#if he just had furniture in his kitchen it would bring the noise down a little but no he doesnt want that

[bunnihearted]

i wish i didnt have avpd bc if i didnt i'd knock on my neighbor's door and ask him everything im wondering. such as 1) are u ever at class????? or are u at home constantly????. 2) why are u always in your kitchen when u have a 3room apartment to yourself?. 3) how is it even possible that u have things to do in your kitchen and make consistent noise from 8am to 12pm?????. 4) why do u walk like and elephant instead of like a normal person? plus why do u slam stuff instead of closing it normally?. 5) do u ever study or do u just walk around and slam stuff in the kitchen all day?. 6) genuinely WHAT tf are u doing in there???? why are u in your kitchen all day every day wtf is wrong with u?????

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Burning Embers

Possessive! Thomas Shelby x Pregnant! Reader

Summary: Thomas would burn the world down then not be able to hear you call his name again.

Wordcount: 5.8k

Warnings:

Possessive! Thomas, arson, gunshots, death, kissing, then lovey dovey stuff from Thomas.

Inspiration: Let the world burn - Chris Grey

The Garrison was a cacophony of noise, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. The dim light of the gas lamps cast a warm, golden glow over the worn wooden surfaces, creating an almost intimate atmosphere despite the throng of patrons. 

Thomas sat in a corner booth, his back against the wall, eyes scanning the room with a calculated indifference. His suit, impeccably tailored, clung to his frame with an air of authority. He had just finished a conversation with a couple of local businessmen, deals and threats interwoven with the ease of a man who knew his power. Arthur burst through the doors, his presence a stark contrast to the quiet control that Thomas exuded. The pub fell silent for a moment as everyone turned to look. Arthur’s face was a mask of urgency, his eyes wild. John, Finn, Michael, Isaiah, and their father followed closely behind, their expressions grim. Johnny Dogs lingered at the rear, his sharp eyes taking in every detail.

"EVERYONE! CLEAR OUT! BY ORDER OF THE PEAKY FUCKING BLINDERS!" Arthur’s voice cut through the air, leaving no room for argument. The patrons scrambled to leave, their conversations halting abruptly. Chairs scraped against the floor, and the sound of hurried footsteps filled the pub as it emptied out, leaving only the Shelby clan and their close associates.

Thomas’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene, a sense of foreboding settling over him like a dark cloud. He rose slowly, the weight of his gaze heavy on Arthur. "What's goin' on, Arthur?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a warning of the storm brewing beneath the surface. John stepped forward, it would be better if he said it; his face pale and his eyes wide with dread. "Thomas...Sabini, they found Polly's home. And you remember your wife sayin' she was goin' to talk to Polly about somethin'? Well, they fuckin' took her."

Thomas froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. His eyes darkened, filling with a cold, murderous rage. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a slow, steady drumbeat of fury. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his face twitching with barely restrained violence. He didn't speak for a moment, the silence heavy with the weight of his anger. Arthur exchanged glances with the rest of the men, seeking their silent agreement. They nodded, their faces set with determination. Arthur took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Thomas... she went to Polly because... she's havin' your kid. She's pregnant."

The room seemed to spin for a moment as Thomas processed the information. His wife, his angel in this cold, dark world, was pregnant. And now she was in the hands of his enemies. A growl escaped his throat, low and dangerous. "Those bastards..."

He turned abruptly, his mind already working through the logistics of what needed to be done. His anger sharpened his focus, turning it into a deadly precision. He barked orders to the men, his voice cold and authoritative. "Finn, get the car ready. Isaiah , gather the weapons and petrol; John, Michael, Arthur, you're comin' with me. Johnny, find out where they took her."

The men sprang into action, their movements quick and efficient. Thomas paced the room, his mind racing. He thought of his wife, her gentle smile, the way her eyes lit up when she saw him. She was the light in his life, the warmth that kept the darkness at bay. And now she was carrying his child, their future, and he would move heaven and earth to bring her back safely. He pictured her at Polly’s house, the way she would have sat at the kitchen table, her small frame dwarfed by the large wooden furniture. He imagined her talking to Polly, her voice soft and filled with excitement about the baby. And then the fear she must have felt when Sabini’s men burst in. The thought of her being scared, of her being hurt, made his blood boil. Thomas grabbed his cap, the razor blades sewn into the brim glinting ominously in the dim light. He slid it on, the familiar weight grounding him. He was Thomas Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders, and no one threatened his family without paying the price. He glanced around at his men, their faces set with the same determination he felt. They were ready, and so was he.

As they piled into the car, Thomas’s mind was a whirlwind of plans and contingencies. He ran through every possible scenario, every potential outcome. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake, not when so much was at stake. He clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking under the pressure. His wife’s face floated in front of him, her eyes filled with love and trust. He wouldn’t let her down. The drive to Polly’s house was tense, the silence in the car broken only by the occasional muttered curse. Thomas stared out the window, his mind a storm of thoughts. He had always been a man of action, but this time it was different. This time it was personal. He could feel the weight of the responsibility pressing down on him, but it only made him more determined.

The Shelby family had always been a force to be reckoned with, a tight-knit unit bound by blood and an unbreakable code of loyalty. Today, that bond was tested as they stood in Polly's ransacked house, the air thick with tension and unspoken fears. Thomas, surveyed the wreckage with a cold, calculating gaze, his heart a tight knot in his chest. The familiar surroundings, now torn apart, mirrored the turmoil inside him. The signs of a struggle were everywhere. Furniture overturned, shattered glass glittering like cruel stars on the floor, and papers scattered in a chaotic swirl. Thomas’s sharp eyes took in every detail, his mind racing through the possible scenarios. His wife, the angel in his dark and brutal world, was taken. She was pregnant, carrying their future, and now she was in danger. He felt a surge of anger, a visceral, consuming rage that threatened to break his carefully maintained composure.

John and Arthur stood nearby, their faces etched with concern and barely restrained fury. Michael, younger but no less determined, clenched his fists at his sides, his eyes darting nervously around the room. Polly, ever the matriarch, sat in the corner, a bruise darkening her cheek but her spirit unbroken. Her presence was a grounding force, a reminder of the resilience that ran through their veins. Thomas approached Polly, his footsteps deliberate and measured. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the heavy breathing of the men and the creak of the floorboards under his boots. He knelt beside her, his eyes searching her face for answers. The sight of her injury ignited another flash of anger, but he pushed it down, focusing on the task at hand.

“Polly… how far along is she?” His voice was low, a rumble that seemed to echo in the shattered room. His accent, thick and unmistakable, lent a weight to his words that demanded attention and respect.

Polly sighed, a sound filled with fatigue and frustration. She cleared her throat, her gaze steady as she met his eyes. “Thomas, she said she thinks she’s about a month along.”

Thomas felt a tightening in his chest, a mix of fear and determination. A month. It was so early, so precarious. He couldn’t let anything happen to her, to their child. His mind raced with plans and contingencies, each more ruthless than the last. There would be a reckoning, but first, he had to find her, to bring her back safely. Thomas sat at the head of the table, his piercing blue eyes fixed on a map spread out before him. His mind was a whirlwind of strategies and contingencies, every possible outcome calculated and re-calculated. John, Arthur, and Michael flanked him, their faces set in grim determination. Polly stood nearby, her presence a steadying force amidst the chaos. The house was a sanctuary, a place where plans were hatched and lives were decided, and tonight was no different. Hours had slipped by unnoticed, consumed by the relentless pace of their search. Thomas's people had been a constant lifeline, connecting him to a web of contacts and informants. His fingers tapped impatiently against the table, a rhythm that matched the frenetic pace of his thoughts. Each call, each lead, was a thread he pulled at, trying to unravel the mystery of his wife's kidnapping. She was his anchor, his beacon in the darkness, and the thought of her in danger was a knife twisting in his gut.

John paced the length of the room, his restlessness a stark contrast to Thomas's stillness. Arthur leaned against the wall, his hands clenching and unclenching as he fought to contain his frustration. Michael sat quietly, his eyes flicking between the others, absorbing their tension like a sponge. Polly moved about with purpose, her sharp eyes missing nothing, her presence a reminder of the strength and resilience that ran through their blood. The ring of the phone cut through the heavy silence, and all eyes turned to Thomas as he strode over to pick it up. The moment hung in the air, a heartbeat of expectation before Johnny Dogs' voice crackled through the receiver. Thomas's grip tightened, his knuckles white against the black of the phone. His breathing hitched for a moment, a flash of vulnerability that he quickly buried beneath a mask of steel resolve.

"Tom, I think we've found where she's at..." Johnny's voice was a lifeline, a thread of hope in the darkness.

Thomas exhaled sharply, his mind racing. "Where are they keeping her, eh?" His voice was a low growl, every syllable dripping with barely restrained fury.

"Epsom...his race track," Johnny replied, the words sending a jolt through Thomas. Epsom, the place was familiar, a playground for the rich and powerful, now a prison for his beloved.

A smile, cold and dangerous, curved Thomas's lips. "Get as much petrol as you can get your hands on..." he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. The plan was taking shape in his mind, a path of fire and blood that would lead him to her. He could already see the flames, smell the smoke, hear the screams of those who had dared to cross him.

As he hung up the phone, the room seemed to pulse with renewed energy. John stopped pacing, his eyes lighting up with a fierce determination. Arthur pushed off the wall, his muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike. Michael's expression hardened, his youthful face a mask of resolve. Polly nodded, her approval unspoken but clear in the set of her jaw.

"Right," Thomas began, his voice commanding the room's attention. "We move tonight. Get everything ready. We’re bringing 'er home." His eyes met each of theirs in turn, a silent vow that he would stop at nothing to rescue his wife.

The preparations began in earnest, the room a flurry of activity. Weapons were checked and rechecked, ammunition counted and distributed. Maps were consulted, routes planned with military precision. Thomas oversaw it all, his mind a whirlwind of logistics and strategy. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, sharpening his senses, fueling his resolve. His thoughts drifted to her, the image of her face a constant presence in his mind. She was only a month along, carrying their future within her, and the thought of her in danger made his blood boil. He remembered the way she smiled, the light in her eyes, the softness of her touch. Thomas's jaw clenched as he thought of the men who had taken her, his mind filled with visions of retribution. They had made a fatal mistake, one they would not live to regret. His reputation was built on ruthlessness, a legacy of violence and power that had shaped him into the man he was.

They would learn the hard way that no one touched what was his and lived to tell the tale. As the last preparations were made, Thomas took a moment to himself, stepping out into the cool night air. The stars were hidden behind a blanket of clouds, the moon a faint glow in the distance. He lit a cigarette, the familiar burn of the smoke a brief comfort. He thought of her again, his heart aching with the need to hold her, to see her safe and sound. The sound of footsteps drew his attention, and he turned to see Arthur approaching. His brother's face was a mirror of his own determination, a fierce loyalty burning in his eyes. They stood together in silence for a moment, the bond between them unspoken but unbreakable.

"We'll get 'er back, Tom," Arthur said, his voice a low rumble. "No matter what it takes."

The journey to Epsom was a blur of headlights and dark roads, the landscape rushing past in a haze of motion. Thomas sat in the driver's seat, his focus razor-sharp, his thoughts a relentless march of strategy and determination. His mind was a steel trap, allowing no room for doubt or fear. Beside him, his brothers John and Arthur, along with Michael, sat in silence, their shared resolve a palpable force. Each one of them was a cog in the well-oiled machine that Thomas had engineered for this night, their roles clear, their purpose unwavering. The moon cast an eerie glow over the countryside, the night cloaking the world in a shroud of darkness. The Epsom race track loomed in the distance, a shadowy fortress that held his world captive. Thomas's grip on the wheel tightened, his jaw set in a hard line. This was it, the moment of reckoning, the culmination of their relentless search. His heart pounded with a cold fury, the thought of his pregnant wife in the hands of their enemies fueling his every action.

As they neared their destination, the nighttime made the race track look more unforgiving, its skeletal structures silhouetted against the night sky. The vehicles rolled to a stop, engines cutting off in a symphony of finality. Thomas stepped out, the cool night air biting at his skin, the scent of petrol and determination thick in the air. He glanced at his brothers, their faces set in grim resolve, and nodded. It was time. Finn, Isaiah and his father, Johnny Dogs, and five families of the Lee's were already there, waiting in the shadows. The air was thick with anticipation, the tension a living, breathing entity. Thomas’s eyes swept over the assembled group, his expression hard, his blue eyes like shards of ice in the darkness. Each man here was ready to lay down his life for the cause, for the family, and Thomas felt the weight of that loyalty pressing down on him.

Thomas spoke, his voice a low, commanding growl that cut through the night. "You all will round up his men, find the ones that laid their hands on her and separate them from the rest; I'll deal with those personally." His words were met with nods of agreement, the resolve of the group solidifying around him like a fortress.

He turned to Johnny Dogs, who stood ready, a small, feral smile on his face. "How many cans of petrol did you get?" Thomas asked, his voice edged with a darkness that mirrored the night around them.

Johnny’s smile widened. "Enough to burn the whole world down, Tom."

Thomas nodded, satisfaction mingling with the cold rage that simmered just beneath his surface. He looked around at the men, their faces hard and determined. This was not just a rescue mission; it was a statement, a declaration of war. They would not leave this place without making it clear that no one touched a Shelby and lived to tell the tale. The night was alive with the sound of footsteps against the dirt, hushed voices, and the metallic click of weapons being checked and readied. Thomas moved among his men, his presence a steadying force, his commands clear and concise. He was the eye of the storm, the calm center around which the chaos would swirl. Every detail had been planned, every possibility accounted for. Now, it was just a matter of execution.

As they approached the entrance to the race track, Thomas's mind flashed back to the moment he had discovered his wife was missing. The rage he had felt then was nothing compared to what he felt now, standing on the brink of action. His love for her was a fierce, consuming fire, and the thought of her in danger had kindled a fury that would only be quenched by the blood of those who had dared to harm her. He signaled for his men to move into position, his movements precise and controlled. They spread out, slipping into the shadows, their figures blending seamlessly with the darkness. Thomas's eyes never stopped moving, scanning the area, assessing every potential threat. He felt the weight of the gun in his hand, the cold metal a comforting presence.

Inside the race track, the enemy was unaware of the storm about to descend upon them. Thomas knew they had the element of surprise, and he intended to use it to its fullest advantage. He glanced at John, who was crouched beside him, his face a mask of focused intensity. Arthur, John, Finn, Micheal and Isaiah were on other sides of the track; their positions strategically chosen to cover all exits. The first shots rang out, shattering the silence of the night. Thomas moved with a lethal grace, his every action deliberate and deadly. He saw his men engage the enemy, the flash of gunfire illuminating the darkness in brief, violent bursts. He pressed forward, his focus unerring, his goal clear. He would find her, and he would make them pay.

He caught sight of a group of men near the stables, their panicked movements betraying their fear. Thomas felt a grim satisfaction as he raised his gun, his shots precise and fatal. He moved through the chaos, his path cutting a swath of destruction, his mind a singular focus: get her back. His brothers fought alongside him, their loyalty and ferocity a testament to the bond they shared. Thomas reached the main building, kicking the door open with a force that splintered the wood. Inside, the dim light revealed a scene of chaos, men scrambling to defend themselves against the onslaught. He didn't hesitate, his movements a blur of calculated violence. He shot each of the men with ruthless efficiency, in the knees, making it nearly impossible for the to run. Thomas moved to one of the men on the floor whose moaning in pain, he grabbed him by his neck and forced him to look at him in his eyes, making him look his grim reaper in the eyes.

"I'm not done with y' yet'.." Thomas said his voice cold and calculated, he let go of his neck making him fall back against the floor on his back; the man let out another pained cry. His men would be back for them, to moved them to the front of the race track; to burn them.

The night air was thick with tension as Thomas Shelby navigated through the dimly lit stable area, his boots echoing against the cold, hard ground. The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow that seeped through the cracks in the old wooden walls. His heart pounded with a fierce determination, each step bringing him closer to the back room where he hoped to find his wife. The sound of distant shouts and scuffles filtered through the air, but his focus remained unwavering. He was a man on a mission, a predator hunting in the dead of night, driven by the primal instinct to protect his own. As he approached the back room, a chilling sight greeted him. Blood stained the floor in dark, ominous patches, and drag marks indicated a struggle. A wave of cold fury washed over him. His hand clenched around the cold metal doorknob, twisting it with a deliberate force. The door swung open with a creak, and he swiftly stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room, clearing it with practiced precision. Moonlight streamed in, revealing a sight that made his heart clench: there she was, tied to a chair, her small frame illuminated by the pale glow. His wife looked up, her eyes wide with a mix of relief and fear. The sight of her, his angel, ignited a fire within him. He crossed the room in two long strides, his gun slipping back into his belt as he reached her. With deft fingers, he untied the ropes that bound her, and as soon as she was free, he pulled her into his arms. The embrace was fierce, protective, his hold on her unyielding. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just them, their hearts beating in sync, a brief respite from the chaos.

"My angel, my sweet angel..." His voice was a gravelly whisper as he buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. It was a scent he had missed, one that grounded him in moments of turmoil. He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands, his eyes scanning for any sign of injury. Small cuts marred her delicate skin, but they were minor, nothing that would cause lasting harm.

"Still as beautiful as when I last saw you," he murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips before their mouths met in a desperate kiss. It was a kiss born of pain and longing, their lips moving with a frantic intensity. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, their tongues intertwining in a dance of raw emotion. When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling. "I'm really going to be a father, eh?"

"You are..." Her smile was shy, yet filled with a warmth that soothed his soul.

Thomas brushed his thumb gently across her cheek, his touch tender. "Come on, let's get y' out of here, eh?" With ease, he lifted her into his arms, carrying her bridal style as he made his way back through the stables. The smell of blood and fear lingered in the air, but he paid it no mind. His focus was solely on her, his angel, safe in his arms.

As they emerged from the stables, the scene that greeted them was one of controlled chaos. John, Arthur, Michael, Finn, Isaiah, and his father, along with Johnny Dogs and the Lee families, were scattered around, unloading petrol cans. Blood stained their clothes, but it wasn’t their own. Thomas’s eyes flickered to the ground where the five men who had dared to touch his wife lay, their bodies broken and bleeding. He smirked, a dark satisfaction curling in his chest, before continuing to the car. He opened the passenger door and gently placed her inside, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "Stay here, love," he whispered, his voice soft but commanding. He closed the door with a firm click, turning to face the others.

The moon was obscured by thick clouds that mirrored the murky deeds about to unfold below. The racetrack lay eerily silent, the stillness broken only by the faint rustling of leaves in the wind. Thomas stood at the center of this storm, his sharp eyes surveying the scene. His mind was a whirlwind of anger and resolve, a tempest brewing behind his cold, piercing gaze. The scent of petrol hung heavily in the air, a harbinger of the destruction to come. John and Arthur flanked him, their faces set in grim determination. Michael, Finn, Isaiah, Johnny Dogs, and the Lee family members were scattered around, ready for the signal. The air was thick with tension, a tangible force that made every breath feel heavy. Thomas’s thoughts flickered to his wife, his angel and the way they tried to use her against him; that backfired on them horribly. A fire burned in his chest, fueled by the memory of her soft voice, her gentle touch. She was his sanctuary, and they had dared to violate it.

He strode over to the five men who were the source of his ire, their bodies already bruised and battered. His presence alone seemed to make them cower. “John, Arthur,” he called, his voice a low growl. The two brothers stepped forward, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. “I want you to move them to the front, lean them against the walls, and soak em' in petrol.” His smile was a chilling contrast to the rage in his eyes. “If you don’t, you’ll join them as well.”

Arthur nodded, a savage grin spreading across his face. “We were going to burn em' anyway, no need to tell us.”

“Good,” Thomas replied, his tone curt. He cast a glance back at the car where his wife sat, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and understanding. She knew what was coming. She knew Thomas would not let their transgression go unpunished.

The men moved swiftly, dragging the nearly lifeless bodies to the designated spot. Petrol cans were upended, the liquid splashing onto the walls, seeping into the ground. The acrid smell grew stronger, mingling with the scent of fear emanating from the men. They were too weak to struggle, too broken to plead for mercy. Their fate was sealed the moment they had laid hands on Thomas Shelby’s wife.

It took almost an hour for the entire place to be doused in petrol, every room, every corner soaked in the flammable liquid. The task would have taken much longer if not for the combined efforts of the Shelby brothers and their allies. Thomas watched, his expression unreadable, as the preparations were completed. The fire within him mirrored the impending inferno, both consuming everything in their path. Thomas reached into his coat and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a practiced flick of his lighter. The flame briefly illuminated his face, casting shadows that danced across his features. Around him, the others followed suit, those who smoked taking a moment to savor the calm before the storm. They stood in a loose semicircle, the flickering embers of their cigarettes the only light in the encroaching darkness.

The men who had dared to harm his wife were propped against the walls, their eyes darting around in a futile search for escape. Thomas stepped forward, his gaze boring into them. “Let the world burn,” he said, his voice carrying a finality that sent a shiver down the spines of everyone present.

As one, they stepped back and threw their lit cigarettes into the building. The effect was immediate and devastating. Flames erupted, racing along the trails of petrol with a voracious hunger. The night was transformed into a hellscape of red, orange, and yellow, the heat searing the air. Screams of agony pierced the night as Sabini’s men were consumed by the fire, their bodies writhing in a futile attempt to escape the flames. Thomas watched with a detached satisfaction, his face bathed in the glow of the inferno. Each scream was a note in a symphony of retribution, each flicker of flame a testament to his resolve. The men’s knees had been blown out earlier, ensuring they could not flee. Now, they were prisoners of their own fate, their arms dislocated to prevent even the slightest chance of escape. The fire roared, its fury unchecked, devouring the building and everything within. The sounds of collapsing timbers and shattering glass added to the cacophony, a fitting accompaniment to the demise of those who had crossed Thomas Shelby. He turned away, his mind already moving to the next step, the next plan. There was always another move to make, another battle to fight.

Walking briskly yet purposefully, Thomas made his way back to the car. His footsteps were steady on the gravel, the sound swallowed by the roar of the fire behind him. He opened the door, the heat from the blaze momentarily flooding the car before he slid in beside her. The interior was a haven of calm, a stark contrast to the inferno outside. His wife’s eyes, wide and searching, locked onto his, seeking the reassurance only he could provide.

“It’s done,” he said, his voice low and steady, a soft rumble in the confined space. He took her small hand in his, his grip firm yet comforting. “They won’t ever hurt you again.”

She exhaled, a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, and a flicker of relief crossed her delicate features. Thomas watched her, his heart a fortress against the world’s cruelty but a haven for her. He released her hand, his own moving to cup her face. His thumb brushed against her cheek, the simple touch conveying a world of unspoken promises. He leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that was both a balm and a blaze, a mixture of passion and unspoken love. His kiss deepened, his tongue seeking hers with a fervor that spoke of his desperation to connect, to reaffirm their bond in the midst of chaos. She responded in kind, her own need mirroring his. Their tongues danced, entwining in a symphony of shared breath and mutual desire. The kiss stretched on, each second a testament to their unbreakable connection. When he finally broke away, it was only to gaze into her eyes, his blue piercing eyes and intense, meeting her soft, doe-like gaze.

“I'd let the world burn, let the world burn for you,” he whispered, the words a vow etched in the air between them.

The fire outside continued to rage, a testament to the violence and power that defined Thomas. But here, in the car with his wife, he was just a man, deeply in love and fiercely protective. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her skin. The night outside was a battlefield, but inside this car, it was a sanctuary of their own making.

“Y’alright, love?” he asked softly, his accent thick, the concern in his voice palpable. She nodded, placing her hand over his, their fingers intertwining over the life they had created. It was a silent affirmation, a shared resolve to face whatever came next together.

The drive back to their home was quiet, the night around them a shroud of darkness punctuated by the distant glow of the fire. Thomas drove with one hand on the wheel, the other holding hers. The road ahead was uncertain, filled with dangers and challenges, but as long as they were together, he felt invincible. His mind raced with plans and contingencies, each one centered around ensuring their safety. His wife rested her head against his shoulder, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing a soothing rhythm. Thomas glanced at her, his heart swelling with a love so profound it bordered on pain. He had built an empire, forged a legacy in blood and fire, but she was his greatest treasure. The thought of losing her, of anything happening to her or their child, was a fear that gnawed at the edges of his mind. He pushed it aside, focusing instead on the warmth of her presence, the steady beat of her heart against his arm.

As they neared their home, the familiar sights of Small Heath came into view, but they weren't home yet; they drove till they were on the outskirts. It was quiet, the sun was starting to come up; Thomas parked the car and turned to her, his expression softening. “We’re home,” he said, the words a balm to the tension that still lingered. She smiled, a small, tired smile that spoke of her own relief.

Inside their home, the world outside seemed a distant memory. Thomas helped her out of the car, his arm around her waist as they made their way to the door. The night had been long and exhausting, but the sight of their home brought a sense of peace. He closed the door behind them, shutting out the chaos and danger, if only for a while. They moved through the house in silence, the weight of the night’s events pressing down on them. Thomas led her to their bedroom, helping her undress and settle into bed. He watched her as she drifted off to sleep, her face serene and untroubled. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply be, to let go of the burdens that constantly weighed on him.

