#so i try not to dwell on it when it comes to bathing suits or other things that would show it

[quaranmine]

literally i am so sick of acne set me free from this hell already please why do i have to live in constant pain

[my-own-walker]

the jpm angst i'd like would have to be something about the reader leaving him ORRRRR james ( or the reader ) cheating? idk just some ideas!! <3

Not Strong Enough

note: sorry this took a sec! i am So Sleepy all the time rn

warnings: angst, talks of death and dying, feeling trapped in a relationship, JPM abandonment issues, sad themes of breaking up/leaving someone

+++

In the midst of life, we are in death. We see all who pass into the dwelling of death, never believing that we too, one day, will follow. We will all go with them and we have no control over when it may happen. But in special cases, we do.

We make small and big decisions every day that prolong our lives. We eat and drink because we choose to live. There are rules against driving under the influence and certain drugs because we want to live. Entire studies are done trying to find the secret to the longest life possible. We, at any time, have the power to make ourselves follow the others into the shadowy realm of death, yet we don't.

Why? It's uncertainty. We don't know what comes next. Life is far too precious to simply throw away, right? No one knows what comes next. Or if anything comes next. But I did.

I did. At least for the ghosts of the Hotel Cortez. The long-term residents, as they sometimes called themselves. They got to live on. And for some time, it gave me a strange sense of home.

When James and I began our relationship, he kept me on a short leash. I knew the truth all along. He was dead, eternally living in his state, bound to the very place he built. It seemed lonely. He wanted me to be in the hotel as much as humanly possible so that I could be with him. I moved into his suite.

All of this, though, to get me used to the place. I was kept from seeing the world so that I wouldn't miss it when he decided to finally kill me. Bound to him forever. Mates until our souls float off.

I knew what death would be for me. And I wanted so badly to do it for him. I loved him so much that I was willing to decide to shuffle off this mortal coil and into the forever purgatory of the hotel. But it simply became too much to bear. For, I had a family. A life before James. A love for meadows and trees and fresh-picked tulips. Running my hands along sun-bathed painted wood and cute wild animals.

In my time away from the hotel, that is where I would go. Anywhere with nature, untouched by man, touched by the beauty of flora and fauna staking their claim.

I couldn't make that decision. I couldn't die for him. I was not strong enough to be able to live, but not fully. See the world but through musty windows and the stories of passing guests.

James and I had dinner together every night. I sat across from him and dreamed of our life together. That began to fade, though. Rationality kicked in. The rose-colored glasses I had been seeing him through shattered. He loved me, but he wanted to control me. It was too much to bear.

+

I looked at him through the flames of the candles in the center of the table. He was looking down, eyes focused intensely on the task at hand. His brow was furrowed. He held a cigarette between his teeth and his silver lighter in his hand. It reflected the flickering lights of the flames onto the ceiling as he wielded it.

It made me sad to think that this would be the last time I would be doing this with him. I still loved him. But it made me even more sad to remember why it all had to stop. James took his first drag and puffed the smoke up into the air.

'You look unwell, dear,' he spoke, looking at me through his brow. 'Is everything alright?'

'Not exactly,' I muttered, casting my gaze down.

'Whatever is the matter?' he pried, sitting forward slightly in his chair.

'I'm not entirely sure how to say this,' I began, 'but, I'll be forthright with it. This is no longer working for me, James.'

'What isn't working for you?' he asked in reply.

'This,' I gestured grandly. 'All of this. I know what you want from me, and I love you, I do. But, I can't live like this. I need to leave.'

A dark expression came over his face. Then, one of sadness. He sat back in his chair and looked down at the table, flipping his lighter in his fingers, then tapping the table with it.

'I know you can make me stay,' I continued. 'You make this problem go away by killing me right now, but that's not what I want. And I have to trust that you'll respect my wishes.' I wasn't scared of him. He had told me time and time again that he only wanted what was best for me.

James looked like he was weighing his options. He didn't speak for a while, didn't even look up to meet my eyes.

'You are the love of my life, Y/N,' he said, finally. His voice cracked, and when he looked up at me, there were tears in his eyes. 'You cannot leave me.'

I stood and walked to his side of the table. James' eyes tracked me as I walked across the space. I stood just next to him, looking down at his crying form. I had never seen him like this. Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around his head and pulled him into my chest. It was an embrace we both needed.

He sniffled into me, burying his head into my dress.

'My love,' I cooed.

'I know what I need to do, but I can't do it,' he cried.

My stomach dropped. His intent was to kill me. My mind raced with ideas of ways to escape without him finding me. I separated myself from him and began to back away calmly.

'I need to let you go,' he uttered up at me. He stood and smoothed the front of his suit, then rubbed his eyes. 'I don't know why I am the way I am.

'Wh-what?' I stammered, steeling myself where I was standing. Was this a trick?

He stepped toward me and placed a hand on my cheek. 'I have a sick need to kill, and a sick need to control people. I love you too much to hurt you,' he explained lowly. 'I can't condemn you to a life like mine.'

Tears sprang to my eyes. I couldn't believe what was happening. I wanted him. I wanted to be with him and love him forever. But that simply wasn't in the cards for the dead man and the girl who loved life and living.

'James,' I whispered. He pulled me into a tight embrace. The cradling kind that enveloped me in his warmth. 'I'm sorry,' I spoke into his chest.

'There is no need for apologies, dearest. I understand,' he murmured. He pulled back and held me at arm's length, taking me in one last time. 'Go.' He placed a kiss on my forehead and let go of me.

'I love you,' I said before turning away to walk out.

'I love you too,' he replied, his voice breaking yet again. 'And, Y/N?' I spun on my heel to face him. 'Don't ever come back here. I won't be able to control myself. Just, don't forget about me.'

I didn't answer. instead, I walked out of his suite's door, into the hallway, then into the elevator, and out of the lobby. As I stepped into the sunlight, I couldn't help but feel like I made the right decision. But a nagging feeling missed James more than I could handle.

+++

Don't you love when I wax poetic in my posts? I get so silly goofy talking about life and death all deep-like. LOLZ

[dumdumsun]

To Nightfall

A/N: Enjoy!

Warnings: alcohol, mentions of alcohol and death

Word Count: 5119

—————————————

Chapter 17: Seven Bells

In mid-September of 1963, Sir Reginald Hargreeves found himself sending his daughter off to her very first outing with one of his colleague’s sons. He seemed to be a reasonable match for (Y/N). It was difficult to come by gentlemen her age with an intelligence like hers. Preston Hildebrand was in no way or degree of being smarter than (Y/N), but he would do.

“Reggie, she’ll be fine.” Grace reassured him from the lounge room. Reginald peeled himself away from the door, where he had been watching the two teens walking off down the street. “Come have a seat. Relax.”

Reginald sighed and sat himself in his usual armchair, gently taking his book from Grace that she held out for him. She sat herself down on the sofa and began looking through documents. “You don’t have to be afraid, Reggie. You know how your daughter is.”

“Yes, I do. Stubborn, relentless, emotional, sarcastic.” He turned a page. “She is also diligent… compassionate… sharp.”

“An absolute angel.” Grace grinned. Reginald hummed thoughtfully.

“May I repeat myself so confidently when I say that I truly believe (Y/N) is my greatest accomplishment?”

Grace chuckled. “You may.” Her laugh earned a small smile from him. “It’s crazy to think that she wouldn’t be in our lives today had I not been walkin’ down that sidewalk… She probably wouldn’t be breathin’ if we hadn’t met.”

Reginald lifted his head to watch her smile soften with affection.

“Makes ya think about how impressively the world works. How some of the best people show up in our lives when we least expect it… Like they’re meant to be here with us.”

“Yes,” He mused with a smile of his own. “Like they are meant to be here…”

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

A dull ache settled into Five’s temples as he opened his eyes. The orange light from outside casted into the bedroom, which gave it a soft glow. It was nice, he thought. The Kugelblitz could hardly be seen in a positive light, but it did give off a nice view. With a groan, he sat up in bed, the duvet sliding off his bare chest and landing in his lap. Five massaged his temples in silence, save for (Y/N)’s soft breaths beside him.

“What did I get up to last night?” He whispered, staring around at the empty bottles and mannequin legs littered about the room. Blurry images flashed through his mind. Images of him drunkenly giving some speech at the wedding, chasing (Y/N) through the halls with plastic mannequin parts in his arms, taking many breaks to copulate in nearly every hall of the hotel. But the last thing he very vaguely remembered was what happened in the White Buffalo Suite.

“There is no time.”

Reginald was talking to someone the slightly ajar door obscured.

“I can’t do this without you.”

He made a deal.

Five furrowed his brows, his fuzzy brain trying to recollect any clues as to who the mystery second party was, but all he could remember was (Y/N) pulling him away. He tried not to dwell on it too much, for the frustration was only adding to his throbbing headache. “What was the old man up to?”

Beside him, he heard the sheets rustle and he turned to see (Y/N), creaking her eyes open just the slightest in order to see him. She only needed to glance at their bare bodies to remember exactly what they were up to the night before, the two sharing a smile in recognition. With a tired sigh, she stretched her arms.

“I feel like I wanna take a bath.”

In his room, Viktor stirred awake. It had been odd, not seeing Allison in the bed across from his. He figured she had found a new room, any empty ones open to her now that the other guests were no longer in the hotel. Part of him was relieved that the tension didn’t have to follow them in the room, but another part of him was hurt that she couldn’t stand to share one with him.

He jumped in alarm at the sound of a throat being cleared. He turned his head to see Reginald standing next to Allison’s old bed, a tray of food in his hands. “Bad dream?”

Viktor fought off a wince at his headache as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Why are you here?”

“What does it look like? To feed you, child. I’m sure after last night’s festivities, a hearty breakfast should bring you a bright start to your day.”

“It’s all such a blur.” He groaned as Reginald set the tray down on the bed and took a seat at the foot.

“Ah.”

Viktor gratefully picked up the glass of water on the tray and raised it to his lips. He halted when Reginald continued to stare at him. “Is there anything else?”

“To be honest, I have some concern.”

“Since when do you care?”

“May I remind you, I am not the Hargreeves you grew up with. Yes, we share the same DNA, impeccable style, and mannerisms, but I can assure you our life circumstances are very different.” He opened the tray cover to reveal two berry scones and two boiled eggs. “And being the only sober person at the wedding, I had the unique opportunity to witness your argument with Allison. Such a shame to see a family struggle so.”

Viktor scoffed as Reginald popped the food into his mouth. “Family… What does that even mean?”

“Family are the only people who know us whilst we endure our most epic trials. I think that should count for something.”

“Why don’t you tell Allison that?” He removed the blanket from his body and stood from the bed. Just outside his window, the Kugelblitz seemed to have moved even closer overnight, its orange clouds consuming what was once a bright blue sky. “Jesus…”

“He’s due any minute now.”

Viktor’s head snapped to Reginald, eyes wide.

“That was a joke.”

He chuckled with a raised brow, earning a smile from his father. “You do jokes now.”

“Actually, what I’m here to discuss… is deadly serious.”

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

The drip of the water from the faucet into the tub every few seconds was the only sound within the spa. Five sat in the hot water that rose to his chest, absently staring at his wife, who sat across from him in the tub, eyes shut and brows raised. She seemed to still be waking up since they had gotten out of bed. She hadn’t made a single sound since they sat down.

“Feeling better?” He whispered, receiving a quiet hum.

“I needed last night.”

“See? Told you so.”

She didn’t open her eyes, but she still frowned at him playfully. Moving her brows so suddenly slightly worsened her headache, so she released the expression to continue riding out her pain. “It was the first time in awhile where I celebrated something… and then something horrible didn’t happen right afterwards.” She gently opened her eyes and smiled sadly. “I don’t think I’ll get another night like that…”

Five reached out and caressed her scarred cheek in his palm with a soft look. “I’ll try my best to keep you happy, Starlight.”

“You already do… I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He whispered, leaning forward to sweetly kiss her lips.

Within Luther and Sloane’s room, the couple looked up from where they were sitting on their floor, in hardly any clothing, to see Allison standing in their open doorway. “Sorry.” She rapped her knuckles against the wood. “Door was open.”

“No, don’t worry. Come in.” Sloane scrambled to stand, Luther doing the same. “Sorry for the mess.”

“Oh, don’t be.” She smiled and stepped into the room. Sloane grabbed a cup of yogurt and sat in a chair on the side, Luther straightening to look at his sister. “Uh, look, I just wanted to come by and say I’m sorry. Okay, I’ve… I’ve been a really shitty sister lately.”

Luther widened his eyes at the unexpected apology, assuming Allison would never come to her senses. “You know, if you’re handing out apologies, Viktor should be top of the list.”

“No, I know. I’m…” She nervously stuffed her hands into her pockets. “I’m gonna get to him. I just, um… Working my way up.” She chuckled.

“Okay.” He whispered. “Well, I forgive you.”

Her smile widened, a gentle look in her eye. “‘Kay.” She smiled at Sloane, who smiled back, before heading towards the door. She stopped abruptly as if she remembered something and turned back around. “Oh, uh, Dad called a meeting at noon today. Are you both gonna come?”

His look of confusion melted into a sarcastic smile. “Oh, I see.” He pointed at his sister with narrowed eyes. “I see what this is.”

“Luther, he has a plan.”

“Mmhm?”

“No, a plan he thinks can save the universe.”

“Really?”

She sighed at his feigned interest in what she had to say. “So, please, come. Both of you.”

“No.”

“We’ll be there.” Sloane stood.

Allison grinned at her, then at Luther. “Great! Okay.” She nodded before leaving, Luther sighing as she shut the door behind her.

Back in Five and (Y/N)’s room, the former had just gotten dressed, the latter looking through the drawers for an outfit. He adjusted his tie and walked up to her, snaking an arm around her waist from behind. “I’m gonna have a drink outside. Feel free to join me when you’re ready.”

“You just got over a hangover, baby.” She looked over her shoulder to press the side of her forehead to his. Five smiled and kissed her cheek.

“Can’t let all those bottles go to waste.”

“No, I guess you can’t.” She chuckled. “Alright, go ahead. Love you.”

“Love you.” He pecked her lips and walked out of the room. Within time, (Y/N) shed her robe and put on her undergarments along with a pair of black slacks before a knock could be heard at the door. Thinking it was Five, she called for the person to come in.

She was taken aback when Allison opened the door and walked in. A long silence passed through as they stared at each other. Averting her gaze, (Y/N) went back to looking for a shirt. With her inebriation slept away, she no longer had much patience for Allison’s recent behavior. If she came in to argue once again, then (Y/N) was prepared to tell her off.

“Um… so…” Allison sat down on a small sofa near the bed. “I wanted to talk about… everything that’s happened between us. I’m… I’m not proud of it. I just wanted you to know why it went down the way it did.”

“I know why it did.” (Y/N) pulled on a light grey long-sleeve that stopped just above her navel. “You lost your daughter and your husband in our last jump and no one seemed to care. Barely even mentioned it, which just made it look like it didn’t matter. You were told to just accept it and move on. You were angry… angry that I appeared to be doing exactly what you weren’t. I get it. But I wasn’t.”

Allison stared as (Y/N) buckled harness straps to her waist and her shoulders. Her sister’s new style wasn’t one she particularly understood, but it did look very flattering on her. “You just… You looked so happy and I… didn’t know what to do with that.”

(Y/N) sighed and leaned against the wall behind her. “I’m sorry about Claire. Really, I am. I miss her, too, you know. She was my favorite niece.”

The two chuckled, Allison wiping away a tear. “She was your only niece, (Y/N).”

“That’s why it hurts so much more,” She pushed off the wall and strode up to Allison, sitting beside her on the sofa. She shook her head as her throat became restricted with unreleased sobs. “I lost my babies, too, Allison. I feel like… like I’m dying every second I’m not with them.”

Allison sniffled and pushed her sister’s hair back. “I know… I know. I’m sorry.”

(Y/N) sniffled and deeply inhaled, tears falling as she gently gripped her sister’s hands. “This family is all I have… And I’m holding on tight with everything I have. I need you to hold on, too, Allison. Because if you let go… you’re gonna slip, and you’re gonna fall.” She let out a choked sob. “And I don’t want you to fall, Allison. I wanna be in your corner, and I want you in mine.”

Sniffling, Allison pulled (Y/N) into a tight hug, letting out her own cries. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry, (Y/N). No matter what, all I’ve wanted for you was for you to be happy. But I couldn’t understand how you managed to do that when I couldn’t. Then I realized that… you weren’t telling anyone how you felt. You were just keeping it all bottled up. And I hated that.”

She pulled away to hold (Y/N)’s face in her hands. “Just… no matter what happens… I want you to remember that. No matter what I’ve done or said, or what I haven’t done or said yet, I just want you to be happy. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Allison nodded and hugged her sister again before they released each other and sat back. “Also… I’m sorry about the Sparrow (Y/N). You guys seemed close.”

(Y/N) sniffled and nodded, twisting the white bracelet on her wrist. “She deserved happiness, too… But it’s very clear that the children of Sir Reginald Hargreeves will always live in misery…”

“You’re still pissed at him?”

“Pissed? I-I’m fucking infuriated with him. A-And then he calls everything he’s done a fucking ‘rough patch on a verdant lawn’? What the fuck?”

“(Y/N), you have every right to feel that way. You do. But Dad has a plan that can fix all of this. And he called a meeting-”

“No-”

“-at noon. It’s at noon, and I really think you should come to at least hear him out.”

“I’m not hearing shit out, Allison. You expect me, after I nearly killed him with a promise in my actions, to sit there and listen to anything that man has to say? No. Hell fucking no.”

Allison sighed and stood. “Do what you want. And I know I’m not anyone to ask you to listen to me, either, but you said it before. We can’t think about ourselves when it comes to the end of the world. So, maybe, you can put aside some of that hatred to hear what he has to say.”

(Y/N) looked away with a clenched jaw.

“Okay… If you don’t, me or Five can just relay it to you. Think about it, though.”

Allison sighed and left the room, closing the door behind her.

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

At the edge of the world sat Five, tipping back a bottle and gulping down its contents. Behind him, on the other edge of the world, was the Kugelblitz. Everything on the other side was being sucked into the radiated black hole and he wasn’t trying to stop it. It was a jarring thing to think about.

He turned his head slightly when he heard footsteps approach him. For a second, he was about to call out to (Y/N), but those weren’t her footsteps. He’d recognize hers anywhere. Trailing his eyes up, he was met with-

“Reginald.” He greeted with a disregard to the man who stood beside him.

“I take it you know why I’m here.”

“How ‘bout I save you some time? Give you the ‘no’ upfront. I’m not the least bit interested in this bullshit plan you’ve been cooking.”

“It’s not, as you so colorfully called it, bullshit.”

Five only took another drink.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Actually, appreciate some…” His nerves were irked when Reginald sat down beside him. “...solitude.”

“Mmhm.”

“It seems I won’t get any.”

He handed the bottle over to his father. Reginald took a drink of it and winced. “Dear god!”

“Mmhm. Louis XIII, it ain’t.”

“I’ve had worse.” He set the bottle down and looked up at the new sky. “It is impressive, isn’t it?”

Five followed his gaze. “All the ways we could have screwed the pooch, this way is the most complete. I’m relieved, actually. This time, everything goes. There’s no Commission, no leaping away. No life spent going mad… with the desperation to see a familiar face.”

Reginald took another swig. “I’ve seen worlds end in ways that would knock your socks off, old man.”

“Wow! Reginald Hargreeves, you never cease to surprise me.”

“That is some comfort.” He smiled a bit. “You know, they all run together after awhile. But you never forget your first. Your home. Your original sin. You never stop wondering, ‘Did I do enough to save the people I loved?’.”

“Did you?”

“No… but I was hoping you children could help me out with that.”

Five raised his brows. “There it is.” He tossed back some more alcohol. “You can go ahead and scratch (Y/N) off your list of recruits. I think you’re the first person to ever land on her blacklist.”

With a genuine sigh of disappointment, Reginald glanced down at the nothingness below them. “One of my deepest regrets was hurting her so.” He looked up to meet Five’s curious gaze. “It seems I have underestimated the relationship you have with her. I see much of your influence in her, and I can’t say it is necessarily unhealthy.”

“What, is this your blessing or something?”

“You wouldn’t have accepted a blessing of mine.” He chuckled. “(Y/N) would have none of that. She has gained more nerve than she had when I last saw her. Though, it was only days for her. It was a change she needed, and perhaps a change that would not have occurred had you not been with her. That is the difference between her and my second-selected version of her.”

Five shook his head at that. “There were many differences between the two of them.” He gulped down another swig. “Sorry, Reg, but you can cross me off, as well. I got a message from the future.”

“What future?”

“My future self told me very explicitly not to save this world.”

Reginald quietly laughed in disbelief. “You are an arrogant son of a bitch, aren’t you? ‘Future you’. ‘Present you’. The past is as much a mystery as the future.” When Five only continued to drink, his amusement washed away. “You ruined your life once before by not listening to me. Are you prepared to do that again?”

Five stared him down with a clenched jaw, his teeth grit behind his closed lips. With a sigh, he relented. “Fine, I’ll attend your stupid meeting.”

“Excellent!” He smiled, standing to his feet.

“If…” Five gained his attention. “...you tell me what happened with you in the Buffalo Suite last night. Who were you talking to? Was it Klaus? Was it Ben?”

“No one. I was alone.” He shook his head. “Though, I doubt you were in any condition to remember. We should go. Don’t want to be late for the meeting.”

Five remained seated.

“I would move if I were you.”

He furrowed his brows. “What, are you threatening me?”

A sudden rumbling shook him, prompting him to hurriedly get to his feet and step back, the part of the ground he was just sitting on breaking apart and falling into the endless pit below.

“Shall we?” Reginald smiled and walked back to the hotel. With a scoff, Five set the bottle down and followed him.

Upon entering, an outburst of claps and cheers for the boy sounded from where the family sat. Five sighed and approached them as they all applauded for his drunken speech at the wedding, where, apparently, he had said some very heart-warming words. To the side, though, Reginald caught sight of (Y/N) walking to the lobby from the elevator she had just exited. With a deep breath, he approached her.

“My child.” He greeted, the girl flinching with a glare. “Before I commence the meeting, I wanted to deeply apologize for (Y/N)’s death. I can see that it has wounded you, and I regret my actions in the entire ordeal.”

(Y/N) sighed and crossed her arms, looking anywhere but at him. “You know, out of anyone, you should be apologizing to her. But she isn’t here for you to do that… Not even her clone.”

He sighed, scrambling to find the right words to say. Reginald Hargreeves wasn’t usually someone to be caught speechless, but (Y/N) never failed to bring out the unexpected. At his silence, she shook her head. “Why did you even do it? What was the point of it all?”

“My child… the day you and your mother left in 1963, it formed an unforeseeable hole in my life. Even your mutt left.”

“Mr Pennycrumb…?”

“Taken by Grace. All I ever wanted was a family like ours once again. So, in order to have even a bit of the past, I adopted you again in 1989. However, I never took into account that a different environment would cause such a drastic change in her character. She was nothing like you, (Y/N). In hopes of repairing what I had already damaged, I coddled her. I made sure to be more attentive with her than my other children. In my attempts, it only resulted in her nature to become cocky and entitled.”

(Y/N) frowned in confusion, but let him continue.

“My Sparrow (Y/N) suffered from underlying issues. She was a very disturbed and… sadistic individual. I first realized it when she was only thirteen, in a time when she was my Number One. She could not lead a unit to success, for her wickedness held her back. It held her siblings back. I was afraid… I was afraid that if she continued the way she did, she would shape the Sparrows into a team of endangerment.

“I demoted her and isolated her from the rest. She was unreasonable, ridiculously headstrong. There was no need for the Sparrows to know the truth, as it would only cause fear and rebellion. With a clone, it was a means to start once again. A blank slate. I instilled an entirely different personality within her clone. One where she was subservient and constantly seeking validation from me. From everyone.

“You have to believe me, it wasn’t what I wanted for her. It was a finer alternative than the person she truly was. I was keeping the children safe… I believed I was keeping her safe. I see now that my intentions blinded me from what I was truly doing to her. I would have ceased my wrongdoings if I had known I was corrupting her mind.”

(Y/N) stayed silent for a second, taking in everything told to her. The entire situation seemed so superfluous. All he had to do was talk to her. Her whole life, it seemed Sparrow (Y/N) just needed someone to talk to her, not isolate her. It didn’t make sense. “You were such a good father in ‘63…” She shook her head. “I wonder what happened in between.”

Reginald gave a small smile. “You were not there.”

“Don’t put this on me. If I had such an impact on your life, then how did I not teach you to be a good father to any other child of yours?”

“In every timeline, (Y/N), you are my daughter. I suppose you are the only one I planned to truly raise, for there is no other child to raise like you.” His smile widened a bit. “I love you very much, my child.”

She scoffed and walked past him, walking in the seating area. All irritation she had just felt washed away when she came face-to-face with her family, who greeted her warmly.

“Hey, there, Miss Maid of Honor.”

“Quite the entertainer last night.”

“Oh, yeah, the life of the party.”

“We need to book you more for events.”

(Y/N) chuckled and jokingly curtsied before walking over to the armchair Five sat in, sitting herself on one of the arms. Reginald returned to the room to stand before everyone. Without any context, he began to explain.

“The Norse had seven sleepers. The Blackfoot, seven stars. As a boy, I heard the legend of the seven bells. All these stories are the same. The village is under threat by flood, by fire, by a night that never ends. A shaman brings his disciples to a sacred cave. He tells them if they can ring the seven magic bells, the village will be saved, and all will be restored just as it was.”

Lila raised her hand. “Reggie? Can we get a little less Brothers Grimm and a little more ‘What the hell does this have to do with us’?”

“There is a truth to these myths. None of you can deny what’s going on around us. All of existence will be gone by the end of the day, but whoever or whatever wove together space and time, they left a way to put things back together if the universe ever faced total annihilation. There is a portal in the universe. I built this hotel around it… and on the other side… is the answer.”

