#suddenly one day I could squat down with my feet flat

[winged-mammal]

where’s that post about how annoying it is how good exercise is for you

because after working on my back and shoulder muscles for the past few months, I’ve suddenly noticed a distinct lack of pain and soreness and tightness that I’ve never felt before and it’s so fucking weird and I am ANNOYED

[colorfultheoristpeace]

A fateful taste

I am a feeder. I have always been a feeder. And I have a young man at my lips who can't help but indulge. Then why are the changes also happening to me?

It all started innocently enough, with the thrill of a new friendship. Caleb, the young college student with a sunshine smile, walked into my gym as if he owned it. His enthusiasm was magnetic, and I quickly became drawn to him. I saw my chance; I was a feeder at heart, ready to mold his youthful frame into something plush and indulgent. I envisioned him as my perfect project, but I never anticipated that I would become the one on the receiving end.

In the beginning, I was still the picture of fitness, boasting a lean physique. Standing at six feet tall, I had always prided myself on my toned arms, defined abs, and a well-sculpted chest. My life as a fitness instructor kept me dedicated to workout routines and healthy eating, living up to the image of strength and control. But when the gym closed its doors and my life unraveled, everything changed. Due to down-sizing on a large scale, I suddenly found myself jobless. Caleb didn't hesitate and agreed to let me become his roommate to save money. I appreciated the opportunity to have even more control over him.

As I began spending more time with Caleb, the lines between instructor and indulger blurred. Gone were my regimented meal prep days, replaced by spontaneous pizza nights and late-night binges on greasy takeout. I encouraged Caleb to indulge guilt-free, but before I knew it, I was indulging alongside him. Each slice of pizza felt like a revelation, each dessert a sweet liberation.

In the first month of our new lifestyle, I noticed subtle changes. My belly began to round out, inching forward as my abs faded into a layer of softness. I would catch glimpses of myself in the mirror after a meal—my once-flat stomach now protruding slightly, a traitorous reminder of my new eating habits. The more I ate, the more my belly expanded, becoming a soft, doughy mound that jiggled with every movement.

Then, there was my face. My angular features slowly softened; my cheekbones, once prominent, were now framed by a gentle layer of padding. I could feel it every time I caught my reflection. My cheeks had begun to swell, forming a gentle double chin that seemed to materialize overnight. I watched in disbelief as my attractive, rugged look transformed into something rounder and softer, a face more reminiscent of comfort than control.

Caleb’s laughter became my soundtrack as my body changed; I found myself laughing alongside him in a euphoric haze. My ass, once toned and fit from years of squat routines, developed an all-new voluptuousness. The jeans that once hugged my body snugly now strained against my expanding rear, giving way to a plush cushion that felt foreign yet liberating. The fabric stretched against my increasingly plump shape, and I marveled at how I had transitioned from fitting into trendy athletic wear to seeking out comfort in sweatpants and oversized hoodies and shirts.

My legs transformed as well, losing their sharp definition. Calves that had been rock-solid began softening, and I could feel the weight of my expanding thighs rubbing against each other as I walked. The skin that once clung to muscle now displayed a gentle roundness—my legs were no longer firmly sculpted, but rather broad and inviting, each step taken with newfound softness.

Every indulgent meal seems to mark another milestone in my transformation. I felt the shift not just in my body, but within me. I saw the freedom that accompanied giving in to desire, to abandon the strict rules that had governed my life for so long. My body fattened up magnificently, a canvas painted with the richness of my new habits.

Soon, I stood before the mirror, adoring the roundness of my belly and the fullness of my face. No longer the fit instructor, but a man transformed by the embrace of gluttony—my body gradually becoming a testament to pleasure, to the life I now shared with Caleb. We were united in our feast, two bodies rejoicing in the richness of life.

Yet amid the physical changes, it was the emotional connection I forged with Caleb that anchored my spirit. In our indulgence, we found a shared happiness that went deeper than mere aesthetics. We laughed, danced around the kitchen, and celebrated our transformations together—a symphony of bliss created through every delicious bite. And as I indulged in my own fatness and newfound softness, I finally felt at home, reveling in the life of the very thing I had sought to create in others.

As the months slipped by, the bond between Caleb and I deepened, and we embraced our evolving selves. Each day spent together further intertwined our lives, our hopes, and, undeniably, our waistlines. We reveled in the pleasure of indulgence, dismissing the fleeting worries of health and fitness. For both of us, the physical ramifications of rapid weight gain morphed into a celebrated reality, a badge of honor we wore with pride.

Caleb’s transformation was nothing short of captivating. His once-smooth face blossomed into a round cherub-like visage, cheeks full and glistening with the remnants of his last indulgence. He found comfort in the way his belly pressed against his shirts, replacing slim fit clothes with loose, cozy fabrics that hugged his new curves in a way that exuded confidence and satisfaction. In the mirror, he would turn around and flex playfully, chuckling at how his thickening thighs gave him a newfound sway, a welcoming bounce that had not been there before.

For me, the changes were just as exhilarating and sometimes overwhelming. My stomach had swollen considerably, a plush bulge that sat prominently before me, soft and inviting like a pillow begging for attention. That gut stuck out proudly and I found it exhilirating, how all my clothes started to enhance the look of my obesity. The sheer pleasure of it enveloped me; each bite was a celebration of flavor that seemed to wrap around my gut like a warm hug.

Both of us began to experience the physical ramifications of our gluttonous ways in unexpected ways. Climbing the stairs became a laborious task, our breaths coming in short gasps as we reached the top. I could feel the weight of my body with each step, my thighs brushing together with a gentle friction that was both a reminder of indulgence and a source of warmth. Caleb, far from deterred, simply laughed, playfully teasing about how we could install an elevator instead.

Sitting down became a minor event; it required strategy and a certain grace that I never thought I would need. The moment I plopped into the couch beside him, there was a delightful squish as our bodies settled into the cushions, a soft reminder of how much we had both changed. We occasionally found ourselves getting up, only to catch a glimpse of our reflection in the window—two round figures side by side, red faces aglow with laughter, each kiss of light highlighting our new forms.

We started embracing our habits, giving ourselves nicknames that hinted at our journey. I whimsically dubbed myself "Chubby Chaser," and Caleb, with his irresistible charm, called himself “Slob Prince,” each title leaving us in fits of laughter. Even as we munched on snack after snack, the world outside faded into a distant hum. It became our little kingdom of indulgence, a space where we could wholly be ourselves without judgment.

The things we once enjoyed—running, hiking, and yoga—began to feel like distant memories. But even as we drifted away from those activities, we replaced them with new rituals: marathon binge-watching sessions of our favorite shows, sharing giant bowls of popcorn, and desert nights filled with decadent pastries that we devoured in blissful silence. We would linger at dessert bars, ordering plate after plate of rich, creamy sweets, our mouths watering with anticipation as the server brought out our next treat.

One evening, I caught Caleb staring at me with a mixture of admiration and mischief. “I think we should weigh ourselves,” he said coyly, his fingers are tapping on the scale with both anticipation and dread. I felt my heart race, half-excited and half-nervous. We stepped onto the scale reluctantly. The numbers whirred and clicked, finally settling on a number far higher than either of us could have imagined. We looked at each other, then burst into laughter, embracing the absurdity of it all. Yes, we had crossed a line, but did it matter? Neither of us had ever felt closer or more fulfilled.

As the year wore on, with each week marked by our love for food and each other, the world outside ceased to exist. We were two friends thriving in our own little universe, wrapped in the warmth of our indulgence. Our bodies morphed into expressions of our delight—pudgy arms thrown around one another, soft and round bellies breaking into uncontrollable fits of laughter, and the warmth of our growing figures becoming a testament to our shared experiences. In that surrender to desire, we had found a joy that neither of us could have anticipated, and with every bite, every giggle, and every moment spent together, we cherished the unshakeable bond we were forging. Together we would waddle towards our future a very changed couple.

[auxiliarydetective]

The OC Halloween Challenge - Day 7

You can find the challenge here!

Today's prompt was...

The Comedic Relief

Honestly, they make even the scariest movies bearable. They’re almost never the main character but almost always the most liked. They say laughter is medicine for the soul, so which of your ocs soothes the characters and the situation with a joke made at the worst of times?

R.I.P. to the two people that weren't funny enough: Iris Winchester and Charlotte Inari.

This prompt isn't really too well-fitting for a graphic in my eyes, so I wrote a little 5+1 sort of deal - except it's only three so that the +1 can be evil number 4:

3 times Charlie Drake laughed death in the face and 1 time he regretted it

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄✼▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

"Someone needs to distract it," Egon declared as they were all squatting behind the garden wall, listening to the sounds of the ghost inside the greenhouse wreck the place.

Immediately, a wild pointing of fingers was started, but before anyone could say something to go along with it, Charlie slipped off his proton pack.

"I've always wanted a cat," he said with a grin.

Equipped with only his flashlight, he headed for the greenhouse. The other Ghostbusters looked on in confusion. Was he starting to go mad from sleep deprivation? That wasn't a cat, that was a ghost! One that had been a huge moster only a few minutes ago. But Charlie was having none of it and strutted towards the greenhouse.

"Here, kitty-kitty-kitty!" he called, waving his flashlight along the wall of the greenhouse.

Immediately, the feline ghost jumped against the glass, theeth bared, frantically chasing the light. Charlie laughed brightly.

"Good kitty! Where's the light, huh? Where is it?"

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

"Charlie!" Egon called tensely as his friend was dropped from the ceiling in a bubble of slimey ectoplasm.

The blob splatted flat onto the ground and Charlie lay there, motionless. Quickly, Egon hurried over to him, followed by Peter. When they reached Charlie, he huffed quietly. With every cough, spitting up droplets of ectoplasm, his lips curled further into a smile, until he started laughing like a maniac.

"Wow, that was stupid! So, this is how it feels, huh? Getting slimed?"

Egon pulled him to his feet, having to shake ectoplasm off his glove once he let go.

"Glad it happened to you this time," Venkman commented as he looked around the room to try and find out where the ghost had gone. When he turned back to Charlie, he immediately took on a defensive stance. "No, I know that look, don't you dare-"

But Charlie was already creeping towards him, hands in the air with his fingers wiggling about.

"Oooooh, I think the slime possessed me..." he cooed, doing his best to suppress his laughter.

This was Peter's cue to start running. Immediately, Charlie set after him. He was seemingly not slowed down by the heavy proton pack on his back at all, catching up to Peter with ease and tackling him into a hug, giggling furiously.

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

Ray banged against the wall, almost see-through, looking like a fluid, yet solid to the touch. On the other side, Winston tried firing his particle thrower at it. But both of them were met with the same fate - their attacks at the substance rebounded, knocking them backwards. Charlie just laughed.

"You're really arguing with a mirror, huh?"

"You got any better idea?" Winston asked. "We're in here while that spook is wrecking havoc."

"Well, if I remember correctly, our ghostly pal used to be a poet," Ray mumbled, "maybe-"

But before he could finish his sentence, Charlie threw himself dramatically against the wall.

"Oh, envious wall," he gasped, "why do you block lovers? How great would it be if you let us be joined in whole body, or, if this is too much, if you rather lay open for kisses to be given?"

Suddenly, miraculously, the wall disappeared as Charlie giggled.

"Who knew my charm worked on walls, too?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you didn't come up with that," Winston commented.

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

It was their first bust after defeating Gozer. Charlie had been extremely tired that day, but it seemed he had recovered. Or at least that was what everyone thought. By the time Ecto-1's siren was blaring, he was grinning and practically emitting energy again. Their spectre of the hour was a Class 3 or 4 entity, identity unknown, but witnesses had described it as "having escaped from a Wild West movie". To make things even worse, the thing apparently had fully tangible guns, stolen from a gun store.

Charlie's plan to trap the entity was simple: A shootout. A quick-draw contest, to be exact. The spectre with his guns, Charlie with his particle thrower. Demons like Charlie couldn't die and so, even if he lost, he would still win in the end. It was a very simple plan, but one that sounded very effective. Especially since the other Ghostbusters would be surrounding the ghost, ready to give Charlie a hand.

"Hey, cowboy!" Charlie called with a wide grin, positioning himself opposite the spectre. "Wanna duel?"

It took the bait with no hesitation. Silence spread across the battlefield as the two supernatural beings faced each other.

Suddenly, a loud bang cut through the air. The ghost had fired. Almost immediately afterwards, the Ghostbusters' proton packs fired up, trapping the ghost in their streams. All except Charlie's. He was late. Incredibly late. But over the sound of the buzzing streams and the struggling of the spectre, nobody noticed. The ghost was trapped in record time.

"Great job, everyone!" Peter said in his usual sarcastic tone. "Now, let's get home before the horse shows up."

Everyone smiled. Everyone except Charlie.

"Um... Egon?" he said slowly. "I'm gonna need your scientific expertise here."

Egon turned around to look at him, immediately going white as a sheet. Charlie's flightsuit was tinted scarlet at the chest, the same color as Charlie's fingers which he stared at incredulously. Quickly, Egon rushed to his side and tore open his flightsuit. This couldn't be happening. It was impossible, it-

"Is this what I think it is?" Charlie mumbled.

Only a second later, his legs gave out.

[bonding-experience]

Scene recap

*All the trigger warnings*

So usually, when I arrive at his house I check if his window is open. If it is, I bark until he hears and buzzes me in. It’s fucking embarrassing but makes me really proud to go that low for him in public, even when it’s late and deserted. Sometimes I just text him a little ‚woof‘. Quite romantic I think.

Usually he opens the door to the flat and waits in his room, but yesterday? …wednesday! he waited for me at the door and pushed me to my knees.

I tried to get my mouth onto him, huffing his scent through his joggers, while undoing my shoes, but didn’t manage either properly because I was too needy. He got impatient with my silliness and dragged me behind him with a fist in my hair. I mewled a bit but he walked slow enough for me too crawl.

Still hurt:(

In his room he pushed me down on the carpet, my quite short skirt hitching up my ass, which made him chuckle, I hadn’t bothered to put any panties on and he likes to mock me for how easy I am.

While taking off my shoes he told me to loose the shirt as well.

He walked around me, running a hand thru my hair soothingly, I closed my eyes and leaned into it, when he forcefully slapped my face with his other hand.

Oww.

Not lightly either, he’s a carpenter and fucking strong. We had talked about wanting to give me a black eye before, which I hadn’t really taken serious, but agreed to because I‘m into stuff like that, marks and violence and threats.

While I was still regaining my composure he pulled his cock out and pushed it between my lips. I sucked him down, let it pop out of my mouth, spat on it and swallowed it again, tongue running over his head when I could, drool running out of the corners of my mouth and dripping all over me. The taste and smell drove me wild, how I had missed this.

Suddenly he slapped me again, two times back to back. Less forceful but fast, holding my head up by my hair as I tried to escape the pain. Gently he laid his fingers against the print they had left and I flinched, trying not to move and get away from his hand at the same time. Pinching me softly he took a few steps back and sat on the couch, attention switching to his laptop. Without checking to see if I was following even he snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor in front of the couch.

I crawled over and laid down, my nipple piercings clanking against the wooden floor lightly, red knees and thighs on the cold ground.

I started to kiss his foot in front of my face, a concept he had used to threaten me in the past, which I now loved. He fucking ruined me. The humiliation and disrespect of not even paying attention to me melting so nicely into the heady satisfaction I got at the smell, the feeling against my tongue.

I kissed and licked his feet one after another, at some point resting my chest on one and my wet face on the other, careful not to put pressure on the side he had hit.

He was watching a show, might’ve been a cop show, and ignoring me apart from occasionally pushing one of his toes in or out of my mouth languidly.

When I had settled nicely and zoned out worshipping his feet he again pulled me up by my hair and pushed me back into my four legged stance in the middle of the room. Again he fucked my mouth, almost squatting in front of me eventually, shoving his cock down my now way more relaxed throat again and again, calling me

“a good hole” and

„a well behaved dog”

in a husky voice.

I only realised how wet I got when he leaned over towards my ass, pinched my pussy lips and moaned loudly.

I had started to bleed lightly, him fucking me so forcefully and deep my front teeth had cut my upper lip. The taste of the blood mixing with slobber, snot and his dick after a day or two of manual labour. I get wet thinking back to it.

He kept pushing his dick deep in my throat, which I loved but would completely stop my breathing. He held my head snug on his dick, not budging when my chest heaved trying to get some air, not when i clawed at his legs, panic rising in me and my head feeling light. Eventually he pushed me off, my hands only just catching his legs to keep upright.

I immediately stuck my tongue out again, trying to get his balls on my face while panting obscenely through an open mouth like a slut.

He let me play with his balls a bit and then continued testing how long i could keep his dick in my throat, bile and spit coming back up from my throat, him spitting on my face or my hair occasionally.

He claims it’s a compliment really, cause he’s always starts salivating when he’s really turned on. After a while he let go off me completely, me falling to my elbows and knees again, trying to get a few deep breaths in.

He undid my skirt and pulled it off of me. I couldn’t even pay attention to him, and hadn’t realised he was behind me when I heard a swoosh- and a split second later felt a sharp crack of pain across my ass.

He had hit me with his meanest cane, evil amount of weight and hardness for such a slim little thing. He kept hitting me with short and fast movements, letting me catch my breath but only briefly. I was wiggling a looot, kicking my feet, breathing through it wasn’t working. He concentrated on my left cheek, the sitspot, then my thighs, left cheek again. When I had gotten too jumpy to safely aim he stepped back and I heard him drop the cane onto the bed. For later use?

As I was shifting my weight around he suddenly put his hand on my neck and pushed my face to the ground.

In his room there’s a little step between the bed and the raised area in front of the windows.

He pushed my neck against that, the hard wooden edge on one side and his hand choking me from the other, putting his weight into it. It felt like he was completely cutting off the blood flow to my brain. I couldn’t speak or grab him, and my vision was growing dark and spotty and I remember getting very warm.

When he let me come back up I couldn’t coordinate moving my limbs, gasping for air, and he used that to manoeuvre me against the wall. Taking my chin in one hand gingerly he slapped me again. Twice quickly and pulling me up again, lazily slapping away my arms I was trying to cover my face with. When I heard him grunt it was easier to obey and stop struggling.

He let go of me and ordered me to put my hands behind my back, which i did immediately, and motioned me to move onto the dog bed next to me. He was standing right above me, his dick dangling in front me, lovely semihard and thick and warm, just an inch or two away from my lips.

I could smell him, realised I was thirsty for him and whispered a „pleaseeee“ in my broken, fucked up voice. „You‘ll swallow“ was all he answered and started pissing in my mouth. I moaned obscenely when I tasted his piss.

A trickle at first but soon he was pissing harder than I could swallow, piss overflowing my mouth, half gurgling, half moaning and panting. It was running down my chest, between my legs and sinking into the soft fabric of the dog bed I was kneeling on. I tried to suck his dick in my mouth again, licking and sucking and swallowing everything I could get. Embarrassing really to think how desperate I was for his piss

He then put one of these silky ski mask - kinda hoods on me, only my mouth being free, and pushed a bone shaped gag between my lips. Over that he pulled a plain black bag and tightened the draw string around my neck.

He let me sit there for a while, catching my breath and mentally looking at myself, drenched in piss and spit, legs wide. I could make out the lamp somewhere, but not really tell where he was.

I’m wondering if he might have taken a picture then, he does sometimes, I think to send to other subs to make them see what they’re missing. I get some of people I don’t know too, sometimes.

I heard his steps come closer again and felt another sharp hit across my thigh, sure to leave a mark. I had yelped loudly and he told me to shut up. He hit me another bunch of times, on the tits too, and my back, my feet, spots I hate.

Now he had moved behind me and while waiting for the next hit I felt the tip of his cane run along my pussy. I could feel it gliding smoothly thru my lips and knew the tip would be glistening. Concentrating on quieting my breathing I felt him replace the cane with the tip of his dick, running it across my ass and wet pussy, not *in* but oh so close.

I pushed my hips back to get it inside but he always stayed just out of reach, until he didn’t. He pushed inside me in one long motion and I moaned so fucking deeply and loudly around the gag I almost overheard his corresponding sigh. It felt so good to finally be filled. His dick isn’t massive, but just right and always feels incredibly warm, and he knows how to hit my spots.

He pulled out, again resting his cock just against my entrance and spat out

„I don’t wanna hear you”

before pushing inside me again. Despite my best efforts I moaned just as, if not louder.

Moving my hands I tried to cover my mouth, but couldn’t really with the gag and the hoods, instead I could hear the air loudly rasping by it.

I tried desperately to hold onto anything I could get, the step, the sopping wet dog bed, the piping of the radiator, to help me keep my voice down but the gag did little to hide the noises I was making. Fucking embarrassing thinking back to it

He was fucking me like that for a while, testing, stretching, occasionally hitting my thigh or my back to keep me in line.

At some point I had started rubbing my clit with one hand, cautiously hoping he wouldn’t punish/humiliate me for it.

Not sure which would be worse.

I think he enjoyed that. He pulled out and started fingering my hole instead, pushing three fingers in at the same time. Clenching, I tried to move away slightly but he grabbed my waist and pulled me back towards him.

I feel like I could hear him think and a second later felt his cock against my asshole.

I had cleaned myself before so I can’t claim not wanting this.

But using only my pussy juice and spit as lube and not preparing me at all hurt. Hurt a lot.

He pushed in pretty deep immediately, and I knew it was too much for my little ass. I ducked away and tried to escape him, pull him out myself, turn around, stand up, all at the same time, but he was holding me tight and again trapping me underneath him.

When I kept wincing and making high pitched noises he put his weight on me and asked calmly:”Don’t you wanna make me happy? Be a good toy for me? Hmm?” and then bit my shoulder hard. That’s my off button, even though the pain made me gasp and tense shortly I felt my muscles relax completely. My gasping and wincing had faded to soft moans and whimpers and I angled my hips in a way that I imagined would please him most.

He was grunting slightly with his strokes, biting different parts of my back, occasionally another hit with the cane across my back, thighs or arms. Breathing heavily he pulled out at some point, wiped his dick off, put just the tip inside my pussy and leaned back, then said “go on, fuck yourself, you desperate lil pup”.

In the position I was in, half on my tummy with my legs spread wide I had to work quite hard to get him as deep as I wanted. I pushed my hand between my legs again, playing with my swollen clit but cautious not to loose track of the main task here. When I was getting louder he told me to come. That shot fear through me, knowing I wasn’t there yet but also not wanting to disobey him. I sped up with my hand and my hips, sucking in air desperately, but not enough, could feel my thighs start to quiver.

“You disgusting fucking thing, look at you. Drenched. Come on then, come for me pup.” he repeated and I whined, unable to tell him I couldn’t.

“Ten” he said then.

Oh fuck. I couldn’t spit in my hand to make it feel better, I couldn’t move really, and about every part of my body hurt.

“Nine.” I tried closing my legs as far as could, but he was sitting between them. “Eight.” I tried opening them instead but didn’t have the strength anymore to move like that.

“If you don’t want to come you don’t have to, pup, just tell me.”

I tried, but the noises coming out of my mouth could’ve been anything. I continued fucking pushing myself against him, he had also started to move gently. It did feel good, amazing even but I can’t usually come when I’m so tired and my muscles burn. “Im not giving you another chance.” he quietly added after „Four“.

Was he skipping numbers or wasn’t I listening? Didn’t know.

When he reached one I whined apologetically, he tsked at me and took my hand behind my back. After readjusting his grip and the position of my ass he started fucking me hard. He wanted to come now. My traitorous fucking pussy clenched as this was what I needed, a nice and hard pounding. I tried to lift myself up on my arms, but he pushed me down, pinching the bite mark he’d left hard.

He spat on my back and my ass, punching me in the back and pushing my head down. I heard him moan and then push inside me as deep as he could, me pushing back against him and clenching my hole around him as he was coming deep, deep inside me. It felt so fucking good to finally have him grunt and moan and push inside me again and again, gripping me hard and giving me what I worked so hard for. After letting my pussy milk him he pulled out, wiped his hand on my ass dismissively and got up, presumably to have a drink, or for another picture.

When I tried to straighten my back and sit on my haunches I shot back at the pain as my feet hit the welts on my ass and thighs. Panting I lowered myself slowly, feeling his come run out of me and various liquids drying on my skin.

After a minute he came over and undid the gag, which made me sigh, I realised my jaw had started to ache a while back. He let me lean against his leg, petting my hair and after I got out a shaken up lil „thank you“ he responded simply:“well done.“

[piratesfromspace]

You Again (Frank Castle/Reader)

Frank Castle (the Punisher) x Reader

Word count: 1.5k TW: light description of wound and bruises, implied rape attempt, mention of alcohol, canon-typical violence, reader has ✨issues✨

Female pronouns for reader

Note: Some hurt/comfort with Frank Castle. For unknown reasons, reader can’t go see a normal doctor. This story was inspired by an unpublished fanfic written by a dear friend of mine, in which Frank already helps reader.

MASTERLIST

“You. Again.”

You never had been so happy to hear his gruff voice. 

“And you’re a fuckin’ mess.” Frank added, tone flat.

“You should see the other guy.” you croaked, trying as best as you could to smile despite the cut on your lower lip.

You were, indeed, a mess. 

Battered and bloody, you were sitting - or more accurately slouching - on the dirty floor, in front of one of Castle’s hideouts door, on a random Tuesday night. Your right hand was badly hiding the knife’s wound on your stomach, the gash in your blood-soaked T-shirt obvious behind your feeble fingers. Angry bruises were already blooming around your wrist, adding yet another painful layer to your miserable appearance. 

“Fuck.” He let the word slip between gritted teeth while scanning your body. You were not in great shape. 

“Fine, come here, don’t bleed out on my front porch.” 

There was a moment of awkward silence, while you tried to put yourself on your feet, before admitting you were too weak to accomplish the simple task.