But sleep would not come easily. Thomas stood by the window, staring out into the darkness, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and plans. He knew the road ahead would be fraught with danger, that the enemies they had made would not rest until they were destroyed. But as long as he had her, as long as he had their child, he would fight with everything he had. He turned back to the bed, his eyes softening as he looked at her. She was his anchor, his reason for everything. Thomas undressed quietly, slipping into bed beside her. He pulled her close, the warmth of her body a comfort against the cold reality of their world. He kissed her forehead, a silent vow to protect and cherish her, no matter the cost.

As he lay there, his mind finally began to quiet. The night’s events would leave scars, but they would also strengthen the resolve he had to keep his family safe. He closed his eyes, the sound of her breathing lulling him into a fitful sleep. The fire outside might rage, but here, in their bed, there was peace, if only for a moment. Thomas knew that the battles would continue, that the fight for their survival was far from over. But with her by his side, he felt a glimmer of hope, a spark of light in the darkness. He tightened his hold on her, his heart a silent promise to never let go. In the midst of chaos, she was his sanctuary, his angel in a world of shadows. And as sleep finally claimed him, Thomas dreamed not of fires and battles, but of a future where they could find peace, a future where their child could grow up safe and loved. It was a dream worth fighting for, a dream worth burning the world down to protect.

Authors Notes:

Don't worry the three asks are being worked on, I just wanted to get this one out because I haven't seen anyone do this song yet or they have and I haven't seen it. But I wanted to do a Jonathan one, because he's fucking mental about his lover but idk it wouldn't click.

Have any idea's please hit me up!!! Love you all xoxo

[ghostmybaby]

Domestic Ghost HCs

This man deserves all the love! I had this thought earlier today but was contemplating writing these down, anyway let’s get on with it!

Could you imagine moving in / getting your first place with Simon. Moving boxes everywhere, empty rooms and things misplaced god knows where. Both of you trying to tame the sea of brown moving boxes by unpacking and organizing. You’d be unpacking the dishes in the kitchen, trying to put the fancy glasses on the top shelf but it’s just out of reach even when standing on your toes. Simon helping you by putting them on the top for you before kissing your forehead and saying “we’re doing good love.”

Or how about building ikea furniture. You’d help where you can but he’d insist that he’s got it. He said that about 30 minutes ago and you find him sitting on the floor surrounded by pieces and the directions in hand. He’s grumbling to himself, muttering something about how can there be so many pieces for one desk. He looks up at you with a “I might need help” look. You sit down next to him and the two of you figure it out together.

I’d imagine the two of you would go for walks around the neighborhood. He’d hold your hand in his. Although he’s not one for PDA regularly, you asked him if you could hold his hand and who is he to say no to you.

Simon would come home from going to the store and find you reading in bed. He’d crawl in between your legs and lay his head on your stomach. He’d bring one of your hands to his hair and ask you to read to him. He promises he didn’t mean to fall asleep (lord knows he needs it) but with you scratching his head and the sound of your voice he couldn’t help but he lulled into sleep.

Trying a new recipe. No matter how many times you taste it, it doesn’t seem how you thought it would so you call Simon in. You’d ask him to try it and he would agree. Grabbing the spoon and scooping some sauce onto it holding a hand underneath incase it falls, bringing it to his mouth. He’d make a noise of approval, nodding, reassuring you it was delicious.

Waking up next to him, seeing his morning hair sticking up in some places while being stuck down in others. Getting to cuddle and hold each other desperate for just 10 more minutes of sleep. Waking up with each other and no need to rush. The light glow from the curtains lighting up the room. Everything is soft and gentle.

Okie that’s everything for now! I hope you enjoyed!

[amberlynnmurdock]

College Series (Part 1)

Part 1: Moving In

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Series Summary: Matt Murdock scarcely ever let himself get too comfortable with people because comfort was always followed by chaos, or worse, abandonment. But when you move into the co-ed apartment off campus, Matt thinks that maybe this time things will be different. At least, he really hopes so. And that might be the most naive thing he would do in his time studying law at Columbia University. Soon, his nights are filled with red wine, learning about Greek mythology and barely using his own bed to sleep in because yours is right down the hall.

A/N: This is basically me revamping what I always wanted "Library Series" to be, so I hope no one minds another college!Matt Murdock fic. I don't know if this will have a real plot yet, but I'll figure it out along the way. I hope you guys enjoy! :) This chapter is entirely in Matt's POV!

Ao3 Link

Matt Murdock walked down the sidewalk slowly, counting each step as he did until he could sense that he reached his supposed destination. He stopped with his cane in front of him and listened to his surroundings: rustling leaves, a woman walking her dog, and cars turning onto the narrow street in upper Manhattan. 

The building he stood in front of was what he would be calling home for the next semester. Although he couldn’t see it, he knew it was a tall brownstone building with iron rails and large, wide steps. He could hear the creak in the old wood of the front door and the lock attached to it inside. He could hear the people inside the building moving boxes around and adjusting furniture. Strangers that he would be calling neighbors—for the time being, because people never stayed around forever. 

Matt heavily sighs as he adjusts his shoulder bag and lugs his suitcase behind him, which isn’t filled with much: sweaters, shirts, jeans, underwear, sheets, toiletries, his Bible, and Orbit Reader. When he was packing at St. Agnes’ he didn’t think much about what he would need to bring. While some college students made lists and packed, and overpacked, Matt thought nothing more of it than just a new place to stay. Maybe it was because he was so used to packing the same suitcase and moving from destination to destination, that he’d become accustomed to moving around a lot. After all, he truly never had a home since his dad died. That was the only home he’d known. St. Agnes was just a place to stay. 

With heavy shoulders, he walked up the steps one by one and shuffled in his duffle bag for the keys to the building. It was easy for him to pick it out. It was an old-fashioned skeleton key with an intricate gothic design he could trace with his fingertips. Once inside, he shut the heavy door behind him and stood once more before the long flight of stairs that would lead to his temporary apartment. Unfortunately, an elevator wasn’t an option. 

He slowly trekked up the steps, passing each floor and the shut doors of other people moving in. Some were college kids, some weren’t, but he heard each and every conversation as he passed. It reminded him of when he was younger when he would sit in Clinton Church before mass and hear people praying to God. It was uncomfortable to hear personal things, but he’s gotten used to drowning out the noise and moving on. 

After a few more flights, he finally reached the top floor of the building, which led to the apartment. It turned out to be the biggest one in the building. He pulled out the other key to the apartment and let himself inside, immediately hit with the smell of dust and old wood. He couldn’t sense any furniture in the living room, except for a small kitchen island with a marble countertop and an old wooden kitchen table set.

Matt traced his fingers along the wall as he slowly made his way to the hall that led to the bedrooms. First come, first serve he thought. There were two rooms closer to the front of the apartment with large windows—he could feel the cold draft coming in through them—and two rooms tucked towards the back. He immediately gravitated to the room furthest in the back. He didn’t like hearing the city at night, and he knew if he chose one of the rooms up front he’d never get a good night’s sleep. Then again, he seldom ever did. 

When he opened the room’s door, he dropped his bags and held his hands out to feel for the bed. It was in the center of the room, which he didn’t like, so he moved it to fit right in one of the corners. He pressed his hands on the mattress—brand new as the apartment listing said. And he knew it wasn’t a lie because he could smell the fresh, factory smell of the brand-new mattress. In fact, all the beds in the rooms had new mattresses, now that he could smell it in the air. 

There was a dresser against the other wall and a small closet. He didn’t have much to fill both up. In the other corner was a small work desk for homework. He began to unpack his books from his duffle bag and stacked them neatly on the desk. He ran his fingers over one of the titles in braille: Criminal Law & Procedure. 

The second year of law school is allegedly easier than the first. At least, this second year comes with more freedom, such as the option to live off campus rather than in one of the small dorms. At least his first year he got to meet his best friend: Foggy Nelson. 

Which, speaking of, he was bounding up the steps already with three bags he could barely carry by himself. 

“Matt!” He heard his friend shout from the steps, “Hey, Matt! You here yet?”

Matt met Foggy at the top of the stairs and laughed—he could hear the struggle in his friend’s voice. 

“Why don’t you stop laughin’ at me and grab a bag?!” 

After what felt like hours of going up and down the steps helping Foggy with his bags, and carrying a couch up into the living room, followed by a long goodbye from Foggy’s mom, Matt and Foggy plopped themselves on the couch in exhaustion. 

“Man,” Foggy groaned, “I didn’t know the apartment was on the top floor. I’m beat.”

“Maybe that’s why it was so cheap,” Matt thought, “no one wants to walk up those stairs.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Foggy answered. “Welp, guess I gotta pick a room. You don't think whoever we’re rooming with will mind we chose first, right?”

“Nah,” Matt shrugged, “the apartment listing said whoever gets here first picks. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Alright. Where’s your room? I’ll pick the one next to it.”

  “I opted for the one farthest in the back,” Matt said, leaning over as Foggy got up to pick a room. He listened as Foggy shuffled between the rooms and moved his bags into his chosen space. 

Matt stayed on the couch, his hearing strayed to the noise that was outside the front windows. Naturally cocking his head, he could hear a local deli closing up for the evening. He could even smell the lingering scent of stale coffee. He heard people closer to Columbia University laughing and getting ready to go out to whatever frat party was going on that night. In the distance, he heard sirens wailing—for what reason, he didn’t know. He didn’t understand the ache that grew in his chest the longer he continued to listen to them. 

“Matt?” Foggy called for him, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Matt stammered. “What did you say?”

“I said let’s get dressed and find a local bar to hang at!” 

That didn’t take much convincing. 

✣✣✣✣

If Matt thought lugging suitcases up the flight of stairs was tough, he wasn’t prepared to walk up the stairs intoxicated. 

“Man, that was a terrible idea. Terrible idea you had,” Foggy slurred as he bumped into Matt on the stairs. Matt let out a laugh as he pushed Foggy back.

“My idea? It was your idea, you asshole,” Matt shot back playfully.

“Was it?” Foggy questioned, “Oh yeah, it was. God, how many stairs are there?”

Everything was spinning inside Matt’s head. He looked up behind his dark glasses and sensed the number of steps. 

“We have four flights left,” Matt said, pausing at the second floor and leaning against the wall.

“Jesus,” Foggy groaned. “Terrible, terrible idea, Matt.”

After fifteen minutes of an agonizingly drunk walk up the stairs, both Matt and Foggy finally made it to their new temporary home and collapsed on the couch at opposite ends. Matt let his head dip back on the couch while Foggy attempted to lift his legs on a spare moving box in front of him. Matt laughed at his attempts; he didn’t have to see to know his friend was struggling. 

“Hopefully our roommates will join us on future bar crawls,” Foggy said aloud. 

“Hopefully they don’t suck.”

“That too,” Foggy agreed. “I think—I think I’m going to call it a night, Matt. I’ll…I’ll talk to you…” and just like that, Foggy Nelson was snoring on the couch with his legs half-propped on a box. Matt forced himself to get up and move to his bed, not before putting a blanket over Foggy and turning the lights off. 

When Matt reached his room, his equilibrium was still making things seem spinning. He stumbled over his suitcase and duffle bag and caught himself on his bed, where he landed on his back. He threw his dark glasses on his desk and shut his eyes, using all his might to avoid listening to the sounds that lay outside the window. Putting himself in the back room was a good idea because it was much easier to ignore what he heard—more importantly, ignore how it made him feel. The liquor in him only swirled those feelings away. 

Matt turned on his side and reached for the Bible he kept under his pillow. He ran his fingers over the braille until he found a particular prayer he was looking for:

“Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen. Because of it the ancients were well attested. By faith we understand that the universe was ordered by the word of God, so that what is visible came into being through the invisible.” Hebrews 11:1-3.

Matt rested the Bible on his chest, mind drifting to things of his past, things he only kept hidden and locked away until he was completely alone with himself like he was now. It was heavy. Not the suitcase, not the way his legs felt walking up the steps inebriated, but the weight of the past, creeping up on him when he was alone. 

He fell heavily into a deep sleep. 

✣✣✣✣

Morning came, and so did his hangover. 

Matt was awakened by a knock on his door. Not his door, but the front door. A knock he would not have heard if not for his heightened senses. Throwing his dark glasses on, he rolled out of bed and walked into the living room. On the couch, Foggy still lay asleep, snoring. Matt’s head was pounding and his feet felt like cement as he stalked to the door, the knocking growing more erratic. 

When he opened the door, he was met with an overwhelming waft of sweet beery perfume and bubblegum. The person who stood in front of him—a young woman, he sensed—popped a bubble and clicked the gum inside her mouth. 

“Oh,” a squeaky voice said. “Are you a roomie?”

“Uh…“

“I’m Marci,” the young woman introduced herself. She held out her hand, but Matt made no move to shake it. 

“I’m—I’m Matt,” Matt said. He could sense the young woman’s candor by the way she pulled her hand back immediately and placed it on her hip. 

“Are you blind or are you hungover?” She clicked her gum again, taking note he was wearing dark glasses inside. 

Matt’s mouth twitched upwards. He wasn’t offended by her bluntness, only amused. 

“Both,” he simply said. 

“Hm,” she said, “well, I’m your new roomie.” she peered inside to see Foggy sleeping on the couch. “I’ll need help with my suitcases.”

And yet again, Matt was subjected to the torture of helping people bring their suitcases up the long flight of stairs. But if this was someone he was going to be living with for the next year, he thought it better to make friends and help than make enemies and refuse. Even if she was a little brash. 

“Matt?” Foggy groggily opened his eyes to the movement of boxes being lugged around. “Jesus!” Foggy said in the startling realization that Matt was no longer the only one he shared a space with. When he saw the beautiful blonde with her arms crossed and a look of judgment on her face, Foggy thought he might’ve woken up to an angel. 

“I’m Marci Stahl,” she popped her gum again. “Are you going to help bring my stuff up?”

“Absolutely,” Foggy stumbled to his feet, ignoring the spins he felt. Matt suppressed a chuckle as he placed the final box (he decided it was the final box for him now that Foggy was awake) on the ground. Now, it was up to Foggy.

Well, Foggy couldn’t completely help Marci yet before making a trip to the bathroom and yakking up the previous night’s regrets. Marci waited in the hall with her arms crossed. When Foggy met her outside again, he smiled awkwardly as Marci told him where her remaining boxes were. She had her mother waiting outside as well, who couldn’t be bothered to help bring up boxes. 

Matt took this as an opportunity to lock himself in his room and boot up his Orbit Reader to learn of his new schedule, starting Monday. He scrolled to find his classes and their descriptions, and what books he would need for class. With one earplug in, he listened as it read it to him. But not even the Orbit could help drown out Foggy’s attempts at flirting with Marci.

✣✣✣✣

“You’re not so bad, aren’t you?” Marci asked with suspicious eyes at Foggy. Foggy offered a hearty laugh and sat down on a pink velvet love cushion that belonged to Marci. She took a seat at the end of the couch, closest to Foggy. 

“What do you mean?” Foggy shrugged his shoulders, a goofy grin on his face. His long blonde hair peeked out under his green beanie. He had a terrible goatee, but for some reason, made him all the more endearing. 

“Well, we’re all going to be living together this year. Glad the co-ed space I chose has someone willing to carry all my boxes up the steps without complaint. And you’re not an asshole,” Marci rested her elbow on the arm of the couch, studying Foggy carefully. 

“What can I say? I’m pretty charming,” Foggy smiled.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Marci smirked. 

Matt sat at his desk laughing to himself as he listened to their conversation. 

“What are you studying? You’re a grad student?” Foggy asked, ignoring her retort. 

Marci looked at him like it was an obvious question. “I’m in the law school.” 

“Really?! No way!” Foggy exclaimed. “That’s what we’re here for, too. 2L?”

“Of course,” Marci said. “I wouldn’t be here if it were my first year.”

“Hey, maybe it was your third. I don’t know. What kind of law do you want to do?”

“IP, corporate, civil rights,” Marci shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll let it find me.”

“Badass,” Foggy nodded his head in amusement. Marci chuckled and rolled her eyes. 

“What’s up with your friend in there? Why hasn’t he joined us?”

“You’re right,” Foggy agreed. “Matt! Get your ass outta there and come bond with your roommates!”

Matt sighed and leaned back in his uncomfortable wooden chair. It was only a matter of time before he was summoned to socialize. He shut down his Orbit Reader and joined them in the living room, reaching in front of him to find the other end of the couch. 

“Well, I’m here,” Matt simply said with a small smile. He wasn’t really sure what to say.

“You’re the moody one, aren’t you?” Marci said with slight amusement, resting her chin in her hand. Matt chuckled.

“I wouldn’t say moody,” Matt scratched the back of his neck. “Uhh. Maybe I would, actually.”

“Every friendship duo has to have one. Clearly, your friend Foggy here is the opposite,” Marci teased. “My friend is like you, too. Quite type. Locks herself in her room. She should be here soon,” Marci thought aloud.

Matt quirked an eyebrow in curiosity, “Is she our fourth roommate?”

“Sure is. Let me call her real quick.” Marci got up and into her chosen room, the one in the front with the largest windows. 

Now that it was just Foggy and Matt, Foggy immediately bounded over to sit next to Matt on the couch and squeezed his arm.

“Dude, did we get lucky or what?!” Foggy shout whispered. “Rooming with two chicks?!”

Matt pushed his friend away with a laugh, “Foggy, don’t be like that, that’s gross. We’re supposed to be roommates.”

Foggy held his hands up in defense, “I’m just sayin’ man, let things run their course. Oh man, she’s beautiful. Blonde, has sharp features and—“

“Shh,” Matt hushed his friend. “She just got off the phone.”

“She’ll be here in ten minutes,” Marci announced as she walked back into the living. She paused as she noticed how close Matt and Foggy were sitting. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Nothing,” they said in unison, feigning innocence. 

✣✣✣✣

While Foggy and Marci were exchanging life stories and their experiences studying to get into law school, Matt let his senses drift to focus on what else was going on in the building. He didn't want to engage in conversation, especially if the topic was backstories. He wasn’t ashamed of his upbringing at all, nor was he ashamed of where he grew up after his dad died, but he couldn’t deal with the reactions or sympathy his story inevitably brought out of people. He just didn’t feel like dealing with it with Marci, especially given how well her and Foggy’s conversation was already going. What did he have to add to it other than a tragic accident? 

A cool draft floated through the stairs, finding its way in any open creak or door in the building. Some of their downstairs neighbors were still moving in. In another room, someone was twisting a bottle of white wine open. Another attempted to hang a picture frame. Matt could hear the banging of the hammer on the second floor, the vibrations against the wall. He had to hide his grimace when he heard a chair squeak on the hardwood floor. 

Despite these sounds that no one else could hear, Matt had high hopes for the near future. He imagined late-night studying and sleeping in on weekends. He imagined sneaking into frat parties with Foggy and ending the night at local dive bars. 

When he heard the front door open, something shifted in the entire building. Something that caused Matt to move forward on the couch ever so slightly to hear better. The cold draft was replaced by a warmth in the air, followed by the ever-so-faint scent of lavender. Accompanied by the smell was an equally faint heartbeat. This person wasn’t nervous, they were content. He heard them sigh, and at this sound, Matt confirmed he was listening to a young woman. She too had a shoulder bag and suitcase she was lugging around, nothing else. No boxes filled with decorations or other extra things. No family dropped her off. 

Just her. 

She walked up the steps, one by one, and Matt could hear the pauses she took from the amount of stairs. His mouth twitched into a smile, fascinated that she was equally surpassed by the amount of stairs. It was clear that she was their fourth roommate, and it was confirmed when Matt heard her dial a number in her phone and Marci’s began to vibrate. 

“Are you here?” Marci asked through the phone immediately. 

“Yeah,” her friend breathed, “but I didn’t realize how many stairs there were! I’ll be up in five minutes if I’m lucky.”

“Do you need help with your bags? We luckily have two strong, burly men to do any heavy lifting we need,” Marci winked at Foggy. 

“No, I’m okay. I just have two bags. I’ll be right up.”

Marci squealed when she hung up the phone. “She’s here! Let me get the door for her.” 

As Marci walked over to open the front door, both Matt and Foggy stood up from their seats and awaited their fourth roommate’s arrival. Foggy waited like an excited puppy as he watched Marci lean in the doorway for her friend. Matt stood awkwardly, terrible at first encounters. He kept his hands in his pockets and tilted his head low, feeling more comfortable behind his dark glasses and chocolate brown hair that fell right over his eyes. The scent of lavender grew stronger the closer she made it to the apartment. 

And when she walked in, no longer did Matt hear the creak in the wood, the downstairs neighbors’ chatter, the outside city noises. No longer did he feel the cool draft from outside, or his own nervous heart beating in his chest. All of his senses, and all of his focus, were on her. The one other roommate who showed up alone, with no family, with nothing but two bags, and possibly an equally lonely heart. 

TAGS: @marvelcinematiquniverse

[angelbroad]

The Night I Fed You Your Mother's Heart

TW: Descriptions of violence, referenced abuse, cannibalism

The break room smelled of cigarettes and anxiety. It was here in this well kept, yet suffocating room that Camille had found herself in along with Vincent. She didn’t smoke, the vile clouds irritating her throat and lungs. She, instead, lit her friend’s cigarettes whenever he felt like he needed the sensation of nicotine.

 Yes, Vincent, he was a strange one indeed. Camille found herself drawn to him ever since their first class together in this culinary school. It was not a romantic interest, not at all, it was more like finding a kindred spirit. Broken homes, physical disabilities....hers more obvious than his.

 Vincent couldn’t taste, he made that known to her from day one. He was a very closed off person, rarely speaking and mostly focusing on his work. Their first interraction had been during a pastry assignement, where they made profiterole. He was the only student that was willing to approach her. In a way, Camille couldn’t blame her kitchen mates, her unnaturally tall height and elongated limbs would make anyone turn away. She hated how her bones and skin were stretched, like the limbs of the spiders that raised her inside the walls. It was disgusting, but not to Vincent. He treated her just as he would treat anyone else, and she could tell by the raise of his eyebrow that he was impressed by just how much she followed his instructions to the letter.

 She liked to consider them friends after this. Camille would approach him to talk, and took the fact that he wasn’t turning her down or walking away as an open invitation for a friendship.

 They talked about their childhoods, about Vincent’s mother and Camille’s father. Both figures they hated. They would hang out more and more, Camille visiting Vincent’s dorm at some point. She still lived in the long abandoned house, serving as a perfect disguise for her violent grocery shopping. Vincent’s furniture was much more comfortable than hers, and she accidentally slept on them more than once. The man always forgave her, though. He never minded how touchy Camille was, or her weird habits. He tried to teach her things like properly plate a dish, or how much time she should leave the macaroons in the oven.

 Vincent Charbonneau was amazing. He would give her so much, and for that, Camille felt that she should repay him....greatly.

 “What are you thinking about?”, Vincent asked, bringing Camille back to the present.

 She hummed, “Nothing. Macaroons.”

 Vincent made a noise between a scoff and a chuckle, “Right.”

 The man put out his cigarette on the nearest ashtray before turning to Camille.

 “Our finals are coming soon.”

 She nodded, “Yes, I know that.”

 “Are you...free tonight?”

 Camille tilted her head, much like a curious dog would, “Why?”

 Vincent inhaled, “Look...you know I can’t taste so, do you mind being my taste tester for some possible dishes I am planning?”

 Camille gave him a signature wide smile, complete with a salute, “Yes, chef!”

 This time, Vincent actually chuckled, arms crossed, “Save that for when I am your actual boss, Camille.”

 It was like eating a full course meal at an actual bistro, and like always, Vincent proved himself more than worthy of bearing the title of chef. It was ironic how someone with no sense of taste could make food this good.

 Their fun night however, would be spoiled by the very much unneeded visit from Vincent’s mother. Or at least, her attempt at a visit. Camille had went to open the door, blocking her from entering as soon as she opened it, and shutting the door completely once Vincent ordered her to.

 She was filled with absolute disgust as she heard how his mother had treated him, how she was the reason he had lost his taste in the first place, and that was more than enough to bar her entry as soon as she saw her face.

 “Just...don’t let her in the next time she comes over, got it?”, he asked.

 “Of course.”, she responded, her eyes staring at the wall and her pupils constantly changing size as the gears in her brain grinded together. She looked down at Vincent, who was sitting on a chair, and put one hand on the table. “Vince.”

 He looked up at her as she continued.

 “If you want me to...I can kill her for you.”

 The man gave her a confused look, seemingly not believing her. He sighed, leaning on the table.

 “Did I...say something wrong?”, she asked.

 “No.”, Vincent responded, “Just don’t say those things with anyone else.”

 “Yes si-Vince. Yes Vince.”

 Vincent himself felt odd about Camille Bouchard. She was probably the only person that understood his struggles, and she accepted him despite his unpleasant, in his mother’s words, attitude. She followed orders like she was a doberman, and she always agreed to everything he would ask of her. In a way, it was comforting to have control over someone so...dangerous.

 It was no secret to him, from day one he knew something was wrong upstairs, but he did not seem to be on that woman’s list. In the beginning, he was willing to be around her because of that fear. However, soon he found himself actively seeking her out, her cheery attitude and oddly touchy habits making her pleasant company. She would fall asleep over at his own house more than often, and she herself made a comfortable pillow to lie on. Not that he would ever tell her he used her as one out of embarrassement.

