#not gonna pretend like its way out of left field but i just figured surely he's is at least smart enough to know--

[rolandkaros]

genuinely embarrassing to choose to be associated with kyrgios in any way like... 🥴

[starkstruck27]

My fifth fill for @harringrovesummerbingo!! Prompt + Space: Blowing Dandelions, C2 Title: To Order Happy Meals for Two Major Tags: None Rating: General Word Count: 1990 words Additional Tags: Summer, Injury recovery, Mind control aftermath & recovery, Picnics, Sweet, Newfound love, Insecurity, Relationship insecurity, Protective Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a sweetheart, Billy Hargrove lives, Billy Hargrove is a sweetheart Summary: After the incident at Starcourt, it feels like summer flew by without anything good happening. Now there's only one week left before school starts up, and a still fragile Billy Hargrove will have to go back for his senior year. Steve wants to make sure the week they have left is a good one, but after nearly losing Billy, he's not sure he knows how to do that, nor how to make sure their fairly new relationship will be able to survive the things they've both been through. Also on: Ao3

The sun was halfway set over the once again sleepy town of Hawkins, Indiana as two boys walked together through its fields at the edge of town. The late summer breeze that blew through the hilly landscape was a welcome combatant to the humid heat that still plagued the air, even as the season was coming to an end. Summer was almost over, and yet, for these two, it felt like it had barely even started. 

Granted, most of that was due to the fact that the majority of their vacation was spent either at work or, after the incident, in the hospital, but still, summer never did feel the same once they’d hit high school, and now they were determined to make the most out of the week they had left before Steve had to get a new job and Billy had to go back and start his senior year. 

But of course there were restrictions. Billy had almost died, in fact he did on the way to the hospital and had to be revived upon arrival. And he was still recovering after having his chest opened up and his organs impaled. His doctors were requiring him to do so much physical therapy that he was often too tired to do much of anything, and it’s not like they could go on a trip or even to the local theme park with his delicate condition. Still, they made the best of it, doing the few things they could and just enjoying each other’s company. 

It was never gonna be like it was before the incident. How could it be? They started as rivals, then enemies, then, after a shared smoke and a serious talk in January while waiting for their respective kids to leave the stupid middle school dance, friends with benefits. It stopped being just that sometime around March, and by April, they privately called themselves lovers. 

As far as anyone else knew, they tolerated each other, but that was the extent of it. Nobody knew the truth, and nobody would, not until they were ready, and that was going to be a while. But on those nights when they were able to meet up, just them, and watch I Love Lucy re-runs on Steve’s couch or climb up on the roof of the dugout at the school’s baseball field to talk and kiss until morning came… There was no audience, they were just them, and it was wonderful. It felt so right. Until the sun rose again, and they had to pretend they weren’t aching for the other’s touch, the exchange of some silly, lovesick words, and a look of affection rather than one of indifference. 

By June they had it down to a science, how to make it seem like they couldn’t care less about the other, and they played their parts well. Until the very end of the month, when Billy confided in Steve that there was something wrong. He didn’t know what, exactly, but something just wasn’t right. And Steve had figured it out too late, had been too slow in putting the pieces together with the whole Russian thing with Robin and Dustin and by the time they’d figured out it was all connected, it was too late. Billy, for the most part, was gone, and Steve couldn’t save him, not without letting him destroy himself first. Neither of them was exactly happy about that, but it was their only hope.

It took a couple of weeks on life support until the doctors were able to get all his organs either replaced or functioning again, and another few days until Billy was fully awake and coherent. El had confirmed that the Mindflayer was gone, at least from Billy, and then the healing started. 

It had been a rough road. He had a lot of scars, both physical and mental, but the physical ones would heal in time, and the mental ones were being dealt with as well thanks to Dr. Owens. Billy would have to practice a lot of things, and it would be at least a year before he could even think about going back to weightlifting, but he had a second chance at life, and that was what was important.

Still, learning to write again without his hands shaking was a bit harrowing, and it took two weeks of physical therapy for him to be strong enough to try walking on his own again. Luckily, most of the damage was to muscle, his spine had been grazed and, by some miracle, his spinal cord had been missed completely, so there wasn’t going to be much long-term damage, and the doctors hoped that, in time, with treatment, Billy would be able to fully recover. 

But by the time they knew all this, there was only a week left of the summer, and they had limited ways to make the most of it. 

That’s why Steve had planned this, a little surprise to get Billy out of the sterile white rooms and get himself out of his own head. He’d been feeling so guilty for everything since the incident, both because he couldn’t prevent it, but also because he couldn’t do anything to make it better. He couldn’t even be there by Billy’s side through everything, what with visiting hours at the hospital being so strict, and the lack of a good excuse for how he could get around those rules. Billy tried to assure him that he didn’t have to feel guilty, but Steve just couldn’t shake it. But, he figured, he might be able to start if he were able to salvage their last week of summer. 

The first day, they hadn’t done anything. They simply stayed at Steve’s house, sitting and watching TV and eating the healthiest kind of takeout they could find in the phone book. The next day they invited Max over, and the three of them played board games on the back patio before getting ice cream from the truck that came through the neighborhood that day. The next day they went shopping, which proved to be more strenuous than they had anticipated, so the following day they just sat around and did nothing again. The day after that it rained, so they went to the movies. They planned on staying in tomorrow and just relaxing while Billy prepared to go back to school and Steve prepared for a job hunt, and that meant they only had one more day to have fun before their summer was over. 

It was a cheesy idea, but one Steve knew Billy would appreciate nonetheless, and that alone made him put one foot in front of the other as he helped Billy up the hill to the little spot he’d set up earlier. Billy was starting to get winded a few steps in, but Steve was patient, stopping when they needed to and even offering to carry Billy if he’d like, but he refused. It took almost an hour to get to the spot, but once they got there, Billy had to admit, it was worth it. The sky was still blue, but it was getting close to the golden hour, and they were both looking forward to seeing the entire town glowing from their incredible vantage point. 

It was sure to be a lovely sight, but not nearly as lovely as the one they were now a part of. Steve had set out a blanket in the middle of a field of dandelions and wildflowers, and though there were no candles and wine and fancy cheese boards, he figured fireflies and water bottles and happy meals would be more than fine for the both of them. Of course, he was right. 

“You’ve been waiting on me hand and foot since I got out of the hospital, when did you have time to plan this?” Billy asked as he saw the scene in front of him. He’d never been much of a romantic, but this simple gesture was making his heart swell up. Nobody had ever done anything so nice for him before. 

“I’ve been plotting since you were getting your balance back. I wanted to do something special to end it since we didn’t get to have much of a summer,” Steve replied, making sure Billy was steady as they went to sit down. “And I know the doctor said to watch your sodium intake, but I’m calling this a special occasion, so we can cheat just this once.”

“You’re a bad influence, Harrington,” Billy teased, laughing until it turned into a wheeze, then a cough. Steve wanted to do something, say something, but he knew Billy would just tell him to back off, so he kept his mouth shut. Billy hated being pitied, and if Steve kept hovering over every little thing, pretty soon he’d get sick of it, and neither one of them wanted to know what might happen if Billy were to snap.

“I’m fine,” he finally said as he (barely) got his breath, clearing his throat and drinking some water before giving a small smile to try and calm Steve’s nerves. He really worried too much, but Billy didn’t mind reassuring him. 

“I know you are. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t think you could handle it, but you know I worry,” Steve said, picking a dandelion and twirling the stem gently between his fingers. “I came so close to losing you that now I can’t stop imagining all the ways I still could, and I want to make sure none of them happen.”

“I know how you feel. I do the same thing all the time. You don’t know how scared I was when I woke up after all the surgeries and thought that I had dreamt up everything from January on. I only realized it had all actually happened when you came to see me later that day,” Billy said, picking his own dandelion a few seconds later and smiling. “But hey, we’re still here, and we’re not going out for a long time, neither one of us.”

“You seem awfully confident about that,” Steve smiled back, and Billy shrugged.

“Well I’m not planning on going anywhere, are you?” He asked, leaning over and using his dandelion’s soft tuft to tickle under Steve’s nose. Steve swatted his hand away, suppressing a sneeze before smiling wider and saying, “Not at all.”

“Good,” Billy said, sitting up a little more and taking a deep breath. Then, he blew on the tuft of his dandelion, and even though he was starting to sputter a bit by the time the last seed was off, he had managed to get it all in one go.

“Wow, I didn’t know if I would actually be able to do that,” Billy mumbled, trying to recapture his breath, but it seemed to be coming easier now. 

“Did you make a wish?” Steve asked, and Billy nodded. “What did you wish for?”

“I can’t tell you, or else it won’t come true,” he said, flicking the stem away.

“That’s a myth,” Steve said.

“So is making wishes on dandelions in the first place, but I’d rather play it safe. I really want this wish to come true,” Billy shrugged again, smiling out at the view.

“I guess you’re right,” Steve said, then sat quietly for a minute before blowing his own dandelion tuft. He made his wish, that he and Billy would both be okay, and that they’d be okay together for as long as the world would allow, and then threw the stem away, and he smiled as he finally got hungry enough to open the food he’d brought with him. 

Things just seemed better then, as if the air was easier to breathe, and as they ate and talked and enjoyed their last night of summer, Steve couldn’t help but wonder if they’d wished for the same thing.

[shaanks]

also i've been wanting to tell you this for weeeeeks but i kept deleting the text and writing it and deleting again because i get shy ;_; n e ways

I don't know if you've watched haikyuu but back when i started reading more mihawk x reader words, mihawk gave me ushijima wakatoshi vibes like i know they're completely different characters and perhaps this is mostly based on headcanons but i thought they shared a few similarities: both are presented to be strong in their field, both of them are depicted to be into gardening and they're the 'not so loud' type of lover like often times they will show their love for you in silent ways, but when they show it in a verbal way they mean each word they say.

so when i was reading about mihawk i thought i've already loved a percentage of him and now im excited to know the rest. and yeah, i wanted to share that with the class today *runs away*

Hey hon!!! I totally get that this is easier said than done (bc I'm also bad about writing up a whole message and then just deleting it and running off lmfao) but I promise you don't have to be worried about sending me your thoughts!! I love to hear them, from you and all my friends!!!

I think this is a really interesting comparison to draw, mostly bc I feel like Mihawk would appreciate both the kind of leader and the kind of learner Wakatoshi is (albeit its been ages since I watched any HQ, it turns me into such a little league dad its truly dire lmfao).

While I think Mihawk has a lot more affection and appreciation for his current crew than he lets on (bc Mihawk doesn't do anything he doesn't want to, really, and so if he hated it as much as he pretends then he'd have left long ago), I do think he'd probably enjoy being able to spend time in the company of people of a similar temperament.

That's actually kind why I think he'd get along well with Law, if they ever had time to hang out.

The vast differences in their universes and circumstances aside, I don't think this is a stretch! I'm sure Wakatoshi would also enjoy the company of an authority figure that mostly minds his own business, and who might have reasonable gardening tips for how to grow nightshades in inclement weather.

I think that's a wonderful way to look at loving Mihawk too though, is finding the things about him that have drawn you to others in the past, and enjoying where those similiarities coalesce and where they diverge. Mihawk's wonderful, really, and so endearing, and I think if you were able to nurture those feelings about Wakatoshi, you're gonna find a treasure trove with our boy here. :)

I'm glad you decided to send me this message after all, it was delightful! Thank you <333

[analiavs]

Ik there’s no universe where Remy or Briar go to Harper for therapy but I kinda imagine if they did he would exponentially worsen whatever crisis they’re dealing with.

Of course its dol we’re talking about so it’s gonna be something criminally horny

Maybe he’d hypno them to make them more suggestible to therapy or something idk

I’ve been workshopping it.

For this to work Remy would just have to be so ooc 🫠🫠🫠 even if he won’t act the same way towards Harper as he would pc

If only Remy had low awareness (even innocence) 😩

Harper cowruppting (ooc) Remy

He wasn’t looking him in the eyes when he asked.

“You do therapy right, is it confidential?”

“Of course, the privacy of my human patients is paramount. Where you interested in my services?” He tried to avert his eyes from the bulls running in the field.

“Perhaps. Can I schedule an appointment?”

“Yes, would you be more comfortable having the appointment in the mansion, instead of having to go all the way to the Hospital?”

“Yes.”

“Then, would you be free for an hour long session after I train cow 12?”

“Sure.” He still wasn’t facing him.

“Good, it’s important to seek help when you need it. Your making the right choice.” He tightened his grip on the fence.

“Go on then. I’ll see you later.” He left to go work. It was hard to focus, but he pretended nothing was up.

Finally, it was time for his appointment. Harper followed him back to the mansion.

He went to one of the offices he usually used to meet with business partners. Before he could sit at the desk Harper stopped him.

“Ah, let me sit at the desk. During our sessions, you must see me as an authority figure. Don’t worry, afterwards we can go back to normal.” He frowned but conceded. He sat across from Harper with his arms crossed.

“Ok, so what did you seek my assistance with? And please be honest this is a safe space.”

“I have certain urges that I need to get rid of.” He kept his eyes away from Harper, barely able to speak on that much.

“And what are those urges, please don’t be afraid to admit them. That’s the first step to recovery after all.” He didn’t want to answer, but he didn’t really have a choice.

“I really like dicks.”

“There’s nothing wrong with homosexual tendencies.”

“Shut up! Big dicks make me want to um… do things with them. But it’s getting worst, I don’t know why. Sometimes I can barely resist the urge to touch the bulls.” It was humiliating to admit, he could feel his face heating up.

“Ah I see, don’t fret such a thing is commonly seen in cases of repression. I can help you.”

“Really! Ahem. You better. And if anyone finds out no one will ever find your body!” He didn’t mean to seem overeager. Harper ignored his threats.

“Don’t worry a little exposure therapy will help to decrease the urges. Come sit on my lap.”

He didn’t want to, but the doctor must know what he was doing. He sat quickly, trying to ignore the large bulge he was on. But the longer he sat there the more he tried to rub on it discreetly.

“Yes, I can see what you mean. Do you often stimulate yourself with any phallic objects? Please honesty.” He nodded shamefully.

“I must see them, to see the extent of your paraphilia.”

Quietly, he led Harper down to his masturbation room. He was the only person allowed inside and now he was showing Harper.

He unlocked it and allowed Harper to walk in. Before shutting and locking the door lest a maid walk by and see. At first glance the room was nondescript. An elegant four poster bed, an antique armoire, and two large display shelves were standard in any mansion. It was what was on those shelves that mattered.

His extensive collection of large custom dildos and lube. The majority in large and extra large sizes. The unusual shapes of many of them. Anyone even passingly familiar would know this collection had cost a large fortune.

To his credit Harper said nothing and merely took it in. He waited for the judgment he knew was coming. But instead Harper said,

“Yes, I can see your condition is quite advanced, demonstrate for me one of your usual sessions so I can see how to help you. You must act as though I’m not here.”

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable doing that...”

“Nonsense, it is a crucial step. You want to get better right?” Instead of responding he simply stripped. Just pretend Harper wasn’t watching. Well he was feeling a little pent up.

[seijorhi]

Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you

Me attempting a multi-part fic?? More likely than you think! I wrote this fic because this blog started with Hawks and Dabi and kinda got a bit of traction with soulmate au’s so to me it made sense to post it for my first anniversary. I hope you guys like it! 💕

Touya Todoroki (Dabi) x female reader, Keigo Takami (Hawks) x female reader

TW canonical character ‘death’, a little angst and maybe a slight hint of dub-con (if you squint your eyes a little)

Part I, II

You’re eleven years old when your parents take you by the hand, sit you down on the couch and tell you that your soulmate is dead.

It doesn’t make sense. There’s a hollow ache inside of your chest like something important is gone but you were with Touya only yesterday. You had the rest of your lives together, you were gonna leave with him, start something better…

You feel empty and you can’t understand it. He can’t be dead, that’s not how it works. You find your soulmate and you get to ride off into the sunset. You get to be happy, everyone knows that.

But it doesn’t sink in until you’re kicking and screaming by his grave and Endeavor won’t so much as meet your eye and your parents are pulling you back because there’s no body.

There’s nothing left of Touya Todoroki.

And there’s nothing left of you without him.

—

They call it the bloom. A simple touch, the first from your soulmate’s hand, and the mark appears on your skin like drops of ink spilled into water. You’ve always thought it beautiful, the delicate black pattern imprinted on your wrist.

You can still remember the heat you’d felt when it happened. Not the burning kind you knew him capable of, but like the warmth of a fire seeping through you. And you remember the way those bright, blue eyes had widened as you’d tripped and fell, taking him with you. His mark was over his heart; Touya always was stupidly smug about that.

You were just kids. Angry and scared and lost, but you had Touya and Touya had you.

(Not that that counted for anything in the end. He still died alone.)

They say it’s rare to find your soulmate before adulthood, but you’d been one of the lucky ones.

Lucky.

The word tastes bitter on your tongue now. It’s not that you disagree exactly – even now, years after his death you’re glad that you had time with him. You would’ve been grateful for a minute, for a mere glance at his face. Two and a half years with your soulmate was a gift, but having him, losing him so young only meant that you had more years of your life to struggle on without him.

And sometimes you catch yourself staring at your mark, lost in thought. Touya was the one with all the plans, you were always just the tag along, happy to go anywhere so long as he was the one leading you. You wonder what he’d think if he could see you now. Not the Hero you’d let yourselves imagine, though you suppose you both knew deep down that was nothing more than a pipe dream for someone like you.

Gazing around your cramped, messy apartment, debating exactly how badly you need this shitty, barely-enough-to-scrape-by job, you can’t imagine he’d be impressed.

God knows your parents are disappointed, but that’s nothing new. The Quirkless daughter of two mid rank heroes – well, the only thing you ever had going for you was being Enji Todoroki’s future daughter in law, and everybody knows how that one ended.

But part of you likes to think that maybe Touya wouldn’t judge you too harshly for it. You’re doing the best you can. You’re surviving, all on your own, that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

There’s a text message awaiting you when you roll over and grab your phone.

Happy Birthday x

Natsuo never forgets. The rest of the Todoroki’s – you ceased to matter to them the day they buried an empty casket for their son. Natsuo’s the only one who bothers to check in on you, make sure that you’re keeping your head above the water. It’s usually just a message here and there, and he calls you on Touya’s birthday. And on the anniversary of his death.

It’s painful for him, but you suppose you’re the only tangible connection he has left of his brother.

You stare at the message for a moment longer, a strange feeling tugging at your heart. Typing out a quick reply, you set your phone down and fall back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh.

Today of all days, you’d honestly rather just roll over and let the hours pass you by, but your boss isn’t that forgiving and as much as you hate to admit it, you need this job.

The hotel’s already abuzz by the time you clock in, your manager’s jaw tight, a frown pinching at his face. As much as you don’t like him, you can’t exactly blame him for the bad mood – in less than three hours, the ballroom will be filled with a media circus and a plethora of pro heroes. Some big promotional event before the hero rankings are announced; you honestly don’t care.

It just means that everybody’s on edge, you’re gonna spend all day stuck in heels, smiling blandly while you serve people who won’t so much as look twice at you.

And then there’s the real reason you’re dreading today. 6’4”, blue eyed, broad shouldered, currently burning holes into you from across the ballroom while you carry around a platter of canapés. The last time you’d seen Enji Todoroki in person was two weeks after the funeral, and he’d ignored you entirely.

That was years ago; you weren’t even in your teens. Half of you had hoped that in his infinite arrogance and the complete lack of care he’d shown since his son’s death he would’ve forgotten about you entirely.

From the way he’s spent the last twenty minutes staring at you while bulldozing past reporters, though, you’re not feeling all that confident.

And for the life of you, you can’t figure out why your presence seems to be disturbing him so much, considering you’re really only there to serve and then fade into the background. It’s not like you’re chasing after him, demanding an autograph much less any kind of acknowledgement – you’re not exactly thrilled to be here either. Things work just fine with the two of you pretending the other doesn’t exist.

Does he think you’ve planned this? Some big ‘fuck you’ to try and mess with what you’re sure will be an announcement of his retainership of the number one position? Even while Touya was still alive, his father didn’t have a place in your life – he was off training his youngest, you barely saw him and you were glad for it.

While he might have hated him, some part of Touya still idolised him, craved his approval, but Enji had never been anything to you but a selfish, unfeeling monster. A bully.

But now he’s staring at you, slack jawed and wide eyed like he’s seen a ghost and it’s harder than you thought it would be to keep that smile plastered across your face knowing he’s watching your every move.

Your cheeks feels hot, and it only gets worse when you realise that Endeavor’s less than subtle behaviour is slowly but surely drawing attention from others in the room. A few curious reporters have shot you odd looks, heads cocked for a moment before dismissing you as just another waitress, hardly headline worthy.

The other heroes are less quick to brush you off. Mirko, current number five, elegantly clasping her glass of champagne in a gloved hand keeps shooting furtive glances between you and Enji, Gang Orca’s beady eyes following you across the floor, a flicker of what you’re fairly sure is concern maring his face.

It’s mortifying. Your smile is stretched and painful, your throat tight and you feel utterly exposed, but there’s nothing you can do. The flame hero doesn’t seem to care about the attention he’s drawing, or that with every passing minute it gets harder and harder for you to maintain that professional, customer service demeanour you need for this job.

And you’re beyond caring if he’s embarrassed to find his firstborn’s soulmate has sunk so low in his absence, you just want him to stop staring so you can finish your shift in peace. But it seems like the flame hero has other plans, because you’re just beginning to seriously weigh up your chances of keeping this job if you just up and walk off right here and now when Enji’s limited patience finally reaches its threshold.

He doesn’t bother offering excuses towards the poor reporter trying to pry an interview out of him, he just abruptly sets his drink down and starts stalking towards you. Rationally, you realise that with all these people here, he can’t make too much of a scene.

It’s just that even the thought of having to talk with him, to look into those blue eyes that are so painfully familiar yet wrong–

You can’t do it.

Not today.

And so you spin on your heel, stomach lurching. The silver tray in your hands stacked high with champagne teeters and falls, crystal glass shattering on the marble floors drawing gasps from the crowd. Endeavor calls out your name but you block him out, desperately weaving your way through the stunned mass of people.

Most of them give you a wide berth, likely due to the oversized hero barrelling after you. He calls your name again, louder this time. It’s not a scream, or a yell – it almost sounds pleading, though you can’t possibly imagine why. Endeavor doesn’t do pleading.

Your cheeks are burning; there’s too many people staring and hot tears begin to prickle at your eyes. A flash of red blurs past your field of vision and you start, a sharp squeak slipping out as a figure lands before you, blocking your exit.

Handsome with bushy eyebrows, dirty blonde hair messily brushed back and golden eyes gleaming; the hero in front of you would be impossible to mistake, even if it weren’t for the sweeping blood red wings sprouting from his back. Hawks, the current number two pro-hero and the only man standing between you and your fumbling escape.

Your body’s slow to catch up with your mind though, and as you try to stop, backpedal and side-step him at once your foot catches on your ankle. It’s instinctive, the way your arms fly up, wildly trying to catch yourself before you fall on your ass.

Just like you suppose it’s instinctive for him to rush forward to do the same.

It happens in a split second, your fingers brushing the skin of his neck just above the collar of his shirt, his hand grasping at your waist to steady you. Beneath his gloved hand a familiar burst of heat warms your skin.

Time slows to a crawl. The ballroom, all the gathered heroes and the press, your co-workers, they all fade into the background as your eyes dart to your fingertips, resting gently on the side of Hawks’ throat. There, a soft, inky black mark begins to unfurl spreading up to his jaw, disappearing below the collar of his turtleneck.

Over the quiet hum of the classical music playing in the background, you hear his breath catch.

He has you dipped, the two of you frozen as if in a dance and for a moment you dare to meet those piercing golden eyes. There’s a clicking sound, a camera shutter you distantly register, but while it makes your heart jump, Hawks pays it no mind.

He stares at you with impossibly wide eyes; open, vulnerable and raw.

And then he blinks, and that glimpse is gone, his grip tightening as he slowly sets you right. He doesn’t let you go, however.

“Hawks,” Enji’s tone is low and gruff, a warning this time.

Tension, thick and crackling with electricity hangs in the air between the three of you, amplified by the crowd of onlookers. All those journalists, chomping at the bit with the realisation of a juicy story playing out right in front of their eyes. Your name’s called out again, not by Endeavor, but by the reporter he’d cut off before – eyeing you now with an eager leer that has you recoiling back into Hawks’ embrace.

It’s enough to jerk the winged hero into action. His mouth finds your ear, his thumb sweeping soothingly along your side as he speaks low enough for only you to hear.

“You wanna leave, baby bird?”

You don’t remember nodding, but you must have, because in the space of a single heartbeat Hawks has you hoisted up in his arms, those powerful wings spreading wide – and you’re flying.

—

“I don’t think I have a job anymore,” you laugh drily, staring down at the city lights twinkling on the horizon.

Beside you, Hawks snorts in agreement, “Hell of a way to make an exit, though.”

He’s not wrong. You can only imagine what the tabloid headlines will say tomorrow ‘Pro Hero sweeps hotel waitress soulmate off her feet’ ‘Hawks mates for life; Endeavor jealous?’ Even if by some miracle your boss wasn’t intent on firing you on the spot, you’re not sure you can even bear to show your face there again.

It’ll be a pain though, trying to find a new job while your face is plastered across every less than reputable news outlet.

Perched atop the rooftop of Hawks’ hotel, halfway across the city, the wind ruffling gently through your hair, everything feels… surreal almost. It’s your birthday, and instead of crashing through the door of your apartment, exhausted and aching before falling face first onto your bed and not moving for the next few hours, you’re here. With the number two pro hero. Who, incidentally, is your second soulmate.

Having more than one soulmate, it’s not unheard of, just… rare.

And your hand’s entwined with his, his gloves long since discarded, his fleece lined jacket draped over your shoulders. Touya’s mark, long since blossomed across your inner wrist lies starkly between the two of you, unignorable.

“It was his son, wasn’t it?” he asks eventually, breaking the fragile silence as he toys with your fingers. When you nervously risk a glance up, Hawks doesn’t look angry or upset or even that jealous. Those golden eyes study your face with an odd kind of curiosity, but there’s no trace of resentment there. “Touya, the one who died. He was your soulmate.”

It’s not a question, but you find yourself nodding anyway. A part of you’s almost surprised he put it together so quickly, but you guess being a pro hero of that calibre requires a little more than just having a strong quirk.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, because what else can you say?

You can’t possibly imagine how he’s feeling right now, what thoughts are running through his head. You’d accepted a long time ago that while you’d love Touya Todoroki until your dying breath, he was gone; that chance of a fairytale happily ever after going with him. Another soulmate wasn’t something you’d ever considered, much less wasted time longing for.

And yet here you are, another mark inked across your skin and it feels wrong somehow, yet also completely right. Imagining being on the other foot; putting yourself in Hawks’ shoes – a pro hero soulmated to some insignificant, quirkless waitress, and not only that, but finding out she has another soulmate, somebody she loved before you, a ghost of a memory you’ll always be competing against… you honestly don’t know how you’d feel.

“Look at me,” he whispers, calloused fingers coaxing at your chin. Heart thrumming like a hummingbird's you comply, letting out another soft squeak as Hawks takes the hand still entwined with his and lifts it to his neck, right above his mark.

He smiles, nuzzling into the touch as your breath stutters. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” Again, you find yourself nodding without even really being conscious of it. It doesn’t seem to matter to Hawks though, whose smile widens at the sight of it. He leans in closer, his breath fanning across your face as molten pools of honey drink you in. You wonder if he can feel the way your pulse is racing under his touch, mixed emotions warring inside of you as he cups your cheek.

“And I’m yours. That’s all I care about, baby bird.”