Luther shrugged. “And… we’re supposed to, what? Just stroll in there, ring some bells, and fix this shit?”

“Sarcasm aside, you are mostly right. Except for the guardian.”

“What kind of guardian?” Viktor asked.

“Kinda guardian that does this.” Diego lifted his hand, where two makeshift prosthetics took the place of where his fingers used to be. “He had a sword.”

“It is a force to be reckoned with.”

Luther shook his head. “See? Yeah. This is where you lose me.”

“This is where he loses you?” Lila raised her brows. “I checked out at the sacred cave.”

“Why would the builders of this ‘back door’ need to have a guardian?” Viktor asked.

“Ah!” Sloane pointed. “To protect it from people who want to use it for nefarious means.”

Reginald nodded. “That is correct, Sloane.”

“So, I guess it’s gonna take all of us to defeat the thing protecting the bells.”

Five glanced over at Allison from where she sat in an empty luggage cart. “You’re actually buying his crap?”

“How is a guardian and bells any crazier than time-traveling briefcases and assassins with cartoon masks?”

“Actually, she’s got you there.” Luther agreed.

When no one else spoke, Ben stood and walked up to his father’s side. “I’m in.”

Five thought back to last night.

“I can’t do this without you.”

Could it be Ben?

“Me, too.” Diego stood, causing Lila to gently fall back on the couch. Five looked over at him.

“Do we have a deal?”

Diego? Did Diego make the deal?

“But I think some of us should stay back. Like Lila.”

Five immediately scrapped the idea. Diego only wanted to protect his girlfriend. It was the kind of person he was. He wouldn’t team with Reginald. Lila raised her brows at Diego and stood.

“Uh… or you can stay, and I can go.”

“No.” Allison spoke. “This is much bigger than all of us. Nobody can stay back.”

“You, my children, are all that stands between us and oblivion.” Reginald tried to convince them further. “Are we ready to go?”

Viktor looked around. “Well, I say we vote.”

“This isn’t a democracy.” Ben hissed. “Dad’s calling the shots.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “No the hell he isn’t. If there’s a chance we can avoid ending up like Diego or worse, I’d like to know it was because we actually thought on it first.”

“I agree.” Five grabbed her hand. “We vote.”

Reginald frowned at them. “The world is ending, and you want to count hands?”

“You’re asking us to risk our lives,” Luther reasoned. “I think it’s only fair you give us time to discuss it. Privately.”

With a disappointed scoff, Reginald left the lobby with a pat to Ben’s shoulder. Luther looked around and nodded. “Why don’t we meet back here in an hour?”

“Agreed.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Whatever.”

“Sounds good.”

Allison tried to hold back her anxiety as she clenched her hand into a fist. After the family dispersed, she quickly went after Viktor, who had known she was following him the whole time. When she called out for him to wait, he sighed and turned to her.

“For what? So you can hand me my ass again?”

“Look, I was really drunk last night-”

“Okay, you don’t have to make excuses. I get it. I am your least favorite sibling. I ruined your life-”

“Okay, no, that’s not-” She sighed. “Will you just stop and listen, please?”

Viktor motioned for her to speak.

“Last night, you were right. Claire and Ray are gone. But… hating you won’t bring them back. And my pain… doesn’t give me permission to hurt you.” She turned to lean against the railing, her next words choked on her welling tears. “But it’s real. And it’s something that I have to carry. Which is why if I don’t… If I don’t do something, if I don’t- if I don’t act now… it’s just another thing that slips into nothingness.

“If we stay here, we die. But if we go through the portal, we could… we could save the universe. We could save… everybody. So, can we just put our past behind us and move forward together? Can you give me that?”

At a loss for words, Viktor nodded, which caused Allison to smile.

“I love you.”

The words he had wanted to hear from her, the ones that he thought he lost, were finally spoken once again, pulling him into the routine to immediately repeat them back. “I love you, too.”

Allison moved forward and pulled her brother into a hug, Viktor reciprocating it. This was everything he wanted. All he wanted was for he and Allison to apologize to each other and make amends. To hug and become siblings again. However, something didn’t feel right. He tried to push the feeling down as deep as he could, but he couldn’t dismiss the suspicion he felt. He just hoped her intentions were pure from here on out.

On the other end of the hug, Allison blankly stared forward, all her sadness and guilt wiped away. Her mask had fallen. She was an actress, after all. She had to improvise.

—————————————

Taglist: @natewrightt @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom @yrdadjstcallsmekatya @sm0kingcrack @sbyderman @moatsnow @bubblegumflamingos @starstormssymphony @meowiemari @magicalgothpandamaker @keayastitties @hehehehannahthings @harryshomeismyhome @rhain3 @deigobonitooo @xxeiraxx @camerondiaz48104 @theyaremorethanjustfictional @that-can-of-fizz @luckyzipperscissorsbat @0range-slices @molzsecretspace @officialjypofc @dragon-master-kai @justsomecreaturewandering @fandomxo00 @roman0ffsheart @idktbhloley @wifeofcamillamacaulay @twsssmlmaa @teamspideyman @instabull @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol

[showmethehotpods]

Anonymous asked:

"Do you miss Revya?"

Not that he really like drudging up or dwelling on the fact, but yeah. He missed her a whole damn lot. It was inevitable that shoving two souls together in a body, you’d get pretty used to someone’s presence after awhile. It just so happened that as well as having the powerful body suited to handling his power, she’d had the quiet confidence, the drive in doing the right thing - something of a dampener and a rationality for all his pent up rage. 

...But it wasn’t like he was going to say all that to just anybody. 

“Oh, sure! Of course I miss all that bitching about how someone can’t even bath or go to the freakin’ toilet without any kind of privacy! Don’t forget the running off on every side-quest that comes along while you’re trying to save the world! Gimme a break. Things are way better on my own without havin’ anyone to cramp my style! Heh, I don’t miss a damn thing!”

Even so, the sound of her voice echoed in his ears, a faint memory bubbling to the surface. 

‘He’s lying, Danette.’

‘Gig always laughs when he lies.’

[smol-and-grumpy]

Home To You - Ten

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean enlisted in the hopes to help secure enough money for Sam to be able to go to college. Of course he didn’t tell Sam. Why would he? Sam would understand, right? Turns out, Sam didn’t get it, and is giving Dean the silent treatment for over a year. In Dean’s desperation to reconnect with Sam, Dean reaches out to his brother’s best friend. Little does he know that the hurricane named Y/N will turn out to be the reason he wants to stay alive and go back home for.

Chapter Warnings: Aaaaand, they’re still idiots. Contains flangst.

WC: 3569

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons​ <3

Read ahead on Patreon!

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

“Hey, Y/N,” 

She wakes up to a soft voice ringing in her ear. It’s deep and gravelly, just slightly above a murmur. There’s also a feeling of something nuzzling against her temple. Hot breath fans over the side of her face, making her shiver - but in a good way.

“Wake up,” The voice whispers again, it’s smooth and soft, bathing her in warmth, making her feel less likely to want to burst the comfortable bubble she’s wrapped in so she doesn’t move. 

“Nuh-uh,” She tilts her head, trying to bury her face deeper into the pillow. 

There’s a rumbling sound from underneath her face, it resonates out of her pillow, and then it starts to shake as a chuckle sounds off of it. The sound is deep and scratchy, it makes her feel warm.

Oh.

It’s not a pillow at all, she realizes. 

It’s Dean.

God, but he’s so soft and she feels so content. He’s better than all the pillows in the world.

“You should let me get up, I hear the nurses walking around outside.” 

That’s the cue because all of a sudden, it all comes rushing back and she bolts up abruptly, knocking her head against his jaw in the process and sends him jolting back. Dean cups his face while groaning out painfully, cursing something intangible under his breath.

“Shit, Y/N, you wanna knock me out?” 

She covers her mouth with one hand, muttering apologies and honestly, just trying her best not to burst out laughing too loud as Dean rolls himself off the bed. She absolutely hates the way he takes the warmth with him, and is already feeling colder as soon as he inches away. 

He stops swearing after a while and begins to tie up his boots before standing up straight next to her bed, his hand moving to push her hair out of her face. “You’re still so hard to wake up, huh?”

The memories come back to her. Memories of her mornings at the Winchester’s house where Sam and Dean would fight about who has to wake her up because apparently, she’s a grump in the mornings. Dean always lost to Sam at rock paper scissors and it took him a while to know how best to wake her up, starting with a ten-foot pole, and soon enough, he figured that the best way was to just sit right at the bed with a mug of hot coffee in his hand. 

She’s not allowed to have coffee right now, and knowing that actually makes her grumpier. She scrunches her nose, “Yeah, well, you’d be happy to know that some things never change.” 

“I’m glad they don’t.” He grins. It’s the grin she loves. All bashful and with a slight hint of boyish charm. It makes him look a lot younger. It definitely suits him, it makes her think that he’s just a man who hasn’t seen death and isn’t trying to carry the weight of the world on his own. “Listen, I-”

Before Dean can finish his sentence, the nurse bursts in.

“Good morn-,” The woman who she has gotten to know as Carmen chirps before stalling upon seeing Dean standing there, “-ing,” The brunette nurse finishes and tilts her head down a little. A bright shade of crimson is visible on her face, her mouth curving into a shy grin. Carmen takes a moment to gather herself before she looks back up, “You’re still here,” She states and Y/N just knows that the statement is not directed at her. 

Dean smiles warmly at the nurse, “Yeah,” 

There’s something that bubbles inside of her, rising from the pit of her stomach to her chest and she doesn’t know what it is but she doesn’t really like it. Trying to push that feeling away, she forces a smile of her own.

Carmen just nods at Dean as she walks closer to the bed, probably realizing that she has a job to do. Dean moves to the window, looking out while he lets the nurse check up on her. 

“Before we bring breakfast, the doctor will be here,” the brunette informs her and she sighs. Carmen then turns to Dean, “Would you like something as well, Dean?”

Oh, so they on a first name basis? She must have looked dumbfounded and of course Dean notices because he always does. 

He clears his throat before he speaks to her before even answering Carmen’s question, which somehow makes the jealousy less obtrusive, “Yeah, I came in last night and Carmen was here,” he explains, even though he doesn’t need to. She nods and only then does he turn to the nurse still waiting for him to answer her, “I’m good, thank you. I’ll grab a coffee later.”

The brunette doesn’t seem to be fazed that he took longer to get back to her and now that he did, her face goes tomato red again. Y/N’s used to seeing that. She’s used to knowing what effect Dean has on women and apparently, he still does have that same effect. Things haven't changed at all.

Carmen walks out after doing her work and Dean comes to stand close enough so Y/N can elbow him in the ribs. 

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“Duh,” She grins bravely, hiding her true feelings because it has no room here. “She’s obviously into you.”

Dean frowns before cocking an eyebrow, “You think?”

“Jesus, did you not watch the show that just happened?” She smiles teasingly. The smile doesn’t really reach her eyes but she doesn’t think Dean notices, “Maybe you should ask if she wants to go for a drink?”

He looks down to his feet, seemingly in thought. She can see his mouth working from him biting on something on the inside of his cheek. Dean licks his lips before he shakes his head to look up at her, “I’m here for you, Y/N.” His hand comes up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. His words make her face warmer too, which she hopes he doesn’t notice. 

“And I didn’t tell you to.” She replies, knowing full well that she’s been unreasonable, but it’s the truth. She doesn’t want him to worry, and least of all, she doesn’t want him to think that she’s another burden to him. If anything, Dean deserves to have a slice of happiness of his own. 

“Oh, so, you want me to leave you here and go on a date with Carmen?” He raises his voice a little, which stuns her. Dean normally never raises his voice at her, only when they’re bickering but then they know that neither of them really mean it. 

“I’m just saying-”

“What?” He cuts in, more agitated now, “That I will abandon people I love to go on a date with a girl in the short time I get to be with you?”

His words hit her a little too hard and she’s momentarily speechless while her heart is beating a little faster. The pain in her head comes back and she has to squint her eyes as she lifts her hand to her temple. Dean’s quick to rush the two steps forward and laying his hand on hers, “You okay? God, that’s a dumb question, of course you’re not.” 

“You love me?” She asks, because those were the words that stuck. 

Dean’s jaw drops a little and he licks his lips, the pink in his ears showing, which she thinks is absolutely adorable. He always gets the most color there. “Yeah, of course. You’re family, Y/N.”

Yeah, she’s family, just like he is hers. They will never be more than that. The thought just about shatters her heart. 

Before she can dwell on the disappointment that is spreading and clearly taking heavy roots in her guts. She doesn't even realize that Dean has his forehead leaned on her temple until he jumps apart from her when there’s a knock at the door. 

“I’m sorry,” Carmen says and smiles shyly at both of them as she walks in with a fresh jug of water, “The doctor will be here in about five minutes,” 

“Okay,” She nods at the nurse and looks at Dean to direct the next question to him, “When will Sam be here?” 

“He told me he’s going to pop in before his first lecture at 9 AM,” Dean flips his wrist to look at the watch. He’s still wearing the same one, the one she and Sam got him for his twenty-first birthday. The thought of him holding on to simple gifts makes her smile. “He should be here any minute.”

“Right,” 

“Just ring me should you need anything, okay?” Carmen says, already halfway out of the door. 

“We will,” Dean replies for both of them and she keeps on looking at him, glaring even. He sighs before he rolls his eyes. Looking back at her after his eye roll, he lifts his eyebrows and she just jerks her head in the direction of the door and grins, although she doesn’t feel like grinning at all at this moment. He sighs again before he speaks, “Actually, Carmen,” 

Y/N watches as the nurse turns around, and when Carmen speaks, she sounds hopeful. “Yeah?” The woman’s lips curl up into a bright smile while her eyebrows climb up her forehead in anticipation.

“Um-,” Dean half mumbles and sends Y/N a last look. She doesn’t falter, at least she hopes her grin doesn’t falter, but the corner of her lips starts to twitch uncomfortably from the strain so she stops grinning but winks at him instead, her way of telling him to go forward. He frowns at first but then his whole demeanor changes, his eyes a little cold towards her. Not that she can dwell on them too much because Dean turns away from her to look at the brunette instead, “Let me walk you out,” 

She watches him sending her another look. She’d like to say one that is less cold but actually, it turns icy before he turns his back on her, following Carmen out. It honestly makes her feel crushed but she guesses that she brought it upon herself.

Not allowed to get out of bed, there’s nothing else to do for her other than staying behind, and to pass the time she looks out of the window while worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Of course, she doesn’t want to share Dean with another girl, but what can she really do about it? He said it himself. She’s family. There’s no way Dean sees her the way she sees him and who is she if she doesn’t want him to be happy? 

“Hey you,” Sam sticks his head through the door, wearing his dimpled smile as he strides in afterward to walk to the bed. He wraps her up into a bone-crushing embrace. She takes the time to breathe him in. “How are you holding up? Jess will come later, she has a meeting with her professor.” 

“Of course, I forgot that life is still going on even if I’m not a part of it.”

“I’m sorry to say this, Y/N,” Sam sits down on the empty chair next to her bed, “But I think you have to sit this semester out. There’s no way I will let you worry your head.” 

She has to grin at that. “That’s okay, I don’t even know if I want to continue, Sam.”

“What do you mean?”

She stares at her hands that she has folded in her lap, “I came here to be your cheerleader, remember? I don’t need to study, I don’t think I even need to work for the rest of my life.” 

It’s not a lie. Her parent’s house is hers, they have left enough money for her to be comfortable, and last but not least, there was the insurance money and from the lawsuit her uncle started in order to get the maximum out of her tragedy after her parents passed away. She has enough money and if she keeps on living as she does, it will last her a long time. Long enough for her to figure out what she really wants out of life and a little beyond, probably.

“You’re awfully bad at sitting still, though.” He chuckles, which again, is true. Sam lays his hand on top of hers. They’re incredibly large, her hands looking ridiculous in comparison.

“I don’t know…” She starts, “I just might go back home, would that be okay?” 

“Why?”

“I hate it here.” It blurts out of her and to her surprise, it feels like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

“Wow, tell me what you really think, why don’t you?” Sam’s full-on laughing, but when it dies down and he looks at her, he sees that she’s not joking. “You know I can’t leave until I graduate, right? I’m still stuck here and maybe, just maybe, if I study hard then I can get out sooner.” 

“Sam,” He lays her hand on top of his, “I’m not telling you so that you will come back with me. Your place is here, at least for the time being and until you get your degree. And I’m not even saying that I’m leaving tomorrow. Right now, I just want to take one day at a time.”

“First of all,” the younger Winchester smirks, “How dare you think that I would want you to be all on your own. And second?” He smiles now, “One day at a time sounds about right to me. We’ll be okay, Y/N. I promise.”

She nods. Somehow she really wants to believe that they will be. 

Dean slips in before the doctor. He pauses at the door and takes a look at his brother and Y/N.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, a hint of concern lacing his voice. 

“Where were you?” Sam asks, skillfully dodging Dean’s question and she doesn’t know if it’s the residue of animosity still resting inside his bones that he doesn’t want to tell Dean everything that worries him yet. 

His brother seems to sense Sam’s reluctance not to answer, of course Dean does. Nothing really gets past him, but she’s glad that he doesn’t pry. Dean never does when it comes to Sam, knowing that his brother will talk when he wants to. 

“Did you get her number?” Y/N jumps in before Dean can even start to open his mouth to answer Sam’s question.

Dean groans out audibly before he sits on another empty chair that’s propped against the wall on the opposite side of her bed. He’s too far away, and somehow she wishes that he was closer like last night. 

“Yeah,” He answers her question but it doesn’t sound like he’s super happy about it, “Are you happy now?”

No, is what she thinks. “Yes,” is what she says and surprises herself by being able to curve her lips up into a small smile. 

“You what?” Sam’s nose scrunches a little in irritation. “You asked some girl for their number? Here? While Y/N’s waiting for surgery?”

Dean doesn’t answer. He’s taking Sam’s anger with a squared chest and his chin held high, and she sees that he’s zoning out. She’s seen that posture before, whenever his dad took the anger out on Dean instead of on them even though it wasn’t Dean’s fault. 

Instead of answering, Dean just looks at Y/N and his eyes change, giving in to blankness.

“Sam, it’s nothing.” She says, trying to calm the younger Winchester down. “I told him to.” She explains.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Dean mutters under his breath but it wasn’t said with any malice. He leans his head against the wall and sighs heavily and she can’t help but think that he looks exhausted. She wonders if he did get any sleep at all.

She worries her lips, hoping that it isn’t her that keeps him awake, it’s the last thing she wants to do after he makes the journey back to be here for her. Before she can ask or even apologize the doctor who’s been examining her the whole of yesterday comes in to greet them.

His gaze flickers to Dean whom he obviously hasn’t seen yesterday. “And you are?” 

Dean stands up, making himself straighter, puffing his chest out a little, and holds his hand out for the doctor to shake, “Dean Winchester, sir.” 

“Ah, you must be Sam’s brother.” 

“That, I am.” 

“So, I guess the whole family is here now, right?” The doctor’s gaze flickers around the room and she nods. 

He begins to explain his findings and what’s going to happen.

Somehow, though, her brain turns off. She hears everything but she doesn’t let it get under her skin. She heard how he said that there are multiple aneurysms. There’s someone muttering in the back too, saying “Shit!”. Her brain doesn’t register who it was, her guess is on Dean, though. She heard how the doctor said that the chances that anything happening is slim but it’s there but that if they don’t operate, she doesn’t have a chance of surviving once they burst. It’s like a ticking bomb in her head, ready to go off at any time. She tunes the rest out, staring holes into the air. Suddenly, her feet under the thin hospital blanket are so much more interesting to look at. 

“I’ll see you in surgery at 2 PM,” The doctor nods at her.

Y/N can’t answer, waits for the weight of the knowledge to settle down.

“I can’t eat anything, right?” She looks at both men who are left in her room. Maybe it’s the shock sitting inside her but she feels very hungry and it’s the only thing she can think about, which again, is absolutely weird.

“I’m sorry,” Dean answers the question and steps closer, leaning his hands on the mattress and nuzzles his forehead against her temple. She doesn’t really know what he’s sorry for, but Dean answers the question in her thoughts for her, “About everything, you don’t deserve this.” 

Her hand comes up to cup his cheek, fingers rubbing over his scruff, “It’s not your fault.”

“Well, it isn’t yours either.”

She nods in understanding and Dean places a chaste kiss on her temple. They were both a little lost in the moment when she’s brought back to reality by Sam’s sniffing. 

God, Sam. It’s harder on him than on her. 

Dean seems to know too, steps aside to make room for Sam. The younger brother doesn’t hesitate, his hand finding the back of her neck to guide her towards him. He kisses her cheek, lingers there longer than needed but it’s necessary.

“I’ll be back after lunch, okay?” 

“You don’t have to,”

“Oh, believe me, I do.” Sam sniffs again before taking a step back and she does her best to ignore the tears in his eyes. She can’t look at them, knowing that she would break down instantly.

“You should take Dean with you, get him cleaned up at my apartment.” She suggests.

“Why, you wanna get rid of me, Y/N?” Dean’s voice is teasing, trying to ease the air filled with uncertainty. 

“Ya, you stink, man.” Sam grabs his brother’s shoulder and she doesn’t know if it’s the first time they touched since what seems like forever, but from the way Dean tenses up, she guesses that it is. He recovers quickly, though, the tenseness giving way to softness. 

Dean just cocks one eyebrow, eyes flicking to her as if to ask if that’s true. The tip of his ear showed a soft pink shade. She grins and he shakes his head. He doesn’t or maybe she’s biased. She likes how he smelled last night. Pine and musk and something that’s just Dean. Something a home is made out of.

“Come on,” Sam shoulders past Dean, waits at the door because Dean hesitates. “She’s in good hands.” Sam reminds his brother.

“You really want me gone?” Dean turns to her, crossing his arms over his chest and she tries not to look at how the material of his shirt stretches awfully tight over his shoulders and arms. 

“You should go get breakfast. You can take a shower, even take a nap in bed if you want. Mi casa es su casa.” She smiles, “Sam has a key, fresh towels are in the bathroom. The shower is warm and has great water pressure.” 

“K,” He nods, his eyes light up a little at the prospect of a warm shower. Guess there are not many of those out in the desert. He bends down, kisses the crown of her head and moves to rest his forehead on hers, “I’ll be right back, yeah?”

She bites on her bottom lip, he’s so close and all she actually wants to do right now is to move forward and kiss him. It would be so easy. She’s been thinking about his lips a ridiculous amount of time. Wonders if they feel as good as they look. Y/N knows that she can't, that's why all she says is “Okay, I’ll be here.” And laughs lamely. 

“Behave,” He chuckles, pressing another kiss to her temple before he bends down to retrieve his bag from the floor. 

Eleven

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

​

[moonbeamwritings]

reflections and constellations

Summary: Dio Brando was cold and calculated, driven in all the worst ways. So why, then, did the mere thought of one, fleeting moment from his life before immortality seem to have a vice grip on both his heart and mind, shaking him to his very core?

A/N: This is a follow-up to this ask from a few months back. I’ve been sitting on this for a while and I’m honestly thrilled with how it turned out. Let me know what you think!

A soft, spring breeze rustled Dio’s hair as he rested back against the lush green grass, taking in the clouds as they passed overhead and enjoying the quiet babbling of the river. You were off somewhere in the field to his left, collecting flowers as you’d been dying to all day. Dio knew that the moment you were back by his side, he’d have one delicately placed into the front pocket of his shirt. He wouldn’t mind.

He listened for your footfalls on the ground and for your laughter as it was carried along with the breeze, the sounds causing affection to spread throughout his chest. With his arms behind his head and the warm sun on his face, Dio allowed his eyes to slip closed.

What seemed to be only a moment later, he shot up, head on a swivel as he searched for you amongst the rolling hills, unable to hear you moving about. He hadn’t exactly fallen asleep, no, he was simply relaxing. Surely you couldn’t have wandered that far off in such little time, right?

As he pulled himself up from the ground, Dio’s eyes frantically searched the landscape, desperate to find you.

“Oi! Where’d you run off to!?”

“Ha ha, very funny! You can come out now!”

“Hello!?”

Dio didn’t think his chest had ever felt quite this tight, but he was unable to put a finger on exactly why. You were just being annoying, running off to get a rise out of him. He had half a mind to return to the Joestar mansion, leaving you to giggle from whatever hiding spot you’d found until the sun dipped below the horizon. He couldn’t though, instead opting to keep up his search. What felt like an eternity later, he finally stumbled upon you again, finding you sat along the river’s edge with your back to him.

“Hey! What the hell? At least tell me where you’re going next time if you’re going to run off like an idiot,” Dio spoke, tone far more biting than he had intended it to be.

When you didn’t answer, his hand reached out to grip your shoulder, forcing you to turn to face him. The look on your face had his stomach twisting into knots, sending bile up the back of his throat.

As you turned, your face contorted into a disturbing concoction of absolute disgust and fear, looking Dio up and down as if he was a stranger, a monster. You smacked his hand away, reeling away from his touch like your skin had been scalded. 

Dio felt his heart hammering in his ears. Something was wrong. This couldn’t be happening.

“Hey, did something happen? What’s wrong?” No one would claim that comforting words were Dio’s strong suit, but with the way you were behaving, he would try. Anything for you.

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” you spat, “I can barely stand to look at you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look at yourself, Dio! You’re sick.”

Dio looked down at his body in confusion to find a horrific scene. His clothes were now sticky and wet with blood, the skin of his hands obscured under a layer of it. His skin felt hot with embarrassment and frustration. What was going on?

As his eyes remained focused on his hands, your voice rang out, a mirthless laugh passing your lips, “And to think that I loved you. I’m disgusted just thinking about it.”

Dio felt tears prick at the back of his eyes, “What?”