 She started acting weird after his mother’s unwanted visit, finding her more distracted in the classes of the following days. After their finals, which they both passed with flying colors, Camille made a proposal on their way home.

 “Hey, Vince?”

 “Hm?”

 “It might come off as a little odd but, could you come by my house tonight?”

 Vincent raised an eyebrow, she never invited him over to her house, “Sure, but what is the occasion?”

 “Our freedom, of course!”, she said, “We successfully passed culinary school, and are now officially chefs.”

 “Mmmhmm.”, Vince slowly nodded, squinting his eyes up at her.

 “So, I decided to repay you for all those meals you made for me over the two years we’ve known each other.”

 “By doing what?”

 “Making you a meal!”

 “Oh?”

 “Yes, let me cook for you!”, she cheerily responded, earning a raise of the eyebrows and a small smile from Vince.

 “What will you be cooking?”, he asked.

 “I was thinking, braised heart.”

 “Sounds lovely.”

 When Vincent dropped by the house, it was already dark out, and he would be lying if he said the house did not look intimidating, because it did. But then, he questioned why Camille would choose to stay in this house that looked close to falling apart. He sighed, hesitantly walking up to the house through the garden of tall grass and knocking on the old door.

 The door creaked open, Vincent catching a glimpse of Camille’s brown eye through the darkness.

 “Vince! You uh, came in early..”

 “Yes, is there a problem?”

 “Oh no no I just....didn’t start yet.”

 Vincent rolled his eyes. This woman was terrible with time management.

 “Can I come in?”

 “Yes yes, sure!”

 Camille let him in, and he followed her through the contorting halls. The further they went the more Vincent realised how bloody Camille was. She was wearing the standard chef’s uniform, but most of the blood was on the rubber black gloves and apron she was wearing. Eventually, they came to a more civilised room that served as a kitchen and a small dining area. Vincent went to drag a chair for himself as Camille went past him and to the countertop. The room was decently lit, but had many dark corners. How did she live here?

 “Sorry about the mess.”, she said, “I don’t get many living visitors.”

 “That is a....weird remark to make.”

 She let out a short laugh before pulling out a large knife, digging into meat he couldn’t see, “Yeah.....yeah..”

 He raised his eyebrow, “You...are using pork for this, right? You do know this is the standard meat for braised heart.”

 The slicing of the meat stopped, Camille straightening her back as it was still turned to Vincent.

 “Vince.”

 “..Yes?”

 “You told me you couldn’t taste anything, right?”

 “Yes..where is this going?”

 Camille sighed, lifting up a bloody hand, “I have eating habits that would be considered....unnethical, by most people. But I found that depending on the relationship I had with them, the taste of the meat was different...more savoury.”

 Sweat started to form on Vincent’s forehead, swallowing down his building concern.

 “And I thought...maybe I could help you, too.”

 “...In what way?”

 Camille finally turned around holding the freshly ripped heart, which looked nothing like a pig’s. Which was confirmed as she stepped to the side, allowing Vincent to look at the freshly dead body of his mother, her chest split open like a bloody flower.

 All he could muster was a wide-eyed gaze as he looked at his deceased mother’s hazy eyes as Camille worked on the braised heart, neatly placing it in front of him. The cooking process made it impossible to see it was a person’s heart. The woman let go of the plate, a little blood staining the rim.

 “Please....try it...”

 Vincent looked up at her, her lanky body shaking in anticipation. Vincent looked down at the plate, she had followed his plating tips. He took a knife and fork, and cut a decent bite off the heart, slowly placing it into his mouth. He chewed, and he swallowed.

 “...It still tastes like nothing....”

 The two stood in silence for a few painful minutes before Camille slumped in a chair next to him, bringing her bloody hands on her face.

 “...Stupid..”

 “Do not say that.”

 “H-Huh..?”

 “This....might not have worked but...you did something like this, because you wanted to help me.”, he felt a lump on his throat, getting emotional, “...Thank you.”

 Camille’s eyes lit up, giving a wide, but sad smile, “I uh...I’m sorry I could not make her taste.”, she looked back at Mrs Charbonneau’s corpse, “I can throw this away, then.”

 “Throw it away?”

 “I hate the woman.”, Camille explained as she fired up the incinerator to burn the woman’s corpse, “I know better than to taste the bitter flesh of hers.”

 It clicked for Vincent. Le Boucher Des Gens.

 “Camille. You are in your twenties, right?”

 “Yes, why?”

 “The Butcher’s killings can be traced back twenty years.”

 “......Yes. Since I was seven.”

 Vincent did not talk about this topic anymore, but now, he was gifted a new philosophy. Perhaps, if her found the right person, like Camille suggested, he could finally taste again. For this reason, he decided to keep Camille close, even at his bistro. She took care of his problems, like she was a dog that answered to no one but him. A provider of the highest degree, and an individual that always had his back.

 Yes, he was truly lucky to have such a monster under his thumb.

[dcforts]

[Steve and I]

5.9k. S09E06 fanfiction gap but Cas has a flat. Domestic, light angst. theirprofoundbond - thank you for all the work that you've done to help me with this one and all the kind words and you gifted me with. Read on ao3

Steve signed the lease a little over a month ago. It’s a second-story one-bedroom, in a building that is just two narrow flights of stairs, flickering ceiling lights and dirty carpets.

Cas doesn’t tell Dean that, he just gives him directions and points to a parking space out front. When the Impala quiets down, Dean doesn’t ask any questions and Cas is grateful for that. He fishes his keys from his pocket and leads him inside.

He says, “It’s a good neighborhood,” as they climb up, because that’s what you’re supposed to say. It’s what his landlady said when she led him up the first time, maybe to distract him from the cracks in the walls and the smell of laundry detergents coming from the laundromat next door.

He says that, even if Dean knows better than anyone that you can’t really be safe, no matter where you are, and even if it wouldn’t really make a difference for Cas who, grace or not, could still kill a man in the blink of an eye.

Dean follows him inside, past the little entryway and into the living room.

Cas turns on the lights and walks across the dusty carpet and around the coffee table to get to the window and open it. The cold evening air brings in noises from the street and allows him to breathe more easily. For a moment, in the dark and the musty air, it felt like being underwater.

Dean says, “Hey, it’s not bad,” only a beat too late. He looks around, nodding to himself. “Yeah. Nice, uh, couch.”

It’s a simply distributed space; if one drew it from above, it would resemble a square, divided up into uneven boxes facing each other in pairs. On one side the living room and the bedroom, and on the opposite one, the kitchen and the bathroom. Dean could tour the whole thing in fifteen steps or fewer if he so wished.

It seems even smaller with him in it now.

“Everything here came with the apartment,” Cas says.

It’s not exactly true. In the kitchen, on the wall just behind the fridge, there’s a complimentary calendar that he got from a shipment of energy drinks. Cas brought it home and hung it there, because Steve needs to pay attention to what month it is and what day it is—he has rent to pay, shifts at work, bills and deadlines.

Cas painted wards and sigils on walls and floors; Steve covered them up with dull paintings and soft carpets.

Nora gave Steve a succulent that sits on the windowsill of his bedroom. Cas only remembers to check on it when he is in bed, and he turns on his side. Most of the time, he’s too tired to get up again, says to himself he’ll do it in the morning, then he forgets again.

Cas doesn’t care about furniture; he doesn’t care about things. About the old couch that groans when you sit on it, about the low batteries in the TV remote. He doesn’t care about the dust in the empty flower vase on the shelf or the light in the bathroom that goes out sometimes.

Steve does. When he comes home after a ten-hour shift, the couch does not help his stiff and aching back. When he gets up at night to go to the bathroom, he has to be careful not to trip over things in the dark. Steve minds about furniture, about having hot water, a working washing machine and a window that opens all the way.

Cas doesn’t care about having a home, but Steve does, so now Cas has an address and a mailbox.

Steve needs so many things, some days Cas can barely keep up.

Dean is still standing there and seems unsure what to do. Cas can’t bear the sight of him in the apartment. This wasn’t something he’d ever planned on seeing, but nothing had gone according to his plans today.

He puts down the keys he realizes he’s still clenching and goes back toward the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?” he says, because that’s what you’re supposed to say when you have people over at your apartment. He’s seen it on TV plenty of times.

He stands in front of the open fridge and scans the shelves—the carton of eggs, the half-eaten burrito, the jar of grape jelly—and says, “I only have water.”

“Water is fine,” Dean says, his voice a little strained.

This entire situation must make him as uncomfortable as Cas is. He’d followed him to the threshold of the kitchen and it looks like he’s feeling larger than he is, one shoulder pressing against the door frame. His gaze wanders over the surroundings: the beige walls, the bowl of bananas and oranges on the table and the teaspoon on the edge of the sink. 

That morning Steve had used it to stir his coffee and then forgot to wash it. He was distracted because he was checking his mail. He collects it at night, but sometimes he’s too tired to look at it before bed and he leaves it for the morning.

Dean doesn’t comment on any of it. “Are you alright?” he asks, as Cas hands him a tall glass with his bandaged hand.

“It’s just a cut.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Dean says.

Cas walks past him. “I’m fine.”

He goes back to the entryway to take off his shoes and put them away and he feels Dean watching him from around the corner. He senses that he has no intention of letting go of the conversation.

“That angel—he came for you, didn’t he?”

Cas sucks in a breath. He’d known the question was coming; he’d spent the silent journey over dreading it and wondering how much Dean had heard of his conversation with Ephraim. He really doesn’t want to talk about what he said; he doesn’t even want to think about it.

“Because you’re in pain,” Dean adds.

Cas keeps his eyes on the ground and wonders if Dean is thinking about that night not that long ago, when he’d confessed how much guilt he was carrying. I might kill myself.

“He was mistaken.”

Dean doesn’t buy it. “So you’re fine. We’re gonna leave it at that?” he insists.

Cas fixes his eyes on the pea-green wallpaper in front of him. “Ephraim is gone and I’m tired. I’ve got work in the morning.”

“Right, yeah,” Dean says, sounding weird again. He shifts on the spot, looks down at his water. “I should, uh—” 

Cas doesn’t meet his eyes but he says, “You can stay. The couch is a pull-out.”

Dean says okay, then, even though there’s a motel room already paid for with all his stuff in it. He says okay, even though the living room window doesn’t have blinds or curtains to keep the light out and Cas has no spare pillow.

Cas goes over to the couch and starts removing the cushions. 

“You don’t need to do that,” Dean says, but Cas doesn’t stop maneuvering the coffee table out of the way.

“You have a long drive tomorrow.”

And there’s that.

There’s a big blinking neon sign on the other side of the street that paints Cas’ bedroom walls in red and pink and purple. Cas rarely bothers with turning on the lights in this room. The landlady promised to get Steve some heavy curtains, but she hasn’t come back yet. Cas doesn’t mind. One night the sign was down for maintenance, and he had trouble falling asleep without its constant shifting colors.

He’s looking for clean sheets while Dean uses his little bathroom, and then all of a sudden he’s standing in the doorway, as if hesitant to come in for some reason. He’s only in his jeans.

“Do you have a T-shirt I could borrow?”

Cas goes to the dresser where Steve keeps his T-shirts—he’d paid ten dollars for a pack of three—and picks a dark one for Dean. He smells of the shower gel with the tropical fruit on the bottle.

Cas got it because the ads say it will nourish and soften his skin and Steve’s skin gets dry when it’s windy. He also has shaving cream in the cabinet, a razor, a toothbrush, a box of bandaids. Sometimes Cas stops and looks at Steve in the mirror and asks himself if he’ll ever get used to it, to being this, just this. Sometimes he lies in bed and watches the ceiling change colors and wonders how long he will need to wait before he stops feeling fragile.

“Do you want me to take a look at that?” Dean asks, gesturing with his chin to his bandaged hand.

“I’ll do it,” Cas says and he knows this rejection will unnerve Dean more than his refusal to talk. He reminds Cas of a bug bumping against a window, but Cas isn’t ready for him to take a look inside yet, let alone come in. 

Dean clenches his jaw for just a moment, then lets it go. Cas follows him to the living room with clean sheets in his arms and makes the pull-out bed while Dean pokes around in his kitchen, with the excuse of getting another glass of water. Cas hears him open cabinets and pull out drawers. It seems like it didn’t take him long to make himself at home.

Cas isn’t sure he likes that.

Maybe it’s because it still hurts. When he got to the bunker, he’d thought that he had nothing to worry about anymore, and what he had gone through since the fall had just been a rocky journey to get back home. He wasn’t alone, he had simply been misplaced, but now he could rest.

He’d been naive. Dean had made it clear that he didn’t belong there, and it was a confusing truth he had to learn to accept. And yet, it still hurts. He’d thought it didn’t anymore; he’d thought the bitterness had left him but maybe it doesn’t happen like that. Maybe it lingers and lingers. You think it’s gone, but it’s not. Maybe he won’t ever be rid of it.

Cas thought he had been hurt before. For sure, he had felt sorrow and disappointment.

But the open wound inside his chest is a crater, and it’s swallowed him, and he has to make his way back out and he’s not sure he’s there yet.

He’s exhausted though, especially tonight, with the things Ephraim said still ringing, true and inevitable, in his ears.

Dean pops his head through the kitchen door. “Do you cook?”

“Occasionally.”

“Really?” He sounds surprised. “What d’you make?”

“Eggs.”

Steve likes eggs in the morning, with coffee—two sugars. But not orange juice. It makes his stomach burn for hours. He breaks and scrambles one egg in a pan with butter and pepper. Some days, Steve is so tired the eggshell breaks in small pieces and the kitchen gets dirty, and sometimes he wakes up late and rushes through the door. He eats a donut at work—but only the pink kind. The chocolate ones have a weird aftertaste.

“That it?”

“I have lunch at work, and I buy something for dinner on the way home.”

And if he’s too tired to stand in line or doesn’t feel like eating anything, there’s always peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Dean nods thoughtfully.

Cas thinks he’s passed some sort of test, but maybe not with the highest of grades, because Dean adds, “You— I mean, you’re eating enough, right?”

Oh, so he does worry.

Cas thinks of that time he’d had expired food and stayed awake the whole night:  his stomach cramping, face pressed against the cool surface of his bathroom tiles, dreading the next wave of nausea, thinking he was going to die, his thumb hovering over Dean’s name in his contacts more times than he feels comfortable remembering. Wishing to hear his voice.

Not calling.

“I think so,” Cas says.

Dean slips out of his jeans and sits on the edge of the bed that groans under his weight.

Cas should go and take care of his hand. Steve needs to sleep; he has tomorrow’s opening shift. New products to shelve and customers to serve. Usually at this time of night, Steve has already turned in.

But when he starts for the bathroom, Dean says, “Hey, wait,” and Cas has no choice but to stop, because Dean is here now, in the middle of his living room, and Dean unbalances everything.

“You don’t wanna talk about it—that’s fine. I just wanna say that whatever Ephraim told you, you don’t need to listen to him. You got a good thing going here. You got a job, you got a place for yourself. You got a chance to get out. Like, really get out.”

Something colors Dean’s voice that makes Cas suspicious. He doesn’t want to start a conversation, but he can recognize when Dean’s trying to say something without saying it.

“I have a responsibility toward my kind. Even if I can’t do much, I should try.”

“I know,” he says, but he’s fidgeting. “It’s just too dangerous out there right now. You said it yourself: after what happened with Metatron, angels are all over, looking for you.”

Cas holds his gaze and doesn’t say anything. Dean blinks one too many times. There’s something he’s not telling him, Cas knows.

“I’m just saying,” he starts again, and goes on as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “I get that you want to make things right, but maybe you can wait a little longer?”

His words hang in the air. Cas studies the way Dean’s eyebrows arch over his eyes, the tight lines around his mouth. He’s still convinced he can hide things from Cas, maybe now more than ever, but Cas sees him. Dean always forgets that.

“What is it?” Cas finally asks, fixing his gaze on Dean.

That’s all it takes. Dean sighs and it’s as much as a confession.

“Crowley said there’s no reversing the spell,” he says then, and he looks like he’s bracing himself for Cas’ reaction.

Somehow though, it doesn’t come as a blow. It doesn’t hurt him, it doesn’t shake his world. Cas registers Dean’s words and he surprises himself by thinking that he’s not broken by them.

He never expected that it would be easy for things to go back to they were.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t go back,” he reasons. “We can still find a way.”

“So you wanna go back.”

Cas is taken by surprise, not so much by his words, but by the way Dean blurts them out, almost as if they had escaped before he could control them—urgent, as if he could be directly affected by his choice. Cas can’t understand what difference it makes to Dean if Cas is on Earth or not, when he’s the one who sent him away in the first place.

“I don’t want to be trapped,” he says, a kind way out of a reply, and he feels his good hand close in a fist. This is not where he was supposed to be, where he was born to be.

Of course, he doesn’t want to leave Earth—not forever. Even back when he’d thought he was closing the Gates of Heaven, he was leaving because he had no other choice, and coming to terms with that was one of the hardest things Cas had ever done.

Dean acts as if he doesn’t know that, and maybe he really doesn’t. But Cas is still in pain and won’t clear that up for him; he won’t show himself needy of his company and his time.

“Yeah, no, I get that,” Dean says, but he sounds like he got the opposite of what Cas was trying to say. Cas won’t correct his misunderstandings. Not tonight. He’s feeling weak enough.

Cas leaves the room; there is not much else to say.

The springs of the mattress Dean is sleeping on groan whenever he moves.

Cas hears him from his bedroom. They groan and groan and groan. It makes it impossible for Cas to relax enough to fall asleep, even though he’s exhausted and the wound on his hand has started throbbing again.

He’d disinfected it and wrapped it in clean bandages, but he doesn’t have any painkillers, so he grinds his teeth and hopes it’ll be morning before he realizes.

The mattress groans and groans and then, when Cas resigns himself to the fact that he won’t get any sleep, the sound suddenly stops. Dean could have managed to fall asleep but somehow Cas doesn’t think that’s the case. The hair on the back of his neck stands up when he hears Dean’s footsteps coming toward his bedroom.

There’s a moment of silence and Cas doesn’t dare turn around. Then the bathroom door shuts and he lets out a breath.

The toilet flushes a few moments later, the door opens, and again, silence.

Cas frowns, rolls onto his back to find Dean standing there, just a dark silhouette in the door in the purple light—still behind that invisible wall that won’t let him cross the threshold.

“Dean?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” he says, “Sorry, uh, I can’t sleep on that bed so…”

The neon blinks in pink and Cas notices Dean’s wearing his jeans again. The thought of him slipping into the night, and Cas finding nothing but an empty apartment in the morning, has his heart pounding in his chest.

“You can sleep in here,” he says, and his voice sounds broken and loud.

“Uh, you don’t ha— I’ll be fine on the floor with just an extra blanket or something.”

The color in the room changes again. Dean wasn’t going to leave. Cas is confused by his emotions; his heart won’t behave, his ears start ringing, his insides burning. He didn’t want him here in the first place, so why does the thought of him going away hurt so much?

“I don’t have an extra blanket,” he says in the end, and then scoots over and gives him his back. “It’s late,” he adds and hopes it’s enough to end the conversation.

“Alright,” comes Dean’s voice, and then there is the sound of footsteps, his jeans hitting the floor and then the comforter is lifting, the mattress sinking.

Cas still can’t relax. Not when he can feel the tension in the room, Dean’s body rigid on the bed and his intakes of breath telling him that he’s getting ready to speak.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Cas?” 

Cas had thought he wanted an apology from Dean more than anything.

He thought about it at night, imagined what he would say if he called, if he wrote it in a text message, if he showed up at his door. But when Dean says, “I’m sorry,” right there and then, Cas realizes he doesn’t need it anymore. He has forgiven him already.

“I know I let you down,” Dean says, “I should be here for you.”

And Cas had thought about what to say to him a million times. To make him feel worse, to spike his guilt, to reject him completely.

He can’t do it. He’s never wanted to be one of the things Dean blames himself for. He won’t be one of them tonight, either.

There’s an open wound inside his chest, but telling Dean how much he’d hurt him would only make it deeper.

He says the only thing that feels true. He says, “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not okay though, are you?”

Cas doesn’t know if he can find the right words to explain how he feels. 

He rolls onto his back, fixes his eyes on the ceiling and watches it as it changes: red, purple, pink, and red again.

He tries, “I’m not myself.”

Dean shifts on his spot and now he’s looking at him. Cas can feel his gaze and knows Dean is frowning.

“What do you mean?” It comes as a whisper, worry bracketing each of his words.

“I don’t know who I am.”

“You’re Cas,” Dean says with a familiar high note of stubbornness and confusion.

That’s probably what does it. Cas’ lips start trembling, his eyes prickling. There’s a sudden lump in his throat, his chest starts hurting, and then there are hot tears spilling from the corners of his eyes, rolling down his temples and disappearing into his hair. The tickling sensation on his skin and in his nose is not entirely unpleasant, but he has to keep swallowing and can’t bring himself to talk.

Dean sees all of it. He stays absolutely still but when he speaks, every word is soaked in a softness that makes him feel even closer than he is.

“You’re still an angel. Without grace, okay, but that doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change who you are,” he says, and he sounds like he knows for sure.

Cas knows this is hard on Dean. To see his tears and to know that this time he can’t say what he usually says: I’ll take care of it, I’ll figure something out, Let me handle this. Because tomorrow he’ll be gone. He’ll hop in his car and drive away, and nothing will change that. So he can’t take Cas' burden now, like he always tries to do, like he does with everyone else.

“You’re still you,” he keeps going. “And you know, I really meant what I said earlier. You are doing one hell of a job, managing all this on your own. Being human sucks. Like, truly, sucks. Of course you hate it.”

Dean’s words have a tentative lightness to them and Cas knows he’s trying to cheer him up so he makes an effort to smile. He takes a deep breath and glances at him.

“I don’t hate it,” he says, his voice still a little broken. “I just…  want my grace back. I want to feel like myself again.”

Cas doesn’t look away from him and doesn’t move a muscle, not even when Dean says, “Okay,” and reaches out with one hand to rub away a tear on his temple. The touch is unexpected, and Cas eyes’ close on their own for a moment. Dean is serious now. “We’ll get it back.”

In Dean’s eyes Cas finds something that, incredibly, resembles understanding. Does he understand? Is he comparing Cas’ grace being ripped from him with the bite of the Hellhounds tearing him apart? Is he thinking of Hell consuming his soul? Is he thinking of losing Sam?

Cas doesn’t know, but somehow the understanding is there, and there’s no need for him to say more. 

“I’ll start looking as soon as I get back, okay?” Dean says.

Cas nods and his tears are replaced with a calm certainty: that Dean is here, that he himself is not completely lost, that there’s a possibility to feel whole again. He doesn’t even remember how he could have thought everything was so hopeless.

“Okay,” he says, and worries that he will feel silly and ashamed once Dean turns around again, and the moment will be gone. But Dean stays where he is. He settles down on his side with his head on his arm because the only pillow is too small for the both of them.

“You’ll be alright,” he says, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing once. Next to Dean, Cas believes it.

Slowly, Dean’s breathing evens out. The rhythm is so familiar that Cas' body relaxes to it. He has lost count of how many hours he spent in a dark room with this sound, back when he used to watch over him while he slept.

Cas lets out a deep breath and closes his eyes. Then he feels it—a touch on his shoulder again, Dean’s fingertips on the fabric of his sleeve, then the same featherlight touch of a knee against his bare thigh, right below the hem of his boxer shorts. No real pressure, just a light contact, but it starts a gentle prickle that travels through Cas’ body and fills his chest and limbs. He’s never felt anything like it.

Cas keeps his eyes closed and his body still and he falls asleep like that, thinking that Dean has never been close to him like this before. Whether it’s chemistry or instinct, maybe it’s now and it’s here, because somehow humanity makes him more accessible, more recognizable to Dean: the warmth of his skin, the smell of his body, the beating of his heart.

And so maybe there is, at last, something Cas can be grateful to Steve for.

It’s not quite morning when Cas wakes up. He doesn’t need an alarm. Even when Steve gets a day off, Cas still wakes up very early.

He doesn’t like lingering in bed for too long, because his mind gets busy with thoughts and memories, and he has to occupy his hands to make them go away. But Steve needs his rest on his days off, so Cas stays under the blanket until his bladder or his stomach start complaining.

This morning, his limbs feel heavy and his nose is stuffy, and he can’t remember why. 

He reaches out to grab his phone and check the time, and it’s the hand with the bandage that reminds him what happened the day before.

It reminds him that this morning is nothing like every other morning, that there’s someone lying next to him, and that someone is Dean. He can feel the heat of his body warming his back.

He sits up on his side of the bed and only then dares to look over his shoulder. Yes, Dean is still there, asleep on his stomach, one arm bent under his head, Cas’ shirt stretched over his shoulders.

Dean probably senses his gaze, because he opens his eyes and looks back at him, his signature morning pout on his lips.

Cas thinks he must make quite a sight; with the window behind his back, he must be just a silhouette against the weak morning light, his hair sticking up, his clothes wrinkled.

He wants to speak, but he’s forgotten the first thing people usually say to each other in the morning.

Dean’s brain must still be foggy because he doesn’t comment on the fact that Cas is just staring at him. After a moment, he blinks and yawns and lets out a mumbled “You got a really nice bed,” as if it isn’t just a mattress and a metal frame.