He’s drawing you into a kiss before you can even comprehend the words, soft lips moving against yours. Gently at first, but that sweetness gives way to a burning urgency as he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

Hawks kisses you like your lips hold salvation, and it’s frightening and thrilling and it feels like every nerve in your body is electrified when his teeth catch at your bottom lip and he moans your name.

There’s some part of you that realises that you’re moving too fast – soulmates or not he’s practically a stranger – but as you break for air, panting and breathless and Hawks looks at you with those burning, beautiful eyes; you’re helpless to resist.

“Keigo,” he tells you as he lays you down on his bed, crawling up between your thighs with a gleaming, hungry smirk that’s nothing less than predatory, “Call me Keigo.”

[ryosmne]

Tattoo artist! Sukuna x reader part 4

Hello, it's me your friendly neighborhood Sukuna simp, I don't have much to ramble about today, I hope you have fun reading this part :)

Series masterlist here

Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, implied smut that I'm too shy to write.

The café was unusually quiet today, maybe it's because the other days y/n found herself sitting at that exact spot by the window, Mai was the one sitting across from her. Today was different, Nobara took Mai's place for brunch after class, to be fair she hadn't showed up in some time so both Nobara and y/n jumped at the opportunity to spend some time together.

"So, does it feel lonely now that Yuuji and Mai spend so much time together?" Nobara asked, evidently trying to make y/n admit to some form of jealousy she was sure she had. "Not really, I'm happy she's finally with someone so good for her and she's finally off my back about hooking me up with random dudes" y/n said and she was honestly happy for her best friend, Yuuji was a very nice guy and in the past few weeks he's been seeing Mai, he's nothing less of a sweetheart and y/n saw him a as a little sibling even though they were roughly the same age.

"Of course, why would you be lonely, Sukuna's been keeping you company too." Nobara's eyes had a glimmer in them, not because she wanted to tease y/n, but she was very invested in the girls business with the oh so attractive tattoo artist.

Nobara did her homework on the guy, he certainly wasn't as polite or well mannered as he came across the night they met. He did seem like trouble at first glance, but the way he looked at y/n that night, or the times he waited for her to get off class to have some time together, Nobara would say that even a blind man could see that y/n had been tugging on Sukuna's heartstrings.

"It's not like that" y/n was once again flustered. What was she to the pink haired man, who missed no chance to be around her? "You're making out in his car in broad daylight, what is it like?" the brown haired girl chuckled, her friend was an idiot if she worried for a second about the man who looked at her like she would disappear at any second. "I don't know, but we aren't together like that, he's an interesting guy" y/n longed to be with him, she had a faint memory about him talking about something like that the time he spend the night with her, but then again, she was drunk and that could be her mind playing cruel tricks on her.

"Ok then whatever you say, I really hope you're not doubting the dude that cooked you ten different options for breakfast, after he took your drunk ass home."

"Wait how do you know about that- did Mai? Oh I'm gonna kill her."

Despite the tiny voice asking 'what are we?' in y/n's head, her days with Sukuna have been some of the best she's had. Granted they couldn't see each other that often, whenever they did, it was always better than the time before.

Sukuna had taken her to all the restaurants he knew were good, cafes with the best tiramisu she had ever tasted, taking an hour and a half to get to the next place he'd see her smile listening to her excitement filled voice as she told him how delicious the food was, then giving him some attitude mumbling about how she didn't expect him to have such nice taste, was the easiest victory to him, the highlight of his day.

He hadn't managed to get her back to his chair like he needed to yet, he had been so busy finding the best places to take her to that it seemed like it completely slipped his mind. It hasn't slipped Sukuna's mind though, he's just been nervous to bring it up again, what if she doesn't want to do that anymore? What if she changed her mind? What if she just agreed because she felt compelled to do so? Sukuna didn't know which one was worse.

Even on the days they couldn't see each other they were in touch, texting silly things or messing with each other. If a day was anything other good Sukuna could vent and let out his frustrations talking to y/n and she often did the same. Sukuna preferred calling her for that, not only to get things off his chest but because her voice was so calming to him, the need to hear it grew stronger each day he wasn't able to see her.

Afternoon classes were always adding to her demise, y/n even accepted Mai's gossiping over paying attention. Yuuji as she expected was as sweet as he looked, Mai was once again gushing over him and his adorable nature. Y/n just smiled at her friend who rumbled about the boy who, by now had a very firm hold of her heart. "You and Sukuna?" She asked, prying for any information she didn't already know from Yuuji. "Me and Sukuna" y/n stated back, shit eating grin on her face, knowing how not entertaining Mai and not feeding her what she wanted completely pissed her off. Y/n's phone buzzed from her pocket, giving her a little break from her friends curiosity.

Can I take you out after class?

Y/n's lips tagged into a small smile. "Speak of the devil" Mai teased looking over y/n's phone.

Hmm depends. Where to?

Its a surprise, doll

You know I hate surprises, but I can make an exception for you.

Mai pretend to gag next to her, but y/n payed her no mind. She had already seen enough from her and Yuuji to do the same.

You won't regret it, I'll be outside when you're done.

"Just don't make out in the parking lot again, being in his car doesn't mean that we don't see you." Mai was being Mai again. Y/n shoved her arm lightly and told her that they all knew how her and Yuuji sneaked around the bathrooms, laughing as her face flushed red.

Sukuna entered her field of view leaning against his car, finishing up a cigarette, looking too good for anyone not to stare at him. The total black outfit he had on did wonders for him, even if it was the simplest of crew cut shirts and sweatpants, every piece of clothing complimented him. Waving at Mai, y/n walked towards him noticing he's cocky expression. "Feels like you're eating me up with those eyes" he laughed, why must the sound of his voice be this melodic at all times. "Don't worry I missed you too" Sukuna said laying a soft kiss on y/n's lips as a greeting. If her fellow students weren't staring already, now they surely were .

" Where are we headed tonight?" Y/n asked fastening her seatbelt, she still kind of thought of Sukuna as clumsy, even though he's driven her many places, it's not that she didn't trust him, he was a very good driver. Hey safety comes first.

"You'll find out" he spoke with a little grin, before starting his engine and driving off.

Unlocking his door, he let y/n step inside first. Sukuna's house was surprisingly neat, everything looked to be in place, the décor was minimalistic. It felt like Sukuna very home-y, but then it didn't. It was too tidy, y/n didn't really think of him as a tidy person. The place also had his scent of sandalwood so y/n easily relaxed into the new space taking some more steps forward to look around.

"Bringing me to your house like this without taking me to dinner first, tsk should've known you were that type 'kuna." Y/n said in a mockingly disapproving tone "Who said that, I'm cooking dinner for you." Sukuna said draping his arm around her shoulders guiding her to his kitchen.

Whatever Sukuna had on his stove smelled scrumptious, making y/n's mouth water, maybe how pretty Sukuna looked with an apron on and a little sweat forming on his forehead from the heat of the stove helped too.

"You know, I would have never guessed you knew how to cook." Y/n let some of her assumptions fly in the room, she was the only one with a pass to talk about whatever she wanted with him. Sukuna wasn't going to shut her down. Y/n had leaned back on his table, her eyes roamed his figure freely. Sukuna would look over his shoulder smiling to himself every time he caught her in the act.

"I had to learn, Yuuji and I lived with our Grandpa, when he passed, it was just me and him." Y/n's heart clenched in her chest, Sukuna sounded different saying that. The truth is, Sukuna had never talked about that with anyone, he never made word of his grandfather's passing or the hardships him and his brother went through when they were left alone. He had mentioned to y/n that his and Yuuji's grandfather raised them, but from the way he spoke about him y/n was sure his Grandfather was doing well. "I'm sorry for your loss" was all she could muster at that moment, the pain in his voice was much too real for her. "Thank you, at least my brother turned out pretty good" he quickly changed the subject to something ligter, surprised at his self for opening up to her so easily. "You didn't turn out that bad either" y/n let the words spill, she had spent the past half hour blatantly checking out his back, she had nothing to get shy about. Sukuna let out a laugh, gripping his wooden spoon a little tighter throwing a glance over his shoulder. "Is that what you think?" Y/n shifted in her seat, how could this guy go from sentimental to laughing about his brother and to whatever this dark seductive tone was, she had no idea.

"Come on don't get shy on me, you were having fun checking me out just a minute ago, see anything you like" in the blink of an eye, Sukuna was slightly bent down facing her. Even after all the makeout sessions they've had that usually ended with y/n slapping his arm worrying that someone saw them and Sukuna looking at her with a cocky grin reassuring her that they gave a good show to whoever was watching, he could still make her all flustered, and she looked adorable like this, a deer caught in headlights. Sukuna kissed the tip of her nose, telling her she looked cute before turning his attention back on the food.

"Did you find that movie?" Sukuna's voice came from the kitchen, y/n was fumbling with the remote on his couch. Sukuna insisted on eating in his living room, he didn't want this to feel too formal, he still had whine out with fancy plates and everything, but he only wanted to cook for his girl and see her eyes light up eating his food, like they always did when she tried the food on the restaurants he took her.

"Yeah, here let me help with that." She said getting of the couch to help him set everything. "No no no, you go sit down, I'll do the work." Sukuna insisted, y/n only raised a brow at him and complied.

"Okay, you have to teach me, this tastes so good 'kuna" that nickname stuck, not that Sukuna complained, his stomach still did flips every time y/n called him that. She was looking at him just the way he hoped she would. The dish was quite simple, chicken with some red salsa and vegetables, but it was better than anything she'd ever tasted.

"I can give you a little cooking class, as long as you go grocery shopping" He offered her a little smile and y/n rolled her eyes playfully.

Y/n was leaning on Sukuna's chest with her arm hooked around his waist, he had a firm hold of her too, mindlessly looking at the screen but not paying enough attention to it. The movie y/n chose turned out to be a barely watchable C grade thriller and the two glasses of wine they had didn't make it tolerable either. Bad movie or not, having her under his arm like this was all he needed to feel calmer. Sukuna was so calm that he forgot why he brought y/n over.

"Can I show you something?" Sukuna spoke softly, looking down at her, y/n nodded in reply and groaned loudly at the loss of his warmth when he got up from the couch, Sukuna could only chuckle at her .

"Just two drinks and you're already a brat."

"Shut up."

Sukuna came back holding a big folder and some sketch books, y/n's curiosity picked and she found herself straightening up a bit.

"I've been dying to show you these." Sukuna stated as he flipped through the pages. Y/n's eyes danced all over the various shapes and designs he had came up with. Her eyes traced a particular three headed fox, she had never seen anything like that before, she reached out her hand to feel his drawing on her fingertips.

Sukuna's heart picked up its pace, she was currently in aww at his favourite piece for her. "Are those what you told me you came up with form me?" She was amused, she stared at him wide eyed not believing that anyone would ever do something like that for her, "Yeah, every design here is meant for you, you can pick whichever you like, but if you don't want me to tattoo you, I'll understand, you don't have to let me if you don't want to." Y/n couldn't believe it, there were enough drawings in here to fill her entire body in ink. She had hardly believed him when he said he had a vision for her sleeve, but this, this was out of this world.

"I don't even know what to say, these are so beautiful, but why did you go through all this trouble?" She still couldn't see a reason for it. "You've given me so much inspiration from the first time you visited, I can't get your skin out of my head, seeing you in my work is just surreal. I would do anything to do it again" Sukuna's words had not yet sunken in properly, y/n was still in disbelief.

Sukuna placed his sketchbooks on the coffee table, his hand prompting y/n's chin up so he can look at her face in the dim lights of his living room. "I will decorate any part of your skin you're willing to give to me, I'll give you the best work I can, please let me do this much." Sukuna almost sounded desperate, his face was once more too close and his wine scented breath tickled her lips, he had almost gone mad drawing in most his free time, and every time he saw her, a new idea of what would fit her popped into his head.

"You can do that" the moment these words rolled out of y/n's tongue, Sukuna had heard all he needed, and latched his mouth on hers, allowing his hands to explore more of her body. Between heavy breaths, Sukuna whispered about the softness of her skin, how he couldn't wait to mark her again, how he wanted her to be his canvas, his and only his. Diving in her neck once more, littering her sensitive skin with bruises she'd have to cover up tomorrow and her hands tangled up in his hair. "Just be good for me and I'll be gentle" His words only made her anticipate more.

The next day Sukuna was walking like the happiest man on earth, he woke up and had breakfast with his beloved doll, he had a smile on his face you couldn't miss. His co-workers didn't miss it either nor did they miss the huge forder he had under his arm when he came in, but they didn't question it.

Gojo spent his time teasing him about his unusual demeanor while Geto laughed to himself assuming what everyone else did.

Teasing him and prying about Sukuna's previous day didn't really work in Gojo's favour, Sukuna would simply ignore him and his smile still hadn't fadded. Gojo took it as his personal mission to piss him off when he had a lightbulb moment.

"Come on man, you talk about her all the time and when she comes over we're all working, when are we gonna get to meet her?" Gojo pushed, for the third time today, he finally found a weak spot.

The entire crew was curious meet y/n, properly this time at least, but Gojo was the only one who could confidently voice that. "Tell you what, go one month without fucking someone in here, and we can all go for some drinks tonight." Sukuna said in a joking manner, there was no way Gojo Satoru would agree to something like that, the man couldn't last two days on that deal, he was not about to give his word to Sukuna and take one for the team.

Gojo stood before the pink haired man, his glasses low on the bridge of his nose "Then, it's a deal" he said, obnoxious as ever with his hand extended for Sukuna to take. Sukuna knew Gojo was a man of his word, and if he shook on something, he would no doubt keep his end. Now Sukuna had to keep his as well.

Hey doll, I was wondering if you'd like to go grab a few drinks with me and the rest of the guys after closing?

Sure, I'll be there before nine, what's the occasion?

No need, I'll pick you up, they just really want to meet you, you don't have to come if you don't want to though.

Don't be stupid, I won't pass the opportunity of collecting blackmail on you.

Sukuna was smiling at his phone, that was so typical of y/n, his grin quickly faded once his eyes met the idiots standing before him with hopeful eyes. "Just don't do anything stupid" he sighed defeated before getting back to work, this was going to be a long night.

Y/n easily spotted Sukuna's car, he was parked just further down her street. Carefully swinging the passenger door open, she expected at least extra someone inside, but it was just Sukuna.

"Hey 'kuna." y/n greeted stepping inside, Sukuna faced her with a half smile, lazily bringing his hand on her jawline, pulling her in for a short kiss. "You're looking very pretty today, dollface." he spoke, still inches from her face, as his eyes traced her figure. Every inch of exposed skin begging him to mark it. Sukuna halted his wandering thoughts when y/n spoke again. "Everyone ended up ditching you in the end? cause you could've taken me out without an excuse like that."

"I wish they did, but unfortunately for both of us we'll have to suffer through it, I know you'd rather have me all to yourself." The mare glance he gave her from the corner of his eye as he put the car on speed was enough to have y/n's hear thumping in her chest. "Speak for yourself, airhead." Y/n's tone didn't lack at all in sarcasm. She did want him all to herself but she also was very intrigued by the rest of his crew, Sukuna always spoke about them. Whether it was stories from his childhood, college or everyday work things, y/n kept hearing about Nanami, Geto, Gojo and Megumi so she looked forward to getting to know them for herself. She had only seen Gojo and Nanami. Megumi and Geto had always been occupied when she dropped by the shop she would catch a glimpse of them tonight.

Sukuna's hand had taken a grip of her thigh, making y/n not so focused in their conversation. Sukuna was mindlessly squeezing while warning y/n about his friends.

The bar looked more like a museum in her opinion, still a very beautiful, elegant place. Y/n expected no less from Sukuna, he's already accompanied her to the best small restaurants and patisseries, sometimes she wondered how he came to know this many perfect date spots.

Sukuna had managed to slip his hand in her's the moment he noticed eyes on his precious doll and guided her to the table his co-workers were sat.

"You owe me 50 Nanami, they did show up."

"You're making me regret this already." Sukuna said, his head dipping slightly

"Come on 'kuna don't be such a grump" had that been y/n's voice Sukuna would've smiled down at her and his demeanor would instantly change, Gojo's voice only offered him annoyance.

Y/n took notice and softly brushed his hand with her thumb, Sukuna let a little laugh and proceeded to introduce the girl under his arm to everyone. "Y/n this is Geto, Megumi and you already know Nanami and Gojo here" Sukuna spoke pulling out y/n's seat as she shook hands with everyone. Gojo took the chance to piss his friend off, after all he would have to strictly work for the next month, he brought y/n's hand to his lips, giving her a compliment on her dress, making Sukuna red in the face.

Everyone took a liking to her very quickly, seeing exactly why Sukuna was so taken by her, she was witty and smart with a silver tongue that was also very sharp. Geto begun telling her about Sukuna's embarrassing drunk nights in college while Gojo laughed and even Nanami snickered. Megumi made Sukuna regret the day he considered taking him in his shop when he told y/n how he always cried as a kid if he didn't have a cookie after his meal. "That's why you always grumble about dessert?" Y/n asked him choking in laughter, Sukuna mumbled a reply and went back to looking annoyed, he was really happy to see y/n interact with his friends so effortlessly. This girl was constantly giving him more reasons to be around her.

Y/n was in the middle of a deep conversation with Nanami about philosophy, her eyes gleaming when he mentioned Plato's allegory of the cave. Geto subtly tapped Megumi's leg to get him to notice how Sukuna was resting his chin on his hand staring at y/n, who was blabbering about Greek philosophers, with the most sweet expression on his face any of them had seen. Gojo also took notice of that and an unspoken pact of 'annoy the fuck out of Sukuna' was made then and there.

"Have you thought about the next thing you want done or did you just want one tattoo?" Gojo asked the girl, breaking her conversation with Nanami a little too early for her liking.

"Yeah, I'll be getting some more work from Sukuna pretty soon" y/n replied proudly, her mind wandering to the night before to Sukuna and the beautiful pieces he came up with just for her. Sukuna perked up, his heart thumping by how happy y/n sounded with these words rolling out her lips.

"You sure you want him to do it though? You know I'm free if you need." Gojo's voice was condescending like always. Sukuna tensed up, jaw clenching at the thought of anyone laying a finger on y/n's skin. "Are you crazy? with work like this, I wouldn't let anyone else do it." Y/n laughed, Gojo must've been joking anyway.

Sukuna found so much comfort in her reply, she loved his artistry and never hesitated to show it, no matter how much of a brat she could be with him. Geto butted in the conversation too "y/n is right, look at how beautiful Sukuna's work looks on her, there's no way she'd change him." Y/n nodded at his words. "But I also do black and gray, I'm sure I could come up with something for you" Sukuna's eyes were glaring daggers at the raven haired man next to him, he remained oblivious to it laughing on the inside, Sukuna was so predictable.

"Thanks, but you said it yourself, there's no way I'd change him." Y/n spoke confidently, taking a sip of her vodka, knowing that at this point she was stroking Sukuna's ego and it would only grow bigger. Sukuna had no idea what everyone was onto trying to tattoo y/n, probably piss him off. From the looks of it, y/n wasn't going to let that happen. Nanami was observing quietly exchanging a few more words with y/n, he was right about her not taking other people's bullshit, Gojo couldn't pull anything with her, Nanami could see what Sukuna saw in her.

"Y/n, when you first came you were going to get tattooed by Megumi right?" Nanami spoke, Sukuna never expected him to join the others in their stupidity. "Yeah, he takes the walk ins right?" Y/n said casually, paying no mind to what Nanami was trying to do, the rest of them were also shocked that he decided to join in on making Sukuna's night a little hellish. Oh the betrayal.

"Did you want to get tattooed by Megumi?" Such a simple question, but Sukuna was at the edge of his seat "Yeah, I did, he was the reason I chose Domain in the first place, everyone loves this guy's work, I was pretty excited." Sukuna's face dropped, it's not like he didn't expect that, of course y/n came based on the reviews, he couldn't be mad at her for not booking him, she didn't even know him. He was pretty happy that he ended up taking her in that day, even if his insides boiled with jealousy at this very moment "Sorry for ruining your plans doll" the same smugness echoed in his voice "I can only stay mad at you for so long." Meeting his enlarged pupils and darker eyes, she could tell Sukuna was indeed, jealous. He had nothing to be jealous of, she didn't plan on leaving his side anytime soon, but when Megumi took his turn in the game everyone seemed to play, y/n found it hard not to join them. "If you still want to I can tattoo you since I never got to" Megumi knew he was walking on thin ice when Sukuna gave him a look that made him wish he was dead, these two got in fights all the time as kids and ended up with bruises all over them, if Megumi didn't ease up Sukuna would gladly remind him of the past.

"Uh, yeah, if you've got a design" y/n said with a bit of hesitation, Sukuna was seathin next to her, his hand aggressively palming her leg just above the knee. The rest of the night Sukuna didn't really speak, only leaned in y/n's ear to tell her to slow down on the vodka, the rest of the guys continued to talk amongst themselves as if nothing had happened.

Exiting the bar, y/n was walking- trying to keep up with Sukuna who walked fast to his car after mumbling a goodnight to everyone. Y/n regretted playing along, she'd never seen Sukuna this quiet. " 'kuna, I'm sorry I really didn't want to upset you" she said her eyes on the ground, gently tagging at his jacket, how could he ever get annoyed with her when she looked like that. Sukuna wasted no time swiftly taking a hold of her, his lips ghosting her's "I'm not that upset, only a little" his voice barely above a whisper, lips grazed over hers briefly. Sukuna didn't know if that was his heart or hers thumping so hard "I'm tired of dancing around it" his breath was hot, warming up her face making y/n's face impossibly hotter. "Dancing around what?" She asked with visible hesitation. Sukuna dipped down once more, not so softly this take taking her soft lips into his own, gently tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth, letting one of his palms to rest on her cheek and the other taking a loose hold of the back of her neck. Her arms naturally found their way around his neck. "I told you I want you all to myself" . Did he mean what y/n was thinking? Did y/n want him to call her his? Sukuna almost crackled at her puzzled expression. Sukuna wasn't one to express things this openly, y/n was a bit dense in that department so he had to, at least he told himself that.

"I'm starting to get a bit disappointed, I clearly remember you saying 'i would say yes' with some romantic mumbling" Sukuna said, stroking her cheek ever so slightly.

Her breath was striped from her lungs, it wasn't from the kiss this time. So that did happen, y/n's mind was not playing tricks on her, Sukuna had in fact asked. Her eyes once again gleamed looking straight to his crimson irises. "So will you be mine?" He was more confident this time, they had grown closer, laughed more, shared more, Sukuna wanted this from the very first session they had together and the more time he spend around her, the more he couldn't bare the thought of anyone laying their fingers on her. Perhaps Nanami's little show got under his skin way more than he could ever admit, but there was no way he's letting anyone mark her. Y/n was his personal artwork, only the finest of pieces shall taint her skin. "Yes, airhead" y/n said, finally having enough air to form words, still in his arm with a smile on her face, indulging him on another deep kiss. "Let's seal the deal then."

Sukuna finally got to fulfill his need, y/n was back on his chair late in the afterhours of the night. He finished free handing another of his designs he showed her the night before, the outline of her sleeve, with the Cerberus foxes he created just for her.

Y/n was standing in front of his full body mirror, examining the very delicate lines of his marker. His arms snaked around her waist, Sukuna could watch her admire his art for eternity.

"You look so beautiful in it" he simply stated, looking at their reflection he could only note her beauty. Y/n looked beautiful, beautiful on her own, beautiful in his tattoos, beautiful in his arms.

"Your art is probably the most beautiful thing I've seen, but you too are a close competitor" her voice crystal clear, she managed to make a faint pink dust his cheeks. Sukuna wasn't one to take compliments, but from her? He could listen to her little praises all day. "Now, now get your ass back on this chair, you're not getting out of this"

"I didn't plan to anyway."

Bonus Domain shenanigans: Megumi had the pleasure of opening up the very next morning, what the hell happened here, he was about to call the cops when he saw Sukuna looking scruffy and sleep deprived, emerge from the back room, same pants and undone dress shirt as the night before. "What the hell" was all that he could say. Sukuna was thankful he let y/n out the back just so they could both avoid the embarrassment that was to come.

"What happened here?" Geto asked the moment he came through the door, although he already knew, Sukuna was predictable. "Nothing happened" Sukuna groaned trying to get them to shut up, he just needed some coffee. He disappeared in the back again.

"yeah sure, 'nothing happened' does he think we're stupid or something" Gojo said to Nanami, who already had a headache and he hasn't been in for 15 minutes yet. "Stop it already nothing happened" Sukuna said, coming out in the front to order a coffee. Gojo stared at him, walked closer to him and began laughing straight to his face, "fuck you're laughing at?" Sukuna was confused

"Next time, clean the lipstick off your face and neck." Nanami chuckled while Gojo continued to laugh at Sukuna's frustration.

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[13uswntimagines]

Better To Be Friends Than Competition (Lindsey x Reader)

Author’s Note: This Technically wasn’t requested, but @literaryhedgehog and i had a blast writing this. It’s the Harry Potter AU. Basically, reader is a muggleborn who really wants to be a chaser, but maybe there’s a better position for her on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. This is the beginning of what will be a multi-part series following the building romance between two amazing characters and how our golden octet help them out along the way. 

@sleep-deprived-athlete​

“Alright, you’ve all been told the rules and had the chance to warm up. So let’s start by dividing into groups. Anyone who wants to be a seeker follow Mia there to the far side of the field. Beaters to the left with Foudy. Keepers to the goalposts with Hope. And chasers with me up top,” Brandi said with a wave of her hand, kicking off of the ground and heading towards where her group was going to meet. 

You snuck a glance to either side of you as you also kick off and head to your position, trying to guess who out of the eight students around you is going to be your biggest competition. Surely you thought more people would have wanted a chance at a spot on one of the best teams at Hogwarts. Tryouts had been packed for the last two years. 

You wondered which drill Brandi was going to start with as you approached the group (said woman was idily tossing a quaffle lightly in her hands as she talked to another one of your competition). For the last 2 years it was always a set of passing drills, where would-be chasers played a very complicated game of catch up and down the pitch. 

Maybe those tryouts were supposed to be private, but how else could you prepare for them if you didn’t know what to expect? 

Quidditch was honestly a really weird sport. Well, American football made less sense, but you hadn’t exactly studied the rules as extensively as you had Quidditch. Like, the game literally would not end until someone caught the snitch. According to Quidditch through the Ages a game had literally lasted for months. You remembered watching a tennis game that lasted for four days before, but generally the muggle sports you grew up with were more consistent in how long each game took.  

“Oh yeah”, you thought, watching the beaters line up across the pitch, “and there is also a ball charmed to try and knock people off their broom. That’s not normal.” Though it was something your dad found hilarious. 

Sports were always something the two of you could talk about, even before you found out you had magic. He loved the fact that you loved football as much as he did, and was thrilled by the fact that you had enough talent to play it in your primary school. 

Though with your hand eye coordination you had done better with cricket, and baseball the few times you had a chance to play it in gym. So when you had joined the wizarding world you naturally had gotten into quidditch. Learned everything you could about the game so you could give him detailed play by plays about the games when you sent owls home. 

At this point you were dying to play. You were too short to be a beater or a keeper, but you knew you could be a chaser. You could catch like nobody’s business, and you had at least half of the tactics in The Beginner's Quidditch Playbook memorized. You were going to be the best damn chaser Hogwarts had ever seen. 

“Hey space captain, you ready for this?” 

“What?” You froze, heat flooding your cheeks at being caught not paying attention. You slowly turned to face the new presence. 

You knew the girl. Well. You knew of the girl (it was impossible not to know about the very pretty blond girl). She was in your house and year (and therefore in your dorm as well as all your classes) but the two of you had never really interacted before. She seemed to already know everyone and everything when she got to Hogwarts, so it didn’t really seem like she was looking for friends, and it was hard enough trying to figure out your new life without having people look at you strangely when you didn’t know a word they used. Not that Lindsey, you thought that’s her name anyway, had done that, but other purebloods did. It was easier figuring things out on your own to start, and by the time you did, you and Lindsey had already established yourselves in different friend groups. Was her name Lindsey? A Slytherin in your year was always calling her strange nicknames, so it was hard to tell. 