It was as if you were miles apart, like he had to scream to be heard. He was burning and everywhere he looked seemed to be coated in blood. His whole world was collapsing before his eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Please,” he began to plead, voice dripping with desperation, with guilt, “don’t leave me. Please, allow me to explain.”

As you opened your mouth to respond, Dio felt his heart stop, the world spinning before finally coming to a dizzying halt.

Blinking once, twice, Dio glanced around the room, chest heaving with frantic breaths. He was surrounded by the aging books in his mansion’s library, no longer in the English countryside as he had been mere moments ago.

You. You were right there and the thought made Dio all the more breathless. He hadn’t thought about you in years, too focused on his future to dwell on his past, unwavering in his goals. After that fateful day, he willed you from his mind entirely, you became nothing more than a blip on his road to success.

Now, reliving the searing pain he felt in his heart that afternoon, Dio’s hands began to shake. With a sharp growl, he slammed the book in his lap shut, carelessly tossing it aside before venturing back up to his quarters. He refused, above all else, to be seen as weak and he would be damned if the likes of someone like Hol Horse saw him in his current state.

Entering his room and slamming the door behind him, Dio took the time to linger in front of the mirror, eyes scanning over his features and new body. He held a hand up in front of the glass, narrowing in on his long, sharp nails. Leaning closer to the mirror, Dio opened his mouth in order to take in the sight of his pearly white fangs as well.

As he ran a hand along the scar on his neck, his thoughts were consumed by swirling questions, hushed whispers of things left unanswered. What happened to you after everything? Did you go on to be happy? Did you ever think of him, after all was said and done? Had you loved him just as he loved you?

He shuddered as one final question crossed his mind: What would you think of him now?

What would you think about his new body, stolen from the very man you admonished him for antagonizing? About the ways in which he used and abused any sad, lonely person that crossed his path? About how he viewed himself as superior, charming and manipulating whoever he pleased?

With one final glance, Dio turned his back to the mirror, moving over to throw his curtains open, bathing his room in moonlight. The stars shone brightly and as he stared up at the expanse of the sky, he found your favorite constellation, as if fate had arranged for him to see it.

Dio Brando was beyond the species of man, an immortal being with a stand whose power could stop time at will. The world was at his fingertips and yet he was brought to knees by the mere thought of a lost childhood friend, a potential lover. This was the goal he so desperately clung to and he was well on his way to success, but as he looked up at that constellation, he wondered if it was truly worth losing you along the way.

[handy-dandy-monster-candy]

Primrose, part Two

Rating: NSFW Length: 2124 Pairing: Male Orc x Male Reader (both cis)

xxx

Primrose is there the next morning as promised, and all the mornings after that. He brings a packed breakfast from each morning onwards, each more extravagant than the last. I complain that my poor grandmother will have to roll me outside by the time she recovers; he laughs and tells me that he’d be happy to help. He comes out of his shell the longer that he spends time with me, but I’m the one that takes longer to emerge. I’ve been hurt before, and I’m not used to the earnestness of Primrose’s attentions—least of all from a man I’m also attracted to. He likes my biting tongue and doesn’t mind my skittish nature, and after the first hour of sitting in the shade watching me work, he grows restless enough to roll up his sleeves and join me.

He’s hopeless at weeding the garden. I squawk like a plucked hen when he pulls up one of my grandmother’s budding azaleas on the fourth morning, and he’s deeply apologetic for the rest of the day until we find that he’s incredibly talented at floral arrangement. It’s only a shame that we had to find out with the casualties of his “pruning”. He’s much better at working the soil, and I won’t lie and say I don’t enjoy watching his shirt come off before he pushes the plough through the dirt, trying his best to get even lines as his shoulders turn almost as pink as his hair in the sun.

It’s gratifying to watch him get dirt under his manicured fingernails, and I have to admit that I like his company. He’s a charming conversationalist and he never seems to run out of things to talk about, and I find myself drawn into conversation even when I’d been feeling reticent before. I learn that he’s the third child in a rich family—well enough off to do whatever he likes, and low enough in the pecking order to do what he pleases. I call him spoiled and he agrees with me, though that particular day he redoubles his efforts to learn how to tend to my grandmother’s flowers. I make him lunch and fresh lemonade every afternoon and we eat with our feet in the cool water of my grandmother’s fish pond, and every evening he packs himself into a carriage and heads home.

“Why do you keep coming?” I ask him after a few weeks of this charade, and I’m startled by the boisterous laughter that bursts out of the giant orc.

“You can’t really be that dense,” he says when he recovers, wiping tears from his sparkling eyes.

“I can be as dense as I like,” I reply with a touch of heat, though I suspect I know full well why the young orc is trying so hard. “Do you want to get into my pants? You won’t succeed.”

Primrose looks as though I’ve lashed him with a switch instead of my tongue. “Is that all you think I’m here for?” he asks, gesturing to our surroundings with a frown. “Why I’m learning how to garden?” He says my name in a chiding tone, and I can barely feel the condensation on my glass rolling down the top of my hand.

“Aren’t you?” I challenge, watching his face warily for any trace of malice or deception.

Instead, Primrose’s expression closes. “I think I’ll call my carriage now,” he says, and gets up to do so. I don’t stop him when he makes the call. I don’t stop him before he climbs into his carriage, and I don’t stop him after. He can go if he likes, I think. They all do, in the end.

The next few days, I find myself growing irritable. I’m upset with myself for letting him into my space, for letting him get under my skin, for thinking, for dreaming—but I stop myself before those thoughts can go far, growing all the more irritable for dwelling upon them, and then the cycle repeats. I find his ribbon when I’m emptying out pockets for laundry, and I have the irrational urge to burn it.

That’s when I know that I’m in deep.

That night, I decide to take a long soak in the bath, using salts and oils that I know have brought me peace in the past. This time is different; there’s a restlessness under my skin, an itch to touch and be touched, and I find that even the bathwater cannot calm me. I can hardly stand to be around myself, and so I pull on my bathrobe and march out of the house through the back door, intent on losing myself to the repetitive task of gardening.

“Whoa!” cries a voice when I throw open the door, and in the light I can see that I’ve slammed it right into Primrose’s face.

“Prim!” I cry, almost gasping around my words as I take in the position of his hands: one bearing a bouquet, the other cupped over his bloodied nose. “What the hell are you doing in my backyard? Get in here this instant! You’re bleeding all over the porch!”

“I was picking you flowers,” Primrose manages to say around his hand, following me into the kitchen and sitting down where I bid him to so that I can get a look at his nose.

“From my own damn garden? You’re lucky I didn’t break this,” I say, frowning and prodding gently at his nose; it will bruise, but it isn’t budging.

“They’re the prettiest flowers there are,” Primrose protests, lips bunching around his jewelled tusks—and that’s when I notice the way he’s dressed.

“Were you at a party?” I ask, incredulous, even as I wiggle a tissue up his nostril.

Primrose grimaces. “Some party,” he grumbles. “My birthday. But I wanted to spend it with you.”

My heart flip-flops in my chest like the day’s catch. “You don’t mean that,” I tut, keeping my eyes averted from his honest blue gaze. “You’ve had too much to drink again.”

Primrose draws himself up. “I haven’t touched a drop since we met,” he declares, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “I haven’t needed it.”

“Needed it?”

“To feel good,” he explains, taking my blood-stained fingers in his and looking into my face. “Not since I met you. Let me court you.”

“Court me?” I feel like an idiot, parroting his words back at him like some nincompoop, but I can’t help but feel as though I’ve missed a step on my way down the stairs.

Primrose laughs, and I ache at how much I’ve missed that sound. “Yes, court you. I want you. I’ve wanted you since the first day we met, but I know now that I want to keep you, too. Let me keep you.”

“I’m not one to be ‘kept’,” I say, bristling at the word that I cling to in the maelstrom of things being said.

“Then keep me instead,” Primrose begs, sliding from the chair onto his knees in front of me.

“Primrose,” I gasp, aghast, but he doesn’t let me speak, instead thrusting the bouquet up at my face.

“Say the word and I’ll never bother you again,” he says, eyes as blue as the summer sky looking up at me from his large, flushed face. “One word and all that I can give you will be yours. Kill me or kiss me, right here, right now.”

So I kiss him. I kiss him, and I touch him, and I climb him like that damn tree I found him under all those weeks ago, and he groans like I’ve just righted all of the wrongs in his life. I smell crushed flowers as he turns and presses me against the dining table, my limbs moving of their own accord to wend and wind around him and pull him close. There’s the distant clatter of buttons hitting the wood of the table as Primrose yanks his overcoat over his head, then the sound of fabric tearing as his shirt follows suit.

I haven’t giggled in years, but I do now, giddy and exhilarated. “Those looked expensive, you buffoon,” I scold, moaning as he takes the opportunity to kiss along my throat and scrape his tusks along my jaw. “Gods.”

“No,” says Primrose, his voice deeper and more guttural than I’ve ever heard it, striking a chord in me that makes a thrill rocket up my spine. “None home at the moment. Come here, you delicious thing.”

In an instant, my arms are woefully empty, but Primrose’s mouth is gloriously occupied. I shout into the rafters when he gives his first hungry suckle, hands gravitating to his hair and grabbing fistfuls as he works me like I hold the answer to his prayers in my balls. “I didn’t dare think about this,” I whimper, gasping when Primrose throws my thighs over his shoulders and settles in for the long haul.

“I’ve thought of nothing but this,” he growls when he comes up for air, tongue delving between my cheeks and finding me still damp from my bath. “You taste like roses.”

“Oh, gods, shut up,” I groan, dragging my hands over my face in mortification—I hadn’t even realised that I’d chosen the rose oil to soak in until now. I whimper and moan as he works me open with his tongue, but I’m not inexperienced enough to think that a little spit will be enough for what I’ve spied tucked in his trousers when he hasn’t been looking. “Let me get oil, at least!”

Primrose laughs and carries me as though I weigh nothing more than a limp kitten, which I suppose I don’t, to a man so large. We grab the rose oil across the house and make it about as far as the bathroom vanity before he has his fingers in me, and I find myself riding them with a lusty abandon I didn’t know myself capable of. “Fuck, you look so sweet,” Primrose whispers, and I watch him watch me through the mirror. “You’ll look so much better on my cock.”

“Fuck,” I hiss. “Hurry up. I haven’t got all nigh—ai! Oh, fuck, my legs.”

“Mhm,” Primrose chuckles, fingers once again working along the most sensitive part of my insides. “I saw that. Do it again.”

“Fuck you,” I manage to choke out, even if my knees do, in fact, wobble again. He takes his time, driving me crazy in fits and starts until he finally pulls his hand away and replaces it with his dick. I’d sooner eat dirt than tell him, but it burns going in even with all the stretching and preparation—a burn I hadn’t felt since the first time I was stretched open and fucked—but I wasn’t going to feed into his ego any more than my body already had; he’d be insufferable. “Prim,” I gasp, reaching back to steady him and slow his onslaught. “Easy.”

“I’ve got you,” he says behind me, and I know that he does. I feel it in my gut, and in the ache of my chest, and in the way he strokes along my quivering back. It feels like an eternity before he bottoms out, and I almost laugh at the way we both heave deep sighs of relief. When he moves a minute later, it feels like he takes my whole body with him, so he stops and adds more oil as I recover a second time and tries again. The second time turns out to be the charm, then, as he moves in me like he’s always belonged inside me, and then the rest is a blur.

I remember pleasure. I remember pleasure and the pain of my hips digging into the vanity, and of my fingers clinging to the edge of the countertop for dear life. He fucks me until my legs give out and we end up on the floor, his big hands guiding my hips as I ride him like our lives depend on it. I don’t remember how many times I come, just that I come until my vision blacks out, and then I come again, fingers tearing at the tiles beneath me as I writhe like a man possessed.

When my consciousness swims back into focus, I find myself in my bed with a blanket made of orcflesh draped over me, Primrose’s legs tangled with mine as the early morning light seeps soft and grey through my curtains. I watch him for a moment, taking in his sleep-soft features and the way his hair falls into his face, and I decide that we could both deserve a little lie-in.

I can always scold him about being too warm to cuddle later.

[jayz4dayz]

5 for Meariri?

Of course! This was a lot of fun to write! 

Prompt: “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Jealousy 

It was hot. Hot and sticky and miserable. Truth be told, Mary wished Kirari would have chosen a less humid location for a getaway. Technically, Mary wasn’t even supposed to be there considering this was a student council event. She wasn’t fond of a single person on the council aside from Ririka, who was the only reason why Mary agreed to go in the first place.

She just couldn’t say no to Ririka who was so excited to go and was happy to invite her to come along. Besides, sharing a hotel room alone with her girlfriend and relaxing without the burden of school work for a few days didn’t sound like a bad idea at first. Anyone would have jumped at the opportunity to go on an all expense paid trip to an exotic tropical island in another country with their significant other after all.

What Mary wasn’t prepared for was the blazing hot sun, humid weather, and having to shop for a new bathing suit and temporary clothes with Ririka because their luggage got mixed up with someone else's at the airport.

What she certainly wasn’t prepared for was the overly flirtatious clerk at the swimsuit shop who was all too eager to help Ririka find a perfect fit. Ririka was oblivious, of course, and didn’t understand that the young man was heavily flirting with her. But Mary knew and it was starting to piss her off the longer his eyes greedily awaited for Ririka to exit the dressing room in a bikini she had picked out.

“I don’t know, it looks a little tight in the bust,” Ririka said shyly from the dressing room.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you come out? Then I can see if you need a bigger size or maybe take your measurements,” the man grinned, reaching for the handle of the door.

“Um, no. I think the fuck not,” Mary stopped him in his tracks. “I’ll be the judge of that, thank you.”

The man raised a brow at her. “Alright, ma’am. See if your friend needs a bigger size then.”

Friend. The word made Mary bite her tongue for she wanted to say she was much more than Ririka’s friend. It left a bitter taste in Mary’s mouth as she grumbled, walking into the changing room.

Almost instantly, her sour mood shifted the moment she saw her girlfriend shyly holding her arms as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. The bikini was an aquamarine color and fit her body near perfectly. It showed off her well toned stomach and seemed to fit in all the right places. She was stunning as always, only now even more so.

Ririka smiled slightly, blushing when she saw Mary’s wide-eyed expression. “H-how do I look?”

“Hot,” Mary breathed out. “I-I mean you look great!”

“Thank you, love. Do you think it shows off too much of my body though?” Ririka asked, lowering her arms.

To Mary, it didn’t show off enough. Not that she’d ever admit. However, it was revealing enough that she knew people would definitely look twice if they walked past Ririka. It was hard enough for her to keep her own eyes off of Ririka, but perhaps that was only because she was her girlfriend. Besides, Ririka was going to be wearing this bathing suit for one reason and one reason only: to swim. It was either this or a wetsuit, which both Kirari and Mary discouraged her from doing since the ocean water was relatively warm and it would have just been a hassle.

“Would you like a one piece instead?” Mary snickered.

Ririka pouted. “Well, not really. I kind of wanted to get a tan.”

“Babe, you don’t tan. You burn,” Mary scoffed. “And this’ll mean you’ll need to put on extra sunscreen.”

“Hm, maybe you’re right. I’ll just get a one piece,” Ririka agreed, beginning to strip down.

“You could get both,” Mary suggested. “One for the beach and one for the pool at the hotel or for other occasions. That is if it’s in our budget.”

Ririka grinned. “Money’s not an issue, so I think I will! Thank you, dearest.”

Mary maintained her tsundere attitude, rolling her eyes when Ririka briefly pecked her lips. However, she failed to hide her blush or the smirk that made its way onto her face from the sudden affection from her lover.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just hurry up so we can meet the others at the beach spot,” Mary chuckled.

Ririka’s hand intertwined with Mary’s and she grinned as they walked along the sandy sidewalk. Seeing Ririka smile warmed Mary's heart; she rarely saw her girlfriend smile. She was used to seeing the creepy smile of Ririka’s mask, something Mary was grateful Ririka left behind for this trip.

Mary received several glances from onlookers, which she normally wouldn’t pay any attention to. Until she realized they weren’t staring at the two of them, they were staring at Ririka. She was in her two piece and Mary supposed that and Ririka’s platinum hair drew a bit of attention. She protectively held her girlfriend close to her, scowling at whoever stared at her for too long.

Ririka paid no attention to that or the people who looked at her. She only smiled brighter, thinking Mary was only being extra affectionate to her which she’d gladly accept. She’d never deny it since Mary typically only showed her affection when they were alone or occasionally when they were with friends.

“Clingy today, hm?” Ririka teased.

“Maybe,” Mary grumbled, her cheeks reddening.  

Ririka recognized that tone of voice. Mary was greatly irritated by something. What it was, Ririka couldn’t figure out yet. It was hot outside and she knew how much Mary hated hot weather, but soon they’d be in the cool, soothing water of the ocean. So she didn’t dwell much on the thought.

Once they arrived at the location, they were greeted by Kirari and Sayaka. Kirari immediately handed her sister a bottle of sunscreen, to which Ririka began to complain. The two started to bicker while Sayaka insisted for Ririka to apply sunblock. The conversation bored Mary, so she walked over to an empty area and took her beach towel out of her bag. She laid it across the sand before sitting down, watching sea birds dive into the ocean.

Eventually, Ririka walked over to Mary in defeat, plopping down on the towel. She laid her head in Mary’s lap and pouted, looking up at her.

“Riri, you’re gonna get sunscreen on my jeans!” Mary laughed, brushing a loose strand of hair out of Ririka’s face.

“Kirari put too much on me,” Ririka cringed, trying to rub the whiter areas on her arms that still had sunblock on it. “I don’t burn that badly.”

Mary snorted. “Yeah you do. Even worse than I do.”

“Whatever,” Ririka groaned. “I want to swim eventually. Maybe I’ll see some fish.”

“Nah, chances are you’ll only see Midari trying to drown,” Mary replied. “If you’re lucky, you’ll see Yuriko-senpai drown trying to save her.”

Ririka looked out at the shore, seeing Midari chasing Yuriko with a dead or perhaps horrifyingly still alive sea jelly as the poor girl shrieked and tried to evade her. “Hm... or Yuriko will try to drown Midari herself.”  

“Yeah and Midari would probably let her,” Mary snickered as she too watched Midari torment Yuriko. “Maybe that was her plan all along, the damn masochist.”

“I don’t know,” Ririka sighed in disinterest. “Will you go swimming with me?”

“Later maybe. I don’t wanna get covered in sand if I can avoid it,” Mary responded curtly. "Besides, then I'd have to change out of my jeans which I really don't wanna do."

Ririka grinned, wrapping her arms around the blonde’s waist. “Do you want to just stay like this for a while then?”

“I can get used to this,” Mary smirked in agreement.

And so they did, enjoying the ocean breeze and each other’s presence. For a while at least, until Kirari and Sayaka returned. Mary only glared at them as they approached, hoping they were only coming over to grab something from their bag or that they’d walk right past them.

“We’re playing badminton,” Kirari announced with her signature sly smile, wrapping her arm around Sayaka.

“That’s nice. Have fun, I guess,” Mary raised a brow at them in dismissal.

Sayaka’s face was bright red, regardless of her efforts of trying to remain in her professional Secretary persona. “T-the President is referring to the four of us.”

“Tch, I’m not playing against her. She never plays fair for gambling or sports,” Mary scoffed.

“Your incapability in athletics is no excuse for accusing me of not playing fair, Saotome,” Kirari faked a pout that made Mary’s blood boil.

“We’ll play only if I choose who’s on each side,” Ririka chimed in. “And Mary is very athletic, Rari. Her flexibility is impeccable.”

Mary’s face felt hot as Ririka winked at her, catching on to the double entendre. “T-thanks.”

Kirari pursed her lips. “Very well then. I have no issue with this.”

Ririka grinned and looked at Sayaka who was still practically attached to Kirari by the hip. “Sayaka, are you alright with being my partner for this?”

Mary instantly felt a stab of betrayal and she could tell by Kirari’s sudden shift in expression that the feeling was very much mutual. The younger twin squinted at the blonde, silently voicing her displeasure with this sudden arrangement. Mary shot back a sinister glare with just as much venom.

It was clear neither were expecting Ririka to choose Sayaka. It would have been less surprising had she chosen Kirari, even. Perhaps this was all for Ririka’s entertainment, knowing that Kirari and Mary would rather eat sand than pair up together for anything.

Sayaka gave Kirari a look of panic to which Kirari gave a slight nod, kissing Sayaka’s forehead before releasing her. Sayaka’s expression immediately softened.

Sayaka gave a light smile. “I would be honored to be your partner, Ririka-san.”

Jealousy tugged at Mary’s heart. She despised feeling jealous of Sayaka, someone she knew followed Kirari around like a lost puppy and devoted her life to her. Maybe it was because she knew Ririka shared the same face as Kirari that made her feel like Sayaka was some sort of threat. Mary of all people knew that Ririka and Kirari were two very different people, regardless of their similar features. Yet it still got under her skin.

“Now that it’s settled, I’m going to ask Runa to be the score keeper,” Kirari spoke up; her tone was bitter.

Mary sighed, getting up and dusted off the sand from her legs. She watched as Kirari and Sayaka walked towards the volleyball net which she was sure they were going to use for their game.

Ririka smiled mischievously at her to which Mary responded with the roll of her eyes. “Was it really necessary pairing me up with Kirari?”

“Of course it was,” Ririka nodded. “You said you wanted things to be fair. Had Kirari and I been on the same side, there would be an unfair advantage since the two of us are unstoppable at pretty much every sport. Had I paired us with each other’s significant other, all of us would be distracted. This pairing assures that Kirari won’t try to cheat because you’ll be there to catch it, though I’m not sure how she could cheat in badminton. Regardless, this will be a good way for the two of you to work on your team work skills and maybe help you bond with each other.”

It made sense at least, but the last thing she wanted was to be on the same team as Kirari Momobami. Hell, she would have rather been paired with Sayaka and accepted whatever loss they took if the twins dominated in the game. She couldn’t have cared less about victory or loss seeing as how she didn’t even want to play in the first place.

Being paired with Kirari complicated things. She knew how competitive Kirari was and she did not want to hear Kirari’s constant complaints and reminders of how shitty of a player Mary was if she didn’t put any effort into the game.

So Mary was trapped, and very much frustrated with the whole situation. All she could really do was sigh and grin and bear it for the time being. It was just one game after all. How bad could it be?

Mary severely underestimated just how competitive Kirari was and Ririka for that matter. Her girlfriend was right in saying that she and Kirari would have absolutely had an advantage had Mary been paired with Sayaka. In all honesty, it looked more like the twins were going against each other rather than all four of them.

Mary and Sayaka couldn’t keep up with how fast Ririka and Kirari were. Their speed and accuracy was almost inhuman; Mary and Sayaka more or less gave up and just watched the twins compete. It’s not like they were able to attempt to score anyway; Kirari and Ririka were always quick to beat them to it.

Because of the twins rarely missing a hit, the game stretched on far longer than Mary wanted. Both sides were tied and still needed several more points to win. Even Runa looked like she was growing bored, scrolling on her phone since she knew this game wasn’t going anywhere.

The only good thing about this was that Mary got to watch her lover sweat and see those beautiful muscles go to good work. She looked so beautiful, even like this. Her eyes had a fiery tint to them, glowing from her competitive spirit. It made Mary's core burn with desire.

Ririka was panting heavily by the time Runa called for a break so the twins could catch their breath. Mary and Sayaka were hardly breaking a sweat, not that they had a reason to anyway.

“Sayaka and I haven’t scored a single point, so I don’t understand why you didn’t just ask Ririka to play with you,” Mary commented.

Kirari panted, tying up her hair that had long since fallen out of its braids. “I’m beginning to regret not doing so. You haven’t been very helpful.”

“Because you won’t let me hit the feather thing!” Mary shouted in defense.

“It’s called a shuttlecock, heathen,” Kirari huffed. “And I know you’d likely intentionally miss and allow the other team to score so you can get this game over with.”

“Honestly at this point, yeah,” Mary confirmed. “I just wanna be done with this and spend the rest of the day with my girlfriend.”

“Well I refuse to lose in front of Sayaka,” Kirari muttered. “So you’re sorely mistaken if you believe I’ll concede to defeat so easily.”

Mary sighed. “If I make an effort to help you win, do you think the game will end sooner?”

“Perhaps, but if we lose even after you give your all, you know I won’t let you hear the end of it, don’t you?” Kirari smirked.

“I expect nothing less and I really don’t give a shit,” Mary grumbled.

“Oki! Let’s resume!” Runa shouted in a clearly faked cheerful tone. “But I’m changing things up. The team to score the next point wins!”

“Why the sudden change of rules, Runa?” Sayaka asked.

Runa sighed. “I’m tired of being the scorekeeper and I wanna go swimming, so let’s get this over with.”

That news was music to Mary’s ears. Now that it was just one point she had to worry about, her mood finally turned competitive. She wanted to end this. She wanted to win this not just to keep Kirari off her back, but to impress Ririka as well.

Everyone got into position. It was Ririka’s turn to serve and Mary didn’t keep her eyes off of her. Ririka glanced over at Mary, giving her a quick smile before serving. Kirari was quicker than Mary, hitting the shuttlecock back onto the other side. Mary rolled her eyes and watched as Sayaka hit it next, sending it towards her.

After sending it back and forth several times, things became rather intense as now all four participants kept their eyes glued on the shuttlecock flying through the air. Mary knew Sayaka was expecting her to always send it to Ririka, so she decided to catch the violet-eyed girl off guard.

Thwack. Sayaka and Ririka watched as the shuttlecock glided through the air. Mary watched as if it were in slow motion as Ririka ran to hit it and surprisingly didn’t miss. However, she crashed into Sayaka in the process, falling on top of her. It wouldn’t have been as bad had Ririka not accidentally placed her hands on Sayaka’s breasts, making the entire scenario all the more awkward. Both Mary and Kirari watched with wide eyes, completely ignoring the fact that the shuttlecock had already landed in their zone.

