#but wanderers wear abouts makes em all wear shoes on the beds >:( and also the amnesia thing now too I guess but not in my mind palace

[dark-side-blog3]

[we-love-imagines]

Little Secret

Valentine’s Event: Happy Valentine’s Day!

Prompt: Kakyoin + Tattoos

Ao3 Link

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Happy Valentine’s Day! I hope you’ve enjoyed my little fic collection over this past week, it was so much fun to write! I’d like to thank @magthemage for beta reading all these stories! Go read her stuff, she’s awesome!

This story in particular is an everyone lives! au, where you are a former Stardust Crusader, and you, Kakyoin, and Jotaro are all college students who enroll in an American University and share an apartment. Also, while the reader is gender-neutral, I did say they were smaller than the rest of the crusaders... sorry if you’re a beefcake! There’s also the tiniest bit of suggestiveness, but no actual nsfw. Everyone in this fic is aged up to be over 21, and please drink responsibly! Enjoy!

“Kakyoin!” You exclaimed, wrapping your arm around your sober friend’s shoulder, “C’mon, it’ll be so cool!”

“Yeah, we can all get ‘em in the same spot too! It’ll be so rad! C’mon, even Jotaro is down!” Polnareff slurred from the other side of the table, motioning to Jotaro who only gave a solemn thumbs up.

“We are not getting matching tattoos,” Kakyoin deadpanned, getting tired of all his companion’s drunk antics. It’s funny- after defeating Dio, he thought all his troubles were over. But, because the injuries he got in Egypt rendered him unable to drink, he was forever doomed to be the designated driver.

Unluckily for him, this was a rowdy group to handle.

“Kakyoin,” Mr.Joestar placed a hand on his shoulder, brushing you off of him, “We’ll even let you pick. It’s not as cool if we don’t all get one.”

“You’re all wasted,” he chuckled, looking at how all of his friends swayed, red in the face, letting the conversation wander aimlessly after way too many shots. After you all defeated Dio, you made it a tradition to meet up and celebrate the bastard’s death by getting as plastered as possible. While you still saw the others fairly regularly, seeing as you, Jotaro, and Kakyoin became roommates after high school, it was nice to have the others fly in to see everyone again.

Kakyoin watched as Jotaro and Avdol sat in silence, the former’s signature cap pulled over his eyes. They were subdued drunks, getting all quiet when under the influence. Kakyoin noticed how Avdol would turn a tad introspective after a few shots, abruptly bringing up thought-provoking questions like “Do Stands Dream?” or “Where do the clouds go after they roll by?” Jotaro, on the other hand, tended to mellow out. His short fuse stretched out a bit when he was drunk, and for once, he could take a joke.

Polnareff and Joseph, on the other hand, embodied pure chaos. Joseph would always try to instigate things: karaoke, bar fights, getting matching tattoos, and Polnareff would sing his praises and go along with all of his crazy schemes. Somehow, the Frenchman would get even louder, barking for the bartender to bring him more shots so he could out-drink everyone in the building.

Then, there was you. While you could certainly hold your booze better than others of your stature, you were no match for the hulking giants that were your fellow crusaders. So, while you kept pace with them while you were drinking, you would get shit-faced before they were feeling the slightest bit buzzed. While you were usually pretty fun and adventurous, the alcohol in your system turned that up to eleven, making you down for anything and everything.

“Wouldn’t it be so cool to get something together?” You grinned to Kakyoin, eyes wide with excitement, “To show how close we are after everything that happened, Jotaro?”

“You’re talking to Kakyoin, (Y/n),” he sighed, calling the bartender over for the bill. You had all had more than enough for the night.

“Then why are you wearing that funny hat, hm?” You said, flicking Kakyoin’s pronounced bang with a giggle. You were trashed. Kakyoin thought about your impending wrath tomorrow, and having to deal with a hangover for the ages.

“What would we get for a tattoo? Dio’s name?” Polnareff asked the group, sitting back in the booth seat. Jotaro, with surprisingly little bite in his voice, grumbled and shook his head.

“I’m not getting that asshole’s name anywhere on my body.”

“Y’know that picture we took? When we first got to Egypt?” Joseph spoke up, “We could all get that across our backs!”

“That’s way too complex!” Polnareff protested with a smile. You got everyone’s attention when you slapped your hands down on the table with a thundering ‘boom.’

“Guys,” you beamed, pure excitement in your voice, “Iggy. Tramp. Stamps.”

The table fell silent as everybody stared at you blankly. For a moment, Kakyoin thought everyone would laugh at your silly idea. That was the tackiest tattoo anyone has ever thought up!

Polnareff, with a look as serious as death, gave a resounding “Hell yeah!”

After that, all hell broke loose, as even the more subdued members of the group went along with the idea. It was agreed that Iggy, who Polnareff took in after everything went down, would get a collar with his own face on it in solidarity. Despite the risqué location, everyone seemed pumped to get matching tramp stamps of the world’s grumpiest Boston Terrier. Even Jotaro was nodding along as the more vocal members rambled on and on.

“Okay, it’s time to go,” Kakyoin shouted over the group, causing the uproar to die down for a moment, “I’m driving, let’s get in the car.”

“Oh my gosh, he’s doing it,” you cheered, wrapping Kakyoin in a tight, powerful hug, “Kakyoin’s gonna drive us to the tattoo parlor!”

The others broke out in celebration, high-fiving each other as they readied themselves to get all inked-up. The bartender gave Kakyoin a sorry look as he herded everyone into his car, having to walk you there the whole way as you stumbled through the parking lot.

It seemed that everyone felt dizzy as they stood up from their seats, and while Polnareff and Joseph were still a little talkative, the car’s atmosphere was a lot more relaxed than the bar’s. Kakyoin had done this drive a few times before, having to calm down his former travel companions after a hearty night of drinking, so he had it down to a science. Putting a CD labeled “Joseph had a Crazy Idea -Mix” into the player, Kakyoin drove around the block a few times, waiting patiently for the conversation to die down.

Soon enough, the car fell silent as everyone stooped into a drunken haze, bodies limp in their seats as they nearly dozed off to sleep. However, you were buckled into the passenger’s seat, lightly snoring as you drifted into dreamland. Just as expected.

As Kakyoin slowly dropped off the various men at their hotels, who had forgotten about their planned misadventure in their intoxicated stupor, he found himself smiling at your sleeping form as you wormed around in your seat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have feelings for you- he knew he did all the way back when you two were teenagers, when you saved him from certain death at Dio’s hand- and seeing you like this always warmed his heart. You were a battle-hardened badass like the rest of them, having seen Dio’s horrors at an age that was simply too young for comfort; but here you were, sleeping peacefully with the giddiest look on your face imaginable.

Sometimes, being your roommate was hard. He knew you were so close, that he could just walk over to your room and confess his ever-growing feelings for you whenever he wanted, that one day he could share a bed with this sleeping angel right next to him. It was on days like this that he realized why he liked you so much: you were kind, cute, and a lot more fun then he was.

Pulling up to your apartment, Jotaro slowly made his way out of the backseat, not even giving Kakyoin a passing glance as he went into the apartment. Leaving Kakyoin to deal with your passed out form, the red-head sighed, unbuckling your seatbelt as he pulled your from the car. He carried you up a flight of stairs, careful not to let you stir, using Hierophant to open the apartment’s door.

Jotaro looked dead, passed out face-down on the couch. Kakyoin rolled his eyes as Hierophant pulled a blanket over his friend- he’d be a pleasure to deal with in the morning. 

“Jotaro,” you giggled out, taking Kakyoin by surprise as you lightly flicked his bang around, “Are we at the tattoo parlor yet?”

Kakyoin quickly tried to shush you, rushing into your room so as to not wake your more aggressive roommate, “No, (Y/n), I’m Kakyoin.”

“Jotaro,” you repeated, much to Kakyoin’s sober displeasure, “Do you think Kakyoin is gonna get the tattoo?”

“I don’t think so, you should try and get some rest,” he whispered to you, setting you down on your bed. He helped you take off your shoes, and despite being in full dress, you make yourself cozy under the covers.

“That’s too bad,” you sighed dramatically, looking up at him through blurry vision, “I was hoping I could see his ass while he got his tattoo. You know how much I like his butt!”

Taken back by your comment, Kakyoin couldn’t stop the hearty laugh that slipped through his lips. He knew he shouldn’t press this topic further, but he was so amused he couldn’t help himself.

“You like Kakyoin’s ass, huh?”

“Duh!” you laughed along with the man, despite not knowing what ‘Jotaro’ found so funny, “Have you seen him in that one pair of skinny jeans he owns? Hot Damn!”

Kakyoin started laughing even harder, wishing he could record this conversation and show it to you later. You’d probably kill him, but this was a nice treat after a long night of dealing with a hollering group of drunken idiots. However, he couldn’t help but feel all warm and fuzzy at your words- did you really find him attractive? It felt really nice to be thought of that way, especially by you.

“I think that ass is made of pure boyfriend material, if you ask me,” you snorted, taking Kakyoin completely by surprise, “Jojo, I know you tell me to just man-up and ask him out, but I don’t wanna scare him away. If he doesn’t like me anymore, he won’t take me to get tattoos!”

Kakyoin froze, trying to process everything he just heard. While cheesy, he never wanted to forget that ‘boyfriend material’ line, or the way your voice softened while you spoke about him. He was in awe of the fact that you had feelings for him- feelings so strong that they had to be confided in Jotaro- and how you feared that he wouldn’t be interested. The red-head was puzzled by your doubts. How could someone as wonderful as you ever not be enough? How could you ever think he didn’t return your feelings? Sometimes, he felt like his feelings were obvious- but, here he was, standing before you as you wearily blinked up at him, eyelids becoming heavy.

“Shhhhh, don’t tell him!” You yawned, weakly dragging your finger over his lips, “Wake me when we get to the tattoo parlor...”

Kakyoin watched your head clunk down onto the pillow, and you were out like a light. After tucking you in, he left the room feeling a little guilty; that was obviously a secret you didn’t want him to hear. However, at the same time, he was over the moon. The person he had admired for years was suddenly in his grasp, finally attainable after years and years of silent pining. 

Before he went to bed, Kakyoin made a point to pull his skinny jeans from his closet, laying them out on top of his dresser. He’d be needing them for tomorrow- he wanted his ass to look good while he asked you out, is all.

[jeogiyall]

Tim McGraw; Y.JI (II)

GFX By @dreamystuffers

Word count; 3.4k

Genre; Jeongin x Reader, Fluff, Angst

Warnings; None :)

Find the rest of my Stray Kids Folklore series here!

A/N: This is the second part of the @kpopscape ‘Walkin On Sunshine’ Summer event! Look out for the third and final part coming this month!

A boy in a truck, with a tendency of getting stuck

“Last one in is going down like a one egg pudding!” Jeongin shouts while bounding towards the moonlit lake, fully clothed. You’re not entirely sure what a one egg pudding is, or why it’s going down, but you are sure that you’re not gonna be one. You sprint after Jeongin, running towards the very edge of the lake before looking back and seeing the boy directly behind you. He wears a happy smile, white hair bouncing over the sun kissed skin of his forehead. When he reaches you he holds out one of his hands, which you grab onto before kicking off your shoes and running into the lake. He started doing that a week or so ago when you mentioned that the very edge was muddy and feeling it on your feet made you squirm. He had jokingly asked if you wanted him to hold your hand, but when you said yes he did it with no questions asked.

The two of you wade out to the center of the lake, as you have done each night for the past two weeks. Jeongin splashes at you when he looks back and sees your slightly scared expression.

“Stop!” You giggle, holding up one hand to shield your face, “I thought that I felt something brush my leg!” He rolls his eyes and swims over to you, wrapping a hand around your waist so as to support you as you splash back at him.

“It was probably the gator, just like it was last night.” When you’re this close you can see his eyes sparkle even with nothing to illuminate them. You can’t see the rest of his face, but you assume it’s smiling. He’s always smiling.

“You’re mean.” You laugh a little bit, heart fluttering as your shirt rides up beneath the water and his hand smooths across your exposed skin. The pads of his fingertips are rough. His hands are warm.

“Do you wanna get on my back?” He asks, voice quiet due to the close proximity of your faces. When he moves his head just ever so slightly you can feel the tips of your noses brushing. It causes goosebumps to rise on your skin.

“Yes.” The word is meek, but affirmative. Your eyes have adjusted enough to where you can see his smile grow. He exhales a laugh through his nose and the hot air fans across your cheek. His hand hooks beneath your thigh as he turns around so that you can secure your legs around his torso. 

“Be sure to tuck those legs in tight or else the gators gonna come and eat ‘em.” He teases while pinching the squishy part of your calf that’s nestled against his stomach. You stay like that for a while, listening to the singing cicadas and the sloshing lake water as Jeongin carts you around. Neither of you say anything, but you’ve gotten to the point where you don't need to. You can tell that he’s happy by the rise and fall of his chest against your forearms, you can feel that he’s relaxed by the slope of his shoulders.

Later in the evening when you’ve returned to the grass and you’re both laying down and looking at the night sky, which is void of stars due to the full moon, Jeongin brings up an old conversation. It took place on your first day here, when he had just clambered through your bedroom window donning perfectly white hair and a heartwarming smile. 

‘Something about how you used to get bored as a kid.’ 

‘I did get bored. It's lonely around here, but you seem like good company.’

‘Thank you! I think we’ll have fun, and uh… Not just because your grandmother said so.’ 

“Are you?” He questions, turning his head so that you can both see each other. 

“Am I what?” You pretend to not notice his eyes trained on your lips, or the thumping of your heart that you can now feel in your ears.

“Having fun?” You think back to all of the nights spent at this very lake, all of the jokes exchanged, all of the water splashed into your face. You think of the way that Jeongin makes you laugh so hard that your ribs ache. You think of the smile that never leaves his face, and the way that over the past month that same smile had begun to spread over your own face.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever had fun before this Summer with you.”

The next morning at breakfast when your grandmother asks what the two of you will be doing that night your cheeks fill with heat. Something about the memory of his touch washing over you last night leaves your heart so full that it could burst. You’re expecting him to answer quickly as he always does. When a few seconds pass with no response you turn in your seat to see whether he’s choking on breakfast or if he’s simply neglected to speak. His eyes are mischievous once you meet them, his regular smile twisted into a more playful one and his cheeks pink. 

“I’ll tell you later, m’am.” His eyes cast over to you quickly before returning to your grandmother, the grin on his face growing with each second, “(Y/n) can’t know.” 

“Why can’t I know?” You question. He turns back to you with his head lowered and if you look closely enough you can see each sparkle in his eyes.

“Because. It’s a surprise.” Your grandmother giggles from across the table, sighing out something about ‘you kids’ before getting up and taking your emptied plates to sink. You and Jeongin help tidy the kitchen a bit before it’s time for you to walk him back to his truck. The sun is beating down hot today, just as it was yesterday and the day before. When he climbs into the white vehicle the first thing that he does is crank the air. 

“So I’ll see you at eight thirty tonight?” You question, so used to the routine of seeing him that you barely even need to ask. 

“Yep, eight thirty.” He runs a hand through his hair. The roots have grown out a lot in the past month, but you like it. It almost looks nicer to you than when it was all white.

“Are you sure you can’t tell me what we’re doing?” You ask. He smiles in a way that crinkles his eyes, causing your heart to stutter for a moment before he responds.

“Yep.” You pout a little bit in the way the two of you do when talking to each other. 

“Are we going to the lake again and you’re just teasing me?” He laughs at your question, shaking his head a bit at the notion. The hair that he pulled back a moment ago now falls across his forehead.

“Nope.” His smile grows as the syllable leaves his mouth. Your heart clenches again, the way that it always does whenever he smiles.

He arrives perfectly on time that evening, clambering through your window just as you’re securing the final piece of your outfit. It was supposed to be colder than usual tonight so you decided to wear a flannel over one of your white tank tops. The flannel was actually Jeongins, he had loaned it to you after a dip in the lake and you had neglected to return it. He noticed it the moment that his feet swung over the windowsill, but since he didn’t say anything you figured that it was long forgotten.

You headed downstairs and into his car as per usual. Once in the car he drove for a little while, headed in the same direction as the lake. You were tempted to ask him once again if he had just been yanking your chain and you were going to the lake, but then he drove straight past your usual drop off point and into the expanse of field before you. He had looked at you apologetically and said that it would be a little bit bumpy, which it was. Until it stopped entirely.

“Well,” He starts while climbing back into the driver's seat. There’s a light sheen of sweat across his forehead, his white hair pushed backwards so as not to stick to it, “We are for sure stuck in the mud, and this field is usually riddled with rattlesnakes around this time of year. Your grandfather isn’t gonna be here for another two hours. It’s already nine, so we’ll be here for… A while. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine!” And really it is fine, because you don't know how you could be mad at him when he’s looking at you with glimmering childlike eyes and an apologetic smile, “If you really want to make it up, just tell me where you were taking me.” He exhales quickly, so much so that it’s nearly a pant, before letting his head tilt back.

“There’s a field about five miles from the lake, I think it used to be used for hunting or something like that. I-I don’t know it’s empty now, but when you lay down you can see every star that there is. I just thought that you would like it.” It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but cicadas chirping and him breathing. You place your hand over his own before pulling him in your direction, “(Y/n,) what are you doing?”

“We’re going to see the stars.” He laughs a bit incredulously while you push the door open with one hand. You’ve grown to love that sound, so gentle and encompassing. Like a hand woven blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“But my truck-”

“Has a bed, does it not?” He remembers you looking back at him with a wicked grin and squeezing his hand before hopping out of the car door. You climbed over the car's metal frame until you couldn’t hold onto his hand any longer, in which you shouted, “Hurry up, slow poke!” He remembers thinking that you were the strangest person he’d ever met. He also remembers thinking that you were his favorite. By the time he’s managed to maneuver to the very back of his truck you’re already laying on the cold metal bottom, one hand up to the stars while the other rests over your heart. You bring them both to lie across your stomach upon the sight of him. 

“What’re you looking for?” He questions while moving to lie next to you. The truck groans beneath his weight and he lets out a sweet laugh. It’s genuine, floating through the air as though it were a summer breeze. You look to his lips for a lingering moment and watch as they relax into a gentler smile. Your eyes slowly start to wander over his face, taking in each of his features with care. His cheeks look so soft while still being defined. The tip of his nose is so petite and endearing. His hair falls into his eyes ever so slightly in a way that makes you want to push it back. 

“Constellations.” You take a staggering inhale, heart hammering so fast that you’re sure he can feel it thudding. If he can, he doesn’t make a big deal about it. He does nothing other than meet your gaze with equal adoration, “I’ve never been any good at finding them.” 

Jeongin thinks to himself for a moment. He thinks that you look lovely tonight, with the evening breeze tossling your free bits of hair and the white straps of your tank top sliding down your shoulders. He thinks that this field where he’s gotten you both stuck smells sweet like dandelion wine. He thinks that there’s something in the air tonight. He thinks that whatever it is is making him brave.

“May I kiss you?”  You look taken aback at first, eyebrows softening into a question as you lean ever so slightly closer. Your hands readjust to cradle his sharp jaw as your noses brush. He locks his dark brown eyes with your own before asking again, “May I?” 

You answer him this time, only it’s not with words. It’s with your lips moving gently against his own. He tastes like summer air, his skin traipsing your own feels like sunshine. When he slides his palm against the exposed bit of your waist you can feel the roughness of his hands. Calluses surround the delicate bones there, and in moments they catch onto the soft skin at your stomach. It’s a new sensation to you. Kissing someone like this is a new sensation to you. Loving someone as fiercely as you love him is a new sensation to you.

But then we woke up to find that Summer had gone

You don’t remember when your lips parted, or when your grandfather came to rescue the two of you. All that you can remember is waking up on top of your white comforter with your window open, as if someone slithered out of it in the middle of the night. When you go to close it you look down in search of a muddied up truck and a white head of hair. Surely enough you find him as easily as every morning, tending to his tomato plants and smiling to himself. You wonder what he’s thinking about, you hope that it’s you.

When you leave the window and return to your bed you see that your phone is lit up with a message from your mother. The two of you have barely talked since you arrived here, though you’re not sure why. Life has probably been busy for her since you left, and you’ve been enjoying yourself so much that you nearly forgot your home even existed. The text banner covering your home screen, which is a picture of you and Jeongin enjoying a picnic in your grandfathers fields, reads ‘hey sweetie! could you please give me a call soon? love and miss you, xoxo mom.’ 

It rings three times before she answers. You can hear bustling from her side of the call, probably from her getting off of the city's public transport and into work. If she hears any background from you it’s probably just chirping birds or Jeongins whistling that started up a minute ago. 

“Hi mommy!” You say into your phone. With how relaxing life was here at the farm you hadn’t thought much about home, but now that you can hear the city you realize that you do actually miss it. Just little things, like the bakery across the street from your townhouse and seeing buskers at every street corner when you went out.

“Hi love! I’m on the way into work right now but I just wanted to check up with you, even if it’s quick.” You chew on your lower lip and nod before remembering that there’s no way that she can see you nodding.

“Mhm, sounds nice.” You wipe your palms on your denim shorts, which are still on from last night, while racking your brain for what on earth you’re going to say to her.

“Tell me everything!” Great. That really helps you to narrow things down.

“Well, everything is great I guess! Grandma makes breakfast every morning and Grandpa comes in at around lunch time. We spend lots of time together, around the house and going out sometimes. I like to help Grandma cook. A-and I met the neighbor, he’s… nice. Really really nice.” At this moment you’re unbelievably grateful for the phone between you and her so that she can’t see your sheepish smile. You’re not sure how she would react to the knowledge that you’re head over heelsfor the farmer next door.

“That sounds like a lot of fun!” The white noise in her background quickly dissipates so you assume that she’s entered her work building. Which means this call will be ending soon and your heart will forget the city and return to the farm, “I hope you aren’t having too much fun to come home?” 

“Of course not!” Even as you say it your heart squeezes. You like your home a lot. It’s fun, even with barely any friends. Even when your parents are in and out of the house all of the time. Even when you’re mostly alone. Alone is fine when you’re there, because alone is what you’re used to.

But when you came here there was Jeongin, and suddenly you weren’t alone anymore. Suddenly you had someone to tell about the fat squirrel that you saw on your windowsill. Someone to make inside jokes with. Someone who made you laugh and smile in a way that you haven’t in years. Someone who made you feel seen in a way that was addicting. 

“That’s good because we got an email from your school district that you’ll be starting back two weeks earlier than anticipated, so we’ll have to come get you earlier. In about two weeks actually. Is that okay?” As soon as the question registers in your ears it feels like you’ve eaten an entire bushel of cotton. Your mouth is so dry, your tongue so heavy, lips hanging open as you think of anything to say. ‘Is that okay?’ your mother had asked, as if your answer would change anything. As if saying no would earn you more time.

You’re quiet for a moment, trying so hard to not be mad with your mother or your school or yourself. You knew all along that this happiness would end, the fact that it’s coming quicker isn’t anyone's fault.

“Yea, that’s fine.” You answer, feeling a bit guilty for keeping your mother longer while she’s trying to get into work. 

“Okay sweetie, I just wanted to let you know. I need to go now but I’ll see you really soon! Love you!”

“Love you too.” You’ve barely finished saying the words before your call ends. Your heart pangs, longing for comfort so badly that it hurts. Longing for Jeongin so badly. Tears well up in your eyes and you think that they might fall, until you hear your grandmother shout your name from down the stairs. You rush down them just as you do every morning. When you’ve reached the bottom you see Jeongin and your Grandmother waiting at the table, a smile on both of their faces. You take your seat beside Jeongin and intertwine your hands then squeeze tightly. 

He looks at you and smiles again before the three of you bow your heads in prayer. Your intentions were to focus on your grandmother's words, but as Jeongin begins to rub circles on the back of your hand with his thumb your mind begins to wander. You think of how much you’ve enjoyed your time together, and then of how you’re already acting like it’s over, and then again of how badly you don’t want to tell him that you’re leaving. Once your Grandmother is finished and everyone is raising their heads and starting to eat, you decide that these next two weeks won’t be one drawn out goodbye. You’ll enjoy the little bit of time that you have instead of spending it all wishing that there was more.