“The drill. Are you ready for the drill space captain?” The girl asked again. 

“Yeah, but I’m not a captain. I’m a second year, like you,” You said softly, your eyebrows furrowing. Maybe that was a wizard saying, but you had no idea what she was talking about. Your heart also dropped just a touch because if she thought you were a captain then she had absolutely no idea who you were. 

She shook her head with a giggle (showing off her dimples). “My dad says that’s what muggles call a person with their head in the clouds,” 

You cocked your head to the side, your brain running a million miles an hour to try and figure out what she meant. But then it clicked. “Oh you mean space cadet,” 

“I guess,” She shrugged, seemingly unbothered about the correct verbiage. 

The whistle blowing brought both of your attention back towards Brandi and the first set of would-be chasers beginning the crossing drill. You coughed to hide a scoff when Lynn Williams raced at breakneck speed up the pitch, and released the quaffle at least 30 feet off where the chasing captain had instructed. 

You shook your head at the play. It was too sloppy, too open and it would never connect well with JJ and Alex up top. 

“Not impressed by what you see?” Lindsey asked, her eyebrow quirking up (trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t interested in your answer. You were her competition after all). 

“Not after Alex basically destroyed the same course last year. She’s got an 85% accuracy rating on goal and nearly 60% of her shots come off of left crosses. Williams isn’t getting high enough on the pitch to provide an adequate pass,”  You mumbled out quickly, wincing when Lynn made the same mistake on the way back, nearly sending her partner (a girl in the year below you named Mal) into the stands to catch it (though you were slightly impressed that Mal managed to grab it before it landed in the seats). 

“Yeah, I see what you mean. Her throws tend to either go too short or too long. Even if it doesn’t go directly to her partner it at least needs to be consistent so during a game the person she’s throwing it to knows where to intercept it before the other team does,” Lindsey said, taking a hand off her broom to shield her eyes.

“She’s fast but it won’t help if she forces the other chaser off her line to provide service to Alex in front of the posts,” You huffed. Having her on that side would be a positioning nightmare. It left the team open and vulnerable to so many different attacking options. 

“I am not entirely sure what that means,” Lindsey said, smirking as she looked sideways at you, “but it sounds like you don’t think she’s competition, which is good news for us!’

You opened your mouth to respond, only to be cut off by Brandi’s whistle. “Alright next pair up,” 

You gulped and tightened your fingers on your broom “Guess it’s showtime,” You muttered, surging forward to the starting line. 

“Good luck space captain, you’re gonna need it,” Lindsey called back towards you with a wink, taking the ball from Brandi. 

You shook your head. You wouldn’t need luck. A fucking golden retriever could beat out the performance you had just whitnessed. As long as you didn’t fall off your brooms, you both would be fine. 

***

You raced towards the hoops, reaching your arm out to pluck the perfectly timed ball out of its arc towards the ground. Okay, Lindsey was good. Really good. She HAD to have known how bad Lynn’s throws were, because hers were positively perfect. Your throws were good, but Lindsey had this way of arching the ball up through the air if a perfect loop so it practically fell into your hands. There was no way she didn’t practice over the summer. 

You neared the posts, starting to make your u-turn to pass the ball back when a flash of gold caught your eyes. Before you really thought it through, the hand anchoring you to your broom had already lifted to snatch it out of the air on instinct. You had played cricket for most of your life- it was instinct to reach out and grab a ball that looked like it was about to fly into your face. 

The next few seconds happened almost in slow motion. As your fingers closed around the cool metal, you realized just how far to your side you had to lean to reach the object, and how far off balance it had put you. Your legs crossed tightly as you flipped completely upside down on your broom, entirely unwilling to let go of the object you had just caught or the large quaffle still tucked tightly under your arm. Before you really knew what was happening, you were staring straight at the ground, your legs the only thing keeping you in the air. 

“Holy shit, holy shit. Um, hey Lindsey?” You called, eyes on the ground below you. 

“What?” You heard her call. You idly wondered why one of the captains hadn’t put a stop to this yet and put you out of your misery. 

“Catch?” You threw the quaffle, well tossed it really, up into the air towards where you thought the other girl was. You knew it was going to be short, but also knew that she was going to catch it anyway. She really was that good. With your now free hand you reached up and grabbed the handle of your broom so you could pull yourself to it and rotate back to an upright position. 

Only then did you look down at the tiny ball fluttering in your hand. The tiny, almost leathery, wings flapped like it was waving hello. You stared at it in awe, your lips ticking up. You had just caught the golden snitch. You never thought you would get to touch the snitch, much less catch it. 

“Hey you” a voice called from the pitch behind you. You turned to look as Mia flew from where the seeker candidates were staring hopelessly at the sky around them to land on the pitch. “Get down here. Yeah, you on the drills.” She motioned down to the pitch, indicating where you should land, then turned her head to call over her shoulder, “Brandi I’m taking number 2.” 

You quickly flew towards where she had pointed, shakily dismounting from your broom. You weren’t sure if it was fear, adrenaline or nerves, but your legs felt like jelly. You clutched the little ball in your hand so tightly that you were sure there was going to be an imprint in your palm later. 

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing in the chaser section?” Mia said, tucking her broom under her arm and throwing her hand up towards the group of would be chasers throwing a ball around at varying distances. (You tried not to wince when Lynn nearly pegged Mal in the face again). 

“Um, trying to be a chaser? I was always a good forward so I thought it might fit?” You mumbled with a shrug, scratching the back of your neck with your free hand. a light shade of pink covered your cheeks. It was a little embarrassing how clueless you were with the magical world sometimes, and how even after being here for two full years, you still felt completely out of your depth. 

“That’d be like using a cauldron as a teacup because they’re both the same shape. It’d work but what a waste!” 

“I…- I have no idea what that means. I know I caught the wrong thing, and I’m sorry. I’ll leave now if that’s what you want,” You stuttered out, suddenly finding the way your shoe poked the pitch underneath you interesting. 

“No, kid you misunderstand me. Look, you, what’s your name again?” Mia stepped closer, tilting her head as she looked at you. 

“Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n,” 

“Right, Y/n, you could play chaser. You’d even be a decent one with a bit of work. But that’d be a damn waste of talent. You’re a natural seeker. I’m not upset with you for catching the wrong ball, I’m upset you weren’t over in my section trying to catch the snitch in the first place. Look at that lot over there, they still think it’s somewhere over the stands.” Mia stepped next to you and turned, gestured to the group of seeker hopefuls flying in circles near the Ravenclaw seats. 

“Oh,” You breathed out, following her hand to look at the large group. They were squinting towards the stands and swooping low at whatever they thought they had spotted, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the snitch had been caught on the other side of the pitch and that Mia wasn’t even paying attention to them anymore. 

“I’ve had a lot of practice spotting this ball,” Mia said, tapping the snitch trapped in your hand. “I was able to see it within about a minute of it being released, and have been watching it since. None of them saw it when it was on their side of the field, but you saw it instantly- even when you were focused on something else. That is a talent Y/n. Why didn’t you try out for seeker in the first place?”

“I didn’t know how to practice for it, and that-. It wasn’t like any of the other positions I have ever played,” You muttered, trying to cover your insecurity with a nonchalant shrug. It seemed like the position that required the most innate ability, and as a muggleborn you didn’t think you had any. 

Mia nodded slowly looking at you. “Right,” she said, turning and mounting her broom, “I wanna run you through some drills. Come on.”

You blinked at the woman as she hovered in front of you. Your eyes darting between Mia and the object still clutched tightly in your hand. Where were you supposed to put it? Were you supposed to let it go? 

You brought your palm up so it was level with your eyes and opened your hand, half expecting the snitch to fly away. It didn’t. It’s wings slowly unfurled and it waved docilely at you. Like an old friend. 

“What’re you waiting for?” Mia called down at you.

“It won’t fly away!” You called back, looking up at the woman, who rolled her eyes indulgently. 

“Of course not, it’s yours. You caught it, and you can watch it like some love-struck puppy later- stash it in your pocket and come on!”

***

You were having a fucking blast, even though you had no idea what you were in for when you joined the seeker group. Every year when you watched tryouts, you never payed attention to what they had to do, as you never thought you would have to do it. Even without the advantage, you were killing it. 

You had been separated into pairs, just like the chasers were, but Mia had enchanted clear balls (the size of tennis balls) to randomly fly through the air. The balls were given a 5 second head start before you and your partner were allowed to race to catch it. Now this was familiar, the jostling of arms while racing after a ball and trying to prevent someone else from getting to it before you. Only once out of five rounds did your opponent get to the ball before you, but really, that elbow to your ribs was a red card if you’d ever seen one. 

Then everyone took turns hovering in the air as Mia took ten of the enchanted balls and flicked them up haphazardly one by one every five seconds. The goal was to catch as many of them as you could before they hit the ground, even as they were sent up in different directions and some much higher in the air than others. You didn’t get all of them, but the seven you saved still seemed to impress the other seeker candidates who didn’t scowl. The second highest number saved was six, but that girl still congratulated you as you got off your broom, since “those last few of them went way further out than they did for me- and you were an inch away from that eighth one!” 

You nodded, smiling at her, though you were probably more embarrassed than she realized about that eighth one. That one had been sent towards the far side of the field, where you looked up to meet Lindsey’s eyes. You had been placed perfectly to catch the ball as it started falling from it’s apex, but in the moment your hand faltered, and it brushed by your hand instead. You cursed and considered going after it, but then you flew back to where Mia had already released one of the last two on the other side of the field. 

“Alright, for our last drill, we’re going to try to catch a real snitch again,” Mia said, pulling another golden ball out from inside her robes and holding it between her thumb and pointer finger. Its wings sprung out and flapped wildly, unlike the slow waving of the one in your pocket. 

Everything in you wanted to catch the little golden ball. To tame it like you had the other one. For it to sit calmly in your hand and wave hello like an old friend. 

“Isn’t the other one still out there?” The same girl asked, her head tilting to the side. 

“It’s been taken care of,” Mia smirked and shook her head, sending a little glance in your direction. The girl stared at her wide eyed, opening and closing her mouth as though she wanted to say more, but Mia again cut her off with a stern glare. ”As I was saying, the first of you to catch it gets to keep it and also gets a boost to the points on their scorecard. Now line up,” 

You all flew low on the pitch, forming a circle with Mia and the snitch at its center. Your eyes never left the frantically flapping little ball as you waited for her whistle to blow. There was no way it was going to escape you and if you got to show off for the would be chasers watching you near the posts, that was fine with you too. 

***

“Congratulations Y/n! There’s no way you won’t get picked to be seeker,” the girl said, after Mia released you, promising that the results of the tryouts would be posted next week. 

“Oh, um thanks-...” You said trailing off towards the end, awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck. You didn’t know her name. 

“Oh, sorry. You missed introductions at the beginning. I’m Savannah, from two years above you.” Savannah grinned at you, a bit ruefully. “You know, I thought this was going to be my year to nail the seeker position. But with you on the team, there’s no WAY we’re gonna lose to Slytherin. And Lloyd can stop looking so smug about the cup win last year.”

“The only reason they were better is because they had Amy and Sydney scoring.  They won despite her and her stupid tactics. If Slytherin actually got a decent seeker then we’d be in trouble,” Lindsey said, throwing her arm over your shoulder and stepping to walk between you and Savannah. 

“Carli’s decent, just distracted I think. She had NEWTS along with scouters and stuff,” you muttered, a bit defensively. You know you weren’t supposed to like the Slytherins- house competition and all that- but Carli’s strategy was pretty impressive. The recruiters certainly seemed to think so, you heard rumors that the recruiters from the Wasps and Arrows had a bidding war before the Harpies showed interest. 

“Pshh it was just the Harpies recruiter. Even if they have Potter, she’d still probably tank their win streak. At least that’d help my team,” Lindsey snorted, shaking her head. 

Your eyebrows furrowed. The Harpies were the second oldest team in the league, and since they recruited Ginny they had been on a tear taking down the Cannons and the Magpies in the final games of the European cup three years running. You thought Carli’s strategy would fit nicely in their ranks. 

“I’m pretty sure there were Wasps recruiters and Magpies guys here too,” Savannah said to Lindsey. You noticed her eyes glanced towards Lindsey’s arm around your shoulder as she smiled widely. Lindsey dramatically rolled her eyes. 

“Which team is yours?” You asked softly, leaning your head on Lindsey's shoulder as you trudged towards the locker room, ignoring Savannah. 

“The cannons of course,” Lindsey said confidently. Savannah seemed to be hiding a smirk, and waved goodbye at you as she headed into the locker room. 

“They’re pretty alright, but Ronaldo is a little too cocky for me. Sinclare and Potter together are a lethal combo for the Harpies and with Angerer in goal they’re like unstoppable,” You hummed thoughtfully. You also liked that the Harpies were an all female team. 

“Ugh, you sound like Emily,” Lindsey said, rolling her eyes. “She and Sam are giant Magpies supporters.” 

“I mean the Magpies have a 75% score rate while the Cannons are only at a 60. And Messi catches the snitch within the first hour 80% of the time, while Ronaldo’s catches take about 85 minutes on average,” you rattled off. So maybe you were a little too into statistics. At least your dad never had to worry about your math skills. 

“No way, they’re super into team stats too! Maybe you can help me convince Emily and Sam that the Cannons are the best team!”

“But Emily and Sam, whoever they are, are right. The stats don’t lie,” You said with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Oh, Emily is my friend in Slytherin and Sam‘s in Hufflepuff. I’ll introduce you later.” Lindsey said waving a hand in the air. “Anyway, the Magpies may have Messi, but the Cannons have heart! And isn’t that what really matters to make a good team great?”

You paused, pulling Lindsey to a stop beside you. “I know they don’t teach math here, but Statistics beat heart any day.” 

Lindsey laughed and shoved you playfully to the side. “You haven’t even met them and already you’re ganging up on me.” 

“I’m just stating facts. The hat almost put me in Ravenclaw cause I just love random factoids so much,” you smirked, tucking yourself back under her outstretched arm (it was just so warm and it made you feel… safe). 

“Well, I’m glad you’re in Gryffindor. It's way better to have you as a teammate than competition Space captain. Now let’s go- if we hurry we can probably get to the library to work on that potions essay before curfew.” 

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S3:E2; Chapter Two, The Mall Rats - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

Baffled with Mike's sudden behavior, El seeks out Y/n and Max for advice while Will struggles to get through to Mike and Lucas. Billy takes his co-worker on a field trip, and Steve and Dustin enlist a helpful ally in their top-secret mission.

WARNINGS: possible allegory to r*pe when the mind flayer does his little ✨ possessing ✨. It's not meant to sound like it, but when I wrote Will getting possessed I'm pretty sure some people compared it to that and I just want to be sure yall are safe reading this so [■■■■■■] these guys are back. Hope this helped! + oh yeah also brief mention of gore and v*mit [yes I censored that, let's move on] but they all fit inside the warning markers.

A/n: can't remember if I put this before but f/d = favorite drink

||𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

An eerie silence stretches across the town of Hawkins, from the bustling new heart in Starcourt Mall all across town to the edge of its grassy hills. Sitting in the shadows of these grasslands, tucked in with blankets of discarded steel and machinery all being pulled back into the earth to be properly claimed is the stomach of the town; Brimborn.

Unlike the heart, it is shrouded in darkness, death, and decay. It sits abandoned just miles off the main roads and welcomes nothing but trouble. Once nothing but an empty husk of potential had long since reared its head and swallowed a darkness—the sickness of Hawkins—that now resides deep in the belly to be digested.

And it had just gotten its first taste in months.

Billy Hargrove stumbles out of the darkness of the steel stairway and into the forgiving light of the moon.

His face nearly collides with the concrete on at least three occasions in the time it takes him to run back to his car. His adrenaline spikes with every frantic beat of his heart and heaving of his lungs. The rubber soles of his boots punch the concrete, only hammering in the fear of being pulled back under. He can't understand what he just saw, nor can he hold off the feeling of nausea brewing in his gut much longer as he fumbles for his keys in his pocket.

It would seem he has enough luck to get inside the car and start it. The sound of tires squealing against the pavement is music to his ears. He's back on the road just as soon, head pounding painfully as he tries to keep his shaking hands that grip the wheel from throwing him off the road. And they are able to do so for several minutes—several minutes of Billy choking down air and adrenaline while the smell of burning diesel from his car stings the back of his throat. And yet still it wasn't the worst sensation in his mouth by far. He could still taste the rot sitting on his lips and tongue... from that... that thing...

He doesn't know where he's going apart from away—as far away as he could get from Brimborn until he sees a box of light in the distance just off the side of the road. A payphone. He could call someone. Hell, if this thing was chasing him—if it got him someone should at least know what little he did. His car lurches off the road with one swift yank on the wheel and suddenly his tires are screaming against the asphalt again. Clumsily Billy throws open his door and tumbles out onto the streets, stumbling to the payphone he had spotted.

He's already on the phone before he realizes; time was still moving in blurs catching every other moment as he blacked out. Yet another miracle he managed to make it down the road safely in his car. Billy's chest heaves up and down as he drowns in panic, trying so desperately to get ahold of each breath.

His eyes, bloodshot and wild, sweep the darkened streets and he jumps when a soft click goes off in his ear.

"911, what's your emergency?"

At once, everything comes back to Billy, still in flashes.

He remembers a lurch in his gut when the car spun out, followed by a searing pain in his temple that spread throughout his skull in a dull ache. He can smell smoke from the busted engine. It was covering up a smell of rot and sewage and... and an overwhelming sense of copper like an old change jar. It was similar to the smell coming from the blood running down his face. Its texture almost similar to the slime he felt on his fingertips when he saw the state of his windshield.

Another lurch in his heart when something shrill cried out as it scurried by.

And then his face was in the dirt. Something had hooked his leg and reeled him in. Billy remembers the pain of his nails clawing at the dirt. And then concrete and then metal stairs. He can feel it all burning his stomach too like road rash. A blood-curdling scream tore from his throat as his fingers burned, they were in searing pain as they clung so desperately to the iron doorway where they eventually lost their battle.

[■■■■■■]

What followed never held the absence of more pain, that was all he knew. From his chin colliding with every metal step, to the thousands of tiny feet clawing at his body as the swarm closed in. And ultimately the unbelievable anguish of that thing invading every cell in his body. It all happened so fast, even in the moment and he was left but nothing but the horrifying image of a bloodied tentacle attacking his face.

Every attempt at a scream was shoved back down his throat along with the dark and bloodied mass spewing from its insides like icy vomit. He could feel it going everywhere, soaking through into his bloodstream and it traveled throughout his body.

[■■■■■■]

And just as Will Byers had experienced half a year ago; Billy felt every essence of warmth cease to be, and all that existed was icy darkness. And there it remained.

He could feel it even now as he stood underneath the flickering lights of the phone booth.

I̵̢͖̘̪̞̻̜͍̪͛̌͘͝s̴̮͈̮̟̮̥͔̃͘ ̶͉̂͛ş̷̳͉͖͖̠͉͉͇͖͆ó̴̝̰͉̟͙̘̝̥̲͂͌̒̿̅͝͝m̵̖̐̌̽̐͋̊̏͝e̵̛̜̘̰̫̩̋̅̊ͅo̷̢̫̻͙͕̫͚̮̅͗̃̃̐͊̋̕͜͠ǹ̶̡̞͖̪̯͉͓̖̜̳̉͝e̷̬̞̣̝̬͕̱̫͊̏ ̴͕̇̌͆͑̄͋̄t̴͎̯̥͉͌̕h̶̹̚͜e̴̯͔͓̬̗̞̥̳̠͜͠r̶̨̬͎̬̙͉̩͐͜ë̸̥̣̺̘̭́̇̽̉̓̐̕͘?̵̼̠͛̋ ̸̪͒͋H̸̭̺̞̬̖̎̓̇̐͆͐̚͝͠ͅe̸̢̲͎̭͊̄͗̌͌͝l̶͉̉͜͜ḽ̵̠̟̻̅̏͗̏̒̌͜͝o̵̖̙̼͓̽̓̎?̶̩̱͎͍͉͓̅̑̈͋͝

Darkness. That was all that was left after the distorted voice died out with the rest of the booth. His eyes flew everywhere, but not for long. An impossible chill fell over his already frozen body when he realized what was so wrong.

The world outside the phone booth was not how he left it—not how it was only moments ago. The beautiful summer night sky was swallowed by storm clouds, taking all warmth with it. The air was heavy and sticky, a combination of humid and cold all at once. It was hostile, and it wreaked of decay. But what startled Billy most was the glistening array of vines that engulfed the earth and everything on it.

In a sickly daze, he stumbled in front of his car. Its headlights seemed to shine brighter than the moon and yet it was not enough to illuminate the oncoming army of figures marching through the fog.

"What do you want?" He asked, feeling brave. When they didn't answer, he stalked forward several steps and raised his voice in a panic. "Hey! I said, what do you want?"

No answer. Just the haunting sound of the marching of the faceless army. He matched their step, just a notch slower thanks to the fear filling his lungs. Billy was too afraid to notice the scarlet lightning raging up above his head.

"I said, what do you want?!"

The faceless army stopped but its leader remained in a steady march straight for him. Try as he might, Billy couldn't bring himself to take another step. He could only watch with bated breath, heart in his lungs beating so loud he could hear it in his ears as the figure revealed himself to him. When he did, Billy's next breath was stolen right out of his chest.

Standing there before him was another Billy Hargrove.

||𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"Are you sure you know how to ride that thing?" I quip, watching as Max tumbles off her board for the sixth time since she got on.

"Do you wanna give it a try?" she asks, smirking. "Wanna see if you can do a kickflip?"

"Oh, that's not a question I need answered," I say, finishing another sip of my f/d. I put it back down on the curb beside me where I sit, and lean back with my hands propping me up in the grass. "The question is, can you do a kickflip?"

"I can, I told you," she huffs, turning her board back over. "I did one this morning,"

She mounts her board and tries again. The board flips under her feet but never comes full circle. Her feet land on the edge of the underside and she stumbles back. Max releases another frustrated huff, moving the bits of hair that had fallen over her face.

"I'd give that a solid 4.0," I comment.

"Why are you here again?" She asks, stopping to look at me. Her face is stern but anyone could see she was teasing. Mostly.

I laugh and stretch out my legs.

"Cause you love me?" I offer, sheepishly.

Max clicks her tongue, pretending to think about it. "Mm, no I don't think that's it."

"But you don't deny you do?"

"Whatever," she scoffs, hopping back on her board.

"You do love me," taking a long, loud sip of my drink I grin with my eyes and she rolls hers.

I tip the f/d all the way back, lick my lips, and sigh.

I ultimately decide I've put it off long enough and I rise from the curb.

"I'll be back. I gotta whiz,"

Max eyes the empty glass of f/d I have in my hand and smirks. "Surprise, surprise. You're gonna run us dry at this rate,"

"You guys ate all my Mac n Cheese," I wink, and she blushes. "I'm just doing the neighborly thing and repaying the favor,"

Max rolls her eyes and scoffs, and feeling victorious I disappear inside.

||𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

Max's eyes linger where Y/n had disappeared and her lips threaten to hook upwards in a small smile. She quickly shakes her head, forcing herself to focus back on the task at hand.

Maybe if she got a running start.

Max takes off on her skateboard and gives it another try. The board barely moves.

Her third attempt is the closest but still wields no results.

And when she tries a fourth, her board flies out from under her and cruises down the road.

Where it lands at El's feet.

Max straightens, unsure of where this was about to head. She watches carefully as El picks up the skateboard and makes her way over.

Was this really happening?

El had never wanted anything to do with anyone other than Mike, and Y/n.

So what was she doing here?

"Hi," she says.

"Hi?"

El hands her skateboard over to Max, her steely composure melting a little.

"Is Y/n here?"

Max's shoulders fell, any hopes she had growing in her chest dashed.

"She's inside," Max said, trying to mask her disappointment. "She'll be back out in a minute,"

Max took her skateboard and returned it to the concrete, ready to hop back on. But El's words stopped her in her tracks.

"Can... we talk? All of us?"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Welp. Another day, another migraine for Robin Buckley. She couldn't even pretend to care anymore as she numbly hands over what had to have been the sixth dozenth ice cream cone of her first shift.

"Have a nice day," she drawls, passing the cones to the over-eager couple.

"Thanks!" They turn away, heading for the door, revealing the next over-eager customer in line.

He bounces up to the counter, wearing a Roast Beef tee, bright yellow ball cap, and a toothless grin.

"Hi!"

Robin blinks. "Hi," she says carefully.

His smile never wavers, even when he seems to catch on to her cluelessness. He gestures to himself.

"I'm Dustin," he clarifies.

"I'm Robin,"

"Pleasure to meet you," man, this kid's optimism was a little unnerving. Impressive, but unnerving. But hey, at least it was something new. He glances over her shoulder and back to her expectantly. "Uh, is he—? Is he here?"

"Is, who here?"

The sudden and obnoxious sound of rubber shoes squealing against the freshly waxed linoleum floors ripped their attention to the employee-only door. It had been thrown open as the figure before them had nearly crashed through. There stood an overzealous Steve Harrington wearing his usual Scoops Ahoy uniform and a growing grin.

His mouth falls open in a gape, unable to contain his excitement and he throws his arms up.

"Henderson,"

Dustin laughs excitedly as Steve begins bouncing around the counter to greet him.

"Henderson! He's back!" He cheers. "He's back!"

"I'm back!" He cries, gesturing past a Robin and her startled expression to the giant Scoops Ahoy sign. "You got the job!"

"I got the job!" Steve blows an imaginary trumpet before going in for their handshake.

As it always did, the handshake gradually morphed into a false battle, imaginary lightsabers drawn and clashing. Each of them create their own sound effects. Dustin thrusts the invisible blade of light into Steve's abdomen, who in turn illustrates his fake wounds. The pair of unlikely friends fall into a fit of giggles, while a less than impressed Robin watches in boredom behind the counter.

The name had already registered, but she was still a little shocked at the other Henderson she never had a chance to meet. She always forgot there were two, and if Robin was being honest, she preferred the other one so far. Sure, the girl stared a lot but she seemed less... well whatever this was.

Looking at her coworker, she tilts her head and cocks a brow. "How many children are you friends with?"

The young man sighs, exasperatedly swiping a hand over his mouth as he gestures to her, giving Dustin a tired look.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"No," Steve laughs through a cracked smile. "No way! Hotter than Phoebe Cates? Nah,"

Dustin hums, swallowing a bite of his ice cream, and nods excitedly.

"Brilliant, too! And she doesn't even care that my real pearls are still coming in. She says kissing is better without teeth,"

"..." Steve nods, trying his best to not let his nervous laughter shine through. "Wow! Yeah, um—well that's great! I'm proud of you man, that's rom— that's kind of romantic. That's like... wow!"

Dustin hums happily in agreement, swallowing another bite of his ice cream. He shakes his head.

"Do you really get to eat as much of this as you want?"

"Yeah," Steve shrugs. "I mean, sure. It's not really a good idea for me though. You know, I gotta keep in shape for the ladies,"

-"Yeah, and how's that working out for you?" Dustin and Steve follow the voice across the shop to see Robin shooting them a knowing look.

"Ignore her,"

"She seems cool," Dustin's smiles.

"She's not," Steve says, eyeing the foot traffic outside Scoops Ahoy momentarily. "So, where are the other knuckleheads?"

"They ditched me yesterday,"

As Dustin digs out a spoonful of his U.S.S. Butterscotch Sundae, Steve laughs off the boy's last comment in disbelief.