“I-I can’t... stand up.” 

Frank closed his eyes for a second, exhaling through his nose, just like he would do to try and calm himself to avoid scolding a child. He eventually crouched beside you, slipping an arm under the crook of your knees, and the other behind your shoulders, gathering you in his arms and lifting you effortlessly like you weighed nothing. 

The door closed behind him thanks to a powerful kick of his foot, and you finally allowed yourself to relax a little, feeling safe for the first time in days. 

The dingy flat was nowhere near the level of comfort you would wish for yourself, but he was here, in this room, breathing and alive and focusing on you, and that was all that mattered at this moment. 

---

“I’m the first choice when it comes to patching you up I guess.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, I wouldn’t have come if I had any other option.”

Frank was trying his best to stitch the wound on your stomach without hurting you too much, but the lack of anesthesia was making it difficult. The witty banter was one way of distracting you, and you were grateful for it.

“Done.” 

The needle clattered on the plate he had put on the floor next to the mattress you were lying on. You let out the breath you were holding, pain slowly radiating through your whole body, making his lazy way from the cut on your belly to the rest of your limbs, awakening in its path the dozens of bruises littering your skin. Your vision got blurry for a moment, ears ringing.

“Hey, stay with me.” his hand was on the side of your face, cradling your cheek while avoiding to touch the cuts on your lips. His warm and callused fingertips against your cheek gently brought you back to reality. 

You could feel his gaze on your face, cataloguing every cut and scratch, and you did not miss the way his eyes just narrowed for a second when they fell on your neck, his fingers hovering above the bruises there. 

“Are you hurt elsewhere?”

“No.” you knew the moment the word escaped your mouth that you had answered way too fast and way too loud for you to be believable.

“You’re so bad at lying it hurts to see you try, you know?”

“I’m f-fine.”

“No you’re not.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Since you’re the one bleeding on MY mattress, I would argue that it’s also my business now.” 

Your defense was pathetic and he was so patient with you, you wondered why you had to be such a defensive jerk sometimes. You slouched a little more, you wanted to disappear into his mattress. 

“Truth is… I-I don’t really know.” 

“Let me take a look.” It was not a question, but he waited nonetheless for you to nod your approval before helping you shimmy out of your torned jeans. You winced, the movement cruelly reminding you of the freshly stitched wound on your abs. 

“Do I need to kill someone?” was his only reaction when the galaxy of black and purple bruises on your thighs appeared from under your pants. 

“He’s already dead.” 

He knew you were not lying this time, the proudness in your soft voice too earnest to be faked. 

“What happened?” he asked, voice so low and caring, like he was talking to a wounded animal.

“You know what happened.” you answered sternly.

Frank wasn’t dumb and it would only take half a brain to do the maths and understand the situation given the bruises on your neck, wrists and thighs, and the broken zipper of your jeans.

“Do you need medication? Something for...” he seemed lost all of a sudden.

“No, Frank, I killed him before anything happened. That was the plan.”

“The plan? You planned on being attacked and… “ he froze, his mind working to make sense of your words. He quickly understood, his expression suddenly changing. If he was looking sorry a few seconds ago, now he was angry.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been up with this vigilante bullshit again?” 

“That’s rich coming from you.” you scoffed.

“You’re not a 6-foot-tall trained marine.”

“That’s the point, I can easily lure those guys, unlike you.” You cut him off.

“You should have told me first.”

“What? I don’t need your permission.”

“You need my protection.” he was starting to lose his patience.

“I can take care of myself.”

“Says the girl bleeding on my doorstep.” he snorted.

The bastard got a point.

“At least I’m trying to be useful.” you retorted, in a low blow, a foolish attempt to not lose too quickly.

“You won’t be useful when you’re dead.”

“Right now I wish I was.” you grumbled, running out of replies.

“Don’t you ever say that again.”

“Fuck you Frank. Fuck you.” 

He was tiring. You should have known you had zero chance of winning this argument from the get go. You couldn’t even go and dramatically slam the door on your way out. Your shaking legs would barely carry you up. Ok, maybe, just maybe, he was right. Maybe it was a bad idea, and your injured body was just the proof of his implacable logic.

Frank rose on his feet slowly, a hand rubbing on the back on his head - he always did that when he was stressed and thinking too much. 

“Stay here until you’re somewhat healed.” his eyes were avoiding yours, his voice too soft whereas you wished he would be mad, because he would be way easier to fight him this way. “Please.”

It’s not like you were physically able to go anywhere else, and truth be told it’s not like you wanted to go anywhere else. The hurt in his voice made your heart clench. You had been unfair, just like usual. A stupid defense mechanism.

You thought about the last time he had to patch you up. A mean fever. Found you unconscious in a dark alley. Frank had taken good care of you, slowly bathed you in cold water to lower the fever, before tucking you against him under a blanket and nursing you back to life the following days. He had even kissed you that first night, and the next morning, when you felt better, he had pressed his body against yours and made you feel even better, this time with different means than some cold water. The memory of his kindness contrasting with your current ungratefulness had you on the verge of tears. 

You were mad at yourself. 

“I’m-I’m sorry.” you offered after what seemed like an eternity. 

”And… thank you.” you added, trying your best to not burst out crying right there. 

Castle said nothing, he just left for the kitchen and came back with a glass of water, before squatting next to you and handing you the precious liquid. You gulped the whole shot down, you had not realized before how parched you were. 

“You lost some blood, that’s why you’re dehydrated.” he explained matter of factly, voice devoid of hurt or anger, like your little scene had not existed. And that’s why I’m saying nonsense, you thought to yourself.

“I’ll bring you some more.” 

Before he could rise up again, you reached out to touch his face. The sudden movement sent sparks of pain through your guts but you did not flinch. His eyes bore into yours and you closed the distance between you. The kiss was soft then fierce, it felt like finally letting go of something that was burning you from the inside, your injury forgotten the second his lips touched yours. The taste of blood in your mouth was soon replaced by the taste of him and the lingering notes of the whiskey he surely drank before you arrived. 

Castle fell slowly on his knees, carefully hugging you, breaking the kiss only to bury his face in the crook of your neck and whisper inaudible praises between two “silly girl”. 

You closed your eyes. It felt like finally being home. Finally being safe.

[boxesandrings]

I it’s me again I love your stuff. A idea I had inspired a fanart Shane reacting to F!farmer telling him she’s pregnant

( I’m just curious where that would go )

(Hi I promise this is much happier than what the description sounds like!! I think considering Shane’s mental health history life changing news like this isn’t something he’d brush past with no second thought, having a kid is kinda scary to everyone! Promise it’s mostly fluff but wanted to tag anything that could be triggering for others xoxo)

Title: A Father!

Rating: T (mostly for language, but Shane's earlier heart events are mentioned briefly)

Summary: The Farmer shares some exciting news with Shane! He's immediately over the moon, but quickly becomes overwhelmed.

CW: Mentions of pregnancy, Shane's early heart-events, a panic attack(?)

Characters: Shane, F!Farmer, Marnie, Evelyn, Pierre (pretty much all are mentioned)

Words: 3816

Shane took off his boots before entering the cabin, grimacing as he bent to do so. Marnie had needed help repairing some things at the ranch today, and he had spent most of it in a crouch. His thighs were punishing him for it now, sore with every step. Maybe he’d take a bath tonight, let his muscles soak in the warm water and try to relax a bit. Maybe his wife would take one with him.

He waddled into the house, his legs tight and called out. “I’m home! You in?”

The Farmer was often out late, working in the fields or with the animals, or sometimes off mining or fishing at the lake by Robin’s. It had been lonely at first, an empty house was something he’d never experienced, but he had found ways to preoccupy himself. After a month, he and his then girlfriend had a chat, the Farmer promising to be home by 7 every night, or calling and letting him know if something had unexpectedly come up otherwise holding her late.

“In the kitchen!” Shane smiled, making his way toward the room. It was barely 5, a sign for a good night. The sound of music grew louder and the smell of bacon wafted toward him. In the kitchen, he found his wife flipping pancakes but minding another pan on the back burner. She turned when she heard him get closer, waving her spatula before focusing back on the food. Shane walked behind her and wrapped his arms around her, kissed her cheek and rested his head on her shoulder.

“I thought it was my night to cook?” The pair switched who cooked every night, and Shane was certain it was his night. Or had he missed yesterday?

“Hello to you too.” The Farmer twisted her head around the best she could and puckered her lips, which Shane quickly kissed. “It was, but I just wanted to cook tonight. Go sit! I just finished up.” Shane squeezed his wife once more, but made his way over to the table. He groaned as he lowered himself into the chair.

The Farmer tilted her head as she carried a stack of pancakes for the table, watching as Shane rubbed his legs.

“Long day?” Shane nodded.

“Marnie called this morning and said that some pipes in the barn needed repairing, but neglected to mention that it was literally almost every single pipe in the barns, all the ones that carry water to the dispensers.” The Farmer set down the plate of bacon on the table, then slid into Shane’s lap, her arms around his neck.

“Oh, that’s rough.” Shane nodded, tilting his head forward into hers.

“They’re all so low to the ground, I essentially was in a squat all day. My thighs are killing me.” The Farmer nodded, her head moving his. She kissed his temple and stood up.

“I think I have some of that muscle cream lotion stuff that helps with the soreness. I’ll find it after dinner.” She made her way to her own chair, sitting down. “Not all bad though, squats are pretty good for the booty.” She smiled as she picked up a piece of bacon and winked.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Shane shook his head, but smiled as he used his fork to slide a pancake onto his own plate. Yoba, was he hungry. “How was your day?”

The Farmer bit her lip, smiling. “Oh, you know. Same old.” Shane looked up, cautiously eyeing his wife. She was biting her lip, trying to hide an obvious smile and kept looking up at Shane as she made her plate. Shane squinted.

“I feel like you really want me to ask what else happened.” His wife nodded, slightly shimmying in her chair.

“I heard some real good gossip.” Shane couldn’t help but laugh after she said it. His wife looked so pleased with herself, like she could barely handle keeping her excitement inside. She grinned incredibly wide, biting her tongue. Shane picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite.

“Oh, what is it?” He raised his eyebrows a few times, making his wife laugh. After she had calmed herself for a second, she leaned forward, as if the knowledge itself were moving her.

“Someone we know is pregnant.” Shane dropped his fork and coughed. Now that was some good gossip. In a town as small as Pelican Town, secrets among residents were incredibly hard to keep, and something as big as that would have spread easily within a day to the entire population. How had he not heard yet?

“Who?” The Farmer leaned back in her chair, biting her thumbnail.

“Guess.” Shane ran his teeth over his tongue as he mentally went through each of the town’s residents.

“Jodie and Kent? I feel like they could have another, the gap would be the same from Sam to Vincent to this one.” The Farmer watched Shane, her face giving away nothing. Finally, she shook her head, the same shit-eating grin on her face. Shane thought hard.

“It can’t be Demetrius and Robin, he practically yelled from the mountain top when he had his vasectomy. I don’t think Pierre and Caroline even like each other anymore…” He watched his wife’s face.

“Keep guessing.” Shane threw his hands up, but continued to smile.

“You’re gonna make me keep guessing?”

“Come on! You’re getting closer.” Shane sighed.

“Let's see… Maru and Penny are together, so I don’t think they could… Sam is, and no offence to the guy, but the biggest virgin I’ve ever met…Harvey… no.” He looked down at the table, scratching his chin. “Sebastian and Abby could be… Alex and Haley, but I’m not sure if they’re broken up right now.”

He looked up toward his wife, but her face gave away no hints. “I mean, Elliot sleeps with practically every tourist, so statistically speaking…” Shane shook his head, his eyes wide, and his wife snorted. “I don’t know? Emily isn’t with anyone, Leah isn’t, but I might not know.”

Eyes wide, he looked back up at his wife. “It couldn’t physically… Marnie couldn’t…” The Farmer’s face finally broke, a similar look of horror on her own face.

“Oh Yoba no, don’t even—” She made a face, shaking her head. “She’s too old, and not to be mean but I think if your aunt was having a baby with Mayor Lewis?” She shook her head again, faster. “You’d find me in here retching.”

Shane leaned back in his chair and dragged his hand over the bottom half of his face, thinking. The devilish smile slowly creeped it’s way back onto his wife’s face as she watched him. Finally, he sighed.

“Who is it?” The Farmer suddenly stood up and ran to one of the cabinets, pulling out a sandwich bag. She sat back in her seat, and slid the bag across the table to Shane. He picked up the bag and realized there were three white, long sticks in the bag, each one with two pink lines on one end. He dropped the bag.

“Oh, gross, where were these?” He looked up at his wife, expecting the same grin, but was confused to see that it had fallen, a look almost like annoyance on her face.

“Good god, Shane, did you— do you think I’m going around picking up random pregnancy tests?” He paused, his mouth dropping.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. She didn’t find them, she took them. That’s why he hadn’t heard the gossip already, she was the only one that knew.

He jumped to his feet, forgetting the soreness in his legs. His hands covered his mouth, open in shock as he looked at his wife. She nodded at him, the smile returned to her face, hints of tears glistening in her eyes. He turned from the pregnancy tests on the table, pointing at them, to covering his mouth again and looking back at his wife.

She continued to nod, crying definitively now but still smiling. The pair had been married for almost two years, and while they hadn’t made a point of deciding to actively try for a baby, they certainly had been playing it fast and loose. Four months into the marriage they decided that what would happen would happen and stopped using any birth control, the Farmer throwing out any pills she had left. Lately, the couple had stopped even pretending they worried about the possibility of getting pregnant, and Shane had felt that a ‘we should start actively trying’ conversation was weeks away, rather than months or years.

Finally, Shane spoke. “Are… you’re…” The Farmer nodded, sniffling and smiling.

“Yeah, yeah!” Her voice was breathy, joyfully crying through the words.” Shane covered his mouth again and felt his own tears beginning to pop up in the corner of his eyes.

“I— I need you to say it.” The Farmer laughed.

“I’m pregnant.” Shane ran at his wife, scooping her up in his arms, pressing his lips firmly onto hers. She laughed as she kissed him back, her arms wrapped tightly around them as they stood in the kitchen, her tears against his face, or maybe they were his own?

They stood, holding each other, smiling and laughing and kissing, until Shane quite literally swept his wife off her feet, fireman carrying her into the bedroom while she laughed in his arms. He set her down on the bed and wrapped his arms around her, practically attaching himself to her as he kissed her face as she pretended to struggle beneath him, giggling the whole time.

He laid on his stomach next to her, his face turned towards her on the pillow. She watched him back, still laying flat on the bed.

“You’re pregnant.” The Farmer smiled and nodded.

“I’m pregnant.” Shane smiled, scanning his wife’s face.

“We’re having a baby.” She scooched her face closer, kissing the tip of his nose.

“We’re having a baby.” The two gazed at each other, minds racing with nothing and everything at once. Shane lifted himself up and moved closer to his wife, his face only inches away from hers, sliding one arm under her head and placing the other hand on her stomach. Shane bit his lip.

“When do we want to tell my family?” The Farmer sighed and looked up toward the ceiling.

“I don’t know. I want to tell them, but so much can happen in the first few months…” She trailed off, running her tongue over her top teeth. “Maybe in a month or two? Once the pregnancy is past that first little hurdle.” Shane kissed her cheek.

“I get it. Marnie tells Lewis, Lewis tells everyone.” He sighed now. “I mean, you’re only 30, I don’t think you’re high risk or anything.” His wife shook her head and smiled at him.

“No, it’ll be perfect.” She slid a hand over the one he had on top of her stomach. “I know it. Just in the small chance, I don’t want everyone knowing.” She looked back toward the ceiling. “Also, I don’t want all the attention right away. It’s such a small, small town. Something like this will rock the pelican town people to their cores.” She laughed, Shane joining in beside her. “But I promise, when we do tell people, Marnie will be the first to know.” Shane nodded.

“We’ll let her tell everyone else. Makes it easy.” The Farmer snorted.

“Yeah.” She drew circles on his hand with her thumb. “I mean, I guess we have to tell Harvey, for obvious reasons, but I don’t think he can legally tell others.” Shane laughed again, and pulled his hand out from under his wife’s, moving it up from her stomach to her chin. He pulled her face toward his, kissing her softly.

“We’re having a baby,” he whispered, his nose touching hers. The Farmer smiled, and kissed him again.

“We’re having a baby.”

*****************************************************************

Shane couldn’t sleep, far too excited by the day’s news. No matter how long he kept his eyes closed, or tried to count deep breaths, Shane was restless. His wife had fallen asleep over an hour ago and was curled into a little ball by his side, her head on top of one of his arms.

They were having a baby. Yes, it had been something he and his wife had talked about for a while, one day wanting children, but now it was actually happening. He turned his head to look at the Farmer, drooling on his arm, and smiled. They weren’t kids anymore, Shane well into his thirties, and his wife just into them, but it still felt so strange and new and exciting for them to be parents now.

Shane bolted upright, his stomach immediately twisting. The Farmer groaned on the bed next to him, violently awoken by the sudden removal of his arm. She rubbed her eyes with one hand and propped herself up, squinting in the dark.

“Did I sleep through the alarm again?” She yawned. Shane hopped out of the bed, bee-lining to the bathroom. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna be sick.” Shane slammed the door behind him, ignoring his wife’s further questions. He barely had made it to the toilet when he felt it deep within him, the nausea making its way out into the bowl. He didn’t hear his wife come into the room, only felt her hand on his back as he continued to retch. Finally, he laid his head against the bowl, breathing heavily.

“Shane?” He could hear his wife behind him start to speak but pause, unsure of what to say or ask, her mouth just kind of opening and shutting. She laid her head against his back and sighed. “Do you want some water?”

“I’m going to be a dad.” The Farmer chuckled behind him.

“Yeah. I think we covered that a bit earlier.” She lifted her head and resumed rubbing his back. “I’m excited too.” Shane sighed.

“I’m gonna fuck this kid up.” His voice cracked, and he watched as a tear fell from his face. The Farmer paused.

“What?” Shane pulled his arms up onto the bowl, wrapping them around his head.

“I’m a massive fuck-up, and I’m going to fuck up this baby too.” His shoulders shook, an attempt to hold back his tears. “I could barely take care of myself, how am I—” Shane’s voice broke. The Farmer let out a tense breath behind him, and began to rub his back again.

“Shane, no! Don’t say that.” He lifted his head up, and turned to look at his wife.

“I am. I mean, I was worthless. All I did was drink, I hated myself, and for fucks sake, I tried—” Shane paused as he noticed his wife’s lower lip start to tremble and sighed. “I could barely hold myself together until you got here, what, five years ago?” He bit his lip, the tears coming out faster now. “I’m doing good now, but what happens if it all falls apart again?” His voice cracked again, and Shane didn’t bother to hold back a sob.

The Farmer tried her best to pull Shane into her, them both sitting on the floor, but Shane just sat there numb. He wanted to have this life with his wife, a family together, but how could he be a dad? Why did she even want him?

“Shane, please.” He looked over to the Farmer, who was crying, her arms around him. He’d made her cry, husband of the year material! “I think you’re just… you did this when the dog died, too. It’s a lot of information coming in at once, big information. But it’s okay!” Her hands slid down his shoulder, taking his hands in her own. “We’re doing this together.”

Shane let out an indignant snort. “I can’t even handle the announcement, what happens when the baby comes?” His head was spinning. She deserved better. He loved her.

“Shane! You’re okay, it’s okay. We’re in it together, we have each other.” She squeezed his hands, scooting closer to him. “You’re going to be great, okay? You’re not a fuck-up. We all have rough patches, you just didn’t have the support system you needed. Please.” She kissed his temple, but Shane stared straight ahead, toward the wall. He wished he could shrink into a tiny ball.

“I can’t… I can’t mess this up too.” The Farmer pulled his head down to her shoulder, her hands carefully working their way through his hair.

“You’re not going to mess this up, babe. I think you’re just panicking.” She held him close, continuing to quietly stroke his head. “I’m nervous too, but I know I have you.” He loved her, but when she shifted away beneath him, the panic filled his chest again. “I’m going to go grab your anxiety meds. I don’t think you took them at dinner, they might help.” She fully slid out away from him, Shane’s heart beginning to race. The Farmer stood up and stretched out her back. “Now that I think of it, I don’t think either of us even ate.”

Shane felt sick to his stomach, and barely made his way back to the toilet bowl before throwing up again. The Farmer crouched next to him, her hand on his back. Shane could practically feel the concerned look burning into the back of his head.

“Even if I don’t mess up, I’m just passing a damn cocktail of mental illness along.” He sat back on the floor, and used his hand to try and rub away the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. The Farmer above him sighed and sat back down, and wrapped an arm back around his shoulder.

“Babe, don’t—” Shane choked and leaned forward, wrapping his arms over his head.

“It doesn’t even stand a chance, I’ve just fucked it up from the beginning!” He could feel himself hyperventilating, what did his therapist tell him to do? “It’s gonna hate me, I’ve already ruined everything—”

“Shane!” The Farmer’s face in front of his snapped him out of the almost trance he was in, the distraction what his body needed to get in at least one deep breath. She had tears on her cheeks, but her voice gave away no sadness. “Stop it! Calm down!”

Shane leaned forward into her, practically up on his knees now to wrap his arms around her, holding her tight as he cried. She rocked her body, quietly shooshing as she held him, pressing kisses into the top of his head as she did.

“You’re not going to fuck this up,” she said after Shane’s breathing became more regular. “I mean, we’re going to make mistakes. Both of us! A lot. But we’re going to be new parents, it happens.” He nodded, squeezing his eyes tight. “You’re not going to spiral— I mean, now, yes— but it’s not going to get bad like it was ever again, okay? You have me, your therapist, Marnie, we’re all here for you.”

“I love you.” His words were muffled, his face still pressed into her chest. He felt a rumble, a small chuckle above him.

“I love you too. Also, you’re not the only one afraid of passing on bad shit. I mean, my mom is medicated for depression, and I have ADHD.” Shane raised his head, his face even with hers.

“Yeah, I guess.” The Farmer smiled, and reached on her hands up to cup Shane’s face, wiping away a tear with her thumb.

“Yeah, dummy.” Shane smiled and kissed his wife, before pulling back and biting his lip.

“I’m— I’m so excited, I really am.” His eyes met hers briefly, before he looked away again. “I want this with you, truly, I—” The Farmer leaned forward and kissed her husband again.

“I know, Shane. I get it.” They held each other on the floor, their foreheads pressed together. Shane tried to calm himself, breathing in time with his wife. “We’re in it together, alright? We’ve got it.” Shane nodded.

“I know, I’m sorry.” The Farmer smiled.

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be a big change.” She chuckled to herself. “We’ve got nine months, I’m sure this won’t be the last freak out. That either of us have.” The Farmer stood up, and offered a hand to Shane, smiling. “Good luck to you when I have to start buying maternity clothes.” Shane grinned and took her hand.

“What? You’re cooking up a baby in there, you’re gonna grow.” He kissed his wife on the cheek and wrapped his arm around her.

“Oh, I know that now,” the Farmer said, leading the two of them back into their bedroom. “But I’m sure hormone-y me will have to reckon with that later.”

Shane snorted as the Farmer sat down on the bed, and pulled Shane down into her. He kissed her forehead and climbed over, pulling the covers up on his side of the bed. She snuggled back into him, her head resting on his shoulder, but Shane could feel her squirming.

“You feeling better?” Her voice was quiet. Shane nodded, and wrapped his arm around her head.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Her arm snaked its way over his chest, reaching up to hold the side of his head. “You’re gonna be great.”

Shane smiled, and moved his head to kiss the palm against his cheek. “You too.”

****************************************************************

It took Marnie two weeks to figure it out. Something about the way the Farmer was moving, she had told Shane, was different, and trapped him in her kitchen until he confessed. Marnie was over the moon, and promised not to tell anyone, but Shane ran home and told the Farmer straight away. His wife had bit her lip but shook her head, smiling. “If anyone was going to piece it together, it’d be her.”

In Marnie’s defense, it was almost a week before Evelyn congratulated the pair at the general store. Shane watched as Pierre blushed and ducked behind a shelf, but the Farmer thanked her and moved past, reaching for a bag of flour on the top shelf.

“You know, that was a pretty good run, all things considered.” Shane nodded, agreeing with his wife.

“I mean, that has to be a record! What, five? Six days?” The Farmer laughed, and hoisted the last grocery bag up into the truck. She caught Shane’s gaze, and tilted her head.

“What?” Shane realized he had been staring at her, a dopey look on his face. He smiled, face turning pink.

“Oh, nothing!” He hopped up into the truck, his wife following suit beside him. He looked at her again. “I’m gonna be a dad.” She smiled now, rolling her eyes.

“You’re gonna be a dad!” Shane laughed, and started the truck. The two chatted excitedly the whole way back, discussing the future addition to both their home and family.

[snackhobi]

pairing: namjoon x reader / word count: 9.3k / genre: pwp/smut

summary: You’ve been letting your laundry pile up for a little too long. Fortunately, your neighbour Namjoon is there to lend you a hand.

warnings: sexually explicit content, masturbation, edging (kinda), unintentional voyeurism (briefly), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms (f receiving), bigdick!joon, dirty talk, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, overstimulation (reader gets fucked dumb), praise, aftercare (please heed the warnings, and let me know if I need to clarify/add any!)

--

For most people, Sunday is a day of rest. But not for you.

Sunday means chores. Sunday means tidying up, dusting, vacuuming. Sunday means finally doing all the Adult Things you’ve been too busy/lazy to do for the rest of the week (or even longer than that, as evidenced by your overflowing laundry basket). Sunday means work. 

You slap at your vibrating phone, fingers sliding uselessly across the screen as you fumble to cut off the chirping alarm, and then you groan. “Ugh." You bury your head into your crumpled pillow. And then, once more, with feeling: “Uggggggh.”

