#I shouldn’t feel like I’m in danger and I shouldn’t feel guilt for needing breaks bro

[brooklynn3253]

Fractured Moments

Bucky Barnes paced the dimly lit streets of Brooklyn, the cool autumn air brushing against his skin like a soothing balm. He could still feel the sting of the argument that had pierced the heart of his relationship. His fists were clenched, not out of anger but rather an insistent need to keep his emotions in check. His girlfriend, Sadie, had always been his anchor, and now – now he had somehow let them drift apart with reckless words.

Earlier that evening, they had been sitting in their cozy apartment, the aroma of tonight’s dinner lingering. What was meant to be a quiet night had spiraled into chaos. A seemingly harmless discussion about their future had turned sour as old wounds reopened. Bucky, still grappling with the shadows of his past, had reacted to her concerns with pointed remarks, hurting Sadie deeply.

“Do you ever listen to yourself?” she had shouted, tears glistening in her eyes. The pain in her voice had pierced through him like a bullet to the chest.

“I just want to keep you safe,” he had replied, his voice low but filled with an intensity that might have intimidate others. “I don’t want this life for you. Not with me.”

“It’s my choice, Bucky!” she had screamed, her voice echoing against the bare walls, the words sharp enough to cut through the air.

And in a moment of pure frustration, Bucky had stormed out, needing space to breathe, not realizing the impact of his departure.

As he roamed the streets, the city lights twinkled like distant stars against the backdrop of his guilt. With every step away from their home, the weight of regret pressed heavier upon his shoulders. How had he allowed the past to overshadow the possibility of a future with Sadie? Memories from his wartime experience crept into his mind, shadows of battles fought and people lost. He could still feel the cold grip of remorse.

After what felt like hours of aimless wandering, Bucky found himself standing on the waterfront, overlooking the glistening waves of the river. The rhythmic sound of water crashing against the shore brought a sense of calm, but deep down, a longing tugged at him. Sadie was everything he had ever wanted; she was the light in his dark world. He closed his eyes, replaying their argument, questioning why he had let his demons dictate his choices.

With the weight of indecision still heavy in his mind, he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned back toward their apartment. Each step felt longer than the last. The return journey, while necessary, was also laced with the fear of what awaited him. Would Sadie still be there? Would he be able to comfort her? Or had he created a rift that would prove insurmountable?

As he reached their building and ascended the stairs, the sounds of the city faded away, replaced by the rapid beating of his heart. He fished out his key, hesitating for just a moment before pushing the door open. The sight that met him was one he had dreaded. Sadie sat curled up on the sofa, her red rimmed eyes flooded with tears. The warmth that once enveloped their home felt cold and desolate.

“Sadie…” he began, his voice cautious, but the plea hung heavy in the air.

She turned her gaze to him, the hurt written all over her face. “You came back,” she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Bucky stepped closer, his heart aching at the sight of her emotional turmoil. He knelt down in front of her, searching for the right words to heal the still fresh wound he had inflicted. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking, honesty pouring out. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. You have every right to be scared or concerned. You’re not choosing a life of danger—I am.”

She sniffled, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, and he saw the turmoil reflected in her eyes. He reached forward, his hand gently touching her knee, offering connection that he desperately wanted her to accept.

“I don’t want you to feel alone in this,” he continued gently. “I don’t want to push you away. Let me be a part of your life, Sadie. Please. We can face whatever comes together.”

“But you never let me in, Bucky,” she choked out, the pain of the truth resonating between them. “You act like I can’t handle your past, like it’ll ruin me. I’m here, I want to help you, but you keep pushing me away.”

He exhaled shakily, memories of dark times creeping into his mind. He fought against the urge to close off, to resign everything to solitude. “I’ve lost so many people I care about,” he confessed, his voice trembling. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you too. It’s not that I think you can’t handle it. I just... I don’t know how to navigate it.”

A moment of silence passed between them, an unspoken understanding. Bucky could see the hurt in her eyes, but in that moment, he also saw her strength.

“Bucky,” she said softly, reaching for his hand. “I love you, but you have to let me in. Let me be your partner, not just a spectator.”

His heart swelled. Tentatively, he intertwined their fingers, feeling warmth spread through him. “I love you too,” he whispered, the words laden with both sorrow and hope.

With a deep breath, she smiled through her tears. “I want to fight the demons together, Bucky. You don’t have to face this alone.”

And in that moment, as they sat together on the worn-out couch, hands clasped tightly, Bucky knew they could begin to mend the fractures in their hearts. Together.

[rottenlittlefink]

Google, how do I stop feeling guilt, shame, and impending doom every time I need to take a sick day :3

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 The Remarkable Machine Who Learned How to Love

♡ featuring: toji x f!reader

♡ cw/tw: none, a little angst but a whole lot of fluff! wc: 1.6k+

notes: i was thinking about this all day and decided to whip up somethin in a couple hours. hope u like :P art by manuel_juju on twitter! comments and reblogs are appreciated!

In a kill-or-be-killed world, Toji reached the top of the food chain—unfortunately, staying at the top is a thousand times harder than the climb. And when he looked down, there was no one to catch his fall.  

Before Toji met you, he was as aimless as a speck of dust, carried endlessly by an unpredictable tide of winds. He followed the cracked and crumbled path bespoken for lost souls like himself. Destined to be nothing but a vessel, a hollow man of sturdy muscle who worked himself to the bone, filthy jobs common men wouldn’t dare consider, because who was there to stop him anyway? Was there anything left for men birthed from hopeless circumstances, raised by broken homes to turn to lives of criminality? He couldn’t find an answer. He wasn’t equipped with the empathy to understand why guilt gnawed at his conscious; why whenever he ate takeout in his dimly lit apartment, it spilled out the chasm in his chest.  

It was much easier to complete the task, to trudge to a check cashing facility to retrieve money he couldn’t care less about. Perhaps he’d walk this earth alone forever, constantly watching over his back from a fear of daggers shooting from every direction, waiting to strike at his most vulnerable. It was only a matter of time.  

Or maybe he’d allow his sins to surpass him. Accept the peaceful release of death and pay the price of a vacant funeral service.  

It was all but irreparable, until he walked into his usual convenience store and encountered the new clerk at the register. It was past midnight, and Toji placed the quick meal on the counter. When his tired eyes panned up from those frozen noodles, his heart reset, a part he thought died amidst the torment. It skipped across his ribcage, stopped until a fleeting breath pulled him back to reality, to the intense fluorescent lights and your warm welcoming smile. There wasn’t a single altercation that stole the air from his lungs the way you did.  

Life hadn’t torn you apart yet.  

Your eyes didn’t break away, unexpected, as Toji was used to people hanging their heads near him. He’s aware of his threatening stare and intimidating stature; it’s what keeps him alive. And you were unbothered. You scanned his item, and flashed those pearly whites that sent a nosedive straight to his stomach, “I’m a big fan of this brand!”  

Toji remained tight lipped, unwilling to sift through difficult emotions and experience a feeling he believed himself to be undeserving of. He nodded, and somehow you continued, “Shouldn’t eat so late, though. Messes with your stomach.” A puff of wind pushed from his nose before he could stifle it. “Are you a doctor in the daytime?” You chuckled and bagged, “Sorry, slow day.”  

He arrives the same week, searching for a couple of beers to bring back to his apartment. You were in an obviously dangerous position, with one foot off the step ladder as you attempted to push a bottle of cleaner onto the highest shelf. It was a fight between gravity, and the opponent nearly won before his hand grabbed the handle. “Oh! Thank you” you smiled. It was sunnier than the last and reopened the stitches he’d been struggling to sew since that moment.  

Toji suddenly had countless excuses to go to the convenience store. Sometimes he’d enter for a snack, and you’d discuss your favorite chips, other times he pretended to need items just to hear your voice ramble about a niche topic you knew too much about. When his heart thrummed off kilter, and his mind became consumed with thoughts of the pretty night-shift cashier, a piece of him demeaned. How embarrassing it was, to be attracted to the scripted kindness of a service worker. Toji barely recognized he had favorites, let alone desires. So why did he have such an unwavering desire to see you?  

He’d snatch a pack of noodles one day, a subconscious grin at the joining of your eyes. It didn’t matter if the twinkle in your gaze wasn’t exclusive to him; for a second, it felt like someone cared, and it was fulfillment he couldn’t shake.  

You leaned over the counter on your elbows, “Did you know there’s over 35,000 ramen noodles restaurants in Japan?”  

“I didn’t, but that sounds like a lot of options.”  

“Mhm, you should try one. The real thing is way better.”  

“I’m sure. I don’t really go out to restaurants often, so…”  

“Me neither”, there’s a lengthy pause, and you finally blurted, “maybe we could go together!”  

He was stunned. Lost for words, really. It wasn’t possible, a girl as beautiful as you who wants to be seen with a stone-cold machine in public. It had to be a prank, a fabrication by fate to taunt him. You grew an anxious smile, “Hah, sorry, I overstep-“  

“I want to.” You stiffened, and he found solace in your shared nervousness. “O-oh! Great!” 

Toji’s first date with you had been a disaster, though. He’s heavy handed by design, and it’s no different in his daily life. His strength leads to instances of clumsy behavior. He expected you to be appalled, disgusted, or at least judgmental.  

You never shunned him. When he held your hand too tight, you slightly unclasped it. He wanted to retreat, to stuff them in his pockets and remain at a safe distance. But you interlocked hands and spoke soft, “It's okay, just try not to hold so tight.”  

He swung the door open for your entry and almost shattered the glass door on the opposite wall. “I appreciate your enthusiasm” you giggled.  

He was afraid to even hug you—he might underestimate his strength and crush your sternum. Toji walked you back to your place and turned to leave. “I’ll see ya around.” Despite that, you guided his calloused hands around your waist, slinked into his broad body, and embraced him.  Every aspect of you, foreign but comforting—little breaths fanning his shirt, fingers brushing along his back, sugary perfume wafting in his nose.  

It was heaven on Earth.  

Now years have gone by, and instead of bleached walls and silence greeting him as his eyes crack open in the morning, he smells the familiar scent of pancakes, pans clattering on the stove. He waltzes into the kitchen in a hazy state and admires the aching back of his very pregnant wife. You have a hand assisting your lower back and another on the wooden spatula scrambling eggs. 

Toji dropped his past for you after the engagement.  He cashed his last check and disappeared from the underground circle without a trace. He was aware if he continued the path he was heading, the result awaiting him was six feet under. The outcome was unimportant, however, you—the image of tears streaming down your face at his poor volition, your figure keeled over his gravesite under dewy grass and wailing for his return to no avail. He couldn’t stomach it. He had to protect you and commit to the next stage of his life. He’d never tell you about his previous work. It was for the best. He’d be selfish, just this once. 

One sock is different from the other, wearing loose shorts and a random shirt sitting above your massive belly. It’s his preferred version of you. Your stomach and thighs adorned in stretch marks, shaped like tiger stripes that declare your strength through each dip and curve; It's his greatest honor. You’d take on the complications, unending exhaustion, and hormone imbalances to bless him with a child. Toji hasn’t let you lift a finger since you got pregnant, opting to handle all the household tasks, borderline subservient to the mother of his child. So, his mouth twists when he sees you up so early.  

He stands behind you, hands trailing from your upper thighs to your stomach, then the small of your back. You lean into him while he massages circles and whisper a tiny “Good morning.” 

“Ya could’ve woke me up” Toji mumbles, kissing your temple. He wraps around to the underside of your belly, mindful of his muscle, and lifts it carefully. His respect for you increases tenfold with the heavy weight on his palms. You hum a pleased noise, sudden relief from your back. He carries it and smooths his thumbs over the taut skin. 

“You’re a late sleeper, and I haven’t made breakfast in a long time.” 

“Ya don’t have to do a thing, y’know.” 

“I know. But I wanna do this for you”, and he grins. It’s quiet, standing in the warmth of your bodies, sunshine glowing through the window to cast an angelic gleam on your face.  

Then he feels an imbalance of pressure along his fingers and mild wriggling within your tummy. Toji traces the movements, seeking to play a game with his unborn child. Sometimes it scares him, to bring new life into a world that almost smothered his light.  He worries that he’ll end up on the same road as him or he won’t be a good enough father. The journey of parenthood is a long, laborious one. You’re always learning, and Toji’s still processing the basics. It’s complicated, he trips and falters; yet you’re there to support him, through thick and thin, sickness and in health.  

What was he if not for you—his pillar, his source of happiness and comfort. You’d given him everything to wish for and infinite reasons to stick around. An iron criminal, bested by no mortal, chipped away by compassion and gentle hands. 

“You can let go if it’s too heavy.” 

I can stay here forever. 

[agirlnamedelia]

Late night Explosions

genre: angst to fluff

The fight had been inevitable, given Bakugou’s fiery temper and your own stubbornness. It wasn’t the first time you’d butted heads, but this one felt different—deeper, somehow. You had been arguing over something trivial at first, something about his intense training schedule and how it left little time for the two of you. But like a spark in a dry forest, it quickly escalated into a full-blown argument.

“You’re always pushing yourself too hard, Katsuki!” you had yelled, frustration bubbling over. “I get that you want to be the best, but you’re not a machine! You need to rest, to take a break once in a while.”

Bakugou had glared at you, his eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. “I don’t need you telling me what to do, Y/n. I know my limits. I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

“I’m not trying to babysit you!” you shot back, your voice rising in pitch. “I’m worried about you! You’re so focused on being the best that you’re burning yourself out, and it’s affecting us. We hardly spend any time together anymore!”

He scoffed, his expression hardening. “Oh, so this is about you now, huh? You think I’m neglecting you or some shit? I’ve got a lot on my plate, Y/n. I can’t drop everything just because you’re feeling lonely.”

His words stung, cutting deeper than you cared to admit. “It’s not about me being lonely, Katsuki. It’s about you pushing everyone away, including me. You can’t do this alone, no matter how strong you are. You’re going to drive yourself into the ground if you keep this up.”

Bakugou’s eyes flashed with anger, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t need anyone’s help. I’ve got this under control. If you can’t handle that, maybe you’re the one who’s not strong enough.”

The argument had ended abruptly after that, with you storming out of the room, your heart heavy with hurt and frustration.

Now, as the night wore on, Bakugou found himself pacing the length of the living room, his mind racing with thoughts of what he had said to you. He hated the way the fight had gone, hated the way he had lashed out at you. He knew he had crossed a line, but admitting that out loud was something he struggled with.

When he finally saw you, curled up on the sofa with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, his heart clenched. You looked so small, so vulnerable, and the sight made his chest tighten with guilt.

“Y/n…” His voice was quieter than usual as he approached, his footsteps heavy against the floor. He stood beside the sofa, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. “Hey… wake up.”

You stirred, blinking groggily as you registered his voice. “Katsuki…?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he replied, his tone softer than you were used to. “We need to talk.”

You sat up slowly, still feeling the lingering sting of his words from earlier. “What is there to talk about? You made it pretty clear how you feel.”

Bakugou frowned, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier. I was pissed off and I… I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

You looked at him, searching his face for sincerity. “So what? You think saying sorry is going to fix everything?”

He winced slightly, knowing that his usual bluntness wouldn’t help here. “No, I don’t think it’s going to fix everything. But I do think we need to talk about this. I don’t like leaving shit unresolved.”

You sighed, leaning back against the sofa. “Fine. Talk.”

Bakugou hesitated, struggling to find the right words. Apologizing wasn’t something he was used to, and it felt foreign on his tongue. But he cared about you more than his pride, and that was what pushed him to speak.

“Look, I know I’ve been pushing myself hard. But it’s not because I don’t care about you,” he began, his voice firm but tinged with a rare vulnerability. “It’s because I want to be strong enough to protect you, to protect everyone. I’m scared that if I don’t give it my all, something bad’s gonna happen, and I won’t be able to stop it.”

You softened slightly at his words, hearing the honesty in his voice. “Katsuki… you’re already strong. You don’t have to prove that to anyone, least of all to me. I know how amazing you are. I just want you to take care of yourself too.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, and he nodded. “I get that. I do. But it’s hard for me to slow down, you know? I’ve been fighting to be the best for so long, it’s like I don’t know how to stop.”

You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours. “You don’t have to stop, Katsuki. But you don’t have to do it alone either. I’m here for you, but you need to let me in. You don’t have to carry all of this on your shoulders.”

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, as if grounding himself in your touch. “I’m not used to relying on anyone, Y/n. But… I don’t want to push you away either. I know I’ve been a shitty boyfriend lately, and I’m sorry for that.”

You gave him a small, reassuring smile. “You’re not a shitty boyfriend, Katsuki. You’re just… you. Stubborn, fierce, and always ready for a fight. But you’re also caring, even if you don’t show it in the usual ways. I just need you to let me in a little more, okay?”

Bakugou nodded, a rare softness in his eyes as he looked at you. “I’ll try, Y/n. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” you replied, squeezing his hand gently. “We’ll figure this out together. Just promise me you’ll try to take it easy once in a while?”

He smirked, his usual confidence returning. “No promises. But I’ll try.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled back, feeling the tension between you both ease. “That’s all I ask.”

Bakugou leaned down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest, dumbass. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

You chuckled softly, feeling the warmth of his kiss. “Yeah, okay. Goodnight, Katsuki.”

He gave you one last, lingering look before turning to leave the room. But as he reached the doorway, he paused, glancing back at you with a determined expression.

“And Y/n… thanks for sticking with me. I don’t say it enough, but… I’m glad you’re here.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you smiled warmly at him. “I’m glad too, Katsuki. Now go get some sleep. We’ve got this.”