"What? No way,"

"My first day back. Can you believe that shit?"

Steve's face falls when he sees the look on Dustin's face. He sits up in his seat, growing angry.

"Woah, seriously?"

"I swear to god, mhm."

"No, no not Y/n though?" Offered Steve, sounding genuinely surprised. "I mean, I don't think she wanted to admit it but she was pretty psyched about you coming home,"

"Yeah, Steve. Even Y/n," Dustin snaps. But judging by the look washing in after his outburst, he doesn't seem very committed to his anger. He sighs into his ice cream. "I mean, she tried to stick with me but she had to leave with Byers or something. Said she was worried,"

"That blows," Steve says, sighing into a hunch over the table. "I'm sorry, man."

Dustin nods, eyes still drilling into his Sundae. No doubt dwindling on his growing separation from his sister and friends. Feeling bad for the kid, Steve still remembers the events of the previous year. And if, like then, it had something to do with Will, then... Well, he couldn't really blame her. But he was broken up just seeing Dustin like this.

"Hey, I'm sure it's fine," Steve tries. "You know her better than anyone; if she's worried about something she has a good reason. I'm sure she's just being cautious, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want to be here with you. I'd just give it time,"

"I guess," Dustin frowns, his spoon playing with a cherry on his ice cream. He suddenly perks. "Doesn't matter now, though. They're all gonna regret it, anyway. Big time. When they won't get to share in my glory."

Steve sits up, growing curious.

"Glory? What glory?"

A sort of cocky smirk grows on Dustin's face and he scooches further in the booth, closer to Steve. His voice lowers a considerable amount, only doubling Steve's curiosity.

"So last night," he begins. "I was trying to get in contact with Suzie,"

Unfortunately for Steve, he catches the playful look on the kid's face and nervously nods along. The 'no teeth' comment and the small, uninvited image it forces onto his mind threatens a shiver.

"and I uh," Dustin leans in further, pausing to scan the ice cream shop as he hides his mouth behind his hand. When his next words come out, they're barely a whisper as he looks into his bowl."I intercepted a secret Russian communication."

Steve only blinks, his mind racing to catch up with the words he thought he heard. He blinks again.

"What?"

"Uh," It's clear Dustin is trying to look as casual as possible, but every attempt at doing so was only obscuring his words more. "IinterceptedasecretRussiancommunication,"

"Just speak louder,"

"I intercepted a secret Russian communication!"

The shop goes quiet, everyone including Robin who stood behind the counter stopped to look at them. Steve shifts in his seat, hastily shushing the boy as discreetly as possible.

"Jesus, yeah. OK, well that's what I thought you said." Both of them look around the shop again, relieved to see everyone had gone back to their conversations assuming they misheard. Either that or wanting to keep out of it. "Wait, what does that mean?"

"It means, Steve, that we could heroes. True American heroes."

"Ahh," Steve says through a blooming smile.

"Mm-hmm,"

"American heroes," Steve said, liking the sound of the words on his tongue.

"Just think. You could have all the ladies you want. And more."

"More?"

"More."

"I like more."

Dustin hums, and as the two think on it they can very nearly picture their glorious, hopeful future before them.

"What's the catch?"

"No catch, I just need your help."

"With what?"

Dustin only smiles, turning to his backpack beside him. Unzipping the bag, he retrieves a small red book that he displays with a hopeful smile. The title read,

RUSSIAN - ENGLISH

ENGLISH - RUSSIAN

"Translation."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

5 Ways To Help Palestinians Through Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions - [link]

20 Organizations That Support Black Women During Black History Month and Beyond - [link]

Stop Asian Hate Linktree: A variety of resources dedicated to helping those affected by, and stopping Anti-Asian Violence - [link]

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag List:

@dickkwad​ @aimee-lucass @iblesstherainsdown-in-africa​ @miscellaneoustoasts​ @happyandlonely-blog​ @missmulti @youpi-chan​ @peeperparkour​​ @ba-responds​ @bibliophilesquared​​ @blogforhoes​ @witch-of-all-things-soft​​ @shawkneecaps​ @whothefuckstolemykeds​ @mirdall @fishswimbetterunderwater​ @daughter-of-the-stars11​ @stranger-things4​​ @kpopanimegirl​ @nightbu-g​​ @lozzybowe​​ @bluechildrenlickmytoes​ @spiderbitch69420​

❥ Let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist! ❥

[aonogifreactions]

Flower crown headcanons nobody asked for

a/n: hoooooo boy i went crazy with tHIS ONE JSDFGLSO i need help,, hc under the cut cus ITS LONG JFDOS bYE || beta read by my bff again ♡♡

✰ Characters: Rin, Yukio, Mephisto, Amaimon.

✰ Words: 1,4k

Rin:

He’s so fucking excited to do this and a bit nervous cus he probably hasn’t done that before.

first of all, he’s bewildered by the place you have taken him to. He’s never seen a bigger field full of flowers. He even feels bad for placing a blanket on the ground, thinking he’s probably gonna ruin some of them.

The atmosphere, the scenery is just too much for him- it feels so magical, surreal almost. Light blue sky with white, fluffy clouds, a huge field of flowers and his s/o... he swears he’s hallucinating.

He gets kinda confused when he gets some flowers on his lap. At first, he fiddles with the ends of the flowers, tries to make a knot and eventually sighs.

you giggle at him and show him the proper way of making a flower crown; honestly, he just stares so dumbfoundedly at it? it’s so damn cute and easy to do? how???????

and somehow he messed up?????

he doesn’t expect you putting that flower crown on his head though; that tiny daisies look so good on him, he almost looks like a real angel. he lowers his head looking on the ground and smiles softly, taking your hand in his; then, he chuckles.

“I... I really don’t deserve you, [Y/N]” he says quietly and kisses you on your lips softly; you can feel him smiling as he kisses you.

“Okay, [Y/N]! It’s my turn! I wanna make you a bomb flower crown!” His energy is back and he looks at you, grinning; you now notice his tiny blush. Not wasting any more time, you guide him a little bit and eventually, he made you a pretty flower crown with navy colored flowers.

He puts it gently on your head, smiling, “You look like a princess now. Honestly.. you are one to me.”

Yukio:

he’s honestly, impressed. similar to Rin, but he doesn’t show it as much. You can see his excitement a little bit though, the way he just looks around with a tiny smile is.. really refreshing.

he finds a nice spot under a tall tree, where he also places a blanket and sits down with you. None of you say anything, meanwhile he just.. takes in that beautiful view that’s in front of his eyes. He’s finally free and happy, plus, you’ve been with him all that time- He just feels so happy he might cry.

You wake him up from his trance by gently tapping him on the shoulder; he blinks at you, smiles, and says softly, “well... we’ve come here for a reason. Let’s do this.”

He’d probably looked up how to make flower crowns before he left, but he hasn’t actually tried it out, so now he finally has a chance.

acts like he doesn’t know how to do it, so he asks if you could explain it to him. meanwhile, you’re busy talking, he makes his own flower crown for you, nodding every time you ask him if he understood what you said.

for a first try, his flower crown looks very good - sure, it has some faults here and there, but he tried his best. he used red and white flowers and overall, it’s pretty impressive.

you look at his lap where the flower crown sits and confusion slightly takes over your face, “h-how did you... how did you manage to do it so well for the first time?!”

he laughs faintly, watching you; his gaze falls onto the flower crown as well.

“I put all my love for you into it, I guess” he murmurs to himself, hoping you didn’t catch that. He then put his crown onto your head and observes you blushing madly.

There’s something heavy in his chest, but in a positive way. He looks at you with pure adoration and love in his eyes, and then realizes... that it’s the first time in his life, when he feels loved and genuinely loves someone else.

Mephisto:

he doesn’t know how you managed to actually convince him to come, but hey, he’s here already and he’s gonna enjoy his time with you.

he loves seeing you pick flowers the most, actually; the way you just look so peaceful and happy... makes him feel e m o t I o n s.

although he’s probably seen such beautiful places already, it’s definitely a memory worth remembering; it’s also a moment when he can forget about his “worries” for a bit.

he’s been a long time on this world, thus he probably made and remembers how to make a flower crown; he pretends he doesn’t know how to do one though - he waits until you start explaining, then he’s just watching your delicate hands working on a flower crown; plus, your soothing voice makes him relaxed.

he’s amused on how silly that activity is, yet another part of him really likes this experience.

once you’re done with your flower crown, you stand up and hold it gently in your hands. He watches you and squints his eyes a little bit, trying to figure out what’s on your mind.

“Samael... The king of time,” you say calmly, your eyes wandering to Mephisto’s now smirking face as you addressed him with his real name, “But what kind of king would you be if you didn't wear the crown?”

he decides to play along and gets on one knee, lowering his head to make it easier for you to place flowers on his head.

“That’s right, darling. I’d love to get one.” he answers with his eyes closed. just as he feels the weight of the flower crown on his head, he gets up and twirls you around; he stops when your back is pressed to his chest. his hands then sneak around your waist as he whispers into your ear, “Now I am surely a king... but the king needs his queen, doesn’t he?”

Amaimon:

straight up says he doesn’t wanna go and that he can grow you flowers himself if you really wanna make that flower crowns so badly.

after 2 painful hours of begging him, he eventually agreed, but on one condition - you will have to make him food in a big, picnic basket. you couldn’t trick him though, since he promised to watch you make the food.

he insists he knows better transportation to the place instead of driving or walking, which is jumping from a tree to tree like a maniac for 15 minutes straight. you hold the basket for the dear life and pray he doesn’t drop you (spoiler: he won’t).

when you two arrive at the place, Amaimon slowly places you on the ground, letting you regain your balance. he then drags you by your hand to a random spot on the field and sits down, rummaging through the basket while you pick some flowers.

when you come back, half of the food is already gone and he looks at you with his usual, monotone expression. after a few minutes of silence, surprisingly, he’s the one to break it, saying, “mmm. those flowers are pretty boring, if you ask me.”

you pout at him, murmuring to yourself that you like the simplicity anyway. he hums in response, placing the pads of his fingers against the ground. suddenly, roots sprout near his hand, creating a wall full of different kinds of flowers - mostly colorful roses and the ones that are rare and in different parts of the world.

he cuts off some of them using his sharp nails, removes thorns and uses vines to tie them up together. you’re honestly speechless, considering that Amaimon isn’t the one that looks like a flower crown master (but he’s the king of earth... isn’t he?).

once he’s done, he looks at you, and then at the flower crown; he hesitates a little bit, thinking if he should add something more. he shakes his head, and with his still bored expression, carefully places his hard work on your head.

you blush, feeling a little ashamed of your own, plain flower crown. Amaimon however, snatches it from your hand and places it on his own head, saying, “mm, you look nice with that thing on your head. it’s kinda cute. now, make one for Behemoth. He seems like he wants one.” Behemot appears out of nowhere from behind a tree and sits down patiently, waiting for his very own flower crown.

the twins + meph and amai’s icons aren’t made by me! credit to the author! :3 headcanons have been written by me,,, just in case xD

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 55 - Utter Fixation

Title: Irreverent Pt. 55 - Utter Fixation

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~14K

A/N: This one is a doozy lols. Solnyshko is Russian for sunshine. 

Men of Irreverent: Casting

Irreverent Series Masterlist

"Nice shot." You hug Spencer, his bony frame shaking just slightly as he laughs at your comment. "Bet you don't make fun of my marksmanship again, huh?" he jostles you as the two of you stand off to the side while Derek and Aaron wrap up with the SWAT team leader and ensure that both Novak and Cavanaugh are set on their way to the hospital, with appropriate protection in place while they await their CIA handler. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen," you smirk, before looping your arm through Spencer's as he leads you out to the car. As you pass by Agent Novak in a gurney, he nods at you in thanks. You offer a smile back, trudging through the field surrounding the warehouse. Spencer doesn't say much else and you know he's trying his best not to overwhelm you. You'd seemed shell shocked when Derek had gotten to you and it was only now, when the adrenaline was seeping out of your system, that you felt more capable. You lean against the car with Spencer, your mind fogging up as you careen through everything that had happened. You hadn't seen Clyde yet, so you imagine he's at Quantico. You'll have to ask Aaron about that. It's a wonder they'd managed to actually find you, but you'd never really doubted the team, no matter how much the odds had been stacked against them. Aaron had been the one to take out Ramos. He hadn't trusted any of the SWAT guys to do it. Not when it came to you. He wouldn't trust anyone else with that. Not that he had told you, but you had known even before you got to him. You see Derek and Aaron walking towards you, Derek pulling you into a quick hug before getting into the front driver's side. You expect Aaron to go around to ride shotgun, but he follows you in as you enter the back of the car, leaving Spencer to go sit up front. When you're buckled in, you look over to him. His eyes can't seem to leave you and you're struck by the thought: he'd been genuinely scared. The car rumbles to life as Derek pulls off onto the road and with one quick glance forward to ensure that neither Derek nor Spencer are paying you much mind, you close the distance between you and Aaron in the back. You press up against him and claim his mouth, a silent reassurance that you are indeed alright. He knows what you're doing and he lets you kiss him, the silent ambient noises of the car drowning out the two of you in the back. If Morgan or Reid noticed, they wisely kept their mouths shut and their eyes trained on the road in front. He can taste you – taste your apology,  your regret. He feels your shoulders relax under his touch as his hand comes around to hold you to him. As you withdraw for a breath, he can't help the curve of his mouth from slipping into a small smile. "Does this mean we're back together?" he murmurs against your lips. He's not expecting a response beyond a laugh or agreement, but instead he sees confusion flicker onto your face as you move back to look at him properly. "What are you talking about?" He explains then. How Strauss had come to his office with the paperwork. How he'd seen your signature on the first page and she had expected he would sign the second. How he had indeed signed it, trusting that you had your reasons.

You feel your breath leave your lungs in utter disbelief. He'd thought…he'd thought you'd ended it. Just like that. He had signed it out of sheer faith and then gone home to Jack and pretended like nothing had happened. You can feel the pinprick tears in your eyes as you come to understand some of what he too must have gone through in the last couple weeks. You shake your head in disbelief, your mouth dry as you sniffle and clear your throat. "I – I didn't know," you tell him softly, your hand grasping his in the darkness. You'd never known he would have to sign something too. You'd only been shown that first page. You thought that would be it. That just you telling Strauss would be enough. Had you known – "Oh honey, I am so sorry." Your whispered apology is followed by your mouth on his once more, lips ghosting over his face, pressing to his skin. Physical atonement for the agitation and concern and worry you had no doubt caused him. Had you known that he too would have had to sign something, you would've spoken to him. Would've forced yourself to explain what was going on, as much as you could've. Perhaps you should've known better but back then, fresh after the day Clyde had taken you, your mind had been in disarray and you'd acted on instinct alone, doing your best to shield both him and Jack against any blowback from your assignment. You'd acted out of fear. Aaron only nods, drawing you in closer, tucked so close to him, you're practically in his lap. He's reacting to it a lot more calmly than you'd expected. No berating at you not thinking things through, because of course he would have to sign something too, and why wouldn't you just talk to him. Maybe, implicitly, he understood how much of a mess you'd been back then, trying to do whatever you could to remove the trail leading from you to him and Jack. Making sure that if anyone were to come after you, they would be safe.

You can feel his lips at your hairline as you push closer into him, running your fingers down his back, finding that pressure point that has him relaxing entirely under your touch as he holds you. The silent understanding that this – the two of you – was unshakeable. You'd left him and trusted him to find you. He'd let you go and trusted you to return. *------------* Clyde thought you were the mole. That you've been planted at the Bureau under your father's orders. Aaron and the others had filled you in on that as you'd neared Quantico, with Aaron still fretting that you needed sleep and rest before dealing with any of this. If it were up to him, he'd have you hooked up to an I.V. and put on bedrest. As it stood, it was not up to him, so now you're sat in a glass conference room, awaiting the rest of the team. The second you had arrived back at the Bureau, a couple agents had met you all in the parking garage and the four of you had been led past McKinney's office and to this room. You imagine the rest of the team will be joining you shortly, as you all had been the closest. It's really starting to sink in – Clyde thinks you're the mole, he'd talked to McKinney, you were escorted here by agents. You'd tried to protest when they'd met you in the garage, but one look from Aaron had you silent. He wants you to go along with this and not cause problems as long as possible. Buy time to figure out what was going on and what Clyde's angle was. It's only been a minute since you all were let into the room, Morgan and Reid were sat in chairs around the large table while Aaron stood leaned against it. He watches as you look out the glass walls, your eyes squinting, and he can tell you're thinking through what to do next. Aaron finds himself uncharacteristically calm regarding the situation – now that you're back, it shouldn't take much to convince McKinney just how ridiculous the entire notion of you being a mole really was. He isn't being naïve. He's aware that Easter potentially could have a case, given everything you've told him about your deal with your father. However, as it stands, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that it isn't the truth, and he can't imagine any proof that would show otherwise. "Can I borrow your phone?" Aaron starts at your sharp voice, your hand reaching out towards him almost impatiently. Brow furrowing in confusion, he's about to ask why, but the urgency on your face has him handing the device over before he can. He watches as you move away to the opposite side of the room, unable to step outside with two agents still standing guard. He shares a look with Morgan, who only shrugs as the two of them await the end of the call. With your head turned away to prevent Reid from watching, there isn't much more that they can do. You wrap up your call quickly, unsure how much time you have before Clyde and McKinney arrive, when you hear the door opening behind you. "Hey Cap." Your heart stops. No. It wasn't – You turn slowly, eyes widening as you see him standing in the doorway, a smile on his face, eyes crinkled at the corners. A soft gasp escapes you as you take him in. Then before you know it, you've barreled over to him, arms wrapped tight around his waist as his encircle your shoulders, tucking your head into his chest. Only one word comes to your mind, making its way down through you and settling against your ribs – Solnyshko. John presses a kiss to your hairline and you can feel the tears threatening to fall. Because if Aaron's arms were home, then John's were the lake house growing up. The one you think of fondly with the rose tinged glasses of nostalgia. Back to warm summers and too much sticky sweet ice cream dripping down your hands. To the thrill of jumping off the pier, scared and screaming and thrilled all at once. To the soft touches and gentle kisses shared on the patio with boys whom you would move on from but always remember. To the child you were, wide eyed and curious, wanting to have it all. He's a different kind of home. "We thought we could use an extra hand." You turn around at Aaron's deep voice coming from behind you, and there's a smile on his face that you're not sure how to interpret just yet. You can feel tears clouding your vision as you look at him, John's warmth still surrounding you, his arm still holding you near as he keeps you by his side. He'd called him. He'd called John. For you. Of course he had. Thank you, you mouth at him, catching just the hint of a second smile on his face before you're tackled by Penelope, who shoves John to the side. Behind her, you can make out Emily, JJ, and Rossi entering the room as well. "Oh my goodness, sugar! You're alright! I mean of course you are. We knew you'd be alright. We never doubted it, did we?" she asks Derek frenetically, whom you assume is behind you, but doesn't wait for a response before continuing her frenzied inspection, her hands running over your arms and hair, making sure nothing was out of place. "But you're alright, right? I mean when we saw what Easter did to you on that video  – so, so awful. Who would waterboard someone? I mean, sure, you can learn anything on the internet, but that is still abhorrent. But don't you worry because I'm hunting down the other guys that were there with him, so we'll take care of them and of course the Director already knows, because Hotch showed him, and – " You break away from Penelope, trying to keep pace with her mile a minute voice, trying to understand everything she'd just said, trying to figure out what video… There's a sharp inhale that you hadn't realized was your own. Your lip quivers, eyes wide as the sinking, dreadful realization reaches you. In the background you can just barely make out John's voice asking what video she's talking about. You can't do anything but shake your head in horror. No. No. That's not. No. Aaron. No no no no no. He's looking at you and you know. He knows. No. You can't breathe. You can feel the air leaving your lungs but none seems to be making its way back in. Through the din you can make out Penelope and Derek moving towards you to make sure you're alright. John is still standing right where he'd landed when Penelope had pushed past him. Aaron. He'd seen. He knows. Oh God. Behind you, the door opens once more. You don't turn around to see who it is. Not yet. Aaron watches silently as you freeze, your shoulders tensing. He'd stopped himself from grabbing you right as the door opened, not wanting to give any visual to McKinney and Easter alluding to yours and his personal relationship. He knows better and he allows the part of him that knows the political play here, to overrule the part begging him to go to you. To seize you into his arms and draw you away from this room, this building. Take you home where none of this could touch you. No one could hurt you. Instinctively, your hands graze over your stomach, stopping momentarily before continuing up to your face and wiping away at the tears that had fallen. He sees you take a deep breath. Then another. Lips pressed tightly. Hands made into fists. It's like watching a metamorphosis in reverse – the unbridled, frantic panic and fury slip away, replaced by a cocooned version of you, held tight and wound together, guarding your soft spots within. "If everyone could please take a seat." Director McKinney enters the room after Easter who had already made himself at home near the front, a stack of folders and a tablet in his hands, his eyes curiously looking over the lot of you inside. You, still turned around and facing the other way, and every other person in that room, holding their breath and waiting for you to turn back. At the sound of McKinney's voice, you push through, forcing your mind to shut out the pieces of information that were not helpful in the moment. Aaron had already talked to you on the way up about not doing anything to get on McKinney's bad side right then, and you know that refusing to acknowledge his presence while you had a breakdown in the corner wouldn't earn you any brownie points. So, simply put, you didn't have the luxury to absorb it all. You couldn't think about the fact that they knew – that Aaron knew – about what Clyde did, why you had gone to Strauss, the baby. Your baby. His baby. Your baby. You didn't have the time to let it sink in, to take him aside, to give you both the time to fall apart. You couldn't. Not now. Later. First this. Later. With that, the steel trap clamps down, caging it all away. Turning, you grab the first chair in front of you, while everyone else who had been crowded near the doorway shuffles in. Aaron quickly settles down to your left, a brush of his hand to your shoulder and a softly muttered Later that was meant for your ears alone, but was caught by John as he claims the chair to your right. As you look up, you see Gladys trotting in after McKinney, a righteous look on her face as she carries what looks like a bundle of cloth and a mug into the room right behind her boss, and walks over to set both items down in front of you. With a quick motherly brush of your hair, she leaves as quickly as she came in, defiantly avoiding McKinney's eyes. It's quiet as everyone settles in, the shuffling of clothing and people, accompanied by the groan of government budget issued chairs. You reach out for the bunched up fabric on the table in front of you and unravel it to reveal a regulation F.B.I. crewneck. You're quick to slip out of the stiff leather jacket you still had on from a day prior, revealing a strappy top beneath, which you cover up, basking in the warmth the sweater provided. Gladys had also brought you a mug of hot chocolate from the kitchens and you reach for it gratefully, taking a quick sip, the hot liquid burning a molten streak down your throat in the best of ways.