You roll around in your bed, thrashing a little like a child having a tantrum, before you flop on your back and stare at your ceiling with your limbs akimbo, a starfish.

“Why?” You whine out to no one in particular. “Why me?”

Fortunately you live alone, so there’s no one to witness your sulky behaviour.  You would put off getting all your errands done, but you’ve already been doing this for so long that you’re practically out of clean clothes to wear. That’s one part about living alone that’s a double-edged sword- you have your own space where you can act however you please, which is Great, but also you’re the only one responsible for keeping on top of things, which is Less Great. You can’t rely on other people to get things done for you.

You’ve never been a morning person, and the fact it’s so nice outside already does nothing to brighten your mood; it’s the perfect kind of day, the chilled bite to the air mellowed by the sun in the cloudless, pale sky, and you’re going to have to spend it indoors. Ugh. You eventually grit your teeth and pull yourself out of bed, waking yourself up with a cold shower. Once you force a cup of overly sweet coffee into your system and the caffeine hits you so that you’re fully awake and ready to go, the world suddenly feels a lot more bearable. So you’re unperturbed when your underwear drawer comes up practically empty.

“Oops,” you say. “Oh well.”

It’s practically empty, but not entirely; there, at the back, there’s that pretty lingerie set you’d bought on a whim in a sale and then promptly never worn. Honestly you’d be happy to go without, seeing as no one else is here and you have no one to look pretty for, but you find that you never get anything done if you’re not in a bra. It’s like a Pavlovian response that you've ingrained into yourself: when you get home, your bra comes straight off, no ifs, buts, or maybes. Bra off means it’s Relaxation Time. Bra on? That means it's time to get things done.

But, yeah, if you’re going to wear the bra, you may as well wear the matching thong, right? It came as a set so you’d basically be committing a crime if you didn’t wear them together. You take one moment to admire yourself in the mirror, turning this way and that to appreciate how it makes you look, before promptly ruining the illusion of sexiness by covering it up with a pair of old sweatpants and a too-large tank top. They're the only bits of clothing not in your laundry basket that you don't mind getting dirty while you clean, so, you have to make do.

The worst part about doing chores is getting the whole process started, but you’ve been doing this long enough that you have a routine. Bra on, hair up, mental checklist ready. You toddle through to the kitchen with your laundry basket, picking through for the colours and whites, feeling entirely too accomplished once you get the first load sorted. This kickstarts the whole chore procedure and once you get stuck in, you actually start to have fun; you’ve got your noise cancelling headphones on and your cleaning playlist is full of songs that get you pumped up, and you sing along to the music as you get started on your next job.

You wiggle your butt to the rhythm of the beat while you hoover, pushing your vacuum into the corners of your flat and ruthlessly sucking up the dust bunnies that have gathered there. You're in the middle of belting out one particularly long note when a spider scuttles out from under your sofa and the note rises into a little scream; you act on pure instinct and suck the spider up into the hoover, watching as all the long hairy legs fold together and get schlorped into the vacuum’s nozzle before disappearing forever. You feel immediately relieved but also immensely guilty when this happens- spiders are awful and you hate them but usually you’d try your best to catch them under a cup before flinging it outside, so the fact you’ve maybe just killed it? You really are just awful. (But thank God it’s gone.)

Maybe that's enough hoovering for now.

You empty the dust bag into the bin, mindful of the fact that the spider might still be alive and come crawling out onto your hands. Thankfully it doesn’t, but you’re not going to take any chances; you draw the bin liner shut and tie it tight, before deciding that the best course of action is to put it into your outside bin, in case the spider decides to come back with a vengeance. 

You hoist the bag up and pause for a second to glance down at how the straps of your too-loose top have slipped down your shoulders to reveal the top of bra, the intricate lace trim of the cups and extra straps that criss cross your chest- definitely an, uh, interesting outfit choice for a quick trip out of your flat. You make the executive decision to shrug on a hoodie and zip it all the way to your neck to preserve your modesty and save you from the chill outside. Once that’s done it takes two seconds to slip your feet into your (fake) Converse shoes, another few seconds to fiddle with the lock on your door, struggling with the latch- it’s been a bit janky for a while and you keep forgetting to sort it out- before you hop your way downstairs and  to the outside shed where everyone's bins are stored.

Ewch. It doesn’t smell that great in here. You make quick work of dumping your rubbish and escaping from the hut, shutting the door firmly behind you to try and keep the stench locked inside, before almost falling over when you feel the telltale sensation of a cat curling around your ankles. He’s meowing up at you but your headphones have been drowning him out, so you slide them off your ears and hook them around your neck so you can actually hear him.

"Oh, hi, baby!" The ginger stray likes to hang nearby the building, always friendly and happy to see you, even if he seems to like sneaking up when you least expect it. He meows at you again as you squat down to stroke him, butting his head into your palm as his tail curls in delight. "Aren't you just the most gorgeous boy? Yes, you are, aren't you?"

The cat ends up putting his paws onto your knee to butt his face against yours, and the next thing you know, you have an armful of cat. You laugh and continue to pet him, cooing at how cute he is as he purrs back. "Awh, baby, you're so sweet," you say. "I wish I could take you home, but my meanie landlord says we can't have pets."

“I was thinking of starting a petition, actually, so the landlord gets rid of the No Pets clause in the tenancy agreement. You’re welcome to sign it if you like.”

You glance up from where you’ve been allowing the cat to shove his nose against your chin, standing up straight to address the man who’s talking to you, cat still clutched in your arms. “Oh! Hi, Namjoon-ssi. That’s such a good idea, I love that. Stick it to the man. I’d definitely sign it. How are you today?”

Kim Namjoon, aka your neighbour from across the hall, is smiling at the cat in your arms. Namjoon’s the perfect neighbour and ideal tenant- quiet, tidy, considerate, although he does have a tendency to lose his keys and gets locked out of his flat on a pretty regular basis. 

It’s actually how you’d started to talk in the first place. When you first moved in you’d given him a small box of chocolates to endear yourself to your same-floor-friend, only exchanging small nods and pleasant greetings for a while after that, but after you’d found Namjoon waiting sheepishly on his own doorstep- “My friend has a key but it’s going to take him a little while to get here,” he’d explained- you’d invited him into your own flat to wait, rather than just in the hall. 

Since then you’ve started to have chats whenever you see each other, and occasionally knock on each other’s doors whenever you ask to borrow things like sugar or a screwdriver or whatever, and you always invite Namjoon in for a cup of tea when he’s waiting for one of his friends to rescue him from his own forgetful nature. You’re still toeing the line between Friendly Neighbours and Kind Of Friends, but one thing you already know and admire about Namjoon is his ability to actually be a mature and put together adult. Sure, you drink a decent amount of water, you have a skincare routine with multiple steps, and you usually manage to eat your 5-a-day, but a lot of that feels like you do it because you’re expected to, sort of like a child playing make-believe. 

Namjoon, meanwhile, manages to just ooze the sort of gravitas that comes with being a fully realised human being, someone who actively participates in the world around them because they’re entirely engaged with things and basically just Super Mature Adult (even if he apparently loses/breaks things on a fairly regular basis). Hence why you’re not at all surprised at the petition thing, or when Namjoon proceeds to tell you that he’s going to spend the afternoon at his friend’s uncle’s strawberry farm, picking fruit, because of course Namjoon is the kind of guy who supports local, organic, free range produce. (Wait. Can strawberries be free range? Or is that just eggs?)

“Ahh, I love strawberries! That’s so cool,” you say. “It must be fun.”

“You’re welcome to come, if you like,” Namjoon says. He’s always gracious so you know he’s just saying this to be polite, but you can’t help but think it would probably be really nice to spend time picking fruit and talking with him.

“Ah, I’d love to, but unfortunately I have prior commitments. I’m catching up on chores,” you admit ruefully. You’re still absently scritching the ginger cat’s chin as you speak, the animal purring up a storm in your arms and shedding all over your clothes, although you don’t notice or care. Namjoon is incredibly endeared- not that you notice that, either. “Hence the runway-ready outfit.”

Your hair is so messy it looks like some sort of wild possum has been nesting in it, your hoodie sleeves are so long they threaten to swallow your hands, and you’re not even wearing your cheap knock-off shoes properly- you’re stepping on the back collar of them in your bare feet so they’re basically glorified flip-flops at this point. Total fashionista. (Not.)

Namjoon, however, seems surprised at your dismissive tone. “You look cute and cozy,” he says.

You snort in an unladylike way, lifting the cat in your arms a little- you can’t gesture properly with an armful of fur, especially when the stray takes this as an invitation to crane upwards and shove his little face into the crook of your neck, knocking against your headphones. “Cute baby,” you coo at the cat, before turning your attention back to Namjoon. “You look cute and cozy,” you echo. It’s a little chilly today and Namjoon’s wrapped up, long scarf curled around his neck, beanie on his head, hem of his coat fluttering around his thighs. Super cozy, and again, a well-put-together adult. 

You muffle a sigh. He’s a well-put-together and hot adult, tall and built, so handsome in his casual outfit, effortlessly masculine. You’ve been lowkey crushing on Namjoon for a while now, as futile as that effort is- you haven’t seen any evidence of a special someone in Namjoon’s life, but there’s no way that man is single. Even if he somehow is, he’s like, a bajillion light years out of your league, hyper intelligent and kind and gorgeous, in comparison to your… um… your… well. Yeah. In comparison to that. 

He’s nice to you and he smiles whenever he sees you, though, and your weak little heart can’t help but flip flop in your chest whenever you see that dimpled little smile, even if you know you don’t have a chance in hell that he really thinks that you’re cute. He’s just being polite. 

The cat in your arms gives a little wriggle, apparently sated for the day, and you carefully squat down to deposit him onto the ground. He gives you both one last little mewl before scampering off and you fondly watch him go. “Let me know when you have that petition written up,” you say, brushing the cat hairs off your sleeves. “I better get back to my flat, I need to finish the rest of my laundry so I can continue the facade of being a functional adult. Have a great day, Namjoon-ssi, and I hope you enjoy the strawberries! You’ll have to tell me how they are.”

“I will,” he says, eyes warm as he smiles, those little dimples appearing in his cheeks. Ugh, you want to touch them so much. “Good luck with your laundry.”

Namjoon’s beautiful smile fuels you for the rest of the day, buoying you up as you scrub the walls of your shower and bleach your toilet, bright yellow gloves a size too large for your hands as you spritz your bathroom counter. You might not be a legitimate adult in the same way that your neighbour is but you can give it a damn good go; even if the rest of your life is maybe a bit more chaotic than you’d like, you can at least get your surroundings in order.

And you do. By the time you’re finished with hoovering and mopping your floors and reorganising your clutter, your flat feels brand-spanking new again, fresh and clean and airy. You’d even lit a few scented candles earlier and you give yourself a pat on the back for your forward thinking as you snuff them out, the delicate smell of vanilla lightly filling the apartment. All that’s left is to go to the kitchen and put the final load of laundry in the tumble dryer and once that’s been emptied and sorted, you’re all finished. Mission accomplished. Chores done.

Once the tumble dryer has started its cycle you reward yourself with a cup of tea, a blackcurrant and blueberry fruit infusion that you’d gotten as a Secret Santa gift at work and hadn’t used yet, saving it for a special occasion. You hum to yourself and continue to wiggle your hips to the music trickling out of your headphones as the kettle boils, watching the purple that bleeds from the tea bag once the hot water cascades over it. It looks rich and vibrant and it smells so good- but then you make a little face when you take a sip. Fruit teas never taste as good as they smell. It’s not bad but it’s a little disappointing, really, a subpar reward after a hard day of work. 

You stand in the middle of your kitchen with your mug still in your hand, eyes unfocused as you stare into space, trying to think of things in your flat that you could use to reward yourself. You’ve already used up those fancy gel eye masks that Jimin had given you for your birthday, and you’d let Jungkook have your sheet masks when he’d said his favourite brand was out of stock; Taehyung had pilfered all of your bath bombs as part of an experiment (the experiment being that he wanted to know what colour his bath water would turn if he used all your different bath bombs in it- the answer was ‘an incredibly underwhelming, if glittery, sludge brown’), and he still hasn’t gotten around to replacing them.

Pay day isn’t until next week and you’re tight enough on money at the moment that you don’t want to order out for dinner- living alone means you have to pay more rent so you have to be more careful with money- so you’re out of ideas. 

That is until motion out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. You glance over at it, pulled out of your reverie; the old tumble dryer has been in this flat longer than you and it’s showing signs of wear and tear, base warped a little from age, noisy and wobbly as your clothes are being spun inside. You pause, mug dropping a little in your hand as the thought briefly flickers through your mind, before you bite your lip and throw caution to the wind. Fuck it. You live alone and you’ve had a long day and you deserve some kind of reward. 

You abandon your unfinished mug of tea in the sink before eyeing the shaking tumble dryer. You hoist yourself up, straddling the corner of the machine, a little shiver running through you when you feel the vibrations through your legs and thighs as you settle into place; it takes time to situate yourself, thighs spreading as you tilt your hips forward and press your heat against the rumbling dryer. You shift on your hands, palms braced against the top of the machine as you wriggle into the best position- the second you get just the right angle you let out a little gasp, eyes squeezing shut when you feel how the shaking machine is sending vibrations throughout your entire body.

You keep your eyes shut as you continue to find the right rhythm. You rock your hips forward each time the machine rocks back, rolling the weight of your body down towards your clenching cunt; the vibrations are so strong that you can feel them through your sweatpants, lace of your thong rubbing against your clit in a deliciously rough way, sending little shockwaves of pleasure through you.

As you continue to work yourself up, your skin starts to feel overheated under your clothes, even with the chill spring air seeping into the flat- you fumble with the zip of hoodie, letting the material sag open before you brace yourself with your palms again. You feel how the hoodie slips down your arms, baring your shoulders, and you tilt your head back, revealing the line of your neck as you arch your spine. Each rumble of the machine rolls through you, wetness starting to slicken your folds as you grind down a little harder. It’s a steady, slow climb towards your peak- you shut your eyes to focus fully on the pleasure building between your legs, the way your clit feels swollen and almost over-sensitive from the strong vibrations from the dryer, the way your pussy clenches whenever you get the angle just right.

You start to gasp, biting back moans when you feel how your orgasm is getting closer. You lift one hand from the top of the dryer to run your hands over your skin- your neck, your throat, tracing over the straps of the bra that are digging into the swell of your breasts. It’s good, really good, but it’s not enough; every time you feel like the peak of your orgasm is about to crest, it ebbs away again, and you let out a little whine from the back of your throat. 

With your eyes still shut, you try to conjure up images that’ll arouse you and send you tumbling over the edge. Hands on your body, lips against your skin, your mouth. Normally when you masturbate you try to keep away from thinking about anyone in particular, because you feel like if you see that person in the future they’ll just telepathically know about it and you end up feeling awkward and guilty (even if you know it's illogical)- but today you can’t help it. Your mind slips to the thought of Namjoon this morning and the way he’d smiled at you, and once you start thinking about Namjoon, you can’t stop. 

Namjoon’s smile. His mouth. His tongue. His hands, his fingers. His tall, beautiful body, pressing you down against a mattress, trapping you against him. You take the hand that’s been trailing over your collarbones and lift it to your mouth and press two fingers past your lips, trying to imagine that it’s Namjoon. Imagine that it’s the weight of his cock on your tongue, hard and heavy. You bet it’s as gorgeous as the rest of him. You bet he tastes so good, hot and salt and maybe a little bitter, heady and masculine; you let out a low moan around your lips as you run the pads of your fingertips over your tongue, saliva pooling in your mouth.

All the while, your music has been playing on, heavy beat thrumming through you as you forget the outside world and focus on the reality you’re conjuring in your mind. Namjoon’s cock in your mouth. Namjoon’s mouth on your cunt. Namjoon’s skin against yours. Namjoon fucking into you, hard and deep. Your blood rises in your veins, toes curling as you can feel how your orgasm is getting ever closer now that you’re this turned on, your cunt leaking with arousal; the thought of Namjoon wanting you as much as you want him is dizzying, as unlikely as it is. The Namjoon in your mind fucks into you with a particularly rough thrust and in the real world you respond with a moan, garbled around the fingers between your lips. Fuck, you’re so close. 

Just as you're nearly there, your playlist ends and everything lapses into silence, your reverie shattered. The moment is gone. Your orgasm slips away from you again and you whimper, unintentionally edging yourself yet again. 

Your eyes flutter open briefly when your haze is broken, although you squeeze them back shut so that you can get back to picturing Namjoon and finally bring yourself to completion- but then your eyes fly open again, fingers stuttering in your mouth and hips going still as your entire body stiffens, blood turning to ice in your veins.

The very real Kim Namjoon is standing in the doorway of your kitchen. There’s a look of utter shock on his face, his lips parted, eyes so wide it looks like his eyeballs are going to pop out of his skull, frozen in place. You don’t know how long he’s been there. You don’t know if he’s just walked in on you. Really, though, it doesn’t matter if he’s been there for five seconds or five hours- he’s seen everything, the way there’s saliva dripping from your mouth around your fingers, tank top barely hiding your lingerie, the way you’ve been bucking your hips against the dryer. Utterly desperate and debauched and depraved. 

There’s a small, white plastic bag in Namjoon’s hands with a pretty strawberry logo on it, drooping further and further towards the floor as his arms go slack. You don’t notice it until it’s slipping loose from his fingers and landing on the floor. 

Berries go rolling out of the sagged plastic and across the tiles but Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice. That single point of motion in the room seems to kickstart your brain into gear, your flight or fight response screaming flight, and you practically throw yourself off the tumble dryer. Your brain is entirely empty of logical thought right now and the only thing you can think of is that you need to get away and hide forever. 

You rush past a still frozen Namjoon, stumbling down your hallway towards your open front door- you notice that the latch is stuck, not clicking into place when you’d come back inside earlier and leaving the door unlocked, you idiot. Namjoon always knocks and it must have swung open as soon as he rapped his knuckles against it, and you wouldn’t have heard it over your goddamn music. You absolute, utter idiot.

You’re not thinking about how illogical it is to flee from your own home to get away from someone. You’re just thinking about your escape. Taehyung’s flat is the nearest and it won’t take long to run there and you can survive without shoes; you’re still barefoot but you don’t have time to grab anything. You have to run. 

You’re just stretching out for the door when you feel large hands grab you from behind. You flail, door swinging shut as your fingers brush against it before you’re being pulled backwards by the arms that have slid around your waist. You start to struggle, squirming in the hold, pushing at the hands trapping you as you instinctively still try to get away from the shame and embarrassment; Namjoon’s body is warm and solid against your back, his muscles effectively trapping you in place, and you can feel how his voice rumbles through him as he speaks, audible through the silence of your headphones.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

You’ve never heard Kim Namjoon sound like this. His voice is authoritative, commanding. The part of your brain that acts on pure instinct- the part that just told you to go hurtling out onto the street without shoes- responds instantly, and you immediately go lax in his hold even though you’re still internally panicking.

“I was planning on going to the moon,” you say, unable to cover up how your voice is shaking, even if you’re trying to hide behind sarcasm. It’s your only defence right now. Your skin prickles with embarrassment. “Where else do you think?”

Namjoon lets out a chuckle, and your toes curl at how deep the sound is. “The mouth on you.” He sounds amused. You can’t look him in the eye. “Were you trying to get away from me?”

“‘Trying’ is the operative word.” You’re still staring resolutely at the door- it’s swung shut and the latch has actually clicked upwards this time. Traitor.  “As you can tell, I’m not doing a very good job. The sooner I go, the sooner I get the paperwork started for my move to Fiji.”

“I thought you were planning on going to the moon.” Namjoon’s hold on you is still firm. You’re utterly helpless. “Changed your mind?”

“Going to open a diner in Fiji to raise funds for my moon mission. It’s a long plan.” The spike of adrenaline that had burst through you is already dissolving in your system, leaving you feeling limp and strung out. You can’t see Namjoon’s face with how your back is crushed against his chest; when you glance down all you can see is how big his hands are against your stomach. Despite yourself, you shiver. As panicked and embarrassed as you are, arousal is still trickling through you, and you hate yourself for the effect that Namjoon is having on you right now. You try to sound calm and unaffected as you continue to speak, but you feel breathless from the lingering pleasure tingling between your legs. “Can you let me go now, please?”

“Is that really what you want?” You’ve had your hands on his wrists from how you’d been trying to push them away, so you feel how one of Namjoon’s hands starts to slide downwards, slow as treacle, and your breath hitches as his fingers slide under the waistband of your sweatpants. They don’t go any further than that, palm splayed over your hipbone, but you feel your pussy clench at the warmth of his hands on your skin and a whimper slips out of you. “Or do you actually want something else?”

Your fingers dig into his wrists. When you open your mouth to reply, your words fail you and instead you just let out a little breath.  You’re in utter disbelief at what’s happening right now, unsure of what’s going on- you’re not an idiot but there is no way that Namjoon is implying what you think he’s implying. Absolutely no way. Not a chance in hell. What?

As you continue to stay silent, brain trying to catch up with the situation, Namjoon doesn’t move.

“Use your words, baby,” he murmurs. “I need to know that you want this.”

Oh, fuck. When Namjoon calls you baby it feels like a switch has been flipped inside you; like he’s slipped a missing fuse into place and your entire body has lit up, full of energy and electricity from his touch. It’s overwhelming. “Of course I want this,” you confirm, trembling, and then: “I want you.”

Namjoon responds by finally moving his hand downwards. You watch as it goes, how he pauses when he makes contact with the fabric of your underwear, the unmistakable texture of embroidered lace under his touch. He drags his fingertips across the straps that cross over themselves, an arrow guiding him to his mark; your entire body goes tense when his fingers glance over your swollen folds, slick through the fabric.

You gasp. You’re still trapped against him by the strong arm curled around you, but your hands are free- you pull your headphones off and let them fall to the floor, twisting your head around so you can finally look at Namjoon’s face. His eyes are hooded and dark. He looks nothing like the cute and clumsy man who waves you good morning every day; he looks like some hungry animal, a predator who’s been waiting for the right time to swallow his prey whole.

“Namjoon,” you breathe. He gives you a small smile that’s more of a smirk, utterly at odds to his usual dimpled beams.

“You don’t have to settle for an old tumble dryer, gorgeous.” He kisses the bare skin of your shoulder, right next to where your bra strap is resting, eyes locked on yours. His lips are so soft and you shiver. “Let me help you.”

“I’ll have you know that tumble dryer was very close to getting me off, actually.” You’re so turned on right now but you can’t help the words slipping out; a lifetime of snark doesn’t leave you the second you start feeling horny. “So it’s less you helping me, and more you giving me something you owe me, seeing as you took it away in the first place.”

Namjoon’s silent for a second, and you wonder if you’ve gone too far- if you’ve run your mouth too much- when he hums. “Ah,” he says. “That’s true. You’re right.”

“Huh?” You say eloquently, surprised, but then he takes the hand out of your sweatpants and you whine. “Hey, put that back, you’re not done yet.”

Namjoon lets out a little chuckle. “No, I’m not,” he agrees. “But I want to see this pretty lingerie properly. You’re all covered up and that just won’t do.”  

He punctuates this statement by taking both of his hands to your hoodie, where it’s been caught at your elbows, and sliding it off you. He drags his large palms down your arms as he does this, cool against your overheated skin; goosebumps appear in the wake of his touch and you shiver again. You have no idea what's going on right now. Everything feels like some sort of fever dream but you're not about to start complaining.

“If you’re about to see me in my unmentionables I’d least like a kiss first,” you say, pout audible in your voice. The truth is you’ve thought about Namjoon’s plush lips more often than you’d like to admit, how beautiful his mouth is, and it’s got to be illegal for Namjoon to have been touching you for as long as he has without letting you have at least one taste of his kisses. “Please?”

“Turn around, baby.” You instantly comply, all but throwing your arms around his neck as you look at him with an innocent, bambi gaze; he still has that half-lidded set to his eyes but you can see how that ravenous hunger is softened by his smile. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you say. You might sound like the protagonist to some cheesy romance film right now but the truth is that you’re still aware of the heat between your legs, the ebbed arousal that’s still coiling low in your stomach, and as much as you want to kiss Namjoon, you want to cum, too. “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss m-”

Namjoon kisses you. He cuts you off mid sentence by slotting his mouth against yours, open around the word he swallows, and he immediately presses his tongue past your lips; you yield to him, letting him press his lips to your cupid’s bow as you lick his lower lip, soft and full. Just as good as you thought. No- better. His hands stay steady around your waist, but yours keep moving as you keep kissing- his shoulders, his nape, his hair, his jaw. Every part of him is so warm and solid against you and you just can’t get enough.

You slant your head to get deeper, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths in a way that borders on lewd, rubbing against each other as you trade saliva, your mouth full of the taste of Namjoon. You swear there’s a lingering taste of strawberries. You feel better, a little more in control now that you know Namjoon will indulge you even if you’re being a brat, and you can finally chase the thing that got this whole sequence of events started.

“I wanna cum, Namjoon,” you murmur against his lips once you finally part, breathless from his kisses. “Will you help me cum? Please? Pretty please?”

Namjoon’s lip curls back from his teeth in a silent growl, and a shudder runs through you at the sight; seeing your usually composed neighbour act like this because of you is a heady sensation. “You won’t be able to walk when I’m done with you,” he says, and your pussy throbs with need at his words.

“Jesus Christ, Namjoon.” Your eyes are wild. “I want you to fucking wreck me.”

You get no warning before Namjoon is literally sweeping you off your feet and you squeal in surprise when you feel them leave the ground, but Namjoon’s grip on you is steady as he lifts you in a bridal hold. You feel breathless at this physical representation of his strength- you’ve only seen his bare arms once (that had been a nice morning) before but you definitely hadn’t forgotten about how thick they are, as evidenced by the way he’s carrying you. 