The two of you go to the lake each night just like always. Some nights you barrel straight into the water, both of you giggling and clinging to each other for no reason at all. Some nights you forgo the dip in the water and instead lay down on the grass and look up at the stars. He talks to you a lot on those nights, which you really enjoy. On most nights, regardless of how you’ve spent your time before then, the two of you end up rolling around in the grass with your limbs tangled and lips locked. On the day that he and your grandfather brought in strawberries from the fields he remarked that your lips tasted like the fruit. It made your heart flutter. A lot of the things that he does makes your heart flutter.

There was one night when he came into your room after dropping you off. The two of you crawled into your bed, bones tired and aching from the long day. You laid your head on his chest so that his heartbeat was beneath your ear. You matched your breathing to the steady thumping there. He brought his hand to your back and began to rub soothing circles against your shirt. He pressed a kiss to your temple before he fell asleep. You remember thinking that you only had half a week left with him and that it wasn’t enough. You don’t know if any amount of time with him would be enough.

tag list: @dreamyyang​ @charm-arts @straytannies

[honeylikewords]

uneasy lies the head (poe dameron)

In the wake of her passing, the official, if somewhat symbolic, royal title of Alderaan has passed to from Leia Organa to her chosen heir, Poe Dameron. Along with his elected position as the Galactic Senate Represenative for his home planet, Yavin V, Poe is now burdened with the responsibility of a political office he never imagined holding, and is called to attend a summit of the galaxy’s leaders that will be held aboard the Starcruiser Halcyon. 

This piece is based on a few things: one, me liking the idea of Prince of Alderaan Poe, two, my interest in Begrudging Politician Poe, and three, the new details that have come out about the real-life Halcyon experience that will be opening up at Disney World in Florida, which you can read more about here! I’ve been really excited about it for a long time, and just thought it’d be fun to tie one of my favorite characters in to this amazing new experience that will be coming soon! 

(Content Warnings: mentions of Leia’s de@th, some slightly risque flirting between Poe and his wife, and a little bit of making out, but that’s about it! Word count is 5k.)

Poe stands in front of the mirror, anxiously adjusting the epaulets of his tunic. They don’t seem to sit right on his shoulders, he thinks, passing a hand through their silvery fringe and watching them brush the snow-white fabric of his sleeves. This isn’t his kind of uniform, and when he looks at himself, he sees more a child wearing the spoils of a raid on their parent’s closet than the Senate representative he was meant to be. He tries tightening the high, pale collar of his tunic against his throat, swallowing thickly and watching his Adam’s apple bob beneath the colorless fabric. That didn’t help much dignify the image, he thinks, eyeing himself morosely.

He looks older. His beard is fuller, having let it grow out to appear more… wise, he supposes, and the grey streaks running through it match the ones appearing more and more every day at his temples. His tan fingers tease lightly at the end of his beard, trying to stroke it like he’d seen other, more senior politicians do when lost in thought (or at least trying to come across like they were). It makes him look pretentious.

Sighing loudly, he slumps his taut shoulders and rolls them a few times to loosen the aching muscles. He turns away from the mirror and steps out of the dressing room, entering the stateroom and collapsing onto the edge of the bed, his face in his hands. He hears a door hiss open and looks between his fingers at the emerging figure.

She’s still fidgeting with her hair, which is now lifted from its former looseness into a series of intricate looping braids. Letting out a huff, she takes her hands away, seemingly having resigned herself to leaving the hair as it was. Poe lifts his head a little, resting his chin on his palm as he watches her pat her dress and check the mirror in the dressing room, just as he’d been doing mere moments before.

She looks much, much better than he does. It’s an objective fact. Her air is stately and refined, with her gown framing her regally. The fabric is a delicate, pale blue, trimmed with fine threads of gold that interweave and flow, like braided ivies, trailing up her waist in a way that guides Poe’s wandering eyes to the loveliness of her figure. She seems to belong better to this world, with its mannerisms and socialites, its political politenesses. He never had the patience to be so diplomatic, even though that is his job, now.

He watches her pull a face at herself in the mirror, frowning at some flaw he’s oblivious to, and he stands up, coming to her side and placing his hands on the small of her waist, leaning his head on her shoulder and kissing her cheek amiably.

“You look like a princess,” he purrs, hoping his flattery will encourage her confidence. He hates seeing her unhappy with herself.

“I wish,” she responds, voice tinged with something wan and far away. “I… I really do wish.”

He knows what she’s thinking about: he’d been thinking about it, too. Dropping the air of adulation, Poe reaches for her hand and gently knits their fingers together, pressing their locked hands softly against her belly for reassurance. He meets her eyes in the mirror, and the two share expressions of loss.

“I miss her, too,” he murmurs. “I don’t feel like… like I can do what she did. What she left for me to do.”

He feels his wife squeeze his hand intently, causing him to lift his head up and meet her gaze as she turns to look at him, unfiltered by the mirror. Her eyes, clear and sharp, stare at him as she nods, then kisses his forehead warmly, taking her free hand and brushing it softly across his cheek.

“She chose you for a reason,” she whispers, soft and sincere, just like she always does. “Leia left you her seat and title because you’re the only person fit for the job. She trusted you.”

Her hand dips to his jaw and she lifts his head up from its morose slump. He cannot look away from her, even if he wanted to.

“I trust you, too.”

Poe takes in all the angles of his wife’s face, knowing that no single word of what she said was untrue, but searching for the possibility of a lie anyway in some small giveaway of her expression; after all, how could he be the one fit to carry on in the shadow of his predecessor? How could his shoulders carry the burden of her greatness, much less improve upon it? But there, in her eyes, Poe sees the truth, reflected over and over again: he was chosen for this job, chosen to carry on a legacy he had no option but to strengthen. He is the only one who could, whether he believes it or not.

He straightens his back a little, standing up taller,  and squeezes his wife’s hand in silent thanks, taking a moment to press their foreheads together and breathe in the scent of her. She is wearing perfume-- something they’d never had access to during the scarcity of the war-- and he marvels at how something so small changes the entire atmosphere of her presence. She truly embodies the grace and elegance of the woman who came before both of them, looking every inch the part of an Alderaanian royal.

Glancing back at himself in the mirror, Poe huffs; while she may look, indeed, just the way Leia would want the nation to be represented, Poe does not. He looks stuffy in his garb, at times like an old man in the too-tight clothes of his youth, and, at others, like a scrawny teenager in the baggy trappings of someone he was only pretending to be. She seems to sense his dismay, as she takes the initiative to comfort him, this time.

“You look dashing,” she smiles, adjusting his lapels and the ribbons of decoration on his chest. “Prince Poe Dameron, Senate Representative of Alderaan and Yavin IV. You’ll knock ‘em dead.”

At that, Poe lets out a playful, exasperated huff, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll be great,” he grimaces, eyeing his form in the mirror. He raises his voice into a mocking lilt, swaying his head from side to side in an intentionally cartoonish parody of a stuffy bureaucrat. “Oh, Senator Y’Barra, your engagement commission is most dreadful! Shall we discuss its heinousness over tea and crescent crumpets? Garcon, we need more gold-dusted butter for our scones if we are ever to pass this bill!”

She covers her mouth to hide the beginnings of a smile and tries to reprimand Poe, affectionately slapping his chest.

“It’s nice that we’ve been asked to attend the summit, Poe. At least try to make some--”

“Don’t say friends,” he groans. “I don’t want to make friends with these people. They’re politicians; they don’t want to do anything other than profit, and post-war reconstruction is a hell of a time to make money for slime bags like these people.”

That seems to take her back for a moment, and Poe watches her expression shift as she sorts through her thoughts, her lips pursed, eyebrows arched. She then shrugs and nods, acquiescing.

“Probably. But there are probably also people like you: people whose service in the war and dedication to their people, all across this galaxy, led them to this job. People who just want to rebuild. Do better. You’ll find them, dear: you’re an excellent judge of character.”

She taps her fingers against his nose playfully.

“After all, you picked me, didn’t you?”

“If I remember correctly,” Poe teases, lowering his eyes to her lips and smirking, “You were the one to get a crush on me first. All butterflies and nerves anytime I so much as passed you in the halls. More like you picked me, huh?”

Poe catches her face take on the familiar cues of embarrassment and flustering; he can just tell he’s got her all a-twitter, and she pouts her lips, looking down at her shoes shyly as he starts to chuckle. It’s adorable to remember how flighty and skittish she was in those early days, and how enamored of her he himself was, and remains. Getting her all shy like this is a sweet harkening back to that early, giddy tension, and he dips his face down, hovering his lips just above hers, feeling her draw in a breath of neediness and--

“Senator Dameron,” a robotic voice announces through the commlink in the stateroom, freezing Poe in place. “The ferry is beginning docking procedures with the Halcyon. Please proceed to the boarding area. A droid will be sent to collect your luggage as you leave.”

“Ah, shit,” he growls. He’d completely lost track of time.

Dodging back out into the stateroom, Poe glances out the window and sees the looming mass of a gigantic starcruiser, a sharp body of glimmering steel and inky black portholes contrasted against the star field behind it. It is massive-- far larger than any ship Poe had personally piloted in the past-- and spans more than the distance his window could afford a view of. They are extremely close, and within minutes will be aboard the behemoth, where Poe will have to eat, sleep, and breathe senatorial and princely dignity.

He turns away from the window to see his wife making sure everything was packed and prepared for departure, checking the bathroom and dressing room before giving him a confirming nod: everything is where it needs to be. They are ready to go.

They walk towards each other and Poe places his hands on his wife’s arms, stroking up and down the bareness of her shoulders to steady himself. As he feels the warmth of her skin beneath his rough palms, Poe blinks with awareness and gives her a quick squeeze, darting off to the dressing room. He opens a trunk and lifts up the topmost layer of fabric, running back into the stateroom with it carefully laid across both his forearms, then turns his wife to face him and gently lays the upper corners of the fabric on each of her shoulders.

“The cloak,” he mumbles as he fastens the pale silver silk around her neck, “Don’t wanna forget that. A princess is set apart by garments like that.”

“Right,” she hums, admiring his hands as he fusses with her collar. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that since you’re the prince, now, and I married you, I’m the--”

“Princess, yep,” grins Poe. “Princess Dameron.”

“By marriage only,” she teases.

“And I’m only the prince because she left an essentially honorary title to me,” Poe wits back. “But it suits you, at least.”

“You think?”

“Mm. Now, I think the prince owes his princess one of the tenets of royal responsibility: unadulterated affection towards one’s spouse.”

“Is that a tenet of your responsibilities?,” she smiles, brow cocked.

“I just made it up, but I like to think so.”

Once again, Poe presses his palms against the soft curves of her upper arms, squeezing in the grounding manner he knows she likes, tracing his thumbs along the creamily-smooth fabric now covering her, and he leans in close, admiring how the light shifts against her skin as his shadow draws nearer. He parts his lips, ready to feel the gentle swell of her soft ones against his, when, as if by divine interruption, the hydraulic hiss of the stateroom’s door fills the room and a silver-plated protocol droid peers at him through the now-open door. He grits his teeth to resist letting out a completely undignified expletive aimed at the droid and stares at it pointedly, trying to silently communicate that it had interrupted a private moment.

“It is time to board the Halcyon, Senator,” it chimes in the lilting manner all protocol droids seem to have, seemingly blissfully unaware of his frustration. “Please, come with me to the boarding area.”

Behind the protocol droid, a cargo lifter droid rolls by, seemingly waiting until Poe and his wife leave the cabin to enter. Poe sighs, but can’t resist letting a small chuckle out: both droids, despite their different purposes, both seem polite, in their own sorts of ways, and he always finds that endearing.

Looking to his wife, Poe gives a little bemused half-smile and shrugs his shoulders, as if apologetic but resigned. She takes his hand and turns, nodding to both droids with an impassive but gracious expression, one that Poe notes is more than befitting of an official such as herself. Distanced, but not dour, regal, but not recalcitrant. He loves it.

“Thank you,” she says, coolly polite. “Please, lead the way.”

The protocol droid begins its stiff-jointed hobble towards the boarding area and Poe and his wife trail behind, arms linked at the elbow as Poe fidgets with her fingers. He twiddles her marriage band as they walk, always comforted by the feel of it on her hand. He admires it as they silently proceed; it’s somewhat rough-hewn, made from hammered durasteel, a little uneven and dented in some places from the haste in which it was made, and Poe loves it.

He loves how it contrasts the delicate, fragile jewelry common amongst royals, how it’s not meant to glitter and shine and grab attention, how it ties her to him and he to her, with no regard for image or pomp. It is heavy and solid and made purely for the sake of love and belonging, and she wears it everywhere she goes with pride, as if it was the finest-cut Oshiran sapphire, or the most carefully sculpted gold. It is one of the crown jewels of Alderaan, now, and the thought of it-- of his parent’s simple, quickly-made wedding ring, forged in a time of war, without promise of any moment past the one they were in, now being a royal regalia-- makes his heart ache to bursting with unadulterated love.

Poe tugs her hand up and kisses her knuckles as they finally round the corner into the boarding area; somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers the droid saying something about how their luggage will be sent directly to their stateroom aboard the Halcyon, but he’s hardly listening. He’s looking at his wife, his rock, his tether, as they begin their socialite dance, seeking steadfast comfort in her as he prepares to have to play his part in a world he was never born to be in.

The droid gestures to a corridor formed between the two ships: passengers traipse from the shuttle onto the boarding area of the Halcyon, representatives from a myriad of species in a breadth of costumes and liveries. Poe and his wife exchange glances, knowing that these people will have some hand in forming what comes next in the political landscape of the galaxy, and that they, too, will be instrumental in forging the new governments of the rising Republic.

“Come on,” she smiles, trying to coax him along, tugging his hand and taking a step forward, “It’s gonna be fine. It’s not like my flyboy to get cold feet, hm?”

Poe chuckles and shakes his head, trying to dislodge his clouding worries, and walks in time with his wife, joining the throngs of senators and royals and presidents and diplomats making their way aboard the Halcyon. Some of them exchange pleasantries, others are locked in conversations: some even look at Poe and his wife and nod in acknowledgement, or turn to their compatriots and whisper.

Poe feels an embarrassed heat creep up the base of his neck; he knows rumors have circulated about his particularly unusual position as a representative for a dead planet and a living one, and about how he’d been named the next in line for a royal title he was not born into. He tries not to let it get to him-- let people think that they think, and do your job, Leia had always told him-- but the feeling of alienation and disbelonging hangs over him, shaming him into silence. He tenses, and keeps his eyes fixed forward, which grants him an ever-nearing view of the grand foyer of the massive starcruiser.

The Halcyon is unlike any other ship Poe has ever been on. He’d heard about starcruisers like this, meant to be enormous cruise ships travelling in luxury and style from one planet to another, filled with sprawling cabins and indulgent amenities, and had never even pictured himself aboard one. The thought hardly appealed to him: days, weeks, even, of doing nothing? Just wandering aimlessly around, decadent and opulent in one’s revelry? The mere idea disgusts him. Still, as he steps into the expansive entry for the Halcyon, he finds himself feeling something other than disgust: he feels strangely at home.

The area is bustling as ship workers and bellhops collect luggage and transfer it to droids, as greeters guide guests to check in areas and hand them keycards, as officers check passports and documentation against databases, all lit under the glow of thousands of lights, which reflect off polished durasteel and marble surfaces. Holo projections provide information about travel destinations and the cruise itself in hundreds of different tongues, while a massive projection of the captain glows a familiar blue and greets the boarding politicians.

Poe turns in awe, gazing at the dozens of porthole windows affording views of distant and nearby star clusters, at the navigational crew high above, checking maps and charting courses, and takes a deep, steadying breath in through his nose, squeezing his wife’s hand tight. The hum and thrall of the ship, with its thousands of moving parts and requisite workers, feels exactly like all the ships he’d served on during the Rebellion. He half-believes that if he closes his eyes and turns around, he’ll open them and see Leia there, giving orders and directing the workflow.

The memory sits on his heart, but instead of a heavy, lingering pain, it kindles a warm, growing fire: she lives on in him. She would be proud to see him carrying on the mantle, working to do what no one else has the skill, speech, or stones to do. She is never really gone. Never can be.

Instilled with strength and purpose, Poe looks to his wife, who is staring at the gargantuan hub of activity before her, almost taken aback by how bustling it is. He leans down and gently pecks her cheek, tugging her along and breaking her out of her trance. They’ve got places to be, things to do, royal engagements to avoid, after all. As they begin to move closer to what Poe believes is the reception desk, a Twi’lek in a sleek, almost military-looking white uniform steps in front of Poe and his wife, grinning from green ear to ear.

“Senator Dameron, Princess Dameron,” she greets, bowing at the waist respectfully, “I am Lyna’ame, and I’ll be directing you regarding your stay on the Halcyon. Thank you for honoring us with your patronage.”

“Uh, thank you for having us,” Poe stammers, unsure of how to conduct himself in such a position.

Lyna’ame looks up at him with a quizzical eye, but seems too well-trained to respond with anything more than a polite smile and a nod. She produces from the pocket of her grey-trimmed suit a pair of infochips, extending them towards Poe and his wife.

“You will be staying in the royal suite on Deck B, unit number eighteen,” Lyna’ame smiles. “These chips will act as your keys to the room and to any amenities you should wish to access, and will remind you of upcoming engagements or conferences you should be in attendance of.”

As if on cue, the small screens on the infochips light up and read “19:00: Senatorial Dinner In Ballroom One!” Poe blinks at it, then flashes Twi’lek a cordial but slightly cold smile, taking the chips from her hand and tucking them unceremoniously into his breast pocket.

“Alright, thanks. I think we can get it from here.”

She seems not to register his attempt to tie off the loop of the conversation, continuing anyway.

“You will also have access to all the facilities of the ship, including the swimming areas, dining areas, lounges, bars, activity centres, spas and--”

“I’ll check the brochure in the room,” Poe smiles, searching for an exit. “I appreciate it, but, uh, my wife is very tired--” --Poe nudges her with an elbow and she balks, then understands his intention and mimes a yawn, nodding sympathetically-- “--And I’d love to get her some rest before any hobnobbing, y’know?”

“Of course, your highness,” Lyna’ame says, again accompanied by a civil bow. “The elevators are to the left. Press your infochip to the pad and it will take you to your floor. Your luggage should already be in your room, and please,” she smiles. “Enjoy your cruise.”

Poe bows back, then leads his wife by the elbow to the elevators, where they tap their key card and the doors hiss open. As they board, just the two of them, Poe’s wife turns to face him and raises one eyebrow, haughty.

“Really threw me under the bus there, Poe,” she smirks. “‘Oh, my wife wants to leave this conversation because my wife is awkward and doesn’t know how to handle subordinate behavior from service workers’. Real nice.”

Rolling his eyes, Poe can’t help but smile, and instead of replying, drops his hand to the small of his wife’s back, grazing his fingers there for a moment before dipping slightly lower and--

She jumps, then giggles, hitting him with a shocked but not at all displeased expression.

“Did you just pinch my ass?”

“Maybe,” he smiles. “Why?”

“You just seemed so…” She touches his arm, searching for the right word, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “Severe, before. Lost.”

“Feeling better. Feeling… like I can do this, maybe. Or at least do what I need to do, even if it doesn’t look exactly like how everybody else might expect me to.”

At that she purses her lips and nods, and he can tell she’s happy for him: he’s not entirely out of the woods about this whole ‘galactic representative’ thing, and certainly not used to all the expectations that come with being the heavy head that wears the crown, but he’s going to be alright. At least, he feels like he is, at this moment, and that’s all that matters.

Poe finds himself allowing his smile to grow wider as he dips down and nuzzles her temple, teasing his lips over her ear, tempting and toying.

“I still hate the suit,” he whispers, sending her shivering, “And I don’t want to talk to these people like we’re all buddy-buddy--”

“--Acknowledged, Senator,” she teases, rubbing his arm in the way that lets him know she’s itching to get more handsy.

“But we’re gonna have a private room,” he continues, “And a lock on the door, and at least--” --He checks the infocard, which reads “17:05”-- “--About two hours before anybody’s gonna need us, so I say we shimmy out of these nice duds…”

Poe’s finger trails down the silky rivulets of her collarbones; he has to admit, he does find her massively attractive in this royal robing, but he figures it’ll be less hassle for both of them to assure he doesn’t get too rowdy while they’re wearing some of the best (and irreplaceably expensive) fineries in the galaxy, so he’ll have to bid her pretty little dress and luxurious cape adieu for their stateroom rendezvous. Not that he minds: the dress might be pretty, but the woman underneath is ten times more so. Besides, she can always put it back on again for the dinner, anyway.

“We go see what kind of minibar we’re looking at,” Poe teases, watching her roll her eyes, “Hop in the bath, and see where those two hours take us.”

“Mm, we’ll see,” she demures, patting his chest. He knows she likes to dance around it, never say anything too scandalous where someone else can hear, and he loves that; she extends the tension, making him wait for what he wants. He may not ever have been a patient man before, but she forces him to slow down, savor it, work for it. And that’s delicious.

The elevator doors slide open as Poe leads his wife out into the hall, kissing her jaw as he checks the suite numbers. They shuffle along, exchanging little pecks and touches in the graciously empty hallway (what would the other representatives think, she reminds him in a hushed tone as they pass rooms, if they saw the new prince of Alderaan and Senator for Yavin V hanging off his wife like a pubescent teen?) before arriving at suite eighteen. Poe fumbles in his breast pocket, keeping his lips planted on his wife’s neck, then slaps the infochip haphazardly against the door. It clicks open, and Poe doesn’t even bother to look inside: he just coaxes his wife in, and tumbles in after her.

The lights in the room slowly turn on automatically, rising from a low dim to a sunny brightness, illuminating white-panelled walls and a lush, wide bed, all the furniture sharply clean and sleekly modern, trimmed in shades of black and silver. A massive window shows the endless expanse of space beyond the double-layered transparisteel, and while Poe would normally be more inquisitive and peek around the room to admire it, he’s more than occupied as he pushes his face deeper in the warm, scented crook of his wife’s neck.

“Careful,” she warns as his hand starts to pet at the base of her head, eking dangerously close to the beginnings of her hair roots, “These braids took me hours. I don’t want to have to re-do them, Dameron”

“I get that,” he breathes heavily, “But you look really hot with messy hair and--”

“If we’re going to go to that dinner, I’m not going to go with my hair flying everywhere! I’ll look like a… well, you know!”

“Like a woman well-loved by her husband,” Poe teases, nipping at her jaw. “But, fine, we’ll skip the dinner, and I’ll just keep you all to myself. Nobody else has to see. In fact, I’d prefer they didn’t.”

His eyes glimmer with wolfish promise as he sets his wife down on the edge of the white-blanketed bed, staring at her as her skirts form pools of silver and blue. He’s serious: the summit dinner all but disappears from his mind as he looks at her; how beautiful she is. How elegant. So poised and pretty and his, all his, to love until all the suns swallow themselves and burn out. All these representatives won’t miss him at one measly, lousy dinner, right? Not when he has the love of his life to attend to, surely.

“What’s gotten into you?,” she giggles, kicking off one of her sophisticated shoes as she sits on the bed. “You’re acting like we’re on our honeymoon!”

Poe leans in and places his hands on either side of her hips, bumping his forehead to hers as he takes long, weighty breaths, feeling the heat radiate off of her.

“I just… This is a lot, right?”

“Mm,” she acquiesces.

“And you’re kind of… what I go back to when I’m in too deep. So, right now, all this summit stuff and the Senate and the council? I need that to take a backseat to me being with you. The person I love. And letting that be what guides me in what I need to do for… everybody else.”

She lets out a soft, appreciative “aw”, her eyes softening as she cups his cheek, and Poe leans into her hand, allowing a little lasciviousness to leak into his smile as he stares down at her.