From the corner of your eye you can see the regret in Aaron's posture as he sees you enjoy the most basic of comforts offered by someone else. Something he should've considered. You're able to offer him only the slightest of assurance with your eyes – he'd found you, that's what was truly important. *------------* "Who is this?" McKinney asks, gesturing towards John once everyone was seated and Clyde was preparing to speak at the front. You exchange a look with Aaron and John both, realizing that perhaps John's presence wasn't entirely Bureau approved. "I am exercising my right to retain private counsel," you speak up before either one of them could. "That –," McKinney begins, only to be interrupted by Spencer, " – is allowed per Section 56 Code 19 of the Employee Handbook. All agents retain the right to employ private counsel in the event of accusations levied against their person as a function of their role within the Bureau." Reid rattles it all off quickly and not for the first time, you find yourself jealous of his eidetic memory. Yours was good, but not nearly like his. You shoot Spencer a grateful smile, before meeting McKinney's eyes once more. "You're paying him?" The question comes from Clyde, eyebrow raised, in a tone so derisive that you have to wonder if he had ever liked you at all, or if the man had spent the past number of months that you two worked together, silently seething at your very existence. You don't have to look at Aaron to know that he's already pulled out his wallet, when he hands you a twenty dollar bill. You slide it across the table, over to John, never once turning away from Clyde's critical look, your own unwavering under his scrutiny. He had no idea who he was going to war with. McKinney looks between you and Clyde, before sighing and nodding his okay. "Very well." He turns towards Clyde to give him the floor. Your eyes narrow as you take a sip of the hot chocolate again, careful to not show any discomfort outwards. Beneath the table, you can feel Aaron's hand resting against your thigh, the heat of it reminding you that you aren't alone. McKinney had let you have them all here with you, likely in reaction to that video, if Aaron had indeed showed it to him. He had the kindness to not make you be alone with the man who had tortured you. If Clyde was going to be accusing you of anything, he'd have to do it front of everyone. On your other side, you feel John shift, his knee skimming against yours before settling down to be right against it, a silent pledge – he's there too, and he isn't leaving. *------------* "I believe we all know why we are here," McKinney starts, his hands interlaced together on the table, a serious set to his brow. He's doing his best to keep this entire procedure civil. You know he's doing you a favor by allowing you to be there when Clyde offers up his accusation formally. He's offering you the opportunity for rebuttal before any of it is written down and documented. Saving you, potentially, from an entire formal review. Part of you wonders who that is meant to protect however – you, Clyde, or McKinney himself? You nod to indicate that you understand, meeting McKinney's eyes. Walter McKinney – as you'd come to learn – was a fair man and his rise in the Bureau had been no fluke. He knows that the reason you'd brought in the BAU at all was because you hadn't trusted anyone – not even him. You have to believe that when the two of you do eventually speak alone, that he would understand why. Clyde clears his throat, turning everyone's attention to him and the screen. Him, you were extremely wary of. You had been immediately after he'd tortured you, of course. However, he'd managed to convince you, that for him, that had been standard operating procedure. He'd been able to use your own fear and insecurities to convince you to go along with it. Were he not sitting across a table, gearing up to accuse you of treason, you might have allowed that one act to pass – he had simply been trying to make sure you were prepared for the worst. Not anymore. "I would've preferred this meeting be held behind closed doors," he begins, tilting back in his chair and keeping one eye trained on you at all times as though he thought you'd try and pull a disappearing act, "However, no matter. I will be walking through the evidence gathered against Agent L/N, proving that she has been a plant working against the Bureau since the very beginning." His declaration is followed by silence from everyone else in the room, and were it not for the seriousness of the accusation, you might've laughed. The screen at the front of the room flickers on, and a black and white surveillance quality photo of an airstrip appears. You're disembarking with your father at your side. You're eighteen, your hair up in a ponytail, John's Columbia Law School hoodie, rumpled from far too many hours on an airplane. Beside you, you feel him tense as he too realizes exactly how old this photograph is. How young you were in that. It's from that summer, so very long ago. When he and Julian had gone on that trip, just the two of them. You'd gone with your father. There's a man standing by a car at the foot of the steps leading down from the plane. For the first time in over seven years, you set eyes on Volkov again. "For those of you who may not be aware, the man in the photo is Alexander Volkov. Volkov is wanted by many Eastern European governments, and is notoriously on the books for the Russian government, despite no official ties. If you recall the bombing in Sokovia, five years ago, you're looking at the man responsible." Easter had been part of Olympus. He hasn't confirmed it, but that was the only thing that made sense. You look around and know that at least both Aaron and Emily had reached a similar conclusion. Nothing else would explain him having surveillance photos of you from a decade ago. In the wake of Clyde's explanation, you can feel Aaron's eyes on you from your left, but you don't dare look at him. The rest of the team is taking his lead and not saying anything in response either, for fear they might say the wrong thing. Ultimately, it's John who speaks up. "She's eighteen there, practically a child. What exactly is the purpose of showing us this?" Clyde's eyes narrow as he realizes that this won't be quite as easy as anticipated. If he'd expected Aaron or the others to display any shock or revulsion at his revelation…well, he really didn't know your team that well, did he? "It sets the foundation," Clyde counters, his hand once more on the controller. "A pattern of behavior, indicative of less than honorable intentions, bad company, and plenty of opportunity." With that, he clicks a button on the remote, replacing the photo with another one. This one is of just you, exiting a building on Harvard's campus. You have to be in your second year – your hair is dyed because Matthew liked it better that way and you'd given in to his request. You're carrying books in your hand as you walk, hair whipping around in the wind. It's you, but it looks nothing like you. With a deep internal sigh, you sink in further into your chair. You had a better idea now of where this was going. "This was taken outside the Lowell Lecture Hall. You were seen entering and exiting the building the entirety of the Fall semester, right in time for the Math 55 lecture," Clyde announces, his eyes issuing a challenge at you to explain this away. Unfortunately for him, his jab doesn't quite land with the audience, as Rossi raises an eyebrow at him. "What does a Math class have anything to do with this?" However, instead of Clyde, it is Reid who answers him. "Harvard, oddly enough isn't known for its advanced math program but it is known for one particular class," Reid explains quickly, his eyes flitting over you with some curiosity. "When you're good at math - good enough to get into Harvard - you take a math class called "Math 15". When you're better than that you take "Math 25", but when you're the best, the absolute best, you take "Math 55": Honors Advanced Calculus and Linear Algebra. Graduates are immediately employed by the U.S. Government because they're too dangerous to work anywhere else. More specifically, they're employed at the NSA." Reid's spiel is met with mixed reactions. Rossi shifts back in his seat, hands crossed in front of him, an oddly smug look on his face. The rest of the team looks mildly surprised as they process what Reid had said. Aaron sits beside you, unshaken, and John of course had already known you had attended the class. Clyde clears his throat, shifting forward in his seat. "Thank you, Agent Reid," he says to Spencer in a clipped tone that has you bristling in reaction. "Doctor." He looks up at your interruption, brow quirked in question. "It's not Agent. It's Dr. Reid," you clarify, your lips pursed, jaw tight. "You took this class?" McKinney asks, finally breaking his silence since Clyde had begun. You swallow, meeting his eyes. He was still your mentor. What he thought about you, still mattered. You can feel the attitude you'd just given Clyde waning ever so slightly. "I audited it. For all anyone knows, I would've flunked out." "No, you wouldn't," McKinney replies quietly, his gaze appraising. His dark eyes holding all the knowledge on you that he'd amassed in the past year of being your closest supervisor within the Bureau. He has no doubts when it comes to your capabilities. "Why didn't you just enroll in it?" You shrug nonchalantly, the large crewneck shifting off your shoulders slightly as you do. "It's a large commitment. I didn't want to be beholden to every assignment. I already had a lot on my plate." It wasn't a lie. Not exactly anyways. McKinney looks like he doesn't quite believe you. You thrive with having too much to do. "Is that the only reason?" he digs, his eyes firmly on you, watching for anything, any sign. You let out a short breath of exasperation which you manage to disguise, deciding to just give them what they wanted. "I didn't exactly want to be on a list of people considered dangerous by the US government. I wouldn't have said yes to working for the NSA. I wanted to be a lawyer." Your eyes cut to John and he meets them, because you both know – you had wanted to be a lawyer because he was. It had been part of the plan. Your plan with him. Your justification is met with some more silence and you can tell, that for McKinney, the deck is slowly starting to stack against you. He now viewed you as intentionally deceptive regarding your abilities and usefulness to the government. As ex military, to him, that was on par with avoiding the draft. "Attending closed session classes that you weren't actually enrolled in wasn't the only thing you did in college. You also made quite a few friends, didn't you? You aren't exactly a stranger to relationships of convenience." As Clyde speaks, the screen changes once more behind him and a photo from the ill fated engagement shoot that Matthew's mother had insisted on pops up. Your hair is curled, you're wearing a long burgundy  gown, standing beside Matthew in front of Lippman House, where the two of you had first met. You're smiling, both of you. On your hand sits an incredibly prominent ring, the stone shining brilliantly in the sunlight. This time, both John and Aaron tense, and your mind, unwanted, goes back to the video that he'd seen. There's a chance – if they'd caught what you said to Clyde's lackey towards the end. There's a chance that Aaron knows about Matthew. About what he'd done. You can't look at him. Instead, you look across to Derek, who's shifted forward in his chair, his fists tightly balled up on the table in front of him, his brow furrowed and body tense as he looks from the screen, to you, and then to Aaron beside you, before meeting your eyes again. He doesn't have to say it. The way his eyes go from Aaron and then you and back to Aaron, says it all. Fuck. "My personal relationships are not up for discussion," you assert slowly, the feeling of all eyes on you causing your skin to break out with goosebumps. "You don't get to decide what is and isn't relevant here," Clyde rebuts, venom in his voice. "Is this how things are done at Interpol? Because in polite society, we don't simply ambush people." John's tone might be light but his posture spoke to how much he was holding back in making just that small comment. You know, that if you gave the go ahead, he would obliterate Clyde. "Don't worry Mr. Hawthorne," Clyde smirks. "I'm certain over the course of this discussion, we will arrive at the matter of you as well. Pretty sure I saw some your face in the stack as well. Or, is your objection to the fact that you were never anything official – just used and tossed aside when it was convenient?" This bastard. The fury you feel at him talking to John in that way. For him to insinuate that he knew anything about you and John. For him to talk down to John like that. You open your mouth to tell him off, but before you can, you feel the dig of John's fingers at your thigh and you look up to see him shake his head. He knows that you wouldn't let something like that about him simply pass. He's telling you that he knows what you were, and that Clyde – well, Clyde could go fuck himself. John didn't want you tossing your cards down just for him. Hold on to them. You're going to need them. You press your lips together tight and bite your tongue, your hand reaching for his under the table, fingers intertwining with his. He squeezes your hand gently – once, twice, thrice – just how he used to, before letting go. Aaron watches the interaction between you and John, before turning his attention back to Easter, who waits for a beat more, trying to bait you into lashing out, before he moves on. The screen changes once more, to be replaced with a photograph of you with three boys. You're on what appears to be a yacht, the blue ocean spanning out endlessly behind you. You're seated on the shoulders of a tall man with short, dark hair and light brown skin, his hands wrapped around your thighs to hold you steady atop him. Your hair is back to its natural shade and it cascades past your shoulders, hitting the top of your bikini clad breasts, your white bathing suit stark against your sun-kissed skin. Beside the two of you, are two other men – one with darker hair, standing nearly as tall at the first while the other – a stocky blond – sits atop his shoulders. The four of you are grinning, smiles carefree and happy as can be. The kind of loose joy that is really only found amongst college students indulging in spring break a little too much. "You know, Clyde, just because you don't have friends of your own for show and tell, doesn't mean you can use mine." The smartass comment is out of your mouth before you could hold it back and you know you'll pay for it later as Clyde elects to ignore it in the moment. From your left you feel Aaron's eyes on you briefly before darting back to the front. Well, you were definitely going to pay for it in one way at least. "Patrick Kane," Easter's laser points to the stocky blond man, before the screen changes to reveal just a photo of him. "His father is part of the Irish mob and runs their international businesses out of Europe. He himself now owns leadership of the faction out of London." Kane was going to love that he had been part of your indictment with the Bureau. He was sure to get a particular kick out of it, considering the number of times he got in trouble because you and Ricky decided to burst into his classes and stage a kidnapping. But well, it was usually warranted. Impromptu trips to the Hamptons took precedence over Psych 101.  

From the corner of your eye you can see Penelope appraising Kane with some interest and you have a feeling you're going to be talking to her about all the boys afterwards. The screen changes again to reveal Ambrose Hastings - Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome himself. However this time, the photo of him is shown only briefly before its replaced with another one that has your breath catching. Hastings is seated with you in his lap, your lips slotted against his, a large hand wrapped around your back, holding you close to him. "Ambrose Hastings and his father own the largest weapons contracts internationally, for those of you who many not know. Just friends, huh? " Clyde's taunt has your eyes flashing with rage. How on earth had he gotten this photograph?! You know for a fact that this wasn't posted anywhere. It's from the trip to Monte Carlo for your twenty first birthday. You're wearing the black dress with the deep slit up one side, a tiara sitting at the crown of your head. Ambrose's large hands splayed across your thigh and his lips keeping yours warm, as was your pattern anytime you and Matthew were on a break. John has come to the same realization as you. This is not a photograph that you or anyone in the group would've leaked. Which meant that Easter had acquired it himself. There's a grim set to his shoulders as the two of you exchange a look, before he speaks. "What did you do, pay off the waitstaff for that?" When Clyde doesn't say anything in response, you have your answer. He had. He had set up someone on the yacht to get anything they could on you. The feeling of revulsion that crawls through you at that realization – he had been watching you, even in spaces where you should have had the assumption of privacy. "This is a cheap ploy," John continues, now that he had the confirmation on exactly how far Easter had gone to gather his so-called evidence against you. "You think you can slander Agent L/N and make inappropriate digs to provoke Agent Hotchner. However all you've accomplished thus far is displaying your inappropriate invasion of privacy into the life of a young woman, which would normally be grounds for a harassment suit." The barely veiled threat is in John's words. If Clyde doesn't have anything real to share, and soon, he will bury him. Before Clyde has a chance to say anything more, there's a knock at the door, and Gladys peaks her head in to interrupt. "Excuse me," she starts, her hand against the door to hold it ajar ever so slightly, "There is a call from Director Richards." "See if I can return the call later today," McKinney tells her quickly, before turning back to the table to continue the discussion. "Actually sir, the call is for Agent L/N," she clarifies, her eyes meeting McKinney's firmly before shifting over to you. You can feel the sharpness of McKinney's gaze on you as he wonders why Richards is calling you directly. With a quick look around, you stand with a nod towards Gladys. "I'll take it outside, thank you." With that, you quickly walk around the table and out the door, following her to McKinney's office, where she's routed the call for you. In the wake of your departure, the room is quiet. John turns to Aaron, one eyebrow raised in question. "Director Richards, as in – ?" Aaron looks quickly towards McKinney, whose eyes are fixed on the door where you'd left, before he nods at John in confirmation. Director Richards, as in, the director of the CIA, had called and asked for you personally. *------------* You're gone for ten minutes which might as well have been an hour, for as long as it stretched out. Easter tried to engage McKinney into a side conversation twice, before giving up and sulking at the front. Prentiss and JJ's eyes flit from the door, to Easter, and then one another, the two of them engaged in a silent conversation he wasn't privy to. On his right, Aaron can see John and Garcia engaged in a hushed conversation as she types away at her laptop, seemingly looking up something for him. Aaron meets Rossi and Morgan's eyes, both of them carrying the same question that was in McKinney's stalwart gaze that had locked on the door you'd left through and not wavered in the ten minutes since. Why on earth was the director of the CIA calling you right now? How did he even know you? Despite your offer from the CIA, Aaron can hardly imagine that the Director himself would be involved, so even that kernel of knowledge that he has over the others doesn't offer any clarity in the moment. At just past ten minutes, you can be seen making your way back, quickly bypassing the two agents still standing guard, one of them opening the door to let you in. You're met with McKinney's pointed look as soon as you enter, demanding some sort of explanation. You clear your throat and offer a polite smile. "Both Agents Novak and Cavanaugh are recovering well," you reveal, standing demurely in front of Director McKinney, who eyes you with a guarded look, no doubt simmering at the notion of one of his peers deigning to circumvent him and go directly to one of his agents. "Director Richards asked that I pass on his gratitude for the Bureau's role in the rescue and recovery of his agents. He will be reaching out to you again, later, in order to thank you properly." McKinney nods slowly, giving you permission to return to your seat, despite knowing that that had hardly been everything Richards had spoken to you about. A thank you did not take ten minutes. A mere thank you, would not have gone to you directly. Not if you didn't have some sort of personal relationship with Richards that he wasn't privy to. There is a palpable shift in the room as you reclaim your seat, making a show of taking your time to settle back in properly, leaning forward to grab a bottle of water from the center of the table and then unhurriedly opening it, taking a delicate sip, closing it, and then setting it back on the table before shifting in your seat to where your elbow rests on the arm of the chair closest to Aaron. Your posture is slouched, where before you had been a stiff board. As you lean closer to him, deliberately tilting your head to appear that much more near him, Aaron gets a whiff of that smell that is undoubtedly you. You, without a proper shower, but still you. Yes, it is quite obvious that you and Director Richards had spoken far beyond a simple exchange of gratitude. The tides have changed. *------------* Easter attempts to continue as though nothing had transpired, resuming his position at the helm, the image of you and Hastings kissing – which Aaron had carefully avoided looking at for the past ten minutes, because far be it from to judge you on your past, no matter who it was with – replaced by one of the final boy. "Ricky Costello, part of the Costello family. Son of Frank Costello." Easter doesn't bother expanding further. There wasn't an agent on the eastern seaboard that wasn't familiar with the Costello family. So this was the kid who had punched van Doren in the face. Aaron liked this one. He liked him a fair amount more than Hastings, that was for sure. Across the way, he sees Rossi's eyebrows raise with some surprise, a glint of recognition in his eyes. He isn't entirely surprised by that. He'd always known that Rossi had ties with the Italian crime families. Easter clicks another button and a series of surveillance photos replaces Costello. They are all black and white, with the date on the corner indicating that they are all from last year. You're getting into your car, with Costello helping you in, the two of you smiling at one another. "Would you like to explain what you were doing, speaking with Ricky Costello last year? This was after you started working on Atlantis." You remain nonchalant, taking another sip of the hot chocolate that was bound to be cold by now, but you'd never deny yourself chocolate in any form. You casually smirk up at Easter's question, answering it only with a shrug. "Were you giving Costello information regarding Atlantis?" Easter probes, his frustration with your changed demeanor highly evident. He had preferred when you were at least somewhat taking this seriously. "Is a connection with the Costello family all it takes to accuse someone of treason nowadays?" you drawl, eyeing Easter from behind the rim of your mug, before leaning forward and setting it down on the table. "In that case, there might be some other people you want to have a talk with." Aaron is fully expecting you to be hinting at Rossi with that line, though why you'd throw him under the bus was a mystery. However, he watches as you stare resolutely ahead. Except, you aren't looking at Easter. You definitely aren't looking at Rossi. No, you're looking at McKinney. McKinney who, if Aaron isn't mistaken, looks just the slightest bit uncomfortable in the wake of your statement. McKinney who shifts in his chair ever so slightly, his eyes darting down and to the left imperceptibly quickly – something that might have gone unnoticed otherwise, but unfortunately for him, he happened to be seated in a room full of profilers. Huh. "Let's move on, shall we," McKinney instructs Easter, avoiding your eyes and everyone else's in the room. Easter's mouth falls open in disbelief at the turn of events. Your presence, which you'd kept buttoned up for the first half of this meeting, now permeated the room, and Aaron is reminded all over again of your interview. How he had initially sat back, waiting for you to stumble. How you'd gone one by one, getting to or through to each of them. How you'd called out even his bluff. You were commanding, charming, and serene all at once, and he'd marveled at how one person could possibly embody all those things at the same time. "You shot me!" Easter accuses, grasping for something, provoked by your calm attitude, and believing that to be his hole in one. The one thing that could not be denied. His one piece of evidence against you that couldn't be brushed aside, threatened away, or dismissed. "Yes, you got me there," you chuckle lightly, and Aaron almost feels bad for Easter. Almost. Across the way, Morgan has a smirk on his face that likely matches his own. You shift forward, placing your hands on the table in front of you, your eyes trained critically on Easter and Easter alone. "I shot you twice, actually. Once, two centimeters above the center of the heart and another to the left, one centimeter below the fifth rib. Both shots take advantage of the portions of the vest designed to be thickest and also are far enough away from any major arteries to avoid you bleeding out to death in the event that the vest isn't enough. Even if both shots had made it to their destination, you would have had at least thirty five to forty minutes, at minimum, before you were in any real danger of not recovering. If you don't believe me, I suggest you ask a doctor." With that, you lean back once more, giving both Easter and McKinney the opportunity to offer a response in opposition. After a few seconds, when neither one is forthcoming, you sit up straight once more. "Why were you dismissed from Project Olympus?" *------------* You watch, your eyes directly on Clyde as he falters under your gaze. You can tell that your question had caught McKinney by surprise as well. McKinney, who had looked at you differently ever since the call with Richards. You would have to thank the man later. His call could not have come at a more opportune time. With Clyde unable to answer the question, you decide to answer it for him. "Is it because you wasted resources and defied orders by continuing surveillance on me because you were convinced that I had something to do with my father's business?"

“How would you know that?” McKinney asks, though his eyes say that he already knows. He is merely confirming in order to have your answer on the record.

“Director Richards was on Olympus as well,” you answer. “He was highly surprised when he learned that Agent Easter was overseeing the investigation into the Atlantis disappearances.”

McKinney nods, having expected that, you’re sure. You already know he’s trying his best to piece together what little he could about your conversation with Richards. No doubt, it’s something he’ll question you about in more detail when it’s just the two of you later on.

You both turn back to Clyde expectantly, still waiting for him to chime in with an explanation. Director Richards’ word would be taken at face value and McKinney wouldn’t question it. Not for this. "Anyone who paid the slightest bit of attention – every single person on that assignment – they should've seen what I saw,” Clyde seethed, pushing up from the table and standing up, his body trembling with caged fury. “He took you along to meetings. He introduced you to his contacts. You were being initiated, tested. Of course I kept an eye on you! It would have been negligent not to." You shake your head in disbelief at exactly how unhinged he sounded. How incensed. This wasn’t a man who had proof. This was a man who had believed his theory for a long time, and was unwilling to part ways with it. "And what did you see?" you ask, crossing your arms across your chest. "I saw a girl who was making connections - with everyone. Sons of the mob, the mafia, and the cartels. Saudi princes and daughters of Russian tycoons. Up and coming Chinese heiresses. If there was a single person with even the slightest of pull on that campus, they knew your name. They considered you a friend. You're telling me that's the move of someone who wasn't establishing themselves to take over the reins?" "What can I say? I'm a friendly person."

It wasn’t clear to just you. It was clear to everyone that Clyde didn’t have proof. None to speak of. "If you'd spent even half as much time and effort into watching her father that you did into watching her, maybe you would have learned enough about him to know that he would have never made her his plant in the Bureau. A plant is someone dispensable. You don't put what is potentially your best asset in the hands of the enemy. Far too much danger of them turning," John declared, his face betraying how astonished he felt at Clyde’s obsession with you. Of all people, he’s had some experience in men who become unhealthily attached to you. It never ends well for them. "Not to mention the fact that you cannot possibly think very highly of me,” you continue from where John left off. “If you think my grand plan was to bide my time within a faction of the Bureau with minimal ties to core operations, wait four years to enter into a relationship with a Unit Chief, compared to whom, my clearance level is actually significantly higher,” you state, before turning to place a hand on Aaron’s arm. “No offense honey.”

Aaron barely conceals his amused snort at that, the smirk that had taken residence on his face ever since you flipped the tables on Easter, firmly in place. "That's true,” John agrees, and you can tell that he’s enjoying the return to your typical repartee that the two of you have always had. The one that most outsiders find intimidating to keep up with. “If you'd wanted to infiltrate the Bureau, that role in White Collar was much better suited.” "You’re right,” you nod. “And it would've taken me only a couple of months to get everything I need. Agent Barton would've been an easy mark. I'm just his type."

Aaron watches as Easter appears to regroup and the Director looks deep in thought as he works his way through the quick back and forth performance you and John had put forward. From the corner of his eye, he sees John lean in to you, hiding his mouth behind his hand as he whispers something into your ear. You lean back sharply, your face the picture of disbelief as you think through whatever it was that he’d said to you.

Clearing your throat, you nod towards Garcia. “Agent Garcia, could you please pull up the first case I ever logged? It would have been during the third month that I was a trainee.”

From the front of the room both McKinney and Easter’ brows furrow, along with the rest of theirs, wondering what you were getting at. It’s Morgan who voices what they were all thinking. “What does your first case logged have to do with this?”

Your eyes flit from Morgan to Easter, barely stopping at McKinney, before you wordlessly direct Garcia to proceed with pulling up the case. “My third month while I was a trainee, someone broke into my apartment. Nothing was taken, but I could tell that someone had been there, so I dusted for prints and logged it. I ran it against the system but it didn’t turn up with anything then. The thing is, trainees only have access to the domestic IAFIS database.”

At that, your eyes flash dangerously towards Easter and the implication of what you’re saying has Aaron’s hackles raised. Easter sits straighter, just the slightest bit tense as Garcia pulls up the case and then runs them against Easter’s fingerprints.

The blaring negative result for a match has your jaw tightening and Easter sporting a smug smile that Aaron truly can’t wait to have wiped off of his face forever.

You take a breath, knowing that running it against the entire system would take far too long. Eyes narrowed, you look towards Easter once more. “You don’t really like getting your hands dirty yourself, do you?” you muse, your voice low and contemplative as you appraise Easter’s reaction to your conjecture.

“Garcia, compare the prints against Eli Black, Harold Woodshire, and Stefan Dupont.”

Garcia starts to pull up the prints of the Interpol agents you’d provided, when McKinney jumps in. “Agent L/N, don’t you think you are perhaps being just a little paranoid?”

Garcia looks between you and McKinney, the two of you engaged in a standoff that he was unlikely to win.

“Run it,” you instruct, knowing that Garcia’s loyalty to you far outweighed anything that McKinney could say to her in that moment.

The entire room waits with bated breath as Garcia runs the prints against the names provided. It’s tense as Easter’s eyes flit nervously between the screen that Garcia had commandeered away from him, and both you and McKinney, still looking at one another, your gaze staunchly defiant.

The system blares, stopping at Eli Black – a 100% match. They all look to the screen and Aaron’s stomach clenches as they look at the face of the man who had beaten you and strapped you down in the video, his eyes just as pale and emotionless in his Interpol I.D. photograph as they’d been when he’d put his hands on you.

There’s a tight smile on your face, your eyes shifting away from McKinney’s without comment, fixed on Easter once more. “I didn’t actually go to law school, but we happen to have two lawyers in the room right now. Remind me,” you say, a quirk of your eyebrow in John’s direction, “what’s the fourth amendment, again?”

John has a dark smirk on his face as he realizes you’re finally giving him full permission to do whatever he wants to, and in that moment, Aaron can quite easily see how he had the highest conviction rate in the entire New York state D.A.’s office. “The Fourth Amendment strictly prohibits unreasonable searches and seizures,” he states, the forced calm of his voice just barely masking the thundering rage that was coming off of him in waves, his chest expanding as he sits at his full height, towering over the table.

“How much you want to bet, that wasn’t a sanctioned search?” you quip, mirroring his expression, your tone hinting that this wasn’t the first time the two of you had paired up to dress someone down in prime fashion.

“Easy enough to find out. All we’d have to do is pull up the logs on warrants,” John replies, his eyes locked on Easter, daring him to say or do anything to further paint himself into a corner.

There’s a beat while Clyde seems to process everything that had just happened. Absorb how the script had been flipped around on him. McKinney was looking at him with a great deal of concern and you know that Clyde can see it on the Director’s face as well – any credibility that Clyde might have had with him was quickly dissipating. The combination of that video and everything that had come forward, along with the lack of concrete proof and now this, had McKinney finally arriving at a decision regarding the validity of Clyde’s accusation. "Then why?” Clyde asks, sounding as though he couldn’t quite believe anything that had transpired. “Why would someone of your pedigree and connections ever deign to be a federal agent?”

You close your eyes for a moment, having put together the final piece that had always plagued you. You don’t have to guess at whether or not you’re right. You know you are.

“Because you knew. People like you, knew. You knew that he murdered Julian and you chose to look the other way. Pinning him for killing some kid didn’t matter to you. Not when you could potentially be the people to bring down him and his empire. Why settle? Because you knew, and the second he decided to turn on me, you’d let him get away with that too. Because I refused to be yet another casualty of my father’s greed.”

You can feel the tears glistening in your eyes and you’re quick to blink them away while Aaron finds your hand on the table and grasps it firmly in his, his thumb caressing your palm comfortingly. He hadn't known that you'd truly feared this level of retaliation from your father, and your desperation to get onto the team takes on a new layer of meaning for him.

You clear your throat before continuing, taking stock of every single person seated around that table that was here because of you. JJ, smiling at you kindly while throwing her dirtiest looks at Clyde. Spencer, who had chimed in repeatedly and who you knew was about to pester you about Math 55’s coursework endlessly afterwards – after all, there had been a reason you’d never told him about it. Rossi, smugly claiming you as his own, his gaze proud as can be. Penelope, who was still wordlessly apologizing for bringing up that video earlier, and who you knew was going to ruin those guys’ lives because of what they had done to you. Emily, who was glaring daggers at Clyde and likely planning out the various ways she could torture him right back. Derek, who would have your back in any situation, any circumstance, no matter what. Aaron, whose hand was warm against yours and who had let you handle this yourself because that was your guys’ agreement. At work, you were your own person and he would allow you to navigate and deal with everything by yourself, until you asked for his help. Aaron, who would go out of his way to do anything for you at home, who would go to the ends of the earth to make sure you were alright.

“Because, you’ve seen what this team does in order to protect our own. Joining them ensured that I couldn’t just disappear.”

*------------* There’s a long silence, during which all you’re really aware of is the seconds hand on the clock ticking away. Clyde isn’t looking at anyone. McKinney is switching between looking at you and Clyde both and you can feel him assessing everything said and shown. Weighing the proof or lack thereof. Thinking through the implications of Richards offering up the information on Clyde’s dismissal to you personally.

Beside you, Aaron has shifted and dragged your hand back with his, placing both in his lap so he can hold onto yours tighter. You can’t help but feel your heart tremble ever so much as his thumb drags itself back and forth over your palm, paying extra special attention to the deep indentations that have been left over the past couple of days, and especially the past half hour.

When you’d said that this team protects its own, what you’d really meant was Aaron. Of course the rest of them would protect you too, in a heartbeat. But Aaron protects differently. He does what needs to be done. Not what you ask him to do. Maybe at the time, you’d resented him for lying about Emily’s death. Over time, you’ve come to realize that he had done whatever needed to be done to make sure that she would be safe. He’d known the team would hate him for it and he’d done it anyways, because who cared if you were upset with him or not talking to him as long as it also meant that Emily was safe and alive.

To your other side, John has shifted so he’s leaning closer to you, his elbow on the arm of your chair, and you know that he – out of them all – had known how truly afraid you’d been in New York. How you’d lived in constant fear of your father finding out what you and him were doing and turning the full brunt of his fury towards you. You wouldn’t have survived that. Not then.

After a few more minutes, McKinney stands, and you know he’s arrived at a decision. “There remains the matter of the actual mole,” he states, bypassing any discussion on anything you or Clyde had said. With that one statement, he was declaring your innocence while electing to ignore everything else. You shouldn’t have expected any different from him. For him, all that mattered was ensuring the sanctity of the Bureau.

You squeeze Aaron’s hand before your hand away, back to the table, and with a nod at McKinney, turn to Clyde. “Where’s my locket?”

However, instead of Clyde, it’s Aaron who answers you. “I have it.”

You turn back towards him and watch as he shifts to bring out the chain and pendant from the inside pocket of his jacket and set it on the table in front of you gently.

Why Aaron had the locket instead of Clyde, was something you’d have to ask him later. For the time being, you focused on answering the Director’s question.

“When I was with Jansen, he revealed some details regarding the mole which were enough for me to create a preliminary profile,” you divulge, reaching and picking up the locket. “Rossi, can I see your wallet?”

Rossi gives you an odd look, but leans into his pants pocket and retrieves the wallet, tossing it to you from across the table.

You flip it open and search though, looking for the thick metal card, while everyone’s eyes are on you. When you find what you’re looking for, you fish it out.