Normally you’d probably be chewing him out for lifting you without warning, but right now there’s a very base, animalistic part of you that goes belly up at the very obvious reminder of Namjoon’s superior power. The instinctual part of you that had initially told you to run away from him now seems entirely content with the fact you’ve been caught, and so you stay quiet in his arms. You cling tight to him as he walks to your bedroom without the need for directions, your flat the mirrored twin to his; you keep kissing his neck as he nudges the door open with his foot, running a hand down his chest, feeling the flex of his muscles through the fabric of his shirt. 

He’s so fucking hot, what the fuck.

He’s hot, and strong, but gentle, too. When Namjoon sets you down he’s so careful even though he could easily manhandle you in any way he wanted, and you give him a kiss as a thank you. It’s a brief moment of quiet, that little kiss, but then Namjoon is pulling you back towards him and his hands are all over as he helps you strip; Namjoon’s eyes are heavy on your body as he drinks you in, finally wearing nothing but the lingerie he’s been so desperate to look at.

He sees the way the interweaving straps rest against your skin with the perfect amount of pressure, little swells letting him know that he’ll be able to trace the touch of lace on your body even after he’s ripped it off you. The lace cups of your bra do nothing to hide how your nipples are standing to attention, begging to be touched. But the most eye-catching thing, the thing that Namjoon can’t stop looking at, is how sodden the lace between your legs is; your inner thighs are slick with your arousal, shining, and you haven’t even cum yet. 

“Look at you. So gorgeous,” Namjoon says. “Gonna make you cum over and over, baby.”

His hands feel so good against your skin as he skims his fingers over your panties, but he doesn’t take them off, and you let out a needy little noise. “Please,” you whine. “I need to cum, Joonie, been waiting so long.”

Namjoon watches as you reach to fumble with the clasp of your bra and reaches for your hands, stopping your motions. You blink up at him, confused, but then he’s turning you towards the bed and bending you over it, motions firm and undeniable; not that you would try to defy him, anyway. You brace your palms against the mattress and instantly arch your spine so that your ass is pushed out, enticing as possible.

You’re wondering if you’re going to have to beg for Namjoon to touch you but it seems what little patience he had has run out; his warm palms are immediately against your ass, touch reverent as he slides his hands over your skin, and you press back into that touch, wanting more of it. His hands skim up your sides and his fingers dance along the edge of your bra before reaching for the hooks, unfastening it so that it slips down your arms and onto the bed before you shove it aside. 

He bends over you, chest broad and warm against your naked shoulderblades, arms coming around your body so that he can cup your breasts in his large hands; his palms cover so much of your skin, your sensitive nipples, and you gasp at the shock of sensation that shoots through you as he drags his hands over them before using his fingers to pinch the hardened nubs. You twist your head and make a little noise, and Namjoon obliges you with a kiss, grinning against your mouth with each desperate sound he muffles with his plush lips.

Eventually, though, he pulls away from you. You glance over your shoulder to see that he’s gotten to his knees, still staring at your soaking core, before he hooks one of his thumbs into the fabric covering your aching pussy and pulls it aside before pressing his mouth against you.

“Oh, fuck!” Your body goes weak and you slump forwards onto your elbows and shove your face into the bed, and Namjoon follows when this moves you away from him, tongue buried in your cunt as he eats you out with no mercy. He’s utterly shameless, noises slick and lewd as he drags his wet tongue over your entrance and clit, swallowing down all the arousal that’s leaking out of you, ravenous. You reach behind you with one of your hands to grip his hair, and when you grind back against his face he lets out a satisfied hum; you gasp at the vibrations against your lower lips, oversensitive from all your edging.

“Gonna cum,” you say, twisting your head so that your cheek is pressed to your rumpled blanket. “I’m so close, oh, God, Namjoon-”

He’s been rubbing his tongue up and down your clit in a particularly sinful way, and after one more particularly hard stroke, you finally, finally reach that precipice you’ve been reaching for all day. You shove your face back into the blanket as you cum, all your gasps and moans coming together in one long cry as your toes curl and you tighten your fingers so hard into your sheets you almost pull them off the mattress. Your entire body trembles as your cunt pulsates with pleasure, each ripple of your pussy feeling like it’s passing through your whole body, and Namjoon doesn’t let up for a second, lapping down each wave of cum that flushes out of you. You feel utterly weak as you flop forwards against the mattress, boneless and shaky, but Namjoon’s mouth is still on you and you let out a whimper, oversensitive.

“It’s too much,” you gasp. “Namjoon-”

He takes his mouth off you immediately. “Sorry, baby,” he apologises, pressing a kiss against the swell of your ass. You want to sag your lower body against the bed but his hands are keeping you up, fingers digging into the soft skin of your ass and hips. “You just taste so good. Can you lie down for me?”

“Yes,” you say into the blanket, your voice a muffled slur. You’re so eager to please him even though you feel so weak from your post orgasm haze, and your muscles feel like jelly as you try to lift yourself onto the bed. Namjoon obviously notices how fucked out you are because he helps flip you over so that you’re on your back, staring up at him.

You continue to stare at him as he sheds his clothes. You let your gaze shamelessly rove over his body as it’s revealed- the honeyed tone of his skin, the muscles that shift underneath it, his shoulders, his arms, his chest, the long legs, the thick thighs, the trail of hair that dips down to his-

“Holy fuck.” Your voice is reedy with desperation, and Namjoon laughs.

His cock has to be the biggest you’ve seen in real life, long and thick, fully erect even though you haven’t touched it yet- the fact that you’re apparently arousing enough to bring him to full hardness is flattering, honestly. Even as you stare at it, it twitches, a dribble of precum oozing from the flushed head, almost an angry red from neglect. You watch, enraptured, as he circles his fingers around it; it doesn’t look any smaller in his large hands. He pulls on his cock, long and slow, before he spits onto it and fucks into his fist as you watch him, spreading the wetness over himself.

“Gonna fill that hungry little pussy with this cock,” he says. “Gonna give you a reward for being such a good girl. Is that what you want?” Namjoon watches you as he thumbs at his slit, precum weeping from his tip. “Does my good girl want this cock?”

“I want it,” you beg. You do, you want it so bad. His mouth and lips and tongue felt so good but it must be nothing in comparison to how good it’ll feel to be filled up  by Namjoon’s heavy, long cock. “Fuck, Namjoon, please, I want it.”

You lift your hips so that Namjoon can slide your panties off you. He stares at the strings of wetness that cling to them as he peels them away from your core, finally bare to the cool air of the room, and you suck in a breath. He wastes no time, climbing onto the bed and settling above you, cock swaying between his legs before he grasps it and tilts it towards your entrance. 

You lift your hips again, tilting them towards him for an easier angle- and immediately cry out when he broaches you, head pressing past your entrance. You’re so turned on and flushed wet that the initial slide in is easy, but as he gets deeper and deeper you can feel the stretch, your pussy forced open for him, feeling like you’re being split open with how big he is- you’ll feel the burn tomorrow, but right now your body is ripe and ready for him to take you, cunt clenching as he bottoms out in you. You experimentally tense your muscles and the two of you gasp in a breath, shocked pleasure at the sensation.

“Fuck, baby,” Namjoon groans. “You feel so good.”

He holds still for a moment to let you adjust, leaning down to kiss you. It’s deep and slow, tongue swiping into your mouth as you part your lips for him and let him take what he wants. When he leans back, all that softness is gone- your legs fall apart as he starts to fuck you, hips snapping forward as he ruthlessly presses his cock into you. He’s so big and he’s striking so deep it feels like you can feel him in your stomach, and you arch your back into him and cry out each time he strikes home.

The pace he sets is rough and aggressive, the slap of skin against skin and wet noises from his cock driving into your pussy filling the silence of the room, every part of you hypersensitive to every sensation- Namjoon’s weight pressing you into the mattress, the shaking bed, the rising smell of sweat and sex, the firmness of his hands on you. He leans back and you catch a glimpse of his hungry eyes before he puts his hands under your knees and hitches your legs up so that you’re practically bent in half when he fucks into you again- you cry out at the change of angle, how this lets him splay his large hand over the line of your hipbone as he starts to rub his thumb across your clit, continuing to fuck into the whole time.

“Gonna c-cum again,” you hiccup between thrusts, the air punched out of you each time that hot cock spears into you. “Joonie, gonna- gonna cum aga- oh!”

Your spine arches as your orgasm rips through you, coil of pleasure exploding like a firework as you cum for the second time that day, walls tensing around Namjoon’s cock; he continues to thrust into you, even when your cunt clenches so tight it feels like there’s no space inside you for his length. He keeps forcing your body open for him even as you keep falling apart around him, and you keep taking it, loving it. The only thing you can register is the delirious, mind-numbing satisfaction, sobbing out as Namjoon’s cock continues to fill you- you feel like he’s fucked you dumb, like your body was only made to be fucked by him, sloppy and open and wet. Each time he fills you up again it forces a noise from your throat, sounds of almost animalistic pleasure spilling from your lips, all semblance of coherent words gone.

When Namjoon pulls out of you, even though your body feels weak and limp and entirely fucked out, you whine at the loss. The next second, though, he flips you over, nudging your ankles apart before sliding back into you. The change of angle has him dragging against your sweet spot, balls slapping against your clit, overwhelming off the heels of just cumming, but you just take it, drooling into the pillow as your brain gives over to the all-consuming pleasure.

“So pretty when you cum around my cock.” Namjoon’s bent over you, murmuring praises that you barely register as he litters kisses over your shoulders and the side of your throat. “Greedy little pussy takes my cock so well. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Wanna be a good girl for you.” Your words are a slur, your brain foggy but eager to please, answering the question. “Joonie.”

“Gonna fill you up so good,” he says, lips pressed against your ear as he whispers filth to you, still mercilessly fucking into you. “Gonna fill this pretty little pussy with my cum. Do you want my cum, baby?”

“Wan’ it,” you moan. There’s heat curling in your abdomen again, pussy tightening as another orgasm creeps up on you, the promise of Namjoon’s hot cum filling you pulling you closer to the edge. “Want your cum, Joonie.”

His fingers tighten around your waist as he starts to jackhammer into you. His cock feels like it’s splitting you open even as his rhythm starts to falter, and after one particularly hard thrust your eyes roll back in your head as you tumble over the edge again, cumming so hard it’s a wonder you don’t pass out. You let out a strangled moan and Namjoon curses as you tighten around him, your entire body trembling under his hands as you give yourself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through you. 

His rhythm falters before he lets out a shout and his cock jerks inside you as your tightening cunt pulls him into climax. Hot cum fills your pussy as he empties himself inside you, aftershocks of your orgasm drawing his seed deeper, painting your insides. You lie there and take it, face turned into the pillow as you focus on the sensation of his twitching cock, the way your body is milking him even in your exhaustion, like it’s desperate to satisfy him even when you can barely speak.

You shiver when you feel him slowly pull out. He’s stroking his hands over your skin, kissing your shoulder blades and nape as he turns you over, gentle as he touches you. “You did so well,” Namjoon praises, smiling at you. “So good for me.”

You still feel fuzzy but you latch onto Namjoon’s words as he kisses you on your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. Words seem so hard to string together right now but you try your best, voice small and weak. “Did good?”

“Absolutely perfect, baby,” Namjoon says, and you let out a happy sigh. You stay quiet while Namjoon slips out of your bed before returning with a damp cloth. You let your muscles go entirely lax as Namjoon rolls you onto your back and gently spreads your legs; he watches as his own cum drips out of you before he gently swipes the mix of cum that’s smeared across your pussy, mindful of your sensitive clit. You bask in his touch, feeling like a cat bathing in sunlight as he cleans you up, stroking his hands across your skin.

He gathers you in his arms and continues to murmur praises between kisses and touches. You slowly come back to yourself as he keeps lavishing attention on you, skin warm against his, turning into his touch as your brain starts to flicker back on. 

Namjoon brushes his lips against your forehead as your higher thought processes continue to fall back into place, although you’re still a little hazy. “You okay, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah.” You feel thoroughly fucked out after three back-to-back orgasms and your pussy feels raw and you’re not sure when you’ll next be able to walk in a straight line, but none of those things detract from how fabulous you feel right now. “More than okay. Wow. When I said I wanted you to wreck me, I didn’t realise you’d do such a good job.”

Namjoon smiles at you, and you finally get to indulge yourself, lifting a hand to stroke a finger across his dimples that deepen as you touch them. “I’m always happy to oblige,” he says, and you grin as you brush your nose across his neck, nuzzling into him.

“You really are the best neighbour,” you say. “Did you seriously come over to give me a bunch of hand picked strawberries? That’s what that bag was, right?”

“Of course.” Namjoon’s fingers continue to rub circles into your shoulder. “I thought you deserved a nice treat after a day of chores.”

“Oh, I feel very thoroughly rewarded,” you giggle, before pulling your head back to look Namjoon in the eye. “God. I was so mortified at the beginning, though. I seriously thought I was going to have to pack my bags and move away.”

“The strawberries wouldn’t be enough to persuade you to stay?” Namjoon strokes his knuckles down your cheek before resting his thumb under the swell of your bottom lip, pushing up a little so it looks like you’re pouting at him. “After I spent all afternoon picking them and thinking about you, and how lovely you’d look while you ate them with this pretty little mouth of yours?”

You relax into his touch, letting him rub the pad of his thumb over your lip, all but kissing his finger each time your mouth shapes itself around another word. “You think about me?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Namjoon says, stroking over your lip one last time before cupping your chin in his palm.  “I don’t genuinely lose my keys as often as you think I do. Though I do still lose them a lot,” he adds, a little sheepish, and you laugh.

“So you’re saying that if I give you a spare key to my flat, I should have back-ups on hand just in case?” You tease, leaning into the hand that’s cradling your chin. “Good to know.”

“A spare key?” Namjoon looks a little taken aback, and you blink at him.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s obvious. “Y’know, unless you want me to go back to using the tumble dryer.”

The hand that’s been on your shoulder tightens a little as Namjoon digs his fingers into your skin, possessive. That part of you that’s gone belly up for him preens at the attention, still eager to please him and make him happy, loving the sensation of being so desired by someone who you thought was out of your reach. “No.” Namjoon’s voice is a rumble in his chest. “I’ll make you cum whenever you want, sweetheart.”

“Mm.” You hum quietly before kissing his cheek, and then Namjoon uses the hand under your chin to turn you towards him and presses his mouth softly to yours. “You might regret saying that. I’m very demanding. Starting with this- do you want to go get those strawberries so I can have a taste?” You flutter your lashes at him, and Namjoon chuckles as he indulges you. 

You watch the flex of muscles in his thighs and ass as he walks from the room, still in a bit of disbelief that you’ve touched him and kissed him and been so thoroughly fucked by him. Kim Namjoon is a ten course meal (not including drinks or dessert) but here he is, naked on your bed as he feeds you the sweet, ripe strawberries that he picked with his own hands, kissing the taste off your lips between each bite.

You feel utterly pampered and taken care of, reclining against the pillows as Namjoon feeds you another strawberry. You reach out for the largest you can see and return the favour, letting him lick the sweetness off your stained fingers and giggling at the sensation. 

“The dryer’s finished its cycle, by the way,” Namjoon says after he’s finished kissing your fingertips.

“That’s nice,” you say as you carefully pick out another strawberry and rest it against the dark red flush of Namjoon’s lips. “But I’m busy feeding the world’s most beautiful man right now, so it can wait.”

Namjoon smiles at you, eyes lovely and warm as he parts his lips to accept the fruit, before leaning down to press his berry stained mouth against your own.

[journalxxx]

By Hook or by Crook (4)

Oh God, there’s another one.

The thought came unbidden to Toshinori’s mind, and it engulfed him in the closest thing to pure dread he had felt in years. It had taken two centuries, the sacrifice of seven One For All users, and two of his own major organs to take down a single All For One wielder, and now a brand new one had somehow sprouted right in front of him.

Now. Now that he had finally decided to tackle the hurdle of entrusting a relatively stable Japan to a successor, now that he was weaker and less capable than ever of defending it from a new threat. Now that the deadline of Nighteye’s prophecy was drawing closer and closer. His own gruesome death on the battlefield, and the sudden reappearance of All For One’s quirk. The unavoidable connection between the two facts almost robbed him of his breath.

Toshinori couldn’t tear his eyes away from the boy’s hand. It looked diminutive in comparison to his own, and completely inoffensive. It had the soft, unblemished appearance that suited someone who had never hit anything bigger than a fly, whereas the hero’s skin had long since been roughened by calluses, and his joints slightly thwarted by the occasional fracture. Yet, that single, unassuming dimple in the middle of its palm made it more potentially destructive than a hundred of Smashes combined.

A sort of choked whimper made Toshinori finally raise his gaze. He realized he had stopped trying to school his expression only when he saw his own strung-out stupor mirrored in Midoriya’s features. 

“I-I… Sorry, I r-really have t-to…” The boy took a step back, his hand slipping from the man’s grasp, then he suddenly turned on his heels and motioned to sprint away.

“Hey, hey!” Toshinori reached forward, grabbing Midoriya’s wrist by sheer reflex. He had already wasted enough time and energy chasing slimy villains and rash teenagers all over the town that day, thank you very much. “Where are you going?”

Midoriya froze on the spot, as if shocked by an electric current. His arm was rigid in Toshinori’s grasp, pulling away from it but without any real conviction. His head turned slowly towards the hero but not fully, letting him see only half of the boy’s face. The unmistakable terror etched in those wide eyes made something constrict in Toshinori’s chest.

“I-I’m… I’m so sorry…” The boy’s voice was down a trembling, barely audible whisper.“I didn’t mean to d-do that… I’ve never… I won’t do it again, I swear, j-just…” 

Midoriya’s free hand hovered over the hero’s, maybe having half a mind of prying it open, but he didn’t even dare to touch it. Toshinori let go of him immediately. The kid wasn’t expecting it, judging by his flabbergasted expression, and all he did with his regained freedom was backing away from him with a couple of uncertain steps, bumping into a nearby electric pole with his backpack and just standing there, pretty much like a cornered mouse cowering before a lion.

The sight jolted Toshinori back to reality with brutal efficiency. God, what was wrong with him today? He was handling this abysmally. That was no two-hundred-year-old manipulative slaughterer, that was a child. A child rapidly working himself into a panic, if his onsetting tremors were of any indication. Ironically, the realization grounded Toshinori even more. Frightened victims and distraught relatives were a daily occurrence in his line of work, and his professional composure slipped back in place almost subconsciously.

“You don’t need to apologize. Quite the opposite. You saved everyone. The hostage, the bystanders… even me. I’m not sure I’d have had the energy to keep up appearances after another smash.” He put up his hands and showed his palms with slow movements, keeping his voice low and level. “You did nothing wrong back there.”

Midoriya slowly slumped down the pole, his limbs huddled in a distressed heap. He blinked quickly as his eyes shied away from Toshinori’s, hands bunching up the fabric of his trousers nervously. “...I-I can give it back. The quirk. I want to give it back to its owner.”

“That can be easily arranged.” Something about the whole situation was nagging at Toshinori, but he pushed that feeling aside for the moment. The boy wasn’t holding himself in any way that hinted at specific injuries, but fear could be one hell of an anesthetic. He gazed up and down the road, finding it completely deserted. He still felt slightly abuzz with the adrenaline rush caused by his second encounter with the sludge villain and the recent revelation of Midoriya’s quirk. He gauged that he could probably (possibly, maybe, hopefully) abuse One For All for another twenty seconds or so if need be, just the time to scoop up the boy in his arms and power run back to the ambulances at the site of the accident. That was likely to cause even more distress to the poor kid though, so he’d rather hold off on it unless clearly necessary. “Are you sure you aren’t in any pain?”

“I-I’m f-fine.” The boy wiggled the backpack off his shoulders and rummaged through it shakily, a few tears rolling down his cheeks and his hiccups becoming harder to contain. “I’m fine…”

“Hey, kid. Look at me. Deep breaths.” Toshinori finally ventured a step and a half towards Midoriya, squatting at a reasonable distance to his side instead of right in front of him, to make sure he wouldn’t feel too crowded. Toshinori offered him a couple of tissues (always plentiful in his pockets) while the boy tried to regain a semblance of calm. “It’s all right. I am here.”

That got the boy’s attention. The catchphrase had slipped out of him automatically, without his trademark panache or blinding smile or overflowing optimism, but Midoriya looked at him like he’d been thrown a lifeline nonetheless. The dam broke and big, shiny tears erupted from his eyes as he accepted the tissues and buried his sobs in them. They remained like that for a while, the kid quietly working through his sniffles while Toshinori sat cross-legged on the dusty asphalt, reminding him to take his time whenever he got a little fidgety.

“Sorry if I spooked you.“ Toshinori eventually offered with a small smile, after Midoriya had finally settled down. “I’m a little out of it myself, today. Not the most auspicious first day in my new neighborhood, but what can you do?”

“Uh? Do you mean you’re moving here?” Midoriya asked while he accepted the fourth tissue and wiped away the remaining dampness from his face.

“Mh-hm.” After the debacle on the rooftop, this didn’t feel like too much of a sensitive bit of information to share. Besides, the kid was a fan, so maybe throwing him a bone would help him relax a little more.

“Why? Isn’t it inconvenient for you? I thought you lived in a penthouse above Might Tower, in Tokyo’s Minato Ward, Roppongi 6-12-”

...Ah, he was that kind of fan. Obviously. “Indeed, but I’ve decided to move to… broaden my professional horizons, so to speak.”

“Oh! Are you planning to open a branch of your agency here? Or are you joining some local long-term operation?“ That spark of morbid curiosity in the boy’s eyes made Toshinori regret bringing up the topic in two seconds flat.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can say on the matter, everything’s still under tight wraps. You’ll hear all about it from the news, eventually.” He stood up and patted some dirt off his hands and pants. “Do you live far from here? I’ll walk you home if you’re feeling better.”

“Oh, uh…” The boy gaped at him in surprise. “Thank you, but there’s no need for you to go out of your way! I’m fine, really!”

“Think nothing of it.” Toshinori hooked three fingers under the strap of the boy’s backpack and hauled it over his own shoulder. It hit his back with unexpected oomph. What did kids even put in those things, weren’t textbooks all digital these days? “Clearly this isn’t your lucky day either. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing that you reached your house safely without being run over by a truck or abducted by aliens.”

The joke got a half-smile out of Midoriya, at long last. He held out his hand to the boy to help him back on his feet. The obvious hesitation and near disbelief he couldn’t hide before gingerly accepting the proffered hand gave Toshinori another small wave of unease. There was definitely something strange about all this, aside from the obvious. He gestured for the kid to lead the way, and they set off towards their new destination.

Toshinori granted him a few minutes of silence before breaching the pivotal subject. “So… you have quite the interesting quirk.”

“...Mh.” Midoriya visibly stiffened. So it had been the quirk talk to give him cold feet, rather than a generic reaction to the day’s stress...

“Why didn’t you use it against the villain the first time he attacked you?” Toshinori asked, opting for a more roundabout approach.

“Ah… I’m sorry. I really should have. You wouldn’t have had to waste your power if I’d-”

“Forget about me! Why didn’t you use it to defend yourself? Did you panic?”

“Uh, well, not too much.” The kid shoved his hands in his pockets and dropped his gaze to the ground, his voice lowering to a droning mutter. “I can take quirks, but I don’t automatically learn how to use them. The villain’s quirk looked like it may be difficult to handle. What if I couldn’t maintain a solid form and just turned myself into a puddle of goo? What if some parts of my slime got detached from the main body during the scuffle, and I found myself missing chunks of flesh upon turning back human? What if the sludge was only an outer layer over my body, and without fine control I ended up drowning in it? Stuff like that… I should have just taken the villain’s quirk without activating it, but I was afraid that he’d get even angrier and he’d just beat me up anyway. I’m not, uh, strong. Or fast. At all. I didn’t consider that he might freak out long enough for me to run away…”

Toshinori blinked. “...Sorry, how long had that guy been harassing you before I showed up?”

“Oh, not long at all. Twenty or thirty seconds, I think.”

“And you went through all of that in twenty seconds. While being ambushed and choked.”

Midoriya just shrugged.

“That is… some quick thinking, all right.” Toshinori commented. He omitted the fact that it was a brand of quick thinking that was more likely to get you killed rather than saving your skin during an emergency. Apparently Midoriya would hesitate to protect himself from a violent attacker, but he’d run for the hills the moment the Symbol of Peace gave him a bit of an odd look. The kid’s fight-or-flight response was all over the place.

“I would have used my quirk to fight back eventually, if you hadn’t arrived so soon… probably…”

“...But?” Toshinori encouraged, sensing the unspoken addition.

“But… not many people know about my quirk. Very few, actually. And I’d like to keep it that way. If it’s possible.”

“Why?”

“...It’s not a good quirk.” Midoriya frowned, hunching his shoulders a bit. “One could do really bad things with it.”

“I could squash a man’s skull with my thumb and level a city block with a punch.” Toshinori countered plainly. “It doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

“It’s… it’s different. You can choose to use your quirk only for good, but mine requires…” The boy trailed off, then hazarded a glance at the hero. “You know what I mean. You understood as soon as I told you, I saw it.”

Toshinori couldn’t argue on that point, unfortunately. Still… 

There could be a perfectly innocent explanation for Midoriya to wield All For One. For one, it could be a different quirk altogether, one that simply mimicked Toshinori’s nemesis’, but that wasn’t quite the same, maybe with some unmentioned limitations (although the palm marks made for quite the uncanny similarity). Moreover, much like look-alikes, duplicate quirks between unrelated people weren’t unheard of, although said quirks were usually quite simple ones, like basic physical enhancers or elemental emitters.