“Plus, it’s kinda… you know, a little sexy, being somewhere so new and ritzy. I’m not used to this kind of stuff. That, and we barely got a honeymoon, if you remember--”

“Yeah,” she recalls, sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly vexed by the memory, “I remember. The day after we got married, that First Order outpost tried to open fire and you were up and out of bed and back in deployment after less than twenty four hours of being a married man.”

“Duty never sleeps,” he shrugs. “But… We can make up for lost time here, on this big, shiny, fancy-ass ship, huh?”

Poe wiggles his eyebrows with playfully rapacious intent, sending his wife into a fit of good-natured laughs. He adores when she laughs; it sends his heart racing, every inch of him alight with the joy of knowing that her smiles are because of him, the sound of her voice bouncing up and down with glee all caused by some silly little thing he’s said or done. Unable to contain himself, Poe leans down and kisses her, cutting off the sounds of her laughter, a deep, satisfied groan emanating from his chest.

“God,” he rumbles as they part for a quick breath, “I haven’t gotten to do that all damn day.”

“It did feel really good,” she sighs, clasping her arms around his neck. She seems to take pause, etching his face into her memory with her eyes, then comes to a decision: Poe would recognize that resolute gleam in her expression anywhere. “Alright, we’re staying.”

“...You mean it?,” he chirps.

“Yep. You tell them your poor, defenseless wife is laid up ill and needs your constant and most doting attention,” she smiles, kissing the tip of his nose. “Then when you’re done calling the front desk, you come over here and you help me get out of this dress and into that bath you promised.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles, then catches himself. “I mean, yes, Princess.”

“Mm,” she beams, teasing him with a pinch on the thigh. “Much better.”

They share another deep, drawn-out kiss before Poe manages to wrest himself away from her and off to the side of the room with the comm built into the wall, but glances over at her as he taps at the screen to connect with the front desk. She grins coyly from the bed, kicking one leg out in a pseudo-sultry, semi-silly way from beneath her sumptuous gown. Poe can’t help but feel a swell of endearment.

As the call connects, Poe sighs dreamily to himself; if all else failed, at least he had her, and with her by his side, he was definitely going to enjoy a very, very pleasurable cruise.

[cyclogenesis]

i have to tell you that the second i saw cal and ash on that mountain getaway a couple weeks ago, i thought about how desperately i would love a sequel to your turks & caicos fic set during that trip. (this is not a request, i promise, i just wanted to tell you bc that is one of my fav fics of all time)

Aw anon!! 🥺 Gosh I hadn't even thought about that when I was in my feelings about the mountain getaway pictures, which is wild because I am just remembering now that I started a fic after the honeymoon comment initially happened (like, very soon after, because @elliebirdthings was at that show and told me about it and we were freaking out haha), before we knew that they went to Turks & Caicos, and I had them taking that trip to a cabin in Maine.

Just for kicks, because this message made me smile and I love you for that, here's the beginning of that fic. It's unfinished obviously (not even any kissing!), but there's some nice stuff in there I think. This fic was going to be titled A whole fucking lifetime of this after the American Pleasure Club album which was a title I should have kept, goddammit. Also randomly in here I have them driving to the cabin while listening to My Bloody Valentine, who Ashton later called out as one of his main influences for Superbloom.

1600 words of unfinished Cashton under the cut! 😘

The day after the last meeting about the promo schedule the dressing room conversation turns, as it does, to plans for the break. It’s a month out, but they’ve to a man developed a fetish for planning their free time carefully as soon as the schedule’s set. Planning things makes Ashton feel like a grown-up. He likes renting cars. Sometimes he scrolls through AirBnB for hours just to see what’s out there.

“I’m going straight back, we got Dodgers tickets,” Michael says.

“I remember when you used to say ‘we’ and it meant you and me,” Calum says. He wiggles a little from where he’s snuggled against Michael on the couch like he wants to get away, but of course Michael doesn’t let him. Ashton thinks he probably wasn’t really trying.

“Aw, you’ll always be my first love,” Michael tells him, squeezing Calum to him more tightly. “You wanna make out just for old times sake?”

“I do not,” says Calum, but he lets Michael give him a big kiss on the forehead, his face squinching up happily.

“I just wanna get away for a bit, no work or social media or anything,” says Ashton, ignoring their tomfoolery. “A little cabin by a lake somewhere.”

“Oh yeah?” Luke says. “Where are you and Cal going this time?”

“Maine,” Calum says, at the same time as Ashton says, “Why would you assume we’re going somewhere together?”

A small silence falls over the room.

With dignity, Ashton says, “Calum and I are going to Maine.”

“Just get out in front of it this time,” Michael advises. “Let everyone know it’s another honeymoon. Take control of the narrative.”

“How many times can you go on a honeymoon before you have to acknowledge that you’re married?” Luke asks nobody in particular.

“It’s a bro trip,” Ashton says firmly. “For bros.”

“It’s very bromantic,” Luke says. “It’s okay, I’m not hurt I wasn’t invited. I love going back to LA and jerking off alone.”

“It’s nice that we’ve all got plans,” Calum says. He’s settled peacefully back against Michael, Michael absently petting his hair.

“It’s not a honeymoon,” Ashton insists.

*

Whatever, Ashton called it what he called it, okay? Might as well control the narrative.

Over drinks at the bar after their last show Calum asks, “Where would you want to go on your honeymoon, anyway? Somewhere new?”

Ashton pokes at the ice in his cocktail with his straw. Aren’t they supposed to not be using straws anymore because of the ocean or whatever? Ashton loves the ocean, it’s very important to him. Also this cocktail sucks. “Can I try your drink?” he asks. “I don’t love mine.” Calum has something with ginger in it, and bubbles. Calum slides his obligingly over, and Ashton passes his own over to be fair.

“I like yours better,” Calum says after a sip. “You wanna trade?”

Sometimes Ashton does believe in soulmates. “Yes, thank you.” He takes a long drink. “It would be nice to spend more time in Italy. Not one of the tourist-y parts though, somewhere quiet. Up north, maybe, one of the smaller towns.” He tries to picture what it would be like: olive groves, blue skies, stone churches. An old villa with lemon trees and a view of the hills. He’s so used to traveling with the band or just with Calum that it’s hard to picture anyone else there with him. They’re all as prone as anyone to get swept up with girls to the exclusion of most everything else, but Ashton can’t really imagine a future without seeing Calum all the time, without talking to him every day. Maybe he and Calum could just get married around the same time and they could all go on a honeymoon together.

“Yeah, that’d be pretty nice,” Calum says, looking wistful. Ashton wants to take a picture of him, capture the way a curl rests against his temple, how the blue neon lights behind the bar hit the glitter he let Ashton smear on his cheekbones before the show. They made a no social media pledge for this trip but Ashton’s bringing his camera anyway. He has to keep in practice, doesn’t he? Anyway, it’s important to capture these memories.

“Maybe we should just go,” Ashton tells him. “Why not? Who knows how long it could take for me to fool someone into living with this forever?” He sucks down the last of his drink, feeling sorry for himself now. What if he falls in love and she moves in and Calum stops coming over in the morning to walk to their favorite coffee shop together, and stops picking Ashton up so they can go hike Runyon, and stops bringing Duke over like he owns the damn place and doesn’t care about the dog hair that Ashton has to hoover off his couch pillows? That would be terrible. Worst of all, what if it was Ashton that suddenly wanted those things to stop?

“I’ll live with you forever,” Calum says, too busy flagging down the bartender to intuit Ashton’s emotional crisis. He gestures to Ashton’s empty drink. “Another one of those, right?” His own is still half full. Maybe he didn’t really like Ashton’s better after all.

“Yeah, thanks man,” Ashton sighs.

Calum bumps his knee against Ashton’s, the barstool squeaking beneath him. “Ash, you’re gonna find somebody if that’s what you want. Anyone would be the luckiest person alive to be with you. Maybe we could do Italy after the tour wraps, we’ll finish in Spain so it won’t be far.”

The thought cheers Ashton a bit; that’s a decent amount of time to get on AirBnB and see what he can find that’s available. It’ll be nice to have something to look forward to, Italian sunshine and limoncello and the quiet.

“Mike and Luke will definitely give us shit though about planning another honeymoon while we’re still on this one,” Calum says.

“Let ‘em,” says Ashton.

*

It’s not a long flight but it’s a bit of a drive from there to get to the cabin. But Calum said he wanted something remote and quiet, so it’s worth the wait, the drive in the dark. There’s moonlight, anyway, and Calum took the wheel, getting them the rest of the way there in their little silver Prius rental. He puts on My Bloody Valentine and sings along, low and comforting to listen to after so many days straight of playing, of promo. Halfway through the trip Ashton thinks he sees a shooting star, maybe thought he dreamed it until he felt Calum’s soft nudge of knuckles against his arm, heard his quiet, “You see that, bro?”

The way gets bumpy, thick with trees, dark and hard to navigate once they turn off the main road. At the end of it all there’s the cabin, looming in the dark, lights left on for them and the key exactly where it’s supposed to be. It’s past one a.m. but they still give the place a wander, stopping at the largest bedroom facing the lake. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows Ashton sees trees, darkness, the black glitter of water under starlight. Calum asks, “You want this one?”

Ashton looks further and just sees more darkness. “It’s kind of unnerving at night,” he says. “Anyone could be out there.” The other bedroom has smaller windows, but the point stands. “Do you wanna just watch TV or something in here and then decide?”

“If we get axe murdered here I hope our ghosts come back and leave a one star review,” Calum says, but he’s already shrugging his duffel off his shoulders and kicking off his shoes.

The host left them a bottle of pinot grigio so Ashton pours up a few glasses while Calum strips down to his boxers and gets in bed. The boxers have cartoon pugs all over them. “I can’t believe that’s the lingerie you’re wearing for our honeymoon,” Ashton says, handing him a glass. “I also can’t believe those boxers even exist.”

Calum raises it to him in a salute and takes a sip. “These boxers are fantastic, but I guess if you want me to take them off…” he trails off, eyebrow raised, thumb hooked in the waistband pushing them down past his hipbone, then further until Ashton can see the crease of his thigh.

“No, no,” Ashton says hurriedly, “I’m just saying, what’s wrong with a nice pair of footie pajamas? Keeps you warm. Keeps you modest.” Nevertheless he shucks his own clothes except for his own (very grown-up, perfectly normal, in a flattering shade of dark green) boxers and joins Calum in bed. Calum’s already stopped paying attention to him, too busy trying to figure out how to work the remote. He finally gets the screen to flash on, and Ashton stays quiet, sipping his wine while Calum flips channels, finally landing on something in black and white. Cary Grant comes on screen but Ashton still isn’t sure what movie it is; Calum seems interested enough, setting the remote down between them, so he doesn’t complain. The wine goes down easy and Ashton does too after not too long.

He rolls onto his side and sees that Calum’s eyes are already closed. It doesn’t look like he’s asleep yet; it always takes him a bit, leaving him in a dozy stage for about ten minutes during which he might respond crankily to any communication or with adorable mumbling affection. Ashton turns the sound down and says, as quietly as he can, “TV off?” Calum’s eyes don’t open, but he nods a little. “Okay. You want me to go sleep in the other room?”

Calum moves then, a sleepy shift of his body, fumbling a hand up and blindly patting the sheet until he makes contact with Ashton’s hand on the remote and squeezes it, links their fingers together like he can’t quite figure out how to make it work. It feels nice. “’S’okay,” he murmurs. “Stay here.”

Ashton didn’t feel like getting up anyway.

[ssa-daddyhotchner]

The Struggle of Loving You - Chapter 28

Chapter Selection

Three months later

Emily and Garcia made plans for the team. They had spoken to JJ and we all were going to get drinks later today. 

I was sitting in my car driving over to the coffee shop, I hadn't gotten any for the apartment and the coffee at the office tasted burnt. 

I stood in line and my mind wandered over to Hotch, it was earlier in the morning... maybe he wanted some. But I also thought about when he was hurt. When the arrow was sticking out of his body. 

"That's my girl", what did he mean by that. Why did he say that? 

It could've been from the blood loss. That he was disoriented. Hotch was still getting over the injury, he had a close call in surgery. He had already lost so much blood laying on the floor waiting for the ambulance. 

I was sitting in the waiting room for hours, I never left to the hotel. 

When he woke up I was the first person he saw. With a weak smile spread across his face, he was happy to see me. Nothing ever happened after that though, no little moments. 

Other than staying with him in the hospital I was rarely there. 

Emily helped him for the most part, helping him get home. Jack was staying with Hayley until Hotch was fully recovered. 

He couldn't wait to get back to work, when he did he wasn't allowed in the field. Being strictly confined to the office, but it was better than nothing at all. 

We talked more than we did before that day but not as much as I would like. I found the awkward silence was better than breaking it so we barely said anything. 

I ordered and decided on getting everyone a cup. After paying I got back into my car and drove to the office, walking inside and deciding on taking the elevator. 

Before the elevator doors closed the person inside opened them for me, "Hey mama." 

I smiled and remembered, "Oh here... got you some." 

I handed him his cup and we walked inside the bullpen. "Are the rest for you", he laughs.

"Of course, you know I drink nothing but coffee." I went around the desks and placed their drinks on it. 

"It would explain why you're always hyper and jittery", scoffing, I put Reids drink down in front of him. 

"You have jokes now." 

His boyish smile tugged on his lips and he looked back down at his book. I turned back and glanced up at Hotch's office, seeing his figure in the window. 

Taking a few deep breaths I grabbed the last cup and walked up. Knocking softly I heard his deep voice rumble through the door. 

He looked up from his desk, "Y/n?" He dropped his pen, I placed the drink on his. "Still take it black?" He huffed. 

"Yeah", the small talk was over, I made my way towards the door until he stopped me. "Are you going with us tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it", with that I walked out to my desk, getting started on the pile of paperwork that needed to be done. Being a slow day, there were no interruptions. 

I took a few phone calls but nothing major. I knew who was coming up behind me when I heard the heels clicking. 

"Y/n come on" , I tossed my head back and stood up collecting the completed files in my hands. "Alright hold on", Garcia waited by my desk while I dropped off my work. 

"Done already?", he was a little surprised. "Hotch you have to know by now I always exceed your expectations." 

"That you do."

We shared a smile, inside I was still grinning. I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy those very limited small conversations. 

"We're gonna dress her up", Pen said to Emily as we joined her in the elevator. I got in my car and they met me at the apartment. Walking in I left the door open because they were right behind me. 

"Bedroom now", Emily said and she shut the door, we all marched down the hallway. 

I sat on the bed, not touching anything. I watched as they tore through my closet looking for a good dress. "Oh shit y/n, what about this." 

She held out the dress I wore underneath my gown for graduation. The fitting skin tight dress, that hugged everything the right way. 

It was also the dress I was wearing when Hotch and I ended up fucking in the club.

It brought back memories I didn't want to remember at the moment. "I don't know about that... I don't think it fits anymore." 

"Try it anyways", she handed it to me and I wasn't going to fight her on it. I grabbed it and headed to the bathroom, closing the doors and threw it on. 

I ran my hands over my body, feeling the fit.It still fit perfectly, I walked out and showed them, "See it fits, wear it." 

"I would but I don't have any shoes for it", right as those words were said Emily pulled out the pair of black heels Chloe would let me borrow. "Who's Chloe?" 

"Old friend", they shrugged and put my clothes back in the closet, cleaning up their mess. 

"Aren't you guys going to change?", they walked into the kitchen and Em pulled out a bottle of wine. 

"Trust me that'll take five minutes for me to get ready", Garcia agreed because she was already ready. 

"So... do you like Hotch?", Em said pouring me a glass. I shifted away a few inches and took the glass. I brought it to my lips. 

"He's okay", she raised her eyebrows and Pen just cocked her head to the side. 

"What's that look for?" , she shook her head. "No reason— It just seems that both of you I don't know, like each other." 

I almost choked on my drink, I started laughing a bit. I tried to act like she was lying but the blush creeping up my cheeks gave it away. 

But I could blame that on the wine, "What makes you say that? We barely have spoken more than a minute and he doesn't even stay around me for more than he needs to." 

Even Garcia was looking at me like I was crazy. Was it that obvious... I get they're profilers but we haven't done anything at all to insinuate feelings whatsoever. 

"Really y/n you're going to stand there and say you don't like him... I'm not a profiler and I can tell the little subtle glances. How his eyes linger on you for a little too long. And you do the same thing to him. There may be no words but it's something."

I wasn't sure what to say... couldn't exactly say to them that I used to fuck our boss. That we broke it off because of the job. 

"I don't know, I mean he's attractive yes but I wouldn't." 

It pained me to say that... all I wanted to do was jump into his arms. 

To have him kiss me until I couldn't breathe, my body yearned for his touch and my mind craved him as a person. 

I wanted him back but that wasn't realistic, not right now. 

Emily got a text and checked her phone.

"Let's go", Emily mumbled, trying not to spill her wine. I followed them out to the car and we drove to meet the team and JJ. 

Getting there I was hounded with questions, they just wanted to get to know me more. But then it started getting personal and somehow worked its way back to Hotch.

"Okay can we stop", I mumbled. They barely heard me but they got the message. I was over it, talking about anything was fine but I wanted to stay away from that subject. 

Constantly asking what he thinks of me and vice versa. Whether we'd be a good couple or not, I already knew those answers. 

And those answers hurt more than anything because I also know how that ended. 

Walking into the club I already saw where everyone was, Morgan was on the floor joined with a few women. 

Rossi was in the corner working on the next Mrs Rossi, Reid was also at the bar talking to the bartender. 

Hotch... he was talking to a woman that had made herself comfortable at our table. 

I took a deep breath and made my way over with Emily and Garcia, "Is JJ he— hey." Em spotted JJ walking out of the bathroom. 

"I missed you so much, how are you guys?" JJ came over and gave a big hug to Em and Pen. I stood there awkwardly, "This— is y/n she was the one I told you about." They pulled me closer to them.

"Hi, they told me a lot about you", I said with a smile. My eyes kept fixating over to Hotch that was now smiling at her and making her laugh. 

"Nice to meet you, guys. I'm going to sit down." They nodded and said they were going to grab some shots for all of us. 

I went over to the table and Hotch turned his head to the side, seeing me. As I got closer he started to ignore the woman he was with, me being his only focus. 

I sat down next to him, "Who's your friend?" The woman said in a jealous tone. 

"Kelly this is y/n, we work together", she looked me up and down. I wasn't having it, I wasn't in the mood for a pissing match. If she wanted him she could take him. 

"You look gorgeous by the way", the woman scoffed and got up from the table. Now it was just us... together alone. 

"Thank you", he was about to open his mouth when the team came back over with the drinks. "Aye look who finally got here." I laughed as Morgan sat next to me. 

"I got here like five minutes ago not to mention the same time as Garcia and Emily." 

"Didn't see you. You're not a very vocal person, but it's ok mama", he put an arm around me and kissed my temple. Smiling, I reached in the middle for a shot. 

I looked around and didn't notice the woman Morgan was with, "Where are little lady friends."

He looked down at the drink in his hand and finished it, "Oh I'll be seeing them soon." 

Tossing my head back I took a shot and my throat burned while it made its way down.

All joining me they went for it. "Reid what happened with the bartender, she was into you." 

"No she wasn't"

"Reid I know I'm new and I get you're a profiler but how could you not tell, it's obvious." 

"Really", Reid said, I could see the pink covering his face. He was embarrassed that he didn't notice. 

"Yes smart ass, go get some", Emily told him and he took another shot for confidence and went back to the bar. 

Minutes after that Morgan brought over more drinks and seeing as I wasn't really in the best state of mind because of what Garcia and Emily were talking about prior to the gathering, I was upset. 

I continuously started drinking with no sign of stopping.

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

Permeant taglist : @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @oreogutz  @qtip-blog  @aberrant-annie @errorcosplay67 

[yikesharringrove]

For Steve

Commission for @cherrydreamer, thank you so much for your commission and your idea! 💕

Read on ao3

-

“Oh damn .”

Steve smiled bashfully, looking down at his feet, wrapped up in silk.

He had gotten a new set today, pretty lace panties matched the garter belt perfectly , stockings clipped in and held high on his thighs.

The bralette was see-through, but the lace on the trim matched everything else.

“Gimme a spin.” He turned around for Billy, throwing him a sultry look over his shoulder.

The panties were cut high on his ass cheeks, and he knew the straps of the garters framed his ass just right . He had checked in the mirror.

Billy was just about salivating as Steve turned back around, walking slow and sexy back to him.

“Jesus, Baby. I’ll never get tired of you dressin’ up all pretty for me.”

Billy grabbed him around the waist, tossing him onto the bed, pressing his body over Steve’s.

And Steve loved sharing this with Billy, loved that Billy got such satisfaction from his outfits , his makeup , but something didn’t sit right with Steve.

Maybe it was the dressin’ up all pretty for me .

It wasn’t for Billy.

It was for Steve.

He felt the most beautiful , the most confident , the most himself in stuff like this, delicate lingerie Billy was now taking off of him with his teeth , pretty dresses, and elegant makeup.

He had since he was little and he and Carol would sneak into his mother’s things to play dress up with her expensive clothes, her fine jewelry and her makeup.

“Stevie, you with me?” Billy was kneeling between Steve’s legs, his brows drawn close together. “You kinda zoned out on me for a second.”

“Yeah, uh, sorry.”

“What’s up, Buttercup? You not in the mood? ‘Cause we don’t have to-”

“No, it’s fine. I mean, got all dressed up. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

Steve was expecting Billy to say something vulgar, maybe lick a stripe up Steve’s chest, but Billy’s eyebrows just scrunched closer, and he pulled away .

He moved to sit next to Steve instead of his position between his legs.

“What’s goin’ on?” Billy had put on his serious voice . “Why would it go to waste?”

“If we don’t fuck.” Steve was feeling too exposed, the lingerie usually felt like a fucking suit of armor , but it was all askew, tugged on and shifted, and Steve felt like he had nothing tethering him down , not Billy, not the lingerie.

“But, I mean, don’t you just like wearing it?” Billy was talking slowly, the way he always did when he had too much going through his brain, had to choose his words carefully .

Steve took a breath.

“Look, you’ve been really cool about all, uh, this ,” he gestured to himself, his body wrapped in lace and silk. “But I know you only roll with it for sex stuff-”

“Okay, wait just a damn minute .” Steve snapped his jaw shut as Billy held up a finger. “You think I just roll with it for sex stuff ?”

“I mean, yeah.” Billy sighed, shaking his head.

He stood up from the bed, went to pace in front of it.

Steve’s shoulders rose closer to his ears with every pass Billy did at the foot of his bed. He tugged the duvet up and over himself.

“I can’t believe you would think that I just rolled with it for sex stuff .” He was talking really fucking slowly, taking calculated breaths as he paced. “I don’t know who to be mad at.”

“Wait, I’m not following.”

Billy finally turned to look at him.

“If I should be mad at you for thinking so little of me, or mad at myself for leading you to think that.”

Steve’s jaw fucking dropped .

“Steve, I love when you wear the things you do. I love how beautiful- how confident you are in them.”

“But you, you said when I dress up for you -”

“That was just, like, dirty talk. I know it’s not for me.” Billy’s eyes were intense , he had stood pacing, holding onto the footboard of the bed so tightly his knuckles were white .

“Oh.” Steve looked down at his lap, fidgeting with his fingers.

He felt fucking stupid .

“Baby, look at me.” Billy moved to sit on the end of the bed.

Steve glanced up at him, looking back down.

“Baby.” Steve forced eye contact.

“I’m sorry I made you think I was only letting you dress like this for sex. I want you to be happy , Sugar. In any way that means.”

But Steve’s smile was way too tight, and it just didn’t sit right with Billy.

-

“I got you somethin’.” Steve perked up at the idea of a gift, loved getting presents.

But like, not in a selfish way.

“What is it?” Steve scoot right up next to Billy, hooking his chin over his shoulder to look into Billy’s bag.

Billy tried to keep it closed, feeling around inside of it.

“It’s nothing really special , and I mean, it might be like, cheap -” he was actually nervous , babbling along about whatever it is.

“Billy, just gimme .” He jammed his hand into Billy’s bag, snatching the wad of fabric and tugging it out.