“Thank you,” Cas says, and only then remembers that what he was supposed to say was, Good morning.

It’s too late now, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

“What time is it?”

“Five-thirty.”

Dean smiles in bliss. His eyes are glassy. “I haven’t slept six hours in a long time.” He yawns again. “You getting up?”

“Yes, but you can stay longer,” Cas says. “I’m going to get dressed.”

Dean nods and rubs his face and then follows Cas with his gaze while he gathers things around the room.

“I’ll be up in a sec. I’m gonna make you eggs,” he says.

He’s pulled Steve’s pillow to his side and made himself comfortable again, stretching his legs and taking up space. Cas can’t resist turning to watch him from the door. He looks like a dream in the early morning light.

Dean’s eyes are still on him and Cas suddenly feels exposed, with his bare thighs and calves. He’s seen Dean in various states of undress plenty of times, but he’s not sure Dean’s ever seen him, and he doesn’t know what it means that he’s watching.

“Okay,” Cas agrees. After last night, it’s an easy concession to make. The corner of Dean’s mouth quirks up, and Cas feels himself mirroring him. 

Dean is a great cook. Cas has heard him boast about it in the past, but this is the first time that he’s tried his cooking.

His eggs are good, more savory and less runny than his, and they come with toast.

“I never have toast with my eggs,” Cas comments.

“What’s with all the bread, then?”

“It’s for PB&J.”

That makes Dean snort a laugh. He’d moved the bowl with the fruit to the counter next to the sink and poured coffee into two mismatched mugs. Now, he sits across from him and digs into his plate. 

He’s already dressed, shoes on too. Cas doesn’t mention that he’s still wearing the T-shirt he borrowed. He’s pretty sure the black one he had on before is still where he left it, on the hook behind his bathroom door, and he wants to keep it that way.

The time is running out and he doesn’t know how to convince himself there’s no point in wishing it could stop.

“You can use bread to do lots of things,” Dean is saying. “Ever had French toast?”

Cas shakes his head.

“Alright, I’ll make you some next time.”

“Next time?” Cas repeats, almost losing his grip on the mug he’s bringing to his lips.

Dean puts down his fork, picks it up again, avoids his gaze. “I just thought— It’s not that I want to bring the bad guys to your door, obviously, but maybe I could slip out here sometimes. I’d be careful.”

Cas' face must be asking, Why?, because Dean rushes to add, “Just, you know, to see how you’re doing.” He massages one of his thighs out of nervousness, then in a light tone, he says, “First thing, I’m buying you groceries, replacing that couch, and fixing the light in the bathroom.”

Cas puts down his coffee mug, anger rising in his chest. “No.”

Dean hadn’t expected that. His face crumbles all at once, showing hurt and confusion. “Wh—?”

“You can come here, but as a friend. I don’t want a caretaker.”

“What?” he exclaims in disbelief. “I didn’t say that.” 

“I’m serious, Dean.” Cas clenches his jaw; this is the last thing he wanted. “I don’t need your pity and I don’t need you to parent me.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “That’s not what I meant!” he says, raising his voice. He gets up and circles around his chair, taking a moment to calm down. “Jesus, Cas, I don’t wanna be your parent. I know you don’t need me, I just—” He sighs, frustrated, shakes his head. “I— I didn’t mean that,” he says, looking up at him like he does sometimes when he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

Cas knows that look. It takes all the fight out of him. Without the anger, all that’s left is the knowledge that Dean might come back and this might not be the only morning they spend in this kitchen. It’s an unbearable thought, difficult to grasp—almost as difficult as it had been to imagine Dean here before yesterday. “Well then, in that case, it’s fine, I’d like that,” Cas says, and Dean deflates in front of him like a balloon. 

Cas takes the dishes to the sink, gives them a quick wash. He wonders what happens now.

“Are you leaving right away?” he asks, sneaking a glance over his shoulder.

“Nah, I can give you a ride to work,” Dean says casually. And then, in a different tone, he adds, “Go on, go brush your teeth and get your jacket.”

Cas throws him a look, his mouth already open in protest, but Dean is grinning at him. “Just kidding.”

Cas rolls his eyes.

The ride is quiet and the closer they get, the sadder Cas feels.

It’s a dull pain that presses down the corners of his mouth and makes him clench a fist, irrationally resenting green lights and empty roads, pedestrians that wait on the sidewalk instead of crossing and slowing them down.

Dean talks about getting Cas a car and doesn’t seem to mind or notice that Cas barely responds. He’s probably just doing it to fill the silence. He stops in front of the entrance, and Cas doesn’t expect him to, but he turns off the engine and gets out to say goodbye.

He lingers in front of Cas, his eyes wandering from him to the Gas-n-Sip windows, to the gas pump, down to the asphalt, up to Cas again.

Cas is no fool; he knows that it could be a long time before they see each other again.

“Let me know if you see any of the angels,” Cas says to stop that line of thought. “They may despise me, but they know we need to work together.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean says, a wrinkle in between his eyebrows.

“Say hello to Sam for me.”

Dean sets his jaw and doesn’t say anything, and Cas feels there’s something there he doesn’t know. But they’ve run out of time. He takes a step forward and hugs him.

Hugging him as a human is different. It’s warmer, for one thing. Cas feels his own breath pushing his chest against Dean’s, his heart picking up the pace. And then there’s the scent of him. Cas can’t resist leaning his head into the crook of Dean’s neck, to feel his warm skin against his cheek, breathe him in.

Dean’s hands come up after only a moment to rest under his shoulder blades. He lets Cas hold him for longer than he thought he would.

“Hey,” he says then. “You can call me anytime—you know that, right?”

Cas nods, takes a breath, and steps away.

Dean seems sad now. He flashes a smile, but it’s not genuine. He looks like he’s about to say I’m sorry again. Cas wishes he wouldn’t, and thankfully he doesn’t. 

Instead he says, “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Cas tries to smile, too, but he thinks it comes out all wrong. “I’ll see you soon.”

"Yeah,” Dean says, now walking backward. “Buy me a pillow, will you?” He points and flashes another of his fake smiles. He gets to the car door. “Toothbrush, too.”

“Okay,” Cas says.

The door opens with a creak.

Dean looks at him over the roof.

“Have a good day at work.”

“Have a safe drive.”

Dean gets in and Cas bends to look at him through the passenger window.

Dean’s not smiling anymore. He’s sighing, and when he notices Cas, he leans over to roll the window down.

“I’ll be back.”

Cas knows Dean believes it. “You know where I live.”

Dean’s lips stretch in a grin that doesn’t show in his eyes.

The Impala starts rumbling and vibrating under Cas’ fingers still on the window frame. He holds up one hand in an aborted wave, Dean does the same. Cas lets go of the car and the wheels start rolling.

In a moment, he’s gone.

And Cas would stand there to watch the car disappear from his view, but Steve needs to open the store, turn on the cash register, make a few calls, start the coffee machine.

And on any other day, Steve would do that without thinking about Dean. Steve wouldn’t ache for him, wouldn’t long for him.

Cas isn’t sure he can do that anymore—shut himself away. As he wipes the counter and organizes the coins, he almost doesn’t remember how he did it before. 

He knows then that there is no going back, because Cas and Steve have something in common now.

They’re both in love with Dean.

[meiideryz]

unexpected but sweet.

pairing: chittaphon leechaiyapornkul x reader

length: 1.02k

tags: alternative universe, established relationship, boyfriend!ten, mentions of working, nap sessions, first kiss, tooth-rotting fluff, basically everything is just sweet

warnings: none.

afternoon nap sessions were your favorite, along with your boyfriend for almost a year. ten just loved the yellow hue of the sun penetrating through the translucent soft fabrics of the curtains, creating a lovely color painting the living room. he just loved to lay on the sofa with his favorite music playing on his phone for a bgm, and he would pull you into his embrace to nap with him whenever you came home from work.

it became a regular thing for the two of you, especially during weekends. you'd be there laying on his stomach while his arms are stretched out, caressing the sides of your body to soothe you into your slumber. ten loves being comfortable around you, in any way just to make you feel safe around him.

but it was always just cuddling, combing your hair, surprising you with his drawings of you, and anything else. however, ten never kissed you and vice versa during your eleven months of dating each other. maybe it was because none of you had the courage to initiate the first kiss, despite the closeness ten and you had developed.

he was with a friend the other day, unusually asking him if he had ever kissed you, and to his response, only a loud scream filled the room as he hid his face with the palms of his hands.

sure, he had relationships in the past with whom he kissed before, but when it comes to you, ten didn't want a simple first kiss where you both don't find it good, he wanted to make it memorable for the both of you.

maybe today has just been the day that he would actually do it.

before you left the apartment, he suggested to go on a picnic at the park later after you finish work. a grin plastered on his face when you agreed to his plan as he wrapped his arms around you to say goodbye.

during the times you weren't around, he'd play and feed his cats in his bedroom, or he would make a dish from your recipe book to improve his cooking skills, or do his art commissions online, but once it hit afternoon, it was time for another nap session.

he stretched his arms up to the air as he yawned out, indicating that he's eyelids were starting to fall down. ten slithers on the sofa, the soft cushions of the furniture relaxed him which made him curl into a ball like a cat would do when it's kicked back.

the silence inside the room was able to get him sleepy, eyes heavy at the feeling before dreamland awaits him in his sleep.

his nap didn't last long when he heard noise coming from the kitchen. a sound of a kettle boiling and your sweet humming in the distance. did he sleep for too long? he wanted to open his eyes to check but he was too sleepy to even open them and get up.

the lovely aroma of parmesan, bacon, and garlic filled his nose as he inhaled the delicious scent of the carbonara sauce being cooked. the way ten melted even more when the sound of your singing voice echoed the whole apartment, followed by a cracked voice and laughter filling the atmosphere.

when it comes to singing, everyone in your circle of friends thought how good you are, but ten was just something else. in your opinion, ten has the best voice, knowing too well he used to be in a music club during your college years. he brings his guitar to sing with his friends under the bleachers where you first met him.

there was a moment of silence inside the room, and ten couldn't help but slightly open his eyes to inspect what was happening.

and when he did, he almost let out a gasp, finding you in front of him. ten cursed in his mind, unable to do anything when you're this close to his face. usually he would pull you now to cuddle with him, but he stayed still in shock.

what was supposed to do in this kind of situation? the tension's incredibly high and his soul is leaving his body at the sight of you looking at him this close. he would've said 'love looking at my face too much?' right now but none of it came out of his mouth.

then everything felt like time had stop. it's cheesy to think about it but ten thought otherwise. and just a few centimeters left, you can easily close the gap between your lips to his. he waited, eyes closed shut this time, expecting to feel the soft moistness of your lips.

it never did. to his surprise, you pulled away out of embarrassment when he tried to slightly open his eyes one more time. well, if you won't do it, he will. ten finally opened his eyes, surprising you before a hand snaked around your neck to pull you into a kiss.

a burst of laughter left both of your lips when ten pulled you to the sofa with him, accidentally bumping each other's foreheads.

"you surprised me! i thought you were asleep the whole time!" you exclaimed, gasping for a breath as you playfully hit him on the chest.

"i was supposed to give you your first kiss later at our picnic date, but it seems like you were so impatient." ten pouts, only to see you laughing harder, hands reaching out to place both sides on his face to pull him into another sweet kiss. good god, your lips are just too perfect, a little too perfect where it molded so perfectly with his.

ten couldn't help but gently bit the bottom lip, then slowly, sweetly, kissed you again. his heartbeat rapidly going crazy at the taste of your peppermint lip balm. he can't get enough of it, he can't get enough of you, ten needs to be drowned with your kisses. "did i ruin our first kiss then?"

"it doesn't matter, every kiss we will share will always be memorable to me."

"then, so do i."

networks: @multifandomnet @neoturtles @neowritingsnet

©MEIIDERYZ 2022. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[antiquecritique]

|| Min-Ji & Duncan ||

It had been perhaps less than a week since a new place had opened up in Opulence, a strange and peculiar house which outwardly may not look like much more than a slightly out of place family home on the very border between Bowden and Dillon. Built before Bowden had been given all of its rows of townhouses in a neat line along its main street, the house seemed to stick out like a stubborn nail refusing to be hammered in, surrounded by its own patch of green where predominantly asphalt and bricks ruled. It broke the overall concept of the neighborhood but added significantly to its quaintness.  

Right by the wrought iron gate which leads into the now fully restored from its previous weed-overgrown state of neglect front garden was an inconspicuous but unmistakable once noticed blue sign, hand-painted and weather-worn, simply informing ‘Antiquities’. Finding out what that meant exactly was only possible by asking the one and only person running and managing it, who was very often away or unreachable. But, at the very least, the place no longer looked abandoned and would never be locked again, at least not until its single resident and owner decided to mysteriously vanish without a trace once more, just like he did almost fifty years ago. How he got it back to looking livable in within a week with basically no noise complaints or any curiosity raised by the neighbors was yet another mystery…

Once through ‘Out of the Attic’s’ door though, a not entirely expected magic within awaited. There was not a single spot, place or corner in the shop that wasn’t intricate, old, peculiar or uniquely different. Yet everything came together in one perfectly arranged harmony, mixed styles, periods, materials and uses of every single piece of furniture and decoration somehow coexisting in a flurry of blended colors pleasing to both the eye and the soul. Nothing was out of place, nothing could be pointed out as something that did not belong, even if by all rights it could be called out as in one way or another mismatched. Medallion Baluch rugs were spread under early 19th century mahogany armchairs, art nouveau blended into rococo - you could sit in William and Mary style, lounge in Queen Anne, go through the drawers of Chippendale cabinets, write on Empire desks, draw French Restoration curtains, go through a hallway of gothic revival and then end up in an Elizabethan room only to decide to cook in a kitchen that appeared like it was brought not only from another time but from a whole other side of the world too.

A time machine glitched and spat ‘Out of the Attic’ out and now it was there, in Opulence, a little rusted, a little chipped, but very antique and vintage.

Maybe just like its owner, but one could never tell when it came to him. In one of the back rooms, he sat over a workbench, bent over a very purposefully directed light source which, even this early in the afternoon, was much needed to carefully and without any slip-ups bring a rough detail brush upon a tiny, rusted silver spoon in much need of a proper cleanup. Just a small first step on a long journey to its restoration to former shine and glory, requiring patience and a loving eye for details. A tinkle of a small bell above interrupted his peaceful focus, connected through the house by a tightened wire tied to the front door, a completely electricity-free motion sensor alerting him that someone had made an entrance. At no rush whatsoever, Duncan slipped off an old piece of magnifying head gear, too complicated to be called glasses. Everything was put down carefully before he rose and made his way to the front, to check who’d one of his first visitors since his arrival could be.

@min-ji-min

[librarian-xavi]

004 - Dumpster Diving

The strangest skill to gain and then transfer to a zombie apocalypse is the ability to find good trash. Xavi was used to hand-me-downs, thrift and yard sale items, and the occasional "just take it" left on the side of the road or by the dumpsters. College was where that really became a skill, especially knowing what to look for that was simple cosmetic damage and what might indicate the reason it was really being thrown out.

But also how to fix them up. Paint and such was always a big one, but often people ended up throwing things out just because they didn't happen to have the right part laying around or having the right know-how to get something back into place.

Of course, with an entire neighborhood of furniture to go through, there was no reason to go digging through outright trash, but at the same time, in a way, all of it was now trash.

His trash.

That thought was more sad than anything if he thought about it too long, but if he was going to be stuck roving between a few different safehouses, he was going to make something of it. His current lodgings, as he waited for the heat to die down from his main "home", were in need of some attention. It was a place he had originally ended up in just because it was easier to protect, with the fences and yard making it harder for any random undead to shamble into, but the interior was also already reinforced.

Granted, that's because the building was condemned.

The boards over the windows and doors would've told him absolutely not to enter as just trying to get in might cause enough noise to bring a horde down on him, but it also had been boarded up much longer than just around the start of the outbreak. He had passed it multiple times and always wondered why it was even condemned as so much of it seemed in good condition.

This was the case with a lot of things he would find in the garbage, though. Things that seemed absolutely fine, even almost new, but hiding whatever was actually broken on the inside. When he happened upon this house during a harrowing night of trying to stay out of sight, his curiosity got the best of him when he saw the side door's boards had entirely fallen apart. The nails still in the surrounding frame and walls, the boards over that door must have had some kind of rot and warped enough to fall off of the nails after enough heavy rains.

The door even showed no signs of splintering the way ones that had been knocked on by the shambling neighbors would. It seemed to be in the clear. Which made all the questions be the interior...

In another fit of luck, perhaps because no one paid enough attention when the whole place had been boarded shut, the side door was unlocked. He opened it quickly and slipped inside with a single motion, shutting it as carefully as he could to avoid noise. The darkness inside would normally be easy to adjust to at night, but with everything boarded up, even the scant moonlight wouldn't pierce inside. His flashlight would be necessary here, but at least the same caveat applied going outward as well - his flashlight wouldn't easily give him away to a wandering corpse outside that might see.

The interior was a surprise as he scanned with a flashlight. Most of it was remarkably intact for the age and condemned status. It had only been about a year since it was shuttered, but he still expected more. It didn't take long to find it.

The entire kitchen was black. It was a stark transition, where the hallways suddenly gave way to exposed and charred beams and remnants of drywall hung to old wiring. The tile was still stained black with streaks, some from footsteps likely from the ensuing commotion of the fire and putting it out, and some from an almost streak towards the center back of the room where only the leftover metal in the ceiling hinted at what would've been an oven canopy. The whole section had been removed, likely due to the fire from the stove warranting its removal.

He could just see the sudden belching of smoke and ash that must've been caused to make this. The adjacent cabinets and drawers were first entirely gone, then blackened splinters, then mostly just charred wood before suddenly looking mostly normal. The countertops were a mess and the ends showed signs of some melting close to where the stove would have been, but it was hard to tell as the counters abruptly ended, having been cut to likely help remove the unsalvageable appliance.

The walls were also worse for the wear. Stained almost everywhere, peeling all along the stove-side wall and barely even there on the opposite, with the holes in the drywall and exposed support beams right in the blast zone. The place was lucky that, somehow, the fire hadn't caught the entire room, and the house with it. It's possible that little fire was involved and the smoke and ash and soot caused the majority of the damage. This wasn't unheard of for contaminating a house enough to get it condemned.

Which made it a questionable place to sleep, but better than the other options he had at the time. Thankfully, most of the house had already long since been aired out and had some of its most dangerous leftovers removed. Likely it was too much damage for the owner to have repaired at the time and became a write-off.

But now, after having to leave "home" for a bit, he was back here. Holing up in the other, cleaner rooms was still not half bad and the boarded up windows were all still intact. This one big bit of trash would do for a while. Again.

[fantastic-secrets]

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Characters: Ainosuke Shindo (ADAM), Langa Hasegawa, Reki Kyan, Miya Chinen (mentioned)

Warnings: Sex/Smut, Homophobia, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Bondage, Neglect Play, Bruising

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: In which Langa, a college student, enjoys a very special evening with his businessman lover. [Written for Fall for Eden 2022 | Day 4: Mundane AU]

“Hey, Langa! We’re going to a bar, you wanna come?” Reki and Miya were waving him down, but Langa shook his head as he approached them.

“I’m cooking tonight, but thanks. Maybe next time.”

“Okay. But you should bring your girlfriend sometime!”

“Maybe.”

Langa adjusted the backpack on his shoulder before heading back to his apartment. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his relationship a secret: Reki kept insisting on meeting “her” while Miya would sometimes steal his phone and try to get into it to see if he had any pictures. Which Langa did, but they weren’t something that he could show to his friends.

It wasn’t that he was ashamed or anything. If he explained it to them, they’d probably understand and accept it for the most part. After all, the general consensus among their classmates was that Langa was “a nice guy, but a bit weird,” but Reki and Miya didn’t seem to mind. He hung out with them the most, at least, and the two of them talked enough to cover his own silence. And while they sometimes made fun of him, especially for being a “too-devoted boyfriend,” there wasn’t any meanness in their words.

He knew that, but he also couldn’t shake the fear of them rejecting him, too. Back in middle school, when he’d realized how he felt and talked about it with one of his friends, he’d noticed that they’d begun to hang out less together. But his friend had kept insisting that it was nothing, just Langa’s imagination. And one day, when Langa tried to ask him again, grabbing his shoulder so he couldn’t just run away like he always did, he’d found himself on the ground: his friend had shoved him away, exclaiming, “You’re gross! Don’t touch me!” After that, the rumor had spread, and he’d lost the rest of his friends.

It still hurt to remember it, but he was mostly over it now. It had helped a lot, finding someone who understood and showed him that he was loved as himself. Langa’s own parents didn’t count, of course: they were his parents, so of course they would love him. But someone he didn’t know, who didn’t have any reason to care about him?

Sighing, he walked into the lobby, nodding a greeting to the doorman before taking an elevator up to the eleventh floor. It technically was his apartment, since his name was on the lease, but Ainosuke was the one paying for it. Once they’d started officially going out, his lover had insisted on moving him out of the fairly dilapidated university housing and into a newly built complex. All the furniture inside was new, too, picked out of catalogs together, and Langa smiled as he dropped his bag onto the couch covered in too-fluffy pillows (Ainosuke’s choice) before heading to the kitchen.

He also knew that Ainosuke had his own place, somewhere else, but unless he was really busy with work, he spent most of his evenings and weekends here. And other than the maid who came to tidy up once a week, they split the chores between themselves. Pulling up a recipe on his phone, he began to take what he needed out of the fridge.

He was nearly done when he heard the apartment door open and a familiar voice call out, “I’m home!”

“Welcome back,” Langa called back. There were some rustling noises in the hallway before his lover appeared, smiling broadly when he spotted Langa by the stove.

“What’s for dinner today?” he asked, leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek before he peered into the pot that Langa was stirring. The aroma of spices was filling the kitchen along with the rich smell of meat, and Langa himself couldn’t wait to eat.

“Curry.”

“Lovely~~~. I’ll wash up and set the table.”

The two of them worked in quiet concert, Ainosuke scooping out the rice and shaping it on the plates while Langa tasted the curry. It still needed a little longer, so he watched as Ainosuke pulled out a small frying pan and poured in some oil before fetching two eggs from the fridge. As soon as Langa finished adding the curry to the plates, Ainosuke topped them with a fried egg each before carrying them over to the table.

“So, how was your exam today?” Ainosuke dug into the curry, and Langa shrugged as he did the same.

“It was okay.”

He was getting by in his classes, but he wouldn’t really call himself a good student. After high school, he hadn’t known what he wanted to do, so he’d sat for a few entrance exams and applied for some jobs. But when he’d gotten into the same university as Reki, his friend had encouraged him to join him, so now he was majoring in gender studies while Reki was in the music department.

He probably should have gotten a job, though. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with gender studies—he’d just picked a major that seemed easy—or what he wanted to do in general, really. He’d hoped that university would be able to help him figure it out, but he still felt the same way that he did when he’d started. There was nothing exciting about a salaryman’s job, but he could probably do it.

“What about you? How was your day?”

Ainosuke’s face lit up at the question, and Langa smiled slightly: for as flat as he often was, his lover was always so expressive. He didn’t really know why Ainosuke liked him, but he also just knew that the older man did. So he just continued to eat while his lover talked about options and derivatives and other things that he didn’t understand, nodding sometimes and making sounds of agreement. He thought that Ainosuke probably knew that, too, but the other man always seemed delighted whenever Langa asked him about himself and more than happy to talk. And he was always passionate about the things that he did: Langa couldn’t help but feel some admiration for that. It was no wonder that Ainosuke had found success in the cutthroat business world at such an early age, with all the effort that he put into all of his work.

While Ainosuke talked, Langa finished his first plate and went back for a second, finishing off the rest of the rice and a good portion of the curry. He could probably pack the leftovers for his lunch tomorrow with some more rice. Curry was good in that way: it reheated well, and it was easy to make, too.

They continued to talk about nothing at all while they ate, and when they’d finished, Ainosuke brought both of their plates to the sink to start cleaning up. Leaning back in his chair, Langa watched him, smiling at the sight of Ainosuke, still in a suit, with his sleeves pushed up and his tie thrown over his shoulder as he washed everything. He really did look so good, handsome and mature, and Langa felt himself getting warm as he just watched his lover.

And when the water finally shut off, Ainosuke returned to him, bending over to kiss him again. It was soft and gentle, and Langa wrapped his arms around the other man’s neck to pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

“Do you have any homework tonight?” Ainosuke murmured against his lips, and Langa shook his head slightly. It was a lie, but a small one: he’d already started it this afternoon, and he could probably finish it up before class tomorrow. Besides, this was the first time they were seeing each other in almost a week, since Ainosuke had been working overtime on some sort of project for work. And Langa was rewarded by the sensation of Ainosuke's lips curving upward in a smile.

He let out a startled laugh when arms slid under his legs, hoisting him up against Ainosuke, and he locked his legs behind Ainosuke's back as the man carried him to the bedroom. His lips pressed soft kisses to Langa's face and neck before he lowered both of them to the bed, caging the younger man beneath him. Langa's fingers were already fumbling at the buttons of Ainosuke's shirt, and soon enough, they'd both shucked off their clothes. But as Ainosuke began to lower himself between Langa's legs, the younger man grabbed his arm.