“O-oh my god, I’m so sorry, Sayaka!” Ririka squeaked and instantly lifted her hands, her face turning bright red from embarrassment.

“That’s… that’s…” Sayaka couldn’t even finish her sentence for she also was too embarrassed.

Mary snapped out of her gaze when she heard laughing next to her. She snapped her head towards Kirari who looked all too amused by this.

“Ara, ara, what I would give to be in my dear sister’s position right now,” Kirari grinned cheekily.

"Does that not make you even a little bit mad?" Mary hissed.

Kirari chuckled. "Of course not. I find this to be quite amusing."

"Of course you do," Mary growled.

“Ririka-chan’s team wins!” Runa announced, startling all of them. Apparently they had forgotten she was there. “Game over! Finally.”

“Good,” Mary grumbled, storming off away from them.

She heard somebody call out after her, but she paid no attention to it. What happened was a complete accident, she knew she shouldn’t have felt angry or jealous. The fact that it happened to Sayaka and not her was perhaps what made her the most upset. But she knew she had to let it go. It was a stupid thing to be upset over.

She plopped down onto her beach towel with a huff, glancing towards the crashing waves in the distance. She saw Midari’s arms wrapped around Yuriko’s waist as they allowed the water to rush past their knees. Mary wished that was her with Ririka right about now. Perhaps not in the water, but instead in the comfort and privacy of their hotel room.

“Are you alright? You looked really upset,” a familiar voice said from behind.

Mary slightly turned her head and her face softened upon seeing her girlfriend. “Yeah, I’m alright. I’m just tired.”

Ririka knelt down, her cerulean eyes full of concern. “Are you sure there’s nothing bothering you? You can talk to me, you know.”

‘Yes, the fact that I haven’t had a damn minute alone with you yet today and people left and right have been looking at you in a way only I should be,’ Mary wanted to say.

Mary shook her head. “Like I said, I’m tired. Don't worry about it. Do you still want to go swimming?”

“Of course!” Ririka grinned. “The badminton game really made me hot so I want to go cool off. Are you going to join me?”

“Maybe I’ll dip my toes in,” Mary smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. “But don’t push your luck.”

“Alright, I’ll see you there then,” Ririka said softly, kissing the top of Mary’s head.

Mary watched Ririka walk over to the shore before wading her way into the water. She chuckled when she saw her dive into a wave and move her platinum hair out of her face when she returned to the surface. She looked happy. Seeing that made Mary happy. Though her day hadn’t gone as planned in the slightest, she was at least relieved Ririka was having fun. She rarely got a break like this and genuinely had fun. School work and helping Kirari run their psychotic family was stressful enough on top of maintaining their position as top gamblers. Ririka deserved a chance to breathe and be herself for once.

Mary got up and rolled up her pant legs before walking over to the shore. She noticed that Ririka had swam much deeper into the water, but wasn’t too concerned. She shivered slightly when the cold water touched her feet, but it was refreshing nonetheless. It was hot anyway, so it felt nice.

She stood there for a moment enjoying the breeze and the shifting sand beneath her toes, finally feeling calm. That is until she saw a lifeguard run past her and into the water. She was swimming closer and closer to where Ririka was which caused Mary to panic.

All she could do was anxiously wait and watch as the lifeguard tugged Ririka parallel to where they were until they reached the shore. Mary sprinted to them, still in a panicked state of mind. Ririka held onto the lifeguard’s arm, her face red either from exhaustion or embarrassment… or because the lifeguard was very attractive.

“I-is she okay? Is she hurt? What happened?” The blonde asked frantically.

The lifeguard gave a friendly smile. “Your friend got caught in a rip tide, but she’s alright now.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Ririka stuttered in embarrassment.

“Don’t worry about it,” the lifeguard assured her. “Just be careful swimming in this area of the beach. Alright, beautiful?”

That was it. That was the comment that made Mary nearly lose it. It was too much. With all that had already happened, the flirting from the clerk earlier, the looks from people on the street, Ririka falling on Sayaka, and now the attractive lifeguard flirting with Ririka, Mary's jealousy had finally gotten to a point where she was about to snap if she didn't get so much as a minute alone with her girlfriend.

“Thanks for saving my girlfriend, ” Mary said in the nicest tone she could, emphasizing on the word 'girlfriend.'

“Just doing my job,” the lifeguard nodded. “You two have a good day now!”

Mary crossed her arms, trying her hardest to not let her inner emotions show.

“Mary?” Ririka asked with caution. “You okay?”

Mary huffed, looking up at her. “Yes. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” Ririka smirked.

Mary’s face turned bright red. “No! I just...yes. A little.”

Ririka knew that was an understatement. She took a step closer to her lover, looking down at her. Mary was pouting and refusing to look at her now. Ririka placed a hand on Mary’s cheek, turning her face to look at her.

“You know I only have eyes for you,” the platinum haired girl whispered seductively.

“I-I know that! I’m not doubting your loyalty or anything! I just don’t like people looking at you the way I do,” Mary admitted, placing her hand over Ririka’s lovingly.

Ririka chuckled. "There's so much irony in this situation."

Mary raised a confused brow. "Huh?"

"You think I don't get jealous whenever someone looks at you with lust in their eyes? There are girls and boys in school including in our friend group who I know would give anything to be in a room alone with you," Ririka explained.

Mary was all too aware of her popularity at Hyakkaou. Heck, every Valentine's Day she received love letters from people she'd never even met. Being a top gambler had its perks, but Mary didn't necessarily consider that to be one. Especially now that she was no longer single and had to reject people instead of just brush them aside.

"Our friend group? Who?" Mary asked with a bewildered expression.

"Ryota," Ririka said softly.

"Okay, Suzui doesn't count. He gets flustered around everyone. Remember how much he blushed when he saw you without your mask for the first time? He's just a bundle of awkwardness," Mary explained with a scoff. "Who else?"

Ririka hesitated. "Yumeko."

Oh. Now that Mary could understand. Yumeko was a touchy person by nature, but she was different around Mary. Perhaps it was because she had feelings for her or maybe it was because she was close to Mary. Whatever the reason, Mary could see why Ririka could be jealous of her.

Mary rubbed her neck awkwardly. "Yeah, okay. I can see that. I've never had feelings for Yumeko though."

"Really?" Ririka asked with wide eyes.

"I care about her and all, but she has a hard time with boundaries. You always respect my boundaries and care about how I feel. Even today, you checked in on me when you felt like something was wrong," Mary blushed.

"And something was," Ririka nodded. "Communicating is important, my love. Without talking to me about these things, our relationship wouldn't be solid. We agreed from the start to be honest with each other about everything, right?"

Mary smiled fondly. "Right."

"So be honest with me now. You haven't gotten what you've wanted all day," Ririka sighed, placing her hands on Mary's hips. "What would you like to do now? What do you want?"

Mary licked her lips and breathed out. "You."  

"I'm all yours," Ririka whispered.

Ririka's eyes sparkled with desire. Her eyes fluttered shut as she pulled Mary close, pressing their two lips together. Mary smiled into the kiss and the world around them fell away. All they could hear was the crashing waves behind them. It was a moment, a single blissful moment that felt like a lifetime. Kissing Ririka always had that affect, like she was the only other person in the world.

The two broke free for air and pressed their foreheads together.

"I want more," Mary panted. "Somewhere alone with you. Do you think we can go to the hotel?"

"Hm, perhaps. Though the rental car is closer, don't you agree?" Ririka smirked.

The heat between Mary's legs grew more prominent now and had this been any other time, she would have obliged. But she wanted absolute privacy with no risks of being intruded.

Mary shook her head. "No, I want to be alone in a room with you. I need you, Riri."

Ririka grinned, briefly kissing Mary's lips once more before holding her hand, gently tugging her to walk away with her.

"Then what are we waiting for?"

[minachuuu]

Something About the Sunshine

❣Something About the Sunshine❣

❤ Pairing: Ryujin x Reader

❤ Genre: Fluff

❤ Word Count: 4.2k

❤ Song Suggestions: Surf & Nobody Like You by Itzy and Something About the Sunshine from Starstruck

Literally everyone but Ryujin found suspicious the amount of times she had been repeating the words 'It's just a friend's trip!' when asked about your upcoming vacation together to California. Her bandmates laughed the first time, but by the twenty-seventh time they were around to hear it they just mockingly imitated Ryujin. They were a hundred percent sure every single employee on JYP knew she was going on a ‘just friends’ trip’.

But it’s not like they didn’t notice how Ryujin’s eyes glow when she’s talking about you, how she messes her hair when somebody asks her about you, or how she goes from the fiercest and bravest person when you are being attacked by a nasty spider minding its business on wall, to the softest and clingiest girl when she cuddles with you on movie nights.

Maybe the ‘it’s just a friend’s trip!’ wasn’t trying to convince anyone, but herself.

The day arrived, and you were sitting in Itzy's living room, waiting for the car to arrive to take you both to the airport.

Yuna sat down by your side eating a tuna wrap, still wearing her night suit and the messiest mane you had ever seen. You were very used to seeing them all like that, since you are really close to Itzy, others have even mistaken you for their manager since you are basically always around them.

“Want some?” The younger girl extended her snack to you courteously, her voice still raspy from being awake so early.

“I’m okay Yuna, thanks!” You tried to hold back a giggle at the sight of Yuna clumsily existing at five o’clock in the morning. “Why are you up so early?”

“Schedules, practices, couldn’t stop thinking about this wrap…” She got lost in her own subconscious as she stared at the piece of food embraced by her hands. “It’s not even mine, but why would someone leave it abandoned in the fridge like that?”

“The car is here!” Ryujin rushed out of her room with her suitcase in hand. She fashioned a huge smile and a weirdly big enthusiasm for this time of the day. “Time to go Y/n!”

You stood from the couch, scrambling the younger girl’s hair to which she just looked at you drowsingly dumbfounded. You both headed towards the door carrying all your luggage.

“Have a nice trip! Bring me a gift, and don’t come back unless you’re dating” She whispered the last part, urgently took another bite of her tuna wrap and a smirk teasingly appeared on her mouth.

The last thing you saw was Ryujin throwing a beanie straight to the younger member’s face before closing the door behind her. 

Even though the flight was long, the 12 hours passed swiftly in between naps, movies and little scattered conversations with Ryujin. You could talk about anything all the time and never get tired, but couldn't fail to see something bothering her, deep inside her conscious the entire journey. 

After picking up your luggage and grabbing a taxi to your hotel, the effects of hour difference and the hustle of the trip started to dawn on you. And you were both so tired that you failed to realize the room they gave you had only one queen-sized bed. It still wouldn't have bothered you, you both had shared even smaller beds before. 

Ryunjin jumped into the bed as one should, patting the side for you to join her. You laid beside her, as she wrapped her arms around you. Both not hesitant to fall in a deep slumber. 

The clock marked 7 O'clock, and a little ray of sunshine peeked through the disheveled curtains and rested over your eyes, waking you up with its warmth. You stretched your body grasping your reality, this was not your house and you were not in Korea anymore. Carefully stretching your body, you recognized the presence of the girl beside you. Turning around, you saw her calm and resting expression, the image plastering a smile on your face. 

You silently rose from the bed, tip-toeing towards the sunrays. You warily slided open the door to the balcony, being welcomed by the sights of a waking city, illuminated by the dawn of a new day. That's when suddenly you felt a pair of arms surrounding your neck. The familiar embrace made the moment even more special, as you took in your hands those that rested in your chest. You stayed there in a comfortable silence, feeling Ryujin's breath and smile forming against the back of your neck. 

"Hey…" Ryujin broke the silence first. "Sorry about what Yuna said back home, she was just-" 

You released a light chuckle, finally having the answer to her worries. "I know Yuna, she's not the serious type." 

"Yeah…" Even with a weight lifted from her shoulders, Ryujin couldn't help but dwell on the matter. "I guess she was just joking." 

"But hey, we didn't come here to be locked down in the hotel room, did we?" You turned around, jokingly punching the other girl's arm. "Let's go!" 

"Twelve hours of flying are pretty heavy," She watched your enthusiasm fly as you scattered throughout the room, grabbing some things from your suitcase and heading to the bathroom to take a shower. "Are you sure you don't want to stay a little more and-" 

"Oh, c'mon!" You grabbed her by the hand, shaking her mind up. "We'll just go for a walk, grab something to eat. It's not like we're going to Disneyland right now."

"Sounds good to me!" Ryujin didn't hesitate to match your enthusiasm and rushed to get her stuff ready. "Where do we go?" 

"Actually…" You fidgeted your hands playfully. "It's a surprise."

-❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️-

“Venice beach?” Ryujin’s eyes grew as big as the moon. “This is where I-”

“-filmed the Nobody Like You music video!” You both said at the same time.

“Yes!” An eager smile was painted across your face at the sight of the shimmer in the other girl’s eyes. "I thought you might like coming back…”

"And I prefer the company a whole lot more this time!" Her fingers interlaced with yours as she chuckled at her joke. "Please don't tell the girls I said that."

"I'm texting Yeji right away-" 

"What, no!" Ryujin threw herself for your phone but you reacted quickly, prompting a whole game of tag for your phone. 

"Hi Yejiii-unnieeeee!" You started a voice note at the same time that you tried out-running Ryunjin in the still calm paths of the boardwalk. "The flight was fine and we landed perfectly! The hotel is very cosy and the sight's amazing. But Ryujin just said that she prefers me over yo- AH!" 

You felt your body be wanked from the floor, your back landing against the sand. Your phone flew from your hand, and Ryujin dove to reach it, landing beside you. An endless stream of laughter followed, one of those that make your eyes tear and your belly ache. Ryujin made sure the voice note didn't send, but to her bad fortune, Yeji had already listened to it and typed her response: 

Glad the trip went alright! And don't worry, we already knew Ryujin prefers you. Not only over us, she prefers you over anything or anyone really. 

Ryujin's cheeks flared up as she read the message, the laughter in her disappearing abruptly. She sheepishly handed your phone back, playing nervously with her hair as you read it too. 

"Awwww!" You mockingly teased her, wrapping your arms around her head. "Do you really love me that much??" 

"I… Well, maybe, yeah- I don't know-" She couldn't even finish a coherent sentence, trapped in between her nerves and your teasing. 

You stood up, still giggling at everything that just happened, glaring at the fine line separating the sky from the sea as it shined a light blue with little hints of orange and yellow as the last minutes of sunrise bathed you in their light.

This gave Ryujin a perfect view of you, as your silhouette was perfectly enframed on the sun rays hitting your body. She smiled at the way the sun rested on your soft cheeks, your smile competing against it for the brightest thing in her life. 

It started dawning on her, that maybe it was true. Maybe she did prefer you over anything and anyone. 

"Care to give me a tour Mrs. Shin Ryujin?" You proposed with a fruity and jestering voice while extending your hand, breaking her daydreaming. 

She took your hand as she stood and shook away some sand in her clothes. That Ryujin from the hotel room who wanted to rest and who was a little too much inside her head banished in a matter of seconds, pulling you around the stores and streets she visited with her group mates. You weren't complaining at all, aside from being Ryujin's best friend you were also a huge fan of Itzy. Always present, front row on their performances, shows and even sometimes rehearsals. And there was nothing better than listening to an excited Ryujin showing you around and retelling her memories with the glow in her eyes reflecting all the light of the vibrant place. 

You walked among the shops and food stands, halting in front of a familiar stand, with displays full of sunglasses of different shades and shapes. You both tried a thousand different styles after finally deciding on a matching pair. A round dark frame with the crystals tinted to each of your favorite colors. You kept walking along that ally, hands intertwined as you pointed to all of the little details you found along the way.

“And here…” Ryujin smirked teasingly at you, stopping in front of the skate rental where Itzy got theirs when they filmed the Nobody like you MV. “It’s where the fun starts.”

“Oh no.” You pushed her away from you, a nervous but playful giggle escaping your mouth. “There’s no way you’re going to get me on one of those.”

“You asked for the full Itzy Experience Tour didn’t you?” She lowered her new sunglasses to glare at you teasingly. 

“I- Yes but…”

“Then it’s time for you to learn how to skate.” She turned around, quickly renting a pair of skateboards from the man tending the local. She came back, holding the skateboards on each hand, handling you one of them with a triumphant smile. “Here Y/n, I even rented the helmet, knee pads and elbow pads in your favorite color, they will match with your glasses!”

“It’s not like I don’t like how they look Ryujin.” You sneered, taking the board on your hands. You examined its weight, hesitating to put it on the ground. “I don’t know how to ride one.”

“Oh I know, I’m going to teach you!” She confidently rejoiced in her talents, as she fastened the safety equipment around her body. “If I was able to make you dance Wannabe, do you think I can’t do this?”

“How many times have you rode one of these?” Ryujin stopped her movement at the question, clearing her throat pretending not to listen to you. “Ryujin-ah…”

“Maybe like…” She stood up, her face trying hard to convey a sense of security but only managing to sound arrogantly sweet. “...Once?”

“That’s it, we’re dying today.” You laughed as you put your safety equipment on, shaking your head in disapproval at yourself, since you still were willing to do anything for the girl in front of you, especially when a hit of her puppy eyes started peeking out of her.

“Okay first, one foot. Straight.” After you were both equipped and ready, she started demonstrating on her own board, stepping with her left foot on the board, turning around to make sure you were following the instructions. You imitated her movements with so much less confidence. "Now, you'll push with your right foot and…" 

You only watched baffled, your body refusing to move as she glided through the plaza with no problem. Pleasantly surprised and relieved that she still had the muscle memory to remember how to stay on top of it. A smile emerged in your face at the sight of your bestfriend making an effort to keep herself going, giggles filling the air as she circled you with ease. You took your phone out to capture the moment, and the instant Ryujin noticed the camera, her idol-self came out, acting with charisma at it, flustering you with the winks and smirks she gave to the lenses. 

“C’mon, now it’s your turn.” She approached you defiant, confident. Her presence and attitude helped you grab a bit of courage, but not enough to start without a little bit of help. 

You innately searched for Ryujin’s hand, not surprised when you realized she was already offering to take yours. You firmly put your left feet on the skateboard, and pushed gently with the right, helping you glide, as the girl beside you jogged at your speed. You tried again, now gaining more speed, and then tried once more. The sea breeze hit your face, rampaging your hair, a big and refreshing change from the city air you were so used to breath all the time back home. Your body flinched at the velocity you were traveling to, but Ryujin didn’t let you fall, her support helping you stay on.

“You have absolutely no permission to let go of my hand Shin Ryujin.” You babbled, holding on for dear life to her hand which was probably the only thing keeping you from falling down.

“You know I never would.” For a moment, all those worries in Ryujin’s head dissipated. You blushed at her words and she smiled at your sun-kissed image. 

It had a certain charm for her, you needed her protection and guidance, as she only focused on you staying alive and having fun. You stopped for a while, ecstatic at the thought of still being alive after that. 

“You are a very quick learner. Or maybe I’m just an excellent teacher.” Ryujin joked, earning a slap on her arm as she helped you stabilize yourself to get off the board. “I think you're ready to go on your own.”

“I only could do that because you were grabbing on to me!” You whined.

“I’ll be close to catch you if you fall.” Her smile was kind, protective, the kind that made you melt into everything she said. A big part of your friendship was teasing each other non-stop, but when it came to serious matters, there was no one out there you trusted more than Ryujin.

“Promise?” You trembled.

“I promise.” 

You, a little bit more confident now, repeated the steps to get over your skateboard and you pushed, gently. When you stabilized your body over the moving board, you repeated but with a stronger push. With a bit more confidence now taking up, you started steering with the weight of your body, your nerves releasing themselves in the form of giggles. 

You noticed Ryujin skating close to you, now skillful enough to be focusing you with her phone while gliding around to get some pretty takes and pictures of you. She cheered, a wide grin adorning her face as little wrinkles appeared on the edges of her eyes, the way they did when something made her stupidly happy.

You were so focused on Ryujin’s antics and she was so into you too, that you failed to see a slightly raised sidewalk straight in your path. Ryujin caught a glimpse of it just in time to jump towards you, surrounding your entire body with hers. With her feet landing first in a patch of grass, the scenario of you both flying through the air and landing into concrete was avoided. But thanks to the speed your bodies carried and you not being able to stop them, you still tripped down, Ryujin falling on her back and you right on top of her. You were quick to raise your heads, realizing they were only a few inches away, blood rising, coating your faces in red.

“Maybe I should-” You were quick to get up, no scratches or bruises in sight. Ryujin seemed free of injury too, so you extended your hand to help her up. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t worry. I’m totally okay.” She took your hand and stood up, fixing her clothes. Her hands instinctively wished to check you, and help you fix yourself too, but a certain tension that filled the air stopped her from doing so. “Are... are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine too.” You responded, fixing your hair yourself and avoiding her glance.

Ryujin went to pick up the skateboards, leaving the silence between you lingering for longer than it should. While walking back, you both caught a glimpse of each other’s eyes, making you release an stressed giggle, easing the ambience around just a bit.

“Let’s take this back and grab something to eat.” Ryujin proposed as you walked side to side back to the skates rental, an strange and awkward quietness encircling your steps.

-❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️-

You sat cuddled between Ryujin’s arms, the sights of the sea in front of you as you both enjoyed the beach, snacking on some american-flavored chips that you found on a K-mart along the way.

“Close your eyes.” You playfully demanded Ryujin.

“Why, what are you going to do to me?” She asked.

“I’m going to give you one of these flavors randomly and you have to guess which one it is!” 

She obeyed, closing her eyes and releasing you from her embrace as you reached for your target. You grabbed one chip from the five bags sitting in front of you and gently placed it on Ryujin’s tongue. She opened her eyes at the instant flavor that filled her mouth, confused and maybe even a bit disgusted.

“Is it really that bad?” Your laugh bursted at her expressions.

“No, it’s just that-'' She kept chewing the chip, her face contorting even more with each second passing. “It’s interesting?”

“That’s what people say when something tastes bad but they don’t want to be rude about it” You kept laughing, looking at her amusingly. “Well, what flavor do you think that was?”

“I’m gonna say…” Her eyes and brows exaggerated her thought process as they playfully moved up and down. “...salt and vinegar?” 

“No, Pickle-flavored!” You raised the bad of chips, triumphantly. “I told you these were a bad idea!”

“No! I had some hope for these!” She grabbed the bag from your hands, disappointment in her eyes as she examined the chips closer as if that could magically enhance their flavor for better. Ryujin extended the bag to you. “Here, try one and tell me what you think.”

“After seeing your face? I’ll pass, thanks” You pushed away her hand with the bag and her eyebrows furrowed.

“You can’t make me suffer alone! The chips thing was YOUR idea!” She started throwing one of her usual tantrums, shaking the bag in front of your face now. You kept throwing your head backwards and she answered by leaning in even closer, mumbling her complaints in a cute tone. Neither of you noticed when, but suddenly you found yourself laying under Ryujin. The instant she realized your position, she stopped her fit and the blush in her cheeks flared up.

“You have some-” In your attempt of diffusing the situation, you reached your thumb towards her lips, paralysing even further the girl on top of you. She couldn’t take the flood of ideas invading her mind that the sight of you staring straight at her lips, caressing them gently created. 

She quickly sat up, distress all over her face avoiding looking at you as much as possible. You were both just friends, nothing more. Why do those ideas start appearing now? No. Why was Ryujin not able to suppress those ideas now as well as before? 

You followed her, looking straight at her conflicted face now being illuminated by the sunset in the horizon. Your hand reached for her chin, gently pulling it to meet your eyes with hers. You felt her breathing halting at the action, to what you offered a delicate smile.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” You skipped the ‘something’s bothering you’ talk, you knew your best friend enough to know she would deny everything, try and cover anything. 

“Yes, I know…” Now Ryujin’s eyes were the ones who could decide to rest on your eyes or in your lips, with even more ideas invading her mind. “I just don’t know where to start.”

“Would it help if I start this time?” You smiled even wider, hiding the amount of courage you were trying to gather inside your mind. 

Ryujin looked at you perplexed, as she expected you to keep pushing for her to talk but got this instead. She shook her head remembering your question, to which she nodded as an answer.

“It’s not new, I’ve been dealing with all of this for a long time but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. And maybe it’s not even the best time to tell you, giving that there’s an entire vacation together at risk…” You started mumbling, your eyes diverting all around you as your train of thoughts backed up from the enthusiasm. 

“Hey…”  She used your techniques against you, grabbing your chin and raising it to meet her eyes. Your nervous rambling woke up Ryujin’s protective side, as she now offered you an uneasy smile. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

You deadlocked your eyes on her, serious. You jokingly slapped her arm for using your own weapons against you, but like a magnet, the silence between you only called for your eyes to be lost on hers. You couldn’t tell thanks to your nerves, but you were getting your faces closer with each second passing. A deep sigh from Ryujin’s side broke the tension, aided you to gain back your courage, you were going to blurt it out now or nev-

“I like you. Maybe I could even dare say that I love you Y/n.” Ryujin sputtered first, avoiding your eyes. Your breath halted, earning a gasp at the sudden confession, bringing your hands to your open mouth. Your mind was way too shocked to remember how to properly function, paralysed in the moment. At the awkward silence created, Ryujin gathered all her body strength to look back at you, her mind racing a thousand miles per hour to find a way to save the moment. “It’s okay if you don’t return-”

“Shin Ryujin, I was going to tell you that!” You moaned playfully, the entirety of your body relaxing now as you could help painting a huge smile across your face.

“You- what?” It was now her turn to be astonished. Your unusual response made it even more confusing to her, as the scenarios that her head created were of totally different colors from the one presented in front of her. It wasn’t until you stopped nervously giggling and locked eyes with her again that you realized that you had to explain yourself.

“I love you too dummy.” You cupped her hands in yours, happy tears blurring your sight from excitement. 