What really bothered Toshinori were the boy’s evident sense of guilt and fear of exposure. Virtually any moderately powerful quirk could be employed to ‘do really bad things’, but hardly any children grew up to be so blatantly scared and ashamed of their own abilities. Family and school usually nurtured a degree of confidence and trust in their own capabilities. Toshinori’s knee-jerk reaction was a byproduct of specific knowledge and experience, but Midoriya’s? If only few people knew about his quirk, it must mean he hadn’t used it much, if at all, in the past, ruling out peer pressure as well. What explanation, what innocent explanation could there be for such a strong negative bias, aside from knowledge and experience he wasn’t supposed to have?

“At least your parents know about your quirk, I hope?”

“My mother doesn’t. My father… isn’t really around.” Toshinori couldn’t decide if that last bit of information was a good or a bad sign.

“So… who did you tell?”

“Just one friend and my father.” Ah, we had one likely culprit then. A father that was around but not really. Suspicious. “And now you, I guess. And… everyone who saw what I did to that villain… including the police…” Midoriya looked just about ready to dig a ditch and roll in it. 

“Well, as I said, everyone seemed to think I took care of the matter, so-”

Midoriya shook his head, utterly demoralized. “Kacchan will tell them.”

“Kacchan?”

“Ah, the hostage. He’s my friend, the one who knows about my quirk. I don’t think he’ll lie to the police for my sake.”

“Ah, I see. I hadn’t realized you two were acquainted.” Toshinori offered him a supportive smile. “I guess that explains your burst of heroism.”

“...No one else was doing anything. I saw you among the crowd, but… I thought you couldn’t help.”

The boy had an almost tortured expression, which reignited the deep-seated guilt that had plagued Toshinori in those harrowing minutes. “...I thought I couldn’t help either.” 

“But you did jump in though. Even though… it hurts you?” Midoriya scanned him from head to toe in concern, as if looking for unnoticed signs of damage. “Why?”

“Why did you decide to intervene, despite your fear?”

“I… I just couldn’t let my friend suffer because I messed up.”

“Well, there you have it.” Toshinori simply said. The boy stared at him thoughtfully, apparently weighing his words carefully, before nodding slowly and resuming his perusal of the ground. Toshinori let the silence stretch for a minute. There was still plenty he wanted to ask, especially regarding Midoriya’s father, but-

“I really do want to give the quirk back.” The kid mumbled. “Should I just… go to the police and ask them? They’ll come looking for me anyway, I guess, but…”

Toshinori pondered the issue for a moment, then he pulled his phone out of his pocket. The least he could do was make this whole ordeal as smooth as possible for the kid. “I think I can help with that. Give me your number. I’ll text you to let you know when we can visit the villain. If we’re lucky, it may be as early as tomorrow.” 

Toshinori registered the boy’s contact information as they entered a quaint residential area with neat little rows of numbered buildings, pleasantly tinged with the warm hues of the sunset.

“Ah, that’s where I live.” Midoriya said afterwards, pointing at a nearby apartment complex. “Thank you for everything, All-”

Toshinori shushed him with a sharp gesture as he gazed around the street nervously. “Please, don’t call me that when I’m in this form.”

Midoriya froze, then bowed respectfully. “R-Right! Thank you, sir! I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble, and taking so much of your time, and-”

Toshinori waved the upcoming barrage of apologies off and bid him a good evening, waiting for the boy to leave. Which he didn’t do.

“Uhm.” Midoriya pointed at Toshinori’s shoulder with an awkward smile. “I need that…”

Oh, right, backpack. “Whoops, there you go.” He tossed Midoriya’s belongings to their owner and watched the kid bustle up the stairs of the building and into one of the apartments. Then he fetched his phone and picked the third number on speed-dial.

“Tsukauchi? Do you have a moment? ….Ah, fine, thank you. Listen, can I drop by your place this evening? Something’s come up and I’d rather not discuss it on the phone… No, but definitely worth looking into sooner rather than later…”

He hung up a couple of exchanges later, after agreeing on the time for the meeting. Toshinori decided he had enough time to make his way back home, shower and have some sort of passable dinner before ruining his friend’s evening. And then he would head back home and he would sleep, even if he had to repeatedly bash his head against a wall to achieve that. He inhaled deeply and let out a long-overdue, exhausted sigh. 

What a day. 

Hopefully tomorrow wouldn’t be quite as taxing.

“THIEF”

Izuku was stuck on the spot, his feet and ankles wrapped in a thick layer of sludge that stretched on the ground as far as the eye could see. The faint light filtering from both ends of the underpass gave it flickering, changing hues, now green like bile, now brown like vomit, now black like tar. It smelled like sewer and dirty toilets. 

“BASTARD”

The slime clung to the walls of the underpass, climbing on them as if endowed with its own will. It crawled up higher and higher, and then went on to expand onto the ceiling. Its surface boiled and squirmed producing disgusting squelching sounds. Izuku looked away from the revolting goo-coated structure he was boxed in, he looked towards the exit, hoping that something, someone would show up to drag him out of that hell.

“GIVE IT BACK”

Someone emerged from the sludge, a few meters ahead of him. A man. A flabby, hairless, mucky man, with haunted eyes and a mouth open in a silent scream. He sweated slime, cried slime, drooled slime, from every orifice and every pore of his body. He waded towards Izuku slowly, an arm extended before him as if to grab him. Izuku couldn’t stand that sight either. He aimed his gaze at the ceiling, right when a huge bubble of gunk popped right above him, and chunky dollops of filth splashed on his face, into his nose and mouth.

“OR I’LL RIP IT OUT OF YOU”

Izuku coughed and heaved, trying to expel the repulsive substance from his pipes, but two cold, slick hands clamped around his throat, trapping it in his body. He could feel the ooze drip down into his lungs, his stomach- he could feel it wiggle and push, like a living parasite trying to break free from the flesh constraining it. Izuku scrambled to tear the man’s hands off him, but those too melted under his fingers like the same fluid that was everywhere, closing down on him, choking him, pulling him apart from the inside-

 Izuku woke up with a whole-body lurch that nearly sent him rolling off the bed, sweaty and breathless. He took in the familiar shadows of his room, and the red numbers of his alarm clock floating in the darkness at his eye level. 

6:20 AM.

Izuku turned on his belly with a frustrated groan, sinking his face into the pillow. Sure, he’d had a pretty harrowing day yesterday. It was bound to leave him a little shaken and maybe disturb his sleep for a while. But seven nightmares in the span of as many hours seemed slightly excessive. Especially seven instances of the exact same nightmare, sentient goo and Munch-like villain and all. The boy fumbled blindly for his phone to check if he’d received any new messages in the last fifty-five minutes. He hadn’t, of course. He prayed that All Might would contact him soon, it didn’t take a degree in psychology to guess the nature of the ‘unfinished business’ his subconscious was so keen on grilling him about.

He stared at the screen blankly, wondering, for roughly the hundredth time, if he should call his father. On one hand, he very probably should. If the man had deemed that little scuffle with Kacchan emergency-worthy, surely a mess this humongous in size warranted a call as well. On the other hand… Izuku didn’t really want to. 

The previous night’s news broadcast had covered the sludge villain incident rather haphazardly, it being a relatively contained accident with no serious consequences or injuries. Izuku was sure they had bothered to touch on the fact in the first place just because All Might had been involved, and the number one hero would receive prime time coverage even for something as trivial as being spotted buying soda at a convenience store. Curiously, Izuku hadn’t been mentioned at all, not even indirectly. Kacchan had been named and shown as the victim, the other heroes had been acknowledged, but All Might had been appointed as the sole person responsible for the resolution of the mishap. Not a word about any irresponsible middle schoolers joining the fray.

Izuku had taken it as a promising sign. All Might had likely interceded for him with the police and obtained a modicum of discretion about his involvement, at least in regards to the media. The hero had been so very understanding the previous day - just thinking about it made the boy almost tear up anew. He had barely reacted to the shocking revelation of his quirk, he had tolerated his unseemly outburst, he had spoken to him as if… as if Izuku was just another innocent victim caught up in a bad situation, rather than a potential menace. He hadn’t hesitated even for a second to offer him his hand, despite knowing the threat that Izuku’s own hands posed. He had… he had made him feel safe, and trusted. He had allowed Izuku to hope that maybe, just maybe, this whole thing could be fixed, that Izuku could handle it with his help, even without subjecting his father to undue sniveling.

And, objectively speaking, what could Izuku’s father do at this point? Izuku doubted that, regardless of his governmental position, the man could prevent the truth from spreading once it had reached both the police and the number one hero. Izuku could make an educated guess about his reaction too, and it wasn’t all that encouraging. It was too late for stern recommendations about secrecy, or for disappointed sighs and gratuitous snark about Izuku’s blind faith in All Might’s mediation skills. And, to be perfectly honest, Izuku dreaded the possibility of finally and completely alienating the sympathy of the one person that had supported and advised him for his whole life, in his own peculiar way. Yes, it was childish of him. Yes, he would have to tell his father anyway, eventually. But he’d rather do it after the matter had been settled, hopefully for the best, and after he’d had a little more time to gather his thoughts and figure out how to word it a little less unfavorably for himself. So, there. It was the 28th of April too, he could wait another day or two, at least. No biggie.

By breakfast time, Izuku had reviewed the issue three more times, had another nightmare, and accepted the fact that this was going to be a long day. 

School went by in that typical hazy fashion that was the result of intellectual activities synergizing poorly with a sleep-deprived brain. Izuku kept eyeing Kacchan warily throughout the first three classes, harboring the half-baked notion of addressing yesterday’s events. He regretted doing it the very moment he opened his mouth to greet him during recess.

“What?” Kacchan growled without sparing him a single glance.

“Uh, ah, I…” How are you was one possible conversation starter. A bad one, for sure. Worrying about Kacchan’s well-being implied that he may not be okay, which implied weakness, which invited aggression as a counter-argument. Did you tell anyone else about what I did yesterday was downright rude, as if Izuku’s quirk was more important than his friend being almost murdered. In fact, any reference to the villain incident was a minefield. Braver classmates than Izuku had already made their inquiries during homeroom, and Kacchan hadn’t taken kindly to their snooping. This really was a bad-

“WHAT?” Kacchan barked, turning sharply towards Izuku and banging his fist on his desk for emphasis.

“Uh, nothing! Just saying hello! Hi! Bye!” Izuku fled the classroom without looking back before Kacchan decided to force-feed him his own shoes.

The first bit of good news of the day reached him during lunch, under the guise of a text.

Hey kid! We can drop by the police station this afternoon at 5 if you’re free

Izuku brought up the virtual keyboard to reply, but he stopped with his finger poised over the screen. He blinked at the unlabeled string of digits identifying the sender.

He had All Might’s phone number. One of many, probably. Definitely one of the lowest priority lines. Or maybe just some sort of burner phone for communications with civilians only. Still. He had All Might’s phone number. All Might was texting him. The realization made him half-choke on his rice.

Should he save it? Would that be a breach of confidentiality? Even if he used a not-too-obvious handle? N1? SP? AM? Ante Meridiem? ...That would just make it more suspicious, wouldn’t it? He’d just… commit it to memory for now. In case he ever needed it again. For purely altruistic reasons.

Sure, I’m free! Thank you very much for the help!

Izuku’s phone chimed again a couple of minutes later.

We’ll come pick you up at your place

That ‘we’ raised a small wave of anxiety in Izuku, but he willed himself to suppress it. He couldn’t expect All Might to shield him from any and all interactions with the force. It’d be fine. He could handle this.

The perspective of visiting the villain revived Izuku’s attention for the remaining lessons, only for him to crash back into fidgety inactivity as soon as he got home and found himself without anything to do for almost two hours before the agreed time. Homework was out of the question, he was too distracted. He figured a nap would be the most inoffensive way to while away the time while also recovering some higher brain functions. And so it was only with a mild heart attack that Izuku was roused by the ringing of the doorbell at 4.50 PM.

“Young Midoriya! Good afternoon!” Even at a glance, Izuku could tell that All Might was in better shape than the previous day. He stood a bit straighter, his smile was a bit wider, his hair was slightly less chaotic. He was also wearing slacks and a button up shirt that, while still dramatically oversized, made him look a bit less like a phthisic hospital runaway. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes! Thank you so much for going out of your way to take care of me!” Izuku declared with a rigid bow to All Might and to the other man standing by his side - definitely a detective, judging by his stereotypical trench coat.

All Might patted the man on the back with an even bigger grin. “This is Naomasa Tsukauchi, my favorite detective on the force! You may speak freely before him, you won’t find anyone more trustworthy in the whole of Japan!”

“A pleasure to meet you, Midoriya.” Tsukauchi politely removed his hat and shook the boy’s hand with an amused smirk, a sign that he was probably familiar with the hero’s odd choice of an introduction. He then peeked behind Izuku’s shoulders towards the inside of the house. “Isn’t your mother going to join us?”

“Ah no, she had a doctor’s appointment booked for today. It’s fine though, I’ll just send her a text to let her know where I’m going.” Izuku had warned his mother that he may have to visit the precinct soon. He had had to justify his singed and grimy school uniform the day before, so he had told her that he’d been marginally involved in the sludge villain incident, and the police was likely to want to collect his statement on the matter. It was only by pure chance that the news broadcast hadn’t outed his abridgment of the facts.

“Ah… We were hoping to have a few words with her too, actually.” Tsukauchi glanced at All Might, whose eyes darted briefly between the detective and the boy.

“I… may have forgotten to mention that.” All Might scratched the back of his neck with an apologetic grimace. “Well, I guess it can’t be helped. We’ll catch up with her another time, if necessary.”

Izuku had the sneaking suspicion that being All Might’s favorite detective came at a price. Tsukauchi just sighed, before regarding him with a gentle smile. “Well, if you are sure you don’t mind coming with us all by yourself…”

“I don’t mind at all!” Izuku hurried to reassure them. 

A minute later he was in the backseat of Tsukauchi’s speeding car, typing a message to his mother and struggling to suppress a monstrous yawn, courtesy of his interrupted nap.

“Tired?” All Might asked, intercepting his gaze in the rearview mirror.

“A bit. I didn't sleep well last night.”

“Ah, I know that feeling.” The hero’s expression mellowed in sympathy. “I’m sure you’ll rest more easily once this is over and done with.”

“I hope so.” Izuku pocketed his phone and gazed at the moving buildings out of the car window, mostly just to break eye contact. Somehow All Might’s open kindness felt undeserved, especially for something as trivial as a bunch of spooky dreams. He focused on more urgent matters. “So, uh… how are we going to do this? Does the villain know I’m coming, will I explain things to him? Will you, uh, keep an eye on things from outside or accompany me...?”

“Well, we were thinking of throwing you into his cell, locking the door and letting the two of you fight for dominance and ownership over the quirk- “ All Might grinned widely in response to Izuku’s exasperated gape.

“Yagi!” The detective reprimanded him, only mildly scandalized. The name bounced a few times around Izuku’s brain, plain and mystifying at the same time.

“Sorry, just trying to lift his spirits.” 

“You have nothing to worry about, it’ll be perfectly safe.” Tsukauchi provided, clearly having a much better understanding of the state of Izuku’s spirits despite knowing him for a scant ten minutes. “The villain will be in his cell and we will escort you inside, of course. You won’t really interact with each other, as he’ll likely be deeply asleep.”

“Asleep?”

“Yes. The apparent loss of his quirk has upset him greatly. He’s barely spoken since we took him into custody, and he’s spent the whole night in severe emotional distress. We would have transferred him to a hospital this morning if you hadn’t agreed to help so promptly. As things stood, we simply had a doctor prescribe him a strong sedative. Hopefully he’ll settle down spontaneously after you return his quirk.”

The man’s words weighed on Izuku’s heart like a ton of bricks. Damn, that was… horrible. He’d been holding onto someone else’s quirk for barely a day, and it had already caused that much sorrow. That wasn’t how Izuku’s power was supposed to be used. It would never be, as far as he was concerned.

“I’m sure he will.” All Might commented, all traces of humour vanished from his demeanor. “Don’t worry, kid. It’ll be a matter of a minute.”

Izuku nodded, and didn’t speak again for the rest of the trip. When they reached their destination, he let All Might guide him towards the detention area of the complex while Tsukauchi wandered off somewhere else, probably taking care of the bureaucratic side of things. He reappeared relatively soon, and they entered one of the cells all together.

The cell was small and mostly barren, furnished with only the most essential goods and surfaces for a relatively short stay. Idly, Izuku wondered what systems they had in place to prevent a… slippery criminal such as the current occupant from escaping from toilets or sinks. Surely they were prepared to- he realized he was spacing out. He should just get on with it.

The villain was indeed sleeping, huddled in a small foldable bedding on the floor. Izuku had barely caught a glimpse of the man’s human form the previous day, yet he was identical to how he’d envisioned him in his dreams. His subconscious was just that observant, apparently. It suddenly occurred to Izuku that he hadn’t even asked for the man’s name yet. The news broadcast hadn’t reported- he was procrastinating again. Just do it, Izuku.

The boy glanced questioningly at the detective, who made a small gesture to indicate that he was free to proceed. He approached his assailant and crouched beside him. The villain’s hand was sticking out from under the blanket, next to his head. Izuku rested his palm against the back of it, and simply willed the quirk out. 

Just like that, it was done. Izuku stood up and stepped back as the man’s body swiftly changed its texture and color, morphing and rearranging itself until a vaguely man-shaped, green heap of goo had replaced the slumbering human. The villain remained dead to the world throughout the entire process.

“...I’m done.” Izuku whispered, quite redundantly. He peered back at the two men at the opposite side of the room, and he didn’t miss the quick, sharp side-glance they’d just quietly exchanged.

“Thank you very much for your cooperation.” Tsukauchi said with the utmost honesty once they were again in the hallway. “While you’re here, would you mind if I collected your statement about the incident? It won’t take long, we already have a clear picture of the situation thanks to All Might.”

“Uh… Okay.” Izuku had hoped, rather optimistically, to skip that part, but he had no reasonable excuse to refuse. Tsukauchi led them to an empty room a couple of corridors further ahead, and held the door open for them. All Might lingered on the threshold.

“May I sit in?” His question was aimed at Izuku for some reason, rather than at his friend. 

“Of course!” Izuku confirmed, when both adults just stared at him in silence, clearly waiting for his permission. The hero thanked him with a small nod and an equally small smile.

They all sat around the desk in the middle of the room, Tsukauchi on one side, and Izuku and All Might on the other. It struck Izuku as a little strange, automatically expecting the two upholders of the law to face him side by side. He wondered if it may be a setup for some sort of good-cop-bad-cop routine. Not that either of them seemed especially suited to the latter role. Tsukauchi was very much the embodiment of professionalism, and All Might… All Might looked especially non-threatening in that moment, almost meek. He was sitting very tidily, big hands folded in his lap and long legs pressed against each other, occupying a remarkably small space considering the size of his frame. It made Izuku straighten his back and sit more neatly by reflex.

The questioning did proceed very smoothly at first. Tsukauchi let Izuku narrate his version of the events without interrupting at all, just humming and jotting down a few lines in his notepad now and then. All Might was just as unobtrusive, volunteering a sentence or two when Izuku happened to stumble on his words, or when he openly allowed him to recount the little scene on the rooftop, since the detective was already in on the big secret. Smooth sailing all round, until the point when Izuku had to bring up his quirk.

“On the subject of your quirk… when did it first manifest, exactly?” Tsukauchi asked.

“A little less than two years ago.”

“Ah, you’re quite the late bloomer! And you’ve only shared that fact with your friend Bakugo and your father, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And your father is one... Hisashi Midoriya, right?” Tsukauchi fished out a sheet of paper from the folder he’d retrieved before beginning the interrogation. He slid it across the table so that the boy could read it.

“Yes.” Izuku blinked, an undefined sense of unease gripping him all of a sudden. “...Why did you bother printing his personal details?”

“You’ve been filed as quirkless in the national registry after a routine medical examination when you were four years old. Your registration hasn’t been updated since then, as far as I could ascertain.” Tsukauchi explained calmly.

“Y-Yeah. I know.”

“...That is a punishable offense, I’m afraid. An accurate quirk registration is mandatory for all citizens.” Tsukauchi’s expression softened when Izuku utterly failed to hide his dismay. “This has no consequence on you, as minors aren’t expected to take care of these things by themselves, especially since quirk recording is often carried out when they’re extremely young. Your mother bears no blame either if, as you say, she’s as clueless about it as the rest of the world. But if your father knew and neglected to sort out the necessary paperwork for so long-”

“Oh.” Oh. Oh crap. Izuku had never thought of that. Why on earth had he never thought of that? Why, in almost two years, had he never considered the legal implications of all that secrecy? Why hadn’t his father? “Are you going to press charges against him?”

“Not yet. We’re at least going to get in touch with him and hear him out before taking any further steps.” The detective gave him a genuinely reassuring smile. “But even if we did, there is no cause for concern. These bureaucratic hitches are usually settled with a small fine.”

“I-I see.” Izuku gulped. He wasn’t going to wait until May. He was going to call his father as soon as he was alone. This probably wasn’t going to snowball into a lengthy legal conundrum, but still…

“What’s his occupation? I’m reading ‘administrative assistant’ here, which is a bit generic…”

“I don’t know much about that. He works for the government, I think, and he always says that all his activities are classified, so I try not to pry... Too much…”

“That is very judicious of you. I wish you could teach some of that tact to my sister…” Tsukauchi sighed, only half-jokingly. All Might let out a low chuckle at that. “Does your father know that you’ve been so reserved about your quirk so far?”

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t find it odd in the slightest?”

“...No.” 

“Why do you think that is?” Izuku was suddenly very aware of both adults observing him quite intently. He really didn’t want to make things look any worse for his father. He could… slightly reframe the truth, maybe.

“I, uhm… Mine is a bit of a unique quirk. Difficult to use without, uh, stepping on other people’s toes. And I’ve been quirkless for most of my life, and… it’s no mystery that I envied other kids a lot because of that. I was worried that my schoolmates could be wary of me if they knew that I could… act on that envy now.”

Tsukauchi hummed, twirling his pen slowly between his fingers. “I can understand your concern. But quirk counselling is specifically designed to help children cope with such issues, and you’ve been missing out on it because of this extreme discretion. Your father should have realized he was doing you more harm than good by letting these fears fester in your mind.”

Izuku dropped his gaze on his father’s profile sheet. Detective Tsukauchi had a point, but… the matter was more complicated than that, as well as intricately intertwined with his father’s job and the troubled history of their quirk, and… Izuku didn’t want to delve into any of that at the moment. 

“We’ll definitely schedule some counselling sessions for you in the future, I’m sure you’ll find them beneficial.” Tsukauchi hesitated. “...Did something catch your attention?”

Something did, in fact. Izuku was idly skimming through the content of his father’s profile, and a couple of details were giving him pause. The first was, unsurprisingly, his father’s listed quirk. Fire Breathing.

...nor do I have it printed in bold letters in my personal documents…

Yeah, Izuku wasn’t going to bring that up. The other thing, a little more surprisingly, was his photo.

“Oh, it’s nothing, just… I haven’t seen any photos of my father in a long time.”

“You haven’t seen ‘any photos’ of him?” Tsukauchi cocked his head curiously.

“Yeah… I’ve never met him in person, he travels a lot because of his job and he never has enough time to stop by. I only know what he looks like because of an old photo my mother showed me. I haven’t seen it in years too, so…”

“Only a single photo, uh? And this picture here doesn’t strike you as familiar?”

Izuku observed it more closely... No, he was surely mistaken. “No no, there’s… there’s definitely a resemblance. Mine was a very old photo, taken before I was born. And it wasn’t even a photo of him specifically, he just happened to be in it, at an odd angle and in the middle of a crowd… I’m sure this one is more accurate.”

“Are you still in possession of that photo, by any chance?” All Might chimed in unexpectedly, his bright eyes narrowing slightly.

“Yes, I think so… Hang on, let me check.” Izuku fetched his phone, opened the internet browser… Crap, it really had been a long time since he’d looked at the thing. Back then, he’d saved the file his mother had passed him on a free online storage site that… hopefully still existed? He hadn’t used it in at least four years. Was his account still active? Could he even retrieve the credentials with his current email address? “Uh… Actually, I don’t think I can get it right away. But I printed a copy of it once, it should be at home… somewhere…” Stashed in one of those boxes of old notebooks and magazines on top of his wardrobe, right? Or had it been thrown away when they had moved to their current apartment…? He fiddled with his phone with growing discomfort, acutely aware of the utter unhelpfulness of his babbling.

“We’d certainly be grateful if you could retrieve that photo for us, when you have a minute.” All Might finally conceded, taking pity on Izuku's floundering.

“Sure! I’ll try to find it as soon as I get home.”

“Much obliged.” Tsukauchi flipped quickly through his folder. Izuku was about to ask why the mention of that photo had sparked their interest so much, when Tsukauchi put Hisashi's file back into the folder and closed it with a snap. “Well, I think we’ve covered everything. Again, you’ve been immensely valuable to us, Midoriya.”

Izuku let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. All Might positively beamed at him and flashed him a thumbs up, which was its own, heart-warming reward. They all stood up and made to leave, when Izuku remembered he owed the two men a proper thanks.

“Ah, I really appreciate that you used your influence to… to get the papers off my back. It was… unreasonable of me to ask, but I  really  appreciate you humoring my hope for discretion anyway. I hope that it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”

Tsukauchi and All Might traded a puzzled glance. 

“We did nothing of the sort, kid. What makes you-” All Might stopped, as if struck by a sudden thought. “Ah! You did mention it yesterday, didn’t you? That you were expecting your friend to expose your quirk…”

“Yes. I… I imagine Kacchan told the journalists, and you took care of, uh, correcting his version?”

“No, no, there was no need to.” All Might waved his hand dismissively. “Your friend didn’t mention you at all. He was on the verge of fainting when you rushed in, he’d been strenuously fighting back against the villain for a while by that time. He was too exhausted to notice your intervention, and you bolted immediately afterwards. He never realized you were there.”