"Wait. I want to do it for you too," he insisted. Ainosuke was always taking care of him and making him feel good, but that wasn't fair, right? Ainosuke seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then he smirked as he repositioned himself, his stiffening erection dangling above Langa's face.

"How about we make a bet?" he suggested. "Whichever of us makes the other one come first gets to decide our play tonight."

"Sure."

Langa didn't really mind: physically, they were pretty compatible, and even if Ainosuke won, he wouldn't do anything that Langa really didn't like. So he reached out to wrap his hand around Ainosuke's cock to start to jerk him off. It was hot and heavy in his hand, and he wasn't sure if he was just imagining that he could feel Ainosuke's pulse thudding in it.

He gasped when the other man dove down onto him, his mouth tight and hot and wet, and his hips automatically tried thrust into it while strong hands pinned them down. It was nearly enough to distract him from his purpose, so Langa guided Ainosuke's own cock to his mouth, drawing a lick along the engorged head. Immediately, the taste of salty musk coated his tongue, and he felt Ainosuke's hum of satisfaction, encouraging him to take the tip into his own mouth, drawing his tongue along the shaft as he tried to swallow even more.

It wasn't a fair contest, really: Langa had done this for Ainosuke a few times, but the other man clearly had much more experience. But that didn't matter: it was about making his lover feel good, so Langa did his best, even as his breathing grew ragged and his hand faltered in jerking the other man off. It also annoyed him that Ainosuke still seemed to be in perfect control of himself, even as he grew harder in Langa's mouth, so he threw himself into the blowjob with renewed vigor, only to groan as his hips bucked upward once more and he emptied himself into Ainosuke's mouth.

His lover kept his lips tightly sealed around Langa's cock until he finished, and then he pulled himself off, turning around so that Langa could watch his throat work as he swallowed his come. A small dribble trickled out of the corner of Ainosuke's mouth, and Langa watched him wipe it off with a thumb before licking it off as well.

"So I won." Ainosuke's expression looked slightly predatory as he stared down at Langa, and the younger man had to resist the urge to cross his arms over his chest. Even though he knew that his lover would never really hurt him, he always felt a little bit of a thrill when Ainosuke looked at him like that.

"You did."

"And you remember the terms of our bet?"

"Yeah."

Ainosuke smiled, baring the edges of his perfect teeth, before reaching past Langa to pull open a drawer. One by one, his hand pulled out several objects, laying them down beside Langa: a blindfold, a ball gag, earplugs, a pair of handcuffs, and a cock ring. And then he climbed off the younger man.

"You remember what to do?"

"Yeah."

Langa took a slow, shuddering breath before he sat up to face Ainosuke. His lover picked up the gag first, so Langa opened his mouth to accept it, bowing his head slightly to let Ainosuke fasten it behind his head. It didn't take long for his drool to start to start to pool in his mouth while Ainosuke added the rest, binding Langa's hands behind his back and lovingly stealing the rest of his senses from him.

The last thing to be added was the blindfold. Langa continued to stare at Ainosuke, his heart racing, until the soft cloth settled over his eyes, concealing his lover from his sight. And then warm, comforting hands were lowering him back down to the bed and turning him over so he could lay on his stomach. It didn't take long for him to feel something cool and slick nudging at his ass, and he exhaled slowly as it was carefully pushed inside.

He felt the bed rise slightly as Ainosuke got up, and then the vibrator was turned on at what felt like the highest setting, making Langa flinch.

At first, he tried to stay still, his breathing growing more erratic as the toy moved inside him. All of his senses had been forced inward, made to focus on the sensations gripping his body. He didn't know how much time had passed before he started to writhe, whining softly as he desperately sought some relief. But rutting against the sheets only made it worse, heightening the growing pleasure that had nowhere to go.

It felt too good, and he wondered if Ainosuke was still there, watching him as he arched his back and curled up around himself. The vibrator teased him relentlessly while he squirmed, trying to find a way to escape its torment for even a moment, even though he knew it was impossible. Bright sparks danced before his eyes as a warm dampness began to soak the cloth covering them, and he began to gasp, choking on the intensity of his feelings.

When he couldn't stand it anymore, he forced his clenched fists to relax, clapping his hands together twice.

For several heartbeats, nothing happened, but then the instrument of his torture fell still. Vaguely, he felt the mattress sink beneath him again, and then the strap holding the gag in place loosened, allowing him to push the soaked gag out of his mouth with his tongue.

"Please let me come," he babbled, unable to hear his own desperate, hoarse voice. "Fuck me, Ai. I want to come. Please, please, please. Let me come."

Something—a finger—caught on the edge of his hole, pulling it open before something much hotter and thicker pressed inside, and Langa sobbed with need as he thrust back against it.

"Yes, yes! Harder! Fuck me! Make me yours!"

Familiar hands settled around his waist before Ainosuke began to fulfill his demands, pounding into him furiously, bringing Langa to even greater heights, his words melting into unintelligible cries as the pressure and pleasure crashed over him. And finally, finally, his lover buried himself into him deeply one last time before tearing off the ring that restrained Langa's release.

Langa came with a scream, his entire body shuddering and clenching as he arched back. Strong arms wrapped around his chest, embracing him tightly while a hand firmly milked him dry. And when he had nothing else to give, Langa collapsed.

When he opened his eyes again, he sat in a tub, surrounded by warm water. His back was propped up against something firm, and he leaned his head back, looking up at Ainosuke's face.

"How do you feel?"

There was clear concern in those crimson eyes, but the hand rubbing a soft cloth over Langa's body didn't falter. When it brushed over his hips, Langa's own hand fell down to rest against the faint pains left in its wake, where he would probably find finger-shaped bruises tomorrow. His muscles and insides ached, as well, from the intensity of Ainosuke's love. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

He smiled, stretching his neck so he could brush a kiss along his lover's jaw.

"Perfect."

[fantastic-rambles]

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Characters: Ainosuke Shindo (ADAM), Langa Hasegawa, Reki Kyan, Miya Chinen (mentioned)

Warnings: Sex/Smut, Homophobia, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Bondage, Neglect Play

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: In which Langa, a college student, enjoys a very special evening with his businessman lover. [Written for Fall for Eden 2022 | Day 4: Mundane AU]

“Hey, Langa! We’re going to a bar, you wanna come?” Reki and Miya were waving him down, but Langa shook his head as he approached them.

“I’m cooking tonight, but thanks. Maybe next time.”

“Okay. But you should bring your girlfriend sometime!”

“Maybe.”

Langa adjusted the backpack on his shoulder before heading back to his apartment. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his relationship a secret: Reki kept insisting on meeting “her” while Miya would sometimes steal his phone and try to get into it to see if he had any pictures. Which Langa did, but they weren’t something that he could show to his friends.

It wasn’t that he was ashamed or anything. If he explained it to them, they’d probably understand and accept it for the most part. After all, the general consensus among their classmates was that Langa was “a nice guy, but a bit weird,” but Reki and Miya didn’t seem to mind. He hung out with them the most, at least, and the two of them talked enough to cover his own silence. And while they sometimes made fun of him, especially for being a “too-devoted boyfriend,” there wasn’t any meanness in their words.

He knew that, but he also couldn’t shake the fear of them rejecting him, too. Back in middle school, when he’d realized how he felt and talked about it with one of his friends, he’d noticed that they’d begun to hang out less together. But his friend had kept insisting that it was nothing, just Langa’s imagination. And one day, when Langa tried to ask him again, grabbing his shoulder so he couldn’t just run away like he always did, he’d found himself on the ground: his friend had shoved him away, exclaiming, “You’re gross! Don’t touch me!” After that, the rumor had spread, and he’d lost the rest of his friends.

It still hurt to remember it, but he was mostly over it now. It had helped a lot, finding someone who understood and showed him that he was loved as himself. Langa’s own parents didn’t count, of course: they were his parents, so of course they would love him. But someone he didn’t know, who didn’t have any reason to care about him?

Sighing, he walked into the lobby, nodding a greeting to the doorman before taking an elevator up to the eleventh floor. It technically was his apartment, since his name was on the lease, but Ainosuke was the one paying for it. Once they’d started officially going out, his lover had insisted on moving him out of the fairly dilapidated university housing and into a newly built complex. All the furniture inside was new, too, picked out of catalogs together, and Langa smiled as he dropped his bag onto the couch covered in too-fluffy pillows (Ainosuke’s choice) before heading to the kitchen.

He also knew that Ainosuke had his own place, somewhere else, but unless he was really busy with work, he spent most of his evenings and weekends here. And other than the maid who came to tidy up once a week, they split the chores between themselves. Pulling up a recipe on his phone, he began to take what he needed out of the fridge.

He was nearly done when he heard the apartment door open and a familiar voice call out, “I’m home!”

“Welcome back,” Langa called back. There were some rustling noises in the hallway before his lover appeared, smiling broadly when he spotted Langa by the stove.

“What’s for dinner today?” he asked, leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek before he peered into the pot that Langa was stirring. The aroma of spices was filling the kitchen along with the rich smell of meat, and Langa himself couldn’t wait to eat.

“Curry.”

“Lovely~~~. I’ll wash up and set the table.”

The two of them worked in quiet concert, Ainosuke scooping out the rice and shaping it on the plates while Langa tasted the curry. It still needed a little longer, so he watched as Ainosuke pulled out a small frying pan and poured in some oil before fetching two eggs from the fridge. As soon as Langa finished adding the curry to the plates, Ainosuke topped them with a fried egg each before carrying them over to the table.

“So, how was your exam today?” Ainosuke dug into the curry, and Langa shrugged as he did the same.

“It was okay.”

He was getting by in his classes, but he wouldn’t really call himself a good student. After high school, he hadn’t known what he wanted to do, so he’d sat for a few entrance exams and applied for some jobs. But when he’d gotten into the same university as Reki, his friend had encouraged him to join him, so now he was majoring in gender studies while Reki was in the music department.

He probably should have gotten a job, though. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with gender studies—he’d just picked a major that seemed easy—or what he wanted to do in general, really. He’d hoped that university would be able to help him figure it out, but he still felt the same way that he did when he’d started. There was nothing exciting about a salaryman’s job, but he could probably do it.

“What about you? How was your day?”

Ainosuke’s face lit up at the question, and Langa smiled slightly: for as flat as he often was, his lover was always so expressive. He didn’t really know why Ainosuke liked him, but he also just knew that the older man did. So he just continued to eat while his lover talked about options and derivatives and other things that he didn’t understand, nodding sometimes and making sounds of agreement. He thought that Ainosuke probably knew that, too, but the other man always seemed delighted whenever Langa asked him about himself and more than happy to talk. And he was always passionate about the things that he did: Langa couldn’t help but feel some admiration for that. It was no wonder that Ainosuke had found success in the cutthroat business world at such an early age, with all the effort that he put into all of his work.

While Ainosuke talked, Langa finished his first plate and went back for a second, finishing off the rest of the rice and a good portion of the curry. He could probably pack the leftovers for his lunch tomorrow with some more rice. Curry was good in that way: it reheated well, and it was easy to make, too.

They continued to talk about nothing at all while they ate, and when they’d finished, Ainosuke brought both of their plates to the sink to start cleaning up. Leaning back in his chair, Langa watched him, smiling at the sight of Ainosuke, still in a suit, with his sleeves pushed up and his tie thrown over his shoulder as he washed everything. He really did look so good, handsome and mature, and Langa felt himself getting warm as he just watched his lover.

And when the water finally shut off, Ainosuke returned to him, bending over to kiss him again. It was soft and gentle, and Langa wrapped his arms around the other man’s neck to pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

“Do you have any homework tonight?” Ainosuke murmured against his lips, and Langa shook his head slightly. It was a lie, but a small one: he’d already started it this afternoon, and he could probably finish it up before class tomorrow. Besides, this was the first time they were seeing each other in almost a week, since Ainosuke had been working overtime on some sort of project for work. And Langa was rewarded by the sensation of Ainosuke's lips curving upward in a smile.

He let out a startled laugh when arms slid under his legs, hoisting him up against Ainosuke, and he locked his legs behind Ainosuke's back as the man carried him to the bedroom. His lips pressed soft kisses to Langa's face and neck before he lowered both of them to the bed, caging the younger man beneath him. Langa's fingers were already fumbling at the buttons of Ainosuke's shirt, and soon enough, they'd both shucked off their clothes. But as Ainosuke began to lower himself between Langa's legs, the younger man grabbed his arm.

"Wait. I want to do it for you too," he insisted. Ainosuke was always taking care of him and making him feel good, but that wasn't fair, right? Ainosuke seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then he smirked as he repositioned himself, his stiffening erection dangling above Langa's face.

"How about we make a bet?" he suggested. "Whichever of us makes the other one come first gets to decide our play tonight."

"Sure."

Langa didn't really mind: physically, they were pretty compatible, and even if Ainosuke won, he wouldn't do anything that Langa really didn't like. So he reached out to wrap his hand around Ainosuke's cock to start to jerk him off. It was hot and heavy in his hand, and he wasn't sure if he was just imagining that he could feel Ainosuke's pulse thudding in it.

He gasped when the other man dove down onto him, his mouth tight and hot and wet, and his hips automatically tried thrust into it while strong hands pinned them down. It was nearly enough to distract him from his purpose, so Langa guided Ainosuke's own cock to his mouth, drawing a lick along the engorged head. Immediately, the taste of salty musk coated his tongue, and he felt Ainosuke's hum of satisfaction, encouraging him to take the tip into his own mouth, drawing his tongue along the shaft as he tried to swallow even more.

It wasn't a fair contest, really: Langa had done this for Ainosuke a few times, but the other man clearly had much more experience. But that didn't matter: it was about making his lover feel good, so Langa did his best, even as his breathing grew ragged and his hand faltered in jerking the other man off. It also annoyed him that Ainosuke still seemed to be in perfect control of himself, even as he grew harder in Langa's mouth, so he threw himself into the blowjob with renewed vigor, only to groan as his hips bucked upward once more and he emptied himself into Ainosuke's mouth.

His lover kept his lips tightly sealed around Langa's cock until he finished, and then he pulled himself off, turning around so that Langa could watch his throat work as he swallowed his come. A small dribble trickled out of the corner of Ainosuke's mouth, and Langa watched him wipe it off with a thumb before licking it off as well.

"So I won." Ainosuke's expression looked slightly predatory as he stared down at Langa, and the younger man had to resist the urge to cross his arms over his chest. Even though he knew that his lover would never really hurt him, he always felt a little bit of a thrill when Ainosuke looked at him like that.

"You did."

"And you remember the terms of our bet?"

"Yeah."

Ainosuke smiled, baring the edges of his perfect teeth, before reaching past Langa to pull open a drawer. One by one, his hand pulled out several objects, laying them down beside Langa: a blindfold, a ball gag, earplugs, a pair of handcuffs, and a cock ring. And then he climbed off the younger man.

"You remember what to do?"

"Yeah."

Langa took a slow, shuddering breath before he sat up to face Ainosuke. His lover picked up the gag first, so Langa opened his mouth to accept it, bowing his head slightly to let Ainosuke fasten it behind his head. It didn't take long for his drool to start to start to pool in his mouth while Ainosuke added the rest, binding Langa's hands behind his back and lovingly stealing the rest of his senses from him.

The last thing to be added was the blindfold. Langa continued to stare at Ainosuke, his heart racing, until the soft cloth settled over his eyes, concealing his lover from his sight. And then warm, comforting hands were lowering him back down to the bed and turning him over so he could lay on his stomach. It didn't take long for him to feel something cool and slick nudging at his ass, and he exhaled slowly as it was carefully pushed inside.

He felt the bed rise slightly as Ainosuke got up, and then the vibrator was turned on at what felt like the highest setting, making Langa flinch.

At first, he tried to stay still, his breathing growing more erratic as the toy moved inside him. All of his senses had been forced inward, made to focus on the sensations gripping his body. He didn't know how much time had passed before he started to writhe, whining softly as he desperately sought some relief. But rutting against the sheets only made it worse, heightening the growing pleasure that had nowhere to go.

It felt too good, and he wondered if Ainosuke was still there, watching him as he arched his back and curled up around himself. The vibrator teased him relentlessly while he squirmed, trying to find a way to escape its torment for even a moment, even though he knew it was impossible. Bright sparks danced before his eyes as a warm dampness began to soak the cloth covering them, and he began to gasp, choking on the intensity of his feelings.

When he couldn't stand it anymore, he forced his clenched fists to relax, clapping his hands together twice.

For several heartbeats, nothing happened, but then the instrument of his torture fell still. Vaguely, he felt the mattress sink beneath him again, and then the strap holding the gag in place loosened, allowing him to push the soaked gag out of his mouth with his tongue.

"Please let me come," he babbled, unable to hear his own desperate, hoarse voice. "Fuck me, Ai. I want to come. Please, please, please. Let me come."

Something—a finger—caught on the edge of his hole, pulling it open before something much hotter and thicker pressed inside, and Langa sobbed with need as he thrust back against it.

"Yes, yes! Harder! Fuck me! Make me yours!"

Familiar hands settled around his waist before Ainosuke began to fulfill his demands, pounding into him furiously, bringing Langa to even greater heights, his words melting into unintelligible cries as the pressure and pleasure crashed over him. And finally, finally, his lover buried himself into him deeply one last time before tearing off the ring that restrained Langa's release.

Langa came with a scream, his entire body shuddering and clenching as he arched back. Strong arms wrapped around his chest, embracing him tightly while a hand firmly milked him dry. And when he had nothing else to give, Langa collapsed.

When he opened his eyes again, he sat in a tub, surrounded by warm water. His back was propped up against something firm, and he leaned his head back, looking up at Ainosuke's face.

"How do you feel?"

There was clear concern in those crimson eyes, but the hand rubbing a soft cloth over Langa's body didn't falter. When it brushed over his hips, Langa's own hand fell down to rest against the faint pains left in its wake, where he would probably find finger-shaped bruises tomorrow. His muscles and insides ached, as well, from the intensity of Ainosuke's love. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

He smiled, stretching his neck so he could brush a kiss along his lover's jaw.

"Perfect."

[clone-whore-99]

Troublemaker

Chapter 2: Work, Armor and... Clones?

The Bad Batch x f!Reader

Warnings: I don't think there is any warnings in this? Not as much angst, more chill. Crosshair is being an annoying tease. LMK if I missed anything

Authors note: Who, me? Writing fanfiction instead of dealing with my real life issues? It's more likely than you think. This chapter was originally going to be way longer, but I decided to split it into two chapters instead. Also, thank you guys so much for the love I've received on the first chapter! It was so amazing, I never could've thought people were actually gonna be interested in this! So thank you guys so much!

If you like it, please do let me know by liking and commenting and maybe even reblogging, it would mean a lot to me 🥺👉👈

Chapter 1: Arriving at Kamino

-

Chapter 3: Let it out

Chapter 4: You shouldn't have done that

Chapter 5: Talk about it

Chapter 6: The 20 Questions Game

Chapter 7: Crosshair

Chapter 8: Echoes of the Past

Chapter 9: The Fight

Chapter 10: A Nice Change of Air

Chapter 11: Sore Muscles

Chapter 12: Heavy Rain Weights the Mind

Chapter 13: Waste of Time

A loud noise woke you up. You had fallen asleep on the floor and now your body was punishing you for it, making every muscle ache as you slowly stood up. What time was it? How long had you been asleep?

Another loud noise, matched with flash of light. You looked out the window. To say it was pouring down would be an understatement. The rain was so heavy, you could barely see the sea right below you. But at least you quickly found the source of the noise and the lights. Surprise, surprise, it was thunder and lightning.

Realising you hadn't had anything to eat since you left Coruscant - not that a rations bar was much food in itself - you decided to head towards the kitchen. Even with the lights off, the hallways were still unsettling to walk through. They were so bare, so white, too much like a hospital and nothing at all like a home. How could anyone comfortably live like this?

"Hello, miss," Lazie greeted you, as you entered the kitchen. "Have you come for your meal?"

"Eh... Yea, I guess? How'd you know?"

"Living organisms need food in order to fuel their energy source. You have not eaten since leaving your home on Coruscant, meaning you have gone far too long with no fuel. I tried to bring you some food earlier, but you were asleep, another necessity for regaining energy."

You just blinked slowly at the small droid. You were definitely not awake enough for this conversation.

"Sooo.... Food?"

"Ah, yes, apologies for my ramblings. It will be ready in a minute, please do have patience."

The kitchen and the living room was actually just one big room. And for a room so big, it felt so empty. It had furniture alright, but they were clearly never used. You smirked to yourself. Seems like it was up to you, to give this furniture a reason for it's existence.

"Here is your food, miss. Please enjoy." Lazie said, carrying a tray of the most boring, bland-looking food you had ever seen. Was this what your dad always ate?

You thanked the droid and sat down at the small table, that was designated for eating. While eating, you stared out the big window that covered an entire wall, letting yourself get hypnotised by how the rain hit large glass.

It's not that it didn't rain on Coruscant. It did. But never this much, and the rain would rarely reach down to the level you lived in. You had pretty much only experienced the rain, when you were heading up to the higher levels for school. That was one of the only good things, having a parent working for the Republic. You actually managed to get a decent education out of it.

"Mornin' sweetcheeks!" Your dads voice pulled you away from your train of thoughts. "Finally getting some grub, huh? Is it good?" His voice was awfully chipper, considering it was barely 0400.

"it's.... Edible," You reply, turning to face him. Stars, he looked old. He had only been gone 3 years, but he looked at least 10 years older. How hard were they working him? "I'd much rather have some of your famous blue-milk pancakes."

"Maybe another time," he said, as he made himself a cup of caf. "You should probably hit the 'fresher and then put on the suit I left on your desk. You're coming to work with me."

"Work? I don't even know what you do, Dad." You stood up, walking over to get yourself some caf. Your dad quickly moved to stand in the way, giving you one of those annoying cheeky dad smiles.

"Well, then you're about to find out. You're not here for a vaction Y/N, you're here because you assaulted someone. Which is serious. Maybe getting some structure and work ethics would be good for you. Now, get going, we can't be late." Your dad grabbed your shoulder and lightly pushed you towards the refresher.

You wanted to interrupt him, reminding him that you hadn't done anything wrong, that the bastard deserved to get punched, but you didn't get the chance. Instead, you just walked towards the refresher, while yelling in the most annoyed-kid voice you could muster: "You're such a dad!"

"That's my job!" He cheerfully replied.

Your shower had been cut short. Just as the warm water was about to ease your tense muscles, your dad had pounded on the door, demanding you hurried up. And you had barely been able to put on the gray jumpsuit and black work boots your dad left on the desk, before he was pulling you out the door and towards his job. Which, he had still not told you what it was.

Dad was grumbling about being late, while he was walking fast steps, causing you to semi-run in order to keep up with him. You had suggested that he could just head to work without you, which he apparently did not find amusing. Old him would have.

"Ha! Told ya he'd show, you now owe me two credits!" A voice boomed through the hangar.

You stopped moving, as a man larger than life was heading towards you. Or, more precisely, towards your father. You had never seen a man so big - at least, a human man - and you were pretty sure he could just snap you half, if he wanted to.

"I never agreed to that bet, Wrecker! I was just stating -" the stranger from yesterday was following the giant, his index finger raised in protest.

Your stomach was pulling knots, as the memories from the previous day came flooding back with the stranger. He seemed to be friends with the giant, and you silently prayed that he wasn't mad about how you treated him. You were never one to shy away from a fight, but you definitely wouldn't be able to win one against him.

"See anything you like, Dollface?" the hot breathe hitting the shell of your ear, was contrasting the rather cold voice that spoke. It caused a shiver to run down your spine and land deep down in your stomach.

You squeeled out a yelp, as you instinctively reached up to cover your ear and spun around with a step back. That caused everybody's attention to land on you. Great.

The owner of the voice had leaned down to reach your ear, but now that you were facing him, he straightened back up. He was slim and tall and had this annoying smug smirk on his face, clearly amused over the reaction you gave him. At least he had been kind enough to tattoo a big mark around his right eye, giving you something to aim for when you hit him.

"Right, I should probably introduce you," your dad cut in, stopping you, before you even had the chance to raise your hand. He placed a hand around your shoulder and pulled into a somewhat sideways hug. "Guys, this is my daughter, Y/N. Y/N, this is Wrecker, Tech, Crosshair, and..." he had pointed at each guy as he announced them, but stopped in his tracks to look around. "Where's Hunter?"

"Still testing out the new filters you added to his helmet." Tech answered.

"Oh well, you'll meet him later." Your dad continued, giving you a small squeeze. "This is Clone Force 99, also known as The Bad Batch." "Clones!?" you could not hide the shock in your voice or the surprised look on your face. If you had seen one clone, you had seen them all, and these guys definitely did not look like any other clone.

"Surprised?" you managed to catch the yelp in your throat this time, as the hot breathe once again hit the shell of your ear. It had once again caused a shiver down your spine and for you to protectively cover your ear from the man named Crosshair. He just gave you another smug look and you just glared back at him. It was like he was begging for you to hit him.

"Yea, clones," your dad laughed. He started walking over to his workshop and you quickly followed suit, wanting to create some distance between you and Crosshair. "They're defective clones, with desirable mutations, which is why they come here a lot."

You scrunched your nose at his description. How could he ever describe another being as 'defective'? Like they were objects, rather than people. The dad you knew would never say such a thing.