“I just need to double check a couple of details, but if I’m not mistaken, I think I know who in the Bureau is the mole,” you say, as you latch the metal card into the bottom two prongs of the pendant, and with some leverage from the table, manage to flip them open.

Aaron looks at you and you mutter a quick Sorry, honey to him, before sliding the stone out of the setting to reveal a black memory card behind it.

Everyone watches as the memory card is taken out of the base of the pendant, having sat there behind the deep emerald stone, unbeknownst to them all. You slide it over to Garcia, who eagerly takes it off your hand.

“When we started looking at everyone on the project team for Atlantis,” you start again while Garcia is working on getting the information in the chip loaded to her computer, “we tracked financial statements primarily, to see who was receiving or had funds available to them which they shouldn’t.  Additionally, I did an assessment of assets  – mostly real estate and artwork – as that is often used to hide illegal assets. Most people checked out, others had some assets that were questionable but nothing that rose to the threshold that we were using for our assessment. However, during my conversation with Jansen, he told me that the mole in the Bureau was effective because he didn’t take monetary payment.”

“What kind of payment does he take?” McKinney asks curiously, now leaning in across the table. He’d seemed mildly taken aback when you’d broken the pendant to take out the microchip you’d hidden, and now that you were being forthcoming about your suspicions, seemed more than willing to listen to what you had to say.

Clyde sat sulking at the front.

You clear your throat, a grimace taking form as you recall your conversation with Jansen. “Apparently, little girls make for compelling payment.”

JJ has a sharp inhale and Garcia momentarily stops typing as your words sink in.

“Once Agent Garcia is able to fully read in the data, we can reassess the real estate holdings. We’ll be looking for property which could be used to easily conceal the presence of children.”

When Jansen had told you how his plant was paid, you’d had the bone chilling realization that your late night excursions over a month and a half ago had not been a mere coincidence. What you’d feared had come to fruition. The smell of smoke still lingers in your brain.

“Who do you think it is?” Rossi asks as you toss his wallet back to him.

“Alexander Pierce. He’s the only one that fits the profile of a child molester.”

McKinney appears beyond shocked. Pierce was at the level directly below him. He’s the favorite to take the reins of the entire Bureau in the upcoming decade. They’ve worked together for years and are at least friendly. Yet, he doesn’t question you. He doesn’t tell you that you might be wrong. Instead, he turns resolutely towards Rossi.

“Dave, due to the changed circumstances, I ask that you oversee the investigation and if warranted, subsequent arrest of Agent Pierce.”

Rossi nods, so McKinney continues as he sweeps up his files from the table and stands, buttoning his jacket as he does, effectively drawing your indictment to a close.

“Agent Easter, I will be speaking with the Interpol Director regarding your actions and composure on this assignment. I believe the three of us will have much to discuss together. Agent L/N, you have the entirety of the BAU, with Agent Rossi, to assist you in closing this out. Ideally, the two of us will sit down on Monday and discuss your role in all of this as well, beginning with the disclosure of classified information to outside parties without requisite clearance.”

You sigh internally, squeezing Aaron’s hand once more as he opens his mouth to likely speak up against McKinney still trying to read you the riot act. You’d expected as much. He wasn’t the type to let that slide – especially not with you rubbing his nose in Richards calling you directly.

"Yes sir," you nod.

Having said all he had to say, all of you watch as McKinney takes his leave with a sweep of the room, the door shutting behind him.

*------------*

In McKinney’s wake, everyone looks at Easter, who appears incredibly uncomfortable and looked to be assessing whether or not he was meant to stay. He seemed to have reached a conclusion, as he stands and makes his way towards the door.

“You know,” you speak up as Easter approaches the door, and Aaron watches as you break the man down with your gaze alone. “For someone who thinks I’m capable of any number of atrocious things, you sure didn’t seem to have a problem with pissing me off.”

Your words are said with a casual overtone as you remain seated, the perfect air of ease about you, designed to draw a rise out of Easter, who had one hand on the doorknob, having turned around at the sound of your voice.

At your words, he scoffs. “What is that supposed to be? A threat?” He raises an eyebrow at you and tilts back into his quietly assured self.

Your lips purse ever so slightly and your eyes flash, before your mouth widens into a smile. The kind of smile that would have grown men running for the hills. “No. That wasn’t a threat,” you clarify, shifting to sit up straight once again. “This is. You come near me or mine again, and you will find out exactly how much I learned from my father.”

Easter looks like he’s ready to dismiss your threats, rolling his eyes and turning around.

“Передай от меня привет Даниэлю.”

He turns sharply, his face paling at whatever you’d said to him. His eyes search yours for any doubt, any hesitation. He appears to have seen the staunch truth in them, as he only swallows, his Adam’s apple protruding, and if Aaron wasn’t mistaken there was a slight tremor in his hand as he once again opens the door, and this time, manages to exit the room.

You close your eyes, your shoulder slumping, a deep sigh workings its way through your body. When you open them, all eyes are on you.

“Pen, once the files are available, you’ll want to start with Pierce’s properties in the countryside,” you instruct softly. “Anderson is already watching him,” your eyes cut to Aaron and he realizes who that phone call you’d made earlier had been to. You had asked Anderson to go and watch Pierce while you dealt with Easter and McKinney, knowing you needed to reestablish your credibility with the Director before you could make any accusations of your own.

Garcia nods and the rest of them remain silent as you turn to Rossi. “Can I have twenty minutes?” you ask, the fullness of your voice hinting at just how exhausted you must be.

At Rossi’s nod, you push up from the table, and with a squeeze to John’s shoulder, make your way out of the room with Aaron at your heels. He knew to go with you. You didn’t have to ask. Not with him.

*------------*

As the team watches you and Hotch leave, Morgan turns to Emily, eyebrow raised. “That was Russian, wasn’t it?”

She nods, however Hawthorne also agrees with a quiet Yes.

At that, her eyebrows raised at him in some surprise. He was a New York State District Attorney. Language skills weren’t exactly a part of the job description. “You know Russian,” she asks, the lilt in her voice hinting at her surprise.

He chuckles, a smirk on his face as he looks up at her with those ocean blue eyes, amusement dancing in them. “Who do you think taught her?” All at once, Emily can entirely see how you and him had once worked so very well together. It had been clear since the moment they'd entered the room, Hawthorne wrapping you up in his arms. There was a quiet electricity to your interactions with him – a palpable connection which easily transcended everything else. There was a casual ease to your demeanor with Hawthorne that you and Hotch rarely allowed yourselves while at work, and Emily has to once again admire how well Hotch had maintained himself throughout the entirety of the meeting. He'd allowed you and Hawthorne the lead in retaliation against Clyde, knowing that drawing any additional attention to you and him wouldn't help your case. He'd bided his time, biting back any number of choice words he must've had for Clyde, letting you take the reins on it all, because it was your meeting, your case, your indictment. Anything she might have believed about Hotch when it came to him being controlling and overbearing had fallen apart, having witnessed exactly how well he took a backseat when it was important for you that he do so.

“So what did she say to Easter,” Rossi asks, drawing both of their attention away from one another.

Emily takes it upon herself, even though she had no idea what your words had actually meant. “Say hello to Daniel for me.”

“Who’s Daniel?” Morgan asks, his brow crinkling, gaze fixed on where you’d sat next to Hawthorne.

They both shrug.

“So um,” Garcia starts, shifting everyone’s attention to her as she looks hesitantly between Rossi and Morgan, who raises his appraising look at her next, compelling her to just spit it out.

“When John and I were looking into that other location – the one that burned down with the triple homicide – I saw that the same night, three kids were left outside the Philadelphia precinct. All three were young girls around eight to ten years old and they said they were being held somewhere by bad men.”

At Emily’s prompting, she continues, “The thing is, when asked how they got away, the kids said that they heard some fighting and then some lady came and got them and dropped them off near the police station. All of their descriptions of the person who saved them...they match Y/N.”

There’s a stunned silence before Morgan decides to speak up. “Baby girl, are you saying she took down three guys all by herself, snuck those kids out, and then burned the entire place down without leaving a single strand of DNA or anything else behind?”

Garcia shrugs, an uncertain expression on her face. However, they can all tell that that is exactly what she believes happened. “If anyone could…,” she trails off as they all look at one another before turning to face Rossi.

Rossi sighs, his face torn for a momentarily, before arriving at a decision. “Well, like you said, the Philadelphia police already called it a case of gang violence and shut it down. I don't suppose it is our place to go and create problems where none exist."

At his words, Emily meets Morgan and Hawthorne’s eyes, realizing that perhaps out of everyone in the world outside of herself, Hotch, and Morgan, Hawthorne was the one most likely to understand that you could and would do exactly that, and get away with it.

*------------*

You make your way down the stairs with Aaron at your side. You just needed twenty minutes. Twenty minutes. That was it. Aaron knows not to say anything. You don’t want to talk. Not then.

You make your way down to the locker rooms before you turn and speak. “You mentioned you’d brought my other bag.”

“Yeah, it’s in my locker,” he confirms, watching you with apprehensive, yet loving eyes.

There was no one else in the locker rooms owing to the lateness of the hour. With a quick look around, you begin to take off your shoes, undoing the buckles on the boots and toeing them off, before sliding the pants off of your hips and then quickly removing the sweatshirt along with the rest of your clothing.

Aaron is quick to shuck off his own clothes as you walk into the shower and turn it all the way to the left. He can already see the steam rising off of your skin when he slips in behind you, picking up the shampoo bottle from the ledge in the corner and dumping some out into his hands.

The hot water felt like baptism by fire, but it was the only thing helping you feel clean, as two days worth of dirt and grime slid off of you and swirled its way down the drain. You can feel Aaron behind you as his bare chest rubs against your back when he leans for the shampoo and then works it into suds in your hair, allowing you to simply be.

The slip and slide of his hands, as he takes soap and scrubs against your skin. His large hands gliding against your shoulders and back, down your legs, making sure to get every inch of you clean. You let him. You can feel the exhaustion seeping through you as your mind slips into a fog, leaving you aware only of the heat of the steam, the water, and him.

Once Aaron has ensured that you’re as clean as can be, he shifts so you’re fully under the stream, the last of the shampoo leaving your hair. That’s when you finally feel the weight in the pit of your stomach turn to lead.

You allow that steel trap to open ever so slightly as you lean back against him. The fact that he'd had to see you go through that, had to find out from a video of you being tortured, that you'd been pregnant and lost the baby. It was far too much for him to have gone through on his own. Your heart breaks at the thought of him sitting with the rest of them and watching that. Having them all find out at the same time as him, when he should've been the first and only one to know.

Your tears mingle with the water from the shower, your shoulders shake and your body quakes and slumps, held up by his arms alone, holding you tight across your chest and waist, tight to him as the sobs wrack your body. You can feel his lips against your shoulder as he dips his head down to slot his face against yours. He’s hard and warm and all around you, the only thing standing between you and total collapse.

*------------*

The two of you had gotten dressed slowly, taking far longer than the twenty minutes you’d asked Rossi for. Your eyes are red rimmed and glassy still, your hair falling to your shoulders in damp tendrils as you grasp his hand and the two of you make your way back upstairs using the elevators.

“There’s a chance McKinney still fires me,” you mumble, leaned against him and the back of the Elevator wall both to hold yourself up.

Aaron shakes his head, looking down at you with his warm brown eyes. “He isn’t going to fire you,” he insists, despite not fully believing it himself. He too had caught what McKinney had said to you prior to his departure.

You aren’t appeased by his words, but he hadn’t expected you to be. The elevator continues to climb back up the floors slowly. Right before it reaches its destination, you worm your way away from him and hit the emergency stop button, halting the elevator and plunging it into darkness.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, feeling his way around the elevator until he finds you again.

“If I’m getting fired on Monday,” you whisper, leaning up so your mouth is right against his ear, drawing a shiver through his entire body, “then there’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

With that, your lips find his, insistent and soft, begging his open with your tongue running along the seam of his mouth. With a moan, he gives in, hands finding your waist and pulling you up further against him. He can feel the smile in your mouth, mixed with everything else – the fear and fury, the regret and pain undercutting everything else.

If this is what you wanted before you were potentially fired – then well, of course he’d give it to you.

*------------*

By the time the two of you make it back to the conference room, the team is well situated, with Rossi and Morgan engaged in conversation while the rest of them crowd around Garcia. John was in the corner, just getting off of a phone call and Reid had managed to find some pretzels it seemed like – or he merely always had them on him – because he was munching away, leading to Aaron becoming incredibly aware that none of them had eaten since that sandwich the day prior. Hell, he wasn’t sure when the last time you’d eaten at all. His eyes must’ve lingered on the pretzels for a while too long, because JJ had leaned into her bag and lobbed a package of chips towards him.

Aware of your return now, the team turns to you and Aaron, with John being the one to break the silence with a soft smile. “Mom says hi” he says quietly, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Aaron can see the flash of guilt in your eyes. "I'll call her," you promise. When you'd left John, he hadn't been the only one you'd left.

He smiles and nods. "She'd like that."

With a glance around, and with no one else saying anything else, he continues, his smile morphing into a wicked grin. "So, you and Hastings, huh?" His voice teasing in that manner that only truly good old friends can get away with.

"Matthew and I were on a break," you clarify primly, shoving at his arm. His grin remains unchanged, causing your eyes to narrow, before a realization seems to hit you as you groan and slump back into your chair. “Don’t tell me you and Julian had a bet on that too,” you grumble, though Aaron can tell you aren’t really annoyed. You’re merely playing along.

“I won, if you must know,” John grins wider. “Seeing as you’re his next of kin, you owe me twenty.”

You scoff. “This better be written down somewhere. I’m not signing off twenty thousand to you just because you said so.”

Behind John, Aaron can see Morgan and Garcia’s jaws drop as they realize that twenty dollar bets were not the norm in your circles. You played for much higher stakes. Always had.

“Oh you’ll get your proof,” John winks at Prentiss, hinting at some sort of inside joke between the two of them while you and him both settle in, you stealing some chips from the bag in his hands, before swiping the bag entirely with a sweet smile that he was in no condition to refuse, ever.

“Hey,” Prentiss asks, drawing your attention away from John, “who’s Daniel?”

Aaron watches as your face turns dark ever so slightly, your eyes hardening as you meet Prentiss’s gaze, and Aaron realizes that the quietly enunciated Danielyu that he’d caught when you’d spoken to Easter in Russian had meant something more.

“Mr. Have-No-Attachments has a son,” you tell her, your jaw tight.

They’re all quiet as your revelation sinks in. You’d brought up Easter’s son while –

“You threatened his kid?” JJ asks, slight surprise on her face as she looks at you, her eyes flashing with the concern that they all always had. Their children being dragged into danger because of their line of work.

“He threatened mine.” Your retort is quick and to the point and if Aaron was being honest, he really really didn’t care that you’d threatened a child at this moment, because you were right. He had threatened yours.

When no one says anything further, you nod at Rossi and then turn to Garcia. “Let’s get to work.”

[k3rm1e]

tubbo x reader (platonic ofc!!) with literally anything your brilliant mind comes up with cause of bored and just scrolling through tumblr also stay hydrated love you - 🥀 𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣 <3

cemetery

tubbo x reader (platonic ofc!!) with literally anything your brilliant mind comes up with cause of bored and just scrolling through tumblr also stay hydrated love you - 🥀 𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣 <3

hello 🥀 anon! you said to just do whatever, so i just did something inspired by the cemetery where my friends and i hangout sometimes (not disrespectfully lol, there's a field in the back we chill in) so here’s this! <3

cw: cursing 

cemetery:

  “grmmmmmm…” tubbo flopped face-first onto his bed as you laid next to him and played on your phone.

  unconsciously, you moved your hand to run it through his hair. “what’s wrong tubbo?”.

  he made another grumble noise before turning his head to look at you, blowing out air that pushed his hair away. “apparently, according to mother dearest, ‘i don’t go outside enough’ and i’m gonna be a paper sheet by the summertime. so mum has now forced me to go outside. in the world. with people. save me.”.

  you laughed at his dramatics, chuckling. “y’know, going outside doesn’t inherently mean we’ll be near people. there are many less populated areas.”.

  “oh yeah? where?” tubbo sat up, knocking your hand out of his hair, causing you to look at him.

  “uh, the cemetery? there’s a little field, right at the back. some guy from down the road always brings his dog ‘round there.”.

  tubbo looked appalled at this. “the cemetery? with all the ghosties? no thank you. i would like to stay unpossessed, thank you very much.”.

  “oh, be real tubs, no ‘ghosts’ are gonna possess you. the creepiest thing there is the groundskeeper who just wants to make sure kids aren’t causing any trouble, leaving rubbish ‘round n’ shit. the only other person we’ll see there is probably old man dave, and he just sits there to clean up after the younger kids and sing to the birds.”.

  “yeah, but ghostssssss” tubbo turned his head, to once again submerge his face in the bed.

  you picked his head up by his hair and bent down, to look at him in the eyes. “look, we’ll go early tomorrow and we can eat lunch there. have a little picnic.”.

  later, you went back to your house and went to sleep. in the morning, tubbo and you met up and went to the market.

  “it’s too earlyyyyy.” tubbo was bundled in a hoodie, hiding his face from the rays of the morning sun.

  “no, it’s not. if you had a proper sleep schedule, you would be up by this time anyways. now, what do you want to eat?”. you stared at him and shoved the shopping basket in his hand, figuring he could be used to carry the basket while you decided what to get.

  the two of you walked throughout the store. continuously, you pointed out healthier foods like apples and carrots, but tubbo was insistent on only getting sugary stuff, claiming that “i am already in enough pain, vegetables will kill me”, which resulted in there being many small cakes and pastries with the basket. you had left the market and went on your way to the cemetery.

  “why the hell are we at a children’s park??” tubbo stared at the kids climbing on the monkey bars, questioning your sanity.

  “ugh, follow me.” you took him by the hand and led him to the train tracks. you walked down the tracks a small bit, before turning into the direction of the ditch.

  “why are we going in a ditch??” tubbo was extremely confused, not understanding where you were taking him.

  “shut up, man and just follow me.” you took him right next to the ditch, revealing there was a wooden plank crossing over the dirt. stepping over it, you had to lean down as to not to get hit in the face by tree branches. at the end of the plank, you could see the land that led to the field. 

  right where you got to the ground, there was a whole piece of fence missing you could cross through to. on the other side were several tree stumps that appeared to be used as seats. in the middle of the circle, it looked like something had been burnt to make the dirt much darker. there were trees in the surrounding area, and farther back was the field you mentioned yesterday.

  “is this illegal? why is the fence missing?” he stared blank-faced at the empty space.

  “no... at least i don’t think so?” you had never really questioned it, you only heard about the way in from your other friends who hung out here. “i mean, if it was illegal the groundskeeper would have already kicked me out sooooo….”.

  walking in, you jumped up to swing on the metal cylinder part of the fence above you. hoping over the tree stumps, you grabbed tubbo’s hand and ran over to where the large part of the field was. right behind it there was a large pile of sticks.

  the pile was very large, and was in a pit. there was not just sticks, but also dirt and trash kids threw in there. “why is there a large pile of sticks???”.

  “how should i know, tubbo! i don’t run this cemetery!” you flopped down on the grass, pulling food out of your basket.

  tubbo reluctantly sat down, giving up on asking questions. in the spring sun you guys ate your food, juice gushing out of the fruit you had managed to get without tubbo noticing.

  “ugh, did you seriously bring healthy food? we already have to be outside, and you have the audacity to be healthy?” tubbo stared at you with a judgmental, disgusted face. bitch.

  “yes, actually. i may be a social recluse who doesn’t talk to anyone in real life besides you and your sisters, but i atleast care about my health. i’m not gonna go out from a heart attack, like an old man.” you kept eating, giving tubbo the same look he was giving you. 

  you continued eating, making jokes and pretending to beat each other up. once you had finished eating, you moved over to where the tree stump-like seats were. you pushed the wood seat over to the tree, in front of the branch that reached sideways and across the top of the fence. standing on the wood, you hopped up and sat on the tree branch, pulling tubbo up with you.

  “wow, sitting on a tree branch. the height of luxury.” tubbo laughed at you, and your taste in spaces.

  “oh, shut up, mate. i could’ve taken you to a place full of loud and annoying people. would you have preferred that?” you looked at him, smug.

  he sighed. “no, i would not prefer that.”.

  “good.”.

  you kept talking, basking in the light passing through the branches at the top of the tree.

  tubbo spoke up, “y’know, for a plan you made, this didn’t entirely suck.”.

  “fuck you.” and you pushed him off the branch.

i promise i am a good writer with a posting schedule, i swear- 

yeah, i planned to post this two days ago, i am just a disaster

but yeah, i hope you guys liked this. this is, in fact a real cemetery near me. the old guy does have a name, but i don’t remember it, he likes to sing a song while he smokes his pot (its for medical reasons, he has cancer) and he actually is a total feminist who fought in vietnam! i don't really know him and only saw him the one time, but he was really nice to my friends and i. and yes, i did fall off the tree tubbo and reader were sitting on once.  it hurt. 

[nrth-wind-a]

♫ for bart

5 + 1s: ♫ - five times my muse swears it’s not a date, and the one time it maybe is II Accepting

Uploading… New Data: Fake Dating AU

Simulation One: Retroactive First Date

It was weird to lie about dating Kon. But if Kon really wanted to do this, then Bart was certainly not complaining about being his go-to choice. A small part of his mind reminded him that he wasn’t actually his go-to; he was just in the wrong-right place at the right-wrong time.

So he envisioned decking that small part of his mind, and it made him feel a little better.

At any rate, while he was relishing in this pretend relationship, it still felt odd. Especially because they’d decided what their first date would be not as if they were a couple planning it, but as if they were preparing an undercover story for one of Tim’s stealth missions.

And, yet, somehow, Kon had hit the nail on the head on what a fun first date might be for him, as if Kon knew him so well already. When he’d suggested it, Bart had honestly been surprised—and more than a little tempted when Kon then went on to point out that they could actually do it. It might help their alibi, he’d said.

Bart felt selfish when he agreed.

But he also knew that he would have agreed every single time—which startled him no small amount to realize, because until then, he’d never even considered what a date would be like with Kon.

According to this one: it fucking ruled.

Kon had taken him to a rage room, where they could let their powers loose and simply smash things for an hour, and it was awesome.

“Fore!” Bart yelled, hurling a fancy china plate in his direction, which Kon literally punched out of the air—god, he had the coolest friends.

Bart was positively beaming as they left, damn near vibrating at Kon’s side, as they took a walk through the park after—and it wasn’t even a second thought for Bart, as he looped his hand through Kon’s, entwining their fingers together like they somehow belonged there—

…But they didn’t.

Because this wasn’t actually a real date; it was a cover story.

“Well,” Bart started, as Kon dropped him off at his room in the Tower, like a true gentleman; and didn’t that just ache? He was going to be someone’s perfect happy ending someday…

“I had fun! I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow.” And with a boost of his speed—just fast enough for him to be gone in one second, but just slow enough that Kon could see the second go by like normal, if he decided to keep up—Bart pressed a kiss to the kryptonian’s cheek.

“Goodnight! Happyfirstfakedate.”

This wasn’t gonna become a thing.

Simulation Two: El-Gazing

Being still was not often something Bart could bear for very long—not that he couldn’t do it, or didn’t know when it was really important—but when Kon had looked at him with a silent plea in his eyes, what was a speedster to do? Say no to Kon-El’s baby blues? As if.

This was how one Bart Allen, metahuman speedster and founding member of Young Justice, thus found himself pressed up against his fake boyfriend’s side, as they laid on a checkered blanket—seriously, it was like it came out of a stock photo—in the middle of the Kent property’s fields, staring upward at a sky that moved so slowly, Bart would swear it was standing still, even though he knew it wasn’t. The Earth rotated at roughly one thousand miles an hour—midway between machs one and two, which was a great cruising speed for exercise—and yet, with its mass, Bart would call it sluggish, lazy.

If he could figure out how Kal-El spun the Earth backward one day, he swore he’d turn it forward, and bring everyone up to his speed. Wouldn’t the world be more efficient that way?

He knew it wouldn’t, but it was still funny to think about, and considering that he and Kon had been sitting in relative silence for what felt like years, he’d had to entertain himself somehow.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Starboy?” The petname rolled off his lips easier and easier these days, the more he used it.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Saturn. Right above us.” Kon pointed at one of the bright ones, which wasn’t nearly as bright for Bart as it was for him and his super-eyes, so Bart had to squint to see it.

“Huh. Cool.” He hummed idly, his eyes dropping back to Kon’s face, which he’d been watching much more than the sky above them.

He’d been watching his face, his eyelashes, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the rise and fall of his chest, any small twitch or flex of his fingers, every shift of position he made to get comfortable; Bart had seen and catalogued it all, right next to his theories about the earth’s rotation.

Like he’d said: he’d had to entertain himself somehow.

“What are you looking at?” Kon asked, and Bart had to take a millisecond of paused time to force down the sudden fear that he’d been caught—because, after all, this wasn’t a real date, so he shouldn’t treat it like one—before he put on an easy smile and turned his gaze upward.

“Just… one of the pretty ones.”

This still wasn’t gonna be a thing. It was fine.

Simulation Three: Mile Rock Beach

It’s not a date. Just like the other ones haven’t been. This is not a date, and Bart Allen is not Kon-El’s boyfriend.

Bart had taken to reminding himself of this every time they went out—for their cover, of course. The best lies were the ones that had grains of truth in them, so whenever they told their friends that they were having a date, they proceeded to actually do the activity, since it was always fun to hang out with one’s best friend anyway, and it made the lie extremely convincing.

It almost tricked Bart, even.

…Almost.

As they walked along the coastline, however, Kon seemed to catch onto him and his racing thoughts that time, because moments before Bart went over the tipping point into the same full-blown spiral he’d had their last three dates, there was a splash of salt water directly to his face, shocking him from it immediately.

And Kon was smirking, too proud of himself for someone who had no idea what he’d just started.

Bart’s grin was enormous and touched with danger.

“I’ll give you three seconds to apologize, before I unleash hell on you, stella.” Bart called over, already gearing up, because—

“I’d love to see you try!” Kon was not going to apologize.

Which was perfectly fine with Bart.

It was all too easy to send a deluge of water crashing over Kon by simply coming to a skater’s stop in the waves right next to him, and with that, the fight was on.

Bart didn’t know how much time passed then, as it went slippery and evasive—a phenomenon which was rare for him. His sense of time was skewed, of course, but he could do the conversions in his head as easily as he could breathe, because ever since he was born, the passage of time had been different for him, and the moment that he started to learn math was the moment that he started converting Bart-Time to Everyone-Else-Time, but—he didn’t know how much Bart-Time had passed, and that was rare.

He liked it, though. Because, sure, he was soaked, and, sure, so was Kon, and, yes, they had made a ruckus in the middle of a national park beach, but there weren’t very many other people around, and they’d found a secluded corner of it all to themselves, and he was spitting brine back into the sea, because the last time Kon had splashed him, his mouth had been open in laughter, and hell, it was perfect.

This date was perfect—

Or, at least, it would have been.

If it was actually a date.

This still still still wasn’t gonna be a thing. It was absolutely fine. He had nothing to worry about.

Simulation Four: This Is A Serious Mission… Could Be a Date.

“Come on, now, twenty on four? That doesn’t seem fair.” Kon grinned.

Bart chimed in with a chipper tone. “Yeah, for them.”

“Less taunting, more hitting.” Tim’s voice in their ears came out tinny but amused, which ruined his attempt at chastising the pair.

“On it, Rob.” Bart slapped Kon’s offered hand in a super-powered high five, before he was off like a rocket. He could practically hear the sound of bowling pins being knocked over as he sent one mercenary flying into another, with just a bit of speed and a well-placed shove, and he took just a moment to say, “Strike!” before he scanned the field for nearby enemies. One of them almost managed to sneak up behind him and get in a good whack, but unfortunately for them, all their baton hit was open air.