Izuku’s jaw dropped half-way open, but he shut it immediately with an audible click. 

“...Ah.” Kacchan hadn’t realized. The bystanders hadn’t realized. The police hadn’t realized. All Might hadn’t really realized. That meant that no one, no one, would know about his quirk right now… if he hadn’t gone and spilled the beans about it himself. If he hadn’t dumped an unnecessary confession to the number one hero out of sheer, emotional anxiety.

...Boy, that next phone call was going to be one for the ages.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

I don't really fancy established relationships but i love drawn out onesided pining, so maybe something about seeing Lestrade at work at the station or at a crime scene, being the right mix of disheveled & professional

(You and I are very different people; but I will do my very best because a good pining is a fun time)

Mycroft stands at the edge of the scene and twitches when the first few raindrops hit his collar. He opens his umbrella without thinking and lifts it to protect him as his gaze falls back to the scene.

Or, Lestrade on the scene, to be more correct.

He's standing several dozen meters away, lit up by the high-powered mobile lights from forensics. His shirt is in a state, wrinkled and creased. This is his third scene in nineteen hours, Mycroft knows, because this is the third scene he has been to as well. Someone is targeting informants to some of Mycroft's lower colleagues, and they're moving swiftly. Mycroft's people, led by Anthea, are working the angles they have. Sherlock is buried in information to find the angles they do not see. Lestrade is doing what he does the very best: being the boots on the ground.

Mycroft watches Lestrade yawn hugely, then turn and say something to a tech that makes the tired man flash him a brief, amused smile. Lestrade scrubs a hand over his hair, then looks up, squinting as the rain hits his face. It's nothing more than a light misting, truly, but Mycroft steps forward anyway, pleased at the people who nod at him in recognition. Lestrade had been insistent that his people know Mycroft on sight so he could move as easily as needed at these particular scenes, and Mycroft appreciates as always how well Lestrade understands what people need.

"Detective Inspector," Mycroft says when he's a few meters away. Out of Lestrade's personal space but close enough to be easily heard.

Lestrade holds up a finger. "Two ticks," he says, flashing Mycroft a quick look to see his agreeing nod.

Mycroft watches Lestrade walk over to Donovan and have a brief conversation. The tension in her shoulders loosens minutely, and she flicks Lestrade on the chest in a friendly fashion that makes him grin.

Oh, that grin, Mycroft thinks. Such a dangerous weapon on the wrong man. Possibly even more dangerous on the right one.

Lestrade squats down to look at what Anderson is photographing, then he's back on his feet, working his way across the scene to the constables keeping watch at the tape. He says a few words, hands three cigarettes to one of them, laughs quietly at some reply, then leaves them to their work.

Mycroft is somehow certain the constable only requested a single cigarette, but Lestrade would never hand over one when he has several. It is yet another sign of the goodness of his heart. The goodness of the man.

"Mycroft," Lestrade says when he finishes his circuit and comes to a stop in front of Mycroft, hands jammed in the pockets of his trousers, his coat pushed back off his hips due to the stance. It makes him one very lovely masculine line from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes. The mist is just starting to flatten his hair, but the water makes it glimmer, and Mycroft cannot believe how devastating the mere existence of this man is to his being.

"I was going to offer you a bit of protection," Mycroft says, tipping his umbrella slightly forward. "But I am not sure you'll feel its use now that you've gotten damp."

Lestrade takes his hands out of his pockets and shakes his coat by its lapels. Water droplets fly off to the sides. "Waterproof," he says, "so I'm pretty dry overall. But I wouldn't say no to a little head protection while we compare notes."

"Certainly," Mycroft says. He steps forward at the same time as Greg, and they meet perfectly centered under Mycroft's umbrella. For a moment, all Mycroft can catalogue is the warmth that radiates from Greg's torso, the tiny cut on his chin where he nicked himself shaving, the scent of bitter, burned coffee that clings to his collar.

"Same as the others," Lestrade says, reaching up and pushing his hair backwards through his fingers. It makes it stick up more.

Mycroft gets a brief hint of mint and lavender shampoo mixed with the smell of new rain, and oh, that's new. The addition of the water to that smell that Mycroft has known for what feels like a very long time. This is what Lestrade would smell like in the shower, Mycroft thinks, and then blinks the thought away. "Stabbed through the back of the neck with signs of torture pre-death?" Mycroft asks to keep his mind focused on the present.

Lestrade sighs deeply, and there's sadness in his eyes. He feels every death he investigates, Mycroft knows, but he also carries that weight with a grace that Mycroft has very rarely seen. It is cousin to the grace Lestrade has that has him taking a moment to cheer his team. To give three cigarettes to a random constable. A relation to the grace Lestrade showed Sherlock and then Mycroft the day they all met.

Mycroft has been unquestionably and foolishly in love for a very long time. There is no other way to be in the face of a grace so casual given by a man so effortlessly beautiful.

"Yeah," Lestrade says. "How's it going on your side of things?"

"No updates, I'm afraid. And nothing from Sherlock."

Lestrade quirks a smile, then a small, dry laugh. "So, he has nothing, or he's hared off and doing something stupid."

"I would hope Dr. Watson would inform us if that were happening, but he is...occasionally unreliable."

Lestrade smiles at Mycroft, wide and amused, the flash of happiness in his eyes making Mycroft feel like he can't breathe at all. "John's entirely reliable. He will always be by Sherlock's side when he's being a fucking berk."

Mycroft huffs a laugh. There's warm annoyance and fondness in Lestarde's tone. Signs of friendship and care. Of sincere concern and affection. "I cannot argue against your accurate description."

The rain suddenly comes down harder, switching from mist to a proper downpour. There's shouts of displeasure from the scene techs, all rushing to try and preserve what they can. Mycroft is not surprised that Lestrade does not dart away to help. He is a man with a keen sense of when he's useful versus when he's not, and he will only be in the way as the techs rush with precise teamwork to cover the scene in sheeting.

"Shit," Lestrade mutters, pulling his coat around him and tying it closed. "I know we haven't found fuck-all at the other scenes, but the possibility we just lost something is going to hit the team right in morale."

"You will overcome it," Mycroft says. "Your people knows you will not blame them."

Lestrade looks at Mycroft, gaze flittering over his face. Mycroft stays still, allowing his face to stay open and readable. There's a shift to Lestarde's gaze when their eyes meet. From curious to pleased, and then from pleased to...Mycroft isn't quite sure.

Or, he is sure but he fears that to put a name to what he's seeing will mean it will go away.

Lestrade takes a half-step forward, just enough that they're truly close together under the protection of Mycroft's umbrella. "What do you see when you stand here and watch me?" he asks.

Mycroft takes a moment to answer. His heart is thundering in his chest louder than the rain hitting the umbrella just above their heads. "Everything," he finally says because it's the truest answer.

Lestrade nods slowly. He glances over his shoulder and takes in the scene. "Scene's basically useless now," he says. "But I need to check a few more things. When I'm done," Lestrade turns to look at Mycroft again, "me and you, let's get a pint. Warm ourselves up a bit and get a breather. Been a rough couple of days."

Lestrade's face tells Mycroft everything. It's not just a pint. Not just a chance to wind down with someone who understands the strain of being in charge. It's exactly what Mycroft saw and was afraid to name. Hope. Interest. Curiosity. Warmth.

"I'll wait in my car," Mycroft says. He tips the umbrella towards Greg. "Please make use of this."

Greg takes the umbrella. He gives Mycroft one more warm look, the hint of a smile, and then a sharp nod. "Ta," he says and walks away.

The way his shoulders and back straighten as he makes his way back to Donovan makes Mycroft feel warm even as the rain drenches him. He'd relaxed with Mycroft, comfortable to show a bit more of himself.

Mycroft walks briskly to his car, ignoring Anthea's amused look when she sees how wet he is. She shifts her umbrella so it covers them both.

"Any change, Sir?" Anthea asks.

Mycroft snorts at the utter flatness of her tone. Anthea cuts him an amused look. "Not in regards to leads," he says and lets her read on his face that, yes, there has been one change.

"Shall I fetch your spare suit from the boot?"

Mycroft glances over his shoulder. Greg has left the umbrella with Donovan and is making his way around without it. Were he a Renaissance painting, Mycroft thinks, his grace would glow around him like a lantern. "I am sure the heat in the car will be adequate," he says. He will never have Greg's grace, but he is very curious to try it on in some small way. They'll both be disheveled and damp when they sit down for their pint. It warms Mycroft to think of it.

"Very good," Anthea says with a blank look that laughs at his romantic fancy as she opens the door. "I assume we are waiting for the Detective Inspector to join us."

"Yes," Mycroft says. "Thank you."

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Custody Battle - "Harm"

The ritual of Propagation has succeeded. Aziraphale and Crowley prepare to welcome the newborn soul entrusted to them into their home. But Gabriel has other ideas.

In this week's chapter, Gabriel meets with another potential ally, while Aziraphale attempts to directly confront his growing fear.

Read on AO3!

--

It was only a little difficult to step into the living room, to look at the bookcases still in slight disarray after Crowley’s cleaning, or the fireplace poker now resting firmly beside the front door. The scent of cologne in the air was hardly noticeable at all.

Aziraphale glanced to the side to find Crowley watching him, jaw tight. “You know what I’ve been thinking?” The demon hurriedly stepped into the middle of the living room, surveying the space around him with his hands hooked into his pockets. “We should redecorate. Change things around. Been meaning to for ages—it’s been almost five years. New perspective might do us some good.”

“I… I suppose.” Aziraphale sank into an armchair. “But there isn’t much we can do differently, I should think.” The sofa and chairs took up the bulk of the space, and were arranged most efficiently around the fireplace, all but his favorite reading chair angled comfortably towards the television.

“Ah, just means we need to be more creative. What do you think, is it a bit dim in here?” A click of his fingers added an extra window to the front and back of the cottage, shifting the existing ones to make space. All four immediately threw themselves open, curtains drifting in the breeze. “That’s better. A little mood lighting, too.” Another click brought a dozen fat squat candles in decorative dishes, popping fully lit all across the mantel, atop the book cases, and on almost every flat surface in the room. The air quickly filled with the scent of apples, cinnamon, a hint of pear blossom, a dash of cloves. Spice-rich, almost sickeningly sweet, and strong enough to make him dizzy nearly to the point of nausea.

With a smile, Aziraphale pushed back to his feet and wrapped an arm around his husband’s waist. “That’s quite enough, my dear.”

“Nh. Sorry.” Crowley looked suddenly embarrassed. “I just… you said… I was trying to help. M’sorry, Angel.”

“Sorry?” Aziraphale smiled. Almost laughed, but the weight in his chest still held it down. “Dearest, it was a wonderful thought. I’m touched.” He kissed Crowley’s cheek. “But unless you want us to suffocate, three candles is more than enough.” He waved his hand, cutting out three-quarters of the scent just as it was reaching the point of being overwhelming.

Now that he was here, though, Aziraphale was reluctant to go back to his seat. He pulled a little closer, burying his face in Crowley’s shirt, nuzzling at the still-loose collar and taking a deep breath. Crowley hadn’t worn any scents the last few days—they’d been far too preoccupied to think of such things—but he could still detect a trace of rose and bergamot, a hint of lavender from the previous night’s bath, and below that, the unmistakable smell of woodsmoke and burnt matches that always lingered on the demon’s skin.

He didn’t comment on it. Crowley hated the smell, said it reminded him of Hell and sulphur pits and everything he wanted to leave behind, but to Aziraphale, it smelled like home.

Read the rest on AO3!

[whitefawnn]

blood letting (pt. 3)

(c!wilbur x reader)

spoilers for 4/29 stream

pt. 1   pt. 2 pt. 4 pt. 5   AO3

warnings: manipulation, vampires, swearing, gas lighting, threats

note: Read the Warnings

not heavily proof read also,,,

Wilbur stormed out that day, jaw clenched, he didn’t spare me any words after the kiss. I thought I had learned how to live without him due to the months spent apart but knowing the distance wasn’t created by one of us being 7 feet underground made me feel sick. The danger of Dream escaping loomed around every corner. I warned Tommy, and he subsequently he spared me words of Wilbur’s state. Saying he rambled about Dream being his hero, the image made me feel woozy, almost enough to make me faint. I didn’t tell Sam. Maybe it was because I didn’t want him to hunt down Wilbur. Maybe I couldn’t bear to be the cause of his death or, if he was lucky, imprisonment.

I hadn’t been well since the night with Wilbur, my body still reeling from the blood loss it wasn’t able to recover from, I had been too anxious and high-strung to keep down food. A static forever lingered on the edges of my vision, my skin becoming increasingly pale. I wasn’t a pretty sight and I tried to avoid looking in the mirror whenever possible, eyes glued to the porcelain counter of my bathroom. 

I jumped as a shrill sound, high-pitched and disorienting, rang in my ears. I quickly covered them with my shaky hands, stumbling out into my living room. The radio that sat on the kitchen counter was the source of the insufferable crying. The message began then, my stomach sinking.

EMERGENCY ALERT. EMERGENCY ALERT.

A PRISONER HAS ESCAPED THE PRISON, ALL RESIDENTS IN CLOSE PROXIMITY ARE REQUIRED TO LOCK THEIR DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT LET ANY STRANGERS IN. STAY AWAY FROM ALL ENTRANCES UNTIL ANOTHER ALERT IS ISSUED WHEN THE PROBLEM IS RESOLVED

The message continued to repeat as I desperately reached to unplug the metal box. I felt my heart begin to race as it slammed into the ground; Pieces of machinery now littered across the tile floor. Suddenly I was dizzy, my vision becoming black, my thoughts hazy. The metallic shards dug into my knees as I fell. The last thing that crossed my mind was that I never had the chance to lock my door.

I awoke to the rattling of the door nob then the subtle creak of it swinging open. I was paralyzed by fear as I slowly strayed back into reality, I don’t think I would be able to move even if someone wasn’t breaking in. I rolled my ankles, trying to regain feeling.

 “They really left their door unlocked?” a male voice questioned. I tried to focus on where the footsteps went as the sound trailed closer. My body ached as I struggled to get up; my hands stiff as I laid them flat against the cold floor. Fuck just get up. I pleaded with my body as I attempted to push myself. Every limb felt full of lead.

“Hm, what do we have here?” it was Dream’s voice that came from behind me. I weakly groaned, giving up on remaining hidden from the terrifying figure that loomed over me. “y/n, tch tch. You left your door wide open, and what a sad sight you are.” He leaned down next to me. “Where’s Wilbur, hm?” he asked now close to my ear. My eyes were closed tight, but I dared to look at him. His face was littered with fresh scabs and healed over scars, his iconic mask nowhere to be seen. One of his eyes was bruised purple and green, yellow spread across his face from the focal point of the severe black eye. His pupils seemed impossibly small, and his hair had become unkempt having grown into a crude mullet after his time spent in the prison. 

“Wilbur,” I whined out once again desperately trying to push myself to my knees, I winced, the metal under me digging into my shifting body.

“Wilbur-” he mocked me with a laugh. “I think you owe me too, y/n. I brought you Wilbur didn’t I?” a wave of nausea came over me. My body seemed to realize what danger I was in giving me the little strength it took to scurry away from the over imposing man. He grinned at me, squatting down on the heels of his feet. I felt like a caged wild animal.

“Dream?” I watched as his face feigned relief at the voice.

“Wilbur!” Wilbur. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Thought you would be here to see them, but I guess I beat you to the punch hm?” he was now standing above me, my back pressed firmly against cabinets.

“Are they here?”  Wilbur strode over to stand by Dream, his features immediately softened when he looked down at me. He rushed to my side, hand caressing my face. “Hello, darling.” he cooed at me “you don’t look so good” I numbly nodded, leaning into his touch. Wilbur didn’t look so great himself, his hair was wild and his skin made him seem sickly. Yellow peaking out and overpowering any pink that could have been there if not for the low lighting. He looked one good hit away from dying if I’m being honest.

“We need to leave, lover boy. I have horses from Techno tied up in the back. You are a wanted criminal now, keep that in mind when you think about wasting time here.” Dream’s face was one of disinterest as his eyes remained locked on the wide-open door. “5 minutes,” he mumbled, leaving the two of us alone. Wilbur pulled me up from the ground and into his arms, sitting us both on the couch like we had days before. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into the crook of my neck. I breathed in the smell of his hair relaxing into his arms. The closeness of our bodies communicative without words. I felt relieved to see him, but I couldn’t ignore what he had done.

“Wilbur, Dream he,” I went over the things he had done in my head while staring at Wilbur’s form. I pursed my lips. Did Wilbur freeing him make him complacent in those actions, in hurting my friends? What did it make me?

“I know, I know, dear.” he dismissed me. “We have to go with Dream. We are gonna go somewhere safe.” I tilted my head as he pulled away from my neck. His wine eyes intense, body rigid. He leaned towards me again, face a few inches from my own. I felt apprehension at the intimacy. He seemed out of it, his expression far away and blissed out. “You smell so good, darling” he muttered pressing his face into my hair. “Fuck, I’ll be right back” Wilbur gently set me on the other side of the couch rushing to the bedroom, He came out with a bag. 

“What’s that?” I inquired still feeling as faint as I had in recent days.

“Just some of your clothes,” he waved away my concern “we have to go” 

“Go where?” he shook his head. 

“Dream knows, we just need to get out of here.” Wilbur pulled my hand, getting me up from the couch. 

“But my home.” I mumbled, shuffling my feet.

“We don’t have time for this, y/n.”

“We’re leaving so many people behind and for what, for Dream?” I argued, yanking my hand out of his own to point at where Dream was waiting. Emotions built in my chest as I glanced around the small comfortable house. Memories painted in every corner, things I didn’t want to leave behind. 

“No,” he gritted his teeth, snatching my hand back and using it to tug me towards him, only a few inches from his face “because I’m fucking wanted, y/n. This isn’t for Dream, this is for us.” he spoke with his jaw clenched, his sharp canines more visible. I shut my mouth, immediately looking away from his face. He led me out the back door where two horses waited. 

“Ready?” Dream said sat on his black steed. He ran his eyes over me with distaste, it made shivers travel down my spine. “We really taking them?” Wilbur hoisted me up onto the horse then slid himself behind me. My back was flush against his chest, his arms caging me in order to properly hold the reins. 

“Shut up, Dream.”

[theidiootti1]

My Mysterious Scotcman•

Chapter: 2

There it was. Their target. Sitting on a chair back towards the crew, seemingly writing something that made him sigh and rub his forehead. Filip swallowed and his throath felt thight, this was really happening now. No backing down anymore.

*you can do it..c'moon don't be stupid chicken shite..*, Filip thought .

Finally the group leader moved forward and it was time for action. They catched that guy without him noticing anything. The guy fell of his chair and stumbled on floor trying to get away from us. The blond haired leader catched the back of his jacket and banged the guys face against the hard wooden table.

Filip had taken his gun from back of his jeans and now held it with both hands. His hands shaking and heart beating. Everyone had gathered around there. Few watching out of windows or keeping eye on the doors. When Filip saw the guys face he was shocked. That guy who they were supposed to kill. He wouldn't be more than a bit over 20 years. Filip swallowed and held his gun lower, biting the inside of his cheek.

"Shoot him", growled the leader who was standing beside the trembling body.

"DO IT!!" The other one yelled with really annoyed tone.

It was like the whole time stopped in that very place. The only thing that the young boy with a gun heard was his own beating heart. He rised his gun, not shaking anymore. He shot twice that young guy to head and he dropped to the floor while his life was escaping his body. Filip lowered his gun and sighed. He couldn't believe what he just did. He watched the growing dark puddle of blood that was leaking on the floor. He felt heavy clap on his shoulder, but he couldn't react.

"Great now let's get the hell out of here..", one of the crew members growled until one of the boys runned to the mainroom.

"Lads..we have company", he said with an scared expression.

"Shit...", the boss growled when there was sounds coming from the front door "They said that the place will be empty...god, let's go !!" He yelled and all started to run to the door. But one stayed almost like glued to the floor.

Filip just stood there. Still eyes glued to the body that was laying at his feet. He couldn't take his eyes away from it, he couldn't watch away from the mess on the floor. The guilt flowed through him.

"Who the fuck are you?!" Came the voice of an confused and pissed man

Filip rised his gaze finally breaking the spell but too late as the other guy who came from the behind of the guy who spoke. That man had gun in his hand and rised it . Filip didn't have time to react as the Next thing he felt was the fastly spreading pain at his thigh as the bullet hit his leg. He stumbled down on to the floor, beside the already cold body of their victim's. He forced himself up from the floor with final glance to the body .

"I'm Sorry", he mouthed and jolted towards the back door where they came in .

He heard angry shouts and yelling from behind him as the guys discovered their dead friend. They started chasing after him down the streets under the dark and rainy evening.

They say that adrenalin makes you do crazy things. It's meant to help you survive in dangerous situation. Maybe that and the shock from the pain was driving the young guy forward through the side streets. He didn't feel the burning pain of the shot wound as he ran as fast as his legs could go. He probably haven't ever run as fast as he did now.

The only thought that was running through his dead was the voice telling him *murderer*. Why was he so weak. What lead him into this situation.

*? POV*

The rain was still heavily assaulting the city of Belfast as I left my work place in hospital. I was casually driving my car and silently singing along with a song that was coming from the radio at low volume. I was totally in my own world as i started jamming along with the song. My whole day had been hectic and total chaos because of this wet rainy day.

I'm still not used to these rainy days, not even after a half of year of living now in this autumn time Ireland. Yes you heard right. I am not from here. I was born and rised in the United States, I had lived my whole life there. Until that one day when i just wanted to get away and have a fresh start. Change of the scenario as you would say. So I ended up here, in this happy place called Belfast. I moved to live with my aunt who happened to live here and she gave me an offer to come to her place and crash there. I took the offer and soon I found myself from here. No one wouldn't believe that nor would I had as a kid. After few months of living on my aunts hair i decided to get my own place. I moved to live with my one long term friend who had moved here few years before me. We were almost like sisters before she moved to be closer to her family. Now we lived in the same house like some teenagers.

I started working in the hospital as a nurse. The job that i had went to school for. I think i always wanted to work in medical side. I loved helping peoples it was some sort of calling for me, but sometimes the hard job and being the superhero of the day can suck all your juices away and left you all weary. Like today. From all the days, today everyone chosed to break what ever bone they can break or fall at home and fracture something. Sick elderly people coming to reception just hoping for a chat with someone. There actually never was anything wrong just normal old peoples stuff. The list goes on and on. I was totally ready to get to my bed, pull the blanket over my head and sleep for the next 24 hours. Straight. Not kidding.

As I drived down the dark and dimly lit street, only the cars light illuminating the road with yellow light. I wasn't prepared that someone would be outside at this time of the night. There wasn't change for me to react faster than i did as some dark object run straight infront of my car getting hit by me. With a loud thud the dark object fell down onto the street from the force of the car.

I did fast brake and i rised my hands over my mouth. Did I just run over someone ?! All kind of scenarios started to run in my head as I opened the car door and i unbuckled my seatbelt. I hopped out of the car into the cold and wet air as i walked to the front of my car. On the ground there was laying dark clothed person who i assumed to be young man. He was hurriedly trying to get up from the street as i shook my head getting back into this moment.

"Hey, stay down !" I suddenly opened my mouth and the person tried to get up even faster but failed with their attempt. Apperently he was clutching at his leg.

I moved fast squating down and carefully placing my hand on the shaking body on the ground "Hey ? Did you get hurt ?" I asked. I immedietly mentally kicked myself. It was stupid question of course you get hurt when you get hit by a car. Stupid me.

The man still kept trying to get away from me what showed me that he couldn't be that much hurt. I studied him with my eyes in the light of my car and i saw blood on the street. The blood had to come from him and what ever it was that was bleeding, was bleeding heavily. And when i saw his bloody hands.

"Hey, don't move you are bleeding..", i said with a rised voice. I tried my best to stay calm and keep the man on the ground "You need to go to hospital..", I said as the man suddenly had his attention to me

"No hospital !!!", he growled at me "They..will find me", he Whispered almost with inaudible voice. He had an thick accent what was hard to understand. Even for me who was constantly around Irish and british accents. This was different.

I looked at him and then around to our surroundings. Who would find him ? What had this poor man put himself into. What ever it was i wouldn't liked to be part of that. No i was just an avarage working woman.

I was again snapped out of my thoughts as the man tried once again to get up but fell flat on his stomach on the wet street. Breathing heavily. It was more like huffing than breathing anyways. I needed to do something...it's my curse as an nurse I swore it in my vow.

Then the light bulp went on my head and i made probably the worst decision what you can make with completely stranger, but it was the only option at this point. I stumbled up from the ground and i sneaked my arms around his torso, getting only a painful grunts and growling from him

"C'moon help me a bit", i hissed at him and i got him up from the ground and to the backseat of my car we went. Slowly but we made it. After a little of fightning back, he was nicely seated there as buckled him up and i closed the door.

This mysterious man was already drifting from consciousness so i have to go fast. As i was walking around my car i saw dark clothed peoples at the end of the dark alley. I gulped and basically runned fastly to drivers side door and i hopped in . Fastly change gear and started driving forward. Those peoples didn't have any kind of nice vibe coming from them.

I looked at the backview mirror, and to the mysterious man who was now sitting at the backseat of my car. What the hell i was thinking about ?! Is he dangerous ?? What if those peoples were chasing him and they follow me back to our house . I couldn't put my finger on those thoughts and my heart kept racing the whole drive back to me and my friends house. As i watched at the rewiev mirror to the man who was hunched at the back seat i had feeling in my heart. I have to help him, I almost just killed him so i have it for him.