"I make adjustments, upgrades and whatnots to the clone armor." He said, as he opened up the door to his workshop.

A wave of relieve came over you at the view. This felt more like home. The walls were still blinding white, but they were covered in artwork and family photos and pieces of armor that has been painted in all kinds of weird ways. It was clear your dad obviously spent most of his time here.

With a pat on your back, your dad brought your focus back to him. "You can help Wrecker. I worked with him last on that workstation," he pointed to a table with a holo projector connected to it. "So his blueprints should still be there."

"I still don't know how any of this works, though..." You reminded him.

"You'll figure it out." He was already starting up his own workstation. When he noticed you weren't moving, he gave you a stern look. "This is not a democracy, Y/N, it's a dictatorship. Now get going!"

"Yea, a dictatorship, alright.." You muttered under your breathe, as you walked towards the workstation. Your dad shot you a warning look, but you ignored it. He always used that phrase, when he didn't want to fight with you. It always annoyed you.

Wrecker jumped onto the worktable, which surprisingly didn't cave under his weight. He drummed his fingers against the side of the table, as he looked everywhere but at you. You kinda appreciated it, since you were struggling to figure out how to work the kaminoan technology.

"Soooo....." Wrecker dragged out, not even letting a minute pass in silence. "What's it like being a girl?"

You couldn't stop the laughter that erupted from that question. It was so genuine and so innocent. "I can honestly say, I don't think I've ever been asked that before. Well, how much time have you got?" You say, as you quickly catch your breathe again. You smile at him.

Wrecker smiles back and by the maker, it was the most genuine and sincere smiles you had gotten in a long time. It made you ease up a bit. Maybe being here wouldn't be so bad anyways?

You finally managed to turn on the projector and a blue holo of Wreckers armor lit up in front of you. So far so good.

"So, what's the issue?" You ask, studying the projection.

"Erm, it's my vibroblade. We tried attaching it to my wrist gauntlet, like we did Hunters, but it gets in the way of fighting." He said, as he took off the armor piece that was covering his left forearm.

You pick up the gauntlet to study it closer. Stars it was heavier than it looked. But you had to agree with just the looks of it - the blade was too big for it's placement to be convenient in any way.

"Yea, it's a bit.... A lot." You chuckle, at loss for a better word to describe it. "So, what should we do about it?" You looked hopeful at the clone.

Wrecker chuckled. "You're the one who's supposed to figure that out!" He gave you a friendly slap on the shoulder, definitely leaving a bruise in it's wake.

"Well....." You rubbed your arm nervously, both to soothe the spot he hit, and as a way to calm your nerves. You suddenly felt very exposed with how little you knew of this job. You looked at the gauntlet again, then back up at the blueprints. "How about you tell me about your fighting style?" you looked back at Wrecker, hoping he could spark some confidence in you. "That way, I might be able to figure out where it would be best to place the blade, without it interfering with your fighting style."

The giant man lit up like the streetlights on Coruscant. He was more than happy to tell you about his fighting style, which often got sidetracked with stories of different missions he and his brothers had gone on. It was fun to hear, even if it made your work take longer.

As the hours passed, Wrecker continued to tell you about how he would fight. And your dad only had to do his classic fake cough to get the two of you back on track with the job a couple of times.

In the meantime, your dad continued to work with Tech, trying to find a way for him to carry as much as possible on him, in as little packaging as possible. And although Wrecker managed to make you feel more relaxed than you had in a long time, there was still this unsettling feeling creeping up behind you.

Ever since you entered the workshop, Crosshair had kept his distance. He had found a wall on the opposite end of the shop to lean against. And he hadn't moved from that spot since. Nor had he taken his eyes off of you. You could feel them piercing through the back of your head, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. What even was his deal? Didn't he have anything better to do, than to chew on toothpicks and stare you down?

"Are we done yet?" Wrecker complained like a big child. "I'm hungry!"

"Almost. Just one more thing," You said, as you typed something into the keyboard. The hours spent with Wrecker wasn't completely used to listening to him, you had also managed to figure out how to use the workstation. "When you kneel, which knee do you usually go down on?"

"Erm..." Wrecker jumped off the table he was sitting on and knelt down a couple of times, just to be sure. "The left one. Why?"

You gave him a big smile. "Then, how about we place the blade on the side of your right calf? With the handle facing up towards your hand, of course. There, it shouldn't be getting in the way of your fighting, while you'd still have easy access to it. What do you think?"

"Oh, YEA, that sounds great! Who knew you were gonna be pretty and smart!?" He scooped you up in a big celebratory hug.

"You think I'm pretty?" you teased, once he loosened the hug enough for you to breathe again.

"Well, you know, I mean..." He bashfully rubbed the back of his head, suddenly appearing very shy. It was adorable. He then looked up at you again, with a glint in his eyes. "How about we get some food? I'm starving!"

You looked back at your dad with pleading eyes. He nodded in approval, and you smiled back at the friendly giant who were more than ready to show you the way to the cantine.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @djarrex

Taglist: @rain-on-kamino @zoeykallus @thebadbatchscyare

[uvobreakmylegs]

Detour

I’m excited that it’s fall but i’m also sad that i won’t be able to swim anymore

Warnings: death, graphic depictions of violence, creepy behavior, groping, mentions of smut, kidnapping

The two guys at the gas station check out counter had been there when Phinks had first walked through the sliding glass doors, and they were still there when he approached the check out himself, having only dropped in to grab another pack of beer. The gas station clerk seemed annoyed while the two guys were pulling their pockets inside out, evidently in search of any spare change that may have been hiding on their persons. There was a sad pile of jenny and some change sitting in front of the clerk while she waited for them impatiently, and she seemed ready to push all of the money back towards them as it became more and more likely that these two didn't have enough cash for the assortment of alcohol and junk food that also sat on the counter.

Any other time Phinks would've been annoyed by the situation. But seeing as he didn't have anywhere to be, he found that he didn't really care all that much. The troupe likely wouldn't meet back up for some time which left his schedule quite open, and he had found it difficult to find something to occupy his time with while he waited for the boss to bring everyone together again.

Phinks had decided that a road trip was a decent way to pass the time. It was something he'd never really done before and so far it was easing his boredom as he had hoped it would. There was no real time limit he had set on himself or any destination that he had in mind. He'd just keep doing whatever he felt like until the novelty of the trip wore off and then go home.

“Would you like to take a few items off?”

The tired voice of the clerk cut through his thoughts, and Phinks found that there had been no progress with the two in front of him.

“No no, we need all of it,” one of the men, a redhead, insisted, “we just, uh....”

Trailing off, the man glanced over to Phinks, who was still waiting with his single pack of beer. Then the man looked over to his companion and then back to the items on the counter.

Phinks could already sense what the man was going to ask of him before he spoke out.

“Hey man,” the guy said to Phinks, “I know it sounds bad, but do you think you could spot me on this? I'm bringing this stuff back for my party. We ran out of some stuff way quicker than we expected. Can't let people down, y'know?”

The redhead started telling him how much more they needed until the clerk interrupted him to tell him off for harassing other customers for money. A mini argument started between the two, with the man insisting that he wasn't harassing anyone and the clerk disagreeing with him. The man's friend joined in shortly after and it was quickly turning into a mess.

What obnoxious fucking people.

If he was in more of a bad mood he'd have probably snapped the necks of all of them. The presence of cameras stopped him from doing that, however, as it would just be too much of a pain to go to the back and destroy the footage after. Still, even though he didn't have anywhere to be, it didn't mean that he wanted to waste his time listening to people bicker. The easiest way out of this was to just give them the jenny so they'd all shut up.

After pulling out his wallet, Phinks slid the jenny across the counter.

That shut the three of them up, and the two men were quick to express their gratitude while the clerk just looked tired.

“Thank you so, so much, man,” the redhead continued after they collected their bagged items.

“Mm-hm.”

Phinks was only half-paying attention to him as he waited for the clerk to scan the beer so he could hand her the jenny owed. That transaction went much quicker and Phinks was soon making his way to the exit.

The two men seemed to be waiting on him, though.

“Hey, since you helped us out, you wanna come to my party?” the redhead asked.

Normally his automatic response would've been to give him a flat “no”. But in this instance Phinks just shrugged.

That seemed to give the redhead hope, and he began listing the reasons why Phinks should follow them back, like his “cool house”, hot women and great beer.

Given the especially cheap brand of beer Phinks had largely paid for, he had a hard time believing that last point. He also wasn't quite sure why this guy was so insistent on getting him to come along. Was it really just because Phinks had bothered to help them out?

“Name's Stu by the way. Back there is Billy,” the redhead told him, sticking out his arm to shake hands. When Phinks didn't do the same, Stu seemed a bit dejected, yet even that didn't make him back down from inviting Phinks.

“So how 'bout it, man? You wanna come?”

“.... I'll think about it,” he told him.

“Okay, but do it fast man. My place isn't that far from here.”

Phinks nodded, and Stu ran off to the car where his friend was waiting. The other guy didn't seem as keen on Phinks as the redhead had, regarding the blonde with suspicion. Phinks could hear him saying something as the two entered the car. Stu seemed to brush him off, and then their car doors closed and Phinks couldn't hear anything else.

The two ended up pulling out of the parking lot before he did, and Phinks found himself following them as they all made the same turn onto the highway.

He still had no real urge to go to some random guy's party, especially when he found him to be pretty annoying. And if it was a party filled with the friends of someone like that, he'd probably get irritated with all of them pretty quick. Better to just ignore them and be on his way.

Although the thought of just driving aimlessly through the night wasn't all that attractive, either. He'd done that several times now, and the feeling of being the only person in the world while he drove on the empty highway had lost its touch by now.

The car in front of him veered off the highway to get onto a side road.

After a few seconds, Phinks did the same, just thinking to himself 'why not?'. It would be something different, a little detour on a trip that was meant to be a distraction, and if it ended up being something that he didn't want to bother with, then he could just leave.

Although the noise level in the house wasn't quiet, it was nowhere near ear-shatteringly loud as Phinks may have expected. At least it had that in it's favor. Other than that, it was a stereotypical frat house party, with everyone talking and drinking as they got more and more shitfaced.

The two who brought him here vanished into the kitchen, and Phinks began to make his way around the house, sipping one of the cans of beer he had bought for himself since he had no interest in the shit the host had him pay for. A girl in one of the upstairs rooms noticed the beer in his hand and begged him to share with her, even going as far as to tug on the sleeve of his jacket when he told her no. He ended up pushing her away, and though he had tried to use as little force as possible, his strength combined with her tipsiness caused her to stumble back into a wall. She was still whining about him when he walked back down the stairs, going on about how mean he was.

He thought he'd been pretty nice to her, all things considered.

It didn't take long for Phinks to lose interest in this particular distraction. Not that he'd been expecting much, but after going around the house and not even seeing anything that might be worth stealing, he figured it'd be best to leave soon. With his short temper being one of his vices, he didn't want to deal with what would happen if some drunk got on his nerves and he smashed them into the wall.

With the sights, sounds and smells became grating to him and seeing no reason to stay any longer, Phinks went about trying to find an exit. Attempting to get out the same way he came in was put to a stop when he saw how congested the front entrance had become. He could've easily pushed past all of them, but since that would likely draw a fair amount of attention, maybe it'd be a better idea to find a different way out. Phinks wandered into the kitchen, walking by Stu who tried to talk to him. A patio door leading to the backyard caught his eye and he ignored the party's host as he walked by several people to get to it.

The cool air outside felt refreshing and he let out a soft sigh as the patio door slowly swung closed. Claustrophobia generally wasn't something he had an issue with, but that seemed to change a little when he was faced with a house full of drunken strangers who didn't understand the meaning of personal space. Another nice thing was the fact that no one else seemed to be out here. He didn't think it was that cold out, but it worked just fine if the people inside thought otherwise.

He stood on a deck with an assortment of patio furniture that sat in front of an in ground pool, and when he looked to the side, he saw the gate within the fencing that surrounded the backyard.

That was his way out, then.

With no more reason to stick around, he was about to head out and back to his car-

But he paused when he heard the sound of splashing water, and he looked back to the pool.

So he wasn't the only person out here.

Some of the patio furniture had blocked you from his sight so he hadn't noticed you at first, but you were now swimming out into the center of the pool and impossible to miss. It was pretty late in the year for swimming, wasn't it? Yet you seemed to be content with yourself despite the temperature and lack of company, swimming around the pool like you owned it. Maybe you did; he wasn't sure what your relation was to the party host.

Then your eyes met, and you smiled as you greeted him.

“Hello.”

“... Hey.”

He hadn't come out to look for company. He was looking to leave.

Yet something about this situation, about you, intrigued him, and Phinks walked forward, continuing with “isn't it a little late in the season for swimming?”

“That's what everyone seems to think,” you said, “it's going to be drained tomorrow, so I wanted to swim one more time before that. It's the last chance I'll get for this year.”

“No public pools around here?” he asked.

“I don't really like public pools,” you told him, laughing a little bit as you continued “the ones around here are never clean, and I don't wanna swim around in nasty water.”

Phinks couldn't say if he really had an opinion one way or the other. He tried to avoid situations where he'd need to be shirtless in public, as the spider with the number 5 on his ribs would've been a dead giveaway for anyone who understood it's meaning. He just shrugged at you as he said “fair enough.”

Phinks now stood at the edge of the pool while you swam up to the edge.

“I don't think I've seen you before. You new around here?” you asked him.

“No. Just passing through. Helped out the host at the gas station and he invited me as thanks,” Phinks explained, “I was expecting this to be taking place at some shitty apartment; didn't think a guy like that owned a house.”

“He doesn't, it belongs to his older brother Jed. Stu just lives with him,” you responded.

“Ah.”

That made a bit more sense to him. Since he hadn't been able to buy beer from a gas station on his own, it didn't seem likely that the guy would've had his own house. So he was just leeching off of his brother.

Despite being ready to leave just minutes earlier, he found that he now had a reason to want to stay here longer. But standing and talking to you was getting a little awkward, so Phinks sat himself down on the concrete next to the pool. So far you weren't annoying compared to some of the others. And despite being by yourself beforehand, you seemed pretty open to talking with him, resting your arms on the edge of the pool.

“You friends with them, then?”

“Jed is in a few of my classes, so I'm friends with him. Not Stu, though. He's kind of an asshole. Likes to play a lot of stupid pranks.”

You rested your chin in your hand as you thought back.

“He's destroyed two of my phones so far, both times by dumping water on me,” you said, “although I guess he did repay me for both, but it's still such a hassle to go through.”

“You're nicer than I am. If some guy like that fucked up my phone I'd kill him.”

You laughed at him, not taking his words seriously.

“You seem nice enough. You helped him out, right?”

“Only because it was the fastest way to get outta there. Stupid bastard started an argument with the clerk.”

“Yeah. That sounds like something he'd do,” you said, tiredness lacing your voice.

A cheer then sounded from inside the house, and though the doors and windows were closed, it was loud enough that the both of you could hear it from outside.

“Things must be ramping up in there,” you commented.

“Guess so,” Phinks said, taking a swig of his drink after.

“Isn't it kinda weird that you're keeping to yourself with an event like this? Don't see the point in going out if you're going to avoid people,” he added.

“But isn't that what you're doing by coming out here?” you asked.

“Nah, I was getting ready to leave.”

“What stopped you?”

“I haven't done much out here beside sitting here talking to you. What do you think?”

You seemed a bit taken aback and a little embarrassed as you realized the reason, but gave him a small smile.

“Oh wow. Are you saying I managed to be charming enough to keep a guy from leaving?” you asked him.

“No. You're just not as annoying as the others I've met tonight.”

Your expression was rather blank as you took in that information.

“..... I'll take that as a compliment, then,” you said, “so what do you do?”

“What do I do?”

“For a job, or just anything in general.”

“I do a couple odd jobs here and there, I guess,” he answered, “every once in a while a bigger opportunity comes up, and I just do whatever I need to.”

It was an oversimplification of his criminal activities, and he hoped that he'd been vague enough without sounding suspicious.

It appeared that he had as you didn't seem to think it was strange.

“You mentioned earlier that you were just passing through. Are you on your way to a job or something?”

“Nah. I'm currently off-duty. And I had a lot of time to kill, so I decided to take a road trip.”

“Oh, that sounds nice,” you said, “I work on campus, so I don't really get to do vacations for now. Can't remember the last time I went on one.”

“Job at least worth it?”

“Kind of? Although the other week I needed to go through something stupid.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I got screamed at by a lady.”

Your tone made it seem like that was something happened on a regular basis.

“For what?” he asked.

“Something with her daughter's textbooks. She ordered one that she didn't need on accident but didn't want to admit that she made a mistake, so she just let her mother yell at me for forty minutes and claim that we were the ones who fucked up.”

You sighed a little after the explanation. Evidently that situation still made you frustrated.

“.... Did she apologize after?” Phinks asked.

With a slightly wistful smile, you shook your head as you said “people like that don't apologize.”

“Sounds rough.”

It went without saying that Phinks wouldn't have tolerated anything like that. If it had been him he'd have killed them both and tossed their bodies in the trash. But he kept that rather violent thought to himself.

“Sorry you needed to deal with that,” he added.

“It's okay. It's little things that keep you going,” you said, “I've been looking forward to swimming for a while, so I'm pretty happy right now. Although I guess I'm kinda doing a job right now.”

“How so?”

“Jed's at his job right now, and since he doesn't trust Stu, he asked me to make sure nothing happens to the pool. The last time Stu had a party there was a bunch of trash in it the next morning, and it was a pain to clean up. So in exchange for using the pool, I have full permission to snitch on anyone who tosses anything.”

“Yeah? What's snitching gonna do?”

“Jed's a scary guy. Nobody wants to make him mad.”

If Phinks had felt like being more of an asshole, and if you'd been unpleasant during your conversation with him, he probably would've taken his half-finished beer can and thrown it into the pool just to upset you and also to see if your friend was as scary as you were making him out to be.

But so far he'd been enjoying himself, so as fun as that thought might have been, he decided against it.

You pulled one of your arms off of the rim and back into the water. Evidently you were getting cold, but you held on to the edge to continue speaking to him.

“So how long have you been on your trip?” you asked.

“A few weeks.”

“A few weeks? You must have been all over the place, then. Did you go anywhere in particular?”

“Not really,” Phinks answered, “didn't have any real plan when I set out. Just drove to wherever I thought would be interesting.”

“That's kinda cool,” you said, “must be nice to be able to go wherever you want without any real plan.”

“You can't?”

“Nope. Classes and work means I can't just run off whenever I feel like it.”

“Too busy getting screamed at?” he asked jokingly.

“Yeah, something like that,” you answered, laughing a little after.

You pulled your other arm back underwater and just kept a hand on the side of the wall.

“Cold?” he asked.

“A little.”

“Probably why most people aren't swimming this late.”

“I don't care; it's worth it,” you said, “honestly, the thought of being able to swim was what kept me going this week.”

That.... Was a little bit sad, Phinks thought to himself. That all you had to look forward to at the end of the week was a few hours to swim by yourself in the cold. There were much sadder circumstances in the world – he was certain that anyone from Meteor City would be more than happy to switch places with you – but your life must have felt empty. Although Phinks was technically in the same boat at the moment, at least being with the troupe gave him purpose. What did you have besides a shitty job and presumably a fair amount of college debt? Just the 'little things' to keep you going?

Maybe he was presuming too much; he'd only just met you after all. But it bothered him regardless.

“What are your plans for after college?” he asked.

You seemed a bit startled, and you looked away from him for the first time.

“Not really sure, actually. I'm still undecided on my major,” you admitted, “I need to figure out soon, though. I'm going to run out of the basic coursework that I need to get through, and my family is getting mad that I haven't made a decision yet.”

So you didn't have any direction and were being pressured by others. Still not the saddest circumstance ever, but if it had been him, Phinks was certain he'd have been miserable.

You clearly didn't want to keep going on about that particular subject, as you began to ask him questions about his trip, wanting to know where exactly he had been so far and how much longer he planned to drive for. The change in topics was obvious, but he decided to go along with it.

As the night grew darker while the two of you talked, he decided that he liked you. You could hold a decent conversation, even if the things you two talked about weren't all that meaningful.

You were pretty cute, too.

The party behind him still seemed to be going strong, but it was largely going ignored by you both, in part by the fact that you were still the only ones outside.

Your face lit up as a thought came to mind.

“You should come in!” you told him.

“No thanks.”

“Come on! It's really nice!”

You grabbed at his free hand, tugging on his arm lightly as you tried to encourage him to get into the pool.

“If you get my suit wet I'll drown you,” Phinks said told you.

You giggled, once more not taking him seriously. Though he was only half-serious about it at this point.

“Then take it off and come in,” you insisted.

“I don't have a swimsuit.”

“That doesn't stop most people.

“Good to know,” he said flatly.

Though you'd stopped tugging on his arm, both of your hands remained on his wrist as you looked up at him.

“Can you not swim?” you asked.

“I can swim fine,” he said, “I just don't feel like it right now.”

You seemed a bit disappointed, but you had yet to let go of his wrist.

“Should you really be that surprised with the temperature being what it is?” he asked you.

“It isn't that bad. And the pool is heated,” you insisted, “didn't think a bit of chill would scare off the most interesting person at this party, though.”

The corner of his lips curled a bit at that. He wasn't one for meaningless flattery, but he didn't mind hearing you say things like that.

“Is that why you're not letting go of me?”

“You don't seem to be doing much to shake me off.”

“I could if I wanted to.”

“So you don't want to?”

You were teasing him. And while he could tease you back, he went for a different approach.

He yanked his wrist out of your grip and grabbed your own wrist just as fast, and lifted you up until you were eye level with him. To say you were flustered by the action would've been an understatement, and your free hand grasped at the arm that held you up to lessen the weight on the arm that he had trapped.

With you partially out of the water, Phinks allowed his eyes to travel over your form, following the trails of water that dripped down your skin and imagining exactly what you looked like under that swimsuit. His grin got wider when he saw your body reacting to the cooler temperature and the way your nipples showed through the material. It hadn't been on his mind when he first approached you, but after spending time with you he found himself liking the idea of fooling around with you. Probably not in the house, and he doubted you would want to do anything in the pool due to that friend of yours you had mentioned. Maybe there was some dark corner around here where he could take you to do what he wanted.

You were squirming a little, trying to free yourself from his grip.

“It's cold,” you whined.

“Yep,” was his reply.

“Come on, let go. I'm only in a swimsuit.”

“You weren't letting me go,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but I didn't pull you into the water.”

“Because you're too weak to do that.”

“That's not fair!”

“Don't think this is a situation where fairness matters, sweetheart.”

With that he let you go, and you dropped back down into the pool. You pushed away from the wall after, giving him a slightly sour look.

“Problem?” he asked.

“It's cold,” you repeated.

He just smirked.

“You're gonna need to deal with it at some point,” he told you.

“Yeah, but I wasn't ready for it then!”

You had to have noticed the way he looked at you, right? There was no way you were so oblivious to have not seen how he had blatantly looked you over. Yet you weren't mentioning it.

By now you were more at the center of the pool, pointedly out of his range.

“You done talking?” Phinks asked.

“No, but I don't want you pulling me out again.”

Then you looked away like you were embarrassed.

It clicked for him. You must have liked it, but you were too shy to say anything about it.

Your reluctance was cute, though Phinks knew he'd get tired of that game pretty fast.

“Come back over,” he told you.

“Why?”

“Because I want you to.”

You shook your head.

“You're going to do that again, right?” you asked.

“Maybe.”

“Then no. I don't wanna get out yet.”

“How long are you gonna stay in there?”

“Until I feel like getting out.”

“And if I want you out of there now?”

“Then you'd have to come in and get me.”

…. Oh

That's what it was.

A ploy by you to get him into the pool.

That's what you had to mean by those words, right?

“.... What the hell,” he said to himself as he stood.

It got your attention when he began to remove his clothing, throwing them over to a few neatly folded articles of clothing that sat next to a bag on the patio, which he assumed belonged to you. You were watching him closely, and he could sense a growing interest in you when he removed his shirt. Your eyes lingered a little when you caught sight of his spider tattoo, but there was no hint that you recognized what it meant, which was preferable.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked.

“You were looking at me earlier,” you answered defensively, “you're not allowed to get mad when I do the same.”

“Didn't say I was mad.”

You acknowledging the way he had looked at you then just reaffirmed in his head that you hadn't minded, and after stripping down to his boxers, Phinks jumped in. The water felt just as nice as you had said, but he didn't take much time to focus on it as he was quick to approach you. Within moments, he had wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in close, lifting you a little so you were at eye level with him. You seemed flustered again, but you didn't make any move to get away, and were resting your hands on his chest.

“I don't think you told me your name,” you whispered to him.

“Phinks.”

“Phinks,” you repeated, smiling afterwards, “I like it. It's cool.”

“Thanks,” he replied, “and how 'bout you?”

You gave him your name, which he also repeated to himself.

“Not as cool as 'Phinks', I guess,” you said.

“It suits you,” he said.

You smiled at him, then shifted slightly in his grip.

“Are you just gonna keep holding me?”

“You said I needed to come in and get you.”

“And what did you want to 'get' me for?”

Despite the question, you clearly had an idea of what Phinks was after as you began to move in closer to him. Phinks did the same, and slowly, the gap between the two of you was closed as your lips met together in a kiss.