-`♡´- Tip Jar || Youtube ||  M.List -`♡´-

[alohastyles-x]

Hiya!! For your "It's a Cruel summer with you!" Project I was wondering if you could do Eddie munson with the lyrics pairing of "It's me,hi, I'm the problem it's me" with Steve and Y/n?

Anti-Hero - s.h. & e.m.

"It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me."

note: this was such a fun story to write. I could have gone so many different ways, but I like the angsty idea we settled on! Maybe it's too angsty... oops. oh well. hope you enjoy!

Wordcount: 1.5k - a short little thing

trope / pairing: angst | Henderson!reader x s.h. & e.m. (not poly)

warnings: angstyyyyyy angst

Materslist | Stranger things masterlist | Cruel Summer S.T. Version Masterlist

“I can’t believe you!” Steve shouted, his eyes filling with enraged tears as he stared you down. 

It was your fault, and you knew it. You knew getting involved with the group was the first problem, and then falling for two vastly different guys was the other. It was clear as day they were both into you too, between the way Steve spoke to you, and the way Eddie looked at you. Guilt overcame you, and a tear slipped from your eye. 

“Oh, okay, so now you’re the one crying?” Steve asked, bewildered. 

“I’m not crying because I’m upset! I’m crying because I’m … I’m… I don’t know,” you trailed off. It was so hard for you to say you were sorry, to acknowledge the wrong you know you did. 

“You really can’t finish that sentence can you?” He whispered. Steve was beyond hurt. Thinking he had finally found the one, only to be betrayed for his best friend. 

“Steve… it’s not that I don’t feel it. I just…” 

“You just don’t think you have to apologize.” He finished, as if he could read your mind. He shook his head, placing his hands on his hips. 

You looked up sheepishly at him, as if admitting that was the exact reason. This only angered him more, as he looked away to stop himself from crying. 

“No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to leave me for my best friend and not apologize for it, y/n! That’s… that’s just deranged!” 

“Oh, so I’m deranged now?” You yelled back. 

“No, I said this situation is deranged! You know what… forget it,” Steve mumbled the last bit, moving to leave the room.  

“Steve, wait.” He stopped, but stayed facing the door. 

“For what it’s worth… I know it’s me. I’m the problem.” 

He mulled over what you said, before sighing heavily. Without turning around to face you, he hung his head and walked out the door. 

As reality began to sink in over what you just did, you crawled back up into the bed, tugging a pillow close to your chest. 

Steve was a good guy, you didn’t mean to hurt him. He was safe, and nice. Always opening doors for you, always offering you a safe space to vent. He was a safe choice, and you knew that. But as your relationship progressed, and your friendship with Eddie grew more intense, you became like a moth to Eddie’s daring flame. He was passionate in a fiery way that Steve was not. He was dark and mysterious, whereas Steve was open and safe. 

You had decided you didn’t want safe. You wanted dangerous and daring. You wanted the thrill that came with Eddie and his vices. 

The idea of breaking Steve’s heart has hurt you, but you knew… or figured he would get over it easily.  

You hadn’t even told Eddie your feelings yet, confident you knew he felt the same as you. The way he touched your hand in secret, the way he was always looking at you with awe and longing. 

A knock on your door disrupted you from your thoughts.  

“Come in!” You hollered, sitting up in the bed, the pillow still in your lap. Dustin’s face appeared from behind the door, a sad look on his face. 

“You shouldn’t have done that to Steve,” he said. You groaned, not in the mood to get lectured by your younger brother. 

“Dustin, you don’t even know what is going on-”, you started, but he cut you off. 

“No, but I don’t have to! Think of what this will do to the group! We have bigger problems to solve then your love life, and we need the group now more than ever!” He yelled. You had never seen your brother this angry before. 

“Dustin, chill. The group isn’t breaking up, just Steve and I.” 

“The fact that you don’t think that will trickle to the group, especially if you’re now going after Eddie is stupid. You’re really stupid!” Dustin yelled, running back into his room and slamming the door. 

Guilt overcame you once again as you flopped back onto your bed. You turned over, screaming into your pillow.

The next day, you were standing by your locker, waiting for Eddie to round the corner. 

After the events of last night, Dustin woke up early and stormed out of the house before you could even speak to him. Steve wouldn’t even look at you in the hallway, purposely looking everywhere else but where you were. 

Eddie came around the corner that second, with Dustin trailing him talking a mile a minute. He walked right past you, not acknowledging you were even there. You stared after him and Dustin, glaring at your brother. You knew damn well he had something to do with this. 

Slamming your locker shut, you followed the two of them. 

“Eddie, wait!” You yelled, getting his attention. Dustin turned to face you, glaring at you. Eddie looked torn, as he glanced between the two of you. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as he waited for you to say something. 

“Can we talk… alone,” you made a point to glance at Dustin on the last word. He rolled his eyes dramatically, but Eddie nodded, heading into an empty classroom to his right. You followed,  shutting the door in Dustin’s face, despite his protests. 

Eddie settled on top of a desk, and you settled leaning against the desk, bracing your hands on the ledge. 

“I heard you and Steve broke up,” Eddie started, looking at his hands that were folded in his lap. You sighed. Of course Dustin had told him, but you didn’t know how Eddie felt about it. Even now, you couldn’t make out his face or his emotions. 

“Yes, I ended things.” 

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” The question took you aback. You thought the answer was obvious. A queasy feeling settled in your stomach as you looked at Eddie. 

“I mean exactly what I asked. Why?” Eddie asked, hopping off the desk. 

“I think you know why,” you taunted. 

“No, I don’t think I do, hence why I asked,” Eddie said through gritted teeth. He was getting mad at your games. You sighed again, bracing yourself before telling him the truth. 

“Because of you, you idiot! Because I like you! I want you!” It came out rushed and harsh, and it followed with Eddie bringing his fist down on the desk.

“God damn it y/n!” He yelled, running his hand through his hair. You stared at him in shock by the outburst. 

“Eddie…”

“No, stop. Just stop.” He cut you off, breathing heavy as he tried to figure out what to say next. It was true, he did have feelings for you. He had longed for you since he first met you. But when you gravitated to Steve over him, a tiny piece of his heart broke. And now, here you were, leaving Steve for him. 

Part of him felt smug. Wanted to take you on his arm into the hallway and show you off for everyone to see you left a pretty boy for him. That you were his. 

But Steve was still his friend, and if he did what he wanted… he would for sure lose Steve, Dustin, and anyone else in the group who sided with Steve. It would be catastrophic, and Eddie would lose the only family he had ever known. 

You stayed silent as he mulled over his decision. You hadn’t expected this. You had felt so confident that this was the right decision, so now you were unsure what to do, 

“You’re so fucking reckless,” Eddie said. His words were lethal, hitting you right in the gut. 

“I know.” 

“I don’t think you do. I want nothing more than to take you, y/n. Right here. To claim you as my own, before parading you around the halls. To rub it in a pretty boy’s face that you chose me. But that pretty boy is my friend, an integral part of my family.” Eddie said, slowly stepping towards you as he spoke. He was inches from you now, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek. Resisting the urge to lean in, you held his gaze. 

“You were so fucking reckless with him… how can I trust you won’t be that reckless with me. That you’re not going to move on to the next guy who strikes you fancy. That you’re not going to tear everything apart for your own personal gain… and not even face it. Not even apologize for it.” 

His lips were dangerously close to yours and his eyes fluttered down to look at them. Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt his lips ever so gently brush over yours. 

“I can’t trust you.” 

He pulled away. Cold air hit you as he did, sending a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped, as he walked out of the room, letting the door click close behind him .

| Feedback is greatly appreciated |

[alexiethymia]

The poetic cinema that it was Mr. Ji’s inkblot he made in anger which caused Chi yeol to discover that he was the one who kidnapped Haeyi and the fact that the first episode dealt with a mostly harmless stalker while the dangerous stalker was by his side all along.

Love or hate the murder plot, I do love the twists, not necessarily with regard to the suspect or motivation, but how it’s a scathing social commentary. Because wow, it really is the adults who are the most reprehensible, huh? Because kids absorb everything around them like a sponge, but adults should know better.

And Mr. Ji, as much as I would love to hate him, I really can’t because he is far too tragic. He’s no mastermind. All of his crimes have been sloppy. Even his choice of weapon - a slingshot and not a gun - show that a part of him is still that abused kid, like his anger and his impulses and the way he can change his devotion to hatred at the betrayal he feels toward Chiyeol. The adults around him really screwed him and his sister over. Even when his sister wanted to do the right thing, all she got from it was abuse. And it’s really dangerous that this kind of abuse is being normalized when justified that it’s for grades or the future of the kid. The adults screwed him up so badly that he could only trust a single adult, and fixated on him in a way to have a connection with his sister. I’m sure he became obsessively protective because of the residual guilt he felt at not being able to save his sister on time. If he had gotten therapy or the support he needed back then, even after he had killed his parent, would he have had a chance to heal alongside Chiyeol now?

The parallels are heavy with Mr. Ji, Seung-jae, and Su-a, and again it is a tragedy that the adults around them pushed them to the brink. Although there was still an element of choice because Mr. Ji still chose to kill his mother and others, I guess Seung-jae had what Mr. Ji and even his sister didn’t have at the time. Seung-jae would have gone the same route if he wasn’t pulled back.

And it’s really refreshing to me this emphasis on found family. It’s not necessarily that blood family is automatically bad, but you shouldn’t let preconceived notions and moral superiority cloud your judgment to the point that you’re already seriously damaging your child because you think you’re doing what’s ‘best’ for them. It’s refreshing to me that Haeng-seon wasn’t submissive towards her sister and was rightly mad because Haeyi is her daughter not anyone else’s. Same with Jaewoo. I’m glad they’re not going to push the redemption arc for their eldest sister just because she’s ‘blood’.

Another refreshing thing about this episode which I didn’t expect but really loved is the communication between Haeng-seon and Chiyeol. Chiyeol takes her concerns seriously because of course she would know Haeyi best. And I really didn’t expect it because most kdramas would have the lead keep it as a secret (another source of danger and misunderstanding), but I love, love, that Chiyeol was genuinely honest about the proof he found about Mr. Ji. I’m sure that even if Haeng-seon thought that Mr. Ji hated her, she didn’t expect him to go that far.

Another reason why I like the murder plot is because I prefer this as a source of tension rather than the usual break-up, miscommunication, long-distance, timeskip plots that usually happen during these final episodes. I would prefer my ship to be communicating as they hurdle outside obstacles together.

[ran-orimoto]

The naughty ponentino

[ Italy miraculously scored at the 97th minute, I published a new Junzumi one-shot after MONTHS of struggling at uni and, consequently, in writing as well. Tbh I didn’t feel that fine in the first part of the year and my self-esteem paid the consequences of the tour down the hill my uni life took for months. You know, you go badly at uni, you will be attacked by parents and relatives everyday, you will get poisoned by all the mean things you hear and you will lose your self. But I’m healing, guys, slowly but I am. Junzumi and my trash about them has been giving me a great boost in recovering a part of my confidence. So…Enjoy this long story, fruit of my STRUGGLE, also because, like I said on AO3, this has been a writing struggle fr real. The amount of drafts I wrote before coming to a decent result could fill a sea!]

Context: This is set during the infamous roman trip Izumi intends to drag everyone in, after having turned Junpei’s suggestion upside down. It’s the last day of leisure in Rome and Fate tricks Izumi again. ]

• Il ponentino malandrino •

“Izumi-Chan? Izumi-Chan, are you sleeping?

…

She had decided to follow the wind in a place where it could have never entered. And yet, that was what had happened: it had managed to slip in a crack of the entrance, had chased her with the trails of its gusts, had sat by her side just to whisper words she, as only human on Earth, only creature in the universe, eventually interpreted and understood…Clearly. Then, after it had succeeded in distracting her from something she wasn’t minimally interested in, it had left, diving into a river turgid of notes and quickly swimming upstream.

Every wind had its own personality, she had learnt as time had passed by. There were sweet breezes that would punctually help her fall asleep, if she chose to leave the window opened at night: chilly and able to spread goosebumps on her skin at their first touch, but provoking those while giving her motherly kisses to reassure her, make her relax, calm the tornado whirling in her chest down. Sometimes, on a break from her photoshoot sessions, she would receive visits from an adventurous scirocco telling her about those seas and shores over which it had passed-by on its warm wings; those exotic corners owning sands shimmering like minuscule, precious stars stranded on our planet. At other times an irritated mistral would come to vent, seek comfort from its favourite shoulder, a bit shy at first, hiding below her curtain of wheat threads but ending up throwing them in the air, one after one, not having managed to control its anger.

And lastly, there was the naughty roman ponentino from her childhood memories, the place she believed it had sneaked in to fool her, to abandon her right at the moment she needed its support the most.

Confused, speechless, shocked…Thunderstruck.

Che cosa ho fatto?! Che cosa ho fatto?!

After having been hit by a lightning, a tree will stand still below the tension of the sky, peeved, until the creaking noises coming from inside its trunk and corroding its fibers force it to curve on a side and make it collapse on the hard ground.

What in the world have I done?!

Izumi petrified as well, but as soon as she felt her back rocking back and forth on its own, she tore up the roots her feet had anchored her to the floor with and tried waving her limbs. They felt weird, numb, like if she had stayed in the same position for an eternity, a tingling sensation reminding her of those little pops fireworks will leave after having exploded in the firmament.

Fortunately, she didn’t need them at the moment. Indeed, she wished for them to remain in that useless state until that spectacle, whatever it was supposed to be technically called, ended. She shouldn’t move, not even breath. Any minimal shift, even the uncontrollable ones of her chest, might lead her to unpleasant consequences, danger. If her palm had perched on her large grimace, concealing its guilt but leaving a small edge exposed, there would it have to stay; if her knees were pressing against each other, they would have to keep on doing that until time began flowing in the whole Teatro dell’Opera again, no matter if bones crackling against each other were one of the most repulsive feelings ever, in her opinion; if her other hand had landed on her skirt, pinching not only its tissue but also the flesh of her thighs, it would have to freeze in that painful nervousness until it was given a signal of stop.

In a nutshell, she would have to totally turn into a pillar of salt, one which, -who knew, she fantasized with shame-, could be disintegrated by that ponentino of her boots, if it came back to assist to the great finale of the orchestra’s performance.

Only her eyes were allowed to swing as much as they pleased, on alert, high allert just like they were supposed to be, occasionally venturing in the meanders of an artificial night to find a stout silhouette slightly leaning forward, round shapes of elbows puffing up on the marble of a sill.

Motionless, engrossed in the frantic escaping of the violins, the relentless rush of their bows, the terror of the chords being urged to keep on running, never looking back at the cumulonimbus advancing behind them.

As if nothing had ever happened.

Izumi’s mouth opened in surprise and she felt her figure disobeying to her steel orders at once, coming back to life, straightening, fully turning in that direction, in his direction, so she could take a better look at him and boggle. So much effort thrown away in the immediacy of a reaction that had skillfully evaded the supervision of her legendary, -beh, in the past it used to be, before that day-, control.

Suddenly, at that sight of utter nothingness welcoming her, she felt disgruntled. Her orbs got squeezed by a very accentuated frown that descended on their contours and unloaded all the weight of its annoyance on them. As paradoxically as it might sound, it was easier to believe some merciful entity, -Fairymon, might it be you?-, had landed on the big clock above the stage and had put a whole minute back on it.

It was easier, much easier to sell that lie herself than believing Junpei hadn’t noticed.

How could she, especially if she recalled all those recollections of hers featuring him listing a series of details about her, which not even she had ever acknowledged to own before? Special fragments of hers only he could grasp, such as swabs of impalpable colour that would bounce behind her, whenever she tossed her gilded strands down her back with an elegant movement of her palm. She had glared at him back then, had also been on the verge of slapping him: to be honest with herself, he had really begun spitting the biggest idiocies, since she had revealed about the motley filter enhancing her surroundings, her days, wherever she might go.

It is…Just impossible, She gave another suspicious glance at him, an eyebrow getting stuck in its arched form as she reluctantly returned to her right, to that column and the elegant bollard attached on it, the only source of frail light she could reach out to in the hope of clearing her mind. As soon as she let the dim halo of its ray embrace her, she felt like punching herself. Actually, it finally dawned on her that was what she had been looking for. That was the chance she had been praying for, the solution to her problems, so there was no reason to feel so upset, so dissatisfied; there was no reason for that pout she had worn without even realizing to exist.

Accepting it was true he hadn’t noticed, he hadn’t felt anything implied she could pretend she had never done that as well. After all, nobody had seen her doing what she had in the thick darkness, there was no one who had witnessed her mistake, there was no camera that had taped that instant. In conclusion, there was no proof of that, except those obnoxious electric ants still crawling on her skin -but they would go away sooner or later, wouldn’t they?- and her still fresh memories making her toes curl at their continuous circling, -but even when it came to them, someday they would turn into nothing more than the remnant of a hallucinated lucid dream, wasn’t that so?-.

Instead of smiling at that idea, though, she clenched her jaw while ruminating about that possibility, afraid of taking that step forward despite being aware it would free herself from so many unnecessary concerns and pains.

Where are you? Why did you escape?

Where had the wind gone? Where? She wasn’t used to filling her head with so many doubts. She didn’t like thinking and getting lost in the maze of her questions, without a guide leading her from up above.

…

“Izumi-Chan? Izumi-Chan are you sleeping…?” Who knew for how long she had been running in that imaginary garden with no destination, if he ended up asking her that. “Izumi…Izumi-Chan? Are you?” In the thick shadow of a theatre box, Junpei’s voice, the chirping of a well-fed robin begging for more crumbs from the railing of a balcony, sounded like being hopping in her ears like the sticks thumping a drum.