“Yikes! Missed one.” Bart chattered. “Maybe I can still go for the spare.” He smirked, speeding through an uppercut that was just on the side of not breaking the merc’s jaw. Dodging their second attack like before, he gave them a good hit to the temple, watching as they crumpled after that.

“Nice. Ten points for Impulse.” He said smugly.

Kon laughed into the comms unit. “Great work, angel.”

Cassie joined the conversation, then, with a, “Grody. We can all hear you two.”

“Aw, come on, where’s the happiness for your best friends being cute and in love?” Kon shot back with a snicker, and—

Bart took a knife to the gut. Literally, not metaphorically.

He’d frozen at in love, and one fortuitous contestant had gotten the chance to stab Impulse—not that it was as dire as it seemed; his body was already starting to heal it, but—this was gonna hurt again. He had to pull the knife out before the wound closed around it, so he gritted his teeth and yanked, and before he even had a moment to return the favor to the mercenary in question, Kon had the guy dreaming of sugarplums (and probably murder).

“Imp, you okay?” Kon was close.

“Uh… Yeah, fine. Lucky shot.” Bart forced a smile. “I’m fine. Let’s finish these guys off, shall we?”

On instinct, he held out his hand for Kon to take. And in a heartbeat, his hand was there, a comforting pressure.

Automatic. Thoughtless. Beautiful.

“We shall.” His eyes danced with reckless excitement, and Bart felt himself come alive.

This… was maybe gonna become a thing.

Simulation Five: Going Global

“Can I open my eyes now?” Bart currently had his squeezed shut, as he did his best not to give into the temptation to peek. Partway through their flight, he’d had to shove his head into Kon’s neck just so that if he did, he still wouldn’t see anything.

He could feel the exact moment Kon touched down on the ground. “Yeah, you’re good, now.”

When Bart opened his eyes, they were—in an alley.

“…Avoiding getting spotted?” Bart asked.

“Avoiding getting spotted.” Kon confirmed, before he grabbed Bart by the elbow and tugged him out onto the sidewalk.

And Bart’s jaw dropped. “Are we in—where are we?”

“Italy. Rome, to be exact.”

“Rome?” Bart laughed. “You took me to Rome for a fake date?”

Kon winked. “Gotta sell it somehow, angel. Now, there’ll be time to sight-see later, but we have a reservation, courtesy of Tim Wayne’s connections.”

“Oh, I’ll have to thank him for this date, then.” Bart teased.

“Hey, he got us in. I’m the one doing the heavy lifting—as usual.” He flexed with a smirk.

“Because dating me is that hard, huh?”

Kon raised an eyebrow. “No, it’s pretty easy, actually.”

“Oh.”

Bart wasn’t sure what to make of the expression on Kon’s face, which he knew he was trying to hide from him; he considered pushing the issue, even, but before he could, he was being dragged off again, in the direction of a restaurant that was much too fancy for either of them—Bart wasn’t even wearing dress shoes, much less a suit that he hadn’t purchased at the Belk at Jasper Mall, a few minutes outside of Manchester.

He suddenly felt wildly out of place—but he couldn’t even bring himself to care, because Kon looked so pleased with himself, and, frankly, the maître d’s face upon seeing which name they were listed under was a little too priceless. He and Kon had to work to stifle their laughter as they were led to the table.

Unfortunately, elbowing Kon with the one he’d previously been leading him by only made Kon laugh harder—a fact which Bart was sure was the reason for why they were given a very nasty glare as the host returned to the front, and this only made Bart laugh harder.

What a giggly mess the pair of them made.

Bart wouldn’t have it any other way—if he was even allowed to have it at all.

Because this wasn’t a real date.

…But this was most definitely a thing, for him, now.

Uploading… New Data: I’m In Pretend Love With You a.k.a. Keats Has Got Nothing On Us, My Dear

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night

“Date night, tonight?” Kon asked, as Bart turned upside down on the couch beside him, working his way through a Metroid Dread level for him.

Bart hummed softly, noncommittally, and double-jumped to a new platform.

And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,

“Bart?” Kon waved his hand in front of his eyes.

And Bart rolled his, pausing the game to sit up.

“I was asking you if you wanted to have a date night, tonight.” Kon frowned.

And, crap, Bart hated that expression. “Well—I dunno. I like going on dates with you; it’s just…”

“Just?”

The moving waters at their priestlike task

“Can we stay in, tonight?” Bart asked.

Kon reeled, confusion written all over his face. “Of course, we can. Hey, did you think I’d be upset if you asked that?”

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

He didn’t answer.

So Kon took one of his hands into both of his, playing with his fingers. Bart moved closer on the cushions, drawn in by the contact.

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

“You can ask me for whatever you want, Bart. This relationship is a two-way street.”

Bart pursed his lips. “…Right. I don’t know, I guess… I think I like dates with you. It’s just, like… every date we’ve ever been on has been pretend, and they kinda felt—”

Kon raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue.

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—

“Performative.”

The common room went silent.

No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,

“I like showing off my love for you.” Kon said, finally.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have love for me during the other ones—”

Kon stared at him.

Bart stared back.

There was something in the kryptonian’s eyes…

Wait.

“…You mean—?”

A smile bloomed on Kon’s face.

“You—really?” Bart gaped.

Kon nodded, and then Bart punched his shoulder lightly. “Dude! How long were you holding out on me?"

"Hey! How long were you holding out on me? It was like pulling teeth from you just to make you admit that you loved me for real—and that was after I had just told you I loved you for real!”

Bart tipped his head back and laughed.

“Okay. Okay. We can do a date another day. I still wanna stay in with you tonight.”

Kon curled an arm around his shoulders, and almost immediately, one of Bart’s circled his waist in return.

“I think we can do that, angel.”

Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Hours later, they were still tangled together on the couch, Bart’s head resting on Kon’s chest, his hair splayed out like some kind of octopus all over his front, and while they weren’t asleep, they were lying in an easy, happy silence, just existing—just breathing—

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

—Together.

[djxrxn]

a regular thing

fuse (ct-8902) x reader

wc: 1.7 k

warnings: alcohol consumption!! some explicit language, maybe some mentions/references to sexual situations

art used is by jangofctts!!!!!! fuse and the rest of the sunburst squadron also belong to jangofctts!! this is because keida ( @jangofctts ) as well as danielle ( @jango-fettish ) REFUSE to let the sunburst squadron be happy, so now i have to step in ugh, ridiculous. anyways enjoy!

Damn. You forgot how gorgeous Fuse’s smile was. 

It had only been a year since you wandered back onto your assigned base to find your squad was missing a member. Not dead, your commander had told you, just not here. There were snide comments, remarks told under breaths and in languages you neither spoke nor understood. They didn’t need some fucking mechanic trying to start a fight because a transferred clone had been insulted. 

Your commander - Fang, all sharp words and crooked smiles, a man you were nervous to talk to in the first place, let alone push him on a topic he didn’t want to continue talking about - had told you to leave it, leave him be. This was for the best. 

So you did. You left the thought of him behind on base, closing off the memories you carried in your chest to rot and slowly starve. Hopefully, one day, they’d be nothing, and you could finally wash Fuse off like the rest of the grease stains that littered your hands. 

That was so kriffing difficult, though. Every blaster fire, every stray explosion no one had planned for on the field, Maker, even a fly-away spark, and you felt sick. You missed him, you missed his warmth so much. You felt his absence in your fucking bones, your body physically ached. You worried, how was he supposed to stay alive without you watching his six? How was he supposed to get out of the trouble he caused without someone like you, someone who wasn’t hell bent on pissing off their commanders and brothers?

And how were you supposed to do anything without your partner in crime - without someone to ease your fears and anxieties, to calm you down so you could fix one last wire on the last speeder needed to get away from the Seppies. 

A unit - a duo. And now, you were alone. 

Stumbling upon him like that, watching him scrub the red off the plastoid armor… if you hadn't known better, you would have thought maybe something like the Force had brought you together. You supposed the Force had also pulled you apart, too, but-

Now here he was. 

Getting his ass to come with you to a club was easy enough. All you had to do was pay for his drinks - maybe it had been a year, give or take some time, but Fuse was still Fuse. 

Empty shot glasses littered the table. This late into the night, you weren’t really sure how many you had, you didn’t really remember much. Everything existed in a haze, a bright and vibrant dream. The music was almost too loud to hear your own thoughts, let alone the person you came here with. The patrons of the nightclub moved about, but the only person you wanted to focus on was right in front of you, a wide grin stretched over his cheeks — you never noticed the dimples in his cheeks, or the handful of freckles over the bridge of his nose. Up close, and with only him to transfix on, every detail was explicit and bright, the warmth radiating off of him feeling more like fire than a gentle spark. 

The feelings you tried to push away, the real reason you were so upset that you never looked for him, the fear that nothing would be reciprocated, all of it, it came roaring to the forefront of your drunken mind. He was beautiful, like a violent sunset, all fiery reds and deep oranges — you felt the panic flooding through you as you remembered that every sun crawls behind the horizon, leaving a cold and dark night in its absence. Nothing was forever. 

You tried to say his name, but it came out crooked and garbled, a mess of syllables and vowels, it didn’t sound correct. “Fuse,” you tried again. Better, but your words still slurred. 

Now it was his turn to say your name, and Maker, it made your chest ache. 

“I—” Did you want to tell him? You couldn’t un-ring this bell, you couldn’t go back. What if Fuse was still hurt and wanted nothing to do with you, what if—

You didn’t know when you were going to see him again. For all you knew, his new squadron was moving out in the moving, being shipped out to another moon or a Inner Rim planet, He would be gone just as soon as you had him again, and if this was it… 

“Hey,” you tried to shout over the music, “I love you.”

“What?” Fuse shook his head. “I can’t hear you, what?”

“I missed you,” you said. He rolled his eyes, but his smile grew a little bit brighter, and his eyes looked softer. For a moment, the past was forgotten and your Fuse was back. Every transgression had been forgotten, and for this bright and shining minute, you were better. 

“I missed my favorite cockroach,” Fuse laughed. “We have to do this again, huh?”

You tried not to be upset that you couldn’t say it, couldn’t fucking tell him. You wanted so badly for him to understand why you didn’t look for him. Fang was a terrifying commander, sure, but you and Fuse had gone around him and his orders before. No, the reason you didn’t look for him because you thought Fang was right, this was for the best. You couldn’t really be with Fuse, even if he did feel similarly. 

“I can’t let you go,” you said. “Not again.”

Fuse wasn’t sure — chalk it up to the whiskey, or maybe to the fact that Fuse had never paid close enough attention to you, to the way you looked at him like that, with eyes that almost looked misty, with a tight little frown forming on your sweet mouth - but to him, this felt so much deeper than the normal shallow of your relationship. This was not cut and dry, what you two had was not simple. Maybe it had never been simple. 

“So, yeah, this is gonna be a regular thing,” you added quickly. 

Fuse nodded. He didn’t want to think about what you meant. If you pushed on it, sure, you both could have that conversation. But he wasn’t running head first to be burned by you again. You could call the shots, and Fuse would follow. 

“Alright,” he said, shooting you half of a grin. “Fine by me, cockroach.”

You took a breath, glancing away for a moment. The lights around you glowed neon pink and purple, a haze of color and sound and life — your life had revolved around the war. You didn’t know where you would be without it. Out of a job you supposed, but then, you wouldn’t have Fuse, or any of his brothers. All the same, it was nice to get drunk in a dreamy club and pretend like you were normal sometimes. You could pretend that you were a normal civilian, and that you weren’t required to be on a military base in the morning, preparing for another battle, another violent and miserable day. You could imagine a life with someone, maybe with Fuse - making caf in a cramped kitchen space in a small apartment in the Inner Rim. You and Fuse could open a shop, maybe something repairing vessels, or blowing them up, fuck, none of the details mattered. The more you thought about it, the more you just wanted a normal life with Fuse. You wondered if he had ever thought about a normal life with you too - you really hoped so. 

When you looked back at him, Fuse was already staring at you - dark eyes and parted lips, his brow was furrowed up. Some dark thought was eating at his thoughts, tearing through him and overwhelming senses. You wanted to help him, you wanted to take his mind off of everything, you just wanted to heal. 

You worked with machines — you knew how to retire and reprogram and fix things to make it run smoothly. Fuse was not a machine, and he was not made of wires and parts. You didn’t know what to do to fix things, if there was even a way to fix the damage. 

Fuse leaned forwards, just a fucking hair closer, but it was enough to make it hurt. This was too much, he was too bright and too much, and you were suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to touch him. 

“Can I kiss you?” You stumbled over your words, and you were worried he couldn’t hear you again, but—

He surged forwards to reach you, his hands flying to cradle your head. Fuse’s lips were warm against yours, his belts were warm, he was so fucking warm, you felt alive. Every breath you stole between soft groans and nips of teeth came easy, releasing the tension that had been building in your chest all night. His tongue grazed along your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth, and this was home.

How many times did you think about kissing Fuse like this? How many times did you imagine his hands instead of your own? This was everything you could have ever wanted, everything you needed from Fuse. You missed him so much, thought about him every moment, but this was worth it. Fuse could burn you in every way he knew how, and you would probably deserve it, but you would brave it all to kiss him again.  

“Can this be our regular thing too?” You whispered against his mouth. Fuse pulled away for a second, and you almost were afraid that he was about to say no. But he moved forwards again, silencing all worry in your mind as he kissed you again. 

“Yeah, it can be,” Fuse answered you. He wouldn’t mind at all if kissing you like this was a regular occurrence. His thoughts weren’t in order — not that he had excellent ideas sober either, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to sneak you onto base without Blanche or Blue catching wind of it. Fuse was trying to come up with a plan, something that no one would notice. That would be hard, especially if Sweets was on patrol for the night- 

It didn’t matter, he decided as you tugged on his bottom lip, your gentle hands crawling up his thighs. It really didn’t matter at all — his brothers would be fine with it, or they would get over it. Fuse just wanted you, and now that he had you? Nothing could take his little bug away from him. 

[archerofthemists]

My own personal headcanons and theories for Tyrian's childhood. No he doesn't NEED a tragic backstory but damn it I'm gonna give him one

Warnings: death/hate crime/faunus racism

(I love how the theory that Tyrian was in a faunus circus as a kid is so wide spread. Maybe we'll get lucky and get it in cannon)

Tyrian was born in the poor outskirts of Vacuo. It unfortunately was a very racist and hostile place to grow up. 

Tyrians mother Iris Callows was a single mother. Tyrian never knew his father, a huntsman who had died before he was born. 

Iris was a scorpion faunus as well. When Tyrian was first born, she carried him on her back in a cloth baby sack the majority of the time, including while she worked in hot fields, miserable work that was typically done by faunus who desperately needed the money. 

Iris loved her little scorpling dearly. He was always a little ball of excitement and energy, the sunlight in her dark and lonely world.

They were poor, but she gave Tyrian the best life she could provide. She did her best to protect him from the outside world where she knew all too well the horrible things that could be said and done to her child. 

Due to little money Iris did her best to homeschool her son, however as a young and single mother with no one to turn to, and working a full time job to keep food on the table, it was hard and Tyrian's education was spotty.

Despite this, Tyrian was a very happy child. He had a good imagination and kept himself entertained by playing in the desert that surrounded their small home. 

Tyrian was six years old when his mother left him. Or, at least that's what he believed. 

When harvest seasons were over, Iris would work odd jobs in the kingdom, trying to make ends meet. 

Tyrian had entered a very bratty phase, growing to an age where he wanted other friends, real people. Iris didn't know how to explain to him how dangerous the world was. She wanted to shield him from its ugliness, but deep down she knew she couldn't do that forever. Even other faunus had shunned her due to her dangerous trait. Faunus with their own venom were almost unheard of. There was the occasional snake faunus that happened to be venomous, gifted with a lethal set of fangs, but certainly nothing as obvious as a powerful tail, tipped with poison.

To this day Tyrian can't quite remember what sparked the fight. All he remembered was he and his mother were yelling at each other and in a fit of anger his tail had swung out and broken something. It had been something made of porcelain and had been precious to Iris. It was one of her few possessions that her husband had given her before his untimely death.

Tyrian still remembers the pained look in his mother's eyes, the tears that welled and eventually streamed down her pale cheeks.

He immediately began apologizing as his mother scooped up the broken pieces, shaking her head.

"Please don't be mad…"

"I'm not mad. I'm just disappointed."

Tyrian watched her leave. She had to get to work and being faunus she was already on thin ice. Being late at all would surely result in being fired. 

Tyrian felt guilty and gross. He'd never seen his mother cry before. He didn't like it. He spent most of the evening scrounging the house for glue and desperately piecing the figure back together. He was sure that it would make his mother happy when she came home from work late that night.

Only she never returned. As far as Tyrian knew she had abandoned him. He had been a bad child, a bad son and his mother had left him alone because of it. He waited for days but eventually the little food in the house ran out and Tyrian knew he would have to leave at some point. Maybe someone in the kingdome could help him? But no, his mother had warned him all his life about how dangerous humans could be towards their kind.

However, she had left him no choice, had she?

Wandering around the edges of the kingdome, he slipped food from vendors and went mostly unnoticed. His tail was wrapped snugly around his waist and looked like a belt, no one gave him a second glance.

However, a vendor's large dog had smelled him and recognized the smell of a faunus. Tyrian had unknowingly wandered into a humans only section of the markets. The dog, trained to attack at the smell of faunus did not hesitate to lunge at the small child and Tyrian responded quickly. Almost without thinking he struck the dog dead, his stinger buried in its furry chest. 

Of course this gave away his cover and the vendor began screaming at Tyrian for killing his dog. 

Out of nowhere a tall man came up behind Tyrian and gently placed his hands on the child's shoulders. "I'm sorry sir, my boy here still isn't used to the great kingdoms. I'll happily pay for your dog."

The man had a rugged looking top hat and goatee with intense eyes. Tyrian quickly felt terrified of the man but he was in no position to run either.

"There are no faunus allowed here!" The vendor yelled. "Get that little killer shit out of here! Screw your money!" 

The man didn't hesitate to lead Tyrian away from the market and soon found himself in the desert where a big red tent was set up. 

"You have family, son?" The man asked.

"I haven't seen my mother in a few days." Tyrian admitted. "I was bad and she left me."

"That's no way for a mother to treat her child." The man cooed as he leaned down to Tyrians level. "Come with my circus. I promise, we'll never abandon you."

Tyrian quickly learned that the Ringleader was not as kind a man as he pretended to be. Years of performing on the high wires (with no net below if you fell) onlookers laughing and always throwing things. Yanking his tail and Tyrian wasn't allowed to even say anything, no matter how much it might hurt. 

Whippings, no food for days and being locked in a tiny cage if you did something wrong. No one could blame Tyrian when he finally snapped. The circus had been near Mistral when he finally killed the Ringleader and Brothers it felt good. 

As for Iris, of course she never would have abandoned her precious boy. 

It was after her shift had ended and she was walking home she was attacked by a group of faunus hating humans. They caught her off guard, and had brought an axe down on her tail, cutting off the better half of it. Iris was no huntress, she did not fight. She kept a blade on her for protection, but against five bigger opponents, it hadn't done her much good. (Although she did manage to drive it into one of their thighs, and he died of blood loss.) But it didn't keep her from getting killed herself. 

As a faunus, her death was not investigated. No one bothered to find out if she had family. There was no one to tell Tyrian the truth. 

[spooderboyandtincan]

Happy Halloween!

A/N: Here are the actual episodes of Buzzfeed Unsolved mentioned in this fic! The Terrifying Axeman of New Orleans and The Horrors of Pennhurst Asylum. As a warning, both of these videos describe both very grisly and gory things, so please watch them with caution! 

(Also, the author in no way claims to own or use these videos for commercial property. Just wanted to include them!)

~~~~~

Peter was having a great day, even when an apple tried to give him a concussion. 

Normally, he would have caught the traitorous fruit, but there were several families around who might have noticed his outstanding reflexes, so with some split second thinking he let the apple bounce off his head.

“Ow!” Peter massaged the top of his head. Tony and May turned to him, both slightly concerned. “I think this tree is trying to kill me.”

“Oh, spare us!” Tony said to the tree, reaching out to ruffle Peter’s curls. “Not my darling son! Take me instead!” 

Peter rolled his eyes at the dorky genius, actually finding himself feeling a little bad for the poor apple tree. “Don’t worry,” he muttered, patting the rough bark. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

There was something very adorable about watching Peter trying to comfort a tree, both Tony and May observed. Their kid’s heart was so pure and kind it was blinding. 

Peter snatched an apple off a low-hanging branch and, before Tony or May could stop him, bit into it. “Wow,” he mumbled through a mouthful of fruit, “this’s really good! Can we pick some?”

“That’s what we’re here for!” May sang. “Did you check for worms before you bit into that, Petey?”

“Worms?!”

Tony shook his head in fond exasperation. Peter spat his mouthful of apple on the ground in disgust, chucking the half eaten red orb to the side. “Ew ew ew ew ew!”

“Buddy, I’m pretty sure there weren’t worms in there,” Tony suggested.

Peter shrugged. “But are you sure? Now we have to pick more apples just in case they’re all wormy.” He stuck out his tongue in a mature display of unhappiness. 

“Thought you liked picking apples,” he questioned, suddenly worried that Peter had only been pretending to enjoy himself.

“No, no I do! It’s really fun! But now I can’t eat any,” he pouted. “I’m so huuuungry.”

He frowned in concern. “Why don’t we get some food and come back, kiddo? We can grab an extra coat from the car while we do.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m already wearing, like three of yours,” Peter laughed. He gestured to the layers of puffy jackets he was bundled up in, along with his favorite Spider-Man hat and thin black gloves.

“Actually, I think you need a scarf,” Tony observed. “We can’t have any spider-baby popsicles on our hands, now can we?”

Peter rolled his eyes. Tony began fussing over him like a mother hen, wrapping his own scarf around his neck and zipping up his third coat. He took the boy’s small hands in his and winced, rubbing them to bring some warmth. 

“You’re gonna lose fingers if we don’t get you some better gloves, bud.”

“I’m fiiiine.”

Peter heaved the bag of crisp, red apples into his arms with ease. Tony and May grabbed their own separate ones and heaved them over their shoulders with a lot less ease. They headed toward the muddy dirt road, lugging their apples and stopping for a moment to admire some chickens. 

“Ooooh!” Peter exclaimed suddenly, spotting a glimpse of orange behind the tall pine trees. “Mr. Stark, May! There’re pumpkins!” He jogged off. 

“Don’t you wanna get food before this, Pete?” Tony called, following the boy.

“I’ll eat the pumpkins!” 

“Look out for worms!” May teased. Tony found himself thinking of the classic nursery rhyme, Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater.

May found the perfect pumpkin almost at once. It was on the opposite side of the small field under a beautiful towering oak tree with red and golden leaves still on its branches. The pumpkin was a beautiful shade of dark orange and wonderfully round. She held it against the chest like it was a baby. 

Tony didn’t have any particular pumpkin in mind that he wanted so he decided to let Peter choose for him. 

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna get the wrong one,” Peter worried. 

“It won’t be the wrong one, kiddo,” Tony promised.

“Get that lumpy one, it looks like his head!” May advised from across the pumpkin patch. Peter sniggered.

“I’m offended. My head is perfectly oval-shaped,” Tony objected. 

“Smooth as a shark,” Peter muttered to himself, completely missing the perplexed look from his father-figure.

He picked up the lumpy pumpkin and then began to scavenge for a second one, humming. “This is Halloween, this is Halloween, pumpkins scream in the dead of night… ooh.” Peter knelt down and began to inspect this potential nominee. 

It was huge. Wide and tall with a round face and a flat back. The stem was long and twisting. The color was beautiful.

It. Was. Perfect.

“I found it!” he yelled. May and Tony turned to long at him and Peter displayed his pumpkin proudly. 

“Congrats,” said May, her grin wide. Tony applauded. 

“Can we get it?”

“Of course, Roo.” He smiled, kneeling down to take the lumpy pumpkin while Peter stood up with his own. “Do you wanna get another?”   

“Are you sure? I mean, I kinda do…”

“Yes, Petey, I’m sure.” Tony bent to press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Actually, I’d be delighted if you got another one. Really.” He loved seeing Peter so happy over a simple fruit. (Vegetable? Gourd?) Tony would gladly buy thousands of pumpkins if Peter could always be this happy. 

Soon Peter had selected two more pumpkins, a wide, squat one, and round, light orange one. They made their way back to the parking lot and the barn, where lots of fresh produce stands were set up. 

There was a beautiful, towering willow tree that Peter admired, watching its long limbs sway in the wind peacefully. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of rain and hay and something just distinctly fall. He trotted back to where his family stood in a line to buy their pumpkins and leaned into Tony, letting him wrap strong arms around him and hug him close. 

They bought their pumpkins and sat down at a picnic bench under the willow tree and basked in the sunlight. Tony left to the car and came back with a picnic basket akin to the ones in cartoons.

Peter’s eyes lit up when he noticed the mac and cheese in a plastic container and immediately he dug in. After inhaling his pasta, he dug through the basket. His eyes sparkled like stars. 

“Rhodey made us brownies!” Colonel Rhodes’s brownies were the best. They were gooey and somehow always warm, with extra chocolate-chips and an oreo in the middle. Rhodey had drowned them in jack-o’-lantern shaped sprinkles. He had even included a bottle of whipped cream, though most of it had probably been used on the current brownie Peter had just bit into.

“Oh, yummy,” May said, helping herself to a large one. Tony took his own and sprayed almost as much whipped cream on it as Peter had. 

Before he took a bite, he laughed. “Pete, how did you get whipped-cream on your forehead?” He balled up his sleeve and wiped it off. Peter squirmed away.

He played a quick rhythm on his pumpkin before glancing toward the various stands by the barn. “We should get apple cider,” he said, having a sudden realization. “I guess they probably wouldn’t go very good with brownies but maybe with pumpkin pie or something���?”

“Good idea, bud. How about some candy apples while we’re at it?”

“Yesss.”

Peter was bouncing in his seat while he waited for May and Tony to finish their sandwiches. He helped himself to a few more delicious brownies, trying to savor every bite. (And failing because they were so good.”

When they finished their food, they took a quick moment to put their pumpkins in the trunk of the car, then Peter led the way to the barn. At the back of the big room there was a large assortment of fresh produce, which May made a beeline to. On the right wall were four tall refrigerators, chock full of apple cider. 

“Why are they in milk cartons?” Peter wondered, opening the door and pulling the juice out. “Here!”

“Just one? You need to hydrate, young man,” he teased, pulling out three more jugs.

“I won’t just drink apple cider, Mr. Stark.”

“Actually, I think your blood is gonna be 75% apples, kiddo.”

“Carrots or asparagus, Pete?” May called. 

“Carrots?” 

“Good choice, honey.”

Tony noticed wonderfully red candy apples displayed on one of those cupcake stands he always saw at fancy parties. He pointed them out to Peter, who grinned and asked if they could have some.

“That’s what we're here for, Petey-Pie.” 

The young man at the stand wrapped the tree apples individually with cellophane and placed them in a bag. 

“That’s smart,” Peter said as they joined May at the checkout line. “Apples probably wouldn’t taste good with a paper bag.”

The cashier recognized Tony when they bought their food. Her hand flew to her open mouth and she shook her head in amazement. “You’re… you’re….” 

He offered a smile. Peter inched behind him and grabbed his hand. Tony squeezed his hand comfortingly and moved in front of him so no one could see his face. 

The cashier began to check out their items robotically, staring at Tony for an uncomfortably long time before she blinked and asked, “Do you want a bag, sir?”

Once they stuffed the groceries into the trunk of Tony’s car, Peter admired the farm one last time. The big willow tree swayed gracefully in the brisk wind as if it were saying farewell. 

Peter crawled into the back seat and slammed the door, curling up and shivering. Tony glanced in the back mirror and quickly moved to turn up the heat. 

He rested his chin on the edge of the window. The position was far from comfortable but at least he could watch the trees fly past as they drove. 

“You okay back there, Petey?” Tony asked, sounding concerned.

“‘M good. Just thinking,” he mumbled. It was hard to talk with his jaw pressed against a hard surface. 

“You sure, bud?” Tony still sounded worried. Peter sighed.

“Stop worrying,” he groaned. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, Petey, I trust you.” If he hadn’t been driving the car he would have held up his hands in mock surrender. “But you know that you can come to me for anything, right? Even if it’s just a stubbed toe, okay?”

“I know, Mr. Stark, really.” 

A snore filled the car, and they both laughed when they looked to May and realized she was already asleep. 

“So kiddie, whatcha thinkin’ about?” he asked. 

“How I’m gonna carve my pumpkin!” 