With the heavy scent of pool chemicals that surrounded you two, it was hard to smell much else, but your lips were soft against his. The kiss was a bit tame for his liking, but he let you do what you wanted for now as you readjusted your arms so they were wrapped around his neck.

One of his hands slid down your back to reach down and squeeze your ass, and you gasped into the kiss. He slipped his tongue into your mouth for a brief moment before you pulled away, your hand over your mouth as you looked away in embarrassment.

“I'm not sure we should do much more here,” you said, glancing up at the house behind him, “there are people watching. I'm not into that.”

“Where do you wanna go?” he asked. It didn't surprise him much that you two might have attracted an audience, and when he heard the door to the patio open from behind him, he chose to ignore it.

“I don't think we'll get much privacy here, so how about my place?” you asked.

“Do you usually bring home strangers?”

“Only the really cool ones.”

He grinned.

You were leaning in to kiss him again when you suddenly froze and turned your attention to something behind Phinks.

“Don't do that!” you yelled.

Phinks turned his head just in time to see his and your clothes land in the water, with the guy who'd invited him – Stu, he remembered – pointing and laughing after having thrown them. The annoying woman from earlier, the one who had whined at him for his can of beer, was also there, standing behind Stu and running off with him towards the gate in the fence.

Phinks saw red.

He let you go and swiftly exited the pool, following after the two even as the chill of the night air nipped at his skin. He barely felt it, and he didn't give a shit that he was running around barefoot either. All of his focus was on catching up to those two assholes who'd dumped his clothes in the pool.

He was angry enough that he didn't notice the sound of feet following after him.

The two perpetrators were in an alleyway between two rows of houses, drunkenly laughing their asses off. Their demeanor didn't change when Phinks caught up to them. The woman actually began to laugh harder, probably because Phinks was still wearing only his boxers.

Stu was trying to contain himself a bit, and put his hands up as an offering of peace.

“Hey man, it wasn't anything personal. Just a prank,” he said, “you can use the dryer, and I'll lend you some clothes-”

His sentence was cut off when Phinks grabbed both sides of his head and twisted it completely around, the cracking of his broken neck ringing out in the empty alley.

The sight of Stu falling to the ground with his head facing the wrong way had the woman instantly sober up, and she looked to Phinks as she opened her mouth to scream.

Barely a whisper of sound was able to escape as he did the same thing to her, and now Phinks was standing half-naked in an alley with two dead bodies.

“Obnoxious fucking people,” he muttered to himself.

Then there was noise that came from behind him.

Phinks turned and saw the other guy who'd been at the gas station on the ground, his arms barely supporting himself as his eyes were wide at the sight of his friends dead before him.

His eyes widened even further when he spotted the spider on Phinks' ribs, clearly recognizing what it meant as he whispered “oh my god.”

Make that three bodies, Phinks thought to himself as he rushed forward to snap his neck as well.

Three bodies that he needed to get rid of. If anyone else from the party came out here and found them, the police would be called immediately. He had no intentions of staying here any longer, but it'd be best to put a bit of distance between himself and the crime scene before the police were inevitably called.

He was dragging the other guy by his ankles and in the process of collecting the woman's body when someone walked out into the alley through one of the other entrances. An older woman, who was definitely not from the party and had come from another house, carrying a bag of trash walked out in front of Phinks, and like the guy right before, her eyes grew wide as she saw the sight of the dead before her.

She made a move to run back to her house, but Phinks picked up a pebble that he infused with nen and launched it at her head. It traveled through her skull and the fencing beside her, and blood sprayed out from the exit wound and splattered onto the fence as well as she fell to the ground.

This was turning into a goddamn mess, and after Phinks had thrown now four bodies over into a different backyard, he heard a voice calling out “mom?” from the direction that the woman with the trash bag had come from.

Fuck this. He needed to go.

When he returned to the backyard to retrieve his clothes, he found you on the patio. You were holding his jacket over the concrete, desperately trying to wring out the water that had soaked it completely. You were visibly shivering as you did so, with goosebumps running up your arms and your teeth chattering. He noticed his pants hanging off the fence that surrounded the patio, and while they weren't dry by any means, you had clearly done your best to get the water out of them. Meanwhile your own clothes laid in a soggy heap by your equally soaked bag.

You noticed him when he walked closer.

“I'm sorry,” you told him. You looked guilty for some reason.

“You didn't do it,” Phinks said, considerably calmer now.

“No. But I made a big deal about you getting in with me, and with Stu around I should've been paying attention. I'm really, really sorry.”

He was about to tell you to stop apologizing when he heard a shout coming from the direction of the alleyway.

Fuck. He forgot that he needed to leave.

Luckily you were the only one who noticed, as the rest of the party goers still had the doors and windows securely shut. He pulled on his pants and his sopping wet tank top, and the sensation of wearing those wet clothes was just as unpleasant as he had anticipated. At least his shoes were still dry.

You were still holding his jacket, looking confused as you looked off in the direction where you'd heard that voice. Phinks was about to just take it from you and leave, but when he looked you over again, he thought over the things you two had talked about, the things you had said and how you'd acted around him, and he came to a split second decision.

Grabbing your clothes and bag, he shoved them into your hands before he grabbed one of your arms and pulled you after him. You seemed startled, but you didn't question him as you were too surprised to think of anything to say. He led you out through the backyard and down to where he had parked his car, opening the passenger side door and pushing you inside. He then walked around to the driver's side, and within moments you both were speeding out of the neighborhood.

By the time he came to the highway there was a strong smell of pool chemicals that filled the car, and both of the front seats were slowly soaking up the excess water that dripped off of the two of you.

You seemed to be in a mild state of shock, as you had yet to say anything. You just sat in your still wet swimsuit looking rather confused while you still held onto the soaked clothing Phinks had forced onto you.

After a while you shuddered and finally spoke up.

“Do you think you could turn up the heat?” you asked him.

“Oh. Sure. Sorry.”

Phinks turned the heat up all the way, and after a few moments you seemed to relax a bit, though now you were glancing over at him while smiling nervously.

“Uh, so, there's a lot that I should probably be questioning,” you began, “but I'll start with if you knew why there was yelling?”

Should he lie? No, that might be weird if he pretended not to know.

“I punched that guy in the face. I think I broke his nose,” he told you, “that was likely his friend after he saw him.”

“Ah. Okay,” you said, “that's..... Not very good, but I think I get why you did that. You're gonna get charged with assault, though.”

Fat chance.

“I'll deal with that when I come to that,” he answered, “sorry if I put you in a tough position.”

“It's okay. Well, not really. But Stu's pranks have always been pretty bad and what he did was shitty, so I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Think you can forgive me?”

“... Yeah, I think so. Just promise you won't do anything like that again.”

“I promise.”

“Okay,” you said as you nodded, “so second question: where are we going?”

“.... Not sure. Didn't have much of a plan besides getting out of there and going back to what I was doing,” Phinks admitted.

“So you're just back to driving around going wherever?”

“Seems like it.”

“Why did you bring me along?” you asked.

“.... Didn't want that to be the last time I saw you,” he said.

“Oh.....”

His answer ended up making you flustered again, and while you did seem to be holding some reservations about him with his admission of violence and the fact that he really had just kidnapped you, he could see you rationalizing everything in your mind and convincing yourself that this wasn't all that bad.

It was preferable if you did that. It made taking you with him a lot easier.

“Luckily for me I don't work tomorrow,” you said, “and since the day after that is Sunday and the campus store isn't open then, I also have that day off. So I think it's okay if I drive around with you for a bit. Just get me back by Sunday night, alright?”

“Don't worry. I'll get you back safe and sound,” he told you, and you visibly relaxed at his words.

You were a little naive, a little too trusting. But that was fine. Phinks liked that about you.

“Okay so third question,” you announced as you looked down at the wet clothes in your lap, “what should we do about this?”

“Right. Let me pull over.”

He stopped the car beneath a streetlight, and you sat sideways on the passengers seat while you held the clothes out of the car and wrung the water out of them as best you could. Phinks took the opportunity to change after you handed him his jacket, and he threw the mostly damp clothes in the backseat.

Glancing over at you, he did appreciate how much your swimsuit showed off while you tried to dry out your own clothes. But while he liked the idea of you staying as you were for the rest of the trip, you probably wouldn't be as big of a fan of that. Going over to his trunk once more, he dug around through his bag before he found what he was looking for.

“I don't have anything that will fit you well,” Phinks said as he made his way over to you, “but this should cover you up.”

What he handed you was the long white robe he wore on occasion, usually for combat or missions.

You seemed a bit surprised when you saw it, but you accepted it gratefully. Your gaze went to the jeweled eye that hung near the neck of the garment, and he heard you mumble about it being pretty.

He wondered briefly what you might think of the snake headpiece he usually wore with it, but the time for that would come later as you were currently slipping his robe over your head.

“Thank you,” you told him again as you threw your clothing in the back as well.

Then your attention went to your bag, and you frowned.

“What's wrong?”

In response to his question, you tilted your bag to the side and water began to pour out of it.

“Ah.”

“How much do you wanna bet that my phone is dead?” you asked as you reached inside.

As was expected, your phone screen stayed black when you hit the power button, and you sighed.

“And that's phone number three that Stu has destroyed.”

“Don't worry. It won't happen again,” he told you.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

You tossed the now useless phone into your bag and looked back up to him as if to say “so what now?”

Phinks had an idea for that.

“Wanna go to a motel?”

“A motel? Wow, you sure know how to treat someone,” you said sarcastically.

“You really think I can get you into a nice hotel with you looking like that? You don't even have shoes,” he said.

“I didn't get a chance to grab them,” you responded, though you seemed to concede a bit.

“Could we stop somewhere tomorrow so I can get shoes or something?”

“I'll buy you a whole new wardrobe if that's what you want.”

You laughed at that, shaking your head and saying that you didn't need that.

Before too long, Phinks was back in the drivers seat while you watched the streetlights as the car passed them by, your fingers idly playing with the jewel on his robes as you did so. He had turned down the heat and turned on the radio, and though it still felt strange to be sitting in the wet seats, it wasn't bothering either of you as much anymore. The smell from the pool was mostly gone after driving a bit with the windows opened just a crack.

Except for the occasional car that drove in the opposite direction, you were the only ones on the highway.

“How far are you gonna drive?” you eventually asked.

He wanted to get out of the state at least. Phinks didn't want to deal with a confrontation with the law while also taking you along with him. He wanted to get as far as he could while you were still cooperative, and whenever you realized that there was no chance he'd be taking you back, he'd go to more extreme measures of keeping you with him. Your phone being dead was a good thing for him; you wouldn't be able to try and get help as easily.

“I think we've passed by three or four motels already,” you added, “was there something wrong with them?”

“No. Sorry. I got a bit distracted,” Phinks replied, “I've come to really like the highway at night. There's something soothing about it, I guess. Wanted to stay like this for a bit longer.”

You nodded in response and looked back out the window, your fingers still playing with the jeweled eye.

“Can I borrow your phone at some point tomorrow? I need to call someone just so everyone back home knows I'm okay. Don't want them to worry,” you said to him.

“Sure,” he said.

Arguing with you over that would seem strange. He'd just need to avoid that subject tomorrow.

He noticed when you yawned.

“Getting tired?” he asked.

“A little,” you said, laughing a little as you added, “this wasn't how I was expecting my night to go.”

“Same here.”

“I hope you decide to stop soon. I might not be up for it tonight if you're planning on continuing where we left off at the pool when we reach that motel.”

“That's fine. We'll have all day tomorrow, right?”

His words made you embarrassed again, and you shyly answered with a yes as you smiled to yourself.

So that was the plan, then. Drive as far as he could tonight, fuck your brains out tomorrow, then get away further before you figured things out. You would likely object, not liking the idea of being taken away from everything you'd ever known. But he was certain that after spending enough time with him, you'd prefer it. Your current life wasn't any good, but he was prepared for you to not understand that at first. And if he needed to tie you up and shove you into the trunk to keep you compliant, he could do that. Seemed like a pretty fool-proof plan.

You were yawning again.

“Get some sleep if you need to,” he said, “I'll wake you up when I find a place I like.”

You nodded. Soon after he saw you settling back into the seat and closing your eyes as you attempted to get some rest.

He liked the sight of you next to him, sitting in his clothes while you nodded off in his car. And when he turned his attention back to the empty highway, he was once again hit with the feeling like he was the only one in the world. A feeling that only came with seeing an area that was typically full of people seem completely abandoned.

But this time, though, he wasn't alone.

[kats-alcove]

Riding the Elephant

Pairing: Toshinori x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Size kink, overstimulation

Summary: You haven't been able to forget something Toshinori mentioned on your first date. Bringing it up to him leads to one wild ride with the #1 pro-hero.

A/N: At last, the long-awaited, highly-requested sequel to Elephant in Your Room! You don't really need to read that one to understand this one, but if you are an All Might lover, I would recommend checking it out here!

Read it on AO3 here!

If the you from 5 months ago could see you now, they would think they were dreaming. You wouldn't blame them; the series of events that had led to your current situation were nothing short of fantastical. From entering a raffle to win a date with All Might, to actually winning the date that had resulted in a one night stand that had become so much more.

Now you were living with your boyfriend(!) in his surprisingly humble apartment. You had expected the #1 hero in Japan to have a lavish home, but Toshinori wasn't one for fancy frippery. Sure, the doorframes and a few pieces of furniture were larger than average, but then so was Toshinori. Whether in his skinny form or his buff form, the man took up a lot of space.

You certainly weren't complaining. Having a boyfriend that large was the equivalent of dating a friendly, mobile tree. He never got lost in a crowd and he didn't mind you clinging to him to stay grounded. Toshinori was always willing to pick you up or let you lean on him if you got tired. Cuddling had been awkward at first, what with all the extra limb length he had, but you two quickly figured it out.

And of course, the sex was amazing. Toshinori was skilled, whether with his fingers, his tongue, or his cock. He was so giving too, always making sure you got off multiple times before he did once. Of course, that was as much out of necessity as it was kindness. Along with Toshinori’s extra foot or two of height came an extra few inches down there. There really wasn't anything more you could want from your relationship.

Well, maybe there was one thing.

Every now and again, you found your mind wandering back to something Toshinori had said the first time you had slept together.

Toshinori wasted no time in shucking off the final piece of clothing keeping you apart.

“Oh.”

Heat rushed through you as you beheld Toshinori’s cock. He hadn't been exaggerating when he’d said he was large. Longer and thicker than any you’d seen, your fingers could barely touch when you wrapped a hand around it. It twitched in your grasp, pre-cum leaking from the tip. You used your thumb to spread the dot of pearly liquid across his head.

Toshinori made a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a moan. “Would you believe me if I told you it’s even bigger in my other form?”

Ever since that night, those six little words had filtered back into your brain occasionally, especially when you were bored at work or home alone. What had Toshinori meant by “bigger”? Was it longer, thicker, both? You wanted to know, but at the same time you were far too nervous and a little too embarrassed to ask.

But Toshinori was nothing if not perceptive. He had noticed that something had been on your mind for a while, something you wanted to ask him. You would call out his name softly, and he would look over to find you flushed and flustered. But when he asked what was wrong, you would reply with something mundane.

So Toshinori took it upon himself to make sure you were comfortable enough to ask him whatever you were unsure about. He cleaned up the apartment, lit your favorite scented candle, and was almost finished making your favorite meal when you came home from work.

You padded into the kitchen to see your partner standing in front of the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. Slipping your arms around him, you rested your forehead between his shoulder blades.

“What’re you up to, Toshi?”

“Ah, Y/N, hello!” He turned to return your embrace. “I just thought I could cook tonight. Why don't you change into comfortable clothes; dinner’s almost done!”

Gently, he gave you a playful push out of the kitchen. You hung on long enough to press a soft kiss to his lips before allowing him to shoo you back to your shared bedroom. There, you took your time washing off the day and changing into your favorite lounge-about outfit. When you returned to the dining room, Toshinori was just placing two plates down on the table next to each other.

You cleared your throat lightly. Toshinori smiled when he saw your relaxed self and moved to pull out your chair. You sat, letting him fuss over you for a moment before he took a seat himself. It was a move so reminiscent of your first date that you couldn't help but flush as your train of thought led you back to the one thing that had been plaguing your thoughts for far too long.

“You're making that face again. What are you thinking about, darling?”

Toshi’s tone was softly inquisitive, but you couldn't help the squeak of embarrassment you made. “N-nothing!” Quickly, you took a bite of your food, hoping to stave off any further questions. “This is delicious, Toshi.”

Toshinori sighed and plucked your utensil out of your hand. “It is definitely not nothing, Y/N. You've been wanting to ask me something for weeks; is something wrong?”

“No! Nothing’s wrong,” you reassured him.

“Then what is it? I can't help you if you don't tell me.”

Your gaze dropped to the table, unable to meet his eyes. “It’s about… us, in the bedroom.”

“Ah.” Toshinori nodded, leaning back. “Is there something I need to do different, or perhaps something new you wanted to try?”

“Do you remember our first time?”

The sudden change of topic made Toshinori blink, but he suddenly had a better idea of where this was going. “Yes. I don't think I could ever forget it.”

“And how you said that your co- that you're bigger when you’re in All Might form?”

Yep. That’s exactly what he had thought you would say. Not wanting to stop you now that you had built up your courage, Toshinori simply nodded.

“Well, I was wondering if we could try that.”

With one hand on your jaw, Toshinori brought your eyes to meet his. He could see worry swimming in them, and a little bit of nerves, but there was also hope and no small bit of arousal. He stroked your cheek with his thumb comfortingly before kissing you.

“Of course we can, darling. Although it will take a little bit of planning.”

You tilted your head curiously. “Why?”

“The amount of time I can hold All Might’s form differs depending on the activity I’m doing. For a TV interview or a walk around the park, I could hold it for hours. But for more strenuous activities, the most I can manage is 20 minutes or so.”

“Is that how you were able to hold it so long when we had our first date?”

“Yes. And I took breaks,” Now it was his turn to blush. “Whenever I went to the bathroom, or when we were in the dress shop, I deflated for a few minutes. The short rests allowed me to hold the form for longer.”

“So then what do we need to plan?”

Toshinori took a moment to think. “We’ll need a day neither of us have anything to do. I don't have anything scheduled this upcoming Saturday.”

“And I already get weekends off!” you chimed in.

“Perfect! Then all I’ll ask is that you stop by a store on your way home some time this week and pick up some extra lube.” Toshinori chuckled at your dubious look. “I would rather we have it and not need it than risk you getting hurt, darling.”

“A-all right,” you agreed. “Is there anything else I should grab?”

“I don't think so. Now, let’s finish dinner, and then we can go cuddle?”

It wasn't until later that evening, as you lay wrapped up in Toshinori’s arms, that the full weight of your dinner conversation hit you. You had finally asked him, and he had said yes. Which meant that in a few days, you were going to be having sex not with Toshinori Yagi, but with All Might.

Saturday dawned beautifully, not that either you or Toshinori were up to see it. He had insisted that the two of you sleep in, claiming that you would need all your energy for what you would be doing later that day. When you finally rose, the two of you cooked a late brunch together and ate it while watching daytime soap operas.

Despite the apparent normalcy of the morning, you could feel nerves starting to creep back in. Every other time you and Toshinori had had sex, it had been a spur of the moment thing, a natural progression of your passions. It felt weird to have planned something like this even though you understood why some forethought had been necessary.

Eventually, the two of you found yourself back in your bedroom. It was a large room with a large bed, two wardrobes, and the daybed from your old house, still piled with your plushies. Several new ones had joined the mound since you and Toshinori had first started dating, though the elephant he had bought you claimed the place of honor on your nightstand.

You sat on your side of the bed, instinctively reaching out to fidget with the stuffed toy. Your fingers trailed the seam where you had carefully sewn his torn side back together. It was such a fond memory, and such a powerful simile to the man now standing before you. Toshinori smiled down at you. He patted your head before gently plucking the elephant from you and placing him with the other stuffies.

“I don't think we want the children to bear witness, do you?” he quipped as he stretched out on his side of the bed.

You giggled at the familiar joke, falling over to snuggle against Toshinori. He wrapped his arms around you to pull you closer, until you were practically on top of him. For a moment, the two of you just lay together like that, taking comfort in each other’s presence. Then Toshinori lightly traced a hand down your spine. A shiver ran through you, and suddenly the mood of the room shifted.

Leaning down, you pressed a needy kiss to Toshinori’s lips. He was quick to reciprocate, tongue flickering across your lips in a silent question. You answered, allowing him to slide into your mouth, to claim every corner of it as his. A moan bubbled in your throat when you felt his large hands grip your ass, situating you more fully above him.

The two of you parted on a gasp, but Toshinori barely let you catch your breath before he pulled you down into another kiss. Meanwhile, his hands had moved to your hips as he guided you to grind against the growing bulge you could feel against your core. Your own arousal was growing too, and you let out a pitiful whine.

“Toshiiii… need you!”

“I know, baby,” Toshinori groaned. “But we’ve gotta get you really ready first. Here, let’s take these off, yeah?”

Toshinori helped you shimmy out of your pajama shorts, only to release a startled moan when he saw you weren't wearing any panties beneath them.

“My naughty darling,” he cooed approvingly.

You shrugged, trying for noncommittal and failing. “I figured they’d be pointless anyways.”

“Smart,” he agreed. Toshinori swiped two fingers through your sex, collecting the moisture that had gatherd to circle over your clit. “And already so aroused; you really are perfect. Now, get up here.”

He laid back flat on the bed and patted his collarbone. Unsure, you shifted up so that you were straddling his chest. With a fondly exasperated huff, Toshinori grabbed your thighs and slid you forward until your knees were tucked in his armpits. The sudden movement drew a squeak from you as you braced yourself against the headboard.

“T-toshi?” You looked down at your partner and flushed. “What’re you doing?”

His blond hair was spread out on the pillow, giving him an almost angelic appearance that was offset by the devilish smirk on his lips. “You need preparation, and I need to take it easy. So you’re going to sit on my face.”

“O-oh.” Your sex life with Toshinori was certainly not boring, but this was a first.

Hesitantly, you dropped your hips slightly until you could feel Toshinori’s breath on your cunt. He huffed out an exasperated laugh before the hands on your thighs gently yanked you down so that your full weight was on his lower face. You didn't even have time for the squeal to leave your mouth before it was turning into a moan as Toshinori’s dextrous tongue swiped through your folds. He licked a stripe from your dripping hole to circle around your clit just the way you liked it.

All your bashfulness was gone as you ground down on your partner’s tongue, using your grip on the headboard for leverage. At some point, one of your hands dropped to tangle in his soft hair. The slight tugging drew a moan from him that vibrated through your pussy and made you keen. Hearing your reaction, Toshinori moaned again, the sound morphing into a deep rumbling growl as you clenched around his tongue.

“A-ah! Toshi,” you cried. “Please, I wanna…”

“I’ve got you, love. Just relax.”

One of Toshinori’s hands swept down to play with your clit, allowing him to focus his tongue solely on your dripping hole. He licked around your cunt before burying it deep in your dripping hole and growling again. That, combined with his nimble fingers on your clit, had you coming undone in an instant. You moaned your pleasure while Toshinori worked you through the orgasm. He stopped before the point of overstimulation, not wanting to wear you out before getting to the main event.

Once you came down from your high, Toshinori helped you slide back down the bed to sit on his lap. You could feel the hardness of his erection poking your ass. Shimmying down his legs, you caught the elastic of his boxers and drew them off, freeing his cock. Toshinori helped you discard the fabric before pulling you back up and kissing you deeply.

“Are you gonna transform now?” you asked, peppering his jaw with kisses.

Toshinori shook his head. “Not yet. I want to stretch you out a bit more.”

Hands encircled your waist, and then you were being lifted to hover over the leaking tip of Toshinori’s cock. You felt the head brush through your folds as he rather awkwardly tried to lower you on it. Taking pity on your partner, you reached a hand down and guided the head to your entrance. It slid in easily and both of you moaned at the sensation; satisfying fullness for you, intoxicating heat for Toshinori. You rolled your hips, encouraging him to go faster. Toshinori took the hint and lowered you until you were fully seated on his cock.

The two of you took a moment to adjust and to enjoy the simple pleasure of being connected like this. Then Toshinori was pulling out of you just a little bit. He thrust up into you a few more times in gentle rhythm until you were loose and wet around him and breathy moans escaped your lips. When he felt you were ready, Toshinori lifted you fully off his cock and placed you on his waist instead. You whimpered at the loss of the feeling of fullness.

Toshinori chuckled at your pout. “Don't worry, love. You’ll be stuffed fuller than you can handle in a moment.”

That was when you felt the man beneath you begin to change. His torso inflated with muscles, hands growing bigger and spanning your waist. Toshinori’s face lost its sunken appearance, and before you knew it you were looking down at All Might. Leaning forward, you placed a hand on his cheek and smiled. No matter whether he was in this form or his natural one, his kind blue eyes never changed.

All Might returned your smile with a softer version of his signature grin. He took the opportunity of your closeness to press a kiss to your lips, making you sigh. It was just as all-encompassing and overwhelming as that first kiss had been, but a million times better because now you knew the man behind the muscles.

“Are you ready, love?” All Might’s voice rumbled through his chest.

You nodded. “Yes, I’m ready.”

“Very well then.” All Might lifted you once more. “Try to stay relaxed, Y/N. I don't want to hurt you.”