“Do you happen to often ask a sleeping person if they are sleeping?” Having got further from the bronzy glow with a hop of her backside, she couldn’t make out where he exactly was, how closer he had got to her, but there definitely was something quite large hovering near to her nose. It was performing slow rotations and pulling away whenever it accidentally grazed the waves of her ruffled hair, as if it could sense the imperceptible shivers running on her bare shoulders.

“Uhm, now that you ask me, I would get pretty angry if someone did that to me. I don’t know what I would do if you happened to be that person, though, Izumi-Chan,” She didn’t feel like adding a word to that externalization of disarming naivety, so she limited herself to internally sigh while continuing listening to his clumsy blabbing, to those sections of its’ he was muttering more to himself than her in a very silly monologue. What in the world was he talking about? He was the only one knowing that! “I would open my eyes and think I’m dead or something because an angel has woken me up, ah ah. Or a mermaid! Because Izumi-Chan’s voice sounds like a beautiful song even when she’s just speaking, ah…”

“Junpei…!” Her tongue suspended in incredulity, she searched for a part of his body she could pat on to fish him out from that swirl he had been trapped in. In the span of less than five seconds, he had dragged her to such levels of exasperation his name had come out from her mouth way too loudly. Predictably, to her utter shame, some old man blending in the indefinition of their surroundings punctually sent her a very bothered warning through a long hiss.

“Eh, someone is in urgent need of a chamomile,” Junpei commented with a snort, unaware her fingers were floating some millimeters distant from his arm. How many other times would he be fooled by those jokes the blackness had been pulling at him?

“Oh…Look at what you have done!” A laughter bursted in her vacillating conscience confirmed that she wasn’t going to aim her gaze at that direction ever again. “It was already embarrassing enough to hear you asking me if I was sleeping!”

“I didn’t want to embarrass you, I’m sorry, Izumi-Chan,” She could picture him shaking his head at an increasing pace, his lips probably protruded in a childish mortification. “But, you see, I was worried you had fallen asleep because it would have meant you had got bored.”

And she had to confess he wasn’t that wrong. It was the first time she had gone to the theatre and…Well, she wasn’t really enjoying it that much, if she had to be sincere with herself. To someone like her not being able to stay at a desk and focus for more than thirty minutes, without fiddling with, -for example- ,the zip of her pencil case or making her feet stomp on each other or, again, just contemplating the poetic scenario out of the window, that was resulting to be a struggle. Having to sit on a chair with no support surface in the vicinity was making her feel so restless, making her want to stand up and give kicks in the air. Yet, what was even more tedious about the situation than that that there was…Nothing in front of her. Just people in soulless elegant clothes playing instruments and repeating the same actions over and over again; people whose appearance wasn’t even that distinct, as Junpei hadn’t only got a back luck not finding opera tickets, but he also had had to settle for a theatre box confined to the extreme right of the large area, isolated in his misfortune from the rest of the audience.

Chissà, Like a flyer fluttering through the roads of a big city after having avoided to be torn by a darting car, a cautious hypothesis got thrown out from the incessant, vicious tornado that had generated in her stomach. Her curiosity was quick to pick it up and eagerly read its daring content, even quicker to mold her wince of resigned perplexity in a sly smirk. Maybe I did that out of boredom…

Only when other freed leaflets began crowding her mental space, polluting it with paper scribbled with baubles, rubbish, did she remember she had a bizarre conversation to keep going. Her interlocutor had been in standby mode for a considerable while, but he predictably reanimated without complaints or silly exclamations, -more fitting for him!-, as soon as her attention shifted on him again. He could have waited for a reply, a sign of life from her for hours and hours, for all she knew.

“Why would you get that worried about it? There’s no need.”

“There is, instead. I am the one who invited you to come here.”

“More like you convinced me with a magical trick,” She felt so stupid while attempting to mimic the skilled oscillating of his index, vividly viewing it in her fresh memories from back when they were in the foyer. He had showed, indeed, had put his ticket on display, like if it was a precious possession, a new member of his collection of accumulating bits and pieces.

…

…

More or less, an hour before

That nagging silver tongue of hers ,which had previously pestered him with so many futile platitudes, was refusing to collaborate with her: it had holed up at the door of her throat, inert, obstructing the passage of her voice, of whatever she could say to fill that silence of hers.

“Junpei…”

She just believed it wasn’t fair he had to be the one always getting let down by events he couldn’t control. If it had been oddly refreshing to have been the one having bad luck for once, having had to wave farewell to her afternoon of leisure, it would have been even more than that if she had been the only misfortunate one for once. She would have been laughing about it all, instead of being taciturnly staring at the young man in front of her who was pretending not to be caring in the least, reading the content of a booklet out loud in an unlistenable italian. He could annoy her even in such an unpleasant circumstance!

“Let’s see…Anutonio Vui…Varudi. Vi…Vardi?”

“I-It’s Antonio Vivaldi,” She managed to formulate a coherent sentence only when she spotted a man holding a broom, a couple of elders sitting on a sofa, the receptionist behind her desk, all those people who had been minding their business in the foyer suddenly stopping what they were doing to look at them. Everyone, no one excluded. She could feel their curious, malicious eyes checking them out from any direction, all the attention of the Teatro dell’Opera on them as if they were a pair standing on a stage, below the spotlight. That was even worse than the moment their plane had landed in Rome and he had started singing a Nel blu dipinto di blu at the top of his lungs. Every passenger, -again, everyone! She had turned to give a glance at the the rows of seats behind them!- had begun commenting about the scene with mean-spirited observations, obviously pointing not only at him, but also at the distressed girl by his side who had eventually been affected by that euphoria because of…A weak immune system?

“Didn’t you say you are a fan of classical music as well? It doesn’t seem so.”

“I really do, Izumi-Chan, but I play piano, not violin.”

Nonplussed, she analyzed that genuine smile extending from a side to the other of his face, those glimmers of joy sparkling in his irises like honey on a little spoon. He had just heard that his last chance to watch an opera spectacle in Italy had gone up in smoke, that there were no tickets left and he was acting like that? She was aware each person’s reactions to disappointments weren’t the same, but he wasn’t looking disappointed in the least. That wasn’t possible, that was just…Inhuman.

“Izumi-Chan…?”

“Has anyone ever told you it’s okay to make a scene, mope, yel-,” She cut herself short with composure, changing the trajectory of her speech by slowing down with a single toe on the brakes. Words were supposed to be pondered while talking to him! “No, yelling is absolutely not okay, especially to someone like you. But you get what I mean, don’t you? I know you were truly looking forward to watching…What was his name? Rossini? It’s understandable you are feeling sad. I would too, so there’s no reason to pretend you are not.”

“Well, I did care about watching that spectacle, but things have gone the way they have. There’s nothing to do about it,” He shrugged, imperturbable, readily tweeting that nonchalant answer without a moment’s hesitation. That swiftness and undeniable frankness made her jaw softening its clench. Then, however, Junpei began growing stiffer, uptight, abruptly averting his gaze and puckering his lips as if he wanted to whistle. His irises flew away to nestle in some hidden tunnel in the ceiling, whereas hers swooped onto her top, their eyelids feeling hot and humid as she blinked over and over again to discern the outline of a pair of slopes, of their borders trimmed with lace.

She had picked the best outfit for a stroll in the old town, had turned her trolley upside down to test every possible combination of styles and palettes in front of the mirror. When the crew had seen her stepping in the hall of the hotel, enwrapped in a dress woven with the white of serene clouds, the boys had awed at the simplicity of her elegance. Overcome an initial phase of astonishment, of gulps that were more audible than his struggling attempts to say something, mumble a few words, Junpei had rambled about how she resembled a refined main heroine from those old black and white movies set in Rome.

She hadn’t been able to react the way she had intended to, taken aback by his lingering stupor, by all those hints making her understand he truly believed she was as graceful as an actress picked by Fellini and there was no one who could ever deny that.

Thus, the more she had echoed that bold comparison in her mind, the more she had found herself liking it, getting into character for fun and making the others exchange baffled glances. The preview of the incoming scenes had looked fascinating. On curtains appearing from nowhere and rolling down the sky to obscure the blinding Sun, she had marvelled at frames of her sitting before the Trevi Fountain, teasing its ripples along with the wind by wiggling her fingers just above them, gasping at its foam’s fog moistening the folds of her skirt.

In the end, in her reality, everything she had on, from her straw hat to her sandals, from the twine of the row of buttons, which broke the monotony of the whinteness, to the empty gap between her loosened belt and her flat belly had got wet, indeed, soaked under a petty summer shower.

Her life could be considered as a film just like Junpei had underlined, but he had evidently made a mistake about its genre: she wasn’t that sure about which it might be, though. In which kind of movie would the main character stand in front of a best friend of hers’, blushing furiously, embracing her chest with a protective gesture, despite having ascertained the worst hadn’t happened and he apparently wasn’t avoiding her spheres because of a matter of decency ? In a cheap one without any doubt, the cheapest ever shot in decades.

“May I ask what in the world you are thinking about so intensely? Allora?”

She didn’t expect him to go back to her so fast. Those thoughts of his he seemed to have no intention to reveal must have got to the roof at that point. Nevertheless, bolts aren’t supposed to return to the roaring expanse they have been hurled from. When they had deluded themselves the sky looked so near it might welcome them back thanks to a prodigy, they had been sent back to the ground, forced to discharge their thrilling, devastating energies on whatever or whoever they had happened to strike. There was no possibility to transgress Mother Nature law’s commandments.

“Uh, about a bit of this and that,” Evasive at first, seemingly confident he could escape from her by making his pupils tiptoe away, he was ambushed by a belligerent blast of ponentino abruptly barging in. It opened both the doors of the entrance with a rough slap and caught him in its implacable current, effortlessly sweeping his spirit, as resistant as a boulder just like he was, back where it was supposed to be. The temporizing Junpei had no choice but to surrender. He had to speak. “I was telling myself that if there is nothing to do about it, it means I will play along with it.”

The Moon of his Cheshire cat grin rose and reflected its mystery over the agitated waves of a green sea. That time it dropped an object that was as light as a feather and trusted those crystalline depths with its extreme fragility.

Once face to face with a very familiar building and its even more familiar porch, Izumi couldn’t keep herself from grabbing, or better, trying grabbing the ticket. Actually, showing to own rather snappy reflexes, Junpei’s palm promptly pulled away from her sight to make her grip grasp at nothing else but thin air.

“Ah, ah, ah, if you touch it, you will spoil everything,” He shook his index in comical disapproval, making her clasp her hands in delight at the realization of what she was assisting to: in spite of that sibylline admonition, the haughtiness suddenly enveloping him, evoked by a pose holding a bizarre kind of sloppy grace only someone like him could emanate, his emphasized tone reminding her of a narrator telling children about a scary wolf eating people in one bite were just unmistakable. “You mustn’t do that, eh eh,” And add those naughty chuckles to the picture too, because he was a particular amateur magician laughing about his tricks even more than his audience usually would.

“Ok, then. What do you want me to do?” Just like when they were kids, it took not even a second for her to get excited about what he had in store, feeling like clapping in merry anticipation and almost forgetting she was in a place swarming with strangers.

That time it seemed Junpei would need her full concentration. He didn’t really give her any explanation about what he wanted her to do, but she could guess the whole magic was going to revolve around that ticket. There was no card she would have to pick from a deck, no meaningless ritual formula at whose rhythm their tongue would have to dance at the unison. Only that ticket, wrinkled because of his fidgeting and sweat. Why was he so nervous? He should have known she wouldn’t be disrespectful in his regards, if the result of his spell wouldn’t be what he was desiring it to be like, if that poor, crumpled ticket remained there and, -who knew what he was planning!-, didn’t get replaced by some flower and its lilac petals.

Obviously, they would be lilac: after seven birthdays united by the memory of lovely boxes adorned with huge lillac ribbons and presents manufactured by him, each of them being painted with the hues of early dawns, she could recognize he knew what her favourite colour was.

Though he hadn’t told her to do so, she spontaneously closed her eyes and breathed in a sweet scent only she could smell, because carried by gusts blowing from the far land of a dream.

Meanwhile, too focused on his immense feat, Junpei made the ticket swing from right to left and viceversa at an increasing speed, movement those trembles provoking spasms even in the core of his chest didn’t luckily hinder.

“Ok…Now you see a ticket,” She heard him chanting in a way too theatrical fashion, but his intonation, along with those consecutive stresses hopping from a syllable to the other, soon grew persuasive enough to build a crescendo of hype in her body and soul, a tenuous formication marching on her whole frame with muffled steps, as if she was made of snow. “But nothing is what it seems. If I make the ticket come here and go there, come back here and return there, you will get to see what your eyes couldn’t until now. And…Sorupuresa!”

Sorpresa.

She wasn’t disappointed not to have been greeted by a violet at her awakening, but she didn’t react at what Junpei had called surprise in his butchered italian with one of her, Commozione!

“Eh, eh,” Junpei wasn’t either. Indeed, he had apparently predicted the failure of his special effects and the final result, putting on the mask of an imperturbable jester to try covering his awkwardness in vain. “Surprise, uh? Surprise might not be the right term to use. It’s not like you are into this stuff.”

Unbeknownst to him, to those bleak fantasies his negativity was burdening his cheerfulness with, Izumi had just been left lost for words. She fairly gave him the wrong impression she was vexed with him, so repulsed by his game, terribly pensive, but ,actually, she wasn’t thinking about anything substantial because her brain had turned a blank sheet, a tabula rasa. Therefore, she limited herself to gingerly reach out again, this time being allowed to touch the ticket, or better, that second ticket which had materialized from nowhere, and free it from the weight of Junpei’s thumb.

It was a copy of the first one, its twin. They were identical with the same title in bold , the same photo of the outside of the theatre, the same scarlet background reminding her of a red carpet, the same frame edged with golden which gave them an aura of unexplainable, sophisticated preciousness, -no matter the miserable state of Junpei’s-.

It was so obvious.

“You bought another ticket for me.”

…

…

Still, for some reason, her statement had sounded more like a question, confused and diffident, ellipsis opening a window to let her discover what else the wind and the leaves ,with no destination just like her spirit, wanted to tell her.

“I wonder what I would have done, if I had messed that up again”.

She landed back into her present with a thump. The recollection of those loquacious gusts she hadn’t got to listen to mixed with a rumble she couldn’t understand where it might come from at the beginning, disrupting the carefreeness of a Carnival of pink and azure but never physically showing up to crash the party. The thunderstorm was as chatty as them. It wanted to talk to her and it had a lot to say too, though she wasn’t used to its booming, to translating its roar into a human language without having to ask it to repeat it.

“Uh?”

“My magical trick. I’m glad you liked it because it has been the first time I have succeeded. At home I tried with some pens. Maybe it was too long as an object to practice with and that was why the duplication never worked as it should.”

In a strong dejà-vú, in the vice of some kind of cursed time loop, she abruptly shook herself out of her physical and mental torpor with an involuntary twitch of her fingers, paper rounded edges peeling against their tips. After having attempted to reproduce that hectic sway, determined to find out what was the ingenious mockery behind that stunning enchantment, -How? How had he managed to do that?!-, her ticket had wilted, had grown soggy like a biscuit dipped in milk, its side eaten by her sticky touch.

“But oh! Wait! Why would I say something so embarrassing in front of Izumi-Chan?! Ah…! I-I hope you liked it, Izumi-Chan…”

“Shhh, Junpei! Perfavore !” She would have added so much more to that sibilant scolding just to ignore and suppress another unmistakable guttural hiss slithering towards them, making its way avoiding the low yet heavier musical phrases. Anything not to begin feeling like shrinking in her chair, not to die of embarrassment. Ehm, it was more appropriate to call it second-hand embarrassment! Because she wasn’t the one who had been bothering that man with her incapacity to adjust the volume of her voice!-.

“I’m so sorry, Izumi-Chan! I did it again.”

If only there had been more light; if only she could have found his face as easily as she had…A while before: she would have seriously stuck a whole fist in his mouth! In the absence of valid alternatives that could give her such a sense of satisfaction, she had to settle for squeezing that unlucky ticket as hard as she could, frozen in the expectation for a debacle of historic proportions, a heated discussion in the middle of a violin concerto.

But, needless to specify, the fire never broke out, no door ever opened behind them, either. The old man obviously, -and fortunately-, mattered more about listening to the melody of a melancholy winter than wasting that cathartic experience arguing with two foreigner who had no respect for the miracle music was to human life. Most likely, he had cooled his anger with a huff, had glared at her, - so he believed he had, at least-, for a last time and had faded in the inscrutability of the blackness once more. Izumi didn’t calculate how long she had been sitting still, but when her body began complaining about that unnatural immobility, she melted that general tightness right away. Unless the man was struggling to take off one of his shoes without being able to see where he was exactly putting his hands, she could sigh out of relief, certain her reputation would be safe and sound.

Look at what kind of trouble I will get into because of you!

She had survived to the storm. Again. Still, may that be the last time it happened!

“That man should know better. It’s rude to tell a woman to shut up,” And speaking of which, Junpei’s indignant grunt and the rustling of what clearly sounded like shirt sleeves being rolled up sturdy arms were surely going to bode ill. Her resolution to cherish that fluke by not throwing it away in the span of a single second like that was so impetuous, as much as a hurricane, the impact against his shoulder and something else he instantly snatched away occurred without her having to grope in the dark.