It was a dress.

A pretty simple dress, soft thin cotton with a pretty little floral pattern. It was spaghetti strap, and Steve fucking loved it .

“Oh my God .”

“I got it at the thrift store. Didn’t steal it or nothin’.”

“Wouldn’ta minded if you did.” Steve planted a kiss on his cheek, shooting off up the stairs to go try it on.

Billy was, well he was a little bit giddy to see Steve in the dress.

He had been aimlessly wandering the aisles, trying to think of things he’s already seen Steve wear before, but kept trying to stay focused , didn’t want to get anything too sexy .

Which was fucking hard to do , because he's pretty sure Steve could wear a goddamn potato sack and still look-

“Oh damn .”

Steve bit his bottom lip, modeling the dress for Billy.

It fit him well, Billy was pleased.

It was black, little pink and purple flowers dotting the fabric.

He gave a spin, the skirt flaring out just a bit.

“You look beautiful , Baby.”

“Thank you, Bill. This was really sweet of you.”

-

“These would be cute on you.” Steve just barely reacted to Billy’s voice quick enough to catch the pair of overalls he had tossed.

They were cute, would be a little baggy on Steve, but that was kinda the look , Steve guessed.

“Don’t you think they’re kinda, like, schlubby ?” Billy raised one eyebrow, a sparkle of laughter in his bright eyes.

“You’ve worn schlubbier.” Steve snapped the overalls at Billy. “They’ll be cute! Just put ‘em on.”

Billy was right .

Steve had put a lace bralette underneath them, and even though they were baggy, they were cute.

And they were also the most non-sexualized thing Steve has ever seen .

Even with the peak of skin on the sides, they weren’t sexy , they were just fun and comfortable and fucking cute .

Billy’s eyes lit up when he saw Steve.

“I told you .” Steve just gave him a look . Billy tugged on the straps, pulling Steve closer to his body. “They’re cute. You’re cute.” Steve just laughed, dodging Billy’s attempt to plant a kiss to Steve’s forehead.

“Yeah? Well, you’re buying.”

-

“You look nice.” Billy planted a kiss to the top of Steve’s head.

He had been careful with his compliments lately. Wording them very specifically.

Saying you look nice or that color is very pretty on you. Makes your eyes pop or even a I can tell you feel good .

It was sweet , his own little way to affirm Steve, trying his very best not to sexualize his compliments.

He’s been extra careful about validating Steve in the everyday.

But sometimes, Steve wanted to be a bit of a tease .

They were quiet moving down the stairs, the socks resting high up on their thighs.

Billy wasn’t paying any attention, immersed in one of his heavy books he devoured like candy.

Steve bit their bottom lip, causally knocking a coaster of the end table.

“Oh, oops .”

Billy looked up just in time to see Steve bent over, short lilac skirt riding up, delicate lace panties on display.

He swallowed thickly, eyes snapping back to his book as they move to stand.

Steve pouted for a moment, slowly smiling when they realized how pink Billy’s cheeks had gone, how his eyes had gone unfocused.

“You know, you’re allowed to look , sometimes. I know you’re being all sweet , but sometimes it’s okay to be, not sweet .”

Billy looked up, his tongue rolling deliberately across his bottom lip.

“Baby, you’re makin’ a man lose all sense of resolve.” Billy sounded wrecked .

Steve was delighted .

They were in a short skirt, one of Billy’s shirts tucked into the top, and of course , the long socks.

But Billy’s seen them in sluttier , in flimsier and more see-through, in sexier .

So maybe it wasn’t how much of their body was on display, Steve thought as Billy slammed his book closed, pinned them up against the wall with his body.

-

Billy was like a little puppy when Steve returned home from a shift at Family Video that evening.

It was their first weekend in the new apartment, the teeny little shoebox overlooking the gas station, with only one bedroom and only one queen-sized bed.

“I did something.” Billy was hopping from foot to foot, positively giddy .

Steve took their time removing their shoes.

“How worried should I be?”

Last time it was I did something , Billy had flooded the bathroom in Steve’s parents’ house.

“Oh, ye of little faith. Just come on .”

Billy pulled their wrist, made Steve stumble along behind him.

He smiled brightly outside of their bedroom, pushing the door open with his hip as he slid both hands over Steve’s eyes, leading them inside.

Steve was dizzy, completely disoriented.

And then Billy pulled away his hands.

Their shared closet had been completely redone.

Billy had worked all day installing the organizing system.

There were drawers, organized with extreme care.

“So, I got all your just for show stuff in this set of drawers, and this set is all your more practical stuff,” Billy opened one of the just for show drawers, revealed a few lingerie sets stored delicately, laying flat and wrinkle-free. “All your clothes-clothes are hanging up, and shoes are on the rack.”

Steve was speechless , began pawing through the three-quarters of the walk-in closet that now belonged to Steve and their stuff .

“Bill, I-”

“I mean, I got a few new things, too. I was walking past that boutique Susan is always trying to get Max into, and I guess they’re going out of business, or something, because everything was like, seventy-five percent off , so I just like, took a bunch.”

“Yeah, the whole fucking store ?”

Billy just smiled bashfully at his feet.

“You like it?”

Steve wrapped their arms carefully around Billy’s neck.

“I love it .”

-

Billy stopped dead in his tracks.

His heart was fluttering in his chest, and he kinda felt like he could throw up from such a perfect scene.

Steve was humming to themself, swaying along to the Proclaimers record playing in the kitchen, turning to their cat to sing along to Over and Done With .

Their dress brushed the tops of their ankles, the pretty floral material flowed as they danced.

Billy was so fucking in love.

He dumped his bag down, kicking off his boots to stalk towards Steve.

The dress was silky and delicate as he wrapped one arm around Steve’s waist, the other hand holding tightly to their hand.

Steve gave a bright laugh as they began clumsily dancing with one another.

“I love you so much .”

Steve’s smile was like the sun , made Billy feel warm to his core, made him feel whole and healed and safe .

Steve tossed their head with the music, let Billy lead them into a spin, a terrible dip.

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 30)

“It’s gonna be a great day.” 

Daryl turns his head from the robin, sitting on the ridge of a roof, further away and that he’s been fixing his gaze on for the past half an hour and observes Rick. His friend lets down his shoulders and relaxes his spine, takes a deep breath and lets himself take in the silent calmness of the morning surrounding them. He’s right. It’s gonna be a beautiful day. 

The breeze hasn’t even bothered to wake up today. It’s the two of them, the robin, who sings his morning song, to announce that a new day has begun, and the walkers. 

“Yeah.” 

“Gotta continue working on the wall.” Rick proclaims, as if to create a to-do list in his head of today’s chores. “Check blueprints, find materials. Gotta go on a run.”

“Great.” Daryl replies and nods at Rick. He’ll get to go, he knows it, and he doesn’t mind. As if he were a tame fox, who no matter how domestic it may seem, constantly needs a certain degree of freedom and nature. But he doesn’t mind returning back here either. Not anymore. “I’ll go.” He continues. “Just tell me whatcha’ need.”

“Yep.” Rick takes another deep breath. “What a day.” 

His sudden discovery of nature, the surroundings and an overbearing serenity hasn’t sprung from nothing. He watched by Carl’s side for days. Didn’t sleep, didn’t eat properly, not until Carl sat up in bed and ate himself. The eye was completely destroyed and had to be removed. Thanks to Denise, Rosita, Tara and Mila, who, thanks to her previous profession as a dental nurse, knew how to sterilize scalpels and tools, as well as use sedatives and anesthetics. Thanks to their care, Carl got better, as did Rick. 

“What time is it?” Rick says. “Seven, or eight?”

“Prolly.” Daryl looks at the sun. He watched it rise, heard the birds wake up. Rick joined him shortly after. “Early.” 

“Ya’ wanna go back to the house?” Rick asks. “Get some rest?” 

“Nah.” 

Rick fixates him with his gaze, very ‘nice cop’-like, yet friendly and somewhat cheeky. 

“When I first met Lori-” Rick says, then smiles faintly, chuckles. “Boy, I was- Couldn’t eat properly. Couldn’t sleep. Like I went around in a haze and just thought ‘bout her.”

Daryl nods a little, smiles very faintly, but inside of his chest, his heart takes a skip. 

Has it been two days, forty-eight hours ago he went downstairs holding hands with Jersey when everyone was eating breakfast at the big table? 

After their escapade in the shower, resulting in soaking clothes that had to sundry at the porch roof, they stayed in the bedroom for the entire day. Juri wasn’t in bed when they came out from the bathroom, holding their soaking wet clothes. The smell of breakfast toasts was enough for Mila to understand that Juri was downstairs. Daryl left late in the afternoon, to join a group that has started to create a temporary barricade at the broken wall. Carol brought a late dinner to the working group. 

“How strange, I think I saw these particular clothes sunbathing on the porch roof earlier.” She said cheekily and bumped his hip, while he took a bite of a sandwich.

“Shut up.” Daryl scoffed softly. 

“Pookie.” Carol grinned and shook her head.

He returned late and when he entered the bedroom again, both Mila and Juri were asleep, spooning each other on the bed surrounded by books, soft toys and cassette tapes. He sat down in the comfortable chair, didn’t feel like waking ‘em up by laying down next to them, where he fell asleep. 

Their presence downstairs the morning after that was a silent, visual proclamation that yeah, it was the two of ‘em now’. Or the three of them, including the kid wedged at Mila’s hip in his pajamas, barely awake, but determined to not skip breakfast. Daryl’s heart pounded harder than ever in his chest as they settled on the ground floor, next to each other in front of the entire Atlanta group at the table. Harder than when he stood in the yard as a child and saw the house, his home, burn down to the ground with his mother in it. But it was different. As if his chest was flooded with a warm, deep sense of pride, a sense of belonging. The group hadn’t, thankfully, made a big scene of the silent announcement, which was as big of a deal to him as if he’d announced he’d become the president of the whole damn united states of whatever. It was clear to him, when they sat down at the table, set with pancakes and toast, that the others had already put two and two together. Was it Carol who blabbed, or was it by any chance Rick? Anyway they took it without any fuss. Thankfully. He’d never pull through such a questioning. 

But Rick’s right, to some extent. He’s been in a constant haze for awhile now. He can’t put his finger on when the haze was inevitable, must’ve been during their walk to the gas station, but might just as well be earlier. She had a special impact on him from the start. Those blue, piercing eyes looking at him over the barrel of the gun after they’d saved him and Aaron. He can’t get enough of ‘em. 

“Guess ya’ right.” He therefore says. Why would he lie? Apparently they’re the talk of the town now anyway. Jeez. As if the townies don’t have else to talk about? 

“That hurricane of- I dunno, feelings. They’re good. Validation that everything’s just- perfect.” Rick says and by doing so, puts his finger on something Daryl have felt some kind of guilt for, not always, fuck no. 

But it’s a feeling he struggles with from time to time, if just for a second or a minute. He’s not good for her, or more correctly; not good enough. But that feeling’s swept away as soon as he notices her looking at him. The blue eyes smiling at him, as a lagoon of homeliness and deep affection. 

“Never done this before.” Daryl says husky. 

“No one has.” Rick replies while looking at the robin. “There’s a first for everyone. Ya’ just- gets a hang of your own mind. The rest goes by itself.” He makes a movement, and gets up from the boards. “I’ll go get some water.” He announces. 

Rick climbs down the ladder and Daryl looks after him as he strides over to the store. He smiles faintly to himself, lets his experienced gaze wander slow and steady over the closest surroundings at the other side of the makeshift wall. A few walkers have miraculously managed to remain on the site since they made a raid and eliminated most, after the great battle. One of them seems to have ended up in a loop; over and over again it crashes into the hood of an abandoned pickup, whose tires have almost grown stuck in the asphalt, which has been taken over, slow and steady, by mother nature. 

A soft tapping on wood gets his attention. He turns his head, and happens to see something at the lower end of the ladder.  

“Mornin’.” He greets Juri, who’s small, soft hands squeezes the second step of the hard, wooden ladder. “Wanna come up, kiddo?”

Without hesitating, Juri climbs the tall ladder, with the walkman in his pocket and the headphones around his neck. The big blue eyes are determined, curious. Almost at the top of the ladder, Daryl grabs the boy by his armpits and lifts him up to the platform. The three and a half year old is an early riser and has managed to dress himself this morning too, except the shoes that Juri wiggles in front of Daryl, to tie for him.

“Ya’ gotta learn to do this on ye’re own someday, kiddo.” Daryl says and ties the tiny Chuck Taylors.

A small index finger is pointed right at him. Juri looks at him with a clever grin, as to say: ‘Well, until then, you’re doing it for me’. Yeah, that’s probably true. Daryl lets out a faint chuckle. Being bossed around by a kid is something new. 

“Ya’ mom’s asleep?”

Juri nods. Daryl smiles. Before he left the night before to join Abraham at the watchtower he checked in on Mila and Juri. Juri was tucked in for bed and Mila had curled up next to him, supported by at least four pillows, with two books about bunnies in her lap; The Velveteen Rabbit and The Naughty Bunny. 

“See ya’ in the mornin’.” Daryl said, stroking Mila’s hair. “Night, kiddo.”

The smile he received from Juri, all wrapped up under the covers with his soft toys was priceless and also followed by a thrown, open-palm kiss.  

Juri settles down next to him on the platform. He’s dressed in a pair of rust colored dungarees with a black jumper underneath. On top he wears a flannel to shield himself from the still awakening sunlight, looking very proper. The blonde hair looks half combed, as if he got tired with trying and decided to leave it be. He fiddles on the walkman, while peering out over the wall with squinting eyes.  

“Ya’ had breakfast?” Daryl asks. 

Juri doesn’t answer, obviously, but he puts his hand in the front chest pocket of the dungarees and pulls something from it. A pack of two Reese’s cups. Daryl grins. 

“Ya’ mom won’t like that.” He says, but gets an authoritarian index finger in front of the mouth, followed by a ‘shhh’ from the boy; ‘I won’t tell if you don’t tell’. “Go ahead, kiddo.” Daryl therefore says.

He watches as Juri peels the packaging open and takes out a peanut butter cup and hands it to him. They eat the chocolate-peanutty-goodies under silence. He’s amazed at the little boy, who seems to have the intellect and the ability to think like a child who is twice as old. Mila hasn’t coddled him, except smothered him with infinite amounts of motherly love, no doubt ‘bout that, but he can dress himself, make decisions on his own. He’s curious rather than scared and calculating rather than impulsive. He likes to collect stones, feathers and sticks, picks flowers, investigates bugs and likes to draw and listen to music while jumping on the bed or running around in the streets. And Daryl adores him. He’s a great kid. 

“Whatcha’ listen to?” Daryl nods at the walkman between the small hands. 

Juri removes the headphones from around his neck. He holds them up in his right hand as he pushes the ‘play’-button and turns the small ‘plus’-volume button on the side of the device, increasing the volume, leaking an old rock song. 

“Sounds great.” 

Juri gesticulates with his hands. It makes him feel both dumb and sad over the fact that he actually can’t understand the kid. Not that it stops Juri from trying, but he can’t understand no matter how many times he repeats his gestures.

“Sorry kiddo.”

The kiddo ain’t let down that easily. He opens the walkman, takes out the tape and shows him. Daryl reads ‘Boston - Boston, 1979’, written in black marker at the thin line on the orange paper label at the black plastic tape. 

“Okay, here we go-” Rick appears at the edge of the platform, but pauses and bursts into a wide grin at the sight of Juri. “Hey, little guy.”

Juri waves at Rick as he climbs up and sits down at his left side. 

“Here-” Rick hands Daryl the bottled water and then looks at Juri. “You’re up early.”

The blonde boy nods proudly, as to say ‘yup, before my mom’. Daryl unscrews the cap from the plastic bottle and offers it to Juri. He takes it and takes two small sips, before handing it back and continuing to look out over the wall. But soon the little nose begins to search in the air. Daryl and Rick can smell it too; breakfast. Toasts and waffles.

“Ya hungry?” Rick asks Juri. Juri turns and peers up at Daryl, as if he had an answer for it. He then turns back to Rick, and shakes his head. “We’ll be replaced soon. Then we’ll eat.” Rick says, very dad-like. Authoritarian but still nice. 

Juri nods and returns to his walkman, puts the headphones over his blonde hair and disappears into his own world of Boston, 1979. Daryl looks down at the toddler sitting between him and Rick, nodding his head to the beat of the music, so carefree and at ease. He looks so much like Mila, except the blonde hair. But his constant cool is something else, a hybrid between Mila and whoever the man who biologically is his father. Mila’s a hothead by blood, with impressive self-control. Like the calmest water which in an instant can blow up into a raging storm. Juri, on the other hand, is calmness personified whatever the situation. Maybe because he relies on Mila entirely. He never has to be scared or worried.  

“Now, that’s a sight for sore eyes.” 

Daryl’s interrupted in his thoughts. He turns and looks over his left shoulder. Carol is standing on the ground, shielding her eyes from the sun, smiling up at the three of them. Juri waves happily down at her with a proud smile on his lips. He’s with the big boys now.  

“Hi, darling.” Carol waves at him before turning her eyes to Daryl. “Ya’ boys hungry?” Juri sniffs in the air and nods. “There’s honey and waffles for you, darling.” Carol smiles at the blonde boy. “What about you two?” 

“Sounds great.” Rick says. “We’ll be replaced soon.”

“Great.” Carol replies. “You’ve been up there all night.” She continues. “We’re planning a barbeque tonight. Why don’t you get some venison later?” 

I’ll be damn Carol, Daryl thinks to himself with a faint, but thankful smile. More things to do today, except collecting materials for the wall. 

“Sure.” He calls back at her. 

“I’ll thank you later, when you’re back with some meat.” She replies in a cheeky smile. “I’ll bring you three something to eat before you leave if you’d like?”

“Set up three more plates.” Rick says. “We’re done here soon.”

Carol nods smilingly, turns and starts walking back towards the houses. Daryl and Rick look at each other. Huh, a barbecue.  

“Could be fun.” Rick says. “Gotta chop some wood then. You wanna help?” He looks at Juri, who nods eagerly with the headphones around his neck again, excited to help out with grown-up stuff. “Great. We’ll start right away, after we’d had something to eat.”

Juri nods and looks at the two men on each side of him, rubbing his tummy, showing them that now he’s hungry. Especially when there’s waffles. He then gets up on his knees and, without warning, climbs into Daryl’s lap. The small hands start to fiddle with his vest, then with the cord of the headphones. Daryl doesn’t tense, but he becomes instantly aware of his body, as if a baby deer had climbed into his lap; he can’t scare him away. But Juri’s calm and relaxed. In the corner of his eye, Daryl sees Rick smile. 

“What?” 

“Nothin’.” Rick says and blinks. “Just, everything’s kinda fine, right?”

Daryl turns his gaze from Rick and looks down at Juri, who meets his gaze and smiles sunny, then out over the area on the other side of the safe-zone, contemplating his friend’s words. Yeah, he thinks. Things are actually kinda perfect. Fuckin’ hell, he feels great. Everything’s calm. No breaches and no herd of walkers approaching. There’s a three and a half-year old in his lap that looks at him like- yeah Daryl can’t figure that one out. But he seems happy. And there’s Mila, probably half awake by now, back at the house. Holy shit, he’s got his shit together at last. 

“Guess ya’ right.” Daryl replies.

“Yep.” Rick says, also turning his head out over the surroundings. “I’m happy for ya’.” He sighs. “It’ll be fun. Barbecue. Bonfire. The only thing’s missing is a harmonica, or a guitar.” Rick turns his head to look at him. “Ya’ play?”

“What? Guitar?” Daryl shakes his head. “Nah.”

But a faint smile spreads upon Daryl’s lips as an idea forms inside his head, accompanied by the muffled sound from Juri’s headphones, which leaks a guitar solo. Nah, he ain’t playing. But he knows someone who might. Inside his head, he adds another task to his mental to do-list.

Taglist: @lonewolf471 @twdeadfanfic

[impossible-rat-babies]

quarter past (two am) 

word count ~4891 | angst pre-hb | chargestep | mostly under the cut!

read on a03

--

The streets in Los Diablos are rarely deserted at two am, the headlights dazzling as they pass by, bubblegum pink and electric green neon lights in store windows scattering hues across puddles on the concrete. Gasoline and spilled oil refract in electric rainbows, fine leather dress shoes scuffling and stuttering, disturbing the kaleidoscope.

“Y-You are....my bestest friend...! You are my bestest, best friend!”

Pollux rolls his eyes behind the mask, adjusting Ortega’s arm draped over his shoulders, keeping a hold on his wrist. He keeps blabbering on his ear, trying to rock them side to side across the sidewalk, kicking up water with god knows what in it. Pollux struggles to keep them from falling into a heap, cursing under his breath. Ortega would find it down right hilarious if they took a tumble into one of the heaps of trash, or perhaps smacked right into a telephone pole, the drunk bastard. He’d be finding their current struggles hilarious too if he didn’t have his pea sized drunk brain occupied singing to the heavens of his adoration.

“Hey....hey there, Lux?” He cajoles with a poke at his cheek and Pollux jerks away, giving him a grimace even though the mask. “Y-You know you’re my best friend, right?”

“Yes, you’ve been singing about it for the past hour, ass.” Pollux shoots back, sighing out of his nose. 

They’re still a couple blocks away and all he wants to do is dump Ortega on his couch, make sure he won’t throw up all over himself and drag his own ass back to his bed. He blinks quickly to dispel the creeping heaviness across his eyelids, adjusting Ortega once more as he goes into another verse of the same made up jabbering nonsense.

Pollux glances up at Ortega  as he keeps going, his brown eyes staring above and all around, glassy and vacant from the eight or so beers he’s had. Maybe a few other drinks bought for him in between; he’s not paid to watch how much Ortega imbibes. 

But there’s honesty in his eyes, in how despite the awkward looks and snickering laughs from the few people still out as they clumsily pass by, he means every word of his stupid ballad. Drunk Ortega isn’t suave, isn’t the actor, wearing his heart on his sleeve instead of a mask on his face, looking picture perfect, taking it all in stride. It’s honestly slipping out of his mouth unbidden, the facade peeled back, the lies stripped away. The pretense and the formalities all gone and he’s just some drunk guy draped over a friend taking him home.

Pollux likes the pretense, when they don’t say the things they want to say--when he won’t drape himself all over him. Makes it easier to pretend he doesn’t feel like he does--makes it easier to lie to himself.

“I-It’s...it’s true, ya know? You are my, uh, my best friend.” Ortega waves his hand around theatrically, tripping over his own misplaced feet with a giggle. A giggle. God so help him. “An-And I don’t think you hear it enough. From anyone. You’re special, Lux.”

Oh he’s heard plenty of how he’s special--her words purred in his ear, fingernails digging into his shoulders, urging him on--more and more and more. Pollux swallows hard, smothering that voice in the back of his head. 

“Oh I hear plenty from you about how special I am, lover boy.” Pollux huffs because as much as he is an honest drunk, he’s also stupid as shit and mushy as fuck. He doesn’t have the space in his head to think about how differently it sounds when Ortega says he’s special, how his ears are burning and the strange roll of his stomach.

“It’s-It’s because it’s true, Pebbles.” Ortega objects, rather loudly and pointedly. “You really are my best friend an-and I care about you. A lot.”

“You’ll be caring a lot more about the toilet than me in a bit.”

Ortega blows a large raspberry and waves his hand, Pollux dragging him away from yet another hapless pole he’s aiming to smack into.

Going to Hoots on Friday nights is both equal parts exciting and the worst thing he gets talked into doing; the music leaves him with a pounding headache and the flurry of so many minds leaves him damp with cold sweat and shaky hands. Still its Ortega’s favorite place to go on a Friday night, plus Anathema had volunteered to come along and Pollux was feeling indulgent. Fat lot that did when he drew the short straw.

Should’ve told Anathema to do, damn them when they winked and smirked, ducking out the door in a flash, leaving Pollux to wrangle Ortega. 