~~~~~

Peter dramatically threw the three pumpkins he was carrying down onto the kitchen island, pretending to wipe sweat off his forehead. He snickered when May rolled her eyes.

Peter took off his layers of coats and threw them on the couch, hanging his scarf up and then ripping off his hat. His hair frizzed everywhere and Tony laughed, his eyes soft and adoring. He flattened it down with his hand and pulled Peter into a crushing hug, bending to kiss his still slightly puffy curls.

They sat down at the kitchen island and chose their respective pumpkins. Peter looked around. “Where’re the knives?” he asked. 

“Oh, I know.” May stood up and rummaged through the upper cabinets, bringing out an orange carton. “Here!”

Tony watched nervously as Peter grabbed a carving knife from the box and stabbed the top of his pumpkin without any regard for his personal safety. 

“Careful, bubba,” he warned. He was about to take the knife from Peter’s small hands and bend it into pieces for being so dangerous and trying to hurt his kid. “No lost limbs today, okay?”

Peter laughed and continued to cut the top of his pumpkin. He yanked the stem out and sliced off the stringy guts. He took an orange plastic scooper and started scraping the seeds and guts out of the inside. Tony took his own pumpkin and did the same, keeping a watchful eye on his reckless kid all the same.

“What are you carving Pete?” May asked. 

“Secret,” Peter grinned, turning the pumpkin so they couldn’t see it. “You can see later!” 

“Well, fine. What about you, Tony?”

Tony hadn’t given much thought about it yet. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he had an idea that might work. “Secret,” he said.

May sighed in amused exasperation. “Suit yourself, lumpy. I’m going with the classic.” She took a purple sharpie and started drawing.

“Why aren’t there Halloween Carols?” Peter wondered aloud. “I don’t know like, any spooky songs and it’s sad.”

“There’s that one, um…” Tony trailed off. He did know the actual name of the song, but the look on Peter’s face would be priceless. “Spooky Scary Pumpkins? Ghosts? Is that it?”

Peter slowly raised his head, his eyes wide. “What?”

“You know, that one you’re always singing,” May said, joining in. “‘Spooky scary pumpkins’ sounds right.” 

Peter groaned and buried his head in his arms. “No. This isn't happeniiiiiing.”

“I believe the correct title is ‘Spooky Scary Skeletons, Boss,” said FRIDAY’s disembodied voice. 

“Thank you!” Peter threw up his hands in relief. “Spooky scary pumpkins. Ugh. Thanks for the nightmares.”

Tony ruffled his hair. “FRI, play it for us uncultured zombies, will ya?”

The first few notes of the song played and Peter started headbanging exaggeratedly, doing a dance in his seat. “Such a bop,” he said to himself, then went back to carving his pumpkin. 

A bop? Tony decided not to ask. He sketched out his idea on the pumpkin with a light pencil and rummaged through their carving tools.

“Mr. Stark, you didn’t get the guts out!” Peter protested. 

“Don’t worry, bud, you’ll see. Trust me.”

Tony finally found what he was looking for. “A-ha!”

“Is that..?” Peter leaned over. “Is that a dremel drill? Isn’t that for like, trimming dog nails?” 

“One of its many uses!” Tony switched it on. “Carving time.”

“Ooh. That’s cool, I wanna try!”

He handed the drill over to him. Peter turned his pumpkin around to the back and started carving. “Oh, so it only gets like the fleshy parts! The flesh? So then it kinda glows through.”

“That’s right,” he said. “It looks pretty cool when you put a candle in it.” Tony took the drill and got back to work. Their song was still playing in the background, and at some parts Peter would do a dance and sing along. 

After about fifteen minutes of ridiculous chatter and multiple songs played, May jumped up. “Finished!”

“Already?!” Peter exclaimed. “Lemme see!”

“Just a sec.” May ran off and grabbed a candle from one of the drawers in the living room, then hurried back. She put it in the pumpkin and lit it carefully. “Ta-da!”

“Oooh!” 

May had carved a traditional pumpkin with a big, spiky jaw, a triangle nose, and big triangle eyes. She had taken seeds and put them in the corners of the eyes to act as pupils. 

“Oh, he’s cross eyed!” Peter laughed. “That’s really cool.” 

Tony grinned. “Clever. I like it.”

“Thanks, Tony. I think I’ll borrow that drill from you when you’re done. I want to make a flower on the back.”

“Sure.” Tony continued working on theinrticate design, squinting and trying to make it as precise as possible. He caught Peter trying to sneak a peak and shooed him off cheerfully. 

When Tony looked up to check on Peter, he nearly cooed. His kid had the most adorable look of concentration on his face. His tongue poked out between his lips and his brow was furrowed. Peter worked carefully, selecting the tools he knew would work best and using them delicately.

 When Peter looked up again, the sky was considerably darker. He looked at the clock. “How is it already five?!” No way had he been working for one and a half hours straight. 

Tony blinked and snapped out of his stupor. “Huh. Time flies, I guess. I’m about done, how about you, kiddo?”

“Almost… I kinda messed up a few details but I think it looks okay!” He scraped the pumpkin more and looked up. “There! Where are the candles?”

“Here you go.” May smiled and handed him a red candle that smelled like cinnamon. He took the lighter and dipped his hand in the pumpkin while Tony watched anxiously. 

“Don’t burn yourself, baby.” He bit his lip in worry. “Be careful.”

“I am!”

May dimmed the lights and pulled the curtains shut. The candle glowed brightly in the dark room and Peter turned the pumpkin to face them. 

May gasped. “Oh. Oh my goodness! Peter, that’s gorgeous!” 

The boy blushed in the candlelight. “Thanks.” He looked to Tony, who had been strangely silent this whole time. 

“Mr. Stark?”

“Petey….” Tony felt his arc reactor and in his mind, compared it to Peter’s intricate, detailed carving that he had spent so much time on. “Petey… you made my reactor?” 

“Uh-huh! I kinda messed up some parts, but I think it looks pretty good. What do you think?”

“I… I… oh my god, baby, I love it. I love it so much.” He pulled his kid into a hug, squeezing him tight. Tony kissed his head and blinked away the tears in his eyes. Peter, surprised at first, hugged him back. “Thank you, Petey.”

“No problem,” he said, voice muffled in Tony’s sweatshirt. “Does it look good?”

“It looks beautiful, baby.”

“I had no idea you could make something like this,” May murmured, tracing the arc reactor with her fingers. “Wow, honey. This is spectacular!”

“Thanks.” Peter’s face heated from the praise and he pushed his head further into Tony’s chest. “What did you make?”

“I was wondering when you’d ask.” Reluctantly, he let go of Peter (but not without another forehead kiss) and grabbed the lighter, He lit the candle, turned it around, and-

It was Peter’s turn to gasp. “Is that me?!” He admired the glowing spider emblem with wide eyes. It matched the one on his suit exactly. “Oh my god!”

Tony beamed. “Do you see the resemblance?” 

“I’m pretty sure you just stole my suit and like, made it into a pumpkin. It’s so cool! I love it, thank you!”

“It was my pleasure,” he said graciously, giving a little bow. “Where do you think we should put them?”

“Um, I dunno. Where’s a good spot?”

Tony looked around. Eventually they decided to put them on the mantle above the fireplace. Peter worried they might rot, but the man assured him they wouldn’t and turned off the fireplace just to ease his kid’s fear.

Peter took a look at the room. A few days ago he and Tony had draped bright orange and purple lights around the room and Peter had added some webs that would definitely leave stains. There was a black spiderweb table runner on the coffee table, and in the kitchen there stood a plastic cauldron filled with dry ice. Ghosts made of tissue and paper mache balls hung from strings by the fireplace and above the couch and tv. Peter took a black and orange oreo from a pumpkin shaped plate cheerfully. 

“When’s dinner?” he asked, realizing how hungry he was getting.

“Are you hungry, bud? We can order a pizza, how does that sound?” Tony replied, smoothing down his curls and then ruffling them so they puffed back up again. 

“Great!” Peter patted his curls back down and flopped on the couch, taking out his phone. 

Only fifteen minutes later the pizza arrived. Peter jumped up happily and opened the box.

“It’s pumpkin shaped!” he exclaimed. “That’s so cool!” The pepperoni slices had been arranged in jack o’ lantern face and Peter laughed. He took four big slices for himself and sat down at the table while May joined him. Tony poured three glasses of apple cider and gave the biggest one to his kid, then sat down next to him. 

Peter wolfed down his pizza in the blink of an eye and downed the cider just as quickly. May and Tony started on their second slices while he started on his fifth. 

He was about to ask May if she knew that some spiders had blue blood when her phone rang. She smiled apologetically at them and stood up to take the call.

“Sandra? Oh, hi.” She wandered into the living room. “Uh-huh? Oh, that’s too bad, I’m so sorry.” A pause. “I could. Yeah, no problem. It’s okay. I hope everyone feels better.” May put her phone down. 

“I’m sorry, guys. I have to fill in for a friend for a few hours.” She sighed. “Her twins are sick and she really needs this. I have to go but I’ll be back soon, okay?” May grabbed her coat and gloves. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

“It’s okay, Aunt May,” Peter said, offering a smile. “What time will you be back?”

“Around two.” She titled his head back to kiss his forehead. “Get some sleep, both of you. No scary movies. Larb you!” She headed toward the elevator.

“Larb you too!” he called back as the doors closed behind her. Peter sighed. 

The room was oddly silent without May’s laughter, but soon Peter started chatting and laughing and they relaxed into their normal banter. 

When they finished their pumpkin pizza, they sat down on the couch. Peter snuggled into Tony’s side and yawned, grabbing his Starkpad. He scrolled to a video and poked Tony’s shoulder.

“What’s this, kiddo?” he asked, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulling him closer.

“Buzzfeed Unsolved,” he mumbled. “That’s Ryan and that’s Shane.” 

“Huh. That’s cool. They solve mysteries?”

“Sometimes. They don’t really solve them, I mean, it’s called Buzzfeed Unsolved, but they do talk about suspects or theories or whatever. Sometimes they do supernatural ones and they’re really funny. And spooky,” Peter rambled. Tony chuckled and turned his attention to the video.

The Haunted Halls of Waverly Hills, read the title. As the creepy introduction played, Tony frowned. The two men he assumed were Ryan and Shane were walking around a long, spooky hallway with cameras that made everything look like it was tinged green.

“You sure this isn’t too scary, Pete?” he asked, not wanting his kid to have nightmares. 

“It’s not,” Peter grumbled. “I’m fine. This one is cool!”

“If you’re sure, Roo.” Tony still sounded skeptical. He was prepared to turn off that tablet the second Peter showed any sign of fright, but he never did.

“This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved we explore Waverly Hills Sanatorium as part of our ongoing investigation, ‘are ghosts real?’” said Ryan.

The camera panned to Shane as he shook his head. They went on to explain the history of the sanatorium. Peter giggled at their many jokes, especially when Shane made snarky remarks. Tony deduced that Shane was the sceptic while Ryan strongly believed in paranormal happenings. He was inclined to side with Shane, but Peter looked just as nervous as Ryan was when he walked down an empty hallway all alone. 

“Pete, are you sure this isn’t too scary?” he repeated after a particularly gruesome description of the horrors that took place in that old building.

“Yes, Mr. Stark.” Despite his annoyed tone, Peter was smiling. 

“Okay, okay.” Tony turned to press a tender kiss to his temple. “I just don’t want you to have nightmares.”

“I won’t. It’s okay.” Peter flopped against him and pressed the next video. “Promise.” He yawned.

The videos, Tony admitted, were pretty cool. He liked how they listed theories and possibilities instead of just leaving the mysteries unended. The two men were funny and entertaining, and he found himself enjoying the videos. 

By now they had watched at least nine or ten episodes. It was easy to get lost in all the videos, which were only twenty minutes long each, but when you watched a few more, time had passed faster than you expected. When Tony checked the time he was surprised to find it was already nine-thirty. 

“You tired, bubba?” he asked gently as Peter yawned. “You’ve had a pretty big day.”

Peter shrugged. “A little.”

“Do you wanna go to bed now, sweetheart?”

“Sure.” He stretched and yawned again. “Tomorrow’s Halloween, right?”

“That’s right,” he hummed. He helped Peter stand up and they made their way down the hallway. “Good night, baby,” he murmured, pulling him into a hug. 

Peter felt a warm kiss pressed to his curls. “G’night.” He hugged Mr. Stark and stumbled into his bedroom, rubbing his eyes. 

Tony watched with love shining bright in his eyes. He headed to his own bed and climbed under the covers, curling up and turning on the bedside lamp. He grabbed his glasses and perched them on the edge of his nose, planning to get a little reading done before he went to bed. 

He couldn’t help but worry about his kid, who had just binge-watched ten episodes about terrible deaths and tortures. “FRI, tell me if he can’t fall asleep, or if he does and wakes up. Just tell me if he’s scared.”

“Certainly, boss,” the AI said smoothly. Tony nodded and began reading, though he barely took in a word, much more focused on the boy in the room next to him. 

~~~~~

Peter thought he had been tired. He had nearly unhinged his jaw from yawning so much. But now, he lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

He shifted around, trying to get comfortable. Heavy blankets tangled around his legs as he thrashed. Peter sighed and mashed his pillow over his face.

After what felt like an hour (but in reality was only fifteen minutes) Peter rolled over and sat up, yawning and scratching the back of his neck.

He grabbed his Starkpad and earbuds. Peter only used one, because two was too overwhelming. He went to youtube and clicked on the first unsolved episode he found, just wanting to sleep. 

The intro played loudly in his ear and Peter relaxed. 

“This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved we’ll cover the Axeman Killer of New Orleans,” said Ryan Bergara. “One of the strangest serial killer cases I’ve ever read.”

“And you’ve read a lot,” Shane replied.

Ryan explained the timeline, which began in 1918 in, of course, New Orleans and ended around eighteen months later. He detailed the mysterious and morbid attempted killings, saying, “In chilling fashion, he only seemed to strike people while they slept in their beds.”

Just to make sure, Peter peeked out the curtain. He shivered and hid further under his blankets. He snickered quietly when Shane made a joke right off the bat.

When the video ended, he turned it off and lay back down. He scrubbed his eyes, feeling refreshed but sleepy at the same time.

Except now, he was having a lot harder of a time falling asleep.

Peter stared at his bedroom door nervously, expecting someone to burst in brandishing an axe. 

It never came.

He watched apprehensively, knowing this was stupid, and rolled over so he faced the wall.

Now his back felt even more exposed. Peter shivered and faced the door in a panic, swearing he heard something. 

Nothing.

He sighed shakily and curled up under the blankets, his heart racing and his eyes wide. The shadows seemed to dance and his eyes flitted from corner to corner as he expected some creature with razor sharp teeth to come leaping out of them. 

A chair, which he had thrown some dirty clothes on the other day, now looked like some skeletal creature with a huge head that could swallow him in one bite.

Peter, in a sudden burst of adrenaline, threw off his covers and sprinted the few feet down the hall to Tony’s room, the door slamming open. Peter leapt onto Tony’s bed, shaking, and wrapped his arms around the man.

Tony went rigid with surprise. “Peter?” He straightened up, squeezing his kid tight protectively and looking murderously around the room for the source of Peter’s fear. “What is it, baby? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” 

Peter shook his head and crawled shakily into his lap, pressing his face into his chest. “Petey? What happened?” His voice was soft and gentle but somehow worried and protective at the same time. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Peter sniffed and blinked a few tears out of his eyes. His cheeks heated in embarrassment. He wilted in Tony’s arms both out of shame and overwhelming relief that he was safe now. 

“Oh, baby,” he cooed. “You’re okay, I got you, you’re okay. I’m here, shh.” He kissed his delicate brown curls. “I’m here, I’m here.”

Peter sighed in relief and squashed his nose against Tony’s reactor. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled.

“Why are you sorry, bubba? You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?” Tony murmured. 

Peter nodded. “I- I just got scared.” His voice cracked and he tried not to cry. 

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay, you’re okay. I got you. Nothing’s gonna happen to you, ‘kay?” He brushed his fingers through his curls. “Pete?”

A soft snore filled the peaceful quiet of the room. Peter’s breathing was slow and even, his face lax. Tony’s face softened. He carefully maneuvered Peter’s limp body under the war covers and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his nose into his curls. “I won’t ever let anything hurt you, kay?” He sighed in contentment, holding his kid tightly. “I love you so much baby.”

Tony’s eyes fluttered shut. “G’night, sweetheart.”

~~~~~

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~~~~~

/ST*RKERS DNI/

[kyber-crystal]

here again || s.r

words: ~2k

summary: you & steve reunite in wakanda after two long years apart

warning: literally none, just fluff. also bad writing bc this is an old ass oneshot

a/n: so uh,,,this was apparently the result of me falling in love with nomad steve rogers all over again. IW was actually the first avengers film i saw and let me just say, hot damn...also i’m horrible w/titles i’m so sorry. if you’d like to be added to my taglist to be the first to know when i publish something new loml!

tags: to @wxstedhexrt​ ! THANK YOU FOR BEING SO SWEET AND SUPPORTIVE AND ALWAYS TAGGING ME IN STUFF ILY

Time flies, people told you. Make the most of every moment. Take nothing for granted. Appreciate those you have around you while they’re still here, because you never know when they’ll leave you. 

What they didn’t mention was what happened between those long hours, the immense pain that came along with missing someone you loved and held near and dear to your heart. The countless sleepless nights awake, wondering if they’d be alright, wondering if they were safe and not in danger. The countless nights hoping and praying they’d come back to you and crying yourself to sleep.

They didn’t tell you that sometimes, you never knew what you were missing until it was gone. 

In your case, your ‘what’ was Steve Rogers. 

Initially, you’d started off on Tony’s side. Not because you agreed with his argument - that wasn’t the case at all - but because you couldn’t stand the idea of turning your back against the man that had sacrificed so much for your sake. But as soon as you saw Steve on the other side of the battlefield, eyes soft and pleading, you couldn’t take it anymore. You caved.  

Being in love made people do strange things, you thought.

You were lucky enough to have found refuge in Wakanda. T’Challa was more than happy to let you stay, knowing you had nowhere else to go and wanting to make sure you were looked after at all times. The others - Sam and the rest of Team Cap, had been sent to the Raft - they weren’t as lucky.

You felt awful. Here you were, living out a peaceful life (well, as peaceful of a fugitive’s life could be), while the rest of your teammates were trapped within the iron fists of the government.

Two years passed, and you still hadn’t gotten a message, any sort of sign, from any of them. You began losing hope. Maybe they weren’t coming back...

“Miss Y/N?” a calm voice suddenly jarred you from your thoughts. 

You turned around to see T’Challa standing there with his hands behind his back. “How many times have i told you to just address me as Y/N?”

“My apologies, Y/N,” he nodded curtly, correcting himself. “Are you alright?”

“Just...thinking,” you hummed. 

“It seems as if you have a lot on your mind,” he guessed. “Is there something that’s bothering you?”

“No, no...”

“Miss- Y/N, you’ve been here for two years, and you think by now, I wouldn’t know when something’s up?”  The Wakandan king raised an eyebrow. 

“T’challa-”

“Hopefully, some good news will lift your spirits?” he offered. “I have received a call, they’re on their way.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Who?”

“Captain Rogers and the others are due to arrive soon. War is coming, and we need to prepare.”

You froze. “D..did I just hear you correctly?”

“Indeed. Okoye will meet you outside your chambers in half an hour, so take some time to wash up and rest, will you? You seem exhausted.”

“You know me so well,” you yawned and stretched your arms in the air. “See you in a bit.”

After you finished washing up and drying your hair, you changed into a comfortable cable-knit sweater and dark jeans before opening the door to see Okoye and Shuri standing there. “Hi.”

Shuri came forward and squeezed you into a tight hug. “Hey!”

You chuckled lightly and ruffled her hair. “So, what’re we doing?”

“T’Challa’s already there, we’re going to see Barnes,” she explained.

“Bucky?” 

“The one and only.”

Okoye offered you one of her rare smiles. You’d formed an unexpected close friendship with the fierce warrior during your time here - she made an excellent sparring partner, and even taught you how to work her weapons.

You headed outside to meet T’Challa, and made your way towards the fields together. 

...

“Drop to 2600, heading 0-3-0,” Steve stated as he walked up to the pilot’s seat. Despite the calm tone of voice he had, everyone could tell he was on the verge of losing it.

“I hope you’re right about this, Cap,” Sam said, “or we’re gonna land a lot faster than you want to.”

“Nervous, Rogers?” Natasha nudged him gently in the side. 

“No.” But the look in his eyes gave it all away.

“It’s been a wild two years, huh,” she exhaled as she stared out ahead, the Quinjet passing through a camouflage forcefield into the Golden City’s valley, landing at the airfield outside the palace.

“Yeah...it has.”

“So when are you gonna tell her?”

“Tell her what?”

“That you’re hopelessly in love with her.”

“Natasha-”

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers, I know you are,” she gave the super-soldier an accusatory look. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have woken up in the middle of the night because you had a nightmare that she died, and it was only after talking with Sam for an hour that you fell back asleep. Which has happened multiple times before.”

“But, Natasha-”

“Come on..why can’t you just admit it? Are you afraid she’s gonna reject you? Because that should be the least of your worries. She’s head over heels for you.”

“What makes you think that?” he tilted his head to the side slightly. 

“Intuition. And the way she looked at you.”

“When you said we were going to open Wakanda to the rest of the world...this is not what I imagined,” Okoye commented as she and T’Challa walked side-by-side.

“And what did you imagine?”

“The Olympics. Maybe even a Starbucks.”

The Quinjet’s back gate dropped open and its occupants disembarked. Steve and Natasha stepped down the ramp first, followed by Bruce and Rhodey, with Vision and Wanda in the back.

“Should we bow?” Bruce whispered into Rhodey’s ear.

“Yeah,” he replied, dead serious. “He’s a king.”

“Seems like I’m always thanking you for something,” Steve said as he and T’Challa shook hands. 

Bruce awkwardly bowed. Rhodey pretended to look shocked, but there was a hint of an smile on his face. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, we don’t do that here,” T’Challa motioned with his hand. Bruce shot Rhodey a look, and was just answered with an amused grin. “So how big of an assault can we expect?”

“Uh, sir, I think you can expect quite a big assault,” Bruce replied as they began walking back into the administrative building.

“How we looking?” Natasha questioned.

“You will have my Kingsguard, the Border Tribe, the Dora Milaje, and...”

“A semi-stable, 100-year-old man,” Bucky finished with a wide grin as he walked towards his best friend. The two men exchanged a tight hug. 

“How you been, Buck?”

“Uh, not bad, for the end of the world.” He paused for a moment before speaking again. “But I think I’ve been holding up better than she has.”

“Who?”

“Everyone’s favorite retired Olympian, ex-nurse, and fugitive electrokinetic hero.”

“What-”

Before he had the chance to answer, your familiar figure stepped out from the shadows.

“Y/N?”

“Steve?”

You felt your breath catch in your throat and froze on the spot. He still had that same lean, muscular figure that any girl would swoon over, but his hair had grown out from years on the run and a rugged beard now covered his sharp jaw. His suit was darkened from dirt and grime and the star in its centre was torn out. But he was still absolutely breathtaking - bright blue eyes shining through the coverage. 

His expression immediately softened upon seeing you. After many nights praying to see your face again his vision had finally become reality - and he had to keep pinching the inside of his palm to remind himself that this in fact, wasn’t a dream at all. He wasn’t dreaming. You were real, and you were standing just a couple yards away. 

You felt your chest ache at the sight of him - it had been two years since you heard him speak. And it didn’t seem to matter how long you were apart for, because his voice would always make you weak at the knees. You hated him for making you react the way you did - or was it yourself that your hatred was directed at more?

But then all feelings of resentment and frustration starting to bubble up to the surface suddenly evaporated. You snapped out of your temporary trance and broke into a sprint, running as fast as your legs would carry you and launching yourself towards him, flinging your arms around his neck. “Steve-”

You slumped against him and broke down, your body trembling from your sobs. He pulled you closer against him and circled his arms around your waist. You didn’t know whether you were crying out of frustration or relief - but the feeling that was brought upon you by being held by him was unlike any other - you’d never get tired of it. You felt so safe, so protected in his tight embrace that you didn’t want to think about anything else. You didn’t want to think about the inevitable war on your way, you didn’t want to think about the past nor the  future, you just wanted to live in the moment - with your head on his chest, his chin on top of your head. That was it.

Steve felt his heart shatter into a million tiny pieces. You were crying. You never cried. You never cried and now you were breaking down - because of him.

“I missed you,” he mumbled, voice muffled by your hair. “God, I missed you so much. I’m so sorry I left you-”

“It’s okay-” you choked out, “I’m just glad you’re alive-”

You lifted your chin up slightly and he rested his forehead against yours, so close that there were only a few millimeters that kept your lips from touching. That’s when you realized he, too, was crying - tears streaming down his face and you swear there’s literally nothing that could make him look any less handsome. You felt your heart stop momentarily. A strange feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. If it weren’t for his steady gaze, you’re almost 100% sure you would’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Steve let out a shaky sigh of relief, inhaling the fresh scent of roses in your hair. It’s been two years since he was last able to hold you like this - and two years later, he still believes you fit perfectly together and that you were made to be held by him, and him alone. 

Then you were overcome with a sudden surge of confidence and quickly cupped his face in your hands and pressed your lips to his, closing the gap. 

It was like fireworks were shooting through your veins as he deepened the kiss and pulled you closer - if that was even possible, given that you were practically pressed against one another - your heart racing at what felt like a million miles per hour at the feeling of his warm lips on yours and his hand between your shoulder blades and on the small of your back. He tasted like everything between euphoria and heartbreak, salty tears and berries and warm coffee, and his touch was electrifying.

You probably could’ve gone on like that for hours on end. It was only when you heard someone cough awkwardly that you broke apart, eyes still glassy with tears, your faces flushed, and lips swollen.

“Are you and lover boy gonna keep up the baby-making or are you gonna say hi to the rest of us?” Sam interjected. “Just a friendly reminder that you aren’t the only two people here.”

“You’re gross,” you muttered as Steve released you to go greet the others. “Hey, Sam. It’s been a while, huh.”

“Long time no see,” he agreed.

“Well, well, well, I see you’ve finally worked up the courage to make a move, both of you,” Natasha smirked as she brought you in for a quick hug. “I’m proud of you both.”

“Nat! I missed you.”

“I missed you too. You know, Cap wouldn’t stop rambling about you the entire way here-”

“Shut up, Nat,” Steve cut her off. “I wasn’t rambling.”

“Not rambling my ass,” Bucky muttered, “you were talking my ear off that day we took the Quinjet. Wouldn’t stop worrying about her when she insisted she’d be okay.”

“If there was an Olympic sport of being passionately in love with your best friend and mutually pining over one another for years before finally breaking the through-the-roof tension, I assure you you’d win, Captain,” Shuri grinned mischievously.

“Oh, my God.”