“Now, now, where were we? Ah right, the magical trick,” She was pushed downwards along with the sagging of his muscles. A hint of tension, however, still lingered within them. She could sense it under her palm, a rigidity that was in stark contrast with the softness of the area, closer to the inflexibility of bones than the malleability of flesh. So precisely, carefully in detail. It almost felt like she could describe that feeling because it was changing her own body to the core; because it was more hers than his. Perhaps, it felt both simultaneously due to those pins and needles irradiating from him to her. Again. Right when they had finally started vanishing like she wanted them to! “Well, to be honest with you, I would like it better ,if you explained me how you did that.”

“That wouldn’t be fair, Izumi-Chan. A magician never reveals his greatest tricks. He’s just like a chef never divulging his secret recipe.”

“This isn’t fair, either!” It dawned on her Junpei had never turned down a request of hers until that evening. Once, even more incorrigible than usual, exploiting the fact they had remained all alone to rattle on an avalanche of pointless stuff, he had stammered he would give her the Moon as present, if it was possible, because he could tell how intriguing and marvelous it was to her. If she still had Fairymon’s wings she would set off for the night firmament, he was so right. Back then, she had just given him a nudge right into his stomach and had walked past him, unable to find a worthy continuation to his foolishness, feeling so…Small, minuscule just like she would before the magnificence of a full Moon, totally unsuitable as object of that overbloated admiration.

And yet, he couldn’t give her that, couldn’t whisper in her ear where that ticket had been hiding before coming out in the open. How stupid was he! And how stupid was she too, following that train of thoughts without refusing to. She got the confirmation in a place where sight was mostly useless, her other sensorial perceptions seemed to have really been boosted, especially the ones tied to her conscience’s roaming.

His chirping could ring in her ears differently as well, like the vibration of a robust cello wanting to weave stories about an endless spring retaining hints of wintry reticence here and there.

“But ,you know, if I wanted to I wouldn’t be able to give you an exhaustive answer. I really don’t know how I managed to make it. It’s not like I don’t remember, I just don’t know what I did that was so different from before! My hand went here, then there, I followed the script like always and, puff! The tickets were two and I was as baffled as you looked”.

“I-I wasn’t expecting you would give me a ticket,” She admitted with faint awkwardness, obviously omitting -it goes without saying-, the unnecessary detail of the flower. While she was absently rolling some ruffled locks, that sticker left on the tall pile of her thoughts was whirling like them and progressively losing its petals one after the other, new butterflies surfing on the waves of the wind; of the galloping ones of the ponentino.

Suddenly, there was a shift.

To the audience of the theatre it was the one of the clock hands, their overlapping on a glowing number announced by an imperceptible clicking sound; the cessation of the music represented by the gentle thud of the first violin in the crook of a velvet arm; the unearthly silence. To her, instead, it was that mischievous blowing and the goosebumps it brought along, thar bouncing brush of her hair against her skin, that whiff of laughters tickling her lobes.

And, again and again, Junpei’s ever-changing voice, distant, so distant, from the chanted poetry of the winds of the world, but still greatly appreciated by them. That was what was her orbs could see, the only beings standing out quite crisply in the last minute of the illusion of the night: lively puffs of air dancing around him like virtuous nymphs.

“I know you weren’t. I wasn’t as well, in a certain sense ah ah. I told you. Maybe, it was because you were there. Yeah! I didn’t make a fool of myself thanks to you. I’m sure of that,” Firstly his pitch got lower, much lower, almost making him sound like someone Izumi didn’t know, then, all of a sudden, completely surpassing an intermediate level, it shrank into the squeaking of some dog toy. Izumi’s teasing sarcasm and its arrogance risked to be crushed by that elevator.

“T-This might be the most original, nonsense excuse I have ever heard.”

“No, Izumi-Chan. I would never lie to you, it’s the truth. I just thought about you, about how I wanted to spend…Yeah, the conclusion of this holiday with you, because I had so much fun visiting the Colosseo in two, trying that special gelato from that cafè, tasting yours, letting you taste mine as well, chatting with you in the hall of the hotel before going to bed. I wanted more of that but I had given up, until you were caught in the storm and you seeked shelter below the porch. I thought it was sign of Fate! Now, though, I’m afraid I’ve been selfish... With you here, this has been better than any Rossini I might ever listen to, but it hasn’t been to you. You would have preferred going to the stadium with Takuya and Tomoki or to the museum with the twins. I-I-“

While he had gone through half of that week the crew had spent in Rome, she had let herself be taken back in time along with his gab. Dragged to all those memories, to all those chances to watch opera Junpei had thrown away to stay with her. The first late afternoon the group had split, that moment each of them had agreed about the impossibility to satisfy everyone’s interests and wishes, she had spotted Junpei carefully reading a poster attached to the glass of the bus shelter. Once he had heard her approaching him, he had turned to her and had asked her about where she intended to go. Like that, with a large grin, without further questions and second thoughts, he had tagged along with her, no matter where she had planned to head for. As long as he was with her, -he had said among sheepish chuckles-, he would be happy, words she had quietly made slip by with a shrug as she couldn’t see any harm in letting him come along, especially if she considered she would have been alone if he had had other plans. Junpei might be noisy and more often than rarely he would make her wish she could hide her head in sand like an ostrich would, but he could offer a nice company at the same time. A very enthusiastic one… She had no doubts those memories they, only they shared still felt alive in her heart because of that overemphasized excitement of his latched on them: his yells joining hers in their cacophony to cheer for Takuya at the stadium; the extinguishing fire of the Sun inflaming the ruins of the Colosseum and making his spheres shine so intensely as the rays bathing a summer day; the delicious taste of that long spoon filled with pistacchio e cioccolato he had made easily slide between her lips; all those conversations about this and that she could perfectly remember, the fresco of the bustling Rome in background looking more vibrant, a riot of colours, at her occasional glances.

She had been happy too, she had enjoyed herself as if she was a solitary drop of ponentino, mocking herself but also smiling at herself at her own motley trails guiding her decisions.

“There is a door behind us,” She breathed to Junpei who had got further from her to clap the violinist and the orchestra. “If I had got that bored, rest assured I would have used it.”

The night came to an end, but she took advantage of the lingering penumbra offered by the dangling red drapes. Hidden below them, blending in the thunderous applause of the entire theatre, she shortened the gap between them by getting closer and closer to him. Then, she leaned forward, stretched her neck and…She did it.

She placed her lips on his puffy cheek. Just a little peck on his soft skin. It lasted longer than the first as she was no longer scared by that electrostatic energy bursting in her whole body, without prior warning, darting through her veins and nevers to elicit every millimeter of her organism. Yet, it still was as fleeting as a butterfly perching on her favourite flower and taking off immediately afterwards, before someone could catch her.

Thus, she parted from him. And she noticed it, indeed, them.

“Izumi-Chan, what is it?” When the curtain closed, he raised an eyebrow at her, once more incredibly oblivious to what she had just done.

“Oh nothing, nothing…Non è…Niente.”

“What does it mean nothing?! You are-“!On impulse, he stood up making his chair fall backwards. Her giggles got even more uncontrollable as she saw him going back and forth, unable to make up his mind, understand if it was more important to tidy that mess or pay attention to her purple blush; or also grab her bag to hand it to her and rush to the door to open it for her-.

He eventually opted for the last choice, gasping at the sight of her reaching the knob before he could and dropping the chair on the spot. She was aware she would absolutely need to avoid to look at him as much as she could if she didn’t want to seriously upset him, so she had walked past him with the intention to get to the foyer before him, constantly making an effort to keep a…Holy distance.

Oh, poor Junpei.

“Ladies first!”

“Oh perfavore, now,” The way his exaggeratedly polite gesture made her eyes roll was fitting for her situation: diverting her gaze, bowing at him with a genuinely-flattered “grazie” pronounced with her orbs closed, ignoring his so content facial traits.

Everything was going smoothly until in the crowd, among the people thronging the corridors and the stair, a distinguished man holding a fedora hat against his chest arrested his march to frown at them. His mustache covering the accentuated curve of his strict wince, he gave them a long stare Junpei exchanged with equal animosity.

“Cosa c’è ?” He drily spat at that stranger he had seen an hour before in the foyer, waiting for the spectacle to start with statuesque composure.

Worried about what it might happen, Izumi tried pushing Junpei to a side despite already knowing well she stood no chance to make that bear Junpei was move not even a millimeter. She brainstormed about an improvised justification to frantically mutter to the intimidating man, but she soon found herself tripping against Junpei’s hip.

The man kept on focusing on Junpei, inspecting him from head to toe, dwelling on his face and then…

“Oh…Mio Dio,” His austerity falling like a tower of cards, to Junpei’s and Izumi’s confusion, he went away leaving behind exhilarating snickers. Junpei wasn’t fairly puzzled, though. He was flabbergasted and Izumi did expect he would ask her for explanations. He was a rather clever person, despite anything.

“Izumi-Chan, do I have something on my face?”

“What kind of something?”

“Something that makes people burst in laughters when they look at me, I guess,” She gave her best not to explode in an attack of giggles once more at him stepping closer. Insisting on asking her to tell him what was going on, he pulled his cheeks as if that would really help her check the area better and wouldn’t just make him resemble a glutton hamster.

“I…don’t see anything,” She was persevering too, but she might be a terrible actress, in truth, if he was analyzing her nonchalant expression so skeptically. It was so strange to acknowledge he could question her words sometimes. She was certain he wouldn’t believe she had done what she had without making him realize, even though just like what he had claimed about his magical trick, she didn’t know how that had been possible.

And I…Wonder…, She dared to venture in a legitimate doubt, repeatedly stumbling as she dug through it, getting bogged down as she strived to give it a complete and refined form, until her legs, no, she just gave up. She remained where she had landed, resigned yet content, relaxing in that sense of acceptance the calm breaths were caressing her heart with. Her own wind, her own spirit reassured her it was fine, and since she wasn’t sure what it was specifically talking about, she set it free. No need for further explanations about something whose identity and meaning was obscure.

For now, it really was fine.

“Hm, well, there is a mirror in the foyer. I will check in there.”

For now it really was, as long Junpei didn’t find out.

“Junpei-!” She panicked, her hands swooping in her bag to grab a bunch of handkerchiefs. In leaps, she chased his silhouette and dropper some of them in the process. She reached out in the direction of his cheek, pressing the tissue against it when she still hadn’t aligned her pace with his.

“Izumi-Chan, what are you doing?!” Though he didn’t push her back, he reasonably complained about her tentative rubbing plasming his chubby features like pottery.

“What have you eaten before coming here? You have got some cream here and here too.”

“W-Where? I didn’t eat anything sweet. I swear!”

…

Two lilac butterflies. There were two lilac butterflies on one of his cheeks. The pair of the first outstretched on the one of the second looked like the petals she had been daydreaming since she had stepped in that theatre.

She might not be the great actress he believed she could become, but she undoubtedly was a fantastic magician, as fantastic as him, with secrets she would never reveal.

Or so she thought, at least.

XXX

Italian notes:

•Ponentino: it is a wind typical of Lazio and Toscana, very frequent in Rome. It is considered as a naughty stronger breeze blowing over people in love to act as a matchmaker ahaha.

• Chissà: it’s a sort of “who knows”, very mischievous in some contexts.

• Antonio Vivaldi: Composer from Baroque age. The violìn concerto Izumi and Junpei are assisting to features Le Quattro Stagione (The four Seasons). The story starts when the orchestra is playing Estate, (Summer), which has got a movement echoing the dramatic dance of a thunderstorm.

• Nel blu dipinto di blu: It’s a song by Domenico Modugno, the VOLAREEEEE cementing a part of our identity as a country loving music.

• Gioacchino Rossini: One of three Belcanto opera composers along with Bellini and Donizetti. Rossini is a very particular genius of our lyrical panorama. His music is brilliant, witty, so funny, I can see Junpei enjoying it very much.

• Allora? : It’s a kind of “So?”

• Fellini: Federico Fellini was a film-maker, one of the most important in the whole world. Some of his masterpieces are La Strada, which we fondly remember along with its soundtrack composed by Nino Rota, 8½, and, dulcis in fundo, la Dolce Vita to which I’ve given a very small homage in my own style lol.

• Cioccolato and pistacchio: Simply chocolate and pistache ahahahah.

• Oh mio Dio: your “Oh my God”.

• Cosa c’è?: “What’s the matter?”

[karuvapatta]

Apologies for the delay! I had a bad case of writer's block.

Also I need to start putting it on ao3 because tumblr is a nightmare to navigate sometimes, but that would require coming up with a title. So. Here we are!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

***

He tells himself it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t, not really. A momentarily lapse of reason. No more than that.

Yet he can’t stop thinking about Elias, all the way through the rest of the weekend, on his way to work on Monday morning, through his lunch break. He supposes it’s better than reliving other people’s nightmares, but not by much.

Sasha knocks on his door around two p.m. She’s carrying a stack of papers – academic records of one of their latest statement givers, he can see as much.

“Do you have a minute?” she asks.

“Sure,” Jon says. “I’m going to assume it isn’t work-related?”

Sasha laughs in response. “What isn’t, these days?” she asks, with a degree of bitterness and resignation Jon knows all too well. “It looks like we’re stuck here for good, aren’t we?”

Jon feels the first tendrils of panic gripping his chest.

“Sasha. I meant what I said, I’ll try to get you out—”

“I don’t want to quit,” Sasha interrupts him. “Do you?”

She’s looking at him with that calm, measured, reasonable expression he’s always admired about her. It’s enough to calm Jon’s racing heart.

“No,” he says.

He waits for the wave of guilt and nausea that should follow the simple confession. It doesn’t come. Sasha won’t judge him for its absence; he can see the familiar sense of relief in her face, followed by fierce determination. And, all around them, he senses the Eye’s presence. It approves of their willing submission; it secures its hold on them both. He wonders if Sasha can feel it too.

“Tim and Martin won’t understand,” Sasha says. “So—perhaps—if we asked Elias…”

“Do you think he might let them go?”

“Do you?” Sasha raises an eyebrow. “You know him better than I do.”

“I don’t—” Jon begins, then stops. His face is flush with embarrassment, he knows as much. But what can he say, at this point, without digging himself in deeper? “I don’t know what he’s planning,” he says. “I doubt he’d ever tell me.”

“Do you trust him?”

“No,” Jon says. “Contrary to popular opinion, I am not that stupid. But I—” he bites his lip.

“You like him,” Sasha says. There’s pity in her voice; he supposes pity’s better than outright disgust.

“I—” Jon pauses. He doesn’t like Elias. He’s not some teenager with a crush; he’s an adult man, capable of recognizing that Elias is dangerous, unpredictable, cruel, selfish, manipulative… that he loves power most of all and that, whatever his agenda is, he’d sacrifice anyone and anything to achieve it.

So, no. Jon doesn’t like Elias. He just finds him endlessly fascinating, he enjoys being in his company, he wants to know everything there is to know about him; he could blame this fascination on the Beholding, but it doesn’t seem entirely fair. It’s most likely a product of Jon’s own deranged mind.

Sasha shakes her head sadly. “Well, I suppose I can’t judge you, since I’m willing to continue working for him.” She’s lost in thought, her gaze unfocused. “That’s just it, isn’t it? You spend so long searching for answers, it’d be a waste to back away the moment you start finding them.”

“I know,” Jon says. “Unfortunately, I think that’s how the Eye gets you.”

“In that case, neither of us ever stood a chance,” Sasha says.

Jon smiles. His mood sours quickly, however.

“This job should have been yours,” he says. “We all know that. I shouldn’t have accepted it.”

“This job isn’t what any of us thought it would be, so it’s pointless to frame it that way,” Sasha says firmly. He recognizes it for the peace offering she possibly meant it as, and breathes a sigh of relief.

“So how do you want to proceed, then?” he asks.

“We know there are several organizations serving the Entities,” Sasha says. “I’d quite like to know who they are, how they operate, and suchlike. We have enough background to begin investigating them.”

“They may not take too kindly to being scrutinized,” Jon says. “Elias may not approve, either. He is allied with a number of them, so if we do anything to jeopardize that alliance…”

“That’s on Elias for not telling us anything,” Sasha says firmly. “I’m sorry, Jon, but I do not know what I’m dealing with, and I hate not knowing. If Elias won’t tell us, we’ll have to find out for ourselves. How’s that sound?”

“Reckless and dangerous,” Jon says. “Where do we begin?”

***

It feels good to talk to Sasha. Partially because her little project takes Jon’s mind off Elias, but mostly because it’s just—nice. Jon never had many friends to begin with, and while he’s aware that he has no one to blame but himself, the solitude was starting to wear him down.

There is still a wall between himself and Tim though. Jon desperately wants to make things right, but Martin warns him to back off for the time being. And Jon complies, because he doesn’t think he could handle it if Martin hated him too.

On Friday, shortly before five, Sasha clears her throat.

“Right,” she says. “It’s been a long week. We’re going to a pub.”

They all pause – Martin, who is scribbling in a notebook, Tim, who seems to be chatting with someone on his phone, and Jon, who is unpacking the new shipment of office supplies. All pretence of doing meaningful work has been unceremoniously dropped after lunch and now they are counting the time until five o’clock.

“What?” Sasha puts her hands on her hips and glares at them. “You can’t weasel your way out of this one, boys. And don’t pretend you have plans, I know for a fact none of us have a life outside of the Institute.”

“I resent that,” Tim says.

“Need I remind you what happened the last time we went out, Sasha?” Jon asks drily.

“Exactly,” Sasha says. “We need to put it behind us. Right, Martin?”

“Um,” Martin says.

“See? Martin agrees.”

“Sasha,” Jon says. “Be reasonable.”

“I am being reasonable,” Sasha says. “We’re supposed to be working together, aren’t we?”

“That’s the whole fucking point,” Tim says. “We already spend way too much time with one another.”

He’s looking at Jon as he says this. Jon stares right back.

“I am inclined to agree with Tim,” he says.

“One round,” Sasha says. “That’s all I ask. Then we can go back to sulking in peace.”

“What are the odds of you dropping this idea?” Tim asks.

“Zero.”

“Okay. Fine. One round.” He glares at Jon. “But if he tries anything—”

“You punched him, Tim,” Martin says. “I really don’t think you have the moral high ground here.”

“I suggest we prepare a list of conversation topics to avoid,” Jon says. “In the interest of keeping things pleasant.”

“All right,” Sasha says brightly. “Come on, then.”

***

Despite Sasha and Martin’s heroic efforts, the first round of drinks passes by in near-silence. Tim ditches them afterwards to flirt with someone at the bar, and Jon tries, unsuccessfully, to conceal his relief.

Wordlessly, Martin fetches them another round. He is toying with his glass, eyes darting between the surface of the table and Tim’s back.

“So, uh,” he asks after a while. “Did you ever hear him talk about his brother?”

Jon feels like he’s going to be sick. “Don’t bring this up, please. Tim clearly doesn’t want to discuss him.”

“I know,” Martin hurries to say. “But—it sounded pretty bad. I’m worried.”

Sasha bites her lip, her expression sombre.

“He told me bits and pieces,” she says. “Nothing substantial. But it’s the reason he first started working at the Institute, I think.”

“So whatever happened was paranormal in nature,” Jon says quietly.

“I’m not sure,” Sasha said. “But it’d explain a lot, wouldn’t it?”

Is there a file, somewhere in the depth of the Archives, that deals with Tim’s past? If not, then there ought to be; Jon should collect it. He can feel the Eye now, its hunger, its searching gaze. It needs to know, and Jon can feed it that knowledge. All he has to do is ask. All he ever had to do was ask—

His mouth is buzzing with static now. He takes a sip of his drink, but it doesn’t taste like anything, washing blandly down his throat. It offers no relief.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he says. He longs for the safety of his Archives.

“Why?” Martin asks.

“I—” Jon swallows. “Tim has a statement, doesn’t he? I—I’m going to force it out of him, aren’t I?”

“What are you talking about? Why would you do that?”

They both stare at him, uncomprehending. Do they not understand? Do they not feel the Eye’s presence? It seems almost laughable. It’s everywhere, all around them, the ever-present gaze of the Watcher. And it’s a dreadful thing when it chooses to focus on a specific human. When it uses Jon to acquire what it wants. How weak Jon can be when resisting it.

“Jon?”

“Sorry,” he says. “The stress of the job is getting to me, isn’t it? More than it already has.” He laughs, awkwardly. “Please stop me if I start asking any invasive questions, okay?”

“Okay,” Sasha says carefully. “But you can control it, right? This—compulsion?”

“For the most part,” Jon says. She tenses, and Martin shifts in his seat, uneasy; Jon can almost taste their fear, infinitely more flavourful than the drink in front of him… “Yes,” he adds, more firmly. “I wasn’t aware of it before, until I used it on Tim. But I know how it feels now, and I can stop it from happening.”

He takes another sip, just to give himself something to do. They have more questions, always more questions. But every answer brings them further into the service of the Eye, and Jon refuses to be responsible for that.

“Stop what from happening?” Tim asks.

They all jump. Tim is back from the bar, looking none the worse for wear; smiling, his hair artistically tousled, first few buttons of his shirt undone. More than one person checks him out as he stands there.

His smile fades, however, as they all look away; an obvious admission of guilt.

“Not this again,” Tim snarls. “Jon, I told you—”

“Jon didn’t bring it up,” Martin says quickly. “I did. Sorry.”

“Always so happy to defend him, aren’t you?”

“Tim,” Sasha says. “Sit down? Please?”

Tim sags into the seat beside her and buries his face in his hands.

“You’re not going to drop it, are you,” he groans. “Nosey bastards.”

“We didn’t mean to pry—”

“Yes, you did! It’s what you do!” Tim hesitates. “What we do, that is. I’m not much better.”

“You don’t have to share anything you don’t feel like sharing,” Jon says.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Tim snarls.

“I mean that. I’m trying—”

Jon pauses. There it always is, the persistent feeling of being watched; but now there is a different quality to it, something less encompassing, more human. More familiar.

He looks around for the tell-tale flash of grey in someone’s eyes, but the bar is too dimly-lit for that. He wishes, suddenly, that they had chosen a more secluded booth.

“Jon?”

“You really should sleep more,” Sasha says, disapproving. “You spaced out again.”

“Sorry,” Jon says. “I think Elias is watching us.”

“What?!”

“Where is he?”

Both Tim and Martin rise to their feet, poised to fight. Jon shakes his head.

“He’s not physically here,” Jon says. “…probably.”

“Then how do you know he’s watching?” Sasha cocks her head.

“I don’t know,” Jon answers honestly. “Just a feeling, I suppose. I could be wrong.”

It takes time for Tim and Martin to drop their guard and return to their seats. They are still scanning the room, as if half-expecting Elias to pop out from under a table. The rest of the time, they are staring at Jon. There’s fear and distrust in that stare, but Jon is so used to it he barely even notices anymore. He checks his phone, just in case, and then, finding it blank, texts Elias himself.

Can I help you?

The reply arrives quickly: You never leave work on time. I was concerned you got yourself kidnapped again.

Ah. So they aren’t even pretending that Elias wasn’t spying, that Jon didn’t notice, that Elias didn’t notice Jon noticing. It allows them to skip several steps in the conversation.

And if I have? Jon texts. You told me yourself you wouldn’t have rescued me.

Well, no, but I’d still rather know where you were being kept, Elias writes back. Do give your assistants my regards, Archivist.

“Elias says hi,” Jon says.

“What the fuck is even going on with you two?” Tim asks. “No, you know what? Don’t tell me. I’m probably happier that way.”

Jon says nothing as he pockets his phone. Not like he can offer them an answer they’d accept. Not like he himself knows the answer. Instead he excuses himself, to procure another round of drinks for everybody. That gives his assistants ample time to discuss him, if they so wish.

They barely even look at him once he sets the glasses down on the table. Jon slides into his seat and silently chides himself for ever saying anything.

“Is he still watching?” Sasha asks, sipping on her gin and tonic.

Jon takes a moment to think about it, and then settles on: “If he does, I can’t tell.”

“Lovely,” Sasha says grimly.

“Yeah. Fucking great,” Tim jabs at the clinking ice-cubes in his glass with a soggy paper straw. “Just what I signed up for. One boss is a telepathic murderer, and the other—” he glares at Jon, clearly struggling to verbalise his feelings on the subject.

“What did you sign up for, then?” Jon asks, before he can bite his tongue. Then he amends, hastily: “You don’t have to answer, I only meant—”

“Oh, shut up,” Tim sighs. “Might as well tell you. But I am not giving you a fucking statement, Jon, and if you try to record me—”

“I won’t,” Jon says, icily.

“Fine.” Tim is quiet for several minutes. No one dares to interrupt the silence; not until he steels himself, and starts speaking in a low monotone, “I had a brother, Danny. He was murdered by—by an evil fucking clown, of all things. Right before my eyes…” He takes another moment to compose himself, act like he isn’t on the verge of tears. “It wasn’t a normal clown and a normal circus. It couldn’t have been. So I did some digging around, and eventually joined the Institute to find out more about it. And that’s pretty much it.”

“Tim…” Martin reaches out, hesitantly. He doesn’t touch Tim, but his hand is there, on the table, next to Tim’s; an offer of comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

Jon is once again grateful that Martin is here, because he himself has no idea how to act. A quick glance at Sasha confirms that she feels the same, awkward and out-of-place, aching to help but not knowing how.

“Thanks,” Tim mumbles. He takes Martin’s hand and squeezes it quickly, before withdrawing back into his seat and clearing his throat. “Well. There you have it. Does that satisfy your curiosity?” His tone is biting, the jab obviously aimed at Jon.

“The circus – was it the Other Circus, by any chance? The Circus of the Other?” Jon asks.

“Probably,” Tim says. “I guess. What of it?”

“We could find them,” Sasha says, exchanging a quick glance with Jon. “We have enough data to go by, we know where to ask around…”

Jon nods. He’s already going over the relevant statements, aching to get his hands on the catalogue, and the files deep within the Archives.

“What for?” Martin asks, alarmed.

Jon blinks at him. “I figured Tim might want a sense of closure. Or vengeance, perhaps.”

“Are you—are you actually insane?” Martin asks. “You want to attack them? They’re dangerous!”

“Unlike most people, we wouldn’t be going in blind,” Jon points out.

“And it’s better than Tim doing it by himself,” Sasha adds. “If that’s what he was planning, that is.”

Tim is stunned. He looks between Sasha and Jon, with wide eyes and slack jaw.

“I—I thought about it, but—why do you want to help?”

“We’re your friends, aren’t we?” Sasha asks.

It’s a bit of a stretch – Jon wouldn’t describe himself as Tim’s friend, exactly, but he is his direct supervisor, and would be remiss if he let Tim and Sasha run off into danger unprepared. There has been quite enough of that already.

“So you’re just… just going to help Tim murder someone? Because of friendship?” Martin asks, incredulous.

“It’s way too early to make concrete plans, isn’t it?” Jon asks in lieu of an actual answer. “We have some preliminary research to get through before we can even begin to decide how to proceed.”

“Jesus,” Tim says. And then he starts laughing, a touch hysterically. “Yeah, sure. Yeah. Let’s do that. It’s a great idea. What could possibly go wrong?”

[demonic-silver-and-gold]

Diary of an Attendant/Friend/Stranger (3)

Excerpt 3: Pets and Shenanigans

{Masterlist} {Ao3}

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Warnings: Spoilers for all games, cursing, liberal use of strikethroughs

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

That wasn’t fair. So not fair. But hey, at least I know how Levi got Henry 1.0 and how Lucifer got Cerberus. I should’ve known better, honestly, than to expect them to have gotten such large and dangerous animals not in the midst of chaos and a near-death experience.

But hey! Solomon’s muffins work wonders to repel everyone unwanted creatures (thanks, Asmo, for ignoring me this time). Also, can’t fucking believe I might’ve had an impact on the block of ice idea for Goldie — here’s to making life easier for future/past me! I was JOKING this guy has a sense of humor my god.

I guess it’s like Sol said, that even through time and space we’re still connected. I’m even missing the punishments I can’t get here, how messed up is that? Not to mention the fact Dia wants to add me to the founding of RAD which is just baffling. Heck, I said so myself but his mind was made up and I couldn’t help but agree. It's... weird, but nice, in a way.

And then the fuzzy feeling in my chest had to be ripped away after Lucifer just confirmed what I already knew — that I wasn’t trusted nor wanted but hey, SNAKES.

And as I can never really get a break, of course Solomon had to go and wave the idea that there was a monster that would get them respect. He might be my teacher, a mentor — hell, even a friend — but it’s still not sitting well with me how easily he chose to manipulate them into the situation. I’m overthinking again, whatever. Right now he’s my main hope of going home. Maybe I'm just bitter that he can come and go as he pleases, what exactly is that Nightbringer being getting at by having me here? Do I know them?

Then the situation with that (those?) dog(s?) happened. (Love you Cerberus, but you're in my nightmares for a reason).

I can’t shake off the feeling I got when Mammon and I started talking about pacts. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, when he admitted how he saw such a connection and I silently compared it to how ours had happened. I almost apologized on the spot but held my tongue. Can’t apologize for something you technically haven’t done yet, right? You sure can try, but I still didn’t. It’s the guilt, it got to me. I’m starting to doubt everything about our relationship (my time Mammon and I). I wouldn't blame him, honestly, if he'd push me away for it. Maybe I do need therapy, actually.

Oh, and can I just say — Solomon, how the fuck do you get a relatively passive demon to absolutely despise you openly? Seriously, it’s Barbatos, of all demons. What did you even do?! Regardless, I’m glad I got to spend some time learning about tea etiquette with him before this whole mess happened, otherwise I’d have lost it in the middle of that interview.

I'll write about Cerberus more in depth later, I don't want to think about it right now. Quickly in summary: traps to get to Cerberus happened, shenanigans ensued (loved seeing Satan getting dragged into the lake like a kitten getting its first bath), Asmo was shaken with his newly unlocked power, Beel was summoned somehow and then BOOM — Lucifer got a three headed dog.

I still worry about the brothers more than I should. Seeing them being so vulnerable is awful, like I shouldn’t be here. I really should just tell them the truth just to shut them up, for them to believe I care. I hate lying like this, taking advantage of their trust. Maybe I should try harder to make pacts, even if it feels so wrong, just to get out before it’s too late. Maybe that’ll help. I don’t know anymore.

I think Levi's in trouble, I'll see what I can do next time I see them all.

[c-rose2081]

Starchild || 20. Belonging

(Disney Z-O-M-B-I-E-S)

—

—

—

“I wish you weren’t doing this, Zed.”

A-ddison’s voice was barely a rasp; practically a whisper coming from nearly an hour of absolute silence. Outside her window, night had already fallen, leaving only a faint tinge of orange across the back of the horizon. Zed sat in front of his girlfriends (he could call her that now!) desk, as he had been for a while now, hands gripping his hair in thought. A-ddison had previously been sleeping, wrapped around her Shrimpy toy and an ice pack while Zed ‘studied’.

Except…hadn’t really been studying, either. He’d been staring at the same math problem for what felt like an eternity. No, he was far too busy glancing at his z-band — watching the time tick closer to 10:30 — his mind filled with thoughts of how horribly wrong this plan could go. Breaking into z-corp wasn’t harmless…it was criminal. He’d not only screw things up for Zombietown if he got caught, but would probably be arrested (or worse). It was a terrible idea on all fronts, one he shouldn’t have even been considering.

Yet as he turned to face A-ddison, pure crystalline eyes (one’s that could reflect even the most distant of universes) once again took the wind from his chest. She was just…so pretty, fully laid out across the sheets, silhouette outlined by the fading light. He could make out faintly glowing stripes from under her tank top, and a long, blue tipped tail was wrapped elegantly around the bedpost. Turquoise hair the same color as the sea cascaded in rivulets across the pale blankets, framing two eyes of a similar hue.

The disjointed diamond shaped marking on Addy’s forehead pulsed in perfect time with her heart, and from that diamond a straight white line traversed the curves of her face to split her features perfectly in half. The facial marking rose and fell with every dip and curve, caressing pale pink lips, and traveling down the front of her neck. The line was a tease, as Zed could follow it all the way to the ‘U’ of Addy’s tank top’s hem before it vanished under fabric, making him wonder how far down it actually went…

*You’re thinking very loudly, you know.*

Blinking at the voice echoing in his mind, Zed ducked his head in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” he fumbled, “how much…?”

“All of it,” A-ddison told him faintly, “you flatter me.”

“It’s nothing but the truth,” Zed shrugged, leaning on his knees, “how are you feeling?”

“A bit better,” Addy sighed, still clutching the cheerleading shrimp Zoey had given to her, “I’m…concerned about this mission, Zed.”

“Me too,”

“I’m sure there’s another way. I…I’ve been listening to your thoughts, I know how many ways this could go wrong.”

“A-ddison,” Zed chided unhappily, though he couldn’t really be mad. Not when she was laid out like that, staring up at him in the most innocent (worried) way. Her antennae flattened, giving away her guilt as she pursed her lips.

“I’m sorry. But this thing you’re doing is illogical and dangerous…”

“A-ddison, someone knows something out there. Maybe about you; about us? I don’t know who, and I don’t know what their intentions are. But I don’t wanna wait and find out.”

“Zed, you have a life here. Please don’t throw that away.”

“I was nothing until you crash landed into my life,” Zed grumbled, folding his hands, “I was just going through the motions. I was pretending; lying to everyone about who I supposedly am. But then you came and tore me to pieces, and put me back together. I can’t imagine where I’d be without you here, Addy, which is all the more reason we need to get you back home.”

“Let me come,” the girl croaked, “let me do this with you.”

“No. Your wounds are still to fresh, and they’re looking for you as an alien, and as a human. I’ll do this alone. If I fail, no one else takes the fall for me.”

“There’s no changing your mind,” A-ddison sighed, stating her words more as a fact than a question. But Zed nodded firmly anyway, rubbing his hands together over his knees. He could tell there was something else A-ddison wanted to say, but was holding it back, “did you think for a moment that I maybe wanted to stay?”

Zed frowned at his girlfriend, furrowing his brows as she stared forlornly at his shoes.

“I…no, I didn’t think about that,” he admitted, “I thought you’d be happy to be reunited with your family. You’re always so sad when you talk about them.”

“It’s true I hold incredible fondness for my siblings, and I do miss them terribly,” Addy sighed, “but ever since I was a Young One, it’s always felt like I was some sort of…treasure to them. Something they chose to protect; an obligation of sorts bestowed upon them the day I arrived. It’s nothing like what you have with Zoey. The whispers of warmth I felt as a child are gone; chased away by the coldness of space. They can get along better without me. I like it here, Zed. I like the colors, and the feelings…it’s…” A-ddison paused, no doubt trying to choose the right word, “it’s like a Utopia. I don’t want to leave.”

“Addy…”

“I know that not what you want,” A-ddison stopped him, “and I’m sure if the situation were different, you wouldn’t be so insistent on sending me away…”

“Don’t put it like that,” Zed mumbled, “you know I don’t want to live without you. I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like…”

“Then we can find another way,” A-ddison insisted again, “please Zed.”

“I won’t let anything hurt you,” Zed stated, “not again. Never again,” Zed flexed his hand, wincing at the thought of the wound still healing on A-ddison’s ribs. The one he caused.

“You know I already forgave you,” Addy said, rolling her eyes as he made a face of discontent, “I don’t need to read your mind to know what you’re thinking about, Zed. You’re easy to read. One of the things I love about you.”

“It’s still strange,” he mused, “how fast we happened. Having you as my girlfriend.”

“I don’t think it’s strange,” A-ddison shrugged, avoiding his gaze, “on the Mothership, it wouldn’t have been my choice at all who I was to spend the rest of my life with.”

“And you’d have just gone along with it?” Zed wondered, a bit bothered by the idea of A-ddison being with someone else, “no questions asked?”

“It’s…normal, Zed. So willingly putting your life into the hands of your Elder? Trusting that they won’t make a choice that would be un-beneficial to the survival of our people. It’s been that way for hundreds of years.

“But you aren’t taken into account.”

“No. Some Elders, like my Older A-Spen, are more than willing to involve the one being mated in the process. But how the pair feels about the match is not usually considered once begun. It’s between the Elders of the two families, and the numeric probability of success. It’s why the idea of ‘love’ doesn’t exist where I come from.”

“Because it’s not love,” Zed confirmed, “it’s a trade.”

“It saved our species from extinction,” A-ddison told him flatly, “but is nothing more than that.”

“So…you…us, falling in love? Being together? Would you have fallen in love with the first person you came across here on Earth?”

“No,” A-ddison frowned, as though offended by the idea, “when I was born, I lived here on Earth, just like you. I was human before I was A-Lurian. I don’t think the time I spent here ever left my memory, no matter how hard my Great One tried to make me forget. I’ve been fighting with it my whole life. Trying to be something I’m not…just like you. It’s easy to recognize kinship when you come across it, Zed. And, at least for us, those who understand one another have a better chance of being content when matched.”

“You told me you didn’t fit in,” Zed asked, “when we first met, you understood me better than my own Dad does sometimes. How…how bad was it, growing up?”

A-ddison, for the first time since the conversation begun, hesitated. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and her antennae flattened back. She clearly wasn’t fond of this particular subject, “sorry,” Zed apologized quickly, “you don’t have to answer that.”

“It…” Addy halted and swallowed thickly, expression turning from one of worry, to one of very faint pain, “it isn’t the A-Lurian way to demean others. We value harmony and unity amongst ourselves. But it’s still in the nature of all creatures to dominate one another. In my cultures past, I would’ve been killed before my first birthday for my differences. That kind of ideal can be dissuaded — it can be looked down upon — but it takes far longer then a mere millennium to fade. Ever since I was young, those who displayed the A-Lurian ideal reminded me every second how much I didn’t fit in. They would use words to hurt me, because I couldn’t stop myself from feeling them. And when that no longer worked, they would find new, more painful ways to assert themselves over another who they deemed…worthless.”

“And your siblings didn’t do anything about this?” Zed fumed, clenching his fists, “what about your Grandma?”

“Zed, my Great One and I were very close, but she stopped caring for me when I was ten. Independence is nurtured early on in A-Lurian culture. Exceptions are not often given in that respect. I lived with my siblings; and though they did their best, they can’t be there all the time. It was expected of me to handle myself, to grow stronger on my own. Something I…well, struggled to do. It got easier when A-Spen was promoted to Captain — messing with the Captain’s family is a serious matter — but that was only a year ago.”

“Is that why you don’t want to go back?” Zed wondered honestly, “it sounds miserable.”

“It certainly helped me grow into some of my A-Lurian traits,” A-ddison sighed, using her hand to gently remove her tail from where it rest around the bedpost, “running and hiding are useful skills to have; but I also learned how to face danger with dignity. A trait we share, apparently.”

A-ddison smiled faintly, and Zed ran a hand across the back of his neck, “I’m not usually afraid of the future, Zed. But what happens tonight could mean that future doesn’t have you in it. And that scares me more than anything.”

“Me too,” Zed agreed, rising from his chair and stretching. He needed to leave soon, if he were to make Bucky’s rendezvous, “I have to go.”

A-ddison sighed, nodding against the pillow.

“I know.”

“I’ll be back soon, ok?” Walking to the bed, Zed leaned down and gave his girlfriend a gentle kiss to the temple, running a hand through her curls.

“Just promise you’ll come back,” A-ddison half-begged him, “please, Zed. If there’s nothing I can say to stop you from doing this, at least promise you’ll come back.”

“I promise,” he nodded, fully meaning it despite how his gut twisted in pain, “rest up. I’ll be back before morning. Gar gar gaza, A-ddison.”

Zed expected her to say it back; the ‘I love you’ which they’d shared only a few times before. Instead, she stared up at him with her huge eyes, and spoke a language he didn’t understand. It was elegant and foreign to him, yet he knew it meant something incredibly profound. Something that meant more to A-ddison then a mere I love you, when she knew he was, in essence, going off to war and leaving her behind.

“Apura enic ashaxt ailohoieoshi, Xedenon.”

May the stars guide you home, precious Zed.

—

@theredrenard

@disneyfan50

@rose-sparks13

@magical-ashley

@kokinu09

@octolingo-writes

@fantasticvoidnerdshoe

@sayorseee

@zeddisonss

@uglyduckling339

@descendantofthesparrow

@mbradshaw1997

@mmultifandommultishipper

[blossommoonwrites]

YOUNG LORD'S LEGACY: MAYBLADE 2023, DAY 5 - CRANE

Header by @[saradika]

Series: Miles to go Fandom: Bakuten shoot Beyblade Genre: Romance/Fantasy Setting: Taisho era Japan Main characters: Crane, Yamashita Kane, Salima (Sarima in this fic) Side characters: Kazuya Yamashita (Kane's father, OC), Aria Yamashita (Kane's mother, OC), Kanemi Yamashita (Kane's elder sister) Pairings: Kane/Salima (main), Kazuya/Aria (minor) Rating: K+ Summary: The bond between Young Lord and his friend will prosper the land. This is the ideology of the crane.

FFN | AO3

The Lord of Edo passed by the handful of chambers in his residence. His daughter Kanemi was stitching her scarf with a bloom on her face. 

Kazuya was worried about her. In a few years, she will leave her home. He felt no man would fit her. She is a precious person to him. She isn’t influenced by melancholy. She can’t feel fear. She is a big bloodthirst for thrill and danger, which brings down her foes. She knew no anger. If someone mocks her, she talks back without ensuing a fight. Overall, she is charismatic and upbeat. She is a dangerous person who can gather the attention of everyone around her but remains to be an angel for her father.

Meanwhile, his younger son Kane doesn’t express many things. He is stoic, expressionless, and calm during stressful situations. However, he has a soft spot for his loved ones.

Kane is more attached to his mother, unlike Kanemi. He breaks his reserved shell before her, but not anybody else. He was cheerful as a young child, but he grew colder later. 

Kane ventured out to the forest to gather some herbs. Mild soil patches were found on his sash and Hakama. Scratches and dirt were on his skin. Finding the required herbs is hard. Being the son of the Lord, he needs to be trained in these.

“Yamashita-sama, what are you doing here?” He heard a familiar scarlet behind.

“Sarima, what brings you here?” he mildly frowned. 

“Well, I just thought of being with you since you went to Australia for further education. I missed you during these four years.”

Sarima was just an ordinary girl living in their village. She had a crush on him for ages. Her feelings developed when he was distant.

“You sure have changed. You’ve turned so quiet and reserved.”

“Nobody asked you,” he replied coldly. Sarima was hurt a bit.

“I am not judging you. Well, I apologize. I know I’m not royalty. Hence, I understand we can’t be too personal.”

Kane felt a pang of guilt but kept to himself. Sarima bowed down and walked to her home. He isn’t the Kane she knew. He acknowledged her presence every time they met. That was before he went to Australia. They were great friends and would always spend their time across the river. They knew no difference in positions.

‘Maybe, I shouldn’t have shown my authority like that.’

He thought of approaching her later. He continued searching for the herbs. He reached the banks of the river where his guards were searching too. He saw a crane confined to a corner with one of its legs hurt. He was alarmed and ran to it.

“Young lord, where are you going?” One of the guards followed him.

“The crane is wounded!” He gently kneaded the crane’s wound. He tore a small piece of his sleeves and wrapped it around the wound.

“Young lord, we would’ve done that.”

“None of you noticed this poor creature.” 

Kane lifted the crane in his arms and placed it on the chariot. 

“Let’s take him to our dojo!” Kane exclaimed.

“But, young master, you haven’t finished collecting the herbs. You have to abide by Kazuya-sama!”

“The crane is wounded. Life matters more than an order! How can you be so insensitive?” 

The guards had no choice. Kane was beside the crane, seated on the chariot. One of the guards rode it straight to the medic’s house, and the other followed them by horse.

.

.

.

It was evening, and the sky got darker. So, they decided to manage with the herbs they’d collected. The medic kept the crane to stay with him till it could walk. Kane was ready to accept the punishment for not completing his task.

“Well, why haven’t you collected the other herbs?” his father asked sternly. His Australian mother was trying to convince her husband. Then, the guards interfered.

“Sir, young Lord-”

Kane restrained them.

“Father, on the river banks, I saw a wounded crane. We took the bird to the medics, and it will stay with them till its wounds heal. I apologize. I am ready to accept any punishment for my deeds,” he bent down to his father. He saw some small feathers of the white crane on his dress. He tenderly smiled at his son and helped him get up.

“It’s okay, my son. You’ve collected the most effective yet rare herbs today. I couldn’t find them when I was your age. This says you went to a great extent today. The remaining is easier to find. I will assign people to get them tomorrow. You strained yourself too much. But I appreciate your efforts and hard work. Just take a bath and relax. Aria, take him with you!”

Kane’s mother gently held him after he collapsed. 

“Kane?” 

“Thank you, Mother,” he smiled weakly.

.

.

.

The Young Lord was about to fall into a slumber. He was thinking about that day, and suddenly Sarima crossed his mind. She is a good girl to him. She has a sweet and pure heart. He hasn’t met any girl who is likable like her. How can he hurt her like that?

“You aren’t asleep yet,” his sister entered his chamber. She was gleaming. 

“Ni-san?” 

“You seem to be upset; what bothers you?”

“I fear I can’t tell.”

“Tell me.”

Kane sighed and explained shortly, “I met Sarima. I was rude to her. I didn’t understand my rudeness when I was speaking to her.”

“You sure have changed,” she smiled.

“Why are you mocking me? I am serious!”

She chuckled.

“I didn’t mean that way. You haven’t seen her for a few years. You’ve matured and become reserved. But you are calmer and more composed now. Probably you don’t like getting people’s attention now. That’s the result. I think that’s fine. As time goes by, it will heal. Be patient. It’s good you are guilty of it. Talk to her tomorrow. Now, sleep peacefully.” 

She left his chamber.

Kane blew the lamp and stared at the ceiling. He closed his eyes gently. He couldn’t fall asleep.

Suddenly, something flashed. He could sense it with his eyelids. He immediately opened his eyes and got up. The gaudy sight disturbed his eyes. Soon, a divine creature appeared. She looked like a goddess, well garnished with flowy layers of Kimono and jewels. Kane kneeled. Her black hair fluttered slowly.

“Dear son, you don’t have to kneel. You are a man of culture. You are very generous and kind-hearted. You approach people when they need help. And, when you hurt them… you care to realize. You are different from the crowd. Your personality doesn’t determine your golden heart. If you can’t recognize me, I am the crane you saved me beside the river.”

Kane was shocked, meanwhile glad to hear. He can't believe that a crane can have its human form. His eyes were glittering with tears.

“My turn to return the favor. Convey your three wishes; I will make them a reality."

Kane thought for a while and answered, “First, I don’t want Edo or any estates in Japan to undergo any famines. Second, I wish for the well-being of my people. And… Send this letter to my friend, Sarima.”

The human form received the Young Lord’s letter. 

“Sure, my son.”

The figure disappeared in a flash.

.

.

.

The next day the scarlet held the letter and wondered who wrote it.

Come to the river bank.

But, the handwriting seems familiar to her. They were beautifully written in a Katakana accent.

“You came here as I expected.” She turned back to see the same blunette. He could see her toiled hands and tired face even from a distance. He walked towards her. She could sense the sadness emitted from his face. It turned to utter despair when a teardrop flowed out of his eye.

“Young Lord, what happened?” she held her hands on his shoulders. Then, the thought of her being an outcast stroke her mind. She gently removed her hands.

“I am sorry, Sarima. I was rude to you yesterday. I failed to consider our friendship. I didn’t acknowledge your presence, right?”

Sarima said, “You needn’t be too sensitive about it. I never thought you were like this. But…” she blushed and looked down, gently fidgeting her fingers, “I knew you would understand this, and our relationship would be better ever after. These things happen after being separated for a few years. You left when you were turning into an adult. The change is understandable and natural.”

Kane gently smiled after wiping off the tear. He nodded his head. 

“Look up, Sarima.” 

Sarima raised her head and looked deep into his eyes. He held her hands and confessed, “You can come to the dojo as and when you please. You never need any prior permission. Sometimes, you used to come like that.”

Sarima couldn’t restrain her happiness. Her face turned redder.

“But I am also okay with meeting you here every day.”

“After all, we spent most of our time here. Also, remember you saved me from a wolf when we were just twelve.”

Kane mused on it. 

“Kane, I have a question. Have you ever thought of me when you were in Australia?”

Kane held his hand to his chin and recollected his memories, “During the initial years, I thought so much of you. But, later, I was engrossed in my studies. I never was able to think of anybody. But I feel very attached to you all. The distance made me value all of my bonds. That includes you as well.”

Sarima quickly hugged him and clung to his chest.

“Kane, I love you! Love you so much!” her confession short-circuited him. Her hands were moving sensually on his fabric. Kane remained frozen for a handful of minutes. Slowly, he looked down and returned the hug.

“Kane, did I ruin this friendship with a love confession? I am sorry.”

“This was destined to happen. We are mature enough to love. But we can remain good friends. This love will pursue us to wonders we can never think of.” He pressed his nose against her hair. 

She could feel him breathing as she nuzzled his chest further and heard his slow heartbeats. She could stay like this forever. 

“Kane, can I be like this for some more time? I feel warm and comfortable.”

“Sure, you can. But, let’s sit under the greenwood tree.”

They sat under the tree, and Kane slightly loosened his sash. Sarima felt more comfortable now, and they could feel the intimacy. She could feel the moving of his chest more evident than before. His heartbeats and breaths were more audible. She felt protected.

“Well, what if somebody sees us like this?” she asked.

“Young Lord is in an affair. What else would they say?”

Salima laughed.

“We’ll stay like this as long as we can. Nobody cares.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

The human form of the crane secretly sneaked into their conversation.

“Their marriage is essential for this estate. They will eradicate all forms of differences in society. Their pure love is wholesome, and I know they will take this further. Their child will be the best to succeed the Young Lord Yamashita. I am waiting to see their future.”

Epilogue

They never failed to meet each other every day. Their bond strengthened as the years went by. They sat under the tree, hugged, played, and helped the villagers around. 

A few years later, they got married but faced some hardships to be with each other finally. Kane succeeded his father, and people were proud of him.

She held her newborn son in her arms and gently cradled it. He was the ultimate proof of their love. She was exhausted after the delivery. 

Kane entered their chamber after visiting the shrine. He went to his wife and pecked her temple. He gently caressed his son’s head.

“Just like you, Anata,” she remarked in her feeble voice. The baby grasped its mothers’ index finger.

“He needs you, Tsuma.”

“He needs you too, Anata.” The baby innocently smiled when Kane massaged the child’s trunk.

“See? Just as you said, the love pursued us somewhere. We have to thank the crane for it.”

“Indeed.”

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

[noodyl-blasstal]

Scamming me, scamming you: chapter 6

Kravitz finally engages his big ol' brain!!!! Thank goodness for Barry.

Read below or on A03 Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

“Kravitz. I need you to listen to me because you’re spiralling.” Barry’s voice was calm, Kravitz had no idea how. He was in danger too here.

“Barry, you don’t understand, what if Lup’s in on it? What if she’s after you?” Kravitz wasn’t going to be calm because the situation didn’t warrant being calm.

“So you think Lup, who I have known for 6 years, who earns more than me, gained multiple PhDs to try and romance scam me without actually having ever hit on me?” Barry asked.

Well… when he put it like that. “Okay, so maybe she didn’t know what Taako was doing.” Kravitz said.

“Kravitz. Taako didn’t know what you thought Taako was doing.”

Barry was using his logical voice and Kravitz hated him for it a little bit. Was it unreasonable to expect his friends to have his back on this? Okay, so it was Lup’s brother, and Barry was there all the time and knew Taako really well, but he’d tried to scam Kravitz! Surely that was a cause for concern? “But… It was so obviously a scam! It’s not like he actually likes me.” That sounded a lot more pathetic than intended.

“You know how romance scams work, Kravitz. Why would he agree to meet you? Where were the demands for money? Where was the isolation from family and friends?” Okay, Barry was being really unreasonable now. He was using facts and Kravitz was starting to feel like maybe he’d overreacted a tiny bit. Just the smallest bit.

“I thought maybe it was something new? That he was developing the scam… making it harder to spot.” Yeah. That sounded silly now.

“Okay bud, Lup told me about the first email. I can see how you’d think it was a scam from that… but why did you run when Taako brought you lunch at work?

“Barry… I… he… That was the first time I’d spoken to him since… The Incident. I made such a prat of myself last time we saw each other, and he was just there being super nice and bringing food and being perfect. What was I supposed to do with that? So I apologised and he called me Krav, and only T called me Krav, and it made my stomach do weird things, so I panicked and I went to go help you find the pen.” He could probably just be honest at this point, he’d already made a complete tit of himself. Barry was just as bad with Lup so he couldn’t tease him about it anyway.

“The pen that didn’t exist?” Barry asked.

“The pen that didn’t exist.” Kravitz confirmed.

“Oh bud.” Barry said, sympathy clear in his voice. “You’ve got it bad haven’t you?”

“So bad that I still liked him when I didn’t know who he was and thought he was scamming me.” Kravitz replied.

“That’s pretty bad. Have you considered, you know, trying to have a conversation with him? I know this is fresh, but I think he’s pretty hurt.” Barry was being gentle with him, but Kravitz didn’t want to deal with the guilt that wrapped itself tight round his stomach.

“Well maybe he shouldn’t have lied about who he was for months and made me like him!” He could be indignant for a bit longer, as a treat.

“Whatever you say, Kraviz. You two are perfect for each other. I’m going to go now, you need to think about what you want, but ring if you need me.” He still sounded eerily calm.

“Bye Barry, thank you… I think.” Kravitz said as the call ended. There was no need to be impolite to Barry after all. He was just trying to help.

Kravitz had stopped to block Taako’s email as soon as he was sure he lost him. He didn’t want to have to speak to him, didn’t want him to have a chance to worm his way back in. He’d already become such an important part of Kravitz’s life, and it was only now, thinking about how to dismantle the attachment to him that Kravitz was realising how important. Kravitz sent Taako goodnight messages, good mornings, every break he had messages waiting for him. They spoke about everything. Well… apparently not everything. How had Taako gone months without mentioning Lup? The mix of guilt, embarrassment, and vindication was making him feel slightly ill. Logically, they were both wrong. But Kravitz was hurt right now, Taako lied to him, Lup and Barry knew the whole time. None of them knew what they were doing to him, but it happened and he was allowed to be upset. He couldn't think about it any more. It was time to switch off.

Cello practice didn’t calm him down, but the workout he tried afterwards did. Of course that necessitated a long shower, which in turn required some ‘lying on bed wrapped up in a towel and feeling sorry for yourself because that’s definitely how getting dry works’ time. Kravitz was starting to realise that although blocking him seemed prudent at the time, perhaps he might have been just the teensiest bit in his head about it all? He should email Taako.

By the time he’d taken ten very deep calming breaths, emailing Taako still didn’t seem like a bad plan, so he grabbed his phone. He had three texts from Lup, each of them variations of “please for the love of all that is holy just have one (1) conversation with my brother” and there was an email. It wasn’t from an address Kravitz recognised, but the name was clear as day. Taako had made a new email to get round being blocked because he still wanted to talk to Kravitz. His stomach flipped and he quickly clicked to open it. He read it twice, rushing the first time, savouring it the second. He couldn’t help but laugh at Taako’s dig about internet safety, but he could tell the apology was genuine. Kravitz shoved down an impulse to be petulant at Taako’s criticism. He was right. Kravitz had been trying to use T without knowing it was Taako he was manipulating. Taako hadn’t plotted some ridiculous scheme to take advantage of Kravitz, but Kravitz had been trying to take advantage of him. Kravitz had shared the real him though, a few edits here and there, everyone wanted to put their best foot forward… but mostly he was just so excited to speak to someone that it felt natural to be honest with T.

From: Kravitz.MacLir@raven.mail To: Taako@from.tv Subject: RE: Please read me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Body: Taako, I’m so sorry. I’ve really ballsed this up haven’t I? Yes, you could have been more clear, but you did put your name in that first email, I just didn’t recognise it in the flowery language. I could have asked more about it instead of just giving you a random nickname instead. I promise I’ll stop thinking everything is a scam, and I also think your face is beautiful, but not stupid because you’re so smart and fun and wonderful. I can’t believe I’ve been emailing you this whole time and then the second I actually realised it was you I freaked out and ran instead of doing something sensible like kissing you. We can definitely talk about it. Can we talk about it soon? I’d like to talk about it really soon and also get you apology flowers, and apology cookies? Can I even get you cookies? You’re so good at making stuff - is there anything you can’t make? I’ll get you that! I want you to know that it was nearly all the truth. You’ve probably guessed I’m not quite as spontaneous as I said, but if I’d told you I was super careful and hated going off-plan it didn’t exactly paint the picture of someone who’d give all their money away. Oh, and I’m more of a cat guy than a dog guy. I was trying to sound cool there - no scam related excuses. Krav P.S. Please don’t stop calling me Krav. I love it.

At this point, he was just going to type whatever was true and his anxiety brain could catch up later. This was important. Taako was giving him a chance here, and he had to take it. He was just trying to figure out what to do with himself so he didn’t obsessively check his phone every few seconds until he got a reply when it buzzed. Kravitz pounced on it.

From: Taako@from.tv To: Kravitz.MacLir@raven.mail Subject: RE: Please read me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Body: I cannot believe you corrected the typo in the title. Taako puts 1s where he wants and you can’t stop him. I would definitely like to talk about it soon. I can’t make flaming cereal. You can make me that? Cats are cool, and I won’t hear slander against them x

Kravitz’s stomach swooped. Taako wasn’t angry! He was joking with him. Kravitz could make him bad cereal. Kravitz was going to make him such good bad cereal. The kisses were back too! Taako was giving him email kisses and Kravitz was going to make Taako apology cereal and everything was going to be okay… probably. He just had to not balls it up.

From: Kravitz.MacLir@raven.mail To: Taako@from.tv Subject: RE: Please read me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Body: Okay, so maybe you should know this about me… sometimes I can be a bit of a stickler for the rules. Lup and Barry have probably told you. So you’re welcome to put errant 1s, but I might have to remove them when my name is linked to them. I’ll make you as much flaming cereal as you’d like. When would be good for you? I have literally no plans because I cleared my calendar to scream into the void about running away from the most beautiful man in the world because I was an idiot. Cats are cool. Real Kravitz™ agrees. Krav xx

There, he was doing it. He was being jokey and flirty and confessing deep personal flaws. It wasn’t even difficult because T… Taako made it so much fun to do.

From: Taako@from.tv To: Kravitz.MacLir@raven.mail Subject: RE: Please read me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Body: You are an idiot, but lucky for you I’m free right now because a hot boy made me sad. Cheer me up with your burning bowls? xxx

Kravitz could make a beautiful man terrible cereal at midnight. That was a thing he could do. It didn’t have to be morning. You could have cereal any time. He googled it. You could, in fact, have cereal any time, especially if you were an adult. Now to work out how to set it on fire…

He emailed Taako his address and the code for the door. He added a fourth kiss after his name. The only thing that had changed was that he knew who T was now… and that now it wasn't all a lie so consequences did matter… but he could think about that later. Kravitz scrambeld into his best hot-boy-lounges-casually-at-home-and-I-definitely-wasn’t-wearing-old-baggy-boxers-and-a-band-shirt-I’ve-had-since-I-was-15 disguise and pulled three different kinds of cereal out of the cupboards. He stared intently at them. Which cereal said “date me?” Probably not bran flakes… Kravitz put that box back in the cupboard. Okay. Weekend cereal it was. Maybe he could mix the fruity one and the chocolate one? Chocolate dipped fruit was a thing! Kravitz layered the cereal into pint glasses. He had bowls, he did, but Taako wouldn’t be able to see the layers that way. This was art. Proud of himself, Kravitz added milk, grabbed two spoons, and leaned very casually in front of the door in the hall as he would on any other day.

[riotmade]

BAKUGOU K.

katsuki  was  not  good  at …    well,   being  gentle.   supportive in the way people probably needed him to be.    that was more his twin’s sort of thing,  being able to use his words to better disarm and defuse situations and make it easier to talk about it all,  while the younger of the two was like his mother ;    if anything,  he would instigate,  use tough love to get it out there.    his kind of support never coupled very well with gentleness.

but he’d been friends with kaito for some time now,  and if he learned anything,  it was that there was a specific method he could use to help    —    without dragging him into a sparring session,  or something akin to that.    he’d also been friends long enough to know that this was eating away at him more than anyone else combined.    if it were him in kaito’s shoes,  and it were keisuke in eijirou’s …

the blond,  albeit carelessly,  presses himself into kaito’s work space,  pushing aside the projects on the desk to make himself a spot to sit so he might better converse with the other.    crimson catches tear-filled ruby,  notes the way that the other tries to hide them,  feels a sense of empathy because he’d been there.    the defeat in his voice before spoke volumes.    and katsuki,  knowing exactly why,  having gone to see his classmate in his current state despite his other friends telling him he shouldn’t,  bites his tongue for a few beats.

what was there to say ?    what could he say ?    kaito couldn’t keep going the way he was going,  but katsuki understood why    —    to let the mind stop and think was dangerous,  was all-consuming,  even if every little action only made it worse.

❝    oi,  kai.    take a break.    ❞    katsuki amplifies his point by grabbing most of kaito’s tools and tossing them aside with enough care to avoid breaking any.    ❝    the last thing anyone needs is you lookin’ and feelin’ like absolute shit.    it’s fuckin’ tough,  i get it,  but y’can’t go workin’ yerself to the bone just ‘cause you think it’ll get rid of the pain,  ‘cause it won’t.    and thinkin’ about it ain’t gonna help either.    look at you,  you’re already a fuckin’ mess.    ❞    it reminds him of after his time with the league ;    trying to drown a pain that couldn’t be drowned.    ❝    have you even eaten yet ?    been drinkin’ water ?    or,  if i’m right,  you’ve been a dumb fuckin’ rock and have spent the last few days tryna survive on yer school work.    ❞ / @ofdetonation​

     THE LAST FEW DAYS have been absolutely impossible for kaito to even begin to wrap his head around. he felt himself go still as katsuki starts moving things around his desk, when before, kaito would have pushed him away from his workspace. but now, with fewer hours of sleep and slightly shaky hands, kaito can barely FOCUS on anything other than the current situation he and his twin had found themselves in ( and, by proxy, the bakugou twins -- kai would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a little guilty for dragging them into it ). 

     TAKE A BREAK, the blond says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. kaito listens, but doesn’t exactly hear. he runs a hand through dark hair, an involuntary exhale leaving chapped lips as he tries to find a way to answer the barrage of questions thrown at him at once. in the end, he doesn’t exactly answer, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “ -- what if he NEEDS me ? ” kai gets out. “ -- you don’t get it, katsuki. he was... ” 

     ( FLUORESCENT LIGHTS , shredded sheets ), a memory that lives behind closed eyes at all hours of the day. at least, there was a slightly bright outcome, if dimmed. “ he recognized me -- but he --. ” a sudden break in composure again ; a sniffle, a head with eyes gazed DOWNWARDS. “ he doesn’t remember you. or keisuke. it’s not -- it’s not FAIR. ” the older kirishima twin felt absolutely sick. sick with WORRY, guilt, stress. he’s never felt anything like this before. like he was being torn in HALF. 

     OFTEN, KAI FOUND himself in the place of a protector now. the hero to guide the broken and lost. as an older brother, it was natural. it came as easily as BREATHING, that urge to grab eijirou by the shoulders ; console and comfort, even if he wasn’t the best at such things. but with the way his younger brother clung to his side only hours before, curled in and shattered and SCARED, kaito found himself in a bit of different role of a hero. something he’d never trained for, and unlike his twin, takes the emotional toil unhealthily. in forms of overwork, lack of rest, lack of ... anything, really. and kaito knew this, so when katsuki suggests that might be true, he cannot deny it. 

     “ I’M JUST --. ” kaito looks up again, but how could he explain ? did he even have to when the ever - intuitive katsuki knew just what he had been doing ? perhaps eijirou was not the only thing on the bakugou twins’ fix lists. he felt a pang of guilt knowing he had to be PICKED UP like this, like discarded pieces of a lost support prototype. emotions hidden in a lost closet and gathering DUST once again seeing the light of day as kaito’s shoulders shake and a small sob escapes. “ i’m really fucking trying, man. i’m trying, but i --. ” 

[kanisema-blog]

Mafia Nanny

Chapter 16: Shadows of Blame

The mansion was quiet as I waited for Samuel to return home, the soft hum of the night settling around me like a comforting blanket. The events of the previous day still lingered in my mind, a persistent echo of fear and guilt that I couldn't shake. As the clock ticked closer to midnight, I finally heard the sound of the front door opening and Samuel's footsteps approaching.

I stood up from the couch, my heart pounding as I went to greet him. Samuel looked exhausted, his face lined with worry and fatigue. Despite everything, he managed a small smile when he saw me.

"Welcome home, Samuel," I said softly, my voice betraying the turmoil inside me.

"Thanks, Hannah," he replied, shrugging off his coat and hanging it by the door. "How are you feeling?"

"I’m fine," I lied, forcing a smile. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened at the space center."

His expression darkened, the memory of the attack still fresh in his mind. "You shouldn’t blame yourself, Hannah."

"But it was my fault," I insisted, my voice trembling. "I shouldn’t have taken Wyatt outside. I put him in danger."

Samuel shook his head, stepping closer and placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Hannah, you can’t blame yourself for this. You were just trying to give Wyatt a normal experience, something every child deserves."

I looked away, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. "But I failed to protect him. I failed you."

"You didn't fail anyone," Samuel said firmly, his voice filled with conviction. "You fought to keep Wyatt safe. That’s more than anyone could ask for. If anything, I’m the one who should have been there to protect both of you."

I met his gaze, the sincerity in his eyes cutting through my self-reproach. "You couldn’t have known, Samuel. You have so much on your shoulders already."

"And that’s why I need you," he replied, his voice softening. "To help carry some of that weight. You’re doing an incredible job, Hannah. Wyatt is lucky to have you."

His words were like a balm to my wounded soul, easing the guilt that had been gnawing at me. "I just want to keep him safe," I whispered.

"And you are," Samuel assured me. "We’ll figure out how to keep him safe together. You’re not alone in this."

For a moment, we stood there in silence, the gravity of our shared responsibility settling between us. Despite the chaos and danger that seemed to shadow our every step, there was a comfort in knowing that we faced it together.

"How is Wyatt?" Samuel asked, breaking the silence.

"He’s doing okay," I replied, my voice steadier now. "He was a bit shaken up, but he’s resilient. We spent the afternoon watching birds and talking. He’s a remarkable kid."

Samuel’s expression softened, a touch of pride mingling with the worry in his eyes. "He is. And he’s lucky to have you by his side."

"Thank you, Samuel," I said quietly, the weight of his words settling over me like a warm embrace.

As the night deepened, the house seemed to exhale a collective sigh, the tension of the day slowly dissipating. Samuel and I sat together, our conversation drifting to lighter topics, a welcome respite from the heavy burden of our shared fears.

"I’ve been thinking," Samuel said after a while, his tone contemplative. "Maybe we should consider increasing security measures, especially when you and Wyatt go out."

I nodded, understanding the necessity even as it saddened me. "That might be a good idea. I just want Wyatt to feel safe and have as normal a childhood as possible."

"We’ll find a balance," Samuel assured me. "We have to."

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Goodbye From Lonely

gif credits @hqtchner

summary: you’re the key to locking away hotch’s loneliness, until you aren’t.

pairing: f!reader x aaron hotchner

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS, brief vague mention of near death, angst, kissing, brief smut, loneliness, feelings, assumed unrequited love, depression, happy ending

AN: i literally have no clue, based on goodbye from lonely by superfruit from my driving playlist. hope y’all enjoy!

word count: 2.3k

cm masterlist | requests are open

“You swore to me, Hotch.”

These are the first words that have come out of your mouth since he’d put himself in harm's way to save you. They make him flinch, the use of his formal nickname stinging as you say it. He knows that you calling him Aaron is a luxury, something that he shouldn’t have gotten so used to but it's hard when it rolls off your tongue so easily.

You’re right; he had promised to keep the boundaries set and he’s a man who prides himself on keeping his word. Yet, he’d overstepped at the first sign of you being in danger since this had all started.

He sighs in defeat, “I know and I apologize for letting my emotions get the best of me, but I couldn't pretend that I was okay with that.”

“I’m a capable agent, I’ve proven myself here,” You say firmly.

He feels guilty, not only for breaking his promise but that his actions have you doubting yourself. While your words scream confidence, your eyes say otherwise.

“I know that.”

You cross your arms against your chest, not satisfied that he understands yet, “I wouldn't be on this team if I didn't have the qualifications.”

“Honey, I know.”

“That was so embarrassing. And it felt like you didn't trust me.”

Hotch bristles at that, his mouth setting into a frown, “Me saving your life was embarrassing?”

You glare back at him, unphased, “You know that's not what I meant. If it were Derek or Dave or even Emily, this would've gone much differently.”

“I made the call that I felt needed to be made. I can admit that my judgment in making that decision was clouded, but you're not just an agent to me, you’re…” He trails off, unsure what to say.

He knows what he wants, but you haven’t initiated more, leaving him to assume that you’re happy with things the way they are. He tries not to let that settle in his heart, focusing on the fact that you want him around at all.

“Your fuck buddy,” You supply and somehow his frown sets deeper.

“We’ve talked about that, I don't like when you call yourself that.”

“Well, it's true, it’s all I can ever be,” It comes out of your mouth just a whisper, arms tightening around yourself.

Silence falls between the two of you as you both sit with your own guilt.

It feels wrong to push him away given the circumstances, but this is exactly what you didn’t want. You didn’t want him treating you differently, even though your feelings for him have deepened. You didn’t want anyone weaseling their way into your heart the way he has. You can only blame yourself for getting involved with a man that’s efficient at anything he puts his mind to though you’re sure he wasn’t trying to make you fall for him. He’s your boss and while you’re in a compromised position engaging in whatever this is between you, you know that he would never approve of a real relationship. Right? That thought process all you need to decide to cut things off.

“Can we not argue, not after that? Please?” You ask softly, trying to extend an olive branch to him. You dare a glance at him and find that he's already looking at you, answering your question with a weak nod.

“Come here,” He holds his hands out to you and you quickly close the space between you. He squeezes your hands firmly before letting go and cupping your face in his hands. “You’re sure you're okay?”

“A little shaken up, but that’s a given. I’m okay and I’m here, Aaron. You feel me,” You place your hands over his.

His eyes drift away from yours as he speaks, “I couldn’t think straight.”

“I know me either, but it's fine because we’re right here,” You reassure him, lifting to the tips of your toes to ask silently for a kiss.

When he captures your lips with his, he can taste it. Taste the goodbye in how you feverishly try to consume him, and in every move afterward. Your fingers thread into his hair, your body a solid line of hot heat against his. There's a novelty to the desperation in your movements as you work yourself and then him out of his clothes.

With each pause, each longing look, each reach for him he can feel you breaking the bonds that you've created. Even in his recognition of it, he can't say no to you. He craves your body, often falling asleep to the thought of being deep inside of you. He tumbles into bed first, enamored with the sight of you soft and naked above him. The two of you kiss some more, slow and wet, and he lets himself get lost in you.

At least there’s one last time, is all he can think to himself when you straddle him.

When you whine his name over and over, sweet like honey, he closes his eyes and tightens his grip on your hips, trying to ingrain both the sound and feel of you into his brain. You bend to kiss him, your hips coming down against him over and over, taking him like you’re made for it. It takes little time for you to ride him to your peak, clenching tightly around him as you moan wantonly on top of him. Your orgasm triggers his, and he clutches you close as he fucks his release further into you.

Neither of you speaks again, he just submits to you when you slant your mouth against his, letting him slip out of you. He will gladly let you take and take until he has nothing else to give.

“Thank you for saving me, baby,” You whisper eventually, your lips brushing against his skin, still damp with sweat.

He melts under the sweetness in your voice, “Anytime.”

When you fall asleep in his arms the familiar waves of loneliness wash over him and he grows empty. It hasn't hit him this hard since the two of you began this, but with you slipping out of his fingers it comes back more powerful than before. He tries to keep himself from drowning in it, peering down at your face. Lost in your serenity and beauty, he wonders how you'll be once the two of you part.

Will things go back to the way they were before this? He hadn't known that you were attracted to him, didn't know you looked at him as more than your superior. You treated him the same as everyone else and cared for him just as thoroughly as you did everyone else— unafraid of the boundaries others set because of his title. Unafraid to break the rules when you detected his well-hidden attraction towards you.

Would you still care for him like that? Still buy him his coffee and donut when you stop for the rest of the team? Still bring him tea when you make yours when the two of you are the last two up on the jet? Stay behind to help him finish reports because you’re just as dedicated to the job?

After hours of overthinking, he finally succumbs to sleep, wound tightly around you as the two of you rest.

Morning comes too quickly, both of you groaning at the sound of his alarm. His waking up early lends itself to your situation, allowing you enough to cuddle and kiss before either of you need to get up and get ready.

He lingers as long as he can, knowing that he’s just one goodbye from lonely. Before he leaves your room he pulls you into a kiss abruptly, causing you to squeak into his mouth. He swallows that noise and everyone that follows eagerly, his fingers firm at the base of your neck.

“What was that for?” You ask breathlessly when he finally pulls away.

“I’m just glad you're okay.”

Your expression softens, guilt planting in your chest, and you treat him to another kiss. What you both know to be your last kiss, though neither of you have spoken the words.

There's a gray filter that settles over his life after that day. You're another failed attempt at connection. With the divorce and limited contact with Jack, he does what he does best– work. It gets easier to see you day in and day out because he grows more numb to life as time passes.

You’re the first to notice the change in him, though you feel strange bringing it up to the others. Reid immediately agrees with you, and Morgan wonders out loud if Hotch hasn’t been laid in a while. Wanting to steer the conversation away from that, you account it to losing Haley and the lack of time he gets to spend with Jack. All of you take your turns trying to take care of him. It's take-out containers when one of you notes he hasn't eaten, or another cup of coffee when his eyes look a little too glazed over. You take on more reports than before trying to lighten his load but he stays late anyway.

You hate seeing him like this, hate that you're the cause of it all but this is for the best. It's not that this isn't hard for you, you care for him more deeply than you'd ever planned to. But a relationship with a coworker, let alone your boss, isn't ideal. It would make everything more complicated and you’ve had enough of that in life.

As time drags on, your loneliness starts to fester inside of you. It doesn't matter how many dates you end up on, or how many people end up in your bed. When you’re finally alone after all the encounters, you’re left with yearning. That yearning lets the doubt that’s been locked up in the back of your mind free, and you're finally able to be honest with yourself.

You miss him and you're not sure that there's anyone who could fill the void that’s appeared since you left him. It takes weeks to work through your guilt and hesitancy, but eventually you decide to tell him how you feel. Even if he's moved on, you have to let him know. He has to know that he's worth every complication that could come from a relationship with him.

The perfect opportunity rolls around; a Friday night that you've decided to stay late, nothing else but work to do. You walk into his office with a stack of reports ready to be completely honest.

“Got these reports for you, sir.”

He gives you a stiff nod, keeping his eyes trained on the files you placed on his desk, “Thank you.”

It's a clear cue to leave, and for a moment you lose your gumption, turning around and heading towards the door. Absentmindedly, he lets out a sigh, soft and heavy at the same time, and you stop in your tracks, facing him once more.

When he realizes that you’re still here, he peers up at you, eyebrows knit together in confusion, “Is there something I can do for you, agent?”

His stare almost turns your body to jello but you straighten your shoulders with a deep breath, “Have you eaten?”

“I’m not sure how that’s relevant.”

“Just answer the question, Aaron.”

His eyes widen at your use of his first name, and his bottom lip sweeps over his tongue before he answers, “No, I haven’t eaten.”

“There’s this diner this guy I used to see told me about. He never took me though…”

Hotch can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips. The diner you’re referencing is one 5 minutes away from his apartment that he’s mentioned before. He had never taken you because that felt too much like a date, and he didn’t want to scare you away.

“This guy sounds like a drag,” His voice is monotone and you struggle to hold yourself together.

“He can be a little intense, but I don’t know.” You shrug playfully before continuing, “I really care about him. Could see myself being with him for the foreseeable future if he was interested,” You move closer, trailing your finger across his desk.

“He’s definitely interested,” He rises to his feet, coming around the desk to stand next to you.

“Oh, so you two have had a little chat?” You feel your face growing warm under his gaze.

“We’ve had plenty of chats.”

You don’t hesitate to close the gap between you, pressing your lips firmly to his. His hands find your hips immediately, pulling you tightly against his body. He’s licking into your mouth, desperate for the taste of you that he’s been missing for months. As always, your fingers are in his hair, knotting into the silkiness as you anchor him to you. You'll never take moments like this for granted again, melting into him as he kisses you breathless

“I’m sorry, for everything,” You mumble against his lips once the kiss breaks.

He shakes his head, shushing you gently, “It’s alright.”

“It’s not, I shouldn’t have walked away. I got scared.”

“Feeling like these are scary, I understand. Just don’t do it again,” He adds playfully and you look up at him, giggling against his cheek.

“Won’t happen again, sir,” You answer cheekily and he squeezes your hips, long strong figures gripping you tightly.

“Let me finish up here, and then we can head out?”

“Give me more work, I’ll help if I can so we can get out of here earlier,” You offer, eager to leave and talk through everything with him.

“You know what, let’s just call it a night now. Did you drive here today?”

“No…could I…could I stay over at your place tonight?”

His cheeks turn a muted, delicious shade of pink at your question, “I would really like that.”

You lean in for one last kiss before heading back to your desk to pack up your things. Hotch beats you, joining you at your desk with his go bag. You look up at him in surprise, nervous about the few stragglers in the office seeing you together. But he just gives you a reassuring smile, holding his hand out to you.

“Ready?”

For less loneliness. For not being afraid. For spending time with him unapologetically. For caring about him openly and honestly. You're ready for it all.

“Ready,” You say as you slip your hand into his.

if you’d like to be on my hotch taglist, let me know!

tagged: @ssahotchsbitch, @chelseyjoyce, @ssamorganhotchner, @kuolonsyoja, @heliotropehotch, @averyhotchner, @zetasaturno99, @art-and-thoughts, @laurensprentiss, @ssa-montgomery, @thinking-bucky, @ashhotchner, @moonshine-evelyn, @emlynblack, @sunshinemunchkin, @angelfxllcm, @wheelsupkels, @jaspxr, @gspenc, @sadgirlml, @hotchs-bitch, @crowfootwrites, @wilbur-rabbit, @hotched, @aaronhotchy, @mommymunson, @reidselle, @fightingdragonswithreid, @honeybrowne, @rousethemouse, @my-rosegold-soul, @eternal-silvertongued-prince, @mayasreadingnook, @honeyhotchner

[notanotherreidgirl]

ok so imagine that u and virgin!baby boy Reid are roommates (you share an apartment and ur rooms are right next to eachother) and he can always hear u moan every night that you play with yourself, but he feels to guilty to do anything about his little ‘problem’. and suddenly one night he’s like super horny and jerks off, not knowing that you’re awake and can hear everything. you try to drown him out until you hear him moan your name, so you go to his room and slowly open the door so he doesn’t hear you and when he feels you on the bed he’s super apologetic but you’re like “it’s okay baby boy😏” and he’s like “please mommy let me make you feel good🥺” and even though its his first time hes so good and when you let him fuck you hes so whiny and needy 😩😩😩😩

We Shouldn't

Warnings: loss of virginity, masturbating, handjob, oral sex (male receiving), perv!spence, sub!spence, mommy kink, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 1444

A/N: I embellished a bit - apologies

Spencer made life or death decisions nearly every day. He had to carefully craft his words when talking down unsubs and be able to assess dangerous situations in seconds to decide whether or not to shoot someone but now, when faced with a relatively simple choice, he was completely stumped. He had been rooted to the spot for nearly 20 minutes, unable to process the sight before him.

In his defense, Spencer had very little experience with women’s underwear and certainly no experience with something like the lacy little number you had left in the dryer. At this point, he had spent so much time staring at you that he knew without a doubt that they were yours. He also knew that he most definitely should not be picking them up right now or putting them in his pocket or running out of the laundry room and back to his apartment without putting his clothes to dry. And he most definitely should not be stashing your panties in his bedside table. But, alas, should not is not the same as did not.

For example, he should not watch you from his window when you went off on your morning run clad in running shorts and a tank top. He also should not linger behind you in the stairwell, eyes glued to your ass as you bounded up the stairs. And he certainly should not listen to you get yourself off at night but he did, even going as far as to take down his framed map and press his ear up against the wall. Spencer’s only saving grace was that thus far he had managed not to touch himself thinking of you, the overwhelming guilt forcing him to take a cold shower instead. But tonight was different. Tonight the panties in his bedside table were beckoning him as he ate leftover takeout, calling his name as leafed through books he’d already memorized, burning a hole through the wooden drawer as he slipped under the covers and listened for you on the other side of the wall.

There’s no harm in just holding them, he reasoned. The next thing he knew the panties were out of the drawer and in his hand and his pants had somehow slipped to mid-thigh in the process. This could be fine. I’ll find a way to give them back tomorrow and no one will know.

And maybe, just maybe, if Spencer was a man of more restraint he would’ve gotten away with it but he was not. He could hear you getting ready for bed, singing quietly to yourself. It was oddly intoxicating to know that you were going about your business, completely unaware of him and convinced that you were operating within the privacy of your own home.

Except you weren’t ignorant of your next door neighbor. Thin walls worked both ways and you could hear his soft moans reverberating into your own bedroom. You sang a little louder to drown him out, guilt eclipsing your excitement. You had often wondered about the young doctor next door - always coming and going at odd hours, never meeting your eyes or bringing anyone back to his for the night. He was so nervous around you, it made you wonder if he’d ever been with a woman but you shook the thought from your head. I should not be thinking about my neighbor’s sex life or lack thereof.

Just as you resolved to go in the kitchen and leave him in peace you heard it. It was unmistakable. You stilled listening intently, half-convinced your imagination was playing tricks on you as it often did. But there it was again clear as day. “Fuck, Y/N”

You were an overthinker, always going over your options rationally and hardly ever comfortable with making spur of the moment decisions. But you were out of your apartment in seconds, using the spare key he had nervously entrusted you with weeks ago to slip into his place. A little voice in your head tried in vain to talk sense into you. You should not be breaking into an FBI agent’s apartment.

If only should not was the same as did not.

He had his back to you and you took the opportunity to perch yourself on the edge of his bed, the shift in the mattress finally alerting him to your presence. He whirled around in alarm and instinctively tried to hide himself and the stolen underwear, already soaked in precum and wrapped around his erection. You tilted your head slightly, trying your best to hide a smirk. “I thought I heard you calling for me”

“I-no-I can explain,” he flushed a deep scarlet, his futile attempts to conceal his predicament were only making it worse and there was no way he could come up with a plausible explanation with your eyes on him. The panic rising in his chest swelled - the feeling that he had ruined everything starting to trigger an overwhelming urge to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry”

You softened your gaze, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on his thigh. “It’s ok, baby boy”

Just then, something changed. A switch flipped, a light came on, a natural dynamic fell into place. Very gently you took his hand, forcing him to uncover himself.

“Wouldn’t you rather the real thing?” With that you trailed his hand up your thigh and to your soaked core, letting him skim his fingers over the wetness between your legs and take in the notable lack of panties.

“I-uh-yes, but-” he stopped for a moment, searching deep within himself for a shred of courage before blurting out the rest. “I’m a virgin”

Much to his surprise, you didn’t even bat an eye, instead, you sunk down on your knees and ran your hands up his thighs. “Well then, we’d better make this extra special”

You replaced his hands, taking hold of his cock over the panties and setting in with a deliberate pace before running your tongue over his balls. You toyed with the soft flesh until you felt his thighs tremble and the whimpers he had been trying to suppress spilled from his lips. Once you were certain he had abandoned any sense of restraint you started to suck on his balls, relentlessly pulling him into your mouth and teasing him with your tongue. At this point he was incomprehensible, any words he might have said being carried away by the sobs working their way up his throat and the tears streaming down his face. Just when you were sure he’d come you retreated, pressing sloppy kisses down his thighs and removing your hands from his cock.

He whined. “Please, Mommy. Let me make you feel good.”

You pushed yourself up and into his lap, taking your shirt off in the process and cradling his face in your hands. “You think you can make Mommy come?”

He nodded into your chest, capturing a nipple into his mouth and instinctively sucking on it. You guided his hands to your waist and you lined yourself up with his tip, slowly sinking down and adjusting to his size. He gripped your waist tightly, willing himself not to come as he watched himself disappear into you. “All right then, let’s see if you can be a good boy.”

Spencer sprang into action, taking hold and bouncing you on his cock as he rutted into you. Simultaneously he continued to latch onto your breasts, littering your chest with marks. You dug your nails into his shoulders, feeling the tide of your release start to sweep you away. “Yes, just like that, baby. You’re being so good for me. So fucking good. My good boy.”

Just before you reached your peak, you threaded a hand in Spencer's hair and pulled him up to look at you. Those big brown eyes stared up at you, pupils dilated and vision hazy with lust. “I want you to come with me, baby. Right now.”

It was like nothing you had ever felt before, pure euphoria coursing through your veins and only amplifying when Spencer flooded you with his warm release. He gave a few more shallow thrusts, whimpering from the overstimulation before the two of you collapsed back onto the bed. You shifted slightly so you could hold him in your arms without separating, brushing his hair back behind his ear as he buried his face into your neck, now overcome with embarrassment over his actions. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I shouldn’t have taken your panties”

You tightened your embrace and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s ok, darling. I’m glad you did.”

---

Taglist: @thatsonezesty13 @rosienie @newyorkaqua @coldlilheart @spencerreider @newgirlinhell @ssa-natalya-reid @lauryn-need-help @spencerscumrag @gublerzwhore @beepbooptoop @stylesstreet @zoeygraygubler @deiondraaa​ @Nct-nyny @optimisticcloudmoon @centiaaa​ @ifvckedurmom @6r4cie @dontcallmekittens​ @subbyspencereid​ @kuolonsyoja​ @reid-me-a-story​ @spencerreidsmommy @aharvey979​ @lunajoyce3 @kaz_2y567​​ @mystical-and-modern-marauder @marrymespencerrei @idk @blayneve @heymxparker @crypticcorvidinacottage @youabitchhhh @samaraaaaa @spencerreid-mgg @woodstock-14 @eatourart @everyonesfavoritepipecleaner @iilwsr @indigotheshyboy @whytf2457 @spencerreid-187 @spencerreidsmommy @ready-for-spencie

Click here to join a taglist and here to tell me what you thought of this one!