Pollux sighs and he swallows down the lump, Ortega still mumbling away at his song as his building comes into view. Thank god--it’ll be easy to dump him at home and leave behind the weird feeling that refuses to go away. Going out with Ortega is always dangerous.  It’s far too easy for Pollux to convince himself to give up some of his boundaries and self imposed restrictions—the things that keep him from saying things he shouldn’t. Doing things he shouldn’t. Like walking Ortega home.

He gives an inch and Ortega takes it for a mile, drawing him out bit by bit like thread unraveling from a spool and he uses it to tie them in closer. Convinces him to stay for a little while longer, one more longing look.

One more chaste kiss...or maybe not so chaste kiss.

Ortega nearly falls and Pollux curses, half dragging him up the stairs to his building and he wrangles him through the door to his building. He’s half slumped over him now along with most of his weight on Pollux’s shoulders and he might as well be dragging his feet.

“Can you please stand on your own fucking legs?” Pollux huffs, knees groaning and he’s only twenty two--his body shouldn’t groan like that.

“Gravity is too much, Pebbles.” He mumbles against his shirt near his neck and that is most certainly not helping the situation, his face flushing the under mask.

“I’ll dump your drunk ass on the floor.”

“Please Lux don’t do that.”

Thankfully there’s an elevator or he might have sooner just dumped Ortega in the lobby and left rather than drag his ass up the stairs. The doorman knows Pollux well enough by now that he just waves them on and shakes his head, grinning to himself. Oh the indignity of the Marshal of the Rangers being dragged drunk through his apartment lobby, but the doorman has tight lips. Plus there’s undoubtable amusement in watching Ortega getting wrangled into an elevator when his feet aren’t working correctly.

The door closes before Ortega can spill his guts about how much he likes him to the doorman, or spills his guts all over the tile floor. That would be a mess and Pollux wouldn’t be the one to clean it up. He’s had enough of cleaning up vomit, acid dripping down his chin from his nose, the corners of his mouth..

“Please tell me you have your keys.” Pollux nudges him off and leans Ortega against the elevator wall, patting around his pockets. He finds his wallet—thankfully tucked in his back pocket still—but no keys.

“I got em Lux don’t worry.” Ortega oh so helpfully pats his butt and Pollux rolls his eyes.

“That’s your wallet, you ass.”

Ortega snorts. “You touched my ass.”

Pollux groans loudly, face flushing under his mask and Ortega laughs in self satisfaction. A sharp pinch of his side and he yelps, grumbling under his breath as he rubs the tender spot. His coat pockets next and Pollux finds the jingling ring of keys--thank god.

“At least you have some sense of hindsight...” Pollux grumbles to himself and the elevator dings. He helps him out of the elevator and they drift side to side down the hallway, Ortega mumbling something or another in his ear the whole time, oh so helpfully close like earlier. Pollux tries not to care--his cheeks are most certainly not warm--fumbling with the lock until it clicks open and he pushes Ortega inside. He kicks the door shut and miraculously Ortega is standing on his own two legs and even more miraculous is that he’s looking at him.

“Can’t believe it took this long t’get you to come to my house after Hoots...” Ortega mumbles with a lopsided grin, subtly lost when he’s still got that drunk look to him--the smell of beer and stale french fries still on him. Pollux’s face flushes and his ears burn, quickly squashing down *those* sprinting thoughts. 

“Save the drunk flirting for someone else, lover boy.” He helpfully turns him around to push him towards the living room, putting the keys down. Ortega somehow manages to not bump into too many walls along the hallway, hands outstretched to guide him. Pollux sighs and quickly squashes the little soap bubble thoughts of his goofy sashay down the hall--he was not staring. Not at all, no wandering eyes.

Ortega is reasonably safe in the living room. Not like he can go many places--he could fall down and break his head open on the coffee table his head helpfully tells him--and Pollux heaves a deep, long sigh.

There are pain killers and other meds he’ll need in the cabinet above the bathroom sink; Pollux picks out the ones he’ll need for tomorrow among the menagerie of orange bottles, sifting through what it means to keep a modded body running--thousands of dollars tucked away in that cabinet. They’re the ones he’s watched him take when he won’t stop complaining about the pain in his back and elbows. Others he’s listened to Ortega lament at how bad they taste.

Pollux pulls the throw blanket from off the bed where he’s held frozen peas to the side of Ortega’s head, listening to him talk about how the fight went--the good parts and the bad parts. He’s stitched bleeding wounds there and gathered up stained blankets to clean later, wrapped gauze over washed abrasions, keeping chiding words tucked behind his teeth. 

A cup for water in kitchen and he’s sat on the counter top and watched Ortega cook him all the foods he’s never tasted before. Pies that tia Elena makes, a beautiful cake that his cousin���s aunt makes which reminds him of this tiny hole in the wall place in downtown Los Diablos. He could rant for ages of all Pollux has missed like a fool, how he hasn’t lived until he’s tried this, or tried that. It’s sad just how close is accidentally gets to the truth.

Laughter calls from the living room and Pollux peeks his head out of the kitchen, finding Ortega sprawled out on the couch, one shoe on and the other off, holding a decorative pillow under his chin. Who knows what he’s laughing about now, something stupid inevitably.

“You need to take off both shoes, Ortega.” 

Pollux reminds him, picking around for the biggest bowl and settling on a rather large sauce pan instead. By the time he comes back he’s figured that out along with getting his jacket off, leaving it in a heap on the ground. Pollux knows he’s watching him, setting both the painkillers and the water on the coffee table for when he gets the sense to need them.

“Hey, hey Pollux?” He pauses putting the pan down. “Why do you always got your mask on?” Ortega asks, brows furrowed like a puzzle he’s trying to solve. Pollux mirrors the expression behind his mask, lips slipping into a familiar frown.

“My face is a secret.” Pollux retorts and Ortega grumbles.

“Friends don’t keep secrets...!”

“Oh yeah? I’m sure you’ve got plenty of secrets you don’t tell me.” Pollux gives him a pointed look and Ortega waves his hand dismissively.

“Nothing like my entire face, Pollux.

“You’ve seen the lower half of my face.”

He’s kissed him too, cupped his face and the back of his head and held him like he was all that mattered in that moment. But Pollux isn’t telling him that at all. He certainly does not want to think about that right now and he scoops up Ortega’s jacket, balling it up in his arms.

“That doesn’t count!” Ortega laments and oh this is just a piss poor attempt to cajole him into showing his face that’s for certain.

“Well tough luck lover boy.” Pollux heaves a sigh and sits down on the floor near Ortega’s head, face resting against couch cushion, jacket still balled up in his hands. He has half the mind to take it with him, as payback for making him drag his ass through the street at 2am. He’d be looking for it up and down his apartment tomorrow and the thought of the frantic text he’d get makes him bite his lip to suppress a smile.

Plus it is a nice jacket--a pretty leather bomber style, well loved and well taken care of.

“You’re so mean to me.” Ortega grumbles, playing with his lip between his teeth, and Pollux ugly snorts, dramatically rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I’m just the worst best friend huh?”

“Yes, the absolute worst best friend. You’re so awful and mean to me in the worst ways imaginable, Pollux.” He can’t help but snort and that sets Ortega off with a loud groan.

“I *cannot* believe that you are finding this funny, getting all this amusement out of you being so mean to...”

Pollux zones out watching Ortega rant, the clumsy way he’s speaking and the way he moves his hands like he needs them to speak, snapping for the words he’s struggling with. It’s...interesting watch the facade crumble, how he’s so perfect with words and oozing charm for crowd and cameras, but just the two of them in his apartment and he’s stumbling, stuttering. 

He’s not the Marshal when he’s sprawled across the couch, one foot dangling off the edge, slurring and tripping over his words, little unabashed laughs slipping out. It’s more real seeing him like this, less questions to ask, more straightforward. There’s no guessing here, no games of chess to play where he needs to be five steps ahead, no guessing his thoughts by the tilt of his brow or the quirk of his lips.

It’s just the calm even breaths between them, enough space to breath the same air and yet it’s still like an ocean dividing them.

Pollux swallows against the lump in his throat and he pushes the thoughts out to sea, staying on the shore where he keeps watching Ortega talk, the turn of his lips and the slope of his neck, down to the hint of collarbone. Places where Pollux has put his lips and felt Ortega’s breath hitch--his pulse race. Put his hands and felt him breathe in his chest, the rise and fall of rushing breathing, the scratch of five’o clock shadow on his cheek, under his nose, the gasp of air in the space between wet lips.

If he was the betting kind of person, he’d put money on Ortega not remembering anything tomorrow and it would so easy...could pull the mask off and let him see for a bit. His hands sweat at the thought, giving an inch and losing a mile to a silly drunk man’s smile and how comforting it is--how is so completely and utterly easy to lose himself.

H’s betting on him not remembering and Pollux is running low on chips. Either and neither way he’s screwed and he takes a long breath. Steadying his hands and he reaches under his mask, pulling it up and over his head.

He blinks, adjusting to the soft hazy light of a nearby lamp, the flush of alcohol and cologne in his nose. Cool air on his sweaty face and he resists the urge to sneeze. Ortega keeps talking, eyes even fluttering over to him once, twice, three times and...there he gets it, brown eyes growing big. 

He blinks once, twice, three times and a wide smile breaks across his face, eyes focused on him. With difficulty, Pollux shoves down the urge to yank the mask back on, cover himself back up and hide; he worries the jacket between his thumb and index finger instead, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Happy?” 

Pollux chokes out past the lump, face flushing. Ortega keeps staring, keeps his eyes focused on him and it’s because he’s drunk, Pollux tells himself, and he’s never seen his face before, and he’s staring at him like he’s something far too precious--a twinkle in his eyes, the curl of crows feet. Pollux’s skin itches and he resists the urge to scratch and pick, tear and yank yank yank--

“You have red hair...” Ortega mumbles and instinct makes him take a deep breath to quiet his nerves. Neither here nor there and Ortega’s hand twitches like he wants to reach out, but he can’t quite get there

“Nice observation there captain obvious.” Ortega snorts at his reply and Pollux runs his fingers across the fuzzy curls starting to grow back in.

“Do you know how many freckles you have?” He still has that half stupid grin on his face, eyes darting about his face, taking it all in like he’s piecing together the person he’s always wondered about under the mask. Fitting him into the image he’s made of him, constructed in his head. 

Pollux is too used to that and he fights the roll of his stomach.

“A million.” Pollux grumbles and Ortega whistles dramatically. “You’ve seen them on my hands before, don’t act so surprised.” Tacking that on and he rolls his eyes too.

Ortega found his hands fascinating back then too, his fingers long and slender compared to his palms, compared the whole of him. Piano fingers Ortega had called them as they measured palm to sweaty palm one lonely day in the break room. Ortega’s fingers daring to slip a fraction, to slip his fingers into his, to hold his hand palm to palm, five fingers interlocking. It was enough to set a fire in his gut then, like pressing his hand to a stove and he’d yanked his hand back and shoved his gloves back on too. Too much of a touch--far too real and new with skin pressed to skin.

“You’re very handsome, Pollux.”

He blinks, tossed from his thoughts by the sudden admission, scrambling, eyes shooting up to look at Ortega. 

That wasn’t what he was expecting--not the words like that, for Ortega to blurt that out and there’s that damn honesty again. 

Ortega is staring at him, eyes more focused than he should for how drunk he supposedly is...or was, for that matter. Damn it. There’s the truth wrapped around his tongue, coating his words and fuck Pollux doesn’t like how it makes him feel, not one single bit.

He blushes deep red and his ears burn, tucking his chin against his chest like that will do any good. If pulling the strings on his hoodie tight to hide his face would do any good he would.

“Shut the fuck up, Ortega.” He manages and fuck his voice shakes more than it should—more than he wants it to.

“I’m not lying.” Ortega’s got that stubborn look in his eyes and there’s a frown of his own on Pollux’s face, lip twitching in an almost sneer.

“I...” Pollux snaps his mouth shut and bites his lip hard. “I don’t care if you’re lying or not, just shut up.”

That’s a lie of his own and he pinches hard between his thumb and index finger, worrying his lip.

“Just because you say that doesn’t mean I’m lying. I am being honest, Pebbles.” He presses further and Pollux looks up at him and he shouldn’t have because Ortega is leaning in far too close.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t get to call you a bastard.” Pollux replies, breathing harder than he should, less butterflies and more like a beehive in his stomach, waiting to be shaken.

“You would call me a bastard no matter what.”

“That’s because it’s the truth, Ortega.” Pollux doesn’t lean away even though the rational part of his brain is screaming otherwise. Ortega’s breath still smells like booze, but he smells more like cologne this close, the subtle musk that tickles his nose, stale french fries a thing of the past.

“Do you want the truth?” Ortega asks and that is the question.

It’s always been the question, the one he can’t find answers to no matter where he goes looking—what is the truth? What does he need to know the truth about? What happens when the truth is laid before him--or if it’s set in front of too many people, naked and exposed. Far too many questions for the skinny space between them right now, breathing in sync.

“Could I stop you from saying it?” Pollux asks in return, eyes sliding down the slope of Ortega’s neck, fingers itching. He can’t remember if he wore a necktie or not, but the top buttons are undone regardless. Pale pink cotton sharp against deep brown skin and Pollux swallows against the lump in his throat.

“No...” Ortega grins, a soft flush on his cheeks that isn’t from the alcohol. “But I would very much like to kiss you.”

Pollux bites his lip and he’s still, holding himself just so he won’t bolt from the floor, knuckles tense in the jacket. He steals a glance at Ortega’s face and fuck that isn’t any better than staring at other parts of him, his stomach twisting itself in knots of indecision.

“You smell like beer.” Pollux skirts the question, Ortega’s lips just inches from his--breathing in time, breathing in the same air and if it were anywhere but here, anywhere but this moment. If he was anyone--anything--but what he is.

“Is that better than blood?” He asks and Pollux quietly snorts. Bastard.

“I’m used to blood.” 

Pollux unknits his hand from the jacket, reaching and pulling back and he knows he’s touching what he shouldn’t be--feeling what he isn’t mean to feel--but he’s doing it regardless. Reaching again, his fingertips ghost up the side of Ortega’s neck. He smooths his fingers up bronzed skin to the curve of his jaw, jagged thumbnail slipping along the rough line of stubble there, thumb finding his chin. He swears there’s a sharp intake of breath, but Ortega is still, staring, eyes searching his. 

He knows it’s almost three am and he doesn’t know how he’ll drag himself back to his bed with how tired he is now, tired enough to think that kissing Ortega is a good idea, tired enough to loose his inhibitions. He’s seen his whole face and he hasn’t run, trembling fingers still holding his face in a gesture far more intimate than palms pressing together, fingers almost linked.

Pollux supposes he’ll wake up the next morning and if his phone isn’t dead he’ll have a slew of text messages waiting for him; supposes Ortega will remember and ask a dozen questions, or he won’t and still ask a dozen questions like he’s used to. Either way Pollux supposes he’ll lie to him, tell him that nothing happened, that he just dumped him on his couch and got him settled in. He supposes they’ll both know better than that, but neither will say anything. Supposes Ortega won’t even remember his face in the morning, or remembering kissing him.

His thumb is still stroking his chin, eyes staring at his lips.

“But I can make an exception. Just this once.” 

Pollux lies to himself, to both of them. Another one to add to the dozens, a pile like he’s digging his own grave. 

He crosses the gap between them and he pauses just enough to know how bad of idea this is--how screwed he’s going to be. Ortega doesn’t give him time to back out, cradling the back of his neck and he yanks him close, lips pressing against lips.

He tastes of stale beer--better than fresh blood, the taste of metal and electricity on his tongue. Here he feels the shape of his chapped lips against his, the curve of his jaw, hand curling sharp into the nape of Ortega’s neck, fingers slowly bunching in his hair. Ortega’s hand cupping his cheek and jaw, hand warm against his already flushed skin. Nose bumping nose to try and fit lips together and it’s soft, tender, worming into the dark places he’s hidden away, pulling lengths of thread to bind them together. Pollux pulls away, forehead to forehead, biting wet lips.

Oh he’s certainly going to be cursing himself later, Ortega pulling him back in for kisses upon kisses that keep bleeding into each other, one after another, tongue and teeth and he wonders how much Ortega is trying to memorize the shape of him, the flush of his lips against his, fitting puzzle pieces together. Ironic considering he wasn’t meant to be remembered and here Ortega is, slowly, achingly, trying his best to do just that and fuck it *hurts*.

It isn’t fair, kissing Ortega when he’s drunk on his couch, Pollux’s fingers knitted tight in his hair, hand finding it’s way under his collared shirt to press against his chest, needs these needy kisses. Hands holding his own face, the back of his own neck, hands daring--wanting to explore more. Fuck he wants to hold him tight, let him keeping touching him, drink in every single kiss and then maybe he won’t feel so empty. 

Maybe he’ll feel like an actual person, like he’s more than what’s on his skin, what’s buried deep down--the terrible, gut wrenching truth. 

 And that is one of the scariest thoughts he’s ever had.

He pulls away from the kiss, peels his hands from Ortega and Ortega’s hands away from him, hiccuping with each time he tries to breathe, trying to hold the panic steady in his gut. 

“Stop.” His hand is firm on Ortega’s chest, keeping him at bay as he tries to lean back in, to try and kiss him again. “You’re far too drunk, Ricardo.” Pollux whispers, sense crawling back up his spine, a cold weight filling his gut.

“Just drunk on you.” He’s trying for smug and the way he’s looking at him through his eyelashes would almost be charming, but it’s just not fair, not fair at all.

(It’s always the almost, isn’t it?)

“Stop, please...” Pollux presses his hand firm against his chest, enough to push him back a bit and Ortega’s brow scrunches together, confusion slipping into worry and further into scarier emotions.

“Pollux? Are you okay” 

“You’re drunk and I’m going home.” 

Pollux says again, trying to be firm, to hold his ground, despite knowing what he wants to be feeling, his chest tight. He needs to go, needs to leave before those feelings get the better of him, before he decides to do dangerous things--things that come attached with regrets. Things he can’t even fathom, ones that leave his skin like pins and needles.

(Needles under the skin, needles in veins, wrists chafing)

“Pollux, please, I’m sorry...what did I do?” Ortega tries again and Pollux gets to his feet to stay out of reach of scrambling hands, jacket knitted in his hands once more, knuckles squeezed of their blood.

(blood on white tiles, muffled screeching and sobbing)

“You didn’t do anything, I’m sorry.” Pollux chokes out, pursing his lips into a thin white line, looking everywhere but at Ortega.

“No, I-I did something...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you--” He tries to get up, but Pollux puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back down, quickly pulling his hand back out of reach.

“No, I’m...I’m going back home. You’re drunk and didn’t do anything wrong.”

That’s right, it’s always him making the bad choices, going against the boundaries he’s set for himself and they’re there for a good reason--to keep him safe. Keep his secrets safe, locked away behind his teeth and his lips still taste like Ortega.

“Pebbles, come on...pl-please...”

“No, I am going home, Ricardo. I’m sorry.”

He takes his mask out and slips it back over his face, adjusting the fabric and he can hide again, pretend like he’s calm and not that his stomach is still twisting itself into knots upon knots, that he doesn’t want to bolt down the stairs and out the door.

“Don’t throw up all over yourself, please. Take your meds. Call Steel in the morning so you don’t cause a panic when you don’t show up at eight am.” 

Pollux speaks quick, sliding the pan closer towards Ortega with his foot and he skirts around the couch, jacket still locked in his hands. He hears Ortega scrambling to extract himself from the couch, still whining for Pollux.

Pollux reaches the door and disregards his pleas, opening the door to the cold hallway bathed in green florescence from the flickering lights overhead. 

“Bye Ortega.”

He slams the door closed behind him, the sound ringing in his ears over and over again, a rhythm as he takes the stairs in sets of threes and he’s out into the night, disappearing into the dark.

[satanschild01]

No All Might? That’s Alright Prt3

Izuku Midoriya Fanfiction                                                          

A/N: In all honesty this took me way too long just to finish writing this chapter, but I pushed through so I guess it’s fine. I’ve created a AO3 account recently and I’ve posted all of my previous fanfictions there so if you want to check me out, you can find me as SatansChild

Hope you all stay safe and wear a mask if you can't physically distance.Hope to update soon!

Catch you on the flip side ~ Em

Photo used in this fic was referenced from original picture from anime, I did draw this photo jtlyk

Tags:

@random-fandom-girl-24

Tags for some wonderful feedback😘: @trashys-things @pink-imagines @marvelmymarvel @shikigami-the-paper-spirit @spaced-out-imagines​ @marvelmymarvelmain @writingfreakk

Trigger warning: Talk about death

Word Count: 2633

Part 1 Part 2  Part 3

After making sure all of the blood was no longer on his uniform, Closing his eyes, Izuku steeled himself to walk into the All Might shrine that was his room. Sure, he still wanted to be a hero, and he admired All Might’s strength, but he couldn’t stand to be surrounded by posters and figurines of a man who couldn’t offer any sort of encouragement to a child who clearly needed it. Izuku pulled some cardboard boxes out from his closet and started filling them with everything All Might. Oboro didn’t make a sound during the time he cleaned out his room, which he was grateful for. Even though he could just feel Oboro wanting to ask questions. 

“So what are you going to do about all this stuff?” Oboro asked as Izuku changed his All Might sheets with regular black ones “You seem like such a big fan...it just seems like a waste just to keep it all in boxes.”

Izuku shrugged his shoulders.”I’m not much of a fan anymore.” he lied to mostly himself rather than to Oboro, “I guess I’ll just donate the stuff later.” Once his walls were finally bare, Izuku stuffed the now full boxes to the back of his closet and flopped onto his bed. The room stayed silent for a moment until Izuku broke the ice, “I don’t want to intrude on your personal life…but can you tell me about yourself?” he asked

“Well for the fact that I witnessed and helped you with some pretty deep stuff, it sorta would be rude if I didn’t tell you something about my previous life,” Oboro said cheekily

“H-how long have you been...you know…” Izuku paused not really wanting to complete the question.

“...dead?” Izuku nodded “I was in my second year of high school when I died and I would be 29 by now so...close to 12 years I think?”  Izuku sat there on his bed frozen

‘12 years is a long time to be a ghost or spirit to not have passed on, that is if people actually pass onto another place once they die’ Izuku thought to himself

“I was patrolling around Tasomiya Ward with one of my best friends when there was a villain attack...I was working on saving some kids when debris fell on top of me...when I woke up I was like how I am now, I couldn’t find my body anywhere so I just...travelled around…” Oboro seemed to quiet down at mentioning that he never found his body to move onto another life, so Izuku thought of ways to change the current mood of the room.

“So you were a hero in training or something?” he asked, face full of wonder, Oboro hummed in affirmation “What school did you go to?”

“I went to U.A”

“Wait really?!” Izuku exclaimed excitedly, “that's so cool!”

They continued talking and asking questions back and forth, before falling into a comfortable silence. A few minutes past before Izuku took a deep breath

“I...I’m sorry,” Izuku said quietly, slowly curling into himself

"Why would you be sorry kid?" Oboro’s voice was full of confusion. But Izuku only curled in on himself further.

"If it wasn't for me you wouldn't be stuck here." As if anyone wanted to be bound to some stupid Deku...like him. And here he thought it was a whole coincidence that Oboro was with him. But instead, he just took whatever type of freedom he had to begin with.

"Hey, no! Stop that. Izuku that's not true! I'm here because I want to be!" The warmth spread all over him and he couldn't help but lean into it. “I said I'd make a hero out of you and I still plan on it."

Izuku looked up only to see the ceiling of his room, lifting his arm up to the sky and let it just float there (like what every kid does while laying on there bed contemplating on what to do next). "I wish I could see you again."

Oboro hummed. Seeming to think something through. "I don’t think there’s much out there since I was only a second-year when I died, but there could be some photos of me with friends or an article"

Izuku seemed to take that as a challenge as he went to his computer. "What did you choose to be your hero name?"

"Loud Cloud."

After scouring the web for a couple of minutes nothing showed up except for an old article from the Nikkei Shimbun newspaper, reporting the death of hero-in-training Loud Cloud. Izuku quickly exited that site choosing to search for something different. “What’s your full name Oboro?”