“Don't worry, you wo-oh!”

You were cut off, shocked into silence as you finally saw All Might’s cock standing proudly at attention. Your eyes were glued to where All Might was stroking himself in a lubed-up fist. Suddenly, you understood why Toshinori wanted to go through so much planning and preparation. All Might wasn't longer than Toshinori. In fact, he almost looked a little shorter. But his girth… You weren't sure you would have been able to wrap your hand around it. There was only one thought in your mind as you beheld it:

“I want that inside me.”

You didn't realize you had spoken aloud until you heard All might chuckle. “And you shall have me, love. Take a deep breath.”

You inhaled deeply, only for all the air to be forced out of your lungs when All Might’s cockhead slipped past your entrance. There was a bit of a sting, but it was nothing compared to the overwhelming feeling of fullness . And this was just the tip!

All Might lowered you another inch, biting back a groan of his own at the feeling of your tight walls practically beckoning him in. The primal part of his brain wanted to rush, to sheath himself inside you and fuck your brains out. But neither of you would be able to handle that today. So instead he focused on your face, searching it for any hints of pain or distress, any sign you wanted to stop.

You absolutely did not want him to stop. You were in ecstasy as All Might stretched you out inch by inch. With how tight you were around him, you could feel every ridge and vein of his cock twitching and pulsing inside of you. Rolling your hips down, you took another inch on your own.

“ God ,” All Might moaned. “You’re doing so good, love. Halfway there.”

Your eyes widened. This was only halfway?! You felt stuffed to the brim already, but you were determined to take all of him. Rolling your hips again, you gave All Might your best pleading pout.

“Please, Tosh- All Might. I’m not fragile; you don't have to go so slow.”

All Might blinked, a strange look crossing his face “You want my cock that bad? All right then.”

Saying so, he reclined on the bed and released your hips. You slid another half-inch or so down his cock before you caught yourself, hands splayed on his abs. All Might folded his hands behind his head and smirked playfully up at you.

“You can have it, if you can take it.”

You blinked. “Wait, you want me to…”

“Ride me, Y/N,” All Might said. “Show me you can handle a pro hero’s cock.”

It was a challenge; maybe the sexiest challenge you’d ever been issued. You bit your lip, taking a moment to gather your scattered thoughts and form a plan. First, you had to get your legs back under you with a bit of not-too-dignified shuffling. Once you were kneeling with All Might between your thighs, you used the leverage offered by his deliciously muscled abdomen to raise yourself off him just a tiny bit. The space gave you a chance to breathe, to take a deep breath before you lowered yourself the rest of the way down his cock. Being filled so suddenly had your toes curling and your eyes rolling back in your head. Judging from the groan All Might let out, your actions affected him just as much.

You gave yourself the space of three deep breaths to adjust. Then you were bouncing on his cock; small bounces at first, then larger ones as you got used to the feeling of him filling you over and over. Occasionally, you tossed in a hip roll or a grind, moans spilling from your lips like a waterfall. Beneath you, All Might was trying to remain composed, but the clamp of your hot cunt around his massive cock was too good to resist. His moans joined yours in a lewd symphony that filled the bedroom.

Despite trying to pace yourself, you could feel your legs start to cramp. You weren't sure how long you would be able to keep this up. Luckily, All Might noticed how your thrusts weakened and your arms started to shake. Sitting up, he caught your waist, taking over your motions and supplementing them with little snaps of his hips. You leaned forward to press a grateful kiss to his collarbone.

Now that you didn't have to focus on riding All Might, you were able to lose yourself in the pleasure he was giving you. All Might filled you with every stroke, stimulating nerve endings you didn't even know you had. It was too much; you could feel an orgasm charging towards you at top speed.

“Ah, Ah, All Might!” you gasped. “I’m close!”

All Might could feel you tightening around him, and internally he was glad you were about to hit your peak, because he could feel his limit approaching too. So he shifted his grip, one arm coming to wrap around your ass while the other snuck between your bodies to toy with your clit. You yelped, still sensitive from when he ate you out earlier. That sensitivity meant that it wasn't long before you toppled into another orgasm, cunt fluttering and clenching around All Might’s cock.

He managed to hold out for a few more thrusts, long enough for him to bury himself fully inside you. Then All Might was cumming too, thick, hot seed painting your insides white. Your eyes widened as you felt him release, felt how much he released. It went on for several seconds, pumping into you until you could feel it start to seep out around All Might's cock. He groaned in satisfaction, slumping down to wrap his arms around you.

And suddenly, the cock inside you shrunk slightly as your partner deflated with a sigh. You could feel his cum and yours seeping out of you even with him still inside you; that’s how stretched you were. But Toshinori didn't seem to care. He just tipped backwards, pulling you down to lay on his chest.

“So, how was it? Are you hurt anywhere?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Not hurt. I’ll probably be sore as hell tomorrow, though.”

“I’m sorry,” Toshinori said bashfully. “He was… I was too rough with you.”

“No you weren't!” Pushing yourself up on shaky arms, you looked your partner in the eye. “I loved every bit of that, Toshi. You were very sweet and sexy as hell to boot.”

“Careful, love. Or you’ll wake the beast again.”

You grinned. “Who said I don't want that?”

Teasingly, you ground down on Toshinori’s stirring cock, only to squeal in surprise when it thickened inside you. You glanced down and back at Toshinori, who was still in his smaller form and smirking like the devil.

“Did I ever mention I can isolate One for All into certain body parts?”

“No, you hav-” you gasped when he snapped his hips up. “Ah!”

“How about it, love?” Toshinori’s voice was teasing.

“You up for another ride?”

[tobiokuns]

— surprise pregnancy with haikyuu boys

summary: you hadn’t planned for this to happen. neither of you had. but it had, and now you had to tell him.

characters: kageyama tobio, miya atsumu, akaashi keiji

tags: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, some humor, brief mention of abortion, implied body image insecurities, happy ending

— kageyama tobio

you wring your hands as you lean against the doorjamb, anxiously waiting for kageyama to come home. he’d had a long week, you know, but your first appointment with your doctor is on monday, and you think he’d like to be there if possible. at least, you’d put it off long enough.

the click of the lock unlatching and the familiar turn of the knob raises your attention. you feel like you’re going to choke under the pressure, and even seeing his face doesn’t calm you down.

if anything, you’re even more nervous, seeing the sweat on his brow.

“tobio—” you call over to him when he walks through the door, before you lose your nerve, “i’m pregnant.”

there’s a terse silence, even though kageyama just looks confused. your boyfriend blinks once, twice, and scrunches his eyebrows like he always does when he’s thinking hard, and just stares. your heart pounds in your chest.

“...but i just signed onto a new team,” he says, finally.

you make a sound of affirmation. “yeah, i know,” you sigh, smiling tightly, “but we can make it work, right?”

he kinda looks like he does when he’s setting, in deep concentration, kind of unhappy. you wait for him to say something, anything, but the silence stretches on, for so long that you think you’ll have a heart attack.

“my first doctor’s appointment is on monday,” you tell him, trying to nudge him into saying something, “do you want to come with me?”

“i can’t, i have practice,” he blurts out almost automatically, and you nod. of course he does. it’s silent for a while, and then he’s speaking again. “can’t you...” he swallows, looking away, “...not have the baby?”

don’t lose your shit, you tell yourself, don’t lose your shit. you tamp down the growing anger and nod again, making another vague humming noise.

“yeah, i could,” you agree, voice eerily quiet, “but i want the baby, tobio.”

“okay,” he nods, “...do what you want, then.” 

your heart drops. you can’t see his face, not with his bangs covering his eyes, but you stare at him for a while anyway, your own eyes stinging. you silently shuffle back into the house, leaving him standing in the doorway.

it’s awkward when he slips into bed that night. you keep your back to him, but you can almost feel his gaze on the ceiling. you don’t know when he sleeps, or if he ever does. by the time you wake up, he’s wrapped around you, leg thrown over yours, his big hand rubbing over your still flat stomach under your shirt.

he jolts awake as soon as you stir, dropping his lips against your neck and nuzzling you.

“i’m sorry about last night,” he murmurs immediately, and you’re sure he’s pouting. “y-you caught me off guard. i want it. the... the baby. with you.”

you sigh, staring at the wall opposite from you. you think of having to move again, back to japan this time. you thought that would be good for you and kageyama, but his reaction last night...

“are you sure?” you ask, covering his hand with yours, missing some of the bravado you had, “we can...”

“no,” he sounds almost childish, and you smile, wondering how he’ll be as a father, “no, i’m—i’m sure.”

his arms tighten around you. it’s not often that you get to cuddle in the morning with kageyama, not when he’s always going for jogs and volleyball practice. so you lean back, telling yourself that everything will be just fine.

— miya atsumu

“y’know, y/n...” your boyfriend says to you one day, “yer gettin’ kinda... like, fat...”

you whip your head around to stare at him, your cheeks heating with embarrassment. he cowers instinctively, waiting for you to hit him like you usually do, but your arm stops midair before you let it drop. 

you wanted to hide this a little longer, because to be honest, you were scared. scared of his reaction, scared he wouldn’t want you, scared you’d be left alone. but you sigh, knowing you couldn’t anymore, and slump against the couch.

“atsumu...” you lower your voice, and instantly he cowers more.

“i‘m sorry! i didn’t mean it like that!” he yells, hands covering his face, “don’t hit me, i’m beggin—”

“no, atsumu,” you sigh, taking his hands into yours, “listen to me.”

he sees how serious your expression is and quiets down, bowing his head and leaning closer to you. the idiot still probably thinks you’re mad because he called you fat, you think. you would’ve laughed if you didn’t feel like puking at this moment.

“i’m pregnant,” you say, taking a deep breath, “we’re gonna have a baby.”

“hah?” he retorts quickly, “we’re what? no, we’re not.”

you watch as his face changes, and then he’s off again. “no, y/n, ya can’t be pregnant. i can’t be a dad. have ya met me? samu doesn’t even have a kid yet, ‘nd that’s like, the one thing i don’t wanna beat him at and— goddammit, i shoulda used condoms—”

 “atsumu,” you almost scream, the panic bubbling up in your chest, “do you not want to do this with me?”

“but, weren’t ya on the pill or somethin’? how could this happen?” he acts as if he hadn’t heard your question,” y/n, are ya sure it’s min—”

you can’t take it anymore and burst out crying. you don’t even pay attention to the fact that he just accused you of cheating. the stress from the weeks of keeping this to yourself explodes and you sob loudly, louder than atsumu’s panicked rambling.

“shit—” he curses, seeing your tears, and quickly taking your hands into his, “y/n, ’m sorry, i—it’s just—i’m gonna be a horrible dad, ya know? i don’t know if i can do this, it’s like... i’m not very reliable ‘nd ma always said—”

“but,” you sniffle through your tears, “aren’t we doing this together?”

he nods slowly, and then moves to rest his head on your chest. he tentatively puts a hand on your stomach, rubbing his index finger over it as if it were foreign to him.

“yeah,” he agrees quietly, “we’re doing this together.”

— akaashi keiji

you knew akaashi hadn’t wanted a child, not yet at least. you knew that, and yet when he said okay the night you told him you were pregnant, you were naive enough to think that it was actually okay.

he works, all the time, very hard. it only made sense, he had told you he needed to, in order to get to where he wanted to be. but it left you many nights, belly and feet swollen, joints aching, alone on the couch, wondering what you were doing.

did you eat your vitamins? he asks softly every morning without fail. but that was it.

you went to doctor’s appointments alone, you shopped for baby clothes alone, and you stared at the empty four walls of the baby’s room alone. you were too afraid to buy furniture for it: it seemed too permanent, especially when being pregnant seemed like a repressed dream every day.

"keiji, ” you call out to him early one morning, before he can leave for work again, “...let’s not have the baby.”

he doesn’t respond and for a moment you can’t even tell if he heard you. but then he’s whipping his head around, as if he had just realized what you said, and scrambles to kneel at your side.

“what’s wrong?” he places a hand on your belly, right beside yours, like he never had, “are you feeling—”

“you’re never here!” you cry, wincing at your own screech, “i don’t want to do this alone, keiji. i can’t do this alone. the baby started kicking yesterday, you know? and you weren’t there. i didn’t even know what to do. i’m not gonna know what to do. god, we need a crib and a c-changing table, and—”

you stop when he lays his head down on your lap. 

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles faintly, his hot breath seeping through your shirt. the kitchen is silent with your sniffles. you’re so tired, from the pregnancy or everything else, but you tangle your fingers in akaashi’s hair, and it brings you just an ounce of comfort. it’s soft as always, just like it was when you had started dating.

“i’m sorry,” he says again, turning his head to the side to face you, letting your fingers drift over his cheek, “i was taking on more work, to save money for... for the baby. i hadn’t— ...i didn’t realize i was neglecting you, y/n.” 

 you look down, “y-you were what?” 

 “i took on a new author,” he tells you, “and i asked around for some freelance work. i think we’re okay financially, but you never know, so i thought it’d be good to have extra—”

“keiji,” you interrupt, voice scratchy, “were you nervous?” 

“well, yes,” he admits, leaning into your palm, “but that’s no excuse for leaving you all alone. i can drop the freelance, maybe move most of my work back home—” 

you smile, the familiar sound of akaashi overthinking things a buzz in your ears. you brush your thumb over the wrinkles between his eyebrows, tracing the lines on his face, recognizing the way his eyes tighten when he’s serious. he looks up at you. 

“do you want to come to the doctor’s with me on thursday?” you sniffle softly, smiling at him. 

“...yes,” he nods, almost like a reflex, but you can see him thinking again, his stare blanking. you reach down to intertwine your fingers with his, placing them over your belly. the focus returns to his eyes and he looks reassured, finally smiling back at you. 

“yes,” he repeats, “i’ll come with you.”

[spidey-webz]

new neighbour | p. parker

tom!peter parker x reader

Summary: Your neighbour keeps you up at night – just not in the way you would have expected.

Warnings: NO WAY HOME SPOILERS!!!, mention of sex, implied insomnia, implied trauma (Peter), not proofread

Words: 2.6k

Request: Okay just got back from the movie and I desperately need some fan fiction to fill the gaping hole in my heart :). Maybe one where the reader is new-beginning-Peter’s neighbor when he moves into his new apartment? Maybe the walls are super thin and they talk through the walls when they go to sleep at night. I’m imagining Peter having a nightmare and the reader hearing through the walls. If that’s too specific feel free to narrow it down! Thank you! ♥️

A/N: This screams for a part 2, so let me know if I should write one!!

Masterlist / Request here

New York had quickly taught you that it was possible to find all kinds of neighbours in a very short span of time. Their age mostly didn’t matter, no neighbour was perfect and they all had some kind of quirk that would cost you the last bit of nerves. You were surely not a perfect neighbour, but you would call yourself a decent one. You never made too much noise, tried to open and shut doors like a normal person without the entire building vibrating through a way too forceful push. It was still a mystery to you how some people weren’t taught the decency of opening doors without waking up the entire building. Also, where did they get the sudden urge to move all of their furniture from? And that in the middle of the night.

You used your free time after graduating to get some money together, so your parents didn’t have to fully support you financially anymore. When you got home from a particularly long shift, you didn’t appreciate rude neighbours that were annoyed as soon as you went up the stairs and they wanted to walk down. Having to get up early and needing some sleep was also hard when the person above you really loved to move their furniture around.

And your recent next door neighbour, who had recently moved out, had kept a habit of bringing women back to his place at least three times a week and it got loud. It was hell. The worst part of it all was that they also argued afterwards quite often. Then you could also deal with screaming in the hallway, accusations thrown at each other that often got louder and louder. Sometimes these voices even followed you into your dreams which was quite ridiculous but still annoying. You couldn’t control what you subconsciously picked up and didn’t have a choice to just not listen to it.

To be honest, you excitedly jumped around your kitchen when you saw a moving company pull up in the driveway and you saw your next door neighbour move out. Seeing that guy carry down all of these boxes gave you some kind of satisfaction, especially when he was obviously struggling with it. So much sleep that he had stolen from you, maybe things were finally going to change. The people above you didn’t move out, but you couldn’t get everything you wanted.

Surprisingly, the apartment didn’t stay empty for long. Within a week, another car you didn’t know pulled up and another guy stepped out that you had never seen before. How did these shitty apartments sell so fast? You were looking forward to some quiet time without an annoying neighbour next door.

With a sigh, you pulled back the curtain again and decided that you would simply not judge so quickly. Maybe this new neighbour would be a miracle and would be the only one so far to not annoy you or shorten your sleep.

The first week went great. Beside some furniture being moved around on the first day of the guy living next to you, you would never hear a thing. Everything was quiet, mostly, and you got work done so much quicker. Or you were able to enjoy a good book in the evening without being interrupted by the sounds of people fucking next door or yelling at each other whenever they got into a stupid argument. Even the shadows beneath your eyes disappeared a bit since you were able to fall asleep so much sooner and get so much more sleep.

Until one Sunday night where you were already dreading the next day. Monday would be filled with work again. You had to work, then help out a friend that wanted to move apartments and then clean your apartment again because your mother had already announced a visit for Tuesday. She would not tolerate even the smallest bit of chaos, so you always made sure to tidy up before she’d be standing on your doorstep.

Tugged into bed, desperate to sleep and get up early tomorrow, you pulled the blanket higher, burying your face in the pillow. You closed your eyes, ready to slip into a dream when you heard a scream from the other side of the wall. Your bedroom wall separated your apartment and the one from your neighbour. That had made your situation even worse with the previous neighbours and now that problem was going to come back? Why did all of your neighbours have a habit to be screaming constantly?

However, this didn’t seem like the frustrated scream that your previous neighbour had let out often enough whenever a new woman dumped him, but it also wasn’t a scream filled with pleasure. It was a painful one and you immediately thought about the possibility of your neighbour being hurt. You thought about getting up and checking on your neighbour, but the walls were so thin, maybe it would be enough to just loudly ask if he was alright.

Before you could even open your mouth to say something, you didn’t hear another scream, but rather nervous talking. You heard the bed hit the wall as the person seemed to move around the room again, with loud steps, upset or maybe just frustrated. You gulped. Maybe you should get up and go over now. Maybe everything was actually okay, but at least you would have checked then.

You pushed yourself up, put on your slippers and then also grabbed a vest from your desk chair before you made your way to your door quickly. It was only a few steps in the hallway until you reached the door. You knocked loudly, trying to gain the man’s attention as quick as possible. And it worked because it didn’t even take two minutes before the door opened and opened sight onto a man that seemed to be your age.

“Hey,” the guy said reluctantly, lifting a hand in greeting. His cheeks were a deep red, his hair tousled and his eyes seemed to be filled with tears. “Is everything okay?” you asked immediately. You should not judge a book by its cover but the man didn’t look too well right now. Did you even take your phone with you, in case you had to call an ambulance? Your hands patted your pyjama pants, yet you found no pockets at all. So also no phone.

“Of course,” the man replied, his hand going up to scratch at the back of his head. He nervously shifted his weight from one foot to another as he seemed to stare at a point behind you, avoiding your gaze at all costs. The tears in his eyes, the mess of his hair and the redness in his face were enough proof for you to believe that he was not feeling alright at all.

But you couldn’t just call an ambulance anyway. Maybe the man had just slept really badly and that was the reason for how exhausted he looked. You should stop assuming and just believe him.

“Alright, then, I just wanted to make sure since you–“

“I’m fine. Really,” he assured you again, nodding a bit. You could tell that he was trying to appear more relaxed again, leaning against the doorframe casually, but his shaking hands gave him away anyway.

“If anything happens again, you can just come over and knock on my door. I’m Y/N, by the way.” If you could at least offer your help, even though he didn’t seem like he would want to accept that offer, you would do it anyway. Better than nothing. If your old neighbour hadn’t been so rude and an asshole to his guests, maybe you would have offered help for his anger issues as well.

“It’s alright. I’m Peter.”

Peter. You immediately tried to remember if you knew a Peter but you quickly came to the conclusion that you didn’t, so you gave him a polite nod. You took a step back already when he stood up straight again and spoke once more. “I regularly have some bad nightmares. I’m sorry if I woke you up or something. I’ll try to get it under control.”

So that was the reason for his exhausted appearance. For a moment, you thought about what a good response could be until you figured that it would probably be the best choice to offer support and understanding. He didn’t have to get it under control as if it’s a horrible thing. As a teen, you often had the same experience. Bad nightmares that would leave you shaken for the entire day – and that’s exactly what Peter looked like right now.

“If you need help with anything or just want to talk about it, don’t hesitate to come over anyway, Peter. I understand that nightmare can be quite the struggle,” you said reassuringly, taking another step back.

Peter looked surprised, his eyebrows raised suddenly and his cheeks, that had just returned to their usual colour, seemed to heat up again. “Thank you. Good night, then,” he smiled, taking a step back as well. You only gave him one more polite smile before you returned back to your own apartment.

After closing the door, you let out a loud sigh. Maybe your new neighbour wasn’t crazy or an asshole but you could still foresee a lot of sleepless nights. It would be wrong to blame him though, since nightmares were nothing that a person could control and you hoped that you could help if he needed it. Neighbours easily annoyed you but you weren’t someone that didn’t offer help anyway.

Another week passed until you heard of Peter again. You sometimes met each other in the hallway and exchanged a quick hello but it was never more than that.

When you laid in bed again, ready to go to sleep, you heard his scared scream again, then some mumbling or actual words if there wasn’t the wall between you. The walls were really thin, indeed.

“Peter?” you decided to ask then. Maybe he could hear you. Maybe you could even calm him down without having to go over to him. You just assumed it was another nightmare. “Can you hear me?” It was probably stupid to ask that into the silence but how else would you be able to find out if the walls were thin enough to talk through? “I can hear you,” he eventually agreed and you couldn’t help but let out a surprised gasp. What things did your previous neighbour hear when you hadn’t been aware of how thin the walls actually were? But it definitely explained a lot about why you were able to hear everything in such detail all this time.

“Are you okay?” You asked again, just like the first time you had talked to the man. A pause, one where you could hear your own breathing so clearly, but none of his. The walls weren’t thin enough for that. “I’m gonna be.” His reply is quieter than before but you’re glad you were still able to hear it.

“Do you want to talk about something else than the dream?”

Your mother had always done that when you had woken up from a nightmare. She had talked to you about something else, ignored the nightmare and pushing it from your mind. And by the time you fell back asleep, all thoughts about it were gone and the same nightmare didn’t return that quickly again. But could it also work with a full-grown man? You had been a teenager after all, or a child even.

“Sure.” You imagined that you heard relief in his voice. It was late though, you could have imagined anything.

“How was your day?” It was the first question that got into your mind. You never exchanged too many words with Peter, you didn’t know anything about his life, so a question like that would maybe be the most appropriate.

“It was alright. I went to eat some sandwiches down the street.”

“Oh, I always go there too!” you replied excitedly, thinking about the little sandwich shop that had become a regular stop for you. You didn’t expect any of your neighbours ever going there. They mainly seemed to fancy everything that was further away from your building. The fact that Peter knew this place as well was a welcome one.

“Really?! I’m still trying to eat every combination at least once in my life.” You laughed at that, nodding, even though he couldn’t see it. You also often tried a new combination and hoped that it would be better than the last one you had tried. However, you hadn’t found the perfect one yet.

“Got any recommendations?”

“Well, the one with ham and that white sauce is pretty good,” Peter explained and you thought you could hear the smile in his voice. You shifted around in your bed, switching sides to lay on but you still listened for everything that might come from Peter. His bed seemed to be on the other side of the wall, clearly.

“I’ll try that next time.” You would definitely try it tomorrow already. Since you had finally found someone that liked to go to this place, you would definitely listen to their recommendations and try things you hadn’t tried before, even though you would consider yourself a regular at the place, with all the money you had already spent there.

“Do you also know that coffee shop a bit further down the street?”

“Of course. I used to work there when I still went to high school.” It was a great shop to be honest. They had great cookies and great cake. How did you never meet Peter then when he had went to all these places before?

“Their strawberry cake is the best one I’ve ever eaten,” you added.

“Finally someone that agrees with me!” The excitement in his voice was undeniable now. Nothing that you could have simply imagined.

Time passed so quickly. You continued to talk about your favourite restaurants, all the cakes you had both already tried and by the time you checked the clock on your phone, it was already late in the night. However, you weren’t feeling bad about the loss of sleep for once. It had been worth it – Peter was a great person to talk to. Even when it was just through a wall.

“I think we–“

“–need to go sleep,” Peter finished your sentence, the smile still audible in his voice.

“It was great talking to you. I hope you feel a bit better now.”

“I definitely feel better.” Your smile probably reached from one ear to another. It was nice to know that you had made him feel better and you were able to enjoy this great conversation. You shared so many interests, so many tastes that you wondered why you had never stumbled sooner upon each other when your favourite restaurants overlapped so perfectly.

“Good night, Peter,” you said eventually, pulling the blanket higher again. You could hear the bed move again, knowing he was getting ready to sleep as well. “Good night, Y/N.”

When you woke up the next day, exhausted but with no regrets, you found some nicely packaged strawberry cake and a coffee in front of your door.

A note stuck to the coffee cup.

For staying up all night with me. I hope you managed to get out of bed <3 See you later.

Peter.

Maybe losing sleep wasn’t that bad for once.