“Oh. OH!” Ryujin’s whole face illuminated as the facts dawned on her, her worries floating away with the sounds of the sea in the background. She released a chuckle as she confidently put her hands around your waist, pulling you closer. “Does that mean I get to-”

“Yes! A thousand times yes!” You giggled, not even bothering to listen to the rest of her sentence, knowing exactly that what followed was something you’ve waited for a long time.

Ryujin excitedly cupped your cheeks, pulling you towards her. Your lips clashed with urgency, dancing at the rhythm of the tropical music in the background of Venice Beach, earning a smile from both that could only be eased as you joined your lips each time after breathing for air. The warmth of the sun setting in the horizon, filled your bodies from head to toe, as your beating heart took care of the inside. 

Time is never the first thing that counts when you’re sure you just found the love of your life, but when you parted your lips again and looked around, the lamp posts started turning on, some neon signs from the stores behind you started coloring the streets. You sighed, resting your head on your girlfriend’s shoulder. A comfortable silence surrounding you both, with everything but your heartbeats synchronized resonating in the air.

“The girls are going to lose their mind when we tell them.” You broke the silence first, sighing at the idea popping in your head.

“We’ll worry about them later.” She laughed as her mind painted the picture too. “Let’s keep this between us for now, we’ll plan a prank in the plane back home. Deal?”

“Deal.” You chuckled at the suggestion, glad that your best friend was back. And even better than before, cause now you get to kiss her whenever you want.

The last rays of sun lighted you both like a spotlight in the end of a show, but what it really felt like was the beginning of the best adventure, by the side of the most amazing person in your life.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Take Care (Ethan x MC)

Summary: Set sometime between chapter 18, Ethan forces Naomi to take a break.

A/N: Okay the other day when I posted that i was writing tooth rotting fluff, this isn’t what I had in mind. That story will come later this week.

~v~

“How long have you been here?”

The question startles Naomi awake, Ethan’s stern voice cutting through the hazy cloud of sleepiness invading all of her senses.

If she didn’t have his handsome features committed to memory already, she might not have been able to make him out, her vision getting blurrier and blurrier as time ticks on.

“What?”

“How long have you been here?” Ethan asks again. “When was the last time you stepped out of Edenbrook?”

It’s a valid question, one Naomi hasn’t given any thought to. “What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“I’ve been here since Saturday night,” Naomi confesses. Saying it out loud is slightly sobering. The past few weeks have flown by in a blur so unlike anything she’s ever experienced before. But with the hospital closing down soon, there’s no time to waste these days. The people of Boston will be down a hospital, and they still need help.

Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Christ, Naomi.” Yes the hospital is shutting down, but he’s sure there are countless laws she’s violated in the meantime, as no one is supposed to be at the hospital for triple digit hours at a time.

“What? You’re the one who said we should spend our time helping as many people as we can.”

Leave it to her to throw his words back in his face. She’s gotten increasingly better at it, and he’s not a fan. 

“Okay, but I didn’t say you had to move in to do so. And you’re always saying I don’t have a work-life balance.”

Naomi’s arms extend and she gestures widely to the bench she’s sitting on in front of the cafeteria. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“On the verge of collapsing,” Ethan quips.

“I’m sitting,” Naomi argues. “I’m taking a break.”

“Are you currently with a patient?”

“No.”

“Good.” Ethan extends his hand for Naomi to take. After a beat of hesitation, she accepts. He lifts her out of her seat with a swift tug. “You’re coming home with me.”

“But–”

“It wasn’t a question,” Ethan deadpans. “It was an order.”

Naomi plants her feet on the ground, willing herself to not move. It’s a futile attempt because she’s too exhausted and weak to actually have the amount of strength it’d take to battle Ethan on this, but he respects her stubbornness and doesn’t carry her out. “Ethan, I’ll take a nap in an on-call room for an hour, I don’t need to leave.”

“Rookie, you’re clocking out for the evening,” Ethan says, his tone letting it be known that it isn’t up for debate.

“I’m back to ‘rookie’ now?”

“Yes, because you’re being petulant, and you’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not my direct superior anymore, Mister ‘We-Don’t-Need-a-Diagnostics-Team’.”

“I’m still your attending, you still have to listen to me. And I say you’re done for the day.” Not giving her the chance to respond, Ethan wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close. She’s dead weight in his arms and he has to all but drag her to the locker room to retrieve her personal belongings.

Urge car ride to his apartment is silent, save for very idle chit chat. Naomi is too tired to speak, and she won’t admit it due to pure pride and stubbornness, but sitting in Ethan passenger seat on the way to his place is the most peace and quiet she’s had in a long time, not to mention the longest she’s sat still in days. Forever the know-it-all, Ethan picks up on her need for silence and solitude, and doesn’t say too much outside of asking her what she wants for dinner. They decide on a pizza, compromising on garlic chicken.

As soon as they step foot into the apartment, Naomi is assaulted by an overzealous golden retriever. He barks excitedly at her, clawing and licking at her scrub pants as a greeting. Jenner has grown used to her presence, the rare occasions she does actually leave Edenbrook are spent here, curled up with the large dog on the days he’s not in Providence with Alan.

“How’s my favorite boy?” Naomi asks, scratching behind Jenner’s ear. Jenner barks in reply, his tongue falling out of his mouth and lolling to the side as she makes himself comfortable under her touch. 

After a few more scritches and whispered affirmations, Naomi forces herself away from the day, though she could easily spend all night with him in the entryway. She kicks off her shoes at the door and drops her purse there as well.

“Do you want to eat first?” Ethan asks.

The pizza did tempt her the entire drive here, but she desperately wants to take a shower. Maybe she’s losing it at this point, but she can still feel Edenbrook on her skin, and smell the sterilizing disinfectant the cleaning crew uses.

“I need a shower,” Naomi replies definitively, though she makes no effort to move. “Besides, scarfing down cold pizza is always a good idea.”

“Alright.”

Ethan takes her hand and leads her through his apartment, making sure she doesn’t bump into anything on their way to his en-suite

He turns on the water for her, the large waterfall shower steaming the glass planes almost instantly.

“Want some company?” Ethan asks.

“That sounds nice.”

Because she’s literally a zombie, Ethan helps Naomi out of her clothing, delicately peeling the baby blue scrubs off of her body and leaving a pile of discarded clothing on the floor. He follows, removing his own clothing with less care than he did hers, before walking them both into the shower.

For a long time neither of them do anything, Naomi too caught up in the heat of the water and Ethan’s amazing water pressure, and Ethan too enthralled in watching her.

Her skill is slightly pale, evidence that she probably hasn’t had proper sleep or food in Lord only knows how long, and he hasn’t seen dark circles under her eyes like this in months, since the night of the...incident as he’s decided to call it. She’s exhausted, it’s clear in the labored breaths that she takes, and Ethan is still sure without a shadow of a doubt that she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Unable to stop himself, his hand gently cups the back of her neck, tilting her head back so he can kiss her again. It’s soft and unhurried as if they have all the time in the world to do this.

The kiss turns more urgent as some of the fog clears from Naomi’s brain. Standing on the tips of her toes, she wraps her arms around of Ethan’s neck holding him close, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

Ethan is rewarded with a tiny moan from his girlfriend, a moan that he swallows with the kiss before it dissolves into a low grumble in the back of her throat.

“I missed that,” Naomi admits as Ethan breaks the kiss. 

“What? Kissing me?”

She hums in confirmation and leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss onto his chest. “I can’t even remember the last time I kissed you. The only recent memories I have involve me at Edenbrook, diagnosing patients.”

She’s right. Their only focus has been work, work, work, and Ethan can’t remember the last kiss either.

His thoughts are broken up by Naomi, her hands roaming aimlessly along his arms and shoulders. Her exploration goes further south until her nails are raking along his stomach. “When was the last time I touched you?” She asks quietly, her eyes boring into his. “When was the last time I saw you naked?”

A measured exhale escapes Ethan’s nostrils as her hands venture dangerously lower, slightly grazing his pelvis. If neither of them can recall their last kiss, trying to remember the last time they had sex would be a moot point. The nights they leave Edenbrook are spent collapsing in his bed as soon as they can, drifting into unconsciousness almost immediately. “I don’t know.”

“God, have we become old and boring already?”

“We’re just tired and overworked,” Ethan says. “It’ll pass soon.”

The words unspoken hang in the air, just as thick and heavy as the steam surrounding them. Soon they’ll have plenty of time to get back into the normal aspects of their relationship only because they’ll both be unemployed. Edenbrook will be gone before they know it.

Not wanting to dwell on that, Ethan shakes his head as if he will away the cynical thoughts. Instead, he grabs Naomi’s hands, holding them tight to his chest. “We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

“Really? Something begs to differ.” With a raised eyebrow, Naomi looks down curiously at the evidence of Ethan’s arousal, comfortable nestled between the two of them. Before she can reach down and touch him, Ethan shakes his head.

“I have the most beautiful woman, naked and wet in front of me. This was inevitable, but it’ll go away.”

“I can make it go away.”

“Mhmm-hmmm. Turn around, Valentine.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ethan rolls his eyes. How this woman always finds the space and opportunity to flirt with him is a mystery. Lining the walls of his shower are all of Naomi’s bath and shower products. He’s always making fun of her for being a product hoarder, though she insists everything is different—he’s been schooled on the differences between regular, leave-in, and deep conditioner, creams vs gels, body scrubs and shower gels many times and he still doesn’t see a need for it all. 

Grabbing her favorite shampoo, Ethan pours a generous amount into the palm of her hand before gently running it through her strands of hair. He’s seen her wash her hair enough times to know the bare bones of her routine. Very careful of her curls, he makes sure to not roughly drag his fingers through her hair and risk creating a tangled disaster for her to handle later on.

Her head tips back. “Can I pay you to wash my hair from now on? I never want to go back to doing it myself.”

A swell of pride forms in his chest at the compliment. “No payment needed.”

Once he’s finished washing her hair and he’s coated it in conditioner —she insists on leave-in, as she doesn’t have the energy to put my more effort into her hair for the evening—Ethan lathers her in one of her shower gels, whichever one makes her smell like jasmine.

He moves slower as he does this, pressing his thumb into the base of her neck, massaging away some of the stress she’s carrying. His hands dig into her shoulders, between her shoulder blades, and her lower back, loosening the muscles as he goes.

Naomi doesn’t attempt to stop the moans fighting to spill from her mouth, no matter how obscene they sound. The relief that bloods her body is instant, his touch working out knots she wasn’t even aware of.

“You’re a great doctor, you cook, and you're an excellent masseuse?” Naomi sighs in content. “What can’t you do?”

“I told you I make it my mission to be good at everything.”

“I’m going to find your weakness one day, Ramsey.”

She’s his weakness, his Achilles heel, and Ethan can’t believe she doesn’t know it already. There’s no end of the earth he wouldn’t go to for her, no hoop he wouldn’t jump through, his feelings for her his fateful flaw and his greatest strength all in one.

He kisses her again, this time on the side of her neck. His breath fans her, heating the sensitive skin as he leans closer. “Good luck.”

He continues the massage in silence, careful to keep his touch away from places that would no doubt cause this to spiral into shower sex. And as lovely as that sounds, it’s not what Naomi needs, so he’s willing to forego his baser urges. Every once in a while she makes a comment about how amazing his hands are, but for the most part she’s blissfully silent.

He doesn’t stop with the massage until he’s absolutely sure she’s putty in his hands and all of the knots and spots of tension are gone. Even afterwards, they stay in the shower, his arm splayed across her midsection, his chin resting on top of her head.

“I don’t want to move,” Naomi says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m too comfortable right here. Can we just stay?”

Ethan chuckles softly to himself. “We can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Well, the steam in here might actually suffocate us if we stay in here any longer,” Ethan starts. “And I’m not a fan of wasting water.”

“It’s not a waste if I’m enjoying it.”

“Touché. Not to mention your skin will get very dry, and you’ll be much more comfortable in my bed.”

“Okay, I guess you’ve made some valid points. We can leave now.”

She doesn’t make any effort to move, and Ethan quickly realizes he’s going to have to do all the work to get her out of here. He turns off the shower and opens the door, quickly inhaling. He didn’t realize how much he needed air until he was no longer in that glass box of steam.

He grabs two large bath towels off of the rack and dries them off. Naomi searches his countertop, now covered in her makeup and hair products until she finds a satin scrunchie to tie up her still damp hair.

They both meander back into Ethan’s bedroom, and Naomi searches through one of his spare drawers for something to wear. It’s full of her clothes, and a few items of his that she’s stolen over the past few months; a t-shirt here, a pair of socks there.

Once she’s bundled up in some of the warmest clothes she can find, Ethan ushers her into bed.  “Are you ready for your pizza now?”

A stubborn yawn manages to slip out as she shakes her head. “No. I’ll get some before I head to work in the morning.”

“You’re not going to work tomorrow,” Ethan says.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re taking a much needed break tomorrow,” he continues. “I admire your tenacity, but I’m not going to let you work yourself to the bone and neglect your own needs in your very noble quest to help everyone in Boston. You won’t do Edenbrook any good if you collapse due to exhaustion.”

“But I–”

“I’m not asking you, Naomi, I’m telling you.” Despite his tone, a pleasant shiver runs down the length of her spine. “You’re staying here with me.”

She almost always has the upper hand in their arguments or debates, but Naomi can tell there’s no room for her to argue with him on this one. He won’t let her win.

“Okay,” she concedes. “No work tomorrow.”

Smug that he’s won this round, Ethan triumphantly slides into bed, wrapping an arm around Naomi, keeping her trapped with him. Unlike her, he didn’t put on any clothes, only a pair of boxers, but now Naomi is able to revel in his natural body heat.

He runs a thumb along her cheek, caressing her softly before kissing her forehead. “I am incredibly proud of you.”

“Really?”

“You’re an excellent doctor, and trust me when I say you’ve done more for this community that I’ll ever be able to put into words. And despite the hospital closing soon, I hope you realize the impact you’ve made in your two years here.”

Naomi nods, her throat getting thick with emotion. She’ll never be used to Ethan complimenting her like this. “I wish I could do more.”

“We all do. But at the end of the day, you’re still a human and you can only do so much.” Ethan’s hand moves from her face to her neck, his thumb tracing a pattern along her pulse. “I don’t want you to crash and burn, and best yourself up over something so completely out of your control.”

“Who are you and what have you done to Ethan Ramsey?” Naomi teases. She never thought she’d live to see a day where he’s scolding her for working too much and trying too hard.

“I’ve done a lot of reflecting recently, mostly due to you. If there’s any lesson you’ve taught me, it’s that there’s only so much I’m in control of.”

“Any other lessons or tokens of wisdom I’ve imparted on you.”

“You’ve taught me how to be more patient than I knew was possible,” Ethan replies. Naomi rolls her eyes at the slight teasing. “You’ve taught me how to see the world’s grey area. You taught me the true meaning of trust and forgiveness. You’ve shown me endless compassion and empathy, none that I’ll ever be able to repay in this lifetime or the next. I was your attending, your mentor, but trust me when I say you’ve taught me more than I could ever teach you, about medicine and life in general. So thank you.”

Maybe it’s the pure exhaustion or his really sweet words, but her eyes become wide and glossy with unshed tears. She blinks them away, not wanting to cry.

Instead she leans forward and pulls him into another kiss. She doesn’t know if she can convey the full extent of her love and adoration for him with a simple kiss, but Naomi’s never been the type to not try. When she pulls back, she rests her head against his chest, settling in comfortably.

“Thank you. For the kind words, and for taking care of me tonight. I’ve never had someone be as thoughtful as you.”

“I’ll always take care of you,” Ethan promises. He’ll give her the world if he can. “You just have to stop being so stubborn and let me do it.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying.”

“Now get some sleep,” Ethan commands. “Tomorrow, I’ll actually cook you a real meal. Not any of the garbage they serve at the hospital, and no more takeout, but–”

He stops short when he hears a soft snore fill the room. Looking down he sees that Naomi has managed to doze off in the mere seconds he was talking.

He’s never been so happy to watch someone sleep, as no one deserves it more than she does. He plants one final kiss on the crown of her head. “Goodnight, Naomi.”

~v~

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[sonoftatooine]

Angstpril 2021

DAY 5: AMNESIA

Since I’m already working on a fic (or series of fics depending on how it starts shaping up) along a similar premise to this prompt, I thought I’d post a little extract of it for this day. It’s from my Winter Soldier style AU which I haven’t come up with a better name for yet, featuring amnesiac Sith Anakin and sort of ghost Padme who’s attempting to get through to him via dreams.

WARNINGS: Vague allusions to brainwashing, mental manipulation and Palpatine being generally awful

***

The woman who visited him in his dreams was beautiful, and kind, but sad, and each time he saw her, Vader wished more and more that he knew who she was. She came to him only during the brief, sporadic periods when he managed to slip into sleep, draped in dark blue and her silky brown hair, adorned with white star-point flowers, cascading over her shoulders in loose curls, her soft, dark eyes pleading with him as she held out a hand for him to hold. In the dream, he always wanted to reach out and take it, but she looked so insubstantial that he was sure that the slightest touch would slip right through her fingers and dissipate her into mist. Fighting past that fear was useless, for any attempt to come closer to her had clawed fingers grasping at him, tearing at his hair and skin, pulling him down into darkness, surrounded by strange echoes of screams and the burning sensation of lightning running through his veins until he woke up, gasping for air and shivering at a sensation he could never quite recall out of slumber.

He had learnt, as he dreamt, that if he stayed a little way apart from her—just far enough that their fingertips would not be able to touch should he attempt to reach for her—then he would be allowed to remain where he was, bathing in the gentle light of the dream without the threat of the darkness coming to rip him away. That was what he did now, forcing himself to stay still, apart, no matter how much a part of him wanted to go to her. Sunk lightly into sleep, ready to be pulled up into wakefulness at any moment, he watched her carefully. From there, he could clearly see the expression on her face—brow crumpled, tears in her eyes, as if her heart were breaking. She was talking to him—or trying to talk to him. Though he could neither hear her nor answer her, he could just about read the words on her lips. Take—yes—take my hand. Take my hand. Please— Then something he could not understand. A—? An—? Ani? Yes, that was it. Ani. He didn't know what that meant, but she spoke it over and over again, the look painted across her beautiful features somewhere between determination and desperation. Ani. Please, Ani. Over and over again. Ani, please, my l—

A familiar juddering sensation ran through his body, and before he could begin to understand what was happening, he was wrenched from his dream and into reality through a fog of thick darkness as the star destroyer he had been sleeping on came out of hyperspace above Imperial Centre with a groan of sublight engines and a flurry of activity from the crew bleeding into the Force around him. Vader hissed, disorientated, as the soft, gentle sensations of the dream were replaced with the whir and chatter of the Empire's capital below, encroaching roughly on the edges of his sleep-worn shields, and the dark presence of his master waiting for him on the surface, whom he was forbidden from blocking from his mind. He wanted that feeling from the dream to stay, but it was already slipping through his fingers like grains of sand, until he could barely remember anything of it beyond the impression of dark hair and white flowers and an outstretched hand and pleading eyes. She'd been trying to tell him something, he was sure. He'd figured some of it out—a word that she had been saying over and over but he couldn't—

He wished he knew who she was.

There was something—something lingering in the back of his mind that could never quite find its way out—which told him that he did know, that he should know, but even the knowledge of that only existed in sleep. When he was awake, he had enough to deal with with regards to what he should but didn't know to dwell too deeply on thoughts of beautiful, unhappy women who were most likely a figment of his imagination, after all.

It was frustrating, because Vader generally had a very good memory. He knew each and every part of a starship and their proper place as easy as blinking. He could recite the basic facts, service record and personal history of any of the notable Imperials that his master had bade him study, from the Emperor's most favoured Moff Tarkin, to the most irritating of hangers-on. No, it was when he tried to think back that the problem arose. Or more precisely, when he tried to think back beyond half a year from now. Half a year that he could remember, and twenty-five years before that that he could not.

He knew that he he was twenty-five because his master had told him so. He had told him, when Vader had woken up dazed and confused in what he now knew was the Imperial Palace, with a mind so blank he hadn't even known to be alarmed by it, that he was Emperor Palpatine of the Galactic Empire. To him, however, his master had said, he was known as Darth Sidious, and that he was Darth Vader, his Sith apprentice. Vader had nodded even as the words “Darth Vader” struck no chord in him—somehow, it sounded wrong, not like a word that meant him, but he couldn't think of another word better suited, and so he had accepted it gratefully. He hadn't known what a Sith was either, but he had listened dutifully as the Emperor explained. He had been taken from his master—captured by vile rebels who wanted nothing more than to destroy everything the Empire had built—and though they had eventually succeeded in retrieving him, his rescue had come at a terrible cost. His memories were gone. His life was gone. He remembered nothing.

Nothing but the woman. The woman he did not know, who was trying to tell him something that he could not hear, and did not understand.

[jadelynlace]

a dead woman tells no tales / Vikings fiction

series based on Lady Lazarus, a poem by Sylvia Plath.

chapter five / catch up here

synopsis: He left you for dead and now you’re back.

author’s note: the one small detail the reader has, is that she is a red head.

specific chapter content warning(s): mentions of blood, suicide, and sexual content below the cut. yes I have fucked up the entire timeline and characterization, but I have no shame. (however, if you do want to talk about someone who fucked up, let’s discuss the absolute shit ending Hirst gave these characters!) is my love for floki obvious yet? don’t answer that. also, before I go: Ivar has a breeding / pregnancy kink, pass it on.

pairing: Ivar x Reader

✄

“Why do you have a child?” Ivar’s voice beckons to you from where you have positioned yourself along the rug, the small eyes watching you back as she lifts her head.

“I told her mother I would watch her so she could bathe in peace,” You reply as you hear Ivar clicks his tongue in distaste.

“She is a spoiled one,” Ivar laughs.

“She is small, Ivar,” You reply softly.

“Do not gift yourself any thoughts about children, Y/N,” Ivar warns suddenly. “They are small, yes, and they are helpless,” He says from his spot, the pulp of an apple crushing between his jaw as the sound alerts the small one to raise her head again.

“They are helpless because they need teachers,” You sigh, rolling yourself along the rug to adequately stand, leveling the child along your hip. Ivar’s eyes are stuck on how the infant grabs at your hair, tracing her tiny hands along your covered breasts and you know that she much be feeling hungered. She lets out a small squawk which you are quick to quiet before turning away from Ivar.

“Where are you headed?” He asks, turning his head to the side as you give him another look over your shoulder.

“To return her,” Is all you say.

“Come back to me when you are finished, we have things to discuss,” Ivar hums, wiping the drip of the juice from the apple off his chin.

You wanted to spare yourself the words Ivar had undoubtedly set up for you, strolling through the village to occupy your time instead. You know he is counting the moments before you return but that remains of petty interest in your mind. There is far more Kattegat has for offerings now that you are not hidden in a cart to recover from your injuries. You catch sight of an axe’s curve sharpening, the slice through the air calls you and you notice Ivar’s head as you search the shop’s perimeter. As he catches you in his sight, there’s a sliver of a smirk across his mouth as he waves his hand, the few patrons of the spot vacating and closing the one door behind them.

“You wished to speak?”

“Come closer,” Ivar demands, softer than the tone you know him to hold. Following suit you step closer to where he sits, still pulling the axe along the plate as it sharpens. “Closer,” He says again but you are now touching his feet where they are hidden, your kneecaps kissing along his. “Closer,” He says once more without looking up at you but you lack the space to move any more to his liking. Until you take the axe from his grip and maneuver it away, and replace how he held the handle with how his hands quickly latch to your hips. You find yourself over his lap once more, groping hands taking the collections of cloth around your ass to squeeze, tracing your hips and quickly grabbing your breast. “You have put images in my head,” Ivar tells you. “Images of carrying my child,” No sooner do the words leave his mouth than do the flutterings in your lower half take your notice.

“No, Ivar,” You say, trying to reel his mind back to what is important.

“Why must you deny me?” Ivar asks, still stroking skilled fingers over your dress as his eyes finally catch yours. “What has changed so much now that you no longer wish to carry my children? That was what you wanted not long ago. Do you remember how we would talk of it? How we dreamt of names, imagined whom they must take after—and I spoke of how I wished for a child with hair like yours. You would never let me fill you, but you did when you showed up on the raid. How did you end up there, Y/N?” Ivar’s speech unlocks the hidden memories that you tried for too long to bury; the fumblings in the grass where you would make love with him but you would always ask for him not to fill you—not ready to carry his child when you could hardly carry yourself. How one afternoon he caught himself too late, staying within and you suddenly could not understand why you were so fearful of the aftermath. How when your monthly blood came not far after and those dreams left as you washed yourself.

“Show me how you act around a child, Ivar, and perhaps I will reconsider,” You whisper, challenging his gaze and how he watches you, licking his lips.

“You did not answer my question,” Ivar replies in a husked hiss.

“I never went far Ivar,” You say with a small smile. “I fought alongside you, as one of your men, I just stayed hidden too well behind the armor,” His lips are rushed against yours, hungered as his tongue wastes not a breath before it’s sliding with yours. His hands never cease, they want to rip the fabric from you but he favors this dress too much to do so. Moving your hips for you against him, how he grows behind his own clothes as you rub. Ivar’s mouth breaks away from yours as you roll yourself still, groaning and you suddenly light the fire in your own belly to make him whimper your name, not showing him mercy until he’s released inside of his own clothes. Despite Ivar trying to push you in his favor, pin you from how you’re moving so he can have you how he wishes, his moments of struggle do not last long when you latch his hands against your covered chest, making quick work to spill you breasts so he can grab them. Ivar comes undone far too soon for your liking, rubbing him as there is moisture against you, his eyes screwed tightly shut as his mouth is open under the luxury of his quick release. You put your mouth on his to catch his breathing, how he moans in ecstasy and shock at what you did.

“You are a heathen,” Ivar quickly whispers, your own arousal peeked as his voice rasps against your mouth. “You are a heathen and you are mine,” His hands grab tightly now against your chest as your moan echoes back into his throat, his mouth sliding down your jaw. “You are a heathen and now you have a mess to clean up, woman,”

*

Your arrowheads heat nicely, bend quickly, and sharpens the best they have yet, your work ends as rain opens through the skies and your name is called from down the path. You know it is not Ivar’s tone who attracts you, the mysterious voice looming a noise to tickle your hair. Floki was a man you remember to have been gifted Ivar’s attachment, how Ivar looked up to the man so highly, replacing him to become someone who he would consider his own elder, even when he wasn’t. Your hatred for those who killed Aslaug boiled between both of you, you wondered what took Ivar so long to seek revenge even though you were the one who pulled the final arrow.

“The Gods told me of your return,” Floki sings when you see him, the laughter ringing to you as you dwell upon the silliness this man was known to hold. “How have you been holding yourself since? Do you still not feel well?” Floki asks, pointing to his head. “Not well up here?” You can’t stop the nod that shakes your own cranium. “While our minds are beautiful tools, they are also evil weapons,” He tells you. “Come and speak what is on your mind to Floki,”

Your mouth seals itself too quickly before you can start a speech to the man. In true honesty, you don’t quite know how to articulate the pain that churns deep inside of you. He stands, tends to a meal over the flame before he returns a cup of mead in your grip. You down it suddenly and he laughs at that, refilling it once more but still the words do not sit upon their perch. You’d dream to take your dagger to your lips and pull them apart so the words can fly freely if that meant they would spare you the sickness they have locked in your heart.

“I do not know where to begin—or where the words even begin,” You admit.

“You have always carried a sadness inside of you, the red haired beauty you are, but you have always let the sadness take more of you than it should have. It is because you failed in that jump? Because you could not quiet the evil voices and now they have one more thing to hang above you and taunt you with?” Floki asks. How the man knew what was tangled through your unspoken speech would always amaze you. “You are a strong warrior, a strong woman, show them,” He says when you drown the next few gulps of mead.

“It is different now,” You find yourself speaking. “I remember who I was, but she is locked somewhere and I do not know if I want to let her back out. I have done evil things Floki, thinking it would heal me and it only makes the thirst stronger,” Floki only studies you as you speak.

“You have that need to kill, to seek revenge for something that you could not control. You covet the lives of others so you take them away with your own hands. You make our Gods proud in doing so, but you do not find the answers any clearer,” He tells you, the curve of his blade over a piece of wood as he carves. “Darkness changes people, red haired beauty, but you are not stuck in darkness anymore, you are just simply stuck—scourge the world as you dream and show everyone how strong you have become,” He sings, raising a brow to you as the carving draws a bit more character.

“You are quick with your hands, Floki, and quick with your words. I envy that about you,” You tell him as he laughs once more. “I do not know what I want right now, Floki. If I want to be the strong woman or if I want to go back to being who I was, deeply in love and hoping for a life with Ivar,” You sigh, setting the container along the table.

“Who tells you that you can not have both?” Floki asks, a sideways cocked head as he sets the figure on the table. It is a quickly sliced crescent moon, peeled smoothly and soft as you hold it. “You remind me of the moonlight; you are beautiful but not always there, but even when you are hidden you remain. In shadows. If the moon smiled, she would look like you,” Floki says through his own grin. “Wolves howl at the moon in tribute; make your people howl at you,”

“Where do the Gods speak to you?” You ask with a laugh. “Where does it come from, and how do you get it so quickly?” Floki laughs along with you as you hold the piece tightly in fondness. “Can I keep this?”

“I would be gravely hurt if you did not. Here—” He says with an open hand before you set it along the rough palm, before he carves a quick socket to poke through. “I will find you some string, sit here,” He speaks when he raises quickly, searching about the room for lone pieces of material he seems to enjoy collecting more so than he does enjoy using. The charm is placed on the string before he is behind you, tying it. “You think it may be safer not to feel, but you are wrong,” Floki whispers as his lips graze your temple. “Go home to where Ivar is, and make him howl at you too,”

*

Ivar is asleep when you sneak back to his quarters, across the mat in twist, ties legs to the side as he rests in a curve the sits more humorous than it does uncomfortable. Watching him for a moment, how his eyes still dance despite being covered by his lids, how his chest rises slowly though breathing. The beauty he has now, more grown, sings adornment through heart; markings on his face that remind you of the younger man you knew, with shorter locks and gravely blunt humor that always halted you before it made you laugh. He was still the Ivar you knew, he was just hiding it like you had been. You walk to his side quickly, moving his legs gently to straighten but that still wakes him with a quick gasp, lids flying apart to catch you.

“You would wake sore if you rested like that,” You tell him. “I was only trying to make you comfortable,” His eyes watch you as you speak to him, rounding the furs to cover him once more as you tuck them. His hand reaches out for yours and you place it along his, a small brushing of his lips along the back of it as you smile. You climb around him quickly, flopping your frame across the vacant spot as his slight laugh warms through you.

“Where is this from?” He asks when his hands stroke the small pendant you wear.

“Floki,” You reply. “He and I spoke for a long time,”

“Floki is a good man,” Ivar says, laying next to you. “He knows too much for his own good, I do think,”

“I think you do too, Ivar,” You reply. “I think you let hatred take the place of love,”

“I do not, I hold few things with me that I love, hatred will never take their place,”

“What do you love?” You ask him gently, rising to your elbow, but there is an abrupt silence before a cracks the smallest detection of a smile.

“I love my mother, and the thought of her peace in Valhalla,” Ivar starts. “I love when it rains at night, when it darkens the sky but still there is a small sliver of the moon. I love the chaos of the battlefield, how it is so sporadic but it still calms me,” He adds, speaking up towards the ceiling. “I love the Gods, and their path for me,” He head turns back to look at you, lips still curved in the same smile. “I love you,”

“Even after that jump?” You whisper.

“Even after that jump,” He responds as his eyes catch yours. “Before it as well. I dreamt of our future, our rule,” Ivar adds. “I dreamt of us,”

“Do you still?”

“Yes,” Ivar answers in a quick sudden way, furrowed brows considering that perhaps he is the only one of the pair that still dreams of a future with you. “Do you not?”

“I dream of dark things now, Ivar. Perhaps it is the way of the Gods, for my pitiful effort to end my own suffering, but there has not been pleasantry on my mind for some time,” You admit. “I worry I may never have those sweet dreams again,” Ivar’s hand catches your cheek as you sigh, the somber look you wear so well there once more as it angers him more than it makes him want to match. As Ivar pulls you closer, your body suddenly oozes like sand in at his touch, molding along how he lays so he can have you against him. Broad chest to lay on with arms that lock behind you as a shield, keeping the slivers of evil spoken words where they belong in the darkness of the room. You feel his lips brush along your hairline and you want to allow it—his openness with you—you want to relish in it, dance along the feelings but you fear that once you do they may slip away once more. Ivar’s hand trail across the plains of your back, slowly loosening the tunic as he goes, your breathing picking up as his hands cup along the roundness of your ass, taking his time as he pulls you to part before sliding his hands back where they began. How he has his ways to make you feel such pleasure with simple touches, you will never know. How the young man who was almost frightened to touch you like that for the first time has long since faded. Showing him where his fingers should stroke, showing him how to make your body respond for his, watching how his eyes darkened as you grew wet, the noises he pulled from your lips, the sounds of his fingers in your cunt, matching with what grew to consume him the first time Ivar ever entered you. The pleasure that bloomed where you two had connected, studying you while cashing his own release, slipping out in the last moment not to lose your tightness and warmth. Painting your skin with his seed as he trailed his own hands through it to feed you. The mess you two were when you always rejoined whom still littered the field and how obvious it must have been written on your faces. In brush, on stumps and behind fallen logs. Sneaking into his home and trying to stay as quiet as you two could.

As you relish in the thoughts of the past, Ivar’s hands grace your chest, the tunic long since discarded as he lays you back, hovering sideways to catch your skin sparkle by the light of the fire. Ducking his head down, his lips curl around your breast, pulling at the skin as you let a hiss rush from your mouth at the way his canine fangs nip at you. Pulling your nipple to bud and you can’t stop the way your hands need him. Rolling the seams of his garments down, raking your nails along the inked drawings his now carries, feeling how hard he has gone just by his tongue exploring your chest. Your legs spread farther, letting him settle between them but he makes no haste to have you in such a way, still bringing his tongue to cover you, licking you like a meal before his lips have found your neck. You can feel how he smirks against your throat when you gasp, melting it into a moan when they latch at the spots under your ear, how easily he recalls what places to go to make you a mess beneath him. Ivar hisses as your nails pierce the skin of his back, dragging lines over the muscles as his hands grab your thighs to still you. His eyes set on yours when his prick is just out past your entrance, his chest heaving, eyes dark alike as he never falters his gaze as he starts to push in. You watch his breathing quicken as he sinks down, his lips separating as his hip bones rest with yours. You look away only as your eyes close, dropping your head to fall back along the bed with a sweet moan that jabs right to Ivar’s crotch. With a slow roll of his hips your mouth opens to sing another note of pleasure before your hands start their endless search to grab it him, pulling him to come as close as he can while he still thrusts. It does not take long for the tightness you hold him with to thicken, for the growls to drool from his mouth as he reaches closer to his peak, maneuvering to his forearms as he watches your chest bounce as he moves harder still. Your body latches along his finally when your orgasm grabs at you, eyes on Ivar as his mouth opens at the sight of you coming around his cock, the slowing of his own movements to simply savor how your appear like a Goddess before him.

“Fill me,” You whispers as your hands crawl to hold his scalp. “Please Ivar, fill me,” You beg softly and he can only manage a nod as his own release trickles from the backs of his thighs, nipping his tail bone as a rush of sharp snaps of his hips crash with yours, the final one causing a long groan as he releases inside of you. Lids still plastered shut as his arms shake, his back tensing and you can see the small pulses of the after waves course over his whole body as you pull him to lay over you. You’re not bothered by the heaviness he reigns over you, the large warrior he’s become as your wrap around him as much as your able while he holds you alike.

“Please never leave me,” Ivar whispers suddenly along the shell of your ear, a voice far too soft for him that registers as pained in your hearing. “I was so lost; please never leave like that again,” Ivar begs. You don’t have the words at the ready to reply, moving his head for him to graze your lips on his is the only way you find yourself answering. His mouth heavy on yours as his salvia comes to rest on your tongue, pleasured pain of how he's still inside of you making your hips roll on their own accord as he growls against you. Finally he pulls himself from your walls, hovering over you as you feel his seed drip from your core, you catch sight of him observing how it flows before he takes his fingers to drag through, pushing it back into its home as he pulls them out once more and pushes them against your tongue.

Tagged:

@smileysam13579  @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk  @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang   @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @youbloodymadgenius @walkxthexmoon  @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @grimeundglow @another-bryk-in-the-wall @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @revolution-starter

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full masterlist can be found here.

[woodelf68]

A Helping Hand

For the @sifkiweek day 6 prompt 'fluff'. Loki has always been good with his hands; Sif benefits. Some pre-canon young Sifki who aren't quite involved yet but not for lack of thinking about the other. Rated G, 1686 words

Loki moved quietly around the edges of the common room that he and Thor shared, sipping his mead and watching the others at the table as they finished their meal. Thor had ordered one brought, as he so often did, after they’d returned from their morning’s sparring, he and Sif and the Warriors Three, their appetites sharp. It was convenient enough for him to join them if he’d been working in his study, letting their boisterous talk flow over and around him, both part of and apart from their company.  Hogun, of course, rarely had much to say, but Sif had been unusually quiet today as well, and Loki had noticed her reaching back more than once to rub along her shoulder blade. He set his cup down as he came up behind her as she did so once again and pushed her hand aside, replacing it with his own. Freshly bathed, she wore nothing but a loose tunic over her leggings, and he could feel the contours of bone and muscle beneath the linen.

“Loki, what -- “ Sif groaned as his fingers pressed unerringly down into the tight knot of tension on her back and let her hand fall to her side. “Oh -- Norns, yes. There. Right there.”

Loki grinned and dug in, pleased by the way her back arched into him and her head fell forward.  He worked steadily at the knot until finally he felt it release and smooth out. Sif made an almost obscene noise of relief. Lightening his touch, he splayed his hands out over her back, thumbs running along the groove of her spine up to her neck, fingers curling up over the thick muscle between neck and shoulder.

Sif lost track of the conversation around her, her world narrowing down to the feel of Loki’s long, strong fingers kneading the muscles of her back and shoulders, unable to keep from flexing and lengthening her spine under his ministrations with another soft hum of pleasure. “I have not been utilising you to your full potential, Loki.”

“I am at my lady’s service,” Loki said smoothly, feeling more than a little satisfaction at her response to his massage. She pushed her dishes away and folded her arms on the table, leaning forward, and he took the hint and began working his way back down her back, below the point where he’d began.

The others finally turned their attention to them.

“Should I be feeling as envious as your expression suggests I should be, Sif?,” asked Fandral.

“Yes.” Sif smiled contentedly.

“You see now why all the dogs come swarming around Loki when he visits the kennel,” said Thor with a fond matter-of-factness. “Loki has always been good with his hands.”

“I hope you’re not comparing me to a dog, Thor,” said Sif mildly.

“No, of course not,” he hastened to say.

“Why not?” asked Loki. “A good hunting hound is swift and beautiful, loyal and fierce in battle. Is that such a bad comparison?”

Sif felt a faint flush of pleasure warm her cheeks. “Silvertongue.”

“It is the simple truth, unadorned.” Loki frowned as the angle became increasingly wrong to get enough pressure the further down her back he went. He sank down, sitting back on his heels. Better, but not comfortable. “I could do your lower back better if you were lying down,” he said, cautiously. “We could use my bed, if you like.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?” Sif asked flatly, straightening up and twisting to look at him.

“If I was, you would know,” Loki retorted. “Although, if my lady wishes…” He grinned at her.

For a moment Sif imagined how his hands might feel on other parts of her body, but aware of the others in the room, watching them curiously, she squashed that thought down for another time. “Your lady -- “ she did not dwell on why she liked the sound of that so much “-- would like the rest of her back rub.” She got off the bench, accepting Loki’s hand when he held it out to her. She followed him into his set of rooms, through his light and airy sitting room into the dimmer fastness of his bedroom, all soothing forest greens with touches of gold and rich dark wood. She removed her boots and climbed onto his bed between the velvet bedcurtains gathered at each corner and stretched out on the soft, thick blanket that lay atop it.

"Mm," she murmured appreciatively, feeling surrounded by decadent luxury as she pillowed her head atop her folded arms. "This is comfortable."

"I'm glad you approve," Loki replied, amused, as he climbed onto the bed beside her. He hesitated, then swung one leg over her to straddle her hips. "Is this all right?"

"It's fine."

Loki started at the base of her spine and began working up, trying not to think about how much better it would be if he could slide his hands up underneath her tunic, if he could take it off entirely, and spread oiled hands over the pale expanse of her bare back... He firmly squashed those thoughts down as he felt his body responding and concentrated on his self-appointed task, seeking out and banishing every last scrap of tension in her muscles and feeling her go limp as a rag beneath his ministrations with occasional, gratifying sounds of pleasure and contentment. When he'd worked from waist to neck and back down again and had no possible excuse to extend the massage any longer, he reluctantly sat back on his heels.

"There. Unless there's anywhere else?"

Sif hesitated. "Actually, my right hip," She reached back and touched where it was sore and tight. "Overextended it doing a kick. We haven't all got such stupidly long legs as yours," she grumbled.

"Do I hear jealousy?" The idea that she liked any part of him made a small flame burn warmly inside him as he slid off the bed to stand by its side and lean over her, probing the side of her hip joint, her leg jerking as she yelped. "Sorry," he apologised.

"Don't be, it has to be worked out. Be as firm as you need to be."

"I think slow and steady is what's warranted here." He placed his left hand atop her buttock to keep her from jerking again and pressed into the tightness with the heel of his right hand, rubbing small circles in an attempt to ease it, gradually deepening the massage as he felt the tension slowly give way. As it did he became more aware of his left hand, the curve of her flesh beneath it. They'd touched more intimately while grappling in the sparring ring when he couldn't avoid going to practice, but this was different; she was in his bedroom, she was in his bed.

He straightened up abruptly; the worst of the knot gone from her hip. "How's that?"

“Better.” Sif murmured drowsily, feeling loose and languid and already missing the feel of his hands on her body. “I hope you don’t expect me to get up anytime soon, though. Feel too good to move.”

“Always nice to hear that from a beautiful woman in my bed.” He couldn't help running a hand over her hair, giving her ponytail a light, playful tug.

Sif lips curved in pleasure. "You think me beautiful?"

“It's not a matter of thinking," Loki said softly. "You are. And you can stay as long as you like. I’ll be in my study if you want me.”

Sif thought about exactly in what way she wanted him and swallowed. “Thanks. And you're not so bad yourself." It was easier to say when she wasn't looking at him, and Sif buried her face more deeply into his pillow to hide the flush she felt staining her cheeks. It smelled as Loki always did, beneath the added layers of leather and old books, something fresh and clean and piney, like the crisp air on a cold, clear winter day. It was a nice smell, comforting, familiar. It was her childhood playfellow, the companion of her youth, it was knives and magic at her back in battle. She breathed it in and heard, after a moment, Loki's soft footsteps leave the room. She half turned her head after a moment to see him gone, the door still standing open, and closed her eyes again, wondering if that had just sounded foolish rather than smoothly complimentary as she had meant it to be. Norns, how did one ever get to be in a relationship? It was easier to face a foe in battle. She groaned quietly to herself.

Loki went to sit down at the desk in his study, paused, and looked back towards his doorway. He could not, at this angle, see into his bedroom, nor, he discovered gloomily, could he do so well enough to see Sif lying on his bed unless he stood in the doorway obviously gawking like a lovesick youth. Which he was, he admitted to himself. Which would be fine, if only she returned his feelings. Had she meant what she said; did she find him attractive? Or had that been mere reciprocal politeness?  He didn't know if he could handle it if he were to lay his cards on the table and admit his feelings and she said she wasn't interested. It seemed better to live in hope, most of the time. But what if she took that to mean he wasn't interested, and started looking at someone else? He sat down heavily at his desk and raked his hands back through his hair, blowing out a breath of frustration. Norns, this was ridiculous. He picked up his quill, but only to twirl it around his fingers. He was an Odinson; he was not a coward. If he was too afraid to admit his feelings to Sif, then he did not deserve a woman like her. He squared his shoulders, his mind made up. Not now -- he could still hear Thor and his friends out in the common room -- but the first chance he had to speak to Sif in private, he would press his suit.

[all-might-can-smash-me]

Homestay 3

@ayumiinuzuka @the-wholocked-blog

College got me fucked and I’m in the middle of trying to get everything set for me to go to Cosmetology school by the end of the semester and I finally noticed you two requested a part three! Hopefully this will satisfy your hunger for a cute, domestic, fluffy Fatgum 🥺🥺🥺

Taishiro Toyomitsu / Fatgum x Reader

Summary: With it all starting with Fatgum and his two young students shadowing him for their hero work studies having to stay on the downlow in your humble countryside home, you and Taishiro of course hit it off and spring a long distance relationship, but will it just end there????

Part 1

Part 2

You are on Part 3

Masterlist / request info in masterlist

The chirping of the summer crickets and bugs sounded out along the rhythm of the heat waves that radiated back from the lush, green grass that swayed in the gentle breeze that cascaded over the lands. Birds flocked to and fro from the large camphor trees that loomed in their patches along the many crops and created their small little forestry where the many spirits reside with their humble hidden homes, temples, and shrines. You however raised a dirty hand to your brow as you crouch lowly to the ground, hands tentively pushing back the foliage of your plants to relive them of their heavy, ripe produce. Your bare fingertips also went to relieve them of any weeds that had tried to grow too close for their comfort. Life was as plain and simple as it had ever been for the many past years of your life in the humble country side. Tenants who would stay came and went, either staying their month or even their simple two week. Usually you would get the occasional tenant who would stay for their year as they worked as a teacher or something of the sorts, but no. You stayed weary of that since now you had Taishiro in your life. It had been a year, looming on two, of being with him. You would reside weeks to go and visit him when you didn’t have a homestay guest or he would come to stay with you for a couple of days.

Those times spent together gifted you with a small slice of domestic happiness. Whenever you were visiting him, you would be the doting wife like figure that fixed him breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The wonderful ray of light that ironed out his hero uniform or suits. That always sent a wave of relief through him, he was horrible at ironing and starching, but you were a wiz at it. You thanked your grandmother and her strict ways of doing the laundry though for that perfect skill that always impressed him. You were the cutie that would arrive at his work with that familiar, worn straw hat that would come to visit him and of course cast a little side eye at the secretary who wouldn’t let you in to see Taishiro the very first time you come to the big city to surprise him.

But when Taishiro came to visit you? It was so peaceful. No busy streets or people coming in and out quicker then the speed of light. No nosy streets of a city that seemed to never sleep. It was just you, him, the summer bugs that made humble dwellings upon your land, and the soft coos of the chickens that lived out their lives in their humble coop. Not to mention that he would help you hang the laundry filled with jokes, teases, and giggles. Help you with the heavy handwork around your seemingly ancient home, and glisten with sweat alongside you when relieving your garden of their produce. Both lives spent together filled the both of your with immense joy and satisfaction.

Just imagining those moments spent together as a couple or a married pair that seemingly lived together sent a blush and smile crawl upon your face. It even did so now as your tired legs pushed you up to a standing position, basket filled with your harvest now upon your back as you stepped up to a nearby pump, lifting and pushing down the handle to sputter out the cool water from the pipes and ground below to rinse your hands and fingernails of dirt before continuing forward, humming a soft tune under your breath as you stepped up to one of the small shrines that sat off to the side on your property, sparing a small cucumber and a prayer before making your way back to your home, hand tugging the edge of your shirt to wipe at the sweat upon your brow.

“Hey there! You probably should have waited for me!” Called out an all too familiar voice. There he stood with that iconic grin upon his face, hands upon his hips as he stood upon the porch of your home. There stood Taishiro with his hair showing off it’s beautiful blonde perfectly thanks to the summer sun. He also looked to be in the middle of bulking back up, but either way you didn’t care. He seemed to radiate handsomeness to you whether he be muscular, that cute bulky in between, or that strong fluffy form that was just absolutely perfect for cuddling away in the colder months. With a grin stretching upon your face, you let your tired feet quicken their pace, hands skillfully and carefully swing the basket off your back to abandon upon the ground as you used the last of your leg’s strength to hop up and onto the wooden planks of the porch, Taishiro’s hands moving to grab ahold of yours to help you do so and pull you close for a tight embrace. He pressed you close to his body, not minding the dampness of your sweaty shirt or the smell of dirt and soil that lingered on you with your time out in the garden.

“I missed you! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” You giggled out excitedly as you back away, hands pushing away the frizzy strands of hair that curled about your face due to the summer’s humid air. “I would have at least prepared myself!” You teasingly scolded him as you stepped back down from the porch, though he was quick to follow and grab ahold of the basket for you with ease, already leading you back to the house where he slid the door open with an sense of ease and familiarity and stepped in.

“Oh come on, it’s not like you need to prepare yourself before I see you.” He said with a roll of his eyes as he sat the basket down upon the tiles of your kitchen, shoes slid off and left by the back door alongside yours, his silly, fuzzy, pink slippers that were left behind at your home now upon his feet. “I like you sweat, dirt, and all” he said with a grin as he turned to look at you, though was bombarded with yet another hug, a sigh of content exhaling from your lungs.

“I know, I know, but still, would be nice to not be all nasty.” You said as you pressed your ear upon his chest to listen to the soothing drum of his heart, his check pressed away upon the top of your head as the two of you swayed gently to a soundless song. “But....I would still like to have a bath..” you said with a giggle as you pulled back a bit to look up at him.

The two of you now relaxed back within the tub of the bathroom, the two of you slouched lowly within the steamy water up to your chins in relaxation as the hot water began its process of melting away the stress of today’s work from your body. Music played too from a little speaker set off to the side, the two of you enjoying each other’s quiet company as the two of you relaxed. Though you cleared your throat as you removed the damp towel from your face to look at him.

“What happened this time....” you asked, though it came out more of just a simple demand for an answer, though of course not rudely or pressingly. He shrugged his shoulders as he reached a hand up, the water dripping from his arms as he removed the small cloth that sat over her own face, looking at you now. “The usual....a guy does something petty, sees the only way out is fighting back and I’m the shield of the whole situation.” He said with a dry chuckle as his arms rested upon the lip of the tub, you only giving a sigh and a small shake of you head.

“You know....you better be careful, your body must be worn down by all this breaking down and rebuilding.” You muttered out, which he only shook his head that was accompanied with a little smile at your worried gaze.

“Eh, don’t worry about me, it doesn’t do much to my body, only annoying thing is the rebuilding period.” He hummed out as he lifted his arms to take a look at them. They were bulkier, fuller than his lean mascular state that would appear right after all his fat energy was used, but those muscles peeled through and flexed with each of his movements. Now sitting up and causing ripples to break through the calm surface of the water, a bit of his upper torso was now on display. It was muscular too, but a bit fluffier now? Was that a good way to describe it within your mind? It puzzled you to find the correct words, but the one thing you were sure about was that you admired it and adored it.

“I like those period, it gives you a break from the grueling work of a hero.” You commented with a shrug of a shoulder, your head leaned back onto the rim of the tub, hair roughly over the side with those frizzy strands curled by the humidity within the steamy bathroom framed your face. “Plus whenever you are with me when that happens, I enjoy cooking you the things you like with you, it’s nice...” you hummed out as your head moved to look over at him, a small soft, flirtatious grin upon his face as he looked back to you, one of his damp fingers going to caress the side of your head, those water droplets that once sat upon his fingers now dampening your hair.

That loving look that he casted upon you always sent your heart fluttering and your eyes moving else where as it always got you flustered, no matter how many times he casted that same heart melting look in your direction. It would forever be a weakness against your love frenzied heart.

The two of you now stood, the sound of water being moved and dripped sounding out as towels were now used to rid of the stubborn droplets of water, hair ruffled to dry it, and clothes now tossed back on the two of you now resting out open the porch, mosquito net slightly billowing in the soft, refreshing evening breeze as the two of you sat upon the futon, cards now with your hands as the two of you mindless played away with the game at hand. Though the two of you mostly aimlessly talked about random things. Such as movies, shows, old childhood memories, moments of anger and sadness or triumph and courage. It was things that the two of you knew inside and out, but even if the two of you knew each other from cover to cover, those conversations always led on and on with giggles and grins and a feeling of fulfillment as the two of you would reluctantly curl up together upon the futon with the breeze tickling any part of your body opened to it’s touch.

“You know...I hate the filling when I have to leave...” Taishiro soon hummed out as he looked quizzically to the cards in his hand, finally grabbing one and tossing it down and grabbing another, you soon moving to educate you’re own turn with a sad sigh.

“It’s like my other half is missing. Of course I’m fine without you here, you know? I trust you and blah blah blah.” You said as you sprawled yourself out on your side, hand propping up your head, the other holding onto your hand of cards as you looked to him. “But still, I miss you and whenever you are here with me it’s like I’m uplifted? Refreashed? It nice to be able to just live side by side.” You continued on though reached out your door to nudge his side. “Your turn Tai...” you pointed out, which he silently looked down to his cards, brows scrunched together as he strummed his fingers upon his bare knee before finally discarding a card and picking another up. Though with your words something seemed to shift. Something....shifted within him. He seemed tense, fidgety, nervous even? You didn’t point it out, but you gave him a raise of your brow as you had done your turn once more, tossing down the cards to reveal you victory, but he only silently scooped up the cards, beginning to shuffle them again.

“You like living along side me, correct?” He asked, almost to reassure himself as his hands that clutched onto the deck of cards now sat limply upon his lap, you letting out a scoff in bewilderment as you looked to him.

“Are you kidding? Yes I do!” You said with a little giggle and a grin that just sent a soft smile upon his lips as he looked to you. It almost seemed to wash away the jitters that had strangely overcome them, but not quite as he fiddled with the deck in his hands. Though they were soon set aside as he dragged over his bag packed with clothes, hands shakily pulling out a cube shaped object wrapped with a silk handerkerchief. Those nervous fingers delicately unwrapped to reveal the velvet box that sent your heart racing in your ears as he set it before you silently. “Taishiro...?” You quietly managed out in your quivering voice, he still bashfully fidgeting with his hands as he looked to you.

“Now I know we’ve only been dating for almost two years and some people would think it be crazy for us to just jump right in....but the thing is....why not?” He said with a little laugh as he watched you gently sit back up, eyes boring down to the velvet box before you. “I mean, I can picture myself living with you for the rest of my life, having children, growing old together...the stuff that I would want from a partner for the rest of my life.” He continued on, that handkerchief now being rung and twisted by his strong hands. “And about your house, we can still keep it, I know how much it means to you if you were to move to the city with me, but really I would love to move out here with you! The commute to the city and back isn’t that bad.” The hero continued to ramble on as your wide eyes finally looked up to him and his nervous appearance. Your hands finally nervously moved to open the box set before you, the orange of the late setting sun hitting the ring that sat tucked away in it’s safe bed.

The tears had finally pooled to your eyes and had began to cascade over and down your cheeks due to their heavy weight. Your hand shook as you lifted the box up, fingers going to grab the piece of jewelry, but Taishiro finally let his ever so larger and steadier hands reach for the ring to gently tug it out and slip it upon your finger, those large fingers of his wiping away the tears upon your cheeks as you let a shaky smile stretch across your lips as you stiffled back your sniffles from your tears of joy. The hug that you had dumped upon him allowed him to release a breath of relief as his arms went to tightly embrace you, hands buried within the tangles of your hair as you let out your pleas of tearful and emotional yes to the question that loomed over head with the presence of the ring now upon your finger.

“Hopefully you like the ring, Kirishima and Tamaki helped me...” he said with a boom of laughter, the lingering jitters still seeming to flutter within his chest as he looked down at you, which you now reached out your hand to look to the engagement ring admiringly.

“I absolutely love it!” You said with your giggles as your puffy eyes looked back to his, a lovesick grin now upon both of your lips as the two of you once again entangled in a tight embrace.

[whump-town]

The Slow Crawl Back to Normal

This is the really long fic I wrote to connect the episodes in season five following Foyet’s attack. As there is a whole month between the episode 5x01 “Nameless, Faceless” and 5x02 “Haunted”. So, naturally, I can’t stand to let all the possible whump go unwritten. However, I am not amused with the material I have produced. I did write is so it is to your own discretion that you read it. Good luck

Word Count:  7870

Getting into all of this, there had been a level of expected conflict. Seven people, six of which are heavily conflicted with a broad spectrum of emotions about one of the others. Luckily, Reid’s managed to procure a little of that attention (mercilessly, really).

That doesn’t stop them, entirely.

Emily Prentiss blinks once, twice at the bulging supply bag in Penelope Garcia’s hands. The two stare at each other from where they stand. A distinct air of mischief in the room, the lightest thing to ghost through all day. And Emily lets herself immerse fully into that hope. Into its ease. “I thought I said only the important things,” she chides softly.

Garcia looks down at the bag in her hands and frowns. Setting it down beside Hotch’s leg, Garcia opens it with a distinctly sassy motion. “It is only the important things,” she defends. She opens the bag to allow Emily to look in and as she pulls it open Emily can smell Hotch. His soap and detergent soaked into the old beige sweater sitting at the top of the bag. Even in the thick cabin socks tucked into the spare spaces. “I had to pack his winter clothes,” Garcia explains. “He gets cold easily, you know that.”

Hotch does stay relatively cold most of the time. Which is how it’s so effortless for him to stay tucked under all the layers of his suits. Emily is glad someone thought of that in the face of all this madness. The paper-thin, rough blankets the nurses are allowing him now aren’t going to be very much help. They’ve all shared a room with him before. He requires several layers of blankets to sleep.

Something green catches her eye and without thinking, Emily reaches in. “What’s--” Emily moves the sweater aside and Garcia swiftly shuts the sides of the bag around Emily’s hand.

Garcia glances at Hotch and then back to Emily, whispering loudly, “that is his underwear. You can’t look at them.”

Emily tries to hide her amused smile. It’s cute, alright? Big bad Aaron Hotchner having his modesty protected by Garcia. “Alright,” Emily backs down, pulling her hand back away from the bag. “Did you bring me anything?” she asks.

Garcia nods, smiling once again bright in place. “I come with…” Garcia turns to the shoulder bag she has, pulling it around to her front. “Books!” She spreads out the pickings and Emily realizes these are Hotch’s books. Because one, even the books that are essentially just decoration they’ve been sitting on her shelves for so long, she still knows their titles. And two, the books are old classic romance novels. Pride & Prejudice, Wuthering Heights, and Jane Eyre. She would never seek out these sorts of books on her own.

There’s also the additional proof that she’s seen them in his boxes. He’s been in his current apartment for months and he’s still hardly put away a thing that doesn’t get immediate, daily use. She’d been there to help him move and had refrained from commenting on the fact that he buckled the coffee maker into the front seat so it wouldn’t fall over. Which had forced her to sit in the back seat (which might have been punishment for making fun of his “dad” jeans). So, she’d also opened his other boxes to help along the unboxing process and quickly sidetracked so she could bully him for his library.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Emily says, taking them with a grateful smile and presses a quick kiss to Garcia’s cheek. “What would we do without you?” Emily thumbs through the old novels distractedly and wonders what she’s going to learn from these books. Never mind, she already knows: that H0tch is an old boring romantic.

Which is also cute but she refuses to acknowledge that for too long.

“How is he?” Garcia asks.

Her tone is so hopeful that it makes Emily’s throat tight. The truth is grim. And her duty is to the truth but Garcia is all of the light of this job. Her hope and smile is always what greets them when they come home. In the times in which she falls, they’ve found themselves bathed in the darkest nights. Not a star in sight. Clouds hovering overhead. There is so much to consider and no time to dwell.

Emily never has to answer her.

“Sir!”

His head turns sluggishly to them, eyes moving around the rest of him as he takes in everything. Slowly, they slide back to them but he doesn’t ask where he is or what happened. He looks them both over. Typical Hotch behavior to take stock of a situation and then do little visual check-ins to comb them over for injuries. Even though he’s the one laid up in the hospital. “Hello,” he hoarsely greets. His pale lips curl up, a soft smile he has afforded only her. He can always do that one little thing for Penelope Garcia. But he can’t hold it for long and with a tired sigh, his lips fall to his more natural grimace. His blinks are slowing in rate, his eyelids already dropping again.

Although, yesterday, the doctor had been sympathetic to his situation today she is not. She’d allowed him to forgo from taking stronger doses of morphine and sedatives so that he might fight his body and stay awake long enough to say goodbye to Haley and Jack. The three different states of panic he’d worked himself into were enough not to allow her to make that mistake again.

Today, as drowsy and inactive as he has been, he has remained calm. Only waking once in a state of panic early this morning, writhing in pain and crying out softly for Haley.

“Garcia was just dropping some stuff off,” Emily informs him. “Some clean clothes so you can change out of this gown.” But she’s Emily Prentiss and she can’t stop there. “Not that I’m sure the nurses don’t love seeing your ass every time you go to the bathroom.” She looks far too pleased as she remembers-- “Oh and she was totally bragging about being able to go through your underwear drawer. She was just showing me a pair of your boxers when you woke up-- Ow!” Emily is taken by complete surprise when Garcia hits her.

Garcia red in the face vehemently denies this false claim. “I would never do that, sir! I did have to look inside the drawer but I promise I tried to keep my eyes closed so I wouldn’t see everything! I hardly saw anything at all! Just--”

“Garcia. Garcia?”

She comes to a stuttering halt, face still very flushed.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Hotch clarifies with a tired sigh. “Prentiss just has a flair for tall tales.” He says this under his breath, his eyes falling shut. It takes him a long moment but he manages to blink them back open. A few rapid shallow blinks as he forces himself to stay awake just a little longer.

Emily scowls down at him but she can’t really be mad. Not him, not when he’s like this. “I do not have a flair for tall tales,” her voice turns to a childish taunt near the end. Finishing it off with an eye roll and softly knocking the back of her hand against his.

It earns her a sleepy little huff and just the faintest smirk.

Garcia feels a little better having seen this demonstration. As the one left searching hospitals for news on him, half expecting someone to eventually break the news of his death to her, she’s relieved. No one has given her good news in two days. She hadn’t been able to leave the office yesterday in time to make visitor’s hours. All she knew is what Morgan had told her from yesterday: that he was agitated and weak.

Weak. Her boss? No. Her Aaron Hotchner is strong and brave and maybe a little sad but he doesn’t deserve this.

“Garcia?”

She looks up, taken aback by how softly her name comes out of his mouth. “Yes, sir?”

“Thank you for finding me.”

Tears gather in her eyes and she steps around Emily to squeeze his hand. “Of course, sir.” Then leaning down to kiss his temple, she adds. “Just in case though, I’m going to put a tracker in your underwear. I can’t have you all running off on me, okay?”

He makes one of those signature Hotch grunts, a soft noise that comes from the back of his throat.

“I love you, sir.”

If he finds anything in his boxers, he’ll consider that a lie.

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

Aaron Hotchner may be sedated and spending roughly 75% of the last three days hazing in and out of sleep but he’s not stupid. He’s been a profiler for the better part of a decade, longer really, and he didn’t just bat his eyelashes to work his way up to Unit Chief. “You’re angry,” he says.

Dave and Emily have been shouldering the majority of his visiting hours. Everyone has stopped by (even Reid, though it was two in the morning and that was an unapproved meeting) and continues to stop by but seemingly out of duty rather than because they want to see him. Not that Hotch can really blame them. He’s seen himself in the mirror, he’s not looking too hot.

Today is Dave’s day and he’s been with Hotch since seven-thirty this morning. Long enough to watch Hotch sip at some apple juice and neglect the chicken broth he was supposed to have for lunch. His lack of appetite is starting to become a problem and that is what Hotch assumes Dave is frustrated with. Reasonably, Hotch does know he needs to try a little harder but apple juice got boring two days ago and he’s not really a fan of room temperature soup.

Looking up from his Sudoku, Dave sighs. An obvious tell. He straightens the spine of his book. “I’m not.”

Hotch grunts, so he is mad. They’ve had this conversation enough over the years for Hotch to be able to tell.  If Dave weren’t mad he would have spent more time clarifying he’s not mad at Hotch, not denying it. Rightfully, Dave always assumes first and foremost that Hotch thinks he’s mad with him. Which is fair because, right now, Hotch is fairly certain Dave is mad at him.

The sound of his grunt makes Dave look up and Dave finds himself looking at the side of Hotch’s head. The younger man avoiding his gaze. Fuck. Sighing, Dave places his pen in the middle of the pages and puts the book down. Way to go, Dave chides himself. Now he’s going to have to backpedal. Might as well call Emily now and tell her to come in and sit here with him. But that would only make matters worse. Then Hotch would have damning proof Dave is mad at him.

“I’ll-- I’ll try harder,” Hotch whispers, scratching dully at one of the bandages wrapped around his forearm. “I will.”

Dave leans forward in his chair, head hitting the palms of his hands with a groan. Does this nonsense ever get easy? “I”m not mad at you, Aaron.” He rubs at his face, around his eyes until he can sit back up. He’s not mad at Aaron, really. He’s fucking livid with George Foyet. With Hotch’s landlord who Derek has been on the phone with for the last two days arguing about nothing and everything. He annoyed with this hospital and the stupid rules but he’s not mad at Hotch.

Dave can tell Hotch doesn’t believe him. “Aaron,” Dave calls softly. He reaches out and puts his hand on Hotch’s thigh, pushing a little to get his attention. “I promise I am not mad at you, alright? You’re doing great.” That’s not really proof. In all honesty, now Dave’s thinking about how all this could have been avoided. If he’d just left Hotch in Seattle all those years ago. Someone would have taken him, surely, he was too good for that office but if Dave had left him for someone else they wouldn’t be here.

Haley and Aaron might still be married.

“If I was mad at you,” Dave asks, “would I have asked Derek to bring you better soup and popsicles?” He forces himself not to react when Hotch glances over after hearing popsicles. “Those little plastic ones that you like--” Dave knows the name but he’s baiting him.

“The colorful ones?”

Dave nods, “yes, those.” He’s not sure what kind of soup Derek’s bringing, likely just whatever is offered at whatever takeout place he stops at. But they are getting the popsicles. They had been the only thing in Hotch’s fridge. Garica had been appalled by this when she told him.

“It was empty, Rossi! Old coffee creamer, a half-gallon of oat milk, and popsicles. That’s it.”

Hotch hums under his breath, turning his head into the pillows. The only positive side to being sedated is that he doesn’t think about Foyet. There are nightmares but he can’t remember them. By the time he wakes someone’s already at his side, walking him through the steps of calming down. He can’t even remember what upset him-- or even if it was Foyet. The attack is fuzzy, lacking the hard edges of memory, but he does know this is temporary.

Soon, two days from now, if not tomorrow, they’ll lift him off the hard drugs. Rest will come second to recovery and he’ll remember.

But for now, he sinks into the thoughtless, dreamless slumber.

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

Technically, this is day two in recovery and he should be up on his feet being forced to walk the long empty halls every hour or so. Core strength isn’t built overnight but as Hotch is learning, it can be killed that quickly. For now, they let him rest as his first twelve hours here on the unit were full of rapid downs. He’d nearly pulled stitches having a nightmare and saying goodbye to Haley and Jack did a number.

Sitting by his side, JJ finds herself thinking about the hours she wasted. Where was her conviction? That gut instinct everyone else seems to run on? She’s known him for years, longer than Emily, and yet she hadn’t thought anything of his phone going to voicemail. Nearly a decade of working by his side and she knows, she knows he always answers. No matter the time, no matter what he’s doing-- grocery shopping, trying to shower, or feeding Jack.

If she calls, he answers.

Her guilt means nothing. It’s just some cruel tactic she’s deployed to distract her from what’s really bothering her. He’s alone. JJ had made those calls to the marshalls. She’d packed Jack’s bag, throat tight as she stacked his little shirts into his even tinier suitcase. And now they’re gone. Already ghosts that Foyet will not be able to find.

That Hotch won’t be able to find.

Her voice is small and trampled but she can’t stand the silence. “Sometimes I forget how he used to be.” It surprises her to hear her voice just as much as it does Emily, who sits on Hotch’s other side, a book loosely held in her lap. She knows Emily’s silence is shock and not just her ignoring JJ. Emily is just one of those people whose silence is often more telling their words-- the same is true for Dave and Hotch.

It’s under that attention that JJ now finds herself a little shy if not stubbornly selfish. Suddenly, her desire to speak is gone. The memory she bathes herself in is her own. To share it makes it lose its depth and the warm familiarity of Aaron. But on Emily presses. She waits silently for JJ to find her voice once again. And JJ decides that she’s being silly. Wistful if not a bit melancholy, which there is no need to be. Aaron Hotchner is alive. Steadily he breathes, he aches, and he lives right between them.

She looks down at the thin white blanket lazily dragged up over Hotch’s hips. Conjuring the image of that Aaron Hotchner from so long ago. Young and smiling with suits that didn’t really fit his long legs. “He was one of those fairytale romancers,” JJ says. She smiles at the look of horror and shock on Emily’s face. This, for that face, is why JJ had begun. They each have this version of him, totally unique to them, that they get to have in these moments. He is not the same man to JJ as he is to Emily. “You could tell he believed in love. He was so--”

Emily is sitting forward in her chair. The book she’d brought lays face down on the bed, inches from Hotch’s limply curled fingers. On he breathes with his trembling crescendo exhales and raspily choked inhales. Oblivious to them.

“He was so enraptured by Haley,” JJ confesses softly, looking to him now. Attempting to manifest one of his smiles from his thin, pale lips. “But mostly,” she finally confesses, “he was so… boyish.” Emily makes a surprised sound, flinching back a little as she considers this information. JJ finds herself watching Emily’s every expression. She wonders who it is that Emily knows as Aaron Hotchner.

JJ smiles as she continues, humored. She’s thrilled by this idea that there might be more to him. That if she tells Emily about her Hotch, Emily will tell her own version. And now, in her hands, she’ll have a larger idea of him. More. She wants more of him so that maybe less might be stolen.

“Once,” she admits, “I told him about the girls from my liaison classes.” It was years ago. So long she needs a moment to really remember the whole thing. Specifically for those little moments and flashes in his eyes. The blush on his cheeks when he laughed and looked away. How he’d shaken his head. “The girls down there are just… they were in awe of him.” She smiles, “and how could you not be? He is handsome and has great manners.”

Emily smirks, rolling her eyes. “Just having manners makes him better than the apes down the hall.” True. Half of the men that work in the building with them are creeps. It seems as if the only half-decent men in Quantico work on their team. Everyone else is more than questionable.

JJ nods in agreeance.

“...Em’ly?” Hotch groans. His eyes are pinched shut in pain. “ ‘m gonna be sick,” he mumbles. He swallows thickly, loud enough for JJ to hear.

Emily gets up in a flash, nearly tripping over her own legs. “JJ raise the head of the bed up,” she instructs.

JJ freezes for only a moment. She hasn’t spoken to Hotch since yesterday when he woke up and they figured out Foyet was targeting Haley and Jack. He’s been asleep every time since. Now, there’s panic in his eyes. As she raises the bed, he grabs her hand. His fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist. Enough to make her stop.

“Wait, wait!” He pants softly, breathing hitching as he writhes uselessly. His chest is on fire, only making his stomach churn more. A few seconds pass and he realizes that he’s going to vomit regardless. “Okay,” he says tightly.

JJ glances at Emily but continues on.

Hotch makes a pained sound, moving his hand from JJ’s wrist. He doesn’t open his eyes, just presses his hand into his stomach. The cramp of his churning stomach more severe than the agitated stitched across his abdomen. “I need the--” his hand wraps around the bucket but Emily keeps holding on.

It’s just water, JJ notes. Being a mother has numbed her to bodily fluids so she doesn’t mind vomit.

Emily doesn’t flinch either. The first time she had. It had taken them both by surprise. Now, for about the fourth time, she just shakes her head. Offering the comfort she can think to-- rubbing his back as tears stream down his cheeks. She already knows they’re going to threaten an NG tube, a longer stay, or something. They always have something to say nothing to help. He’s maxed out on pain meds and still in pain.

They want him to drink something other than water to get his blood sugar back up but hasn’t managed to keep anything down since they started giving him the juices.

Breathlessly, Hotch falls back against the pillows. A light sweat had broken out over his face. “Sorry,” he groans, twisting slowly. His hips are stiff and chest tight but he needs to ease the ache in his stomach. Everything hurts and he can’t get comfortable.

“He can’t keep the apple juice down,” Emily mumbles as she passes JJ with the bucket. JJ follows her to the bathroom to the side of the room. Out of the corner of her eye she glances back at Hotch, watching him. Whether he simply doesn’t care if he’s being watched or hasn’t the presence of mind to consider it, she knows what she sees is a direct reflection of how he feels. No guards. No shields. Just his pale face and weak body leaning heavily into the pillows around him. Lips drawn in a grimace. Pained.

JJ tears her eyes away from the scene. She can’t stand it. Emily must be so strong, JJ thinks, to sit in here with him. To do what she does without blinking. If she weren’t so lost in thought-- stuck circling this stupid idea of all the ways she just keeps failing Hotch-- she would have come up with the idea earlier. However, it takes the sight of Hotch paling even more and grimacing to spur it.

Emily guides the apple juice back into his palm, despite the fact that he turns his head from her.

“Why don’t you water it down?”

Emily frowns, “what do you mean?”

JJ extends her hand and Emily hesitantly gives her the bottle. “Toddlers,” JJ says, “can have juice, right? But it can be a bit much. You have to dilute the juice with water. It can ruin their little teeth but mostly it can spike their blood sugar.” JJ takes the little pink cup Hotch has been sipping water out of and pours a significant bit of the apple juice out. Then she takes the bottle and fills the rest with water. Taking a sip… it’s about the same ratio she’d give a toddler. “You’re still drinking the apple juice, you’re just not going to upset your stomach.”

Hotch hasn’t been throwing up the water so it’s obviously an apple juice problem.

And, sure enough, he keeps the diluted apple juice down. It provides the extra benefit of forcing him to drink more water too as he has to finish at least, one bottle of apple juice a day.

JJ needn’t worry too much about the self-imposed diagnosis of her relationship with Hotch because he, sincerely, considers her a hero for that idea.

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

Hotch wakes from a nap he can’t remember falling asleep to take. His fingers are loosely wrapped around a popsicle. It’s long since melted into an overly sugared blue slush but there is only about a third of it left or what he guesses is about a third. As the palm of his hand is protected by a paper towel that was, at some point, wrapped around the popsicle but now just hinders his ability to see what’s left.

“What times is it?”

“Five thirty.”

Hotch flinches, looking over to his left and finding Morgan and Reid. When he’d asked the question he’d meant it for JJ or Dave. Both of whom are sitting on his right side, his currently favored side. He finds himself self-conscious of this blindness. How weak, stupid even, he must be to miss either of them. Reid is sitting in a bulky wheelchair. Each of either man’s movements measured out by the soft, plastic thunk of round game pieces being moved along the bored.

They’re playing checkers and he hadn’t even noticed them.

“Why does he always do that?” JJ asks no one in particular. She glances at Hotch with an eye roll of exasperation before adding, “always rounds up the time like a little old man. It’s 5:16. That’s hardly 5:30.”

Hotch swallows thickly around his confusion. It takes a whole minute for him to understand but, graciously, JJ has already moved on to another topic. Speaking to Dave now as she searches for something in the bags sitting at the table by his side. She’d meant Reid and his, admittedly, strange habit of significantly rounding up the passage of time.

She pulls out a little bowl, it’s lid fogged with steam, and sets it down. Even though it’s small enough for her to hold in one hand, Hotch’s stomach churns at the thought of having to eat it. Next comes another bowl. “Derek brought you soup,” she says to him. “Rice too but that’s just more so you have options.”

Vaguely, he can remember receiving his popsicle. JJ’s words filling in a memory. Derek had arrived in a flurry of white take-out bags. Emily and Garcia had been around at the time and he’d been only slightly up for small talk. Which they had been strangely understanding about. To the point, Emily hadn’t overwhelmed him with the options. She’d simply wrapped a napkin around the base and given it to him. Already open.

“Do you know which you’d like?”

He can feel himself working into a cold sweat. Overwhelmed with just a simple question. He looks at JJ and then at the rice and then the soup. He’s not sure what the right answer is. Over the last three days, that’s mostly what he’s learned. Though his body craves nothing, not food, and rarely even the need to use the bathroom, he knows it’s supposed to. His eating habits are now watched and, never once in his life, being the type of person to yearn strongly for foods he’s floored. He never knows what they want to hear.

Sure, he’s craved things. An oreo in passing or a specific brand go chips. Preferred a dipping sauce for fries but…

“The soup,” Dave says. He sees that look in Hotch’s eyes, the cast-off-- no one’s home-- look. “It’s your favorite,” Dave takes the soup from JJ’s hand, watching closely as Hotch comes back. He blinks slowly, taking in what’s happening, and nods. Hotch doesn't have a favorite soup but they don’t need to know that.

Hotch looks down, blankly, as Dave gently takes the melted popsicle from his hands. He feels… a strange attachment to that popsicle. Though melted he almost wants it still.

“Eat your soup,” Dave encourages replacing the popsicle with a spoon.

Hotch’s fingers curl slowly around the thin metal. He’s officially at a stage in his life where fine motor movements like this require heavy thought. Pure devotion. He can not think, breathe, or speak while doing these sorts of things. So, eating his soup is going to be far more difficult than he’d like it to be. Neverminded how humiliating his lack of coordination is.

And they’re all here.

His mouth opens, the words I’m not hungry forming but come with no sound. He shuts his mouth and swallows thickly. Again, his stomach twists with a strange vengeance. It’s just clear, brothy soup. Soup. So, why does it feel like his entire chest is pulsing with anxiety?

He flinches when a hand wraps around his own. Obscuring the view of the spoon, of his hand and he knows he can only fight off the tremble for so long. He drags his eyes up, forces himself to keep that hand steady. JJ is touching him but she’s not looking. “Would the rice be easier?” she asks.

White, tasteless rice. Unseasoned. Just rice.

He can’t make words pass across his lips but there must be something that his face betrays because without a word JJ puts the lid back on the soup and puts the rice in his lap. It’s closer than the soup had been. When he looks up, no one’s watching. Morgan and Reid are turned so he’ll see them if they turn to watch. JJ and Dave are settling down to their own respective tasks. JJ snacking on a piece of garlic bread and Dave kicking his feet up on the edge of his bed. No one's watching.

Swallowing thickly, he moves slowly. All of his attention goes to this task. The spoon grazes the top of the lid but no one looks at the sudden clink of the metal hitting the container. He glances up once more time before forcing the spoon into his mouth. He nearly misses but no one sees. A single grain falls back onto his lap. The white rice nearly lost in the sea of the other white blankets.

Though, none of them aware, tomorrow is going to be hard on them all. For today, he remains pliable. Succumbing easily to sleep and to their request. He flinches but he lacks the strength to get too far away. So he remains in his bed, watching them from behind hooded eyes and deep, sedated breaths. Tomorrow he will find the strength for defiance.

“Not too much,” JJ says, after a few minutes. He manages only about five bites and the spoon never has more than a pinch of rice but it’s setting heavily on his stomach and he’s done. “Done?”

Heavy and warm, he nods. He feels her take the spoon from his hands and lift the rice away.

“Hotch?”

It feels like only a second has passed but when he pulls his heavy eyes back open there’s only JJ. Reid and Morgan having left and Dave too, apparently. He hums, mouth too dry to form words.

“Can you finish this juice off for me?” She doesn’t wait for a reply, just places the nearly empty bottle into his palm. He’s tired and so he doesn’t fight the tender way she pushes his hair back from his face and places a kiss on his temple. She knows there are only a few more hours left before his guard slips back into place and he fights her every move. But, for now, she can appreciate that he doesn’t fight her help so long as it’s minimal.

There’s a straw in the juice so he only has to lift his arm a little to get access to the juice.

“Hello,” Emily steps into the room, smiling the whole way.

JJ glances at Hotch but he’s glaring down at the apple juice.

“JJ,” Emily greets, “you’re relieved of your duties. Hotch is safe with me.” Emily tosses her bag on the end of Hotch’s bed, right beside where his feet are. “Don’t worry about us Jayje, we're gonna watch movies.”

JJ glances once more to Hotch, satisfied he’s back to taking tentative sips from his apple juice. Okay. She needs to sleep and catch up on laundry. She’s leaving him in good hands. Nothing to worry about. Reaching out she touches his leg, getting his attention. “Behave.”

He nods and returns back to his own head, looking down at his lap.

It goes without saying that Emily is the one who needs to be doing the behaving.

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

He goes home far too early.

If the nightmares leave him paralyzed, the wounds ooze-- Surely, he is not healthy enough to go off on his own.

He’s a body caught in the loop. Just a capsule for time, each second measured out on his paling skin. Every minute, each hour-- the blood trickling down over his ribs. Slipping into the grooves of skin and staining his once white t-shirt. He breathes but he is not living. With no thoughts, no feelings is he even a thing at all? Just a body that remains where he was left five days before to watch the sunrise from his window and set on the other side of his house. Every day. For five days.

On the sixth day, as the sun sets over the top of the house-- noon-- there’s a knock at his door. The calendar on his fridge wrestles softly with the breeze coming in from the window Derek Morgan left open in the kitchen. Their names with their own smiling stickers and color-coded which had meant to be for Aaron alone wave pathetically with each coming breeze. It was meant to be a way to keep track of passing days and who would be coming to terrorize him every day. Garcia had hung it up and wrapped his fingers around a black sharpie, smiling when she added he could even use it to mark off the days until his hopeful return to the BAU.

The knocking on the door grows silent and breathily, Hotch whimpers out in relief. He can’t think, doesn’t want to, and is glad that today, not unlike the last five days, whoever it is has wisened up and chosen to leave him alone. All he wants is silence and pain. The only things he knows for sure are real.

As the nurse had watched them go, she spoke those same words over and over. Monitor. He’s meant to be monitored and watched.

Unless the shadows that warp into George Foyet-- and not just him but Hotch’s father, long and tall, and Carl Arnold and his cackling, taunting observations, and beasts and ghosts from his nightmares. Unless those monsters count, he’s been alone.

Outside his apartment door, David Rossi and Emily Prentiss argue loudly. Enough to stir the rest of the apartment complex’s occupants but none dare stick their heads out to inquire on the trespassing. They all know of the agent nearly killed and none want to get mixed up in that (that is, the few that remain).

“There.”

Emily looks up from her side bag and Dave from where he’s leaning, unhelpfully, looking in as well. For a moment, all Emily can do is stare down at the slightly ajar door. Slowly, her eyes lift to Garica and then back to the door. “You scare me,” Emily says as her face is split by a wide, proud grin. “That, though, was the sexist thing I have ever seen in my life! What are you hiding from us, Penelope Garcia?”

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear Garcia shrugs modestly. Honestly, she’d learned a lot about picking locks from her brothers but, most of what stuck came from Reid and a phase he went through two years ago where he decided to learn how to pick every lock he could get his hands on. She’d picked up a thing or two, as well.

All the cheer dissipates quickly.

“Stay here.”

Emily glances at Garcia but neither disobey Dave’s order. Fearful of what they might find, really.

Dave pushes his way into the room, hit with the thick scent of heavy settling. Distinctly dusty scent. “Aaron?” He steps around a pair of discarded sweatpants, a puddle of dark grey fabric on the carpet. “Shit--” Dave winces as the sight of blood seeped into the fabric of Hotch’s shirt. “Aaron,” he cups Hotch’s cheek, shaking him.

Hotch groans, peeling his eyes open. Despite the deep panic settling in over his chest, his heart beating so hard that he can’t tell the difference between the rate at which his chest aches from the stab wounds and the pace of his heart. He shoves blindly at the arms grabbing at him. His mind chanting-- Foyet, Foyet, Foyet, Foyet--

“It’s me, Aaron!” Dave pins Hotch’s arms to the bed, startled by the ease at which it takes. “It’s okay, it’s okay!”

It’s not. It’s not okay. Hotch can see him, right now. George Foyet looms just behind Dave, knife poised in hand to kill. It’s not okay and nothing ever will be again. But… they can try, can’t they?

“We’re so sorry, sir.”

Hotch leaning heavily into Emily as Rossi crouches on the bedroom floor, making the best of the little light Hotch can take. He can’t sit up by himself, his head spinning and eyes burning, but with Emily’s right arm wrapped around his hips and Dave’s hand bracing his chest he manages to stay put. Mostly, numb to movement and their voices. He just… exists without thought.

Garcia is full of anxious movement and her constant shifting and rocking is hypnotic. It draws his shaky awareness to her. He’s nearly unaware of the cold air blowing against his bare chest. “Garcia,” he croaks. He feels himself wilting, shaking in Emily’s grip. She shifts their bodies and he remains upright, despite how far he’s pulling them down.

She perks up, “yes sir?”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.”

That doesn’t feel true. Not at all, not even a little.

They left him. For once in all the years that they have known him, they listened to him, and what made them think that was okay? They’d disregarded his orders in the field and pushed his buttons just to get a rise out of him. All for that disobedience to be thrown to the side the moment that he got home. He’d wanted to be alone and they fucking listened. Why did they listen?

There is a certain distortion that spoken word carries, impervious though is the thought. A fact only discovered through effect, is that there will never be the right word to express a thought. As it passes through the lips, it warps as all soft, loved things do. The teeth gnarl and grind and the face betrays meaning and the thought, as gentle as a butterfly's wing, with churn to dust right before the eye. Until nothing but the ash is left behind and there is only the fragment of an idea.

“I--I need help.” His words, the rocks on the boldface of a mountain, come crashing into the way of oncoming traffic. He means them feverishly, without reasons and no hesitation. No brakes, no way to stop. He’s nothing more than the stampede of tragedy as smoke fills the air, tires screeching as smoke plumes above. He, the rock, and them, the cars he collides so blindly with. “I’m, I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I’m alone.”

They are there in every moment, every breath. Overstimulated, he needs the breath of silence that passes between his own thoughts. A whirlwind of the fiber of his being lit on fire. He hadn’t known the loud thrum of the world in so long and he needs them to overpower it. He needs them to speak over the electric hum of the light bulb that hangs a fraction too low and swings with its loose wires. As the seconds tick by and the sounds kill him, he needs them gone. He needs nothing more than his thoughts and the hum and he doesn’t have the words anymore. No way to tell them that it’s all too much and entirely not enough.

That he hates how JJ touches his elbow when she’s near him. He’s certain that if she doesn’t touch him, if Garcia doesn’t ghost smiles his way, or Dave fondly knocks gently into him that he will find he doesn't exist. Nothing more than the air that he pulls lazily into lungs that no longer wish to function. Aaron Hotchner will simply cease to be and he’s no longer capable of deciding if that is what he wants. Still, his bones crave for the gentle stroke of a hand against his own. For someone to grab him by the sides of the head and kiss him until that dark pool of warmth settles once again in his stomach. To feel, in its full, love and hatred.

Please, someone, break down his so firmly built walls. Impose themselves. Force their love into the cracks Foyet’s knife has left. Anything.

It’s clear the line they walk with him. Waves lapping at his nerves. Left to perpetually guess at when they need to override his wishes and when they need to step back. It’s Hotch so it’s not easy work.

“You look good like this.” Dave smiles at the sleepy, inquiring glare Hotch sends his way but it’s hard to look intimidating while exhausted and with a head full of messy hair. Which is ink-like on the pillow, spread out in every direction. It makes Dave wish he were the type of writer that dabbles in the art of another world and, more than that, he wishes to create a character like Aaron Hotchner. So that he might force at least one version of this stubborn man to trust the love his team so willingly provides.

But men are often far more complex than what David Rossi is patient enough to put to paper so he is stuck in this world. With the grumpy asshole that he calls a close friend glaring up at him from underneath a hand-knit several toned green blanket, pulled all the way up to his chin and balled there in his fist. A gift from Garcia.

“I bought you a heating blanket,” Dave says, spreading the thick, soft material over Hotch’s long body. “Mmm,” he notes in disappointment when he finds the blanket just a little too small to cover all of his friend's long body. Which isn’t entirely surprising, nothing is ever simple with Aaron Hotchner. However, heated blankets? That’s rather simple.

Dave smiles, contently, as he cranks the blanket up. Turning the heat to the max and watching its immediate effect-- Hotch’s dark eyes drooping and his mouth falling limply from its scowl.

Garcia made him the green blanket he loves so dearly. She’s recently gotten really into knitting. Though, she’s not very good. The blanket she made Hotch is her best yet even if it’s somehow crooked. It’s a dark, dark green and Hotch has used it every night since Garcia gifted it to him in the hospital. He’s very partial to it.

Content (already falling asleep) Dave feels alright leaving Hotch in the living room while he makes some dinner. Of course, as soon as Dave has rolled up his sleeves and is trying to get some vegetables chopped up Emily has to go bothering him. Dave may not have raised children but he swears to deal with the two of them, is exactly like it. He’s seen the way children do one another. Going to brother the peaceful one to entertain themselves.

“Emily,” Dave fuses, placing a hand on his hip. He quickly drops it when he realizes he must look exactly like his mother had when fussing with him. “Leave him alone,” he finishes.

Emily acts offended, throwing her arms in defense. “I wasn't doing anything!” But they all know damn well she’s still going to go bother Hotch.

She’s stuck in this apartment and hasn't brought anything to entertain herself. Besides, he’s her friend. The whole point of him is to entertain her. That’s what friends are for. “Scoot,” she orders, glancing over her shoulder at Dave. He’s chopping vegetables, probably choosing to ignore them.

Obediently, Hotch pulls himself up. Scowling at her, not heated but just because that’s his face at this point, as he does as she requests. “I’m not sharing my blanket,” he mumbles assuredly. Mostly because he knows she doesn’t want the blanket anyhow, he just needs something to say.

Emily sits down beside him, hip-to-hip, it’s a snug fit. “Here,” she reaches around him and places a pillow in her lap, motioning for him to lay back down.

He’s already moving to obey when he grumbles, “why can’t you sit somewhere else?”

She rolls her eyes and Garcia grins at them. “I want to sit with my friend,” she answers. “Is that a crime?”

He hums, “no but it’s annoying.”

There had been a time when Dave had been jealous of the natural relationship between Hotch and Emly. Despite having known Hotch the longest, Dave can see that his friend is just easily comfortable with Emily. The oddness of that companionship is undeniable but he craves for the proximity they allow one another. So guarded except for when it comes to one another. But Dave has, also, come to terms with the fact that Hotch is just… odd.

Emily may be able to command Hotch to do things. As she had just moments ago when she’d gone into the living room and pulled his head into her lap. Dave wishes he could have that comfort. The sleepy way that Hotch had only minimally fought her until he’d settled down and caved to her. But Dave has what even Emily doesn't. Though he may allow Emily into his personal space he only wants Dave when he wakes up screaming from nightmares. When he needs help.

The same way that only Garcia can tuck blankets snugly around him. JJ can argue about how much food he’s eating and get him to eat more. Only Morgan can offer him help when he’s too tired to walk. Reid is the only person allowed to hold his hand. They take what they can get and pride themselves on what little that yields.

“What if I was bitten by a zombie?” Emily asks. “Would you handcuff yourself to me so we could be together?”

Dave quirks an eyebrow at that, shaking his head but continuing with his current task in the kitchen.

Hotch’s low response is inaudible but he hears Emily’s huff of indignance. “That’s not ridiculous, Hotch! I would handcuff myself to you! That’s love, you ass. Garcia would do it.”

Dave looks up, watching Garcia nod from the chair on the other side of the room. She’d been knitting silently, the clack of the plastic needles hypnotically drawing in comfort into the somber apartment. She doesn’t even stop knitting to look and conform with a serious nod that she would, in fact, handcuff herself to them if they were zombies.

Emily doesn’t seem to have learned her lesson with the zombie question. “What about if I was a worm? Would you let me live in your suit pocket?”

Dave hears Hotch’s zero hesitation reply-- “No.” He smirks but says nothing. Hotch adds, “I’d leave you on a pear tree.”

Emily frowns, “I don’t like pears.”

“I know.”

Garcia huffs a laugh but clamps her hand over her mouth when Emily shoots her a glare.

“Dave,” Emily calls. “He’s being mean to me.”

Dave shrugs, “I told you to leave him alone.” And as frustrated as he could let himself be he can’t. Lowly, he can hear Hotch replying to everything asked of him. The soft chuckle he lets out when Garcia says something to him and he can see the little grin in his voice when he speaks to the two of them.

Just give it some time, Dave assures himself. Before he knows it, they’ll have Hotch back. All of him and things will go back to the way they always are. They just need to decide if they’re really ready for that.

[sadaakirah]

Swelter : Rumour Has It

"I'll hold you to your promise, Mikasa."

Finally wrote Part 3. Thank you for reading parts 1 and 2 💗 I am terrible at summaries.

Part I / II / III

Levi wears something akin to worry on his visage when he takes in the indentations of the battle-hardened leather gear on her muscled arms slowly disappearing under white fabric.

Mikasa turns around to see her half-dressed Captain get up from the chair where she had been draped over not too long ago.

The large windows behind him usher in a cool breeze and show the crescent moon against a darkening sky.

He comes to a halt several steps before her with lighted lamp in hand; the fire flickers wildly against the cool breeze and the orange lights dance against his unreadable face.

Her calloused fingers graze over the worrisome folds between Levi's eyebrows, ironing them down into a peaceful expression placed on top of a strikingly more youthful man.

"I'll be handing this over to Armin first thing in the morning, and I'll take the day off to check out the property," her gaze points to the piece of paper on his desk. "But I trust your choice nonetheless, Captain."

"Your decision on the matter is still important."

He leaves out to me but she catches it nonetheless and offers up a genuine smile in response. A myriad of visions of home surface into her mind.

"Tell me about the house again, Captain," she asks, bending down to slip a boot on slowly.

"Two storeys, two bedrooms in the top floor, large arched windows" Levi states concisely - she thinks of a home bestowed with her embroidery, her mother's and her grandmother's -"a garden in the back and a large tree overlooking a small lake. Right, that sounds perfect," she adds, stretching her toes out in her well-worn boots.

Levi hums his approval, low in his throat.

Blue specks in his gunmetal eyes measure this Mikasa before him - bathed in an afterglow, the embers of light reflected on the sheen of her forehead, with her loosened tongue, loosened limbs.

"Enough space for the beginnings of a humble tea shop downstairs, and there's a tea plantation nearby."

Just like the plans he had told her about 5 months ago, when they found each other awake after the nightmares failed to let sleep take them, right after she had divulged wanting to settle down far from the walls, with a small cottage and a flower garden and an aging tree to look over her aging self and her house.

It became difficult for Levi to reconcile the image of the better half of Humanity's Strongest leading a simple, predictable life, alone and with all the time in her world to ponder about the blood on her hands as her mind flips through well-archived nightmare fodder.

So instead of telling her that he cares too deeply to let her be miserable, one night under a full moon they had discussed the post-military benefits that would go into purchasing property, the climate perfect for growing tea and flora and everything under the sun except how much they would miss each other's ever-constant presence, the knowing lone figure knocking on the door at night that would keep the nightmares at bay after waking up, the cup of black tea that would appear at Levi's desk when he needed it the most, the clothes torn from training cadets that would end up magically sewn the next day when Mikasa had forgotten to take care of them.

Ever the pragmatic duo they finally settled on pooling their post-military funds together to look for a place of residence that would suit their shared needs.

"And if you do want to take responsibility, you'd be working for free for me in that teashop."

Despite herself, she looks at him, with apparent surprise that he had still been mulling over that word in his mind.

She wonders if he would name the shop Ackerman Tea and chuckles at the afterthought.

Too late in the effort of sobering herself from the afterglow, the words leave her mouth without being put through a filter first.

Her next words aren't loud, but they are true.

"I promise to take responsibility, Captain. For all my insubordination, the times you had to drag my stubborn ass away from danger, for all the times I injured you." She gathers her raven locks away from the back of her neck, where the strands clung uncomfortably, and into a small bun. "But working in your sweatshop without pay was not what I had in mind."

She pushes his soft hair back and places a tender kiss to his forehead- her lips cool againt his heated skin.

Levi's heart constricts momentarily - would he dare even think about it, the home and the peace she was offering him now?

He takes the letter into his hands again, and presses his lips together with the frustration he refuses to exhibit.

"You say that like you're the poster child of obedience now", he deadpans, instead.

This time, she tosses him an unimpressed glare, something she had picked up from years of training and learning under him.

"Could we hold a house-warming party?"

Levi shifts his gaze down to take a cursory glance at the paper, goes through the motions of reading, while Mikasa starts buttoning his shirt.

...15th Commander, Survey Corps, Armin Arlert

Levi grunts.

"I'd be more than delighted to celebrate the last day I ever have to see those brats."

She had never heard that term being uttered so affectionately by him before.

This letter is intended to serve as my official resignation...

"We can hold it under that tree. I could wear that blue dress Historia gave me."

Mikasa runs her hands over his buttoned shirt, smoothening away any creases from their bout of passion earlier today.

...two weeks from the aforementioned date...

Levi's eyes scan the slanted inked letters, till they begin to lose focus halfway down the crinkled paper.

based on my spotless record...receive an honorable discharge...

He hums his consent, but it's not a blue dress he sees.

He sees Mikasa clad in white and lace, the lights and the leaves playing with shadows across the angles of her face, while he reaches up to tuck in a lock behind her ear.

"Expect nothing less than the sharpest suit on me," Levi adds with mirth.

Mikasa thinks of her Captain, who took hold of her bloody, shaken frame, pulling her back to this world following Eren's inevitable demise, in the days when Armin and her had refused to look at one other; could not look at one another, knowing what they had done to their own family.

Mikasa thinks of the same strong arms, swaying her to the soft tunes at Armin's wedding, his muscles cascading under one of his impeccable dark suits.

She doesn't let herself think of worn-out memories spent on the coast during the war. She thinks of Levi's strong arms and Armin's softened smile and finds her own happiness in between. Those were happier days, and Levi had been there to see them with her too.

..been an honour and pride working alongside my brave comrades and superiors...

"We'll invite our closest friends and comrades."

Levi wonders if he could dance with her again, if she would let him.

He still recalls the coolness of her cheek against the crook of his neck, the gentle smile on her lips that day, as they danced with sand between their toes.

Would she wear that smile for him?

Would their comrades cheer and cause a ruckus like they had at Armin's wedding?

"Don't forget the wine."

Levi thinks of Erwin and the bottles of fine wine he had bequeathed upon him, aging away in the cellar.

Levi thinks of leaving two chairs empty - one at the head of the table and another at his left.

Mikasa's warm hand is on his hips now, as she gingerly pulls his belt through the loops, an act so affectionate, it should not have been.

He thinks of that same warm hand again, intertwined in his own, at his right side. She had always been his right hand.

He painfully wonders how many seats she would leave empty at the table if the thought had ever occurred to her, but decides to not dwell on that.

...Sincerely, Lieutenant Mikasa Ackerman.

In its stead, he thinks of a companionable silence between the two of them, one they had shared many years ago when she stopped trying to actively spite him. Mikasa humming a tune and working on her embroidery; Levi sewing the last cravat she ever ripped.

"Thank you for everything, Levi." Mikasa looks at him, setting the buckle in place.

Levi tilts his head. He's studying the number of her lashes, the seconds spanning between each blink, the quiver of her lip as she starts and stops to say something else.

The manner in which he studies her is so methodical she almost steps away.

He doesn't realize he's tracing heiroglyphs into her inner wrists until she shivers under his ministrations. It pulls Levi back to the moment.

For the first time, he decides to voice his thoughts honestly. When he speaks, he looks straight at her.

"I'll hold you to your promise, Mikasa."

Her breath hitches. Levi doesn't need to clarify which promise.

In response, she kisses him, gingerly at first, her lips molding onto his smile.

This kiss is different than before- it is softer, it is Mikasa hesitant but daring to ask for more.

Levi pulls her closer to him and pushes her against the desk this time, deepening the kiss.

Each of his touches is too deliberate, too sure and Mikasa feels her body aflame again. The kiss is now bruising.

Mikasa aligns herself to him. Her deft fingers start undoing the task they had been preoccupied with moments back. The buckle clatters and comes unfastened.

They make love slowly, cautiously.

After that they fuck at a pace so wanton, it is the second time that day that Levi screams her name without restraint.

Approved and signed...Captain Levi Ackerman.

_

The next morning the new cadets are unable to come to terms with Mikasa's sudden resignation notice, when they find themselves at the mercy of a balding subsitute, instead of their Lieutenant.

The next morning, Mikasa is surprised to find Levi taking the day off too. He says it is to show her around the property, to make sure she doesn't get lost as if she's some newborn babe.

But in all honestly, he wants to burn the image of Mikasa and him swaying across wooden floors, their only audience being the sunlight filtering in from the large, arched windows.

When they get back later that night, it is Armin who takes it upon himself to call Mikasa and Levi into his office, and tell them of the unsubstantiated rumours that have been making rounds among the cadets concerning Mikasa's pending resignation.

"Apparently you and the Captain fought - nothing new here - except the events concerning the incidence this time are alarming."

The Commander's grave gaze flickers from the duo in front of him, both wearing mirroring quizzical expressions of their own.

"Mikasa, some terrified cadets say they saw you throw Levi over his own desk! And Levi, another one swore she heard you screaming at Mikasa from outside your office. Is there something I should know?"

"Nosy, shitty brats", Levi mumbles under his breath.

"Pardon, Captain?"

"Nothing of that sort...happened. Unsubstantiated rumours from cadets in heat-stroke." Mikasa squeaks in, her face slightly reddening. Armin chalks that up to the summer heat.

"Alright then, I'll take your word for it."

Armin clears some documents away from his desk, and places Mikasa's resignation letter in front of the pair.

"Mikasa, you still need to submit an address before you are eligible to apply for the post-military funds."

Mikasa fishes a piece of paper containing the details of her, their, new residence, and hands it to the Commander.

Armin studies the address in his hand carefully. He looks up at her, with his features softened by a genuine smile.

"See you in Chlorba next week, Mikasa", She returns his gesture before shuffling out of his office.

"And your new address, Captain?"

Levi stalls for a second then taps his index finger twice against the paper Mikasa had left.

"Well, guess you're not carpooling with the rest of us next week, Captain".

Levi decides that leaving now would keep matters simple, and he closes the door to surface into the corridor, where he unsurprisingly finds Mikasa waiting for him.

Armin chuckles to himself slightly, happy that his best friend is in safe hands, happy that his Captain no longer keeps his own happiness at an arm's length away.

"Ah, rumours indeed."

----

Thank you so much for reading my first Rivamika fic. Your comments made my heart very happy. 💕

When and if I improve at writing, I plan on revisiting this and editing this fic a bit more.

Sure hope the Ackerman duo keep experimenting with their new dynamic from the last chapter 💦