“Oh that’s right I didn’t tell you my full name, it is Oboro Shirakumo” Oboro replied

“Oboroshirikumo...oboroshirikumooo….here!” Izuku exclaimed pointing at the monitor’s screen. “This photo was tagged saying ‘Curry eating competition at U.A’s School Festival. Winner Hizashi Yamada from class 2-A!’ it also says the names of the people in the photo are; Shota Aizawa, Hizashi Yamada, and Oboro Shirakumo.” 

“Oh, I remember that!” Oboro cried out laughing “The curry was soo spicy I was freaking out because I couldn’t find anything to soothe my burning throat!”

“So that’s you in the back then?” Izuku asked pointing towards a teenager who seems to be freaking out.

Oboro chuckles “Yep, the other two were my best friends!”

“Yamada looks sorta familiar what’s his hero name?” Izukku asked, curious on why the 16-year-old looked so familiar to him

“Unless he changed it before becoming a pro, which he probably would not, his hero name is Present Mic.” 

Izuku sputtered “W-wait you were close friends with THE Present Mic?!” Oboro hummed in agreement while Izuku had his miny freak out “

“Oh my god that is socool!Ilistentohisradioshoweveryday,andhe’ssuchanamazinghero,likeevenifheisdeafduetohisquirkhedoesn’tletitbotherhiman-” He stopped hearing the sound of laughter coming around his room and his lamp flickering

"Aw jeez, that’s amazing Hizashi got to get that radio show he wanted." There was a quick blast of warmth flooding around his back and chest resembling a hug. "Well anyway, you should probably head to bed. You have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow and a long way to go before you can have a chance at being accepted into UA!"

"What are you going to do while I sleep?" Izuku asked, eyes slowly drooping.

"I'm going to see how far I can go without being next to you, and have a look around and exploring a bit. No need to worry. I'll make sure to be careful and be here in the morning." He seemed to pick up on his anxieties. Izuku felt warmth as Oboro slowly pet his hair back. "Goodnight, Izuku." 

The next morning Izuku woke up to warmth pulsing on his right cheek. "Hey kid it’s time to get up! You have training to do! Up and at ‘em!" Oboro’s voice was overly joyful and Izuku felt very unwilling to get out of bed.

"Mm...just a bit longeeeer." He groaned turning himself over facing away from where he guesses Oboro is standing (floating?).

"Fair warning Izuku my jokes are terrible, everyone at school would always runaway once I started and I haven’t been able to talk to actual people in so long! If spaghetti were to have it’s own action movie, what would it be called?.... Mission im-pasta-ble. What did the pot eat on it’s birthday?....pancakes. What do you call a camel in a drought?....A dry hu- "

Finally, Izuku jerked up, covering his ears. “Okay. Okay, I’m up! No need to finish that.” His face started to burn a light pink across his face, (knowing what the end of the joke was) as he started to kick the blankets off only to turn towards the window and see barely any light outside. "Wha- Oboro!! The sun isn’t even out yet!"

He turned glaring into thin air hoping to make contact with him.

"Yes, it is, Izu. It's just reeeally early in the morning. There is plenty of time for you to get ready and eat before we go out for a morning run!" He was being weirdly energetic about the whole ordeal, but Izuku knew he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Heading to the bathroom, Izuku ran a brush through his wild curly hair and brushed his teeth. Going back to his room, Obroro pipped up. "It's a bit cool outside so I suggest you wear some long sleeves."

The entire way to his closet Izuku muttered incoherent things. In the end, he opted to wear a plain black shorts and a long-sleeved shirt with written kanji saying 'tank-top' with his old dusty sneakers because his red sneakers were still on top of the roof.

Before heading out Izuku ate some toast and an orange. If he got hungry later on their run he could always eat more when they got back. As Izulu started to leave the apartment Izuku tripped over an unmarked box that was just left in front of the door.

"Ooo I wonder what it is!” Oboro seemed quite enthusiastic as Izuku went to open the box revealing his faded red shoes and yellow backpack.

"Wai-how-who found my stuff?" Izuku asked immediately putting the bag by the door and quickly changing between uncomfortable and comfortable shoes.

"I don’t know, when I got back from wandering around the package was just...there."

"Maybe someone found it and found out where I live from my contact info and address was written inside…?” Izuku wondered out loud.

“I guess so,” Oboro said looking to the bright sight of things.

‘But what if it was...All Might. Yeah, I’m glad that I don’t have to go back up there to collect my things but...I don’t want to have to depend on All Might to help me with my own problems.’

“Hey don’t think like that Izu! I know you’re not a huge fan of the guy, but you don’t have to beat yourself down like that. I know you’re better than that” Oboro spoke sternly trying to make a point, but that soon backfired as warmth spread through his body.

“Hold up- could you always hear my thoughts?” Izuku questioned as he started to jog away from the apartment.

“So far I can heat some things. Like your thoughts that way heavily on you emotionally. But it could possibly work to talk to me through your mind. So you don’t look like a freak talking to themselves.” Oboro quickly informs Izuku as to not worry him.

Sighed Izuku. That was true. Though he kept thinking about it as he jogged. As they passed Dagobah Municipal Beach, the sun had started to rise. Taking in a deep breath was the wrong reason as Izuku cringed from the awful smell of garbage. Despite the smell, Izuku took a break, taking a seat at the entrance.

"Oh gross. What is this place?" Oboro asked with a clear sound of disgust in his voice.

"Well," Izuku started."This is Dagobah Municipal Beach Park. It has accumulated trash coming from the sea for years, turning it from a beautiful beach spot into a trash heap for everyone's unwanted or broken belongings." It was really a shame. As a kid, Izuku recalled going to the beach. Lie under a beach umbrella, making sandcastles. But by the time he was tall enough into the water, it was already flooded with trash by then.

"That's terrible." Oboro seemed deeply upset about this actually. It made Izuku want to do something about it. But before Izuku could voice his thoughts Oboro spoke up.

“Hey Izu, could we make a quick visit to a convenience store?”

“Sure...what exactly do you want me to get?” Izuku asked, despite having an idea what Oboro was thinking.

“Well...you’re going to need to get some garbage bags and some gloves.”

Izuku then dashed towards the nearest convenience store with determination in his eyes. A frail-looking lady turned the key to open the doors as he walked by. Causing her to recoil in slight shock, Izuku realized that with his rapid approach he had frightened her. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'd just come to purchase some garbage bags and some gloves.

The older woman seemed to soften something about his face as she smiled and opened his door. "Sure thing, they’re both in the last aisle on your right."

Before she went inside, Izuku thanked her and smiled back. He quickly found what he was looking for and brought a box of trash bags and a pair of workers gloves onto the counter.

"What's the hurry, son? Why do you need trash bags this early in the morning? You aren't trying to cause trouble are you?" the old woman pointed to Izuku with an accusing finger, and he shook his head quickly.

"Oh no, ma'am! I thought that I could just try and clean the beach up! I passed it while I was on my morning run!" Izuku assured, voicing Oboro’s plan

At this, the elder woman gently smiles while scanning the items. “Wow, is that right?” she said astonished, “ You know how long that place has been a mess? What makes you believe you can do it all by yourself?"

Her words weren't really painful, she was just being realistic. He knew she was right. He certainly had no obligation to clean up the beach. He could have just ignored it and easily went about his day. But he knew if he wanted to be a hero then he would need to start off the roots of how heroes came to be. How they used to work. Heroes in the beginning didn’t do what they did for fame. No. They didn’t care for the recognition they would get. They did it because they just wanted to help.

“That’s the thing, ma’am. I thought that it wouldn’t hurt to try. It’s also a great way to work out, instead of having to buy workout equipment or get a gym membership!” Izuku brightly smiles towards the lady as he handed her the money to buy his items.

“Well, I wish you luck, kid. I’m guessing that you’ll need a place to put the trash you collect.” She stated, Izuku smiling sheepishly at her rubbing the back of his head she continued, “There are two dumpsters in the alley behind the store, they get taken every Monday.”

"Thank you, ma'am!" Izuku said genuinely as he headed for the door. He didn't think too much about how he would dispose of the garbage, so it was good to have one offered.

Oboro began to laugh as Izuku jogged back towards the beach. "Cheaper than having to buy workout equipment or get a gym membership! Man, how true that is nowadays!”

The first garbage bags were packed very quickly. broken bottles, cans of beer, old and rotting newspaper, all of it was poured into the trash bag. Plastic, paper, glass, etc. Izuku could take them to a recycling center! He was already pumped about this new project when Oboro spoke up.

“Hey, Izu, before you toss that into the bag” placing his hand on Izuku’s making him feel warmth blossom closest to the soda, can packaging he was holding in that hand. “make sure you cut each circle so if they end up in wildlife again then animals won’t get their heads stuck inside.”

Izuku's eyes lit up as he started to tear apart each loop before placing it in one of the bags used for recycling. Soon Izuku had used up a quarter of the box of trash bags gone and only had 6x5 feet rectangle cleared of the beach.

[flourchildwrites]

Witch, Please!  Fictober 2019  (17/31)

A multi-fandom Fictober prompt compilation.  Your wish is my command, but be careful what you ask for.  You just might get it.

Prompt:  “Darkness” from Writetober 2019 Prompt List

Fandom:  Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Relationship/Pairing:  Class 1-A, subtle Todoroki Shouto/Yaoyorozu Momo

Genre:  Songfic (sorta)

Rating:  Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count:  1,345 words

Read on AO3

Few modern words struck terror into the hearts of men as forcefully as the sound of two repeated piano chords, alternating between high and low with melodic precision. As the sound traveled the corridors of U.A.’s dormitory courtesy of an open window, Tenya Iida set aside his protein drink. Izuku Midoriya’s scarred hand stilled. Even Katsuki Bakugo, as explosive and unbalanced as ever, held his breath, waiting in denial for the absence of the damning, telltale lyrics.

“WHY’RE MEN GREAT ‘TIL THEY GOTTA BE GREAT? WO!”

The groan that filled the common room expressed the collective sentiment perfectly. Admittedly, the girls and Yuga Aoyama had been noticeably absent for over half an hour. It didn’t take Midoriya’s strategic mind to realize that there was a connection. Another fight or break up has occurred amongst the girls of class 1-A.

“I JUST TOOK A DNA TEST, TURNS OUT I’M 100% THAT BITCH EVEN WHEN I’M CRYING CRAZY YEAH, I GOT BOY PROBLEMS, THAT’S THE HUMAN IN ME BLING BLING, THEN I SOLVE ‘EM THAT’S THE GODDESS IN ME!”

“Aw, man,” Hanta Sero sighed. “Which one of them got hurt this time?”

“Does it matter?” Shouto Todoroki chimed in, snapping his book closed. It was useless to return to homework at this point. As much as the boys liked to complain, broken hearts would be the topic of conversation for the evening. Their motivation equal parts curiosity and protectiveness.

Some expressed their concern better than others.

“WHAT DID YOU DO THIS TIME, KAMINARI?” Bakugo’s voice was simultaneously gruff and shrill, nearly overpowering the all-female chorus now screaming something over a slick beat.

The jagged-haired blond drew his hands to his chest protectively as his classmates turned to stare daggers at him. “Nothing,” he said, “I swear. Kyoka and I are fine. Still together... I think.”

Apparently unsure about that last sentiment, he whipped his cell phone out and began texting furiously.

Iida, their painfully single class representative, piped up. “What about you, Midoria? Any problems with Uraraka?”

Deku balked, mumbling under his breath as he recounted every interaction with his girlfriend over the past few days. A beat of relative silence settled as the next damning lyrics rang out.

“YOU COULDA HAD A BAD BITCH, NON-COMMITTAL HELP YOU WITH YOUR CAREER JUST A LITTLE YOU’RE ‘POSED TO HOLD ME DOWN, BUT YOU’RE HOLDING ME BACK AND THAT’S THE SOUND OF ME NOT CALLING YOU BACK”

A scoff sounded from the corner of the room, and the boys turned to find Minoru Mineta wearing a knowing smirk.

“It’s not Jiro or Uraraka,” Mineta announced. The sly glint in his wandering eyes said he knew something the rest of cohorts didn’t. “Or Ashido or Hagakure for that matter. It’s coming from the fifth floor.”

“WHAT’D YOU KNOW ABOUT IT, GRAPE HEAD?”

Just then, Kaminari’s phone sounded. He picked it up and keyed in the passcode code with shaky fingers, initially relieved but then troubled by the information his newest text contained.

“Hey guys,” he said, “it’s Yaoyorozu. She was talking to some guy on the internet and just found out he’s been playing her the whole time.”

Shouto’s ears perked up. A strange feeling burned in his chest that had nothing to do with his quirk. For once, it (probably) wasn’t one of their own who had messed up, but a nameless outsider who had dared to upset the status quo. With their class’s vice representative no less. Some action had to be taken to let her know they were right there with her.

Just not actually there. Not listening to that awful music.

“We should do something,” Shouto announced. The half-and-half hero stood, fists clenched by his side hand scanned the faces of his classmates who nodded in agreement. All except for Eijiro Kirishima and Bakugo.

“What the fuck are we going to do about Ponytail’s love life, Icyhot?” Bakugo barked.

And honestly, Shouto hated to admit it, but he had no idea.

...

Kyoka’s break up playlist hadn’t failed her yet and seeing as she’d only ever dated Denki, the mix had gotten a surprising amount of use. Together, the girls and Aoyama (who seemed to have a nose for drama) had done their best to brighten up Momo’s room. The friends drew back the curtains and opened the windows, letting fresh air and sunlight in. The sound of Lizzo’s voice filled the courtyard, but any noise complaints were tomorrow’s problem. Right then, Kyoka’s focus was Momo’s wellbeing.

“We met in a chatroom and got to texting. I really thought he was a nice guy,” Momo recounted through a pair of red-rimmed eyes. “But then, he started saying risque things and asking for nudes, and I just… I said no. And he told me he already has a girlfriend, that I was some know-it-all sidechick who wouldn’t… you know… virtually put out.”

“Oh, Yaomomo! I’m sorry. It could’ve happened to anyone,” Mina Ashido offered.

The seemingly blank space next to Asui shifted in her U.A. themed hoodie. “Everyone needs to feel special sometimes,” Hagakure added. “I mean, yeah, we’re heroes in training, but we’re also high school girls here. No offense, Aoyama.”

“None taken,” the blond boy responded. “Everyone wants to sparkle off the battlefield, hun.”

Kyoka nodded. “You played it smart, Momo. You didn’t send him anything that could come back to haunt you as Creati. I know it doesn’t make it better, but this could have been so much worse.”

“Yeah. I just can’t believe I let someone take advantage of me like this,” Momo sniffed. “And the thing is, I almost sent him the pictures until I remembered all that stuff Midnight said in our media seminar. I guess we never really know who’s on the other side of the screen.”

As her best friend’s analysis left her lips, Kyoka looked down at her phone. The screen reflected her petite features, and within that black mirror, she saw her insecurities staring back. Even the hearing heroine’s inhibitions might have been lessened by some fleeting notion of anonymity had she been in Momo’s shoes. It really could have happened to any one of them.

“Online dating sucks,” Kyoka concluded. Momo’s overcrowded bedroom agreed in earnest.

...

The heartbreak krewe left late in the evening, and Momo tucked herself into bed alongside her friends’ reassurances that she’d handled the situation correctly. But truth be told, this part of the day was the loneliest. It was just the sort of time that she would have texted her mystery man, asking about his day or even the weather.

There was a steady knock on the door.

“Coming,” Momo grumbled as she rolled out of bed. Believing it was Aoyama or one of the girls, she didn’t bother to put on her robe. It was a decision Momo immediately regretted when her eyes met a mismatched pair or turquoise and gray.

“Todoroki!” Momo crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you need anything?”

As uncomfortable as Momo was, Todoroki appeared even more so. He thrust a pink box toward Momo, and she accepted it, greeted by a sweet aroma that practically stole her senses.

“These are from all of us,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Kaminari told us what happened, and we helped Sato bake some cookies.”

Momo peered inside the box and found no less than two dozen bite-sized chocolate chip cookies nestled within a thin layer of parchment paper. She picked one up and popped it in her mouth, grinning as the rich sweetness made her taste buds dance.

“Thank you,” she responded, “they’re still warm. Really amazing!”

“You’re welcome. I used my quirk a little. And um… Yaoyorozu,” he stumbled, “if you ever want someone to talk to, you can always text me. I know I don’t have a lot to say, but yeah… You have the number.”

The apples of Momo’s cheeks broke out in a delicious blush. She sucked a droplet of melted chocolate from her fingertip.

“I will,” she said. All thoughts of her pervy penpal were suddenly forgotten.

A/N:  It's day 17. I am overdue for something a little strange. This was inspired by the prompt, but it might be hard to see. Anyway, feel free to send me pairing requests for particular prompts (Fictober or original) via my tumblr, and if you read something you like, don't hesitate to let me know. Your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes and reblogs make my day!  Lyrics are from Lizzo's Truth Hurts.  I (sadly) own no part of that song or My Hero Academia.

[overwatchworks]

McGenji Week, Day 3: Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures

@mcgenjievents

You can read it here on Ao3 if you prefer!

“Alright, I’m headin’ in,” Jesse checked in with the comms before slipping into the warehouse, the air cold and musty. 

There was a layer of dust covering everything, old wooden crates rotting and metal ones rusted. A hole in the roof let in the moonlight, splashes of silver on the floor in blotches and lines. Jesse sighed as he checked the corners, gun held at the ready, but not expected to be used. It wasn’t.

“All clear. Nothin’ in here but a bunch of empty crates. Maybe the lead was a fake,” Jesse spoke into his comm softly, rubbing his forehead. 

This was the third lead they had been hunting, and the third dead end they had caught. He was tired, had not slept in a real bed in weeks, and the smell was starting to give him a headache. A shadow passed over him, Jesse glancing up as Genji crouched on the edge of the hole in the roof.

“No one has been here in ages,” He murmured, Jesse nodding, letting his hand fall back to his side. Genji dropped and landed silently, eyes glowing red pinpoints that shifted as he looked around.

“Yup, kind of saw that one, bud.”

“Do not call me that.”

“Alrighty. Saw that one too, Shimada, saw that one too.”

“You’re pissy tonight...”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. We’ve been led to another useless find because someone wants to fuck around with us, on the road for about two weeks now travelin’ rough, and I’m tired and dirty and yeah, pissy too. I mean, this is shit the grunts should be doin’, not us. Low-level missions that aren’t worth anyone’s time, hell, no one should even be on this—”

“McCree. Found something.”

Jesse turned from where he had been ranting at the wall, Genji having wandered while he was doing so. Good to know he hadn’t been listened to. The ninja was crouched, fingertips gliding over something covered in the dust. He slid his wakizashi free as Jesse came over with a sour look, digging the tip under the seam of what must have been a bunker door. 

It took Genji a moment, but he eventually opened it, pulling the door up and raising a brow at Jesse.

“See, you got night vision. Otherwise I would’ve found that too,” The gunslinger groused. Genji merely scoffed at him, Jesse keeping his mouth shut for once about it. He was too tired for Genji’s sass, and frankly, he was the one finding secret bunkers, so he had a leg up on Jesse there.

“So. Night vision first into the pitch black bunker?” Jesse offered, sweeping his hand towards the gaping blackness of the door. Genji shook his head and stepped down the stairs, wakizashi still in hand. 

Something about the situation made Jesse uneasy, a sick feeling seeping into his gut. It was familiar, but he couldn’t remember why. Slipping Peacekeeper back into his grip, Jesse followed after Genji. He pulled a flashlight from his tactical pouch, moving it around the walls as they reached the bottom. 

His headache was starting to throb, making him wince a bit.

“Damn...Hey, help me see if there’s a light down here, will you?”

“It’s to your left.”

“Thanks, Night Vision.”

“Please do not start calling me that.”

Jesse smirked to himself as he looked for the light switch. It was an old-fashioned one, Jesse flipping it on. Nothing but the sound of electricity running for a moment, then, the stuttering of orange-tinted light.

“How old is this place? Still usin’ sodium lights...? Must be ancient,” Jesse muttered to himself, looking around as the light got stronger. 

There was a single chair in the center of the room, chains dangling from it. Jesse’s brow furrowed. He had seen something like this before. Vague memories pieced themselves together in fragments, unfinished parts staying that way before there was a jarring shift to another one. His headache pounded behind his temples.

Someone walking around him slowly, the click of their shoes on the metal floor measured. Tap. Tap. Tap. They said nothing, just walked. Jesse breathing heavily through the gag, blood dripping from his nose and chin, splashing on his thighs. Not in synch with the taps. The light was too bright, too much, too loud.

An injection of a strange substance into his arm, Jesse unable to struggle against whatever was holding him to the chair. Chains. Biting into the skin of his wrist and neck and chest. It was pitch black, yet, Jesse could see movement, colours. Something watching him in the shadows. Waiting. Prowling.

“No! No, you can’t leave me in here with that!! No! No no help me!! Help me, please!”

Sweat beaded on his temple as he writhed and screamed, eyes wild as they looked upon nothing.

“Gabriel Reyes. What do you know about him?”

Jesse stayed silent, clenching his jaw harder and grunting as he was hit again. Everything hurt, muted and dull until the strike sent his head snapping to the side. Sharp and hot. Broken. Lots of broken things.

“You work with him, you are always at his side. Tell us what you know.”

Jesse stared blankly at the floor, ears still ringing with the methodical tap, tap, tap. Still feeling the eyes on him, but this time, he knew there were people watching him. Sagging against the chains, unable to see outside of the ring of light shining on his face. His mind was foggy, slow. A headache. Pulsing with his heartbeat. Raised.

“McCree.”

“McCree!”

“Jesse!”

Jesse blinked, head slamming against the wall as he jolted. He winced, hand going up to hold it.

“Motherfucker...!”

Genji was kneeling in front of him, Jesse sitting up slowly, eyes unfocused.

“What happened?” He murmured, Genji setting a hand on his shoulder cautiously. Filling all the space in front of Jesse, eyes worried as he made the gunslinger focus.

“You...Regressed. We are not down there anymore.”

“Where are we?”

“Still in the upper warehouse.”

“How long? Gen, how long has it been, what time is it?! When is it?!”

“Jesse, it is okay. It is still December 9th, 2061. You were out for twenty-three minutes,” Genji explained in a tone Jesse had never heard from him. Gentle. It only calmed him for a moment before panic constricted his throat again. 

Jesse leaned over and threw up, hands shaking as he wiped his mouth after emptying his stomach.

“You’re safe, Jesse. It is just you and I here, you are safe,” Genji murmured, hand splayed over the gunslinger’s back. A solid, warm presence. Grounding. 

His mind was still racing, though, Jesse felt as though he was floating outside of his body. Out of control. Flailing, yet unable to move.

“Fuck fuck fuck no, no no I didn’t tell ‘em! I didn’t tell ‘em nothin’ I swear! I-I didn’t say anythin’!”

“I know. It’s okay, Jesse. You are safe. We are on a recon mission at a warehouse in Detroit, Michigan. It’s one fifty-eight in the morning.”

Jesse took a few steadying breaths, though, they still stuttered with each inhale. The images were not going away. He was getting desperate.

“Genji, tell me somethin’ only you would know, please, this can’t be another one I can’t—!”

“You are the first and only person to call me Genji here. Everyone else uses Shimada. You’re the only one I let use my first name. And in return, you told me to use your first name too, since we...Are friends. You called me your friend,” Genji told him softly, both hands going up to grip Jesse’s shoulders. 

The gunslinger stared at him for a long moment, swallowing thickly. He nodded, sweat rolling down his temple. It still felt too hot, too much, but it was fading. Slowly.

“You also wear boots with your running shorts to training, and it’s the stupidest thing I have ever seen, but I think it’s funny, too. I asked how your feet do not start to hurt, and you just grinned and said that they do, but you had to keep up appearances and that you wanted to prove something to Reyes. You did not hear it, but I laughed. It was the first time I’ve laughed since I was brought here,” Genji continued. 

Jesse stared at him, oddly transfixed by the way the ninja was looking at him, still holding his shoulders.

