pulls you against him. His lips are soft and smooth against your chapped ones and you like the way his breathing gets heavier when you reach up and twirl your fingers through his hair. "I love you too."

His hands shift to your waist. He backs you up until you hit the counter's edge. "Jump," he mumbles against your mouth.

You jump onto the counter and wrap your legs around Mark's middle, pulling him flush against you as you go to kiss him again.

He kisses bites your bottom lip and when you gasp at the pain, he leans back to smirk at you. The look on his face makes you want to either slap him or melt into his touch. You choose the latter, leaning back as his lips begin to trail down your jaw. "I don't ever want to let you go."

"Then don't," you say.

(Mark thinks having sex and making love are two different things. He thinks your pink shorts look really pretty against the color of your skin. He thinks of the sounds you make, and the softness of your stomach. He thinks of purple marks on your thighs and the way you say his name like it's worth something. Like it means something. He thinks of looking into your eyes and telling you that he loves you. He thinks of kissing your lips and your neck and your chest and your hips. He thinks of you trembling against him. He thinks of cleaning you up and pulling his hoodie over your tired form. He thinks of kissing your forehead and falling asleep to the sound of your heart.

He thinks of the stain glass picture his aunt has in her kitchen right above the sink. A poem about the sun and the moon. A picture of the two kissing. The words ring like an anthem in his head. He thinks maybe soulmates always find each other in the end.)

It happens in the night. You get up to get a drink of water. Your legs are sore but your heart feels warm.

You take small sips in front of the sink and look out of the window. The clouds are dark and red again, but you're distracted by a little hanging picture suctioned to the pane. It's a stain glass picture, painted gaudy blue and gold. You can see the vivid picture of the sun and the moon, fitting against each other like missing puzzle pieces. There's a poem painted in messy scrawl, but you make out the words easily enough.

Tell me what is more beautiful;

The sky seems to get closer.

How the moon lets the sun shine throughout the day.

The air seems to get warmer.

Or the way the sun lets the moon glimmer at night.

The sky darkens, and you close your eyes. You think of Mark alone in the bed and hope he won't wake. You hope he won't know that he has to go alone. You want to run to him, but you know this is nothing but a second on earth, and you're all out of time.

(Mark wakes up when his skin feels like it's scalding. He sits up and notices that you aren't beside him. You're gone, and he knows it's the end, and he knows he'll never see you again, and the thought claws it's way down his throat and breaks his heart from the inside out. And he's all out of time.)

#mark lee fluff #mark lee scenarios #mark lee angst #nct fluff #nct angst #nct scenarios #destwrites

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