To be continued…

[nonstoplover]

happily ending catastrophies ~ Fred Weasley

summary: Fred is accidentally (and fortunately) at the right place in the right time, and is able to save a muggle girl's life.

pairing: Fred Weasley x muggle (female) reader

words: 5K

meaning of: (y/h/c) means 'your hair colour'

(kinda) warnings: (1) this plays after the war and Fred lives, because i refuse to accept anything else; (2) i'm not from the UK so excuse the possible mistakes i made about the underground; (3) also there are a couple time jumps, i didn't want to drag it for too long and had quite a few ideas i wanted to write

a/n: this was an idea born whilst i was studying for this year's most difficult exam at uni lol but i thought it was worth giving a shot so here it goes xx

my masterlist

(y/n) wakes up to the sweet scent of some kind of flower filling up her nose and lungs. Despite the panging in her head she cracks her eyes open to find the source, though as soon as she takes in the totally unfamiliar room around her, the flower immediately gets forgotten.

What the hell?

She frowns, pushing her upper body up on her elbows to get a better look around. She has never seen this room ever before. Or has she? Suddenly she's not so sure as a foggy memory appears in her mind. Her glance travels across the cardboard boxes beside the wall on the floor, piled high on top of each other, then a desk, a wardrobe, arriving to the bedside table that has a lamp and several strange things - looking like some foreign country's small candies in colourful wrapping - on the wooden surface.

Sitting up fully she tries to move her legs to place them on the floor, but finds that it's much harder than it usually is - than it should be. All her attention turn to her legs now and the weird feeling that surrounds her left leg she hasn't noticed before. Carefully she lifts the covers that wrapped her body in a warm embrace to see what's wrong with her leg. A gasp leaves her lungs right away as her eyes fall on the cast wrapped around it from her knees straight to her toes.

In that exact moment the door slowly opens and her eyes snap towards the entering figure - a flaming red haired young man - whilst her fingers scramble to get the blanket back on her lower body, hiding the lack of clothing she's wearing as she's in nothing else but her underwear.

"Ah, you're awake! How are you?" He asks when his eyes connect with hers and slightly widen.

And his voice brings back everything. Literally everything to her mind about how she got here, all the memories flashing by in front of her inner eyes.

- - - - - - - flashback - - - - - - -

Friday the 13th. The day of misfortune and disasters. (y/n) huffs as she makes her way down the street towards the underground station to go back to her apartment. Now she knows this fact from experience.

She woke up a bit late that morning and didn't have time to drink her usual morning coffee in the comfort of her home, so she had to wait until her first break at work to drink one. When she just finished brewing a cup for herself in the small kitchen at her work, the handle of her favourite mug she kept in there broke and the now handle-less mug full of the brown beverage fell to the ground and shattered to a thousand tiny pieces, and if it wasn't already bad enough, the coffee splashed on her white shirt, colouring it light brown and leaving a wet stain behind all across her chest.

After that she managed to get through the day quite normally, right until 3pm, when her boss called her in to his office.

"The company is facing a hard time," his voice still echoes inside her head, making her shiver in sadness and anger. "I'm sorry, (y/n), the performance you showed us in the past two years was truly great, but you gotta understand that I have to decrease the number of employees. And that unfortunately includes you. I'm sorry."

If the way she worked was actually 'truly great', then why do they fire her and not someone else?

Well, probably her boss told the exact same thing to everyone he kicked out today, she thinks, but it doesn't help at all - it doesn't get her her job back.

So half an hour ago she packed everything in a box and set off to go back home, mentally raging about the cursed day. She has never believed in any superstition like this, but today she's changed her mind. Maybe all these things are true.

And that's when the next string of catastrophies starts.

As she's moving along the pavement next to the tracks at the station, the heel of her shoe breaks and she stumbles, her box flying away from her grip, all the contents of it scattering all over the ground. (y/n) tries gaining her balance back, taking a couple steps back, but the pavement disappears from under her feet as she reaches the edge, completely unaware of it.

She falls back, down to the tracks, and an impossible pain shoots up from her left leg as she lands, the air totally knocked out from her lungs. As she tries catching her breath, her hands move to lay flat on the ground so she can push herself up, but the world around her seems like it's spinning and she feels too weak to move a single muscle in her body.

Everything decelerates into slow motion and she glances around to see what she could do when something bright catch her eyes. A shiny warm yellow circle in the distance, getting slightly bigger and bigger with every second. She observes it carefully, thinking about how pretty it looks as she wonders what it might be. It only takes a second or two for her mind to catch up and suddenly she's more than aware that a train comes towards her and she's not capable to do anything to stop the collision from happening.

Friday the 13th.

Out of nowhere she feels a presence next to her, and just as she turns her head that way to see what's going on and her eyes fall on locks of bright red hair and a freckled face, the man has already grabbed her arm and with a fierce pull hoisted her up to a standing position. It feels like her arm is ripped out from her body, for a moment even the unstoppable hurting from her leg fades out to give space for the one in her upper body and she gasps before everything goes black.

- - - - - - - end of flashback - - - - - - -

The following events go by as a dozen of blurry pictures (y/n) can't make out in her mind and she blinks a couple times to get back to the present, to reality. She focuses on the redhead again, the last person she clearly remembers seeing.

"Where am I?" Her voice comes out hoarse and quiet and she clears her throat, waiting for his answer, knowing how she behaves quite rude completely ignoring his question, but she just can't help it.

She hasn't a clue where they could be, she's never seen a place like this in her entire life. It's obvious it's not a hospital. And after what happened it's just as obvious that she needs hospital treatment.

"The Burrow," he replies with a small smile playing on his lips.

And though she thought his answer would help clear some of the fog inside her head, it only confuses her more. Fred bites back the chuckle that threatens to burst from him seeing her cute frowning expression and waits for her to ask again, knowing it'll soon happen.

"The what?" The girl speaks up again, her voice now much clearer.

"My family home."

The confusion still stays on her face, and Fred truly can't blame her for it - who wouldn't be distraught after waking up in a stranger's home? Still, seeing the same expression he first ever saw on her face brings him back to the Tube station in London.

- - - - - - - Fred's flashback - - - - - - -

He's rushing down the stairs to catch the apparently soon arriving underground train, cursing his twin brother under his breath for winning the bet that resulted in the usage of any and every magical thing being forbidden for Fred for this whole week. Now he has to run errands adjusting to the timetables of muggle public transport and he's running out of time. Everything takes so much more time in the muggle world, and in the past few days he's grown to appreciate being born into the world of magic more than ever.

Arriving next to the tracks he catches sight of a dozen or so people there and relief fills his body. So the train hasn't left yet. He slows down to a walking pace and tries to catch his breath, and that's when he notices something weird about the people, something he has never seen in the past days when he used the Tube. They're all moving closer to each other, slowly making a tight circle, all of them looking in the same direction, as if something was on the tracks.

Curiosity rises in Fred and he makes his way to the edge of the crowd, standing on his toes to tower over it and glance down. His eyes immediately fall on a young woman lying there, one of her legs twisted in an abnormal way. She's looking to the side, towards the tunnel from where the train should arrive any minute now. Her expression displays confusion and slight fear, but her breathtaking beauty is still obvious, and it makes his heart skip a beat. His eyes slowly turn to where she's looking and he can see the light that swiftly grows brighter and brighter inside the usually dark tunnel, but his mind can't comprehend what he sees as all his thoughts are still only about the gorgeous woman lying there.

"The train's coming!" Somebody in the crowd shouts and that's what wakes Fred from his daze. His head snaps back and forth from the tunnel to the girl a couple times, so fast it's a miracle his neck doesn't break.

His body moves before he can fully think about his actions and suddenly he's pushing people away to make a path for himself in the crowd and he jumps down to the tracks. He hears a couple gasps from behind him, even a couple voices trying to inform him again and again that the train is actually soon there, but he doesn't care. All he focuses on is the task in front of him.

Squatting down he grabs one of the woman's arms and drapes it around his shoulder, standing up again as fast as he can, pulling her with him a bit harsher than he intended. She lets out a gasp in obvious pain, but he knows there's no time to be more gentle. Both of his arms move around her, one around her shoulder blades and one around the backs of her thighs to lift her up bridal style as he knows one of her legs is broken and she can't stand on it. And he's thankful for his own speed and thoughtful actions as he feels her body go limp as she faints.

The head-splittingly loud sound of a horn fills the air just as he turns around, signalling that they were noticed by the people on the train. As he takes the first few steps back towards the pavement he glances up, seeing two or three men already there bending down with their arms stretching in his direction. Fred quickens his pace as much as he's able to and practically throws the woman in the waiting hands, helping them pull her up by pushing her body from under, the screeching of brakes, iron on iron being the only sound that can be heard.

He stays on the tracks until he's completely sure that she's safe, than he grabs the edge of the pavement and swiftly pushes himself up, crawling on the cold surface until his legs are lying there as well. He feels a breeze moving against his back as the train arrives to the station, but he doesn't care about it, neither the cheering that erupts from the people around him, celebrating his heroic act, not even the burning feeling in his muscles from being strained. He just pushes himself up and stumbles to the woman, falling back down on his knees to be able to get a better look of her.

From up close he can see how she's even younger than he has thought, probably close to his age. She's obviously falling in and out of unconsciousness every other second. The word 'ambulance' enters his ears from the people around them, and he finds himself with a new task ahead of him. Somehow he has to get the girl away from this place and back to the shop so he can take her to the Burrow. Muggle hospital treatment isn't enough now, the wizarding world offered much better methods of healing. His mother will know what to do.

- - - - - - - end of Fred's flashback - - - - - - -

"And why am I here?" (y/n) continues asking.

"You broke your leg."

"Yeah, I figured, but shouldn't I be in a hospital then?" She tilts her head, raising an eyebrow.

"This is better than a muggle hospital," the young man shrugs.

"Mu... a what?"

"Ah, sorry. Slipped out," he let out a small chuckle, scratching the back of his neck in slight embarrassment.

Here comes the moment he dreaded. When he has to explain the existence of magic and the wizarding world to a completely clueless person and trying to do that without making a complete fool out of himself in front of the angel-like girl when she won't believe him - which he's sure she'll do.

"Wait, who are you? I don't even know your name," she speaks up again. "And how could I truly thank you for saving my life if I don't know even that?"

"There's no need to thank me," Fred protests.

"Of course there is!" (y/n) squeals as loudly as her weakened state allows. "Not everyone would jump down to the tracks when there's a train coming to save a complete stranger."

"Yeah, well, true," he mumbles, thinking back to how nobody did anything for her, anger filling his veins. Then he clears his throat, shaking his head to get rid of the negative thoughts and to focus on the girl again. "I'm Fred. Fred Weasley."

"Thank you for all you did, Fred. I'm (y/n) (y/l/n)," she sticks her hand out and a smile makes it's way to Fred face, matching the one on hers as he steps closer to shake her hand.

- - - - - - - 2 months later - - - - - - -

"I'm absolutely fine, Freddie, stop acting like I'm made of porcelain. I'm totally able to walk down the stairs on my own two feet," (y/n)'s giggling voice fills the air on the second floor of the Burrow when the redhead gently pulled her arm around his neck as he's done so many times in the past weeks.

"Alright, alright, I get it," Fred puts his hands up in surrender, backing away as laughter erupts from his throat and he turns his head away to hide the blush forming on his cheeks from the nickname she used.

Unfortunately he only gets completely face to face with his smirking twin brother who winks his way before pushing past him, a knowing chuckle sounding from him as he rushes downstairs, past (y/n), who follows him right away, only a bit slower, with Fred's careful, watching eyes trained on her back.

"See? I told you," the girl glances back at him over her shoulder after arriving downstairs, not stopping on her way to the dining table, only to stumble in a shoe someone left in the way. Fred immediately reaches out to grab her elbow and stop her from falling. From the strength of his attentive pull on her arm, instead of flying to the ground she crashes into his chest.

"I don't know, I'm not so sure," he teases, looking down with a smirk playing on his lips.

(y/n) moves her head up to connect her eyes with his, and Fred glances around her face, taking in the pink colour of her skin on her cheeks caused by the embarrassment of almost falling, then as his eyes reach the sight of her lips, he suddenly becomes almost too aware of how close the two of them actually are, and the breath hitches in his throat.

"Come on, kids, dinner's gonna get cold!" Molly's voice breaks the moment they shared and (y/n) regains balance, then gently pushing the boy away she turns around and limps the rest of the way to the dining table.

All of the Weasleys are already sitting there, watching the two of them appear in sight, and (y/n) has to bite back a giggle, still not used to the seemingly infinite number of redheads, all smiling wide and sweet at her. George pulls the chair she has always sat on ever since she was able to get downstairs out for her, offering a helping hand knowing that it's harder to sit down with only one properly working leg. Fred reaches out for her other arm just as she makes contact with George's hand, and the two of them don't let go until she's stopped moving.

She glances back and forth between the two boys sitting on either side of her, rolling her eyes at how overly protective both of them behave, when she's already told them hundreds of times that she's able to get by on her own.

The meal is delicious and the company is entertaining, just like it has always been since (y/n) stepped foot into the Burrow. Conversation flows without a hitch, only the occasional laughter breaking it for a second or two, and the (y/h/c) girl finds it hard to think about the inevitable - the moment that's coming fast, the moment when she has to leave these people and go back to her normal life. The Weasleys has become like a second family for her, and she fears that if she walks out that door, she'll never see them again. They're living a different life, in a completely different world. Their paths most likely will never cross again. She tries to brush off the sad thoughts, knowing that she'll have all the time to mope and grieve when she's back in her (ordinary and plain) flat on her own.

As she's helping Molly clean the dishes after the family finishes dinner, (y/n) pauses for a moment to glance at the redhaired woman. "Thank you for letting me stay here and for taking such good care of me."

"Oh, sweetie, you're more than welcome. It's our pleasure to have you here."

"That's true," Ginny chimes in with a joyful grin on her face as she places another dirty plate in front of her mother. "Your presence brightened up our boring lives."

"Boring?" (y/n) lets a loud laugh escape her throat. "Your lives are nothing even close to boring. Everything around here is breathtaking and spectacular."

"Is it though?"

"Try living my life for a week or so, and you'll know what boring really means," she shakes her head, the different memories and thoughts swiftly filling her mind as she turns around to lean the small of her back against the counter top, her eyes instantly connecting with Fred's, who's still sitting at the table, shamelessly watching her with searching eyes.

"I still can't believe there's a whole world of wizards and witches that we have absolutely no clue about. It makes me wonder how many things are there that's hidden from us. And it makes me scared how clueless we all are in the muggle world."

(y/n)'s only able to stand the intensity of his gaze for a couple seconds before she has to turn her head away, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks and heat them up. She swallows, only hoping that it stays unnoticed by the boy, but when she finally dares to glance back for the shortest of moments, she catches sight of a small smirk playing on his lips and she knows that nothing has gone unnoticed by him. Clearing her throat she tries to find something else to say, speaking the first words that come to her mind.

The newly learned word still rolls uncertainly from her tongue, not sure if she says it correctly, but when her restlessly moving eyes accidentally catch Fred's again, she sees a new kind of glint sparkling in his eyes, and it's enough to let her know that she used it correctly.

"It's not your fault," Ginny places a hand probably destined to be reassuring on the older girl's shoulder. "We're just too good at hiding it."

The two of them share a laugh, and unbeknownst to (y/n), it turns the shape of Fred's eyes into something that very much resembles a heart. His own heart flutters at the sound, the temperature of the room suddenly feeling too hot for him to bear, and he abruptly kicks his chair back, standing up and swiftly moving out of the house to get some fresh air and somehow try to cool the fire that's burning inside of his chest.

(y/n)'s eyes follow him, an eyebrow raised in question, deep in her thoughts right until the door closes shut again behind the boy. The sudden noise brings her back to the present and she shakes her head to get rid of the things running around in her head.

"Anyway, I gotta go upstairs and pack. I really have to go back home now," she sighs, pushing her body away from the counter.

"I'll come help you," Ginny immediately offers, hurrying after her.

Two and a half hours and a heart wrenching goodbye later (y/n) and Fred come to a stop outside her apartment's door, both of them feeling a previously never felt sadness fill their hearts.

All (y/n) can think of is flashing images of the flaming red haired boy. The way he sat at the edge of the bed she was lying in, telling her everything about the wizarding world. The way he lifted her up so effortlessly as if she weighed nothing to bring her downstairs when she was unable to walk in the first weeks. The way he walked her around the house and the garden, showing her everything and explaining things to her, adjusting to her extremely slow pace without a word. The way he showed her multiple of the products he and his twin brother sell in their shop, sometimes only speaking of their effects, other times even showing her, not caring with the fact it caused something inconvenient for himself as long as he made her laugh - which she did so many times and so hard that it made her sides hurt. The clothes he let her have when winter set in and her own became too thin to keep her warm, and the way the material smelled like him. The lingering touches of his calloused fingertips against the skin of her cheeks when he thought she was fast asleep - when in fact she was completely awake, fighting back the urge to press her face further into his touch.

In the meantime all Fred can think of is flashing images of the gorgeous muggle girl. The genuine curiosity that sparkled in her eyes whenever he told her about the world he's living in, the endless amount of questions she's asked him about anything and everything, the pure interest she showed from the first time he told her about the existence of magic. The way she bonded with each and every member of the Weasley family, finding a common thing with all of them and eventually making them all grow fond of her. The way she told him all about the muggle world and her own life, sharing all the details with him without hesitation - trusting him right away. The way his name rolled from her tongue - even more when she called him Freddie. The bubbling, loud laughter that erupted from her throat when he told her about the shop and all the pranks George and him did back in Hogwarts or when he showed her the products they now sell in the shop, the laugh that always made his heart skip a beat, the laugh he couldn't help but adore along with the fact that she seemingly didn't care the slightest bit how loud she is or how funny her laughter might sound. The way she looked in his clothes, always taking his breath away, making him wish nothing more in the rest of his life than to see that very sight every day as long as he lived - and possibly even after that.

"Well, thanks for getting me home," (y/n) points at the door behind her back as she looks up into his mesmerizing eyes. "And for jumping down in front of a train for me. And for letting me into your family home. And for taking care of me."

"It was the least I could do," Fred smiles sheepishly, his mind spinning, trying to come up with something to say that would keep the girl in his life.

"Bye, Freddie," she hesitates for a moment, then decides it doesn't matter anymore and leans in, pressing a soft kiss on his left cheek.

Fred's eyes flutter closed, heart bursting with the sudden feeling of love from both her lips touching his skin and the oh so loved nickname. He freezes, unable to think anything else than eight very important letters.

The girl moves back, fiddling with her keys to find the correct one, pushing it in the slot and turning it, gently shoving the door until it's wide open. She steps in, her eyes taking in the furniture and decoration she once loved but now finds unbelievably plain and mundane. A sigh escapes her lungs and she turns around to close the door - and wave once more the boy.

Fred still stands in the exact same spot, obviously not moving even the slightest bit since she backed away from him. (y/n) raises her hand to wiggle goodbye with her fingers at him whilst moving to close the door with the other hand, already feeling the tears blur her vision as she tries to take in the sight of him as best as she can to be able to remember him forever.

"Wait!" Fred exclaims, placing a palm flat against the wooden material to stop it before it fully closes.

This time (y/n)'s the one to freeze, hand pausing high in the air and she even holds back the breath in her lungs as she waits for him to continue.

"Can we meet again?"

Her eyes widen in surprise. She always thought that he'd never want to see her again. That he'd be happy to finally get rid of her and be able to continue his life as before. He wants to meet with her again?

"I... y-yes, of course," she stutters, heart stammering inside her ribcage so wild and loud, she's almost sure he can hear it.

The extremely wide smile that splits his face in two hearing her answer makes it impossible for her not to mirror it, her own lips curving on their own accord. Fred, feeling the previous nervous shyness evaporate from his body and the always present confidence fill his vein up again, takes a step closer to her, then another until he's right beside the door, gently pushing it wider open again. (y/n)'s hand on the door handle inside goes limp, and she lets it fall down to hang loose beside her body as Fred steps inside.

When he's so close that she can feel the breath coming from his nose reach the skin of her face, his lips open again to let out a whisper. "Can I kiss you?"

The already abnormal rhythm her heart beats in gets even more uneven, and her head moves in a nod as she breathes out the word 'yes'. Fred's eyes sparkle up even more, and his hands slowly start moving up, one reaching out to gently caress her cheek whilst the other wraps around the small of her back. Slowly, extremely slowly he leans down, pausing for a second just before their lips could touch, and as a wave of impatience rushes through the girl, she raises her head and presses her lips against his.

Fred lets out a muffled chuckle at her eagerness before tilting his head and snaking his arm further around her torso to pull her flush against his own body, his hand that's resting on her cheeks moving slightly further back until his fingers completely disappear in her (y/h/c) locks, his lips moving passionately against hers.

She completely melts into his touch, feeling like she's floating in the air, as if she's only dreaming. But when they both run out of oxygen and pull away to fill their lungs again, their foreheads pressing against each other in search of support and their eyes connecting without problem, looking deep into his beautiful brown orbs (y/n) grows sure right away that it's truly reality, not just a dream.

"I love you," he breathes in-between his quiet pants, but it's enough to make (y/n) totally dizzy as a love-struck grin spreads across her face.

And in that very moment they both know that their story is just starting.

.::the end::.

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[shinydelirium]

MLQC Season 2 Chapter 15 (Kiro’s Chapter) Part 3 [Land of Map Country] Translation [CN]

I’ve mentioned before in an earlier post about how s2ch15 is the BEST Kiro chapter I have ever read so far in MLQC. This part 3 is the start of it all.

Thanks again for helping @link4eva​

 ***Once again DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO BE SPOILED!!!*** 

Enjoy~

For the previous translation of Chapter 15: Part 1, Part 2.

[Land of Map Country]

The footsteps behind me suddenly sped up as if they were close. I stepped forward without hesitation and quickly jumped into the tram.

The tram closed its doors at the same time and started to move.

I looked out the window behind me with lingering fears but saw no one.

Kiro: Don’t worry, he can’t catch up to you. This is a superhero’s car.

Kiro seemed to read my thoughts and comforted me in a relaxed voice.

I steadied my breathing, looked around the car, and found that the monitor on the roof was lit with red dots, so I turned off the map and waved to it.

MC: Thanks for all the help, superhero!

Kiro: Eh? Wasn’t that already obvious?

He deliberately dragged out his words to show disappointment which made me instantly laugh.

Kiro: I thought you would make a long list about how you really feel right now.

MC: True emotions can be said face-to-face.

Hearing my words, Kiro was silent. After a long time, he laughs and replies to me in a low voice.

Kiro: I’ll remember what you said.

Kiro: I have controlled the route of this tram and it will bring you safely to my side.

Kiro: Next, Miss Chips will have a good rest in the car and she will arrive at her destination soon.

“Soon”…

I was taken aback for a moment and felt a somewhat uneasy.

Do I really want to see Kiro? Why did he hide during this time?

I glanced out of the window and the fog blurred the boundary between heaven and earth, looking chaotic and at a loss.

To this day, I still don’t know why Kiro suddenly put on the “Helios” mask, but I am quite sure what must have happened.

He is like a Rubik’s cube, its colors shuffled with different secrets scattered on each side. ***Sidenote: What an absolutely perfect analogy to describe Kiro!***

No matter how hard I try, I can’t put together a complete Kiro.

He seemed to have carried many secrets and heavy responsibilities from the beginning.

I know that everyone has secrets and they don’t want to show them to others.

He didn’t want to tell them, so I didn’t ask.

Because of an adult’s self-righteous maturity and tacit understanding. Because he is afraid of touching the corners he does not want to touched….

Because I am afraid of being hated.

And in this way, it seems that the distance between us is gradually drawn further.

I took a deep breath and decided to abandon those inexplicable adult principles and looked at the surveillance with a sincere expression.

Even if he will be hated, I have to hold on tightly to his hand.

MC: Kiro, I miss you very much.

MC: Although I don’t know why you left suddenly, but now that you found me, I’m really happy.

MC: In fact, I have been looking for you all this time and I have been looking forward to seeing you.

MC: No matter what happens to you or what you become, I don’t care.

MC: To me, a healthy Kiro is the most important thing.

There was silence over the collar. After a long time, there was small, low voice.

Kiro: MC, I….I miss you too.***Sidenote: WAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! TAT***

Kiro: I have also been looking forward to meeting you at that time. You may not believe it but I missed you much more than you can imagine.

His voice is very soft, but I can hear it very clearly.

During this time, the tram came to a halt slowly and I found that it stopped at the door of a department store near the city center.

Kiro: MC, go to the underground parking lot.

His voice was muffled and a little nostalgic.

Kiro: You can just follow the No.2 safe passage and go down. The signal in the underground parking lot isn’t good…..I’ll have to cut off the communication for now.

MC: Okay, I’ll go in right away.

Kiro:…Mm. Miss Chips, goodbye.

Kiro: Also, to “see” you again, I am very happy.

As soon as his voice fell, the collar was completely silent. My heart felt a little strange but I quickened my pace nonetheless.

Maybe he listened to what I said just now.

Thinking of this, I started running, wanting to see him even sooner.

Running out of the safe passage, I saw a figure standing at the door.

MC: Kiro!

I ran and leaped forward. The figure paused, then slowly turned around, revealing a sharp profile—

At the moment I met his eyes, my footsteps became slower and slower, and I finally stopped in the open space a few meters away from him, unable to smile.

MC:….Helios.

Helios looked straight at me. The indifference between his brows and eyes made my heart feel weak.

Why is this happening?

He clearly said just now, “I’m looking forward to meeting you.” Is it a temporary remorse? Or can he only face me in this way?

I couldn’t hold his cold gaze and lowered my head in a daze.

That invisible line seemed to have shown up again, between me and him.

No wonder his tone was so helpless and low just now. No wonder he never mentioned meeting with me.

He still remained in the circle of the map and refused to come to me.