“When we were training in the rain, you asked me, with all seriousness, if I would rust. You were actually concerned about me rusting. And when I explained to you that I would not because the metal is a carbon fiber, you actually listened. I was trying to make you leave me alone with something I thought you would find boring, but you were genuinely interested in what I had to say. You listened to me, and then, you stayed with me the whole time.” 

“You asked me if I felt comfortable telling you about the rest of me, because you said it was ‘super cool’. But you gave me the option to say no, something I hadn’t been given before. I said yes, though, and told you more. And I didn’t get dysphoric talking about it for once. It felt...Relieving, in a way. To tell someone about it myself, and not hear about it from a doctor, or some political representative.”

Jesse felt his mind quiet, Genji taking a breath. It was the most he had ever said to him, the gunslinger clinging to every word.

“You always helped me when I regressed, or had an attack. I want to return the favour, whenever you need it,” The ninja finished, pulling Jesse forward lightly. Giving him room to disengage if he wanted to. He did not. 

Jesse leaned into the embrace, eyes fluttering shut after a moment. There was only blackness behind his eyelids once again.

“Are you with me, Jesse?” Genji asked cautiously, Jesse nodding, chin tapping against his shoulder. It was warm. Genji was so, so warm.

“I’m here, yeah...”

“Okay.”

The ninja stood slowly from his previous crouch, holding a hand out for Jesse. He took it. Standing made him dizzy, body still quivering. Weak.

“Shit...I’m sorry, Gen, I didn’t—I didn’t think that would happen. It just came on all of a sudden,” Jesse mumbled, mouth tasting of stale bile, disgusting.

“You do not have to apologize. It is not your fault.”

“I couldn’t even remember what happened ‘till now.”

“It’s okay, Jesse. It is okay. I am sorry for not realizing sooner. I was there when we brought you back from...That. I should have been more careful.”

Jesse shook his head, taking a few shuffling steps forward.

“It’s okay. Let’s just...Get out of here, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Genji nodded, keeping a concerned eye on Jesse the whole time. They made it back out into the frigid night air, Jesse taking a deep breath, letting the bitter cold of it burn in his lungs.

“The lead was right. It must have been an old Talon hideout. Not much left, abandoned long ago, no other information available. Will do a full report back at base,” Genji spoke into the comm, tone short and clipped. 

Jesse stared at the moon, full and bright. The ninja tapped his shoulder, Jesse blinking and turning his gaze to him.

“Come on. Let’s go back to the rendezvous point.”

“Okay.”

“You doing okay?” Genji questioned, hand squeezing Jesse’s shoulder lightly. The concern made Jesse smile a bit, grateful.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

As long as you are here.

Genji nodded, then started walking. Jesse stayed by his side. The night was cold and silent.

~~

[reidandwrite]

Ghost (Spencer Reid)

Overview - In which the reader faked her death (just like Emily did) and has now returned.

A/N: I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve posted; I’ve been having a rough time, mentally. Hope you enjoy this request, though. I’m working on a few more! Also sorry for any typos/errors, it’s currently 4am and I’m too lazy to reread this, to be honest lol.

The soft ringing of my cellphone wakes me from my impromptu nap as I groan and reach towards the coffee table sitting in front of the couch I’m laying on. Picking up the phone, I look at the screen and see a phone number that I don’t recognize. An eerie feeling creeps over me as I decline the call and set the phone back down on the table. A few seconds pass and a notification pops up on my cellphone screen reading 1 New Voicemail. Hesitating, I pick up the phone once again and press it to my ear.

“This call is for, um, Allison Keaton,” says a familiar female voice through the phone speaker. “Allison, this is SSA Emily Prentiss; if you get this message, please give me a call back. It’s urgent. Thank you, have a nice day.”

A voicemail from Emily. The leader of the team that I haven’t seen in 2 years. 

[I remember the white lights on the ceiling. It took me a few seconds to realize I was sitting in a hospital bed. 

“Hey, look who’s up,” Emily smiled as she stood up from the chair next to my bed and sat on the edge, near my feet. “You’ve been out for 2 days, it’s nice to see your eyes open again,” she gave a small chuckle and sighed in relief.

“Emily, I’m so sorry-” I started to say before she cut me off.

“Sorry for what?” She looked genuinely confused. 

“I-I started a war with one of the most psychotic and sadistic people in the world a few years ago...”

“(Y/N), you were 19. A kid still. You could not have possibly known what would’ve happened.”

“But I dragged the team into something that I should have handled myself. I got them involved in something that was my war to fight.”

“Do not say that. This team is a family. We protect one another. You had a literal psychopath stalking and threatening you. There was no way that we were going to let you try to deal with him alone. You don’t have to ask for help; that’s the beauty of family. We’re here to help, even when you don’t ask for it.” She smiled and put her hand over mine.

“Thank you,” I wiped a tear that was trailing down my cheek. “So I’ve been out for 2 days, huh? Has Zac started talking yet or is he putting on his stubborn act?” 

“That’s, um, that’s what I actually needed to tell you still. Zachary Trimble got away... When we tracked your phone to that storage unit in his name, it took us 17 minutes to get there. When we arrived, you were lying there in a pool of your own blood and it seemed he was long gone...” she trailed off without breaking eye contact. 

“So what does this mean,” I asked, terrified of the answer.

“Well, considering how dangerous he is and how easily he is able to track you down... Luke and I were discussing you being relocated,” she managed to choke out before tears started to fall from her eyes.

“Relocated? To where? What do- How do I-” I started to question, in a panic.

“Nothing’s set. It was just a suggestion. For your safety.”

“Where would I even go?”

“I still have connections over at interpol in London, if you wouldn’t mind the London air,” she tried to crack a joke and I smiled at her effort.

“What does Spencer think?”

“He... he doesn’t know. As far as the team knows, besides Alvez and I, you have been killed by Zachary Trimble.”

“He thinks I’m dead? How... what do I....” I trailed off, starting to sob. “Like I said, nothing’s set yet. This would be temporary, though. For your safety, and for everyone else’s.” There was an enormous awkward silence filling the hospital room. “But for now, you need to get some rest. You can make your decision tomorrow.”

By the next week, I was no longer SSA (Y/L/N). I was Allison Keaton. Personal assistant to the chief of interpol in London. I was going to be Allison Keaton indefinitely. Until it was safe to come back.]

What could Emily possible want? Anxious, I walk to desk sitting in the corner of my living room and pick up my copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar wild and flip to page 52. My eyes wander to the bottom corner of the left page and I look at the phone number scribbled into the paper. I pick up my phone and dial the number, the ringing ending after three rings. 

“Prentiss.” The answering voice says.

“Jackson Out Take,” I reply with my code, hoping she says hers in return so that  I can actually speak.

“Supreme Washington Company,” she says and I sigh in relief.

“Oh my gosh, Emily? How are you? I’ve missed your voice; we haven’t spoken in forever! Is everything okay over there?” I say it all in one breath and I pause to inhale.

“Everything is wonderful here, (Y/N),” she starts to laugh, “I know. That’s my fault, we’ve been so busy here, I haven’t had time to just sit down and talk to you. Are you doing fine?” 

“I’m good. What did you need to talk to me about? You said it’s urgent?”

“Well, how would you like to come home?” I can hear the excitement in her voice and I can’t help but tear up when she asks the question.

“W-wait, what? You got Zac?”

“Yeah, Garcia had been tracking him and we got a hit. We followed it, and after months of playing cat and mouse, we finally got him. You can come home, (Y/N),” she tells me and I have to blink a few times to make sure I’m not dreaming again. 

“How soon?”

“As soon as you want. I can have a flight arranged for you tomorrow morning if you’d like,” Emily offers.

“Can you make it the next day? I’ve made a few friends here and I’d like to say goodbye,” I explain.

                                                             • • •

I shut the taxi door behind me and stare at the huge building standing in front of me. I haven’t been to Quantico in 2 years and the memories come rushing back. Then it hits me: I haven’t seen anyone from the team in 2 years. I never even got to say goodbye. Trying to shake my anxiousness away, I walk through the big doors and into the lobby to find Emily already waiting there for me.

“Emily!” I practically yell and run up to her, devouring her in a hug. 

“Oh my God, (Y/N), I’ve missed you so much! It’s so good to see your face,” she smiles at me as we pull apart.

“I missed you, too, all of you." 

“Especially Spence, I’m guessing,” she says, her smile not leaving her face once.

“Yeah... oh my gosh, he’s going to hate me...” I realize.

“He’s not going to hate you; believe me, he will be feeling the opposite of hate, actually,” she says, leading me towards the elevator. I place my bag down on the table for the guard to look through and we walk through the metal detector, one by one, before stepping into the elevator. “You two were in such a good place before you left, he’ll be ecstatic to see you.”

“That’s the thing, Em, we had been dating for, what, 8 months before I left? And I couldn’t even tell him I was still alive.” I start to panic for what’s waiting for me up in the bullpen.

“(Y/N), we’ve been over this a million times; you were just following direct orders. It wasn’t just for your safety, it was for the safety of the team, as well. Don’t worry,” she puts her hand on my shoulder and gives it a small squeeze,” it’ll be fine.” She gives me a reassuring smile and I take a big breath as the elevator stops at the BAU. We take a step to of the elevator and walk through the hall, making our way toward the bullpen. We pass the wall that’s filled with pictures of deceased agents. I stop in my tracks when I see my picture. Emily is a few steps ahead of me and notices that I’m not by her side anymore. She walks back to me and stands on my right, looking at my picture, too. “I know, it feels weird right? Seeing your own picture up there. We’ll get it taken down tonight,” she says and continues walking. I follow close behind and notice the team isn’t sitting at their desks. We move past the desks, and to the briefing room.

“Wait,” I say and stop right in front of the shut door, “maybe I should wait a few days and-” I start to say before she cuts me off.

“(Y/N), I know you’re nervous. But we have to do this now. Wait here for a second just so I can tell them to brace themselves.” She opens the door slightly and slides in, almost closing it behind her, but leaving it a crack open so I can hear what they’re saying. “Okay everyone, I know we’re all wondering why I’ve called you in here,” Emily starts. “Before the big announcement, I just want to tell you all that this was completely my idea. I did not make this decision quickly and without thought; it was not made lightly. This decision was made for the safety of the team. Come on out,” she calls to me. 

Exhaling, I push the door open and take a step in. The room is filled with gasps at first, and followed by an awkward silence.

“Oh my...” Penelope whispers. I analyze everyone’s faces and each of them stare at me as if they’re looking at a ghost.

“Hi,” I say quietly and give a small smile. After my uncomfortable greeting, each member of the team comes up to me one by one to give me a hug and tell me how much they’ve missed me; each member except Spencer, who stands still, looking at me with a blank expression.

“Well, lets, um, give them some time to catch up. We all still have mountains of paperwork to do, must I remind you,” Emily says. The team nods in agreement and make their way out of the room.

“We are getting dinner soon, lovely. We have SO MUCH to catch up on,” Penelope says as she gives me one more tight hug before walking out the door. I giggle, enjoying the fact that she hasn’t changed one bit. The door shuts behind her and Spencer and I are left alone in the room. For a bit, we just stare at each other. 

Spencer’s hair isn’t as long as it was when I left. It’s shorter, but stays in it’s messy state. He’s wearing a dark gray button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his veiny arms. His black slacks are tighter than I remember and on his feet are a black pair of Converse shoes. His coffee colored eyes are heavy, yet look so empty and I can’t profile the expression on his face. Without a word, he picks up the stack of folders on the round table in front of him and and walks past me, to the door.

“Spencer, please say something-” I start.

“What, (Y/N)?” He turns around and his face is filled with a thousand emotions that I can’t take in all at once. “What, do you want me to drop everything and jump up and down? Do you want me to pick you up and kiss you like you never left?”

“No, I just-”

“Do you want me to ask how the past two years has been for you? Because in case you were wondering, the past two years have been complete and utter SHIT for me! I’ve thought about you everyday for the past two years, one month, and eleven days! I cried in JJ’s arms for months, I thought about taking Dilaudid again, I carried your goddamn coffin! Did you ever think how badly your decision was going to hurt me?” His voice is stern and his face is a little bit red.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You don’t think I called Emily as much as I could these past two years to make sure that you were doing okay? You don’t think I cried myself to sleep every night knowing how much I hurt you when I left? Believe me, Spencer, I know how much I hurt you. But it was either leave and hurt you, or stay and have you killed. And I would never have been able to forgive myself if I let the latter of the two happen,” I huff out and cross my arms in defense. Shaking his head, he turns around again to the door and yanks it open, revealing the rest of the team standing there, presumably trying to listen to our argument.

“Ried-” Emily calls out as he pushes past them all, and toward his desk. The rest of the team turns to me and, at this point, I’m sobbing uncontrollably. 

                                                             • • •

I’m sitting on the couch in Emily’s office, waiting for her to come back, and can’t stop thinking about my encounter with Spencer a few hours ago. As I’m replaying our conversation in my head, the door opens and in comes Emily with a folder in her hands.

“Well?” I stand up and ask.

“You passed the reinstatement exam with flying colors; not one question wrong,” Emily smiles, “even after that little spat with Spencer, you were able to get a perfect score; very impressive.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and look towards the ground, silently congratulation myself on my score, despite my feeling of defeat.

“So when do I take the physical exam?” I ask the question in an attempt to steer our conversation away from the mention of Spencer a second ago.

“Whenever you feel ready. Tomorrow if you’d like,” she suggests with a pitiful, yet hopeful, smile. I shake my head and put my face in my hands.

“I just... need some time. Maybe just two or three days to get my shit together, y’know? Go apartment hunting and whatnot.”

“Apartment hunting? But you live with Spencer?” 

“I lived with Spencer two years ago before I left, Emily. A lot’s changed... and by the looks of what happened in the round table room, Spencer doesn’t want me around the house.” 

“Don’t say that. Spencer is just... taking it all in. He’ll be fine. But, if you must give him space, you can stay with me until you’re ready to go back home. To YOUR home with Spencer.” She closes her folder and starts to organize the paperwork on her desk.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll stay at a hotel for a bit. Honestly, if I stay with you I’ll just get to comfortable and never end up leaving,” I giggle lifelessly.

“Okay, but if you change your mind, I’m a call away. The offer always stands.”

“Thanks, Em,” I smile gratefully and stand up, “I think I’m going to get going, though. It’s getting a little late and I’ve had a very long and eventful day.”

“Well that’s an understatement,” she lets out a slight chuckle, “alright. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be here with my paperwork for a while. Goodnight.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, again,” I say and shut her office door behind me. Walking down the stairs and into the actual bullpen I see that everyone is gone, except for Spencer, who seems to be heading out for the night, as well. I almost turn around and run back into Emily’s office to wait until Spencer disappears into the elevator. I ignore the urge, though, and walk through the bullpen and right past his desk, to the elevators. I press the down button and wait for the doors the open, when I hear footsteps stop behind me. I turn around and make awkward eye contact with Spencer and turn back towards the elevator doors. A small ding goes off and the huge doors in front of us open.

“First floor, please, I’m taking the metro to my hotel.” I say almost inaudible, as Spencer reaches for the floor number buttons.

“Hotel?”

“Yes, the Hilton on Colonial Street,” I reply, still just above a whisper.

“You’re not coming home?”

“Home?”

“To our home, (Y/N). It’s still our home.” He says, confusion filling his face.

“I didn’t know if you’d want me back home, all of a sudden, after two years... I just wanted to give you space after our little spat in the round table room,” I admit.

“No, come home. Please?” I look up and our eye contact is no longer awkward, but more loving. His eyes are big and full of concern and I can tell that he doesn’t have any fight left in him.

“Okay.” I agree and face forward. Our entire walk to the metro and ride home is filled with quiet noise, up until he unlocks the front door to our apartment. It looks exactly the same. The quilt that my grandmother made me is still sitting on the edge of the olive green sofa that Spencer bought when we decided to move in together. My stack of classical literature books is still in alphabetical order on the edge of the third bookshelf. The periwinkle vase on the counter in front of the kitchen has fresh sunflowers in it; something I’ve been doing since we moved in.

“N-nothing’s changed...” I start to say.

“Yeah, I, uh, didn’t have the strength throw it all out,” he says as he takes off his coat and bag. He reaches for my coat, “Do you want me to hang that up for you?” I smile and hand it to him, taking a few steps forward after. Being gone for two years has definitely changed something inside of me. I feel like a stranger in my own home.

“So you can take our bed; the couch is comfortable enough for me,” he starts to say, walking to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

“Couch? No way you’re sleeping out here, on this stiff couch. We can share the bed. It’s a king size bed, after all,” I state and walk to the bedroom. After opening the door, I see it’s the same as the living room: exactly the same as when I left. I walk to the drawer wear I used to keep my pajamas and see that they’re in the same spot. I grab a dark blue pair of Spencer’s sweats (a pair that I stole so often that they stayed in my pajama drawer instead of his) and a gray t-shirt. After sliding the t-shirt on over my head, I notice it smells like fresh laundry, like it had been washed within the last day. A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts and I hear it creak open.

“You decent?” He asks through the door cracked open.

“Oh, yeah, come in,” I say and sit on the bed. “Did you just wash this shirt?” I ask as I tug at the neck hole of the t-shirt on my body.

“I wash all your clothes once every two weeks... the same day I get sunflowers for the kitchen,” he murmurs as he walks to his pajama drawer. He pulls out a pair of red flannel pajama pants and a white t-shirt. He undresses and I can’t help but stare at his body as he’s only wearing a pair of blue boxers. He looks a lot more toned than when I left.

“Y’know you can take a picture; it might last longer,” he jokes as he slides on his clothes. I snap out of my gaze and start to unmake the bed while giggling. I slip under the covers and Spencer soon follows after me, then turning out the light. Neither of us fall asleep right away, both just staring at the ceiling. The only sound in the room is our out of sync breathing.

“Spence?”

“Hm?” He hums back.

“Why did you never throw out my things? It’s been two years, I would have understood.”

“I don’t know, I just... couldn’t throw out anything that reminded me of you. When I thought I lost you, I though about taking Dilaudid again. The night of your funeral, everyone could tell I was a wreck. The whole team offered to let me stay with them or offered to stay here to make sure I was fine. But I was so... angry. I didn’t want a babysitter. I guess I should have had one, though, because I got my hands on two vials of Dilaudid. I got home and put them down on the counter right next to the vase of sunflowers. The beautiful yellow caught my attention. You loved those flowers. And when I looked at them, all I could see was your smiling face. So I got rid of the Dilaudid. That’s why I kept your stuff around. Even when I thought you were dead, you were still saving me.”

“Spencer, I know I probably sound like a broken record, but I am so sorry for what I did. I knew that I hurt you when I left, and, believe me, I had a hole in my chest because of it. But when I thought about what Zac would do to you if he found out that I was still alive... I would have rather stayed in hiding for the rest of my life than have Zac hurt you the way I know he would have.” I sigh in relief that this conversation hasn’t turned into a screaming match yet.

“I know. I’’m sorry I blew up on you back at Quantico. I just had so many emotions hitting me all out once. I’m surprised I didn’t pass out,” he laughs a bit and turns toward me. “I know that you only did what you did to protect me. I would’ve done the same thing had our positions be switched. I know I didn’t seem like it earlier, but I can’t even explain how happy I am to have you back.”

“And I can’t even explain how happy I am to BE back,” I turn to face him and move a little closer. Our faces are inches away and the butterflies I had in my stomach when we first met, are now back.

“C-can I kiss you?” He whispers, our faces moving closer and closer.

“I thought you’d never ask.” I grin and press my lips against his.

“Welcome home,” he says in between kisses as we peel off our clothes.

[masterlist]

[chuffyfan87]

Hiding. Part 42a

Cowritten with @disastrousintention.

-x-

Tomorrow was the day of their holiday. Four weeks in Toronto. Charlie was both looking forward to the holiday and dreading it, especially being in the same city as Baz. He was broken from his thoughts by banging and crashing coming from upstairs. He looked up and sighed.

There a sudden, much louder, bang followed by cursing.

He went upstairs to investigate. “What an Earth are you doing?"

Duffy looked up from where she was sat on the floor surrounded by various items of clothing, the suitcase open on the bed. "I was trying to fit everything in and the suitcase... Well, it kind of... Exploded..!" She looked sheepish. "I was jumping on the suitcase to try and close it and, um, I'm guessing you heard me hit the floor..."

“I thought you were going to come through the ceiling. How many clothes do we need?” He smiled brightly.

"We're going for four weeks!" She replied, wincing as she got up off the floor.

He held his hand out to help her up off the floor. “Does your arse need a rub?”

"I think I landed on my back." She admitted quietly as she rubbed it.

He helped her up and gently began to rub her back.

"Maybe jumping on the case wasn't the best idea..." She admitted.

“Maybe not.”

"We can only take three cases. How are we going to fit enough for all of us in just three cases?!"

“We will manage. I can always go commando.” He smirked.

"This is a family holiday Charlie!" She giggled.

“The children won’t notice I’m not wearing pants. You might though.” He winked.

"You planning to wear any for the flight over there?"

“Maybe. Maybe not. Depends.”

"On if you can bribe the air hostesses to keep an eye on the kids during the flight?"

“Hopefully they’ll be asleep.” He smirked.

"You planning to join the mile high club or something?"

He laughed, “It'd be something different. Be a story to tell, if we conceived in the air, wouldn’t it?”

"Good luck pulling that off!" She giggled.

They finished packing their clothes away, a comfortable silence between them.

As they were about to head downstairs again Duffy lent over and whispered in Charlie's ear. "I'm game if you can organise it."

“Leave it with me. I’m sure we can figure something out.”

"This I can't wait to see!" She giggled.

The rest of the day was spent organising what time they had to leave to make their flight on time. Double and triple checking they had everything and had packed enough. “Tea?” Charlie asked as he switched on the kettle when he reached the kitchen.

"Yes. I'm gasping!" Duffy sighed. "This is the last cup I'm having though seeing as how we have to be up at 3am!"

“Ugh, that’s even earlier than usual!”

"Well the flight's at 7am. We need to get there and check in."

“I know! The whole thought of waking the kids at 3am and having them grumpy, isn’t something to look forward too.” He laughed.

"Maybe they'll sleep on the flight?"

“I hope so.”

"So you can carry out your fiendish plan to have your wicked way with me over the mid-Atlantic?" She giggled.

“Of course.”

"Aren't airline toilets quite small?"

“Yes but we’re both flexible. You more than me.” He winked.

"Years of practise!" She giggled.

Sipping her tea, Duffy wandered over to double check for the hundredth time that she definitely had all seven passports in her handbag.

“Do we have them all?” He asked.

She counted them out onto the worktop, opening each one to show him as she did so. She then counted them back into her bag. "Yes and you saw me do that so if there's any missing when we get to passport control..."

“I’ll still blame you.” He laughed gently.

Despite having checked everything multiple times and getting into bed early Duffy barely slept. She'd finally just dropped off when the alarm went off.

“Urgh! Do we have to wake up?” Charlie mumbled.

"I swear it was 10pm five minutes ago!" Duffy grumbled.

“Yeah it was.”

They dragged themselves out of bed and dressed before going to get the children sorted. Despite all their planning it was still utterly chaotic and they only just made it to the airport in time. The children running around because they were so excited to be going on holiday!

"Kids can you please all stay in one place!" Duffy shouted.

For once they listened and did as they were told. “Relax.” Charlie rubbed her lower back.

"I will relax once they're all belted into their seats and we're in mid-air!" She muttered between gritted teeth.

He began to kiss her neck.

"Charlie! Behave!" She giggled.

“I am. I’m relaxing you.”

"The boys look like they want to disown us..!"

Charlie looked up and watched the boys as they pulled a face at their parents. Charlie laughed, “Alright boys. I’ll stop kissing your mum!”

Their replies were drowned out by the tannoy announcing that their flight was ready to board.

“Come on children, time for us to board our flight.” Again, it was a military operation making sure all the children were there. Eventually, they were all strapped into their seats.

"I'm bored!" Jake complained.

“Read your book and listen to your music? Or watch a film?” Charlie suggested.

