#but he can sense the edges of the secret around that conviction

[flamingwordsinthesky]

Power Swap Au

Can also be read here

The plan was simple: go in, take off his mask and reveal his identity. Once his sister saw it was Johnny, they’d have to let Spider-Man join the Fantastic Four. He couldn’t hide who he was from them anymore. It was hard enough keeping a job and trying to juggle his identity. Sometimes he just wanted to rip the mask off and let people know who he is. But he had no one but Sue to protect anyway. But it was also nice to get away and just be regular Johnny Storm getting ready for his Apprenticeship at a local auto shop.  

But it did feel weird not telling his sister. And his sister could keep a secret. She’s a celebrity too! In a different way maybe but Spider-Man could use the popularity boost, thanks to the Daily Bugle and their efforts to defame him were starting to work. 

As he stuck to the edge of the Baxter Building, he peeked inside and noticed Reed’s mousy intern, talking with the giant Rock monster once known as Ben Grimm. They hadn't noticed him but he kept a focus on the teen who took his spot the day he got bit by that Spider. 

Reed’s little intern. The Human Torch, Peter Parker. 

They’d met before he was hired as Reed’s intern. He caught his attention by scoffing at him when he was hitting on one of the girls in Peter’s class. Despite his nerdy size, he didn’t seem intimidated by him. Like he actually believed he could take Johnny in a fight. 

He’d been more amused by the nerd but was impressed when he was hired as Reed’s intern. If Reed was impressed than the guy had to be doing something right. Peter Parker. Took his spot on the ship that night, Reed’s little trip to space that gave the Fantastic Four their powers. Gifting him the powers of the sun. It turned a young scrappy nerd into a shining star. 

He was scrawny like a metal rod, not a lot to look at but still dangerous in a fight. He should know, he’s seen the guy fight in action. He managed to hold his own against Doombots, moloids, and Johnny knows he saw the guy punch out Puppet Master once. 

He used his fire sparingly, some kind of wrist device on him that extended long whips. Long flaming whips. Whips he used to send himself swinging like Johnny himself. Like he was always supposed to be in the air.

But he’s even more dangerous on fire.

Johnny scoffed as Parker and Ben laughed at a muffled joke as Ben patted his back, like a proud father. Focusing on crawling up to Reed’s lab. Hoping to see Sue and jump in. But the lab looked empty. Opening the unlocked window and jumping in. The very second his feet landed on the ground the alarms went blaring and he tried to escape but there was a whoosh and he almost walked into plexiglass.

The door opens and the alarms stop as the Fantastic Four come rushing in. Despite the chaos Johnny’s attention turned to Sue, who looked at him in confusion. 

He could reveal himself now. Or he could show the Fantastic Four what he’s made of, really show up that Human Torch. 

“Ah come on. This is one big misunderstanding. I mean you guys shouldn’t leave your windows unlocked!”

“We don’t need to be lectured by a vigilante,” Sue said with conviction, but Johnny leaned against the glass. He wondered if Reed installed some sort of super resistant glass or some other scientific glass. He pulled back a punch and smashed the glass, shards bouncing off his gloved hands as the glass broke and crumbled around him.

“DO YOU REALIZE HOW MUCH THAT COST ME?” Reed yelled as Johnny jumped out of the cage and onto the ceiling.

“Probably too much,” He says as his head radiates danger, incoming heat heads his way, jumping to the side and looking at the black spot that could have been Johnny. 

“Peter,” Sue said with disappointment in her voice. Something Johnny was accustomed to. “What?” 

He might actually get killed if he doesn't reveal his identity, but he’d rather not do it upside down. So he jumps down onto the floor but before his feet hit the floor his spider sense warns him of an incoming fist. His hands hit the side of The Thing’s arm and swung his whole body off the arm and over The Thing. There was ringing and Johnny ducked to avoid a ball of flame flying into him. Ben shouted as Johnny stood to glare at the Human Torch.

Okay, so it was time to show them what he was made of. 

He clicked a button on his web shooter, sending out a net to wrap around Ben. The chains of the web clunk and thudded around the rocky body that stumbled and focused on getting out of the chains. Johnny had spent weeks trying to figure out the right chains to use to make flexible and durable web nets that could work wrapping up criminals. Luckily they were durable enough to keep Ben stumbling but Johnny was quick to sweep the large unbalanced feet and down Ben went. 