Helios looked at me, concealing the complex emotions in his eyes and his mouth became a sharp thin line.

Helios: From the look on your face, you really don’t want to see me.***Sidenote: DAMN!!! TALK ABOUT A COMPLETE 180 JUST LIKE THAT!!!***

I took a deep breath, smiled and raised my head.

MC: How could that be! I think it’s a coincidence, Helios, meeting you here like this.

No matter what kind of him, he is him. If Kiro only wants to face me in this way, then I will do so with sincerity.

He turned and strode towards the depths of the parking lot but something seemed to flash in his eyes.

I ran to keep up and walked to his side.

He didn’t wear a collar, so he should be a “human” card. I deliberately kept my distance from him to avoid accidentally touching him.

MC: Helios, where are we going?

Helios: It’s “I”, not “we”.

MC:…..

I frowned but since he didn’t flat-out refuse me, I just assumed he accepted that I would act with him.

Soon we walked into a fire control room.

Helios stopped in front of an unremarkable wooden door in the room. He took a key from the door frame and opened the wooden door.

Behind it seems to be a utility room. The space isn’t large.

MC: What are we…��you” doing here?

Helios: Last time you said that you want to investigate the hunter game and the lighthouse. Are there any results?

MC:…..

MC: Helios, the conversation should be about you and me, not selectively ignoring each other’s problems.

Helios: Let me ask again, what is the relationship between the hunter games and the lighthouse?

I calmed down my emotions and explained my conjecture about their relationship based on the overall situation.

He listened without saying a word and squinted when he heard that the hunter game might be related to opening the lighthouse.

Helios: According to you, the hunter game relies on powerful Evol energy fluctuations to open the lighthouse.

MC: Yes.

Helios: How did you open the lighthouse last time?

MC:….. After being pricked, there was a “click” and I fell.

He frowned and looked at me with a confused look.

Helios: Describe all the events that occurred at that time.

Helios: Start from when you squatted by the stone slab.

MC: Were you close by?

My eyes lit up and looked at Helios. Hearing my question, he instantly stopped.

Helios: Don’t ask boring questions, just say it.

MC:….I just squatted there, carefully looked at the slab for a while, then reached out and touched it.

MC: It’s like it was alive and then I found a cut on the palm of my hand and my feet lit up.

MC: Then I felt the ground under my feet moving along with the sound of gears turning and I fell.

MC: And then, I met you.

He raised his eyebrows, showing a familiar expression of disdain.

Helios: Blindly feeling your way around without knowing what’s hidden, how foolish.

MC: It was just a matter of trial and error.

***Sidenote: Had to look these above quotes up online cuz Google Translate wasn’t making any sense and found out it was an idiom. Basically, Helios thought it wasn’t wise for MC to just reach out and touch things without knowing what would happen afterwards. I hope I interpreted it right***

He ignored me, turned around and took out a sealed test tube container.

Helios: Reach out your hand.

I do not know why he said this.

He took out the knife he carried close to his body and quickly cut my finger with a sharp movement. I didn’t even feel any pain.

Helios: Drip the blood in by yourself.

MC: …..

Although I was very confused, I obediently dripped the blood from my finger into the glass test tube according to his instructions.

Worried that it wasn’t enough, I squeezed my finger a little bit harder.

Helios: What are you doing?

He snatched the test tube, furrowed his eyebrows and stared at me.

MC: What? Didn’t you say to drip blood into it?

Helios: …..

Maybe it was my very calm attitude that made him speechless, but his mouth was slightly open and he didn’t say anything.

In the end, he just lowered his head and opened the paper bag in his hand, took out the iodine and band-aids from it, and threw them to me.

MC: You forgot again. No matter what you say or do, I trust you.

There was a momentary pause in his fingertips, trembling slightly. He didn’t speak but he knew what I was talking about.

Whether you are Kiro or Helios, yes, it’s all the same to me.

My heart will always trust you unconditionally.

Helios watched in silence as I bandaged my finger, took out a small knife, turned the hilt and handed it to me.

Helios: Keep this with you.

I looked at the heavy knife which made me feel somewhat distant but familiar.

A long time ago, I also received this knife.

Many things are like a circle. I thought I had walked for a long time, but I found that I had come to a certain corner where I had left.

MC: Is this kind of self-defense alone really enough?

Helios: No need to repay me.

I quickly took the knife and saw him turning around to leave the room and I hurriedly followed after him for a few steps.

He stopped, making me pause mid-step, then he put his hand on the doorknob, horizontally in front of me.

Helios: Stay in here, I put enough aerosol in it.

MC: If you’re going to solve the hunter game, I can help you.

Helios: I said no need.

Helios: I will end this game in my own way.

He didn’t give me time to speak and took a big step back, closing the door of the utility room with a “bang”.

“Click--”

The door was locked.

-End of Part 3-

Continue to Part 4 

[mintmatcha]

9 months, 29 days

Matsukawa and Hanamaki

chapter two of 10 months

CW: nothing in particular for this chapter, but series is an angst story containing mentions of death. be warned

“Oi,” Mattsun’s tugging on his outdoor shoes, trying his best not to crumple the heel. Rain beats against the roof, so hard that a leak has formed in the center of the locker room. It drips so rapidly, that constant little dripdripdripdripdripdrip that dips into his brain and makes him irrationally angry. Everything’s been making him angry today though.

Practice was supposed to end an hour ago. As much as he loves playing, Mattsun wasn't like Oikawa; this kind of work, this kind of pushing himself to the brink, wasn't fun. He wanted to go home, to finish up his homework in complete silence, maybe jack off, and then sleep all fucking weekend.

In fact, if he could go the next couple days without speaking to anyone, he’d be perfectly happy. No parents, no siblings, no exceptions.

“Oi, Issei,” Makki’s shoe thunks against his lower back, firm enough to push him deeper into a squat, and Mattsun feels the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile. Pain pulses in his knees everytime Makki thumps his dirty old shoe against him. "Did you forget your umbrella again?”

Mattsun’s umbrella sits in his open locker.

“Aren’t you being too casual?” he tries to remember why he was just in a bad mood, but just can’t. His name on Makki's lips bounces around his skull on loop. Issei, Issei, Issei- it's such a pretty name. If he asked, he'd say it again and again, but the gym door's there, unlocked, waiting to be opened, waiting to catch them being too friendly with each other.

“It’s just us. The underclassmen left already and our fearless leaders are still practicing.” Makki shrugs, “They wouldn’t think it was suspicious anyway.”

Mattsun jumps to his feet with all of the energy his body can manage, knocking Makki off balance enough to knock him onto his ass. He lands with a splash, sprawled on his back. They look at each other for a moment, wide eyed as they process the scene. Makki lays in the puddle, that dreaded drip bouncing off his nose and down into his mouth, which is parted in fake horror. His school uniform and bag covered in growing, dark wet spots, probably crawling in athlete's foot. Mattsun freezes, unsure of whether he should apologize or laugh. With a scowl, face knotted up in disgust, Makki silently undoes the latches to his bag and pulls out his umbrella. With a press of the button, it unfolds. The leak forms little droplets that roll down the black fabric onto his stomach.

“No one warned me it was raining inside too.” Makki huffs before then both break into laughter. It’s not that funny, but it’s what Mattsun needed. He doesn’t stop until he’s hunches over, clutching his side and trying to blink away tears, completely breathless. His eyes never leave his friends and that makes it better, makes his body feel warmer.

“Don’t open an umbrella inside; it’s bad luck,” the brunette reaches out a hand and Makki takes it.

The others always talked about holding girl’s hands and enjoying the size difference, enjoying how tiny they felt. They liked the delicate fingers, the thin palms, but Mattsun never really understood it.

Makki’s hands were the same size as his. Coarse and dry, a bit calloused on the palms, and they fit perfectly together with his. His fingers are thick, still sweaty and warm from practice, and yet Mattsun wants them interlaced with his own. Makki squeezes, rubbing his thumb along with lines of his palm like he knows exactly what Mattsun’s thinking about, before pulling himself up.

“Bad luck doesn’t exist, dude.” Makki twirls the umbrella, “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“I hope not.” Mattsun adjusts his grip and does exactly what he wants to, squeezing his fingers in between his best friend’s.

“So, did you forget your umbrella?”

Mattsun’s umbrella sits in his locker. It’s sitting there in the open, a bright Seijoh blue. They both see it, they both know it’s there. Mattsun reaches in and pulls on his shoulder bag with a shrug. Then, he silently closes the locker.

“Yeah,” he lies. The lie makes the next part easier to explain to the others, “I was going to wait until the rain stopped.”

Their hands are still joined. He tries not to fixate on the warmth.

“Nah, don’t be stupid,” Makki starts walking and Mattsun follows. He knows the drill by now. “Share with me. I’ll walk you home.”

They step out into the downpour, shoulders pressed into each other, only half covered by the tiny umbrella. They occasionally squeeze each other’s hand, a silent acknowledgement. I know what this means, it says, I know you didn’t need me to walk you home. I know we just needed an excuse.

“My bookbag’s getting soaked, Hiro.”

“Then switch arms, dumbass.”

“Then I couldn’t-” Mattsun chokes on his words as something clatters behind them. He quickly swivels, checking to see if the campus was empty, only to be greeted by emptiness. The rain fogs up the street, giving them a curtain of privacy. This thing between them, whatever it was, was just for the two of them.

“It’s just us, Issei,” Makki cackles, “You worry too much.”

He sighs and continues forward, “I just don’t want people talking.”

“Some friends, like us, are just touchy, it’s no big deal.”

Mattsun dips down and presses his forehead against his friend’s temple suddenly. The humidity of the rain doesn’t hide the long, warm breath Makki lets out at the touch, and the rain doesn’t hide how his eyes flutter shut. Solitude makes him bold.

“Yeah,” Mattsun whispers, lips so close that they almost brush against his cheek. It’s plump, dusty pink that almost matches his hair. “I’m just touchy, I guess.”

Makki nuzzles into the touch. “Your future girlfriend is gonna love that about you.”

“Don’t say stupid things like that.” Mattsun whispers, tugging him closer by the arm until they’re chest to chest. Being wet makes the fabric seem thinner and the space between them seem smaller.

The other guys always talk about short girls: dipping down to kiss them, having their girlfriends stand on their toes for a kiss, feeling big and strong compared to them.

Makki’s face is level with his. It'd be so easy.

“I don’t want a girlfriend.” Mattsun says.

“Oh yeah?” Makki flashes his typical grin, “Then what do you want?”

.

3:24 Two full hours before his alarm. Mattsun stares at the texture of his ceiling and tries to think about nothing. His hand feels empty. It’s unfair of his brain to remember that moment so vividly. It’s a meaningless memory, something that should have been long forgotten, but god, his brain refuses to let it go. If he closes his eyes, he can still feel the smooth, supple skin against his nose, smell the hint of aftershave Makki bought from the corner store. He flips the pillow and buries his head into the cool side. He tries to think about nothing. Makki's eyes were so sunken in, so flat. It makes his stomach churn to think about it, to think about how he’s dying. He gives up and pulls his phone from the side table. Why does he care? They don’t talk anymore. Makki just wants him to help plan a stupid party. They don’t mean anything to each other. Not anymore. Mattsun checks Twitter. The top trending story is about a breakthrough in neuroscience, but his eyes won’t focus to read it. Exhaustion makes him stupid. His hands shake when he opens his texting app. He tells himself he's texting Midori, but he types in a new number instead. One he knows by heart.

mi>hey mi>could you do breakfast

ht>who dis?

ht>i told you to lose my number yuuji

mi>not yuuji

mi>issei

ht>lmaooooo sorry ht> the old place at 9?

mi>k mi>... why are you awake

ht> headache. ht> why are YOU

Mattsun doesn't answer. He just stares at the ceiling again.

[inkandpen22]

Not Playing Nice

Request: a transman!reader x protective!Spike after the reader gets insulted or invalidated

Pairing: Spike x transman!reader

Warnings: swearing, fighting, mentions of violence, bullying 

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Y/N is a member of the Scoobie gang and attends UC Sunnydale with them. When Spike walks Y/N home after a group meeting, he notices some marks on his skin and gets concerned. 

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! This is my first time writing a story with this POV and it was such a fun new experience! I hope I did the story justice and I hope you enjoy it! X 

Masterlist

Curled up in the armchair, I struggle to not doze off. Buffy and the others discuss the latest Big-Bad that’s been ravaging Sunnydale. When Xander called this meeting at his and Anya’s apartment after he spotted the demon earlier at the construction site, I almost lied and said I was busy in the library. Usually, I’m of greater help than this, but classes have me drained and last night was a long night. The idea of having to walk back past the frat houses on the way to the dorm keeps popping into my head every time I close my eyes, so at least I have that to keep me alert. 

I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Hey Y/N?” 

I hum, too tired to open my eyes. Spike is squatting in front of my chair, studying my face. 

“You seem tired. How about you head on home?” He suggests. 

I shake my head, sitting up to prove I’m awake. “Nah, I’ll stay until everyone calls it a night.” A yawn escapes me accidentally. 

“If you’re worried about walking back with Mr. Munchie-Man out and about, I could join you,” he offers, referring to the toothy demon we’ve been hunting. 

“It’s not that, thanks though,” I offer the blonde vampire a weak smile. 

“Yeah, Y/N, you should get some rest,” Willow agrees. “I know you’ve had a lot of projects this week. We’ll bring you up to date tomorrow!” She offers enthusiastically. 

I yawn again, “alright, maybe you’re right.” 

I shift in my seat to stand and Spike’s hand remains on my arm kindly. 

“Come on, Mate,” he mumbles, guiding me to the door. “I’ll walk you home just in case.” 

I roll my eyes, “I’m human, not a defenseless puppy.” 

“Doesn’t mean the Hungry-Hungry-Hippo won’t make you into a chew toy,” he insists. 

Spike is always so uncharacteristically protective of me. He’s not that way with Xander. I suspect it’s because Buffy and the others treat me the same. I’m the ‘empathetic one’ of the group. 

Everyone says their goodbyes and repeat for us to stay safe. Buffy adds a request, for me to call when I get back to my dorm room okay. I promise her to do so. 

As Spike and I arrive at my dorm room, I go to unlock the door. Considering how late it is everyone on my floor is asleep and the only lighting in the hall is the emergency lights. 

“Well, thanks for playing bodyguard,” I start to bid the vamp farewell as my door swings open. “I’ll see-” 

“Wait,” Spike grabs my wrist suddenly. 

I jump, thinking he says something in my pitch-black room. “What?!” 

“What’s this on your neck?” He releases my wrist and his fingers brush against my neck. 

Shit. 

“Oh, I uh...” I stammered, struggling to think of an excuse. “Willow was messing around and tried flat ironing my hair! She kinda got to close ya know,” I laugh nervously, moving to step inside my room. 

Spike grabs my forearm and I wince. Noticing my reaction, he frowns and swiftly raises the fabric of my sweatshirt’s sleeve. 

“Spike, don’t-” 

His sight lands on the massive, hours old, scrape that travels from my elbow to my wrist on the outside of my forearm. 

“What the hell is this?” He mumbles, peering up at me with hooded eyes. 

“From the last time, we fought a Big-Bad,” I explain plainly, taking my arm back and lowering the sleeve. “I’m not vampy like you, don’t heal as quickly.” I force a smile. 

Not buying the story, he nudges my shoulder aggressively and I bump into the wall of the hallway. He presses his palm against the wall beside my head and reaches for the hem of my hoodie. I swat at his hand away and he slaps it back like a cat. 

“Stop that,” he orders sternly. 

I turn my head to the side, clenching my jaw. I focus on a single piece of wood positioned at the end of the corridor. Swallowing hard, to distract me as Spike picks up the hem of my hoodie hesitantly. He shifts on his feet as the dark-colored bruise that coats my rib cage becomes fully exposed. For a moment that feels like an eternity, he examines the many clustered marks around my abdomen. 

He clears his throat and drops the fabric. Pushing off the wall, he paces away to the opposite wall. There’s a prolonged silence between us as I protrude far within myself. 

Spike spins on his heels to face me. “All of these marks from one fight where you had me, two mega witches, a Slayer, an ex-vengeance demon, and her lapdog to help you? What are you, a human or a peach?” 

I toss my head back in annoyance. “Just leave it, Spike!” 

“So, you’re just not going to tell me what happened?” He clenches his jaw. 

“I did tell you,” I defend calmly and go to enter my room. “Now, goodnight.” 

He rushes to the doorway and slams his hands against the frame. “I’m going to find out!” 

“See you tomorrow!” I dismiss, shutting the door in his face. 

Finally, alone, I slide down the back of my door and bring my knees close to my chest. Releasing a deep breath, I do everything I can to relax, even in the slightest bit. I’ve gone this long without any of my friends finding out, I just hope Spike doesn’t say anything. I’ve just never wanted to trouble them. I mean, considering we fight demons and forces of legitimate evil each day my problems don’t exactly match the level of priority. I can handle this. Besides, I’ve been dealing with it for a while now. I’m used to it. 

_________________________________________________

The following night, we all gather at The Bronze to celebrate another win against a demon. I really didn’t like this one, he gave IT vibes this his racks of teeth. Gives me the heebie-jeebies! 

At the bar, I wait patiently for my drink while the group is around our usual table just a few yards away. 

“Jack Daniels please,” a familiar English accent requests the bartender. 

I glance to my right and sure enough, there’s Spike in all his glory. He turns to face me directly and I stare ahead, watching the bartender make my drink. 

“You were good today, you know when you picked up Xander’s ax and whatnot,” Spike compliments awkwardly. 

“Thanks,” I mumble. 

“So you’re still not going-” 

“Nope,” I nod. “Still not gonna tell ya.” 

“Right then, fair enough,” he sighs, spinning on his heels to face the bar. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him tapping his black painted nails against the bar. After a second of fidgeting, he reaches into his coat pocket and reveals a pack of cigarettes. He slips one between his lips and holds the pack out to me. I give him a knowing look, he can’t be serious. 

“You know I don’t smoke,” I remind him. 

“You know I don’t smoke,” he mimics my voice, stuffing the cigarettes back into his pocket. 

I suppress my amusement, biting down on my lip. That impersonation was just horrid. Spike notices and continues his act. 

“Oh Spike, you’re just the best!” He says in a sing-songy tone. “You’re the evilest, most vicious vampire I’ve ever met. I just-” 

I swat his arm and he whines, rubbing the wounded area. 

“I don’t sound like that!” I laugh. 

“You’re right.” He takes a quick smoke of his cigarette and clears his throat. “Let me just get in tune here-”

I whine, “Spike, I-” 

“Well if it isn’t the SheMan!” 

My heart stops as soon as I hear the eery insult. It’s nothing original, I hear it almost daily, that’s not what makes me anxious. The part that has me so worried is I hear from the same group of asshole every day. They’re all in the same frat at UC Sunnydale. I have to pass their house to get to my dorm, that’s how I ran into the first time. They were are their porch and one of them recognized me from our English Literature class. 

The douchiest one of them all, the leader, appears at my side rubs against me. “We missed you in class today!” 

I turn my body to Spike, putting my back to the Frat guy. His friends circle us like a wall of steroid driven rage. Spike clenches his jaw, switching his sight between me and the group of guys. 

He removes the cigarette from his mouth and barks past me at the Frat leader. “Piss off you wanker!”

“Ooh, got yourself a boyfriend?” One of his minions purrs, making the others laugh. 

“Trying to compensate for something are we?!” Spike insults the group, unfazed by the dickwad’s insinuation. 

“Just ignore them,” I grumble to Spike. 

“I’m sorry? What was that you little tranny?” Another one of them snickers and shoves me into the bar top. 

The wind gets knocked out of me as I grip my bruised side. Sweet Lord, that hurt like a bitch! 

“Okay, this should be fun,” Spike remarks, having had enough. 

I push off the bar weakly, still suffering the shooting pain in my abdomen. I grab the vampire wrist pleadingly. “Spike, don’t!” 

He won’t always be there to play bodyguard and I’ll be the one left to deal with the consequences at school. Next year I’ll live in a different building and I’ll never have to see these pricks again. 

Spike is ready to drop-kick each of them and huffs when I stop with him. He opens to argue with me. “But-” 

“Let’s go!” I repeat sternly. 

We go to walk back to our friends, leaving the group of Abercrombie models by the bar. 

“Must you always be so patient,” Spike grumbles, his cigarette balancing on his lips. 

I can tell it’s taking everything in him to restrain himself. It’s not in his nature to leave a fight, baby steps. 

“I thought you liked that about me,” I laugh lightly. 

A faint smile appears on Spike’s lips, at least he’s easing up a little. Soon, we’ll be back with our friends and it’ll be fine. 

“Oh yeah, you run!” One of the boys shouts over the chatter of the club. 

Spike shifts to turn around and I press a hand to his back, urging him to keep walking. “Ignore them!” 

“You sissy!” Another adds, earning a series of laughs from his friends. 

“Alright fuck this nice-person bollocks!” Spike snaps, dropping his cigarette and smashing it with his boot. His face morphs into his vampy one as he allows his frustration to consume him. “I’m evil for Christ’s sake!” He spins on his heels and marches toward the group of guys gathered by the bar. 

“Spike!” 

Before I have the chance to stop him, he grabs one of the guys by the collar of his polo and punches him right across the face. The college boy falls into his friends then the floor with a grunt. He covers his face, his nose bleeding excessively. 

Spike leans over him with a wicked snicker. “How’d you like that you gutless tit?!” 

He stands up straight to address his circle of friends. “Anyone else what a goat it?! Suddenly I’m very thirsty!” 

Taking one look at Spike’s face, all of them scatter. I watch as they shove each other out of the way to get away and sprint up to the exit. They leave their friend on the floor moaning and groaning in pain. Spike brushes his hands over his gelled hair, sleeking it back. 

“Well, that was refreshing,” he sighs, dropping his arms at his sides. 

He rejoins me and presses a hand to my back to walk me back to the bar to where we were peacefully before. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” I mutter, nonetheless appreciate. 

“Of course I bloody did,” he debates. “If there’s anything I hate more than sympathetic, humanitarian namby-pamby, self-righteous prats! It’s weak high-and-mighty bullies!” 

Spike playing defender instead of the offender? What an interesting turn of events. After a moment, the bartender brings us our drinks. 

“Thank you,” I say to Spike before I forget. 

“Eh, don’t mention it,” he waves his hand, dismissing it as nothing. “And the next time any other prep-fest frat boy gives you trouble you tell me, alright! Promise?!” 

I nod, taking a sip of my drink. 

“And don’t worry, I won’t tell the others about any of this,” he assures me timidly as a side note.  

That truly comes as a relief to me. I wouldn’t want to deal with the constant questions and fussing that I’m sure would ensue. 

“So...do you wanna go join the others?” I suggest. 

“Nah,” he makes a disgusted face as he lights himself a new cigarette. “They all annoy me.” 

“I don’t annoy you?” I laugh, raising a brow. 

“No, you’re quite pleasant actually,” he compliments to my surprise. “You think I’d punch someone for just anybody?” 

“Umm, yeah?” I argue, not hiding my amusement. 

“Okay maybe you’re right,” he concludes. “But if it were Xander I’d let him get hit!” He rushes out to maintain his tough facade. 

“Oh, of course, certainly,” I agree, snickering at his sternness. 

There’s a comfortable silence between us as Spike finishes his cigarette and I sip on my drink. Then, out of nowhere, Spike pops off like a rocket, causing me to jump a little. Evidently, he’s been going over the events of the conflict with the boys. 

“I just don’t get why people get their knickers in a twist about some things?!” He complains to me. “And it changes with every bloody decade! One minutes it pre-martial sex and every other woman being called a harlot! That was real a drag for many centuries, let me tell ya! I couldn’t shag a girl without her panicking after! I was going through villages like I was on a damn pilgrimage! Then, a lot of the focus was shot at the gays for a couple decades following Stonewall and AIDS! I was in New York for that whole thing and people were down right bonkers! And the same people who were so pissy about it also blasted Freddie Mercury and Elton John from their boomboxes! Bet it came as a real shock to them when those closet doors swung open!”

Resting my chin my hand, I just listen to him rant and sip on my drink. 

He goes on, “it’s just a load of bollocks how you humans are so quick to attack one another! It leaves us vampires and demons with little work to do! Most of the time, we just sit back and watch the bloody shit show!” 

An amused grin appears across my lips as the decades old vampire bitches about closed-minded humans. He’s preaching to the choir here. 

“For thirteen years everyone was up in arms about alcohol! Alcohol!” He repeats, peering at me with raised brows. “Of all things! So, for thirteen fucking years we had to hide and sneak around because a group of Jesus loving women decided alcohol was the reason their husbands didn’t like them! Well, I have a hunch that it might of been their constant nagging and preaching!” 

He pants, catching his breath after his tangent. Honestly, it was quite amusing. I hope he has more. 

“My point is Y/N, if I’ve learned anything from my many years on this planet, it’s that humanity constantly evolving along with the world. In this point in time, you’re who you’re meant to be,” he tells me as he fidgets with the paper from his straw. “Only you can define who that is and fuck anyone who tries to do it for you. Be yourself, people will learn to fucking deal.” 

I sit quietly, processing his words and wait to see if there’s more. Then, he meets my gaze for the first time since his tangent. 

“Would... would you mind if we just sit here, have a few drinks maybe?” He requests. “Those nitwits have me all moody.” 

I struggle to hide the smile that’s forcing itself across my lips. “I’d like that.” 

For the remainder of the night, Spike and I sit at the bar. We talk about a ridge range of topics from my major to his life before vamping out. I try imagining Spike as William the poet, it doesn’t quite work out in my head. He tells me some funny stories about his experiences during Woodstock, and we laugh about them for a good hour or two. It’s unspoken between us, but it’s evident that this is the start of a real friendship. 

__________________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @mx-pibbles​