Jake grumbled as he put on his headphones.

Three hours into the flight, all the children had fallen asleep.

Duffy was dozing too when she felt a nudge in her side. "Huh?" She mumbled sleepily.

“All the children are asleep.”

"That's nice..." She still hadn't opened her eyes.

Charlie leant over and whispered, “Fancy joining the mile high club?”

"I'm sleeping." She mumbled. She opened one eye slowly as her brain began to process his words. "You weren't kidding?"

“Of course I wasn’t.” He smiled, “You never know, we might conceive.”

"Let's hope mum doesn't figure that out. I'm not sure that's what she had in mind for this holiday."

“Our little secret.” He kissed her cheek. “Meet you in the toilet?”

"OK."

He got up and went to the toilet.

Duffy waited for a couple of minutes, contemplating how crazy the idea was. Finally she took a deep breath, checked the kids really were asleep and followed her husband.

It was a completely bonkers idea but it would be worth it.

She tapped lightly on the door.

Charlie opened it and pulled her inside.

She hadn't expected him to be so quick so had to smother her startled squeal.

He laughed softly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Locking the door she turned to look at him. "This is insane!" She giggled.

“Yeah it is. But we’re trying for a baby so..”

"Let's get to it?" She giggled as she attempted to remove her knickers in the confined space.

He undid his belt and jeans.

"Lucky I knew about this so wore a dress." She laughed as she finally got them down and over her shoes.

“Good girl.” He smiled.

"Good girls don't have sex in airline toilets Charlie!"

“That’s very true.” They ended up joining the mile high club. Making love in the toilets.

"How do we get out of here now?" She giggled breathlessly afterwards.

“I’ll go first.” He kissed her tenderly, breathless himself.

"If anyone asks I was sick and you were helping me."

“I will.” He smiled and kissed her passionately. “Love you.”

"Love you too!"

Doing up his jeans and belt he left the toilet and returned to his seat.

She spent a few minutes attempting to clean herself up. She caught sight of herself in the tiny mirror and laughed at the grin that was plastered on her face! It had been an insane idea but fully worth it.

Neither of them knew at the time but it really had been worth it. He watched the children, a grin also on his face.

As she returned to her seat she tried her best not to catch his eye, concerned she'd give them away.

He was like the cat that got the cream! Couldn’t stop grinning. He was definitely going to give the game away.

She sat down and turned to look out the window. She caught his eye in the window reflection as she felt his hand come to rest on her thigh, his fingers slipping under the hem of her dress.

His fingertips stroked up her thigh.

She turned and lent back into her chair, giving him a dazzling smile.

“That’s definitely made you relaxed hasn’t it?” Charlie asked.

"Very much so. Ironic when the same thing has been stressing me out so much recently."

“Maybe my sperm will have done a good job up in the air.”

She almost choked laughing.

His hand got further up her thigh. “God I need to stop getting so distracted.”

"We've got to take our chances when we can. I'm not sure how much alone time we'll get whilst we're away."

“We’ll find time, I promise. Mostly at night. Making up for the fact we’ve spent all day in a daze of lust.”

"We? Shouldn't that be 'you'?"

“You’re just as horny as me, you know!”

She grinned and gave him a cheeky wink.

“Love you.”

"Love you more."

“Hmm. Maybe.”

She lent over to kiss him when Em began to stir.

"What's wrong princess? We're not there yet."

“Tummy urts.” Emily mumbled.

She held her arms out towards the little girl. "Come for a cuddle with mummy and daddy?"

Emily crawled over to her parents and settled herself on her mum. “Tummy urts.” She said again.

"Are you worried about something?" Duffy asked softly.

Emily shook her head.

She rubbed her daughter's tummy. The five year old frequently suffered with stomach issues.

Emily wriggled a little.

"Do you feel sick?"

The little girl nodded.

"Do you want to take her or should I?" Duffy asked Charlie.

“I’ll take her.” Charlie said with a sad smile. “Come on sweetie, shall we go to the toilet?”

[shewolfofficial]

Young!Levi x Young!Reader ~ The Underground

This is set in the underground when Levi is in his early teens ^.^

Warning: Violence, Cursing

Summary: You grow up In the Underground with Levi after you were abandoned by your parents

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You strolled through the streets of the underground, E/C orbs flicking in every direction due to nervousness. Keeping your hands clasped in front of you-you let your head drop down slightly, trying to remain calm you forced a brave expression onto your young and soft face. You belonged up in Wall Rose and your family was quite rich above ground, so of course, you were treated like a little princess. Wearing a simple white little dress that draped to your knees accompanied by little doll shoes. You also brought a small bag containing some snacks and two drinks in case you got picky.

You were on a trip with your parents for business that they refused to tell you about yet they still brought you anyway, but that was three hours ago. Your mother told you to wait outside a restaurant until they came back but they didn’t. ‘Did they forget about me? Idiots... Probably did..’ you thought annoyed at the fact that they left you in this filthy place. The only thing that did slightly improve your mood was that the fact that your outfit looked clean and new compared to the people you walked past, their clothes ragged and ripped.

Spotting an empty alleyway you sighed in relief as you cautiously entered, leaning your back after a few seconds of silence you sighed. Keeping your eyes trained on the ground you lightly grasped the strap of your bag. Biting your lower lip you were beginning to panic about what you were going to do, the Military Police soldiers wouldn’t believe you anyway even if you tried. 

Too caught up in your own thoughts you were pulled out of them almost instantly when you heard footsteps at the entrance of the little alleyway making you look up to whoever it was in fright. Your gaze landing on a slightly taller young boy with raven hair, cold grey eyes. The boy wore a black jacket with the sleeves pulled up, a grey v-necked shirt, some light green pants, and black shoes. Gulping you stepped back a little not wanting to cause trouble or even be involved in a fight, you watched him raise an eyebrow at you curiously. ‘’You lost?’’ his voice sliced through the air, the question making you flinch then lean back against the wall again.

 ‘’My parents abandoned me down here 3 hours ago... I’m not supposed to be here..’’ you mumble to the boy who clicked his tongue ‘’what wall do you come from?’’ he asked again, glancing back up to him you noticed he was now leaning against the wall opposite you. Hands dug into his pockets as he looked to you for an answer ‘’Wall Rose..’’ you answered, you found this boy quite cute and this made you incredibly flustered and embarrassed.  ‘’W-What’s your name?’’ you tried hoping to make a new friendship ‘’Levi, it’s only Levi’’ he said tilting his head to the side. ‘’What’s yours hm?’’ Levi puzzled you looking over your figure, eyes eventually landing on the bag which you held onto. ‘’My name is Y/N L/N... I-I got food here.. I heard there isn’t that much food down here so I brought some in case I got hungry but you can h-have some if you want?’’ you suggested gesturing to the bag. 

Levi blinked before waking over beside you and stood next to you peering into the bag. ‘’I got sweets and some bread... Even drinks... Heh like a little picnic’’ you chirp, sitting down you fumbled with the bag as Levi joined you crossing his legs patiently. ‘’You sure I can have some?’’ he asked as you nodded pulling out two packets of sweets you presented them to the boy ‘’which one do you want? I got two of everything so we can split!’’ you smile to Levi who taps onto a packet of gummy bears. You handed him the bag as he muttered a quiet thanks. Setting your own packet of sweets next to you-you took out two little pieces of bread which were the same so you just handed him one of them. ‘’It’s been a while since I’ve gotten sweets..’’ Levi says looking down to the packet of gummy bears. ‘’I wish I could give you more but I got none left’’ you say taking out two little bottles of water, passing one to him as he smiles a little. 

‘‘Thanks Y/N, you’re really nice’‘ Levi says before taking a bite out of the piece of bread. ‘‘No worries Levi’‘ you grin beginning to eat your own.

// Time Skip \\

You and Levi sat on the ground after deciding to save your sweets and drinks for later. Now you were both sitting there spilling out information about yourselves to pass the time. ‘’Y/N do you want to stay with me?’’ Levi suddenly asked, a smile appeared on your lips ‘’sure Levi I wouldn’t mind that’’ you spoke as he stood up dusting himself down before he picked up his stuff, stuffing them in his pockets before helping you up and handing you your sweets and drink. ‘’Thanks...’’ you say as a pink hue dusted your cheeks while putting your things in your bag. Levi nods before leading you out of the alleyway.

You both soon arrived at a small house, only three rooms but you were thankful for having somewhere to stay. ‘’This place is nice, I’m impressed’’ you say looking around the main room ‘’thanks’’ Levi says heading off into a different room leaving you in the living room which consisted of two sofas, a dining table in the corner, a little coffee table in front of both sofas and some shelves scattered around the sidelines of the rooms. Shyly sitting on one of the sofas you placed the bag beside you as you waited for Levi to return from wherever he went.

Soon enough you heard a door open and close, looking over your shoulder you see Levi walk your way before plopping down next to you throwing his head back over the back of the chair yawning. ‘’You alright?’’ you ask fixing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, nodding quietly he nods. ‘’There’s only one bedroom, I only got one bed... We can share it’s a big bed’’ Levi suggests as your cheeks burst up in flames. ‘Calm down Y/N your only 14 cut this shit out!’ you mentally scream at yourself as you nod lightly ‘’good because you were going to sleep in there anyway’’ Levi tells you making your eyes widen a fraction. 

// Time Skip - 3 Years Later \\

It’s been three years since you met Levi, three years since he let you into his home and you couldn’t be thankful enough, you were now 17 and Levi was 18. You and Levi both met Farlan and welcomed him as one of your own, he was a really nice friend and was incredibly smart. 

You sat down on the ground sketching in a sketchbook you found a few days ago as silence filled the room, Farlan sat on the blue sofa as Levi sat at the table. Quietly humming to yourself before there was a thud at the door, snapping your head up you stared at the door as Levi and Farlan shot up slowly making their way to the door as another thud was made from outside. 

‘‘Y/N stay back..’‘ Levi muttered as Farlan held onto the knob of the door holding his blade looking to Levi who nodded to him, abruptly flinging the door open resulting in a red-haired girl to fall in with a squeal clutching something to her stomach. Groaning in pain the girl didn’t cease to let go of whatever she held as Farlan stalked closer to her ‘‘what? It’s just a kid’‘ he said as you now sat there curiously watching the female. ‘‘That surprised me’‘ Farlan continued resting his hand on his hip looking down to her. ‘‘Not... A... Kid...’‘ the female growled in pain ‘‘I’m not a kid!’‘ she said again looking up to Levi. Raising an eyebrow you knelt next to her ‘‘you alright?’‘ you asked earning a nod in response as Levi sighed ‘‘Y/N I told you to stay back..’‘ he grumbled as you shook off the comment. Glancing back down to Isabel he raised his head as she frowned at him ‘‘anyways.. is that so? I won’t feel bad for kicking you out then.. I’ll let the fact that you dirtied the floor slide’‘ Levi said plainly ‘‘get out now.’‘ he finished as she stayed silent.

‘‘What? You can’t even move?’‘ Farlan asked eying her, she turned to look at him ‘‘of course I can! Don’t look down onto me’‘ she said getting up, sitting back you watched as she struggled. ‘‘What a strong-willed kid’‘ Farlan teased lightly as we watched her, soon enough a gruff voice was heard yelling outside as the female fell against the door in pain. Levi frowned in annoyance ‘‘Tch.. Bastard you’re being chased?’‘ he asked as Farlan turned to him ‘‘what should we do?’‘ Farlan questioned. Scooting closer to the female you offered her a gentle smile, noticing the thing she held was a small bird your gaze softened. ‘’My name is Y/N nice to meet you-’’ you were cut off when masculine voices were right outside. 

Glancing over you saw a dirty-looking man at the end of the steps peering into the house as Levi and Farlan stood by the door watching them, the man’s eyebrows furrowed seeing the redhead. ‘’Hey I found her!’’ he snickered before his animalistic gaze wandered to you ‘’and I found another one too!’’ he added as his pals joined him. ‘What?! They’re talking about me! Dirty scumbags! I’ll kill em..’ you thought in disgust. ‘’Are you guys friends?’’ One of the men asked walking up the steps, Farlan raised an eyebrow ‘’not at all, except for the one kneeling of course’’ he said.  ‘’Well why don’t you hand them both over to us, even though one is your friend but we’ll treat her good’’ another snickered as your face scrunched up in disgust. ‘’You’ll be sorry if you cover for her, after all, the redhead tried to get past the 11th Stairway without paying!’’ one said in frustration as you looked down to the female sitting in front of you. ‘’You guys should know this, the 11th Stairway is under the jurisdiction of one of the nobles, Lobov’’ he continued. 

// 1st Person \\

Levi looked as bored as ever listening to this randomer rant ‘’Anyone who tried to pass there without paying is prosecuted’’ the same man finished as another one started. ‘’Of course, you guys will be charged too for being her accomplice’’ The girl gasped lightly, eyes darting to me as I frowned to the men outside. Levi and Farlan stood silently gazing at them in complete boredom ‘’if you guys get it, hurry up and hand her and the other one over!’’ one shouted as the leader grinned. ‘’I don’t care anymore, move away from them’’ he said walking up the steps. Snickering as he looked down to me and the random female whilst placing a hand on Levi’s shoulder, Levi immediately sliced the man’s wrist causing him to stumble backward yelling in pain. Levi then proceeded to punch the man in the face before pulling him up to his height ‘’don’t touch me with your filthy hand I might get dirty.. and don’t speak that way about her again’’ Levi motioned to me behind him before throwing him down the set of stairs to his friends.

Levi pulled out a cloth and began to clean his blade as Farlan smiled teasingly down to the trio ‘’Oh my.. You can’t do it like that. We always prioritize hygiene, wash your hands and come again’’ he smirked as they clung to the injured one. ‘’These guys are dangerous! Let’s go!’’ one exclaimed before they walked off. The redhead started up to Levi mouth agape while holding the small creature, he turned around and looked down to her ‘’Hey, how long are you going to hold it to your stomach?’’ he asked as Farlan peered over his shoulder to her ‘’It’ll die y’know’’ Levi finished as the female unwrapped her arms from around the bird gazing down to it ‘’b-but! I thought it would be warm..’’ she says gently picking it up. Farlan stands next to her as I knelt in front gently rubbing the birds head with my index finger smiling down to it. ‘’what’s with the bird?’’ I ask and she smiles at me ‘’it got lost on its way here.. probably through some duct, so, I thought I’d bring it to the surface’’ she says as the small animal glimpsed around. Farlan’s eyes widened a bit ‘’don’t tell me you tried to break through the stairway just for that?’’ he asked watching me and her pour affection down onto the bird. ‘’This guy would want to fly in the sky instead of being here in the underground’’ She pets it’s back as I nod ‘’it might even have a family it would want to get back to as well’’ I add as chuckles. 

Farlan kneels next to her ‘’well that’s fine but, its wing is injured you know?’’ he states as she flicks her gaze down to it in surprise ‘’eh? Really?!’’.

Farlan finished wrapping both its wings up as the girl looked to the animal in happiness. I sat on the floor continuing my sketch next to Levi who sat by the table watching me. ‘’You’re really good you know... That’s right.. what’s your name? I’m Isabel!’’ she smiled to Farlan who returned the smile. ‘’I’m Farlan... That’s Levi and sitting next to him is Y/N’’ Farlan motioned to us as I gave a little wave to Isabel. ‘’Farlan... Y/N... Levi-bro!’’ she chirped gazing at Levi who turned to her ‘’bro?’’ he raised an eyebrow as I glanced to Isabel in confusion. ‘’Listen please! Let me become one of you!’’ Isabel begged leaning forward as Farlan made a weird noise. ‘’You guys have been using 3D Maneuver Gear right? I’ve seen it before! I felt really envious.. you guys fly around like birds.. please! I want to try it too!’’ she begged looking to Levi hoping he’ll agree. Farlan looked to him as well ‘’what do you think?’’ he asked, I looked over my shoulder to Levi as he glanced down to me and lightly nudging for me to follow before he got up and made his way to the door. ‘’Please!’’ Isabel said looking to him, I watched Levi stop and turn to her ‘’if you stay here, learn to clean before you learn 3D Maneuver Gear’’ he said before walking out as I trail behind him shutting the door after us.

As we walked down the steps I heard a loud and excited voice call out from inside ‘’thank you big bro!’’ Isabel cheered happily making me giggle lightly. 

// Time Skip - 2 Hours Later \\

Me and Levi arrived back at the bottom of the staircase of our home, fixing the collar of my shirt I begin walking up the stairs without noticing Levi stopped. Turning around after noticing he wasn’t following I raised an eyebrow down to him ‘’you alright Levi?’’ I asked as he looked to be thinking, gazing up to me he nodded before walking past me and into the house. Shrugging I watched him go inside before I hopped up on the little wall, sitting on it watching people pass by talking and eating.

After a few minutes of stillness a door opens from behind me, peering over my shoulder I watch Levi walk down a couple of steps before standing next to me in silence. Looking back ahead of me I bite my lip as I catch him staring by the corner of my eye ‘’Y/N?’’ Levi asks, shifting to him I offer a smile ‘’yeah what’s up?’’ I ask, Levi runs his hand through his raven hair ‘’do- do you have an interest in a-anyone?’’ he asked, I immediately turned a bright red ‘’yeah.. why you askin’?’’ I ask seeing him struggle for words ‘’who is it?’’ he finally manages to say, gulping I look away from him. ‘’You..’’ I mutter quietly in embarrassment, Levi watches me before he places his hand over mine. ‘’Good ‘cause I like you too’’ he whispers pecking my cheek making me go a darker red. 

‘‘Really?’‘ I ask turning to him, Levi nods before he pulls me down to him and plants his lips onto mine making me squeak before kissing him back. A couple of seconds later he pulls away smirking a little ‘‘lets go inside, the others would be wondering why we’re out here so late’‘ he says as I nod jumping off the wall and following him inside.

[srona58]

Mommy?

Don't hate me.  A sad, short one shot I thought of after seeing Ant Man ATW a while back.  I sincerely hope Tony's fine in A4...but this is set after they finish the war with Thanos.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Marvel or Iron Man.

DO NOT COPY OR STEAL please!!! This is my work and is on FF.net, AO3, and Wattpad under @SRona58

.

.

"Play it again, Friday..." Pepper's voice rasped, raw and tortured after the Avengers finally defeated Thanos and brought universe back to order...though at a cost.

Of course, Miss Potts," the AI responded, rather sadly...either because it was nearly the hundredth time playing the same video, or because she felt the same - if she could feel.

Tony's voice spoke over the audio display on the desktop in their home office, the one she used regularly at the compound since the war between Tony and Steve began.  It had probably been about an hour since she had shut herself in the room, but she needed it...today of all days, she desperately needed this.

"Day eleven, test 37, configuration 2.0," Stark read off, his longer hair falling in his face as he readied the few shells of armor that he had started with so long ago...about fifteen years ago, in fact.  "For lack of a better option, Dummy is still on fire safety.  If you douse me again, and I'm not on fire, I'm donating you to a city college."

Pepper smiled faintly as he repeated that very familiar line, but her eyes still held that now familiar longing.

"All right, nice and easy," Stark went on, taking a flight stance.  "Seriously, just gonna start off with one percent thrust capacity.  And three, two, one..."

"Pause," Pepper managed, and the AI stopped it before she could watch him wreck himself into the ceiling.

Yeah, he was fine.  She knew he'd be fine.  But not after what her eyes had witnessed just a few days prior.  Not now.

"Play it again," she whispered next, reaching out to trace the screen over his paused face before the AI rewound it and started from the beginning.

 "Day eleven, test 37, configuration 2.0.  For lack of a better option, Dummy is still on fire safety."

Pepper closed her eyes tightly, listening to the sound of his voice as she clutched onto the necklace she was wearing with one hand; the one he had given her, made from the shrapnel that once surrounded his heart.  To the raspy deepness that radiated from him.  The voice she heard on TV, on the phone, in her ear most nights and mornings after they started sharing a bed.  The voice she took for granted and thought nothing of until it was gone.

"If you douse me again, and I'm not on fire, I'm donating you to a city college."

Her mouth spoke the words as Tony did on the video feed, knowing it by heart now.  She smiled lightly through her broken heart and an escaped tear from her red eyes as she tried to put herself back into her shoes fifteen years ago.  Hell, just back three or four days ago, even.

Until she was met with thumping feet and a small human appeared in the doorway, wandering toward her in front of Happy, who trailed not far behind.

"Mommy?" the small child questioned as she made her way toward the desk.

Happy frowned from the door frame when Pepper frantically instructed Friday to stop the feed and mute, tapping the screen of the desktop hurriedly as she tried to hide the windows and inconspicuously wipe the tear from her cheek at the same time.

"I'm sorry, Pep," Happy spoke softly, earning a nod from the red head as she swiveled in her chair to turn toward the child, who was now tugging at the bottom of her black dress.  "I tried to get her to stay with Rhodey, but-"

"It's okay," she managed, reaching down to run her hand through the girl's soft, dark hair...too familiar for comfort.  "Hey, baby..."

"Mommy, where's daddy?" the five year old girl asked, her dark eyes looking up.

Pepper's heart tore again, as it had been for a while, when their familiar chocolate color burned into her own with that same, needing look her father had always given her.  Biting her lip to fight back the rest of the water in her eyes, she smoothed down the child's hair again for comfort and swallowed down what she could of her emotions.

"He's on a mission, sweetheart..." she lied.  "A very, very important mission."

"Is he coming back soon?" she asked innocently, making matters worse.  "He promised to teach me how to read that book about Captain America."

Leaning down, Pepper planted a kiss on top of her head and lingered for a moment, holding onto that small picture in her mind.

"How about uncle Rhodey teaches you for now. What do ya say?"

The girl hesitated, then finally nodded slowly.  "Okay..." she murmured, thinking.  "Then I'll surprise daddy and read it to him!"

Pepper's eyes closed, desperately trying to stay strong for her daughter...their daughter.  "He'll be so surprised," she whispered, barely audible.

And then she was standing, ushering the small girl out before her heels, which clicked on the floor.  Passing the TV in the corner of the room, she noticed the headline: Memorial service held for Tony Stark yesterday in preparation for private ceremony this afternoon.

"Off," Pepper instructed, suddenly more angry than upset, and Friday responded accordingly.

When she followed the skipping little girl into the shared main halls, she flashed a silent thank you to Happy, who was giving up going to make sure Morgan didn't have to witness her break down.  Then, she met Rhodey at the glass doors, her eyes flashing down at her black heels for a moment, waiting for Happy to disappear down the hall with Morgan out of sight.

"Ready?" she heard Tony's friend ask after a second of silence, and she looked back up with watery eyes.

"How is someone ever ready for something like this?" she whispered back.  Then, "do you know where we're going?"

"Same place I used to drag him when I made him visit his parents," Rhodey confirmed.

He kicked his shoe off the ground, thinking, as Pepper tried to control herself again, waves of sadness trying to drag her down and drown her before she even got there.  But his next words were what broke her.  What broke them both, before they even set foot outside.

"You think he's with em?"

And that's when she gasped out in a sort of choke, when the tears started pouring and her face scrunched up in agony.  That's when Pepper collapsed into Rhodey's arms, gripping him for dear life.  She thought of his dorky morning giggle when he tried to claim five more minutes of sleep in her neck, the way his eyes danced when he explained the sudden idea he came up with that also involved tinkering in the shop, the smirk on the photo he set as his contact photo in her phone the day she surprised him with a random selfie of the two of them together after one of their first real dates.  And that's all she had.  Photos.  Memories.  Ghosts.  And then she was sobbing, probably ruining his suit jacket, but she didn't care.  All she wanted was Tony.  Her Tony.  Their Tony.  The Tony she never appreciated as much as she was right now.

"I miss him so much," she squeaked finally, her words muffled into his shoulder.  "God, Rhodey...bring him back, please...bring him back."

And when she started begging and he only hugged her tighter in response, unable to stay steady himself, she knew it would take a very, very long time to feel okay again.  For any of them.  And one day, Morgan would ask and she'd have to explain...but right now, she couldn't.

Right now, she had a funeral to go to.