“That’s it you animated arachnid,!” A voice shouted as Johnny was surrounded by fire in a circle. Johnny tried to jump over it but the heat increased as did the walls of the flames. There was a small opening that hadn't caged him in so he jumped up onto the ceiling. 

Another flying fireball misses him on the ceiling as he jumps and dodges along the white tiles. 

“Come on up here! Maybe you’ll actually hit me!” Johnny taunted him as another fire ball missed. Peter took off his wrist braces holding the chains for his whips. In the blink of an eye he was engulfed in flame. Like a comet he flew up to Johnny, right arm suddenly showing the blue and black of his uniform, and curled into a fist. Without thinking and only moving his body to avoid Peter’s punches. Despite his smaller size, Peter puts everything into each punch as Johnny ignores the heat calming him in its presence.

“How are you doing that?” Peter asks with every avoiding punch. Like Johnny is a hanging punching bag, come to life to mock Peter. 

“Doing what? Avoiding your punches? You just suck at fighting, what can I say flamehead?” Johnny made a catty grin when Peter’s face flushed a little and his brows furrowed in anger. He met Peter’s eyes and noticed that his brown eyes seemed to have some hints of green in them.

That’s when a painful impact of fist to Johnny’s cheek is made, quick and painful, possibly worse if he didn’t have resistant skin and super strength. The punch would have broken someone’s jaw. Not him, all it did was make his cheek hurt but unstick to the ceiling. And like that Johnny was falling. 

“Did that knock the webs outta your head there, web-brain?” Peter said before Johnny adjusted and landed onto the floor.

There was a ringing in his head and ducked with a swoosh of air going around him. So he lunged forward into the body of his sister and sent her flying back. Before he was grabbed by a stretchy hand. 

“Enough!” Reed shouted as the others stood up.Johnny struggled against Reed’s grip, but Reed’s grip was tight and Johnny had no choice. “Why are you here? Do we need to involve the police?”

In all the time Johnny had known Reed, he’d never seen him so serious, brows furrowed in such a way that it told him that Sue’s boyfriend meant it. So he opened his mouth and explained himself. 

“Reed! it’s me Johnny!”

The room fell silent, Reed’s hand releasing Johnny as he pulled back his mask and fixed his hair to his usual style of a side sweep and little curl at the end. Johnny was a bit unsure what to say or do now. If only because Sue looked like she was about to yell at him. That’s something he’d had prepared for but now he’s revealing his identity to everyone. 

“I knew it! I knew Spider-Man sounded familiar!” Ben shouted as he finally broke free of the chains. 

“Johnny, wh-wait, that explains a lot actually.” Reed said. He made eye contact with Peter, who just stared at him like he couldn’t register what he was looking at. 

“Uh, surprise?” Johnny said with a weak smile and rubbed the back of his head. 

***

It took a lot of explaining but Johnny sat with Sue and told her everything. About the spider that bit him. About his powers. About how he stopped a burglar by accident and decided to lean into the superhero business. Yet despite everything said, Sue looked angry at him. 

“Are you insane? You’ve been flying around and beating up criminals this whole time?” she said, worry decorating her already stressed voice. Johnny sat firm in his seat. “And you didn’t think to tell me until now!?”

“Hey! Don’t get mad at me about the vigilante stuff! You guys are superheroes too!” Johnny called out. Knowing that it was technically true. The Fantastic Four dealt with bigger threats than street level crime and the occasional supervillain. But that didn’t mean Johnny didn’t understand the risks, maybe his line of superheroing was a little more dangerous and frequent, they were still heroes. 

“You know what we do is different, you’re dealing with criminals with guns.”

“Oh come on. What else am I supposed to do when I can lift The Thing over my head like he’s nothing and I can keep up with you guys. I’m doing good Sue! I know it’s dangerous but I made it this far!”

“Johnny, you’re 18! You shouldn’t be doing this! You should be focusing on that apprenticeship with Benson. Not saving the city.”

“You expect me to just be normal when I can do this?” Johnny said as he stood and jumped to the ceiling, sticking to it before jumping down. 

“Sue come on, I’m doing good out there!”

“Want you to be safe! Your suit isn’t even bullet proof!” “Can I say something?” A voice said suddenly and Johnny looks to see Peter who is followed by Reed. They whispered to each other for a moment before Reed took a deep breath. 

“Reed, it's fine.” Sue said before looking at Peter like she’s waiting for an explanation, “Alright Peter, what do you have to say?” “I’m the same age as Spider-Man,” Peter said his superhero name like it was something to be proud of. Johnny couldn’t help but just stare at Peter as he talked to Sue like her equal. Sue on the other hand slump her shoulders and look at Johnny quickly. “So you’re fine with me going out there and fighting giant monsters but not Johnny?”

“Peter that-”

“I know some news media like the Bugle call Spider-Man a menace but I also know he’s a hero. He’s saved a lot of people. I’ve seen the guy in action a few times,” He looked at Johnny then with a raised brow “Though he could learn to not just avoid punches.”

“Hey! You only got lucky. Next time I’ll really show you what I can do.”

Peter said nothing to that and looked back to Sue. “Anyway, maybe have a little faith in your brother, he’s already shown that he can hold his own.” Peter finished.

“Wh- I - Are you - How- I-” Then Sue was silent and Johnny was stunned.

Parker was sticking up for him? Talking to his sister like that and defending him. After everything, after all the glares and the ignoring each other. Yet here he was and he actually smiles at Johnny for a moment before looking back at Sue.

Finally Sue let out a groan.

“Okay, fine. It would be hypocritical of me to not be okay with you being a superhero.”

Reed went up to Sue and held her while Johnny turns his attention to Peter. Who looks at him for a moment before turning around and walking out of the room.

“Yo wait Parker!” Johnny yells at him as he chases him out of the room. Peter turns to him with a raised brow.“You didn’t have to do that, that wasn’t your business.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

Peter stayed silent, avoiding looking Johnny in the eye before letting out a long frustrated sigh. 

“She gave me the same talk.”

“What?”

“When we first fought Mole Man. Sue was against me being on the team and said I should focus on college,” For a moment Peter smiles, like he remembers a funny joke. “And the only reason I’m still here is because she agreed to train me and help control my powers.”

The way Peter looked at his own hands, one hand flaming on from the tips of fingers to his wrist. Flames dancing around his hand and illuminate Peter’s face, highlighting his cheekbones with a square jaw, his eyes looking alight as Peter plays with his flame. And for one horrifying moment, he notices that Peter is actually very handsome.

“My powers can be pretty destructive if I’m not careful. So I’m grateful for her helping me train. But when she brought up your apprenticeship, I thought it sucks that you’re already putting yourself out there, voluntarily to help people. You already showed you can take her down. I had to say something.”

Johnny could only open and close his mouth, unable to form words. Peter shook his hand and the flames were gone but he still stood there looking at Johnny. They stood there as Johnny backed away for a moment. His hands itched a little to brush a piece of hair behind Peter’s ear. He couldn’t do that.

“Didn’t think you were so nice,” Johnny says with an air of confidence that hid his nerves. Peter’s eyes did a sweep of the ceiling before pointing a finger at him and looked sternly.

“This is a one time deal. I still you’re a glory-seeking idiot on a good day and your little pulley system is…rough. I’m honestly surprised it works.” Peter examined Johnny’s wrist and his web grapplers. He had spent weeks going to Wyatt to have him help design them with what he had. Only able to get his hands on what he could get from car parts and broken cellphones. Wyatt may have helped design them but he put it together. 

“Well I may not be some super genius like you or Reed but I have my ways.” 

Peter said nothing but gave him an eye roll before turning around “Maybe not. But you clearly got help. But I hope the next time we meet, we’ll get into a real fight.”

Johnny smiled as Peter walked away.

“Looking forward to it.”

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, MHA 284, Replies Part 2

1) “Why Bakugo? You think would suspect that there’s something wrong with the kid that didn’t had a quirk for 15 years then suddenly has super-strength, then less than a year before has energy tentacles and is training to be able to fly? I don’t see aaaaaaanything wrong here, it makes perfect sense his quirk would allow him to do that.”- If the other powers are as flashy and obvious in use as Black Whip, and can’t be subtly used in a fight, like for instance, using Float to get some extra air time mid-leap, then it’s gonna become really obvious really quickly that Izuku actually has multiple powers instead of just a weird singular ability, like everyone else does. And then people are gonna start wondering about him, about how this random powerless kid suddenly got multiple powers out of nowehere. Because the public does have a widespread perception of beings with multiple Quirks, but it’s not that of a hero, but that of the Black servants of villainy, the Nomu. And then people are gonna notice the coincidental timing of how everything started going to shit, starting with the League’s first appearance, right around when Izuku first joined UA. And then people are gonna be thinking “what’s this kid’s connection to the Nomu? Is he secretly a villain spy? Say, wasn’t there talk of a UA traitor some months back…” 2) “Honestly, I would love to see a floating power exploding, can just imagine Midoriya being yeet’s into the sky at mach 5 while people just stare at him getting smaller and smaller at the distance, until finally disappearing like Team Rocket.”- Coincidentally, Izuku’s new ringtone for his phone is “Rocketman”. No, but seriously, they need to be on edge for whenever the laser eyes Quirk starts manifesting, that power can go wrong very fast. 3) “And there ain’t no rest for them, like the songs always warned us about”- All Might never broadcast the information about OFA even after he seemingly killed the man whom the power had been cultivated to defeat. One reason was how personal the whole situation was, but the other, as he somewhat outlined to Izuku during the beginning chapters, is that his condition left him needing to pass his power on, but he didn’t know who to pass it onto. Taking the teaching job at UA wasn’t just to sort out which young student was worthy of the power, it was because only a young, innocent and idealistic child could be trusted to use it in a heroic manner at first. The adults of hero society are too cynical and in many ways concerned with the materialistic over the substance of the job. Even Stain, who shares All Might’s fervour, took that in the opposite direction to become a killer of those he deemed corrupt, showing just how easily those same convictions can be twisted and abused. And if the sheer power of OFA was backing those twisted convictions, then it’s be the second coming of AFO all over again. In many ways, in a world where it doesn’t have the enormous might of AFO to contend against and focus on fighting, OFA is actually a great liability and danger to the wielder than it is an asset. And even if Izuku does eventually overcome Tomura, he’ll still be struggling with the fact that he’s now a marked man for both Villains and heroes who might be hoping for their chance to take OFA for themselves, if they can convince Izuku it’s a good idea. It’s just like Spiderman: Far From Home, really.

4) “Oh, you’re gonna accuse All Might of hiding something? I hope that’s not the case All Might, because we’re way past the point where you should keep secrets.”- Well, in this case, he’s not exactly keeping it a secret, especially since he left evidence that Bakugo picked up on and is fine discussing it with him – it’s specifically Izuku he’s keeping in the dark about it, and that’s because he judges that, quite rightly, Izuku’s simply got so much on his plate that whatever concerns he’s got can wait a while longer until Izuku can better master the powers he does possess. It’s not keeping these secrets hidden forever, it’s merely delaying telling them to Izuku until he’s in a better position to cope with more burdens. 5) “All Might… I can’t believe you’re still doing this shit.

Yeah Yeah sure I bet you’re just ashamed about how Nana died, it probably was your fault and yadda yadda JUST TELL YOUR BOY ABOUT EVERYTHING ALREADY GODDAMMIT”- Well, you’ve had 19+ asks about this, so I won’t add more to the pile. I will just say that, this is the first concrete piece of information we’ve had on the 4th and prior users besides the 1st, as the ones prior to Banjo are those who are right in the Dark Age of Quirks, when AFO’s power was strongest and record keeping was at its worst, meaning there’s arguably very little to find out about them until Izuku can converse with the other vestiges more freely. And the only information we’ve learned is, that the 4th’s death was somehow special than the others’, and it may somehow still have an impact on Izuku himself, despite the gaps between them, which is All Might’s greatest concern. (MHA ch 257) 6) “Oh? Well, I mean, if it was a bit less than 200 years, and there was like, 8 people before Midoriya… Alright, okay, I think now the counting is starting to make sense… But alright, what`s the next quirk on the list? Do tell us, oh venerable All Might, holder of all the knowledge.”- And the minor hint here that there might be more to the deaths of the previous holders than meets the eyes, with All Might’s slight hesitancy about confirming the deaths of every one of the previous holders and the shadowed eyes. The number 4 is traditionally associated with death in Japan, and for some reason, the 4th wielder’s passing was especially noticeable compared to the others… 7) “I can hear the “tsc” of disgusted being uttered by this fucking tsundere. But yet, he didn’t deny it.”- This time, the disgust is aimed at himself, for his inability to fully swallow his pride yet and just apologise to Izuku outright, like some part of him knows he has to, in order to fully atone for his transgressions against him. They made up, but some things still need to be said for the healing to truly begin. 8) “OH HOLY SHIT WE ARE HAVING A MOMENT OF REALIZATION HERE?!

OH MY GOD FINALLY

Alright Bakugo, you’re good on my books. I still hold a grudge for the “jump out of the roof” thing, but I can let bygones be bygones considering you’re finally admitting that you were an asshole.

holy shit this chapter is a goldmine after tall.”- Bakugo always knew that Izuku was naturally more heroic than him, capable of doing the selfless saving deal on instinct that Bakugo had to put effort into, and that rubbed him the wrong way. Not only because it made him feel inferior to Izuku, but also because it’s just not natural for somebody to be that selfless. People are inherently selfish in some manner, for bad and for good reasons, and Izuku being so willing to give of himself without really thinking of the consequences is actually a really bad thing, something that Izuku is naturally blind to, but Bakugo always knew on some level that if he became he hero, he'd not only outshine him, but he’d quickly burn himself out doing it. Perhaps, underneath all the complex and layered emotions in their relationship, some deeply-buried part of Bakugo wanted to protect Izuku from himself when he wanted to make him give up on becoming a hero. As it stands, now Izuku has both the immense power and partial training to enforce his maniac “save everything” willpower into reality, he’s running the risk of eventually turning out like the legend of the Giving Tree, a Tree that gave and gave of itself selflessly for other’s needs until it was naught but a dead and desolate stump. 9) “Of course he doesn’t, it’s Midoriya, he never held that against Bakugo, he always wanted them to go back to being friends, it was I that was the one saying “No! Bad boy! Bad!” and spraying him with a water bottle every time he mentioned something along those lines”- And to fit further into the “endlessly giving” themes, Izuku would freely give out his forgiveness of Bakugo’s past transgressions at any point if it was brought up, whether or not Bakugo had done anything to really earn that forgiveness himself, which is why he’s kept quiet about it all this time, Bakugo doesn’t want Izuku to just plainly accept his apology, he wants to do something for him, that’d make him earn Izuku’s forgiveness for real. It’s refreshing that Bakugo’s stubborn pride is for once being used to justify why he and Izuku haven’t really made up for the right reasons – he won’t let himself be forgiven unless it’s preceded by him actually earning that forgiveness, in order to do it “properly”. 10) “A lot of people online would be mad at you making that comparison All Might, but I think it is quite fitting. Both did some fucked up stuff, hurt people they loved because of their obsession with being the best, and both realized their mistakes and are trying to atone for it, Endeavor by leaving his family and Bakugo by helping Midoriya.

That is the sort of character development I love, that is a redemption arc there. It’s not a goal, it’s a journey.”-  A lot of people were comparing them even before this chapter, what with their spiky hair, flame powers, rivalry with the main hero/holder of OFA- losts of people were noting how Bakugo is basically Endeavour 2.0, but being given his own realisation and redemption moment whilst he’s still young and hasn’t made the kind of mistake you can’t take back yet. In a way, learning from the missteps of the past to do better in the future, especially since he also overheard the whole traumatic backstory from Shoto at the same time as Izuku and it probably resonated a lot more with him and his victory-obsessed streak than he was comfortable with. 11) “And you better say something before Shigaraki sees you and remembers when you didn’t want to join his League of Legends team back at kamino ward. He has never forgiven, and he has never forgotten.”- Somewhat Ironic to put it there, because presently Bakugo is faced with the very real fear that he won’t get the chance to actually apologise to Izuku like he wants to, and in trying to save him from himself and his mortal enemy he may wind up losing that chance and his lease on life at the same time. 12) “Oh, are both of them gonna jump in the fray to help Midoriya? Hide your roads, the big guy is stepping in once again!”- Bakugo doesn’t yet have his own Quirk’s firepower honed to the level of destruction that the experienced Endeavour can pull off, but he’s in much better shape than him. If he can make an opening for Endeavour to land a big damaging hit when Tomura’s injuries are slowly stacking, then there’s a chance they might actually be able to pull this off without Izuku having to finish his Farewell to Arms moment. 13) “OH HOLY SHIT SO MIDORIYA WAS HITTING HIM WITH 100% MOVES ALL THIS TIME?! AND HIS ARM IS STILL HOLDING ON

JESUS THIS BOY IS FUCKING PISSED FOR REAL”- The downside to Float is that, lacking self-population to help ground his attack attack in mid-air, Izuku’s higher-level attacks actually blow him backwards from his own inertia. It’s useful to “fly” with in a certain direction, as he showcased in the training with Uraraka, but when actually hitting somebody he’s gonna go flying backwards just as fast as they do. However, with Black Whip, Izuku’s ensnared Tomura and is using the tether to reel him back in for another blow again and again, no matter how far apart they’re knocked back. In essence, he’s turned Tomura into a human paddleball.

14) “MIDORIYA IS READY TO COMMIT MURDER HOLY SHIT WE DO BE IN THE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT CHAPTER AFTER ALL”-  Mercy is a privilege afforded to those you can best with ease. Tomura’s made himself too strong for Izuku to do anything less than land the killing blow on him as many times as it takes to make him stay down. 15) “Midoriya that’s not the unexpected speech that you think it is, we saw you pretty much blow up every single bone in your body getting here, you really think we were expecting anything but you self-sacrificing in the name of protecting others? Pssht, my boy, what I am surprised is about is how there’s still solid bones on your arms after those last few minutes of fighting”- It’s not just that he’s sacrificing his well-being and potentially his life to stop Tomura. The doctor warned him that overdoing the ligament damage like he did against Muscular would permanently paralyse his limbs afterwards, leaving him crippled for life and incapable of being a hero, in much the same way that him being Quirkless handicapped him from getting the profession in the first place. Midoria going this far may have already done too much damage to his body to recover from. At this point, the worse outcome for Izuku isn’t that he dies fighting Tomura, it’s that he survives, but has to deal with the rest of his life stuck helpless to save others in danger around him. Izuku may very well be killing his hero career with every single blow he unleashes on Tomura, and it still might not be enough.

16) “And this was everything I ever hoped for him. I said a lot how even though I despised Bakugo as person, I always liked him as character because I could see the pride being carefully chipped away chapter after chapter, and in some cases that chipping was with a sledgehammer, but even so, it was a slow process until he actually changed.”-

@thelreads

[snowflakesstrawberrymatcha]

Sleepover

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Montague x fem!reader

A/N: Night Classes kill me, but I survived!, Sorry if you didn't see any story from me...Special story from me!

TW: Nothing I can thing of.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡°

I pulled my thick, oversized sweater tighter around me as I stepped into Montague's modest little home, or rather, his stronghold of ambition. It was strange—his dark coat and impeccably groomed black and white hair gave him an air of someone powerful, but standing here, surrounded by the shadows of towering bookshelves and gilded artifacts, made me feel oddly comforted.

"Welcome," he said, his voice smooth as silk, yet with an edge that hinted at the fire simmering beneath. Those heterochromatic eyes of his—one brown, the other blue—held a kind of intensity I had never encountered before. It was as if he was gazing straight into my soul, assessing, challenging. I fidgeted with the hem of my sweater."Thanks for inviting me over," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. We had grown close over the past few weeks, sharing secrets under the pretense of studying for exams, but tonight felt different, charged with unsaid emotions.

"You’re welcome. I believe in fostering relationships outside of the Society," he replied, smirking ever so slightly. The Society—his brainchild, an exclusive group that gathered the wealthiest minds to discuss matters of power and influence. I was just a student, but Montague saw potential in me, believing I could help change the world. We settled into his cozy living room. Books lined every inch of the walls; some were filled with arcane knowledge, while others were modern tomes on strategy and influence. I watched as he moved with grace, pouring hot tea into two mismatched cups. "They say the best ideas are shared over tea," he remarked, handing me a cup. I took a sip, the warmth spreading through my fingers.

As we chatted about nothing and everything, I couldn’t help but notice the way his lips curled when he spoke passionately about his ambitions. But I was haunted by the weight of my own feelings for him—this merging of admiration and something deeper that I dared not name.

He smiled, and for a split second, the world outside faded. I felt an inