#johan liebert fluff

[riewritten]

QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS ˚ · . READ ON AO3

『JOHAN LIEBERT x GENDER-NEUTRAL!READER』

˚ · .─ SYNOPSIS: Set a decade after the monster's last havoc in Runenheim; he managed to settle someplace nobody knew him, resolute to wander alone until his questions were answered. Needless to say, a companion who'd be willing to stay amid his solitude was the last thing he expected on this journey.

˚ · .─ TAGS: post-canon, developing friendships, romance, fluff, soft johan (whew), pining, domestic bliss, acts of service, johan acting like a male wife when he's just a friend lol, johan is soft but his unremorseful tendencies still show itself if you squint hard enough. ˚ · .─ WORDS: 5.8k

⭒ ⊹ ⭒ hapee holiday season, everyone! here's a christmas gift for my johan lovers:)

You come by Johan's crib after a long day of work. The door's open and there’s a faint albeit very comforting scent of smoke oozing out of the kitchen—your favorite soup. You knock softly (as if Johan didn't already sense your arrival with the clanks of your feet from the hallway; he had come to memorize your footsteps at this point). You find him by the stove, stirring something, movements deliberately slow.

“Smells good,” you say, voice light but sincere.

He doesn’t turn immediately, focus maintained on the pot. "It's just a simple dish. I thought you might be hungry."

He says it as if it's nothing. As if he just coincidentally thought of cooking your favorite dish. You smile, walking over to the table where a fresh and warm buttered loaf of bread awaits.

“You always know exactly what I need.”

Johan almost lets out a small, almost imperceptible chuckle, still not looking at you. "I'm learning."

The first time you met Johan, it was in the bookstore you both frequented, the perfect place to disappear for hours in the quiet maze of shelves. You got to know him by the murmurs first then speaking to him second. It was the constant whispers of the librarians and regulars about a blonde man who seemed to have nothing in his closet but turtlenecks and trousers, yet the awe in their voices spoke volumes—albeit in hushed tones—as it tipped from intimidation to admiration. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” one of them had said once, “like straight out of a painting.” “I know,” replied the companion, her voice barely above a whisper. “But doesn’t he feel… untouchable? I wouldn’t dare.” You’d followed their gazes and caught the sight of him for the very first time. Seated by the large window in the philosophy section, he was a picture of quiet solitude. His blonde hair caught the sunlight like spun gold, but it was his stillness that struck you most. Calm and composed—indeed he must be carved from stone. Since then, you’d noticed the way others seemed to orbit around him, drawn in by his presence but never daring to get too close. “I hope someone gets the gall to talk to him,” you overheard one of the librarians mutter once. “It’s a pity seeing him alone all the time when he spends most of his days here. I get he might prefer it that way, but still…” The words had stuck with you, stirring a strange kind of curiosity. Who was he, this man who seemed to command so much attention yet cold enough to remain distant? Oh, if only you knew what the future holds for you two, you wouldn't be so nervous about it.

“Why are you laughing?”

When you snap out of it, the stove’s already closed and Johan’s attention is full at you. Needless to say, you’re flushed, but you at least manage to smile and say, “Nothing. Just remembered something funny.”

“Great,” he blankly muses as he carries the food to the dining area. “At least we’ve got something to talk about over dinner.”

The first time you gathered the needed gall to approach him yourself was when you were wandering the aisles. He was in his usual spot with a small stack of books aside. His posture was relaxed, one hand cradling a book while the other resting on the arm of his chair. The whispers you had heard didn’t do him justice. He was striking, indeed, but there was something else, something intangible—a quiet volume in his presence hiding beneath the tranquility. It was the same volume that made you hesitate, and so you lingered by the shelves first.  It wasn't until the librarian’s words echoed in your mind. “It’s a pity seeing him alone all the time…” Before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and blurted out (casually, or so you hoped), “What are you reading?” When his gaze met yours, you felt the air shift. His eyes were the clearest shade of blue you had ever seen, perhaps akin to a lake hiding depths you’ll never reach. Looking back at it, you might’ve been right during that moment, for there are still so many things you don’t know about Johan even now. Going back, Johan took his own time, as if weighing your question, and for a fleeting second, you think he might ignore you entirely. Fortunately, he tilted the book slightly so you could see the cover. “Being and Time,” he said, voice as quiet as the space around you. You’d expect his voice to be deep and manly, but his soft-spoken tone didn’t disappoint you either. In fact, you might’ve liked it more than you imagined. “Heidegger,” you say, mostly to fill the space. “That’s… a lot to unpack.” A faint smile touched his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It is.” Then he closed the book in a manner so poised that it felt almost reverent. “Have you read it?” You shook your head. “Not yet. Philosophy’s always been a little intimidating. Too many questions, not enough answers. Not my thing.” For a brief moment, however, you thought it'd be nice to pretend you liked it just so you could talk to him longer. His smile lingered, softer this time. “That’s the point, isn’t it? The questions.” “And you like that?” you took a small step closer. “Questions without answers?” He leaned back slightly, considering you with a quiet curiosity that mirrored your own. “I think it’s better than answers without questions.” “Not really.” He raised his brows, and it didn’t take him too long to signal his hand on the spare chair in front of him, inviting you to his table so you could expound on your answer. You realized then that talking to Johan means having to deal with his words hanging often in the air, and even now you still find yourself caught between wanting to unravel his meaning and simply basking in the way he says it. Amid his tranquil is a tension, that invisible string pulled taut just before it breaks.

And, with that said…

“You don’t talk much about your past,” you start, voice almost shy. “I respect that. But I think I need to understand. Not for me, but for you. We’ve been friends for a while now.”

Johan doesn’t answer immediately. His fingers are wrapped around his cup, staring at the dark liquid inside as though it could offer him the answers. You’re right, all you know about him is that he’s named Johan. He’s past his thirties. He seems to like your company over dinner or while reading his daily dose of books. He likes spending the rest of his day in the library where you two first met after he’s done with his informal job of tutoring children around the neighborhood for a small price—because to quote one parent, “Mr. Johan is good at children! They love him,”—which almost made him chuckle sardonically at one point, only if he wasn’t with you at the time it was said.

He has always been careful with his words, but this time, he seems to hesitate a little longer than usual. Finally, he speaks, albeit his voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

“I’m not the person you think I am, you see…” he starts, and with that simple remark, he's able to deduce that he's not ready to talk about it at all. "...but the past is a weight deplorable people like me are not willing to carry. 

Not that he ever would be ready to talk about it, with you no less. Johan had spent so much time hiding his true self for the past decade not any more thrilled to see the reactions of others who’d come to know who he really was, even more not willing to see your reaction once you learn all of it, too.

But needless to say what he just said is progress. This is the first time in a decade that he has admitted out loud that he is a deplorable being. And that couldn’t be truer for him because even now as you talk, Johan still has no plan to carry the burden of his sins the way his victims would want to. 

He is, in fact, stuck in here, wandering aimlessly, still struggling to understand the need for it, still wanting to see the world the way those people had seen it. The vision doesn’t appear to him no matter how many books he reads, how many buoyant children he tutors, or how many happy parents he comes across. 

Then why does he allow you to see him little by little if he fails to understand it all?

“What only matters for me right now is what’s here,” He gestures around, eyes briefly meeting yours. “This. You.”

You don’t know what to say, but the fire starts feeling a bit warmer after that remark.

On Johan’s end, he seems to have formed some kind of enlightenment with his remark, too. 

Here, in his little crib, with you by his side, he’s slowly but finally allowing himself to be seen (in ways he can and knows how) for the monster that he is, and it's all thanks to your presence. His growing fondness for you has the potential of freeing him from his aimless wandering. And if this fondness, perchance, starts developing for other people as well (to your neighbors, to the kids he tutors, to the parents trusting him, to the librarians doing favors for his books), he believes he could finally start seeing the world the way those people have seen it.

“But I don’t need to know what you’ve done or whatever it is that makes you ‘deplorable’," you quote in the air. "I just want to know you."

And his questions will be answered. And, in time, Johan can finally face the weight of his sins with full understanding.

He looks at you then, his gaze steady and calm. “You already do.”

On the second, third, fourth, and perhaps even fifth time you two came across each other at the library, you had always pretended to see him coincidentally (feigning shock with a high-pitched “Oh hi there, Johan! Didn’t know you were there! It’s been a while! How are you?” that you prayed he didn’t find annoying) because, little did Johan know, your intrigue had been keeping you up at night. You frequented the library—with all sorts of books and topics diverse—to quench your curiosity about lots of things. But with this blonde man, how could your curiosity about him be quenched if not through this? At times, you thought he’d seen through your friendship scheme, but your inner demons brushed off the thought. After all, how could he tell that these moments were, in fact, not coincidental when you two were known by the librarians for frequently requesting library cards because the old ones had been too full to fill up? You glanced at the stack of books beside him and realized that they have a rather eclectic mix—existentialism, psychology, classic literature. “You have a theme going,” you say, nodding toward them. He followed your gaze. “These authors had… interesting ways of seeing the world. I like to understand how people think.” The faintest edge to his voice, however, made you wonder if he was speaking about others—or himself. “Do you ever agree with them?” “Not always, but understanding isn’t about agreement. It’s about perspective.” You nodded then, rendered into silence, unsure how to respond. There was a weight to his words that felt out of proportion to the simplicity of the conversation. But you didn’t mind. If anything, it makes you want to keep talking to him.  “I’m sorry—” you said suddenly, realizing you had been standing there for far too long. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just couldn’t help but notice. I’ll be off then! Have a great time.” When his gaze met yours again, there was a flicker of something softer. “It’s not an interruption,” and for the first time, his voice held a hint of warmth. “Sometimes, a conversation can say more than a book.” You smiled at that, feeling a strange, inexplicable comfort in his words. “Well, if you ever need someone to talk to about… questions without answers, I’m around!” He didn’t respond immediately, but his expression shifted, the faintest trace of curiosity mingling with something you can’t quite name. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said at last, and though his words are polite, there’s a quiet sincerity to them that makes you believe him.

After dinner, the quiet hum of the night wraps around you as you sit in Johan’s small, meticulously organized living space. The fire dwindles to a much softer glow, casting long shadows across the room before you notice Johan's gaze flickering between the firelight and you. His hands rest loosely on the arm of his chair, seemingly content in the silence. His stillness betrays a quiet attentiveness though—for he's always aware, always considering.

“You didn’t eat much,” says Johan, proving your musings. It's not an accusation either, just an old flat remark on his end.

You shake your head, smiling softly. “I wasn’t that hungry earlier.”

He gets up without a word, movements unhurried as he disappears into the small kitchen. You hear the faint clink of a ladle against a pot and the gentle hiss of steam as he pours something. Moments later, Johan returns with a steaming bowl of soup and a slice of bread.

“Eat."

You hesitate for a moment before picking up the spoon, letting the warmth of the soup seep into your hands. “You don’t have to take care of me like this, you know?”

“I know,” he says simply before meeting your eyes, the usual coolness softened by something you couldn’t quite decipher. 

The soup is more than perfect, though—rich and comforting as always—and he knows you'd feel guilty if you don't eat it. “I don’t know how you do it,” you mumble in between, “but you always make things feel… manageable? I don’t know.”

He tilts his head slightly, as though considering your words. “Do expound."

"I’d rather not."

The chuckle he lets out with your statement has made it more difficult for you to hide your fluster, but much to your relief, Johan doesn't press you further.

The same chuckle wraps every crevice of your body with warmth. Oh, to have a friend taking care of you like this. His solitude can be dreary, but so utterly comfortable nonetheless.

Making Johan live next to you will always be one of the proudest decisions you ever made.

It was approximately three months after those fateful (intentional) encounters, that the library had become a haven for you both. Your quiet camaraderie grew into something akin to a routine. You’d share the same table, absorbed in your respective books, the soft rustle of pages turning creating a rhythm that felt comforting in its simplicity. Occasionally, you’d catch Johan glancing at you, and there would go his unreadable gaze for a moment before returning to his book. That time, you were engrossed in a novel while Johan seemed to be studying Hegel. The silence between you was companionable, feeling like you had carved out your own little world amidst the whispers and movements of the library. But the spell broke when Johan spoke, “May I ask you a favor?” Not that it annoyed you. It actually did quite the opposite. Johan, this guy, asking you a favor? He rarely initiated conversations in the first place! Still, you tried to be calm about it, settling down your book with poise and all. “Of course, what is it?” “I’ve been considering moving to a quieter neighborhood. The place I currently reside in… lacks a certain tranquility.” You tilted your head, “Quieter, huh? You don’t strike me as someone who’d tolerate noise for long.” He gave you a faint but genuine smile. “It’s not the noise itself. It’s the... atmosphere. I’d prefer somewhere where the days feel less hurried.” “I might know a few places. My neighborhood is pretty quiet, actually. There’s a lot of greenery, and the people keep to themselves. It’s the kind of place where you can choose to go weeks without bumping into your neighbors or talk to them to your heart's content.” His eyes lit up very slightly, but that rare glimmer of interest in his face made your heart skip. “That sounds ideal. Do you happen to know of any available apartments?” You hesitated, mind racing. The apartment beside yours had been vacant for months. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was cozy, with a small balcony overlooking the courtyard. The thought of Johan living next door—of sharing more than just library visits—has kept your tongue tied for a while. “A-actually… there’s a place right next to mine.” But hey, at least you were still trying to sound casual about it. “It’s quiet, and the landlord’s a nice guy. I can give you the details if you’re interested.” “That’s very kind of you. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate it.” “Not at all!” you replied quickly, perhaps too eagerly. “I can show you the place after we leave here if you’d like.” “That would be helpful. Thank you.”

And now, as you go back to the present, you wonder why you’ve been feeling a bit too nostalgic lately, though it doesn’t stay unanswered when you glance at Johan’s calendar.

This day, last year, was the time you started sneaking on his spot at the library to initiate a talk. Reflecting on it now, your stupid tactics will never be something you’ll regret. He’s one of your closest friends now. 

Johan’s friendship isn’t one for grand gestures, but it becomes clear that his acts of care are his way of expressing what he’d prefer not to put into words. A favorite book you’d mentioned in passing has appeared on his coffee table. A small vase of daffodils now sits on the windowsill the next time you visit. His dinners are always for two, even when you show up unannounced—and if, for instance, you try to ask him about it, he’d just casually shrug and say, “I just ended up cooking a lot. Eat it while it’s hot.” More, and more, and more. It’s as though Johan is slowly turning his house into your own, too.

The same goes for the stuff you accidentally leave at his place. Your scarf? You’d see it neatly folded on the chair by the door the day after. Feeling a bit too cold during the evening? There, he has a blanket ready before you could even ask. 

One night, you arrive at his house later than usual, steps heavy from a particularly grueling day. The door's unlocked, as it has been when he expects you.

“Johan?” you call, shrugging off your coat.

“In here,” comes his voice from the kitchen.

You follow the sound and find him standing by the stove while stirring a pot. The dim light casts a warm hue over him; his sharp features soften along the way.

He glances at you briefly, offering a small nod. “Long day?”

You lean against the doorway with a tired sigh. “You have no idea.”

Without a word, he turns off the stove and begins ladling soup into a bowl. He sets it on the table, gesturing for you to sit.

He sits across from you, his own bowl untouched. Then there goes his gaze, lingering on you, unintrusive but steady, as though he's reading every line of exhaustion on your face and filing it away.

“You should take a break."

You smiled wryly. “From what? Life?”

“From pushing yourself too hard."

His words hang in the air, simple yet profound. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Johan’s protection of your peace became a natural extension of his care for you. He never pushed you to do anything for him. He never asked for more than you were willing to give. But he shows up. Every day. Quietly. Steadily. 

The warmth of this dinner where Johan casually asks about your day, muses about his, shares the books he had read, makes you chuckle at the tomfooleries of children he has tutored, and more has been consuming you. It doesn’t take long until you finally work up the courage to ask a question that’s been lingering in your mind for quite some time.

 “Why do you do all this for me?”

Johan looks at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you think he might deflect, as he so often does when conversations edge too close to vulnerability. But then, he answers, his voice quieter than usual.

“Because you stay.”

The simplicity of his words struck you. Johan, who has always been careful, always guarded, is telling you more than you realize.

“I stay because I want to."

His gaze doesn’t waver, but you notice the subtle shift in his expression—a faint, almost imperceptible relaxation.

“I know,” he replies, and for the first time, there's a hint of something like certainty in his voice.

With the winter deepening and the night growing colder, the warmth inside Johan’s home never falters. The conversations drift to lighter topics—books you’d read, places you wanted to visit, small dreams you’d never share with anyone else. Johan listens intently, his focus unwavering.

“I think you’d like the mountains,” he says at one point. “Quiet. Peaceful.”

You smile. “You make it sound perfect.”

“Well, it could be.” His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than usual. “Don't you think so?”

There's something in his tone—something unspoken, undecipherable, and yet undeniable. You realize something that made your heart ache and swell all at once: Johan isn’t just taking care of you. He's allowing you to take care of him, too, in the only way he knows how: by letting you stay. And, just like what happened just now, his likes and preferences will slip out of his mouth without him noticing from time to time, albeit much of them still projected as something you might like instead.

It's not easy for him, you know. But every bowl of soup, every blanket, every quiet moment shared in his little home is his way of saying what he couldn’t bring himself to say outright.

And for now, that is enough.

Johan’s care remains consistent, though you begin to notice small changes in his interactions with you.

His gaze often lingers a second longer, softening in ways you don’t know how to interpret—maybe it even softens a little too much especially when you’re telling him about your days. And his voice—oh, his voice that has bewitched you since the first time you had heard it in the library—recently it lowers in an almost tender way, his tone more perceptive of what you need even before you realize it yourself. 

Then there goes the gestures. An extra blanket he drapes over your shoulders on particularly cold nights. A cup of tea that spawns on the table whenever he notices your mood falter. A brush of his hand against yours when he steadies you under the weight of too many things. All these moments feel small, insignificant even, and yet they’ve become harder and harder to ignore. 

Maybe it’s a you problem (even though you tried your very best to stop the thoughts, to be fair) but oftentimes you can’t help but ask, has he always been this way?

No way Johan could like you, that much you know. But if we’re talking about you and the things under your sphere, the feelings that you can control, what would you answer if he came one day to ask if you still like him as a friend, or if it has progressed to something more dangerous—what would you tell him, then?

Fortunately, the Christmas season has brought a whirlwind of gatherings—giving you the space that you need from your colleagues. And for the night of Christmas itself, you’ve chosen to attend one with your friends instead of having dinner with him. It’s not that you don’t enjoy his company; you do, perhaps a bit too much, even, but you thought a change of pace would help clear your head.

You never intended to get yourself wasted, but the way you kept thinking of him during the gathering, spacing out, wondering if he managed to cook his own dinner or if he ‘accidentally’ made it again for two. At one point you even considered excusing yourself early just so you could go back home—to him. Oh god, you’re doomed indeed.

Hours later, the cold night air hits you as you stumble back to your apartment, the warmth of good food and too much wine still buzzing in your veins. While fumbling with your keys in the dark, you notice a figure standing at the door next to yours.

Johan.

His posture is impeccable as always, but his face is unreadable, bathed in the soft light of the hallway lamp. His sharp eyes meet yours, flickering briefly to the keys trembling in your hand.

“How long have you been—”

“You’re late.” His voice is rather calm, but there’s a note of something you can’t quite place.

“Merry Christmas, Johan,” you smile softly, the silly intoxicated mind finding his concern oddly amusing. “But oh, wait! Sorry, you told me you don’t celebrate holidays, right? Silly me,” you sway slightly. “Still, I bought you a gift, but I—hic—I left it inside. Maybe you can accompany me inside so y—you could, uh… what was I gonna say again?”

“You’re drunk,” he states the obvious with eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“No, I’m, hehe, not.” Though your keys clatter to the floor as if your body is mocking your denial. “Shit. I don’t have a spare key.” Disappointment so palpable as if the keys falling to the floor renders it unusable.

Johan sighs, bending to retrieve them with effortless grace. Without another word, he steps forward, unlocks your door, and gently guides you inside.

The warmth of your apartment envelops you, and you’re too tipsy to protest as Johan helps you to the couch. He disappears momentarily and returns with a glass of water.

“Drink.” His tone leaves no room for argument. You comply, sipping obediently, though you can’t help but watch him as he hovers nearby, his movements ever careful and deliberate, as though he’s weighing every action. When you finish, he takes the glass from your hands and sets it aside. “You should lie down.”

You nod. But then, Johan doesn’t accompany you to your room. He instead readies himself to leave. Why would he leave? He turns off the lights, assuming you are indeed on your way to your bedroom, and then bids you good night.

No.

The room spins slightly as you try to reach out to him. You fail miserably though, but Johan’s fast reaction steadies you immediately. He picks you up by the arm before you can even fall, “You okay?”

“Don’t leave.”

Johan squints his eyes, his thoughts lurking towards something. “Did something happen at the gathering? Did someone perhaps—”

“No, I—” you stammer because Johan’s proximity seems to have sobered you up. He gently sits your flailing body on the floor. He’s crouching, though his hold on your shoulder didn’t cease. “I just…I just realized something.”

He hums, waiting for you ever so gently to respond.

The same gentleness that pushes you off the edge.

“I like you.”

But the lights are off. You wouldn’t see Johan’s reaction.

The silence stretches painfully, and it doesn’t take long until you feel a pang of regret. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disappoint you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and you think he might leave. But then he speaks, his voice quiet, almost strained. “You didn’t disappoint me,” he says finally, and you find it strange how that simple—perhaps even empty—clarification plucked out a thorn in your vein. “It’s just that you don’t know what you’re saying right now.”

“I do,” you insist despite the haze in your mind. Your eyes scan everything else but his face above, trying to articulate it in a way he’d believe. “I’ve liked you since we met at the library. I pretended to come across you accidentally just so we could have something to talk about. I—I used to sit there for hours just hoping we’d talk. It kept me awake at night… thinking about you, about the way you look when you read. I thought I was just like that because I wanted to be your friend so bad, but I—” you exhale, ragged, exhausted. “I don’t think it passed even when we became close. There go your habits, and how you’re so kind to me… I can’t deny it any further and pretend I just want to be friends.”

Your words trail off, and the silence thereafter has felt suffocating. Johan remains unmoved, his posture rigid, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on inside his head.

“Let's talk about it tomorrow…” Johan starts. “When you’re sober.”

“Okay…”

And yet, no one dares to move.

You finally look up after five minutes or so, and there you catch Johan’s gaze lingering on you—not piercing, but steady, contemplative. His hands rest loosely on your shoulders, yet you notice the slight tension in his fingers, the faint clench, and release as though he’s holding something back.

“You’ve been quiet,” you finally say, voice softer than intended, eyes up at him and nothing else.

“So have you,” he replies, and though his tone is even, there’s something in the way his eyes flicker to yours, then away, as if he’s caught in something too raw to name.

There goes the silence again, not because it’s awkward but because something has changed. Your body can sense it—the urge to move just a bit higher so you can reach his face, perhaps cup his cheeks just a bit, and maybe a small kiss on the forehead too…? Your heart flutters like a bird aching to be let out. Your feelings for Johan have been climbing higher than you ever intended tonight. And yet, the way he looks at you now, guarded but searching, makes you wonder if he feels even a fraction of what you do.

“Johan,” you say, voice trembling, “I…”

He looks at you again but in a manner quite different from how he usually reacts whenever you call his name. Still, you don’t let it scare you off. 

“I don’t care if you can’t carry the weight of your past,” you say, the words spilling out like water from a dam. “I just want to be with you, and… maybe—”

It’s just that you don’t get to finish.

Johan leans in fast; you feel the time pacing a bit quicker, perhaps so it could cater to your shock. His hold on your cheek is gentle and controlled, but the way he meets your lips fervently speaks the urgency of it, as though he’s been waiting for this moment longer than he’s willing to admit.

And so when you do more than push him away, your hand tentatively reaching for his arm instead—he deepens it further, his restraint crumbling just enough to let you feel his response to your confession. After all, what Johan lacks in words he always compensates in action. His care has always been consistent and predictable in its subtlety and restraint, thus making his lack of control and patience right now unusual and out of character. But even then, his lips have a careful precision that still feels so him.

Oftentimes you'd wonder how Johan's skin would feel against yours. He barely looks alive so you thought he'd feel cold. But oh how wrong you are. His hand languidly slides to your back, and then he abruptly pulls your body towards him. It's warm, perhaps too much that it overwhelms you. His heart is beating fast, the needed confirmation that this affects him just the same.

Johan’s movements feel as though he himself is unfamiliar with this feeling—as if this is the first time he's had this reaction. Your mind then races with questions. Does this mean he feels the same? Or is this meant to keep me guessing? What happens after this? 

The thoughts melt away when he pulls away, eyes lidded, lips puffed. “Johan, what—”

Only to kiss you harder again. Perhaps he did because he felt your attention drifting away from him. It’s as if to say you wanted this to happen, so relish it without thinking about anything else. This sudden assertion after keeping himself subtle is doing something in your brain.

Johan seems to take pleasure in your reactions, too—the way you pant as your lips pressed together, your hands clinging onto the waves of his hair, and when you slip out a little moan because his hands slide into your shirt to feel the heat of your back, you feel him smile. Then he becomes more passionate. More desperate. More longing. And in this moment, Johan feels more reachable, more understandable.

Perhaps his lack of usual poise also says a lot about how he’s still doing everything in his power right now to hold back, and he’s asking you to cooperate.

Johan pulls back for good in a rather slow, deliberate manner, just in sync with your panting breaths. His forehead brushes lightly against yours as he stays close. 

“I told you, hadn’t I?” His eyes, now open but still lidded, seemingly search your face for something—fear? Regret? Understanding? What is it? “We’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober. You’re not listening to me.”

You open your mouth to say something but his fingertip presses gently to your lips.

“Don’t,” he whispers, his voice softer, reminding you of his restraint. “Not yet.”

But I just want to say that I liked it and I want more.

“Please,” he adds as if he just read your mind.

What a sight to see.

The way his face looks right now makes you feel his inner turmoil. The weight of his past he claims a deplorable being like him will not be willing to carry is making him more reluctant to let himself have this—to have you.

He needs time, doesn’t he? And so you finally nod, temporarily ceasing the itch to have your questions answered.

Johan sighs in relief, sounding genuinely tired as if this night has taken all of his energy and willpower. He doesn’t forget to usher you up, and when he realizes you’re not wobbling that much anymore, he nods, taps your cheeks, kisses your forehead, and repeats his good night.

As soon as the door closes, you slowly walk to your room. Eyes wide, fingertips touching your sore lips, and you plopped on the bed unceremoniously. 

For now, in the quiet of your apartment, with the taste of him still lingering on your lips, at least you can now assure yourself that for the first time since you’ve known each other, he finally let himself be vulnerable, even for a moment. And that is more than you ever could have asked for.

🏷️ SUBSCRIBE/UNSUSCRIBE TO STORIES | @chxrry-writes @nefarra @ellabellapumela @skexxll @xeiin-n

@melonvrs @s0m4-sh4rk

[hosuus]

(my first attempt at fluff. Have mercy on me.)

(cw: uhhh nothing much. just good ol Johan statue of Lieberty getting a bad case of cuteness aggression with his dear wholesome friend and trying out a different form of affection with em', reader talks casually with johan, calls him "dude" and stuff like that.)

———

"Truth."

You choose it again: same as your last previous turns. Idly resting your head on your folded arms on the table, while looking out the window in passing. Doing whatever can pass the time right now. The lecture room is still drowsily empty, save for the two of you. Why Johan insists on going into classes this early is beyond you.

(something something- "it's good to be prepared and not miss out-", blah blah blah- "you get to choose which seats are the best suited for each subject—", yadda yadda yadda, "(name)? are you still listening?—" end quote.)

"Again?"

Johan asks you with a slight mixture of curiosity and amusement. gentle voice matching the mellow and idle atmosphere right now. both of you in agreement to play this small game out of a muted sense of boredom.

"Not that I mind you giving me your thoughts and opinions so freely, but are my questions that engaging or do you just purposefully not want to do a dare?"

"Probably." you shrug softly, resting all the more into your arms, body slumping further onto your chair. "You'll probably make me do something weird if I choose dare."

"Such as?"

"I don't know dude." you're bored, but you're not that bored. "Maybe dare me to embarrass myself in front of class, or... or dare me to show you my phone! Lord knows what you'll do with whatever you find in there."

His brow slightly quirks up a bit for a second before it rests down again into its calm position. A small smile spreads across him at your somewhat instilled fear of not choosing a dare and even forming a somewhat "strategy" on this little made up game for kids.

"No one is going to make you do anything you don't want to do, (name). it's just a game, not an event of life and death."

Okay that's... true. But still, either it's from your passive boredom that makes you take this game so seriously right now, or it's some sort of instinct formed in childhood to protect you from being dared to pick up a gross slimy worm in the playground; you refuse to just do a dare all willy nilly. So you negotiate.

"...Can we do one each?"

Johan gives a small nod at your proposition. "Alright. If you do one, I'll do one. I'll even let you dare me first if it will put you at ease."

"Yay."

You take the time to think about this opportunity, before something that's been recent on your mind pops up.

"Can I borrow your face for a second? That's my dare."

"And you accuse me of being the one to make you do something weird."

"Shush! Not in a weird way or anything. I just want to test something real quick, and us playing this game is the only time I can have you willingly let me touch your face."

Johan tilts his head just slightly, he doesn't seem too eager to do your bold request... but he relents anyway, curious to see what you'll do with it. He nods to give you the go, which you do— bringing both your hands up to start cupping his face lightly.

Somehow expected, Johan does not bother to flinch away when your hand comes up to cup at his jaw. That's cool. It's amazing how still he can be, though you do slightly notice he does find himself, surprisingly, putting in some sort of... conscious effort in keeping himself still.

"...What are you are testing?" he asks you softly.

The slight conscious effort you noticed increase again when you start guiding his jaw to tilt to the side. You look closer at him for a few more seconds, he does as well. Watching you and studying your features as you are doing with him.

His skin is... well, it's smooth. No surprise there. Johan's the type of guy that always makes you feel afraid of "dirtying" him with how kept his appearance is. Who knows, maybe he'll get an acne or two just from the touch of your hands on his face. Though you reckon he has a good skincare routine as well (if he tells you he doesn't wash his face and it's just his genes, you might just opt to throttle him out a window right now).

You guide his jaw to tilt the other side now, and then you guide him to look up a bit. Closely watching the skin on his face and the stretch of his neck, focusing on his chin and underneath, then you finally stop.

"Yeah... you are never getting stubble my guy."

" ...Stubble."

"Uh-huh. Saw this Oliver Queen fella in the comics, has a really cool beard and moustache for a blonde guy! Made me wonder if you'd ever grow a beard or a moustache on ya' Johan."

"A guy in the... comics."

Your friend stays silent for a while. Looking like he's either very much confused, or very much done with the situation. Both maybe.

"... I see."

You retract your hands (not before giving him a small pat on the cheek that has him slightly trying to keep himself still again) and bring them up nonchalantly so you can stretch yourself out and do a little yawn. You don't notice the slight crease in Johan's brow that disappears in a milisecond when you take your hands away.

"Welp, guess you're saving money and the environment from razors and aftershave. Anyways, your turn."

He pauses in thought. Hands tracing the part where your palms touched.

"... May I also borrow your face? I'd like to test something as well."

You shrug before you lean over your desk, putting your face out for him to take into his hands. It's fair. He let you did it to him, so now you should too.

Johan gently cups your face in his hand as well, handling it with a surprising softness and fragility. His hands aren't warm, and you'd make a remark about it and scold him for that, but you can feel the warmth slowly build up the longer he holds you.

You feel the faint movement of circles being drawn onto your cheek, probably his thumbs no doubt. It's almost... tender, which is weird, coming from a guy like... well, from a guy like Johan. But hey, if it feels nice and surprisingly soothing, who are you to complain? You'll enjoy the impromptu experience of what all those stray cats you see and pet on the street must feel. Having your face being held by his hands is actually making you feel quite relaxed. Soft.

You feel him him apply a bit more... pressure as he cups your face. Leading to you to be as curious as about your friend as he was with you a second ago.

"And what are you testing Johan Liebert?"

"Your endurance," he hums, "or, more accurately… your tolerance."

"My tolerance? Tolerance for wha-"

Suddenly you feel the pressure on your cheeks increase immensely. Making your face pucker like a fish for a moment. His thumbs also stop its gentle caresses and instead start digging into your skin as he pinches the skin of your face with the rest of his fingers. He shakes your head a bit almost tossing it side to side as he continues squeezing, and pinching, and prodding. Like how a grandma would fuss and coo her grandchild (said grandma pinching you with the aggression of maybe 5 redbull drinks). You swear you can see him grinning slightly if your vision could actually clear up from having the skin around your eyes pulled taut into different places and having your head shaken like a goddamn snow globe—

"—Asshole!" you smack Johan's hands away, and soothingly rub the area on your cheeks where he pinched. "Do I look like fucking play-dough to you!?"

"Maybe. You could have fooled me."

Johan lets out a small, soft, and a surprisingly rare chuckle while bringing a hand up to soothe the affected place as well (Which of course you don't trust. Swatting his hands away to protect your precious face from him, resulting in making him laugh a little more).

"After all, I was testing how much you'd tolerate more of that from me. Preferably in the near future"

[str6ngled]

my recent pfps/edits ig

[hinami-only]

Frostbitten Peonies

"Do you believed in miracles, Johan-san?" i asked

"I dont" He replied

"Why?" I asked, puzzled by his response

"Miracles, as humans perceive them, often necessitate human action or intervention. It's a term humans created to avoid grappling with the complexities of the seemingly impossible." he explained, gazing at the sky ahead, i can't seem to read his mind

I was left stunned. "Intelligent people really scares me..."

"its just that normal human lacks logic. " he respond, his words landing with a sharp sting. Ouch.

"Seems like I'm lacking in that department" i chuckled softly

Silent then surrounds us.

I glanced at him. His eyes fixed on the clear sky above. I can see his eyes, but i am still unable to read his mind. As always.

"You're right, Johan-san... Humans really do lack of logic. Humans really like to rely on someone or something. Yet, that's the essence of being human. A humans life are empty without seeking the help from the other. Human lives are made richer by relying on others. So, it's understandable on why humans seek miracles since dependence is what keeps them going."

I noticed that Johan became silent. I glanced at him, he's already staring at me, then i notice a smile slowly spreads across his face.

"Looks like you've finally put that brain of yours to good use. But I was only joking, I didn't expect you to take it so seriously, dumbo" he teased, his laughter filling the air as he clutched his stomach.

I turned red from embarrassment as i realized that he was just teasing me this whole time.

His laughter echoed throughout the garden, and his hand remained pressed against his stomach, which annoyed me.

But.

Seeing him laugh so genuinely for the first time made him seem more human, like he was dropping his usual fake act.

Despite my initial anger, I chose to let it go for now. Since there would be plenty of time to be angry with him in the future.

BANG

Plenty of time?

Enough time?

Are you fucking kidding me?

One bullet was all it took to bring me to my knees.

I, a proud and egoistic woman, was brought down by a crazy man's bullet?

Funny.

I gazed at my wounded stomach in horror, the weight of my mistake crashing down on me. Our baby.

I groaned in pain, wishing I had stayed home instead of following Johan.

Another shot rang out, sending me laying to the ground.

"Fuck" i grieved, holding my stomach

Lying there, questions flooded my mind.

What would happen to my baby? Our baby? Johan's Baby? Johan?

I cant die. He may seem not like it but Johan relies on my cooking, he won't eat anything made by others, he will starved. Who would look after him? A maid? Thats ridiculous, he wouldn't trust anyone, not even his so-called "friends".

It all seemed so absurd, and I chuckled weakly.

I really am stupid. Right, Johan-san?

My head is starting to ring, then as my eyes are starting to get blurry, a shadow towering me, with a gun in hand.

"Is two shots not enough?" I spat, my voice strained. This greedy bastard.

My eyelids grew heavy as I clutched my stomach, our baby's last protection.

As I faded into darkness, I glimpsed at the menacing grin on the crazy man's face.

A Monster?

Hah...

BANG

[suusoh]

I think a lot of people seem hesitant to write about Johan Liebert, believing there’s a need to portray him "accurately" or "seriously" or else don't write him at all.

This fear is completely valid and understandable of course; experiencing it myself. Most works in the "x reader" section tend to lean heavily toward psychological thriller and suspense, all crafted with such skill and depth with downright the most beautiful writing style ever. (can you tell I want to inject these fics right into my veins.)

I absolutely fucking LOVE these. Okay? let's establish that. I eat up these works every time, they clear my skin and water my crops.

What saddens me a bit is to think that starting out writers who read these fics, instead of getting inspired by such beautiful works, accidentally intimidate themselves out of writing for Johan because they think that is the standard of what a Johan fic should look like. I suspect many aspiring writers believe they need to meet certain "requirements" before they can write about Monster or Johan.

It's easy to think that you have to read countless analysis posts on monster, watch the series dozens of times, or have a good grasp in psychology and philosophy before you're allowed to write about him (guilty ✋️).

While it’s beneficial to understand a character well, I've noticed an underlying sense of "perfectionism" found within the fandom, creating this sort of cycle:

-> Look at the Johan/Monster tag: You see no "bad" or "inaccurate" fanfics—only well-written ones. -> Try to write for Johan: You feel your work will never match the quality or accuracy of what's already out there, so you hesitate to share it. -> Avoid uploading your fanfics: you think your work is "inaccurate," so you might as well not upload it. Someone might even bash you for it.

And then the loop begins at the top again. Breeding the idea that only meticulously researched, serious fics are worthy of uploading. I believe these amazing fics should be a source of inspiration to you to share your own stories instead of holding back. I doubt the authors of those fantastic pieces want anyone to feel intimidated. In fact, I'm sure that they, along with many readers, would likely LOVE to see a selection of variety and creativity in the fandom.

It's good to be cautious of your characterization, great even. It means you've at least put in the work right? But you shouldn't let the fear of making something "untrue" to Johan's character stop you entirely. It might help to look at certain fanfics as a way to guide you, but not to set strict laws on yourself. He’s meant to be an enigma, a puzzle to interpret in various ways. For example, one author might say he enjoys tea, while another might explain he prefers blue Gatorade in their story. The beauty of writing him lies in these interpretations!

( Also there are people on platforms like TikTok and YouTube using Johan as a mascot for the "sigma male manipulator". Writing Johan x reader going on a cute date as a little treat for himself with his newfound humanity is absolutely fair game at this point 💀 )

Numerous serious fandoms, like Sherlock, Hannibal, or Dexter, have their share of fluff and unserious fics that don’t delve deeply into character analysis. Yet they’re written, uploaded, and enjoyed by the community.

Fandom and fanfic writing should be a space and a chance for you to experiment and indulge in your creativity. That's what everyone is doing here, it's not a competition for "best writing". You shouldn't feel any pressure to write for anyone else but yourself and write what you wish to read. If anything, I'm pretty sure all the johan peeps are begging to have more people write, eating up any sort of writing like the dogs we are. woof woof bitchh!

You might think that your fanfic about Johan running away to join the circus is stupid, but somewhere out there is someone waiting to find and read a fic of Johan running away to join the circus.

[mymelodyjaeger]

Melody's Writtings.

I will write: Smut/Erotica | NSFW | Fluff | Angst. Most likely I'll do more headcanons and one-shots than long fanfics.

English is not my first language so, if I commit any mistake please let me know.

VERY IMPORTANT!

• I accept requests!

• I don't use y/n.

• Minors DNI.

Fandoms I'll write for:

- ATTACK ON TITAN.

• Eren Jaeger.

• Grisha Jaeger.

• Zeke Jaeger.

• Armin Arlert.

• Jean Kirstein.

• Levi Ackerman.

• Colt Grice.

• Porco Galliard.

• Reiner Braun.

• Kenny Ackerman.

• Miche Zacharius.

• Willy Tybur.

• Marlowe Sand/Freudenberg.

• Connie Springer.

- RESIDENT EVIL

• Leon Scott Kennedy.

• Chris Redfield.

• Alexander Kozachenko.

• Ethan Winters.

• Carlos Oliveira.

- MY CANDY LOVE

• Castiel.

• Lysandre.

• Armin.

• Kentin.

• Ryan.

- MONSTER (NAOKI URASAWA)

• Kenzo Tenma.

• Johan Liebert.

• Wolfgang Grimmer.

• Jan Suk.

- STUDIO GHIBLI

• Howl Pendragon.

- DEATH NOTE

• Light Yagami.

• L Lawliet.

• Raye Penber.

• Teru Mikami.

• Mello (Mihael Keehl).

• Touta Matsuda.

More characters and Fandoms will be added in a future!

- Cinna.

[irenadel]

Homelander Fics I Want to Write But Don’t Have the Time for

Exactly what it says on the tin. Pick one if you want me to write it. I’m in an adhd “can’t make decisions” mood

[xxxangeleyesxxx]

“here, take my sweater.”

“Thank you, but I don’t know,” Anna replied, smiling warmly. Her cheeks and nose were a strawberry red, making her look like Rudolph. “It’s pretty cold out and I don’t want you getting sick.”

“Seriously, why is it so cold? It’s not even November yet!?” Lotte complained, scrunching up her nose and pouting. Her arms crossed around her, shivering. Her light brown hair glowed orange in the light of the fire. “Anna you’re lucky you have a nice big brother who is kind enough to give you his jacket, my boyfriend isn’t nearly as considerate.” She narrowed her eyes at Karl.

Karl frowned, doing little to hide his annoyance. “You know, you could have just asked me.”

“I’m not supposed to ask you!” Anna popped her head out of Johan’s warm sweater, finding she very much enjoyed the smell. “You’re supposed to offer me your jacket or I come off like a bitch.” She slid her arms through the sleeves and Johan began fixing her now messy hair. Anna blushed, smiling.

“Doesn’t telling me this defeat the whole purpose?”

“It does but I’m cold.”

Anna giggled, paying little mind to Lotte and Karl’s bickering. “Thank you, Johan. I feel a lot better now!” She leaned her head on his shoulder, greedy for more of his warmth. Johan wrapped his arms around her. Anna smiled, satisfied.

@theartifxce

[ayasstories]

The Real World and The Real You - 1

You weren’t surprised when your friend and classmate Nina, popular and beautiful as she was, had started receiving emails from an ’unknown admirer’. Even though the messages were rather flattering, something about them seemed off, and you could not help but feel that Nina might have gotten involved in some trouble. You certainly weren't wrong.

Johan Liebert x Reader x Nina Fortner/Anna Liebert

Chapter 1 - Enter, Nina Fortner

‘’Now then, ladies and gentlemen… What was the basis for the ruling the judge made regarding the events in Stuttgart in 1986?’’ The classroom was silent. The grey-haired professor gazed upon the students seated with his hawk-like eyes. No one had raised their hand to answer the question. ‘’My, my. Silence? Is this some sort of Oriental Zen temple or something?’’ His eyes scanned the classroom, obviously searching for his next prey. Panic flared up in your chest, when professor Kronecker’s eyes were pointed at you. However, you were able to release a sigh of relief, when his eyes moved to a male classmate instead. ‘’Mr. Eimer! I would like to hear your answer to this question.’’ The man instantly straightened a bit from his slouched position, giving a bewildered ‘’Huh?’’ at the sudden attention. It seemed that he hadn’t been paying attention to the lesson, which you silently thanked him for, as it made him the more obvious prey for the professor. Everyone knew that you should at least look engaged in the lesson, if you wanted to avoid being called out in front of everyone. Stammering out a broken and unfinished sentence, the man was spared, as Kronecker looked away from him, and asked the students if any of them were able to answer the question. ‘’All right, can anyone break this silence?’’ You might have had considered it funny, if you weren’t panicking on the inside, as a woman with sandy blonde hair burst into the classroom, before leaning down to place her hands on her knees, as she gasped for air. Just like all the others in the room, your eyes were trained on the newcomer, who you recognized easily as your friend Nina Fortner. Commenting on her lateness, professor Kronecker repeated the question to Nina. Still breathing heavily, Nina tried her best to answer the question; ‘’What? Oh, yes. That is… The defendant claimed that the kidnapping was the objective and the death of the victim was accidental. After carefully examining the situation it was concluded that the murder was indeed accidental. Therefore, because the murder was a crime of passion I believe the murderer was merely sentenced to fifteen years in prison.’’ While your classmates stared at Nina in awe at her quick answer, the grumpy professor’s lips turned up into a small but genuine smile, praising Nina for her answer and told her to take her seat. It was only then that Nina raised her head to look up and cheerfully reply with a ‘’Yes professor.’’

---

A very short one. Would you believe that this is the first fanfic I ever began writing? 

[asfixiafloral]

Anna can’t remember the last time Johan ever initiated a hug, so when she felt a desperate pair of arms snake around her, pulling her incredibly tight against his chest where she could hear his frantic heart. Her own heart competing to match its speed. Anna couldn't afford to waste any time, she was afraid he'd change his mind so she quickly brought up her arms to return his embrace, desperately clinging to him as if her life depended on it. She couldn’t hold back the tears that were quickly sliding down her cheeks as she rubbed Johan’s back to try and soothe his distress. Anna could feel his entire body trembling under her fingertips. They remained in that position for so long, she had no idea how much time had passed but Anna didn’t mind one bit. She was connected to him, their bodies like puzzles pieces that fit perfectly in the form of a hug. It was warm and comfortable and she wanted to stay like this forever. Eventually she felt Johan stop trembling, his heart rate gradually slowing down, his body fully relaxed against hers “Johan…?” She whispered softly, but didn't get a response so she curiously looked down to see her brother sleeping. Johan was sleeping. The sight of his relaxed features filled her with pure relief. She took a moment to stare at his face, his eyelashes were long and pretty, his nose was dusted with pink, and his cheeks had trails of dried up tears. All sorts of warm feelings were fluttering in her stomach. This felt like victory, but she knew it wasn't over yet. It would be difficult for him to allow himself to relax like this again.

Johan wasn’t that heavy, she was strong so she was able to carefully pull him further into bed. Anna gently takes off his coat, and shoes then pulls her warm bed covers over his body to keep him all nice and warm. It was really cold outside after all, it'll probably start to snow soon. Nina brushed his bangs away with her fingers to deliberately place a soft kiss on his forehead, just like she would when they were little. It had to be while he was asleep, otherwise he’d throw a fit. "Goodnight" She took this opportunity to finally change out of her clothes and into some warm pajamas. Anna would normally take a shower but it’s almost four in the morning so all she does is wash her face and brush her teeth. Now she's faced with a dilemma: In front of her lays Johan with an empty spot next to him where she knows she'll fit perfectly. She can't help but wonder if it'll be too much for him if he wakes up and sees her laying next to him. But yet again, she wants to let him know she trusts him enough to share the bed with him.

Anna sighs, she's physically and emotionally exhausted from today and she slowly loses her ability to think as she gets into bed, pulling the covers up all the way to her chin, turning off the lamp in her nigh stand. Johan radiates warmth under the covers and it's really nice. It feels like home. She's never fallen asleep this quickly before.

OoOoO

In the morning (Noon to be precise) she's wildly relieved to see him still laying next to her, she was so afraid he'd be gone but there he is, still sleeping soundly. 'He probably hasn't had a goodnight's sleep in so long... I'm not going to wake him...' She carefully gets up to stretch and tiptoe around her room, changing into some jeans and a long sleeve before she leaves her room, leaving the bedroom door slightly open. She finds herself in the kitchen staring into her fridge and she thanks herself for buying groceries just a few days ago while taking out everything she needs for breakfast. 'I know exactly what to make, but would he even accept a plate? Would he even sit down and eat with me?' Anna sighs while chopping some potatoes into bite sized cubes, 'If he doesn't want it then I'll just eat his share' She shrugs, placing thick slices of ham in the sizzling pan, checking on the eggs and potatoes, brewing coffee and toasting bread. She tries to make everything as perfect as she can, it's not like he's trying to impress him, she knows he's had much better than this but still. She puts in all her effort.

Anna is flipping the ham when she hears her bedroom door creak open, she turns her head so fast she almost gives herself whiplash "Good morning," She dedicates him a warm smile, "I made breakfast for us, won't you sit with me?"

@theartifxce

asfixiafloral​:​

“You don’t understand! You don’t understand how it feels, violence and anger are the only words I can use to describe the indescribable that resides within me!” She replies just as sharply, “You still have your humanity too! Somewhere deep inside you… I can sense it! Johan I wholeheartedly believe that you don’t get any pleasure out of killing, you don’t do it for for your sole entertainment! And I was able to forgive you because of that and-” Her words die in her throat as she realizes what’s happening to him. Johan’s mask of self control had been slowly cracking ever since he set foot in her apartment, and it is now that it crumbles as fat tears cascade from his eyes. She’s only seen him cry a couple of times while growing up, so seeing him cry now, with that shocked expression in his face makes something snap inside of her.

Nina is immediately scoots close to him, cupping his face gently with both her hands, her thumbs wiping away as many tears as she can but they keep coming “You haven’t cried in a very long time haven’t you?” She chokes up, her voice heavy with emotion “I don’t want you to be alone anymore, I don’t want you to die… I want you to stay alive, here, right next to me…” She uses the sleeve of her sweater to hold all his tears, wipe them away gently, the cotton effectively absorbs all of it “Stop fighting me, please… don’t run away, just stay…” She lets go of his face to pull him down into another one sided hug, she combs her fingers through his soft hair just as she did when he was in the hospital, gives him a tight squeeze “I love you” She whispers softly against his ear, “I’ll always love you, until the day I die… nothing will ever change that” She didn’t get an immediate answer just as she expected, but he wasn’t pulling away, so she started humming that little familiar tune, “It’s my turn to look after you, let me help you… please understand how important you are to me now” Her vision starts to blur due to tears.

After a while she slowly lets him go, “I’m sorry, I… know you’re not fond of physical affection… but I couldn’t help it… my body just moved on his own” She gives his arm a soft squeeze before scooting back a bit to give him space, she looks at the clock once again and sighs, she’ll just have to call off in the morning “Won’t you stay the night? Are you thirsty? Would you like something to eat…? We can… continue this in the kitchen, you’re free to use the bathroom whenever you want…” Anna stands up now to stretch her legs, try her best to shake off all the tension in her body. Her head throbs with a headache, “Come with me?” She offers him a hand, hopeful he’ll take it, but she won’t be sad if he doesn’t.

@theartifxce

☓  —- |  Nina was right, he couldn’t understand. Those emotions were stripped from him long ago. All that was left were remnants of inexplicable words ringing in his head whenever a sensation came ripping into his heart.  He hated how her words tugged so hard – and it was only because they left her lips. No one else had this power over him.  Once again, she touched him. Her hands felt insanely warm against his cool skin and he flinched. His eyes seemed lost, staring into hers as the tears kept falling. The kindness lingering upon the tips of her fingers – how could she possess such?

After all he has done; after the hell he threw her into?

He hates it, because she is using her most powerful weapon against him, consciously or not. He is defenseless when she is gentle and soft. For he can’t fight back because she is not attacking him. And if he was being honest with himself, he had selfishly wanted to see those gentle blue eyes looking at him for years… to cherish them. The part of him that was terrified of accepting her light wanted to retreat. Yet, now that her eyes were so gentle, now that she is looking at him with kindness and tenderness, he couldn’t bring himself to ruin that view. She hugs him, tightly and he could feel the desperation in the way her arms tremble tightly over his body. 

Was she praying to God or whatever she believed in, to take away his pain?

Nina begged and pleaded for changes he simply could not afford. He had spent his entire life molding himself with her always at arm’s length; to protect her from the world’s darkness he came to know – to protect her from him. But if he clung to that belief, why was did he return? Why was he sitting beside her wearing his shattered pieces all over his face?

His heart was an artifice – and it had hardened into that tool the moment their mother threw Anna away to the wolves. He tried to ease into her touch, to sink into the comforting way her fingers ran through his hair. He remembered the day their mother returned only to abandon them once more; how he cried his entire heart out. He assumed back then that his tears dried completely after that. Anna, despite having endured hell at the Red Rose Mansion, had the strength to comfort him. She had him lay his head on her lap because they never had a bed and she combed her soft fingers through his blond locks until he fell asleep. It was the moment that solidified his love for her – when he chose her over the entire world. For it was her love that defined his world and nothing else  mattered, every life besides hers were considered insignificant. So he killed and killed without a shred of remorse if it meant protecting the one person he had left to call out his name.

Suddenly, a memory had forced its way into his frantic mind. 

Anna was reading the Nameless Monster and mimicked the final page, “I know! let’s call you Johan then!” A distortion followed and displayed the last page with excitement to him.

“I think Johan is such a wonderful name – just like the book says!!”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, it suits you, Johan!”

“But…” his eyes narrowed to the ground shamefully. “It’s the name of the monster…”

And her tiny hand rested along his, gripping it firmly as she pouted.

“No, it’s the name the monster stole!”

And for the first time since he read the book over the last 3 months, he viewed the entire plot differently.

The boy Johan was a victim – not the monster.

“The name of the Prince is Johan. You always said you’d be my prince.” And then she blushed despite having such a pouty face. He remembered wanting to always be her prince in all of the fairytale books she adored reading; the slight jealousy he felt whenever she fawned over the prince charming; because unlike them he was unable to protect her when it truly mattered. He failed - but he would never fail again. But he always kept that part to himself because it was odd having childish feelings when his mind had forcefully grown into that of an adult even at that young age.

Then Johan could hear her over and over, in different variations and settings call out to him,

“Johan!”

“Hey, Johan?”

“Johaaaaaaan - wake up!.”

-

It was such an odd memory to recall in his moment of weakness. Even though he couldn’t remember when it truly mattered; he realized it now that it was Anna that had given him a name. And he gave her the name Anna too.  So when she uttered sweetly that she had loved him, all sense and composure had shattered.  No matter how hard he tried to steel himself again - he couldn’t. He was terrified, urgently searching for the walls he encased himself into. But they had crumbled beneath her tenderness.

That was why, when she finally pulled away, he desperately seized her. The force of his embrace was almost violent with how aggressively he pushed her against his chest; she was now so tightly knit against him that he could feel her heart beating. Its pace was growing but he didn’t care. This was the first time in a long time that he hugged her back. He wished he had the courage and strength to return her words of sentiment. But as they quivered upon his lips, they retreated down his throat nearly clawing its way back.

He cried silently; burying his face into her clavicle, drawing in her soft scent. With each question or suggestion she put forth, he squeezed her just a bit tighter as a response. Johan wished he could tell her all the things that warred inside of him – but instead the tears falling from his eyes told his many truths and confessions. He knew that this vulnerability would be a fleeting moment so he wanted to remain for as long as he could just in her arms; the feeling of warmth and security. Something he had not felt since his youth.

He drowned in it so deeply, being exhausted from the nights he spent without sleep that once he closed his eyes against her fervor; he had drifted off into a deep slumber.

Only this time, the darkness that greeted him was not full of haunting images and voices.

But serenity.

@asfixiafloral​

[riewritten]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀 | READ ON AO3

JOHAN LIEBERT x GENDER-NEUTRAL!READER

˚ · .─ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: A reclusive man haunted by a dark past makes a routine of settling in from one remote village to another, it is until his solitude is disrupted by a warmhearted neighbor who slowly unravels his barriers.

˚ · .─ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4k

˚ · .─ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: post-canon, neighbors, developing friendship, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort, romance but only if you squint, johan goes by a different name, a bit self-indulgent

The morning was quiet, the kind of quiet that wrapped itself around you like a heavy blanket. Johan—or the man who used to be Johan—stood by the edge of a small, weathered dock. The lake before him mirrored the gray sky above, its stillness a fitting companion to his isolation.

Here, in the shadow of the Austrian Alps, no one asked questions. No one looked too closely at the soft-spoken man who had arrived a year ago with little more than a duffle bag and a name scribbled on forged papers: Elias Meyer.

The locals in the nearby village whispered their theories about him. Some said he was a writer escaping the noise of the city; others believed he was a broken man fleeing a past too heavy to bear. No one dared to press him for details, not when his polite smiles came with an unshakable undercurrent of sadness.

Johan—Elias—had chosen this place for a reason. It was far enough from his past that even the most persistent ghosts couldn't follow.

One afternoon, as he carried firewood from the forest to his small cabin, he noticed a group of children playing by the lake. Their laughter echoed through the valley, sharp and carefree, a sound Johan hadn’t heard in what felt like lifetimes.

When was the last time he had heard it again?

With the question, memories of him and Anna running and laughing around the flower fields surged in his mind like a hidden plague aching to be let out. He tried to shake it off, which thankfully, did when a ball suddenly rolled towards him, coming to a stop near his boots.

One of the children, a boy no older than eight, hesitated before approaching him with wide, curious eyes, “Excuse me, Sir.”

Johan bent down, picking up the ball. For a moment, he froze, staring at the object in his hands. Memories of other children, other faces, tried to claw their way to the surface. But he pushed them back, focusing on the boy before him.

“Here,” Johan said softly, handing the ball back.

The boy smiled, and Johan felt something shift—a flicker of warmth where there had only been cold.

Weeks passed, and Johan began to notice the children more often. They waved to him from the village road, their carefree energy drawing him out of his solitude in ways he didn’t understand.

One day, the same boy from before approached him again.

“Mr. Meyer,” the boy said, using the name Johan had adopted. “Can you help us build a raft?”

Johan blinked, surprised. “A raft?”

“For the lake. We want to float it across and see who can paddle the fastest.”

Johan hesitated. He had spent so long avoiding attachments, avoiding the messiness of human connection. But something in the boy’s earnest expression made him nod.

As they worked together, something unexpected happened. Johan began to laugh—not the hollow, calculated laugh of his past, but something genuine, something that startled even himself.

Months turned into a year, and Johan—no, Elias—became a quiet but integral part of the village. He never shared much about himself, and the villagers respected his privacy. But he was always there to lend a hand, whether it was fixing a broken fence or helping the children with their schoolwork.

He didn’t try to forget his past; that would have been impossible. He didn't try to be a good person to reclaim himself either, as that would've been more impossible. Instead, he let it serve as a reminder of what needs to ponder as he lives the rest of his life in solitude.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the mountains, Johan sat by the lake with the boy who had first approached him.

“Mr. Meyer,” the boy asked, “why do you live here all alone?”

Johan smiled faintly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Sometimes, people need to start over.”

“Because?”

“No reason, really. They just need to. Maybe to see the world a lot clearer than they did in their old lives…?”

The boy nodded, not fully understanding what his blonde friend was on.

Years later, Johan’s presence in the village becomes a story the locals would pass down—a kind stranger who came out of nowhere and left with no warning. No one knew where he went or why he had left in the first place.

But those who remembered him would always recall his kindness, quiet but comforting, faint but indubitably paved more warmth in their lives.

And somewhere, in places even quieter than the village he had already gone through, Johan Liebert immersed in his new name—quite surprised that monsters like him didn’t actually need to consume another’s existence just to gain one. For the first time, he was simply a man, trying to live—at least, that was the routine he had developed for years and years. Elias Meyer, a man almost unnoticeable building himself a haven from one remote town to the other. Johan had no plans of changing it. 

Even when he decided to settle in another remote village to check on an old friend (without making his old identity known, of course), he had no plans of changing it. Elias Meyer is an existence that will always be bound to leave.

The mornings in this town were colder than the last one. The frost was biting at the air before the sun had fully risen. The uncomfortable weather might’ve been too cozy for someone like him, and yet his resolve was unwavering—he is Elias Meyer, and Elias Meyer is an existence that would be always bound to leave—it is until you started appearing at his door with delectable breakfasts at hand.

You had moved to this little village years ago after graduating college, and ever since, the neighbors had perceived you as a bright newcomer with an eagerness to meet each one of them. Poor Elias, they thought to themselves humorously, because they just know his preference for solitude—even to the point of owning a cabin at the edge of town—would have no say once faced with your resolute extroversion.

You perceived Elias as that tall, blonde man whose face looked carved from stone—a beauty so ethereal it’d be a waste if he wasn’t basking in the sun for everyone to see every morning. He barely acknowledged anyone. He kept to himself, slipping into town only for essentials, his words clipped but polite. And unfortunately for you, most of the neighbors could respect his solitude.

But you couldn’t.

When you first saw him at the market buying his fair share of supplies and vegetables, he has unknowingly bewitched you. His beautiful, distant face seemed wrapped in shadows you couldn’t decipher. And perhaps you're a cat whose curiosity would someday get you killed, or perhaps a moth doomed to die by its entrancement to the fire. The neighbors were right, much to their excitement—Elias is doomed to be your project.

The first morning you knocked on his door, you had a basket in hand—freshly baked shortbread cookies, a jar of honey, and a thermos of hot tea.

When he opened the door, his expression was unreadable, pale blue eyes scanning you with a calm detachment that made your stomach flutter.

“Good morning, my new neighbor!” you chirped, holding the basket out. “I figured you might want some breakfast.”

He stared at you for a moment, his gaze cool but not unkind. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Oh, come on, you haven’t even tried it yet!” you insisted, pushing the basket forward. “I made it myself.”

There was a long pause, the kind that might have made anyone else shrink back. But not you. You smiled, unwavering, until he finally sighed and took the basket from your hands.

“Thank you,” he said again, quieter this time. Then he closed the door.

It was all it took for him to take note of your existence? Hell, he looked at you for a solid minute from head to toe, as though taking in your presence before his very eyes! You left his doorstep feeling victorious.

The next morning, you knocked again. And the morning after that.

At first, he didn’t seem to know what to do with you. He would accept the food with a quiet nod, barely saying a word before closing the door. But over time, you noticed subtle changes—with how he lingered a little longer at the threshold, and with how his eyes softened just the slightest when he saw you.

“You really don’t have to do this,” he said one morning, as you handed him a bowl of steaming soup.

“I know,” you replied with a grin, “but I want to.”

He stared at you, as though trying to puzzle you out. “Why?”

“Because you look like you could use a friend.”

The words seemed to unsettle him. He didn’t reply, but this time, he didn’t close the door right away.

Weeks passed, and your morning visits became a routine. He started inviting you inside—not for long, just enough time to sip tea or exchange a few words.

You learned his name was Elias Meyer, though something in the way he said it made you wonder if it was real. You didn’t press him for details; you could tell he valued his privacy, and you could at least respect that despite the things you couldn’t.

But little by little, you saw glimpses of the man beneath the quiet exterior. He was incredibly observant, noticing small details about you that no one else did. He rarely smiled, but when he did, it felt like the sun breaking through clouds.

One morning, you brought him a basket of wildflowers along with the usual breakfast.

“They reminded me of you,” you said, setting the basket on his table.

He gave you a strange look, his lips twitching as though he didn’t know whether to laugh or frown. “Wildflowers reminded you of me?”

“Sure,” you said brightly. “They’re quiet, but they still make the world a little more beautiful.”

Despite the amusing remark, Johan seemed to remember something from a long past, something that made him stare at the flowers way longer than intended. Then, you saw him smile—not a ghost of one, but a real, genuine smile. It was fleeting, but it made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t quite understand.

“You should smile more, Elias,” you blurted, which in turn dissipated Johan’s smile with a clear of his throat.

“Not my thing.”

But still! You quietly gushed. What a beautiful smile! You went home victorious yet again when dusk came.

One evening, as the sun set behind the mountains, you found yourself sitting on the porch of his cabin. He had made tea for the two of you, a small gesture that felt monumental considering how reluctant he’d been to accept your kindness at first.

“Why do you keep coming here?” he asked suddenly, his voice low but steady.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I’m not the kind of person people like you should want to be around.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “What makes you say that?”

His eyes darkened, a shadow passing over his face, and yet he stayed silent, refusing to answer. It didn't take long for you to put the pieces together. You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “We all have pasts, Elias. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a future.” For a moment, he looked at you as though you were something incomprehensible, something he couldn’t quite believe was real.

The days turned into weeks, then months, and slowly, Johan—or Elias, as you knew him—began to change. He still valued his solitude, but he didn’t seem to mind sharing it with you.

He never told you the full truth about his past, not that you ever asked. You didn’t need to know who he had been to see the man he was becoming. 

Johan was getting accustomed to his new normal, but then it changed again.

It is a change that, perhaps, would require Johan to rethink the duration of his stay in your village. How strange, one might think, for Johan had developed more disdain for permanence ever since he started living like this. And he only came here to check on an old friend, wanted to see if they’re doing well and good, then he’d be quietly taking his leave again, right? Under what instances must his agenda change?

It started the first morning you didn’t knock on his door. Johan didn’t think much of it. People had lives, after all. Perhaps you’d overslept, or maybe you were busy with something else.

The second morning, however, felt different. He found himself waiting by the door longer than he cared to admit, listening for the sound of your footsteps or the soft knock he’d grown accustomed to. When it didn’t come, he stood there for several minutes before stepping back, unsettled.

By the third day, Johan’s thoughts refused to quiet. Something about your absence gnawed at him, a peculiar weight in his chest he couldn’t name. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to expect you, to rely on the brightness you brought with you each morning.

So that evening, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, Johan found himself standing in front of your small, weathered house.

The curtains were drawn, and the porch light was off, but he could see a faint glow from inside. His knuckles rapped against the door, firm and deliberate.

“Are you there?” he called, his voice steady but quieter than usual.

There was no answer, but the light inside didn’t move. He waited a moment longer before trying the handle. It turned easily, and he stepped inside, his footsteps nearly silent against the wooden floor.

You were on the couch, curled into yourself, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. The sight stopped him cold.

There he goes, his hand stops around the doorframe as he processes the sight. And, perhaps, the realization that out of everyone in this unpopulated village, he might not be the one who does best at masking his real self. You, who were always so buoyant, so irrepressibly bright, were now something else entirely—small, vulnerable, broken in a way he hadn’t seen before. You were still wearing the clothes he had last seen you with three days ago. Your hair was all greasy, and your skin was oily as it wrapped around your body. It must’ve been uncomfortable on your end. Your whole house was chaotic, too. As if it had been abandoned for weeks.

He took a careful step forward, then another, stopping just short of the couch. “You didn’t come this morning,” he said softly, as though the words themselves might shatter you further.

“Please, don’t look at me…” Slowly, you turned to look at him, your face streaked with tears as you realized that it was Elias before you, the last person you’d expect to visit you such an hour—with a face hinting concern, no less. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice raw. “I... I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” 

He crouched beside you, his expression calm but intense, his pale blue eyes fixed on yours. He didn’t move for a long moment, his mind working in ways it hadn’t in years. Comforting others was not something he was accustomed to. His presence had always been a harbinger of destruction, not solace. And yet, here you were, someone who had given him pieces of light he didn’t think he deserved, now in desperate need of something in return.

He reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch and gently wrapped it around you. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though trying not to startle you.

What surprised you, however, was when he sat down beside you, leaving just enough space to make his presence felt without crowding you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice low but not unkind.

You shook your head, clutching the blanket tighter. Minutes passed in silence, broken only by your uneven breaths. Johan sat perfectly still, his gaze fixed on some indeterminate point ahead. He didn’t press you, didn’t offer hollow reassurances. Instead, he stayed there, his calm presence steady against the storm inside you.

When your sobs finally quieted, he heated some tea on your countertop, paving his way onto your kitchen with all the familiar stock of food, all because these were all you’ve been bringing to his door first thing in the morning. Much to his surprise, he sees the familiar basket on the edge of your kitchen—two pieces of sourdough bread, a thermos of tea, and a jar of honey refilled. It means you had an attempt to get out of your house and go to his somehow; it’s just that you failed miserably.

Johan is then confused. What made you sink this low? What have you been amidst all the smiles you shine down upon everyone? The monster inside him spoke; poor human beings, to absolutely despise their real form so much to feign buoyancy and joy when out of their safe havens. How despicable.

This was the first time—since Johan had escaped that dreary hospital bed—that he had gotten confused about which voice he’d let take over inside his pretty little head.  

Without a word, he handed the mug of tea to you, fingers brushing yours briefly. “Drink,” he nonchalantly said. “It will help.”

You hesitated but took the cup, your hands trembling slightly as you brought it to your lips. After you’d finished, Johan stood and moved toward the kitchen again. You watched him, confused, as he opened a few cupboards and began preparing something—toast, simple and unassuming, but warm. When he returned, he set the plate in front of you without a word.

“You don’t have to eat it now,” he said, his voice softer than before. “But you should eat something.”

The care in his actions, so understated yet deliberate, brought fresh tears to your eyes. There you go again, Johan pointed out in his mind. He never thought you’d be a crybaby. As much as you’d like to disrupt his solitude in the morning, it seemed like he has also taken a liking to observing your every action. How unusual.

Johan stayed until you fell asleep, sitting quietly in the chair across from the couch. As your breathing evened out, he leaned back, his gaze lingering on your tear-streaked face.

And again, for the first time in years, he felt something unfamiliar—a desire not to fix or manipulate, but simply to be there.

As he left the house that night, locking the door behind him, he had decided that whatever it was that fractured your smile, perhaps it would be in his best interest if he didn’t let it consume you—not if he could help it.

A few days passed, and your routine of appearing before his door first thing in the morning still hadn’t gone back.

What surprised Johan instead was the soft knock on his door in the middle of the night, waking him up from a light slumber. He had mentally thanked himself and his unhealthy sleeping habits because as soon as he opened the door, he found you standing there, shivering, your face pale and your eyes wide with a mix of fear and lingering tears.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, clutching the edges of your cardigan. “I had... a bad dream.”

Johan studied you silently for a moment, his gaze sharp but not unkind. Without a word, he stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in.

He didn’t ask what the dream was about as he could sense the weight of it in your shoulders just well—it was in the way you hugged yourself, in your trembling as if the nightmare still had its claws keeping in its wake. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight. It’s just that he didn’t know what to say; it's been decades since he had comforted someone who just woke up due to their own plaguing demons—it was back in the days when his sister, Anna, could still turn to him like this whenever she dreamt of the Red Rose Mansion.

So instead of pressing you on it, he heated some chamomile tea and placed the warm mug in front of you before sitting across the table, repeating his gesture the nights prior.

“You’re safe now,” he managed after a while, voice steady and calm, as if willing you to believe it. 

“Am I?” you blankly stared down the ground, letting the smell of chamomile permeate your senses. It wasn’t long until your words sunk at you: Crap, he might think I’m being sarcastic, and so you muttered, “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I didn’t mean to bother you, I just... I just didn’t know where else to go.”

"Worry not, you've come to the right place." What did he mean by that? Isn't he bothered? It's three in the morning, Elias. After a few sips of tea, Johan suggested, “Stay here tonight. The dream can’t follow you here.”

You nodded, thankful, but the lurking question was still in mind: Why? Why would the dream not follow you here?

But Johan knew the veracity of his statement all too well, albeit lost at how and why he was acting so unlikely of his character. You came to the right place, indeed, for the monster won't reach you if he’s here. No monster would dare, that much he knew, as much as he had liked the intrigue of other beings becoming a master of Johan’s own game. “Want to tell me what happened?”

You shook your head, unable to form words.

He stayed silent, as though waiting for you to form your thoughts. And when you failed, he just moved to sit beside you instead, not daring to ask questions or try to pull answers from you.

His presence was quiet but steady—a calm in the storm even—that you couldn’t help yourself but rest your head against his shoulder. He didn’t move away; if he was surprised or irked, he showed no sign of it either. 

Perhaps the only lurking question in his head was that; how do people usually do this? His hand hovered for a moment before he rested it lightly against your back, his touch—perhaps—was perceived by your brain as a silent reminder: Go on, I’ll stay as long as you need.

"Thank you, Elias," you mutter. "And sorry. I'll make it up to you."

Despite Johan feeling all too unfamiliar—not only with the name but with the mere act of being thanked—he didn't show it upfront. It's as if he's a mere watcher, an observer seeing how things unfold. He's definitely not someone to be thanked, he's sure as hell you're not thanking him—as in the person that he is—but rather the person that he's showing in front of you, as Elias Meyers, as the neighbor you had quite taken a liking with.

However, he's not that kind and caring to not use it for his own gain yet. "Show yourself up on my doorstep again once you're all better, preferably with a breakfast at hand to save me the hassle of cooking for myself."

"Tch," you chuckled and rolled your eyes at how silly the payment had sounded, but you nodded anyway. You miss bugging him during the day.

For hours, the two of you sat there, the world outside forgotten. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t carrying the weight alone. You ended up falling asleep on his couch, the blanket he draped over you smelling faintly of the pinewood walls of his cabin.

TAG LIST 🏷️ @chxrry-writes @nefarra @ellabellapumela @skexxll @melonvrs

by the way, FOR MY OIL WELL FIRES LOVERS, allow me to cook... read more here ;) also saying this before anyone asks; no i don't want to continue this yet im sorry. maybe after i finish oil well fires? but if someone wants to then pls do and pamper me some johan liebert fluff :( i am so sad

@xeiin-n @s0m4-sh4rk | SUBSCRIBE/UNSUSCRIBE TO STORIES

[hosuus]

(I like when reader is super fucking awkward and fail around Johan. And not in a cute way, but in a really flop way. But Johan is cool with it anwyways (maybe even loves you for it.))

(tags: established relationship sorta between Johan and reader. can be interpreted as dating)

—

Thinking about Johan leaning in a bit closer to your face, and you just finally realising that this is it; you and Johan are about to kiss.

For the very first time. It's really happening. It feels like this scenario is almost impossible, it should be impossible. A glitch in the universe. Is this even allowed, it feels like it's not.

So you freeze a bit out of panic. Unmoving. Not returning the gesture, making Johan start to look... slightly confused.

Which, of course, makes you panic even more. For the fact that you're just leaving him hanging in the air. Upon realizing this, you quickly try to make up for your lack of reciprocation. You want to show Johan you want this too. You lean in eagerly.

A bit too eagerly.

You move your head in fast and bonk him on the nose.

Cue you apologizing profusely over and over again to him. A hundred "sorry"s spilling out of your lips per milisecond, as you run your head around in a frenzy trying to find a cold compress somewhere for Johan as he calmly cradles his bleeding nose and tries to tell you that it's really fine, (name). Please calm down.

Johan leaves that day with a bag of cold peas pressed to his face.

("—I'm so sorry Johan I tried to ask for any kind of ice, but they said that this is all they had and oh fuck oh fuck oh fuckfuckfuckyou'restillbleedingfuck!—")

And you on other hand, leave that day mentally preparing yourself for him to never speak to you again.

Valid honestly.

He should block your contacts too while he's at it. It hurts a bit because you really wanted this as well, and he sure is nice to talk to even if it were to just be as friends.

Which sucks... because you probably won't even get the privilege of even that with what's happened... but it's alright. If he acts like strangers tomorrow you won't hold it against him. You'd probably do the same if you were in his well-fitted leather shoes.

The next day Johan approaches you.

Sporting a sanrio bandaid on the bridge of his nose.

"Still feeling bad about yesterday I see."

Seeing him like that, does indeed make you feel bad again, which he also picks up on as he chuckles softly and puts a reassuring hand up, gently signalling a stop to the oncoming onslaught of apologies you have for him once more. He already understands.

"But how are you doing right now Johan? Is the uh... pain quite alright?" you cringe slightly at yourself for being the reason for said pain.

He nods, looking at you with that same gentle patience he always makes sure to use with you.

"Yes, it's quite alright (name). Manageable thankfully."

The fond feeling within him only increasing the longer he keeps on taking in the sight in front of him. You, all dejected and mopey about what happened; like a puppy that got caught chewing on shoes.

He really is unable to hold back his smile.

"I can suggest kissing it better if you'd like to... but let's try to aim for the lips this time, hm?"

[minikawa]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Monster (Anime & Manga) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Wolfgang Grimmer & Original Character, Wolfgang Grimmer/Tenma Kenzou, implied grimmer/tenma Characters: Wolfgang Grimmer, Original Female Character(s), Tenma Kenzou, Johan Liebert, Jan Suk, Prague Orphans, Milosz (Monster) Additional Tags: Father-Daughter Relationship, Found Family, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, takes place during the prague arc, oc is an angry gremlin child who needs a dad, and grimmer is best dad, also oc totally ships grimmer and tenma together, area man accidentally adopts an angry gremlin Summary:

Noni Novak yearns to see the world and start a new life...but she's an orphan, with no one to turn to and no clue where to start. Equally lost is Wolfgang Grimmer, a man investigating through the underworld of Prague to seek answers and justice. When their worlds collide, Noni and Grimmer find themselves navigating through Prague's most dangerous secrets, relying on each other to survive...

[convenientalias]

18,20,44,50

18) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

I do. You can find most of them on my old ff.net account, and i suppose there are a couple on my AO3 account too, though nothing there I’d call officially abandoned yet. The saddest on ff.net are:

The Monster is Not a Shinigami--A crossover of Death Note and Monster where Johan Liebert found a death note. Abandoned because the original idea was just a little quirky, not really that interesting, and I didn’t have the energy to follow it further than one chapter despite grand plans early on.

Liar’s Patron--Loki, as the patron of liars, for some reason decides to patronize Natasha Romanoff. Abandoned after three chapters because I’d brought the AU through the end of the Thor movie and from there on out I didn’t really have anything plotted out. Technically I guess I could call it finished but it ends on kind of a cliffhanger.

Strive Through Darkness--An AU of ATLA where Zuko’s burn injury leaves him blind and he has to see through firebending. Abandoned because despite a large number of reviews I just ran out of motivation. Sometimes that’s how it be.

20) Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently?

Wish I’d had the guts to make Housebreaking and Hooked Agrimony the poly fic it was clearly meant to be instead of simple het but other than that I mostly live life without regrets. If it’s done it’s done.

44) What is the last line you wrote?

“Shewas sorely tempted.” It’s less sexy than it sounds. (Also, it was part of an original fic, not fanfic.)

50) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

Angst, no contest. Fluff and smut have no conflict and therefore by themselves I find them pretty boring. Angst on its own can be frustrating because it really deserves some kind of resolution and payoff, preferably of a fluffy kind, but at least it’s interesting, and I’ve read fics of unresolved angst I still greatly enjoyed, whereas I very rarely enjoy pure fluff or PWP. It’s just how I am. Besides, I often write to get out frustration, and for that purpose fluff and smut are not nearly as satisfying.

Thanks for the ask! Interesting questions.

[riewritten]

post-canon male wife johan liebert... post-canon male wife johan liebert who cooks for you after a rough day (or, perhaps, makes sure that you can eat even during the times you don't have the appetite to do so) because the only way he could express his care for the people he deems dear is to be of use for them... acts of service male wife johan liebert... :(

[riewritten]

allow me to cook, my dear johan fellows...

my new johan x reader fic chamomile tea is just an alternate universe of oil well fires if johan came to reader only after he was done with his evil shenanigans and not the other way around.

meaning, johan in chamomile tea is his post-canon character arriving at your village with full awareness that you are residing there, but instead of pursuing you with his evil agenda, he just wants to watch you from afar and disappear without a trace once he's sure you're all good. thats why johan is lichrally bamboozled when you start appearing at his door every single day with breakfast at hand. and the same reason why he seemed very distant from you at first.

also! it explains (1) your sudden lows aka nightmares despite the buoyant attitude in chamomile tea and (2) why chamomile tea!you is soooo attached to johan at first sight (aside from the fact that he really is your type lol). you might not remember him, and the now-kind johan will never make you remember that hell of childhood, but he's dear to you nonetheless:) not even your lack of memories could erase that! it frustrates johan in a way tho... like how despicable your fate has been... to develop affection over someone who has made you see so many deaths at such a young age? but deep inside, he's slowly getting addicted to the attention you're providing lol haha sucker.

so if you wanna read a softer version of oil well fires (albeit not explicitly stated in the actual fic), you may go gobble up chamomile tea to your heart's content and enjoy their pure slow-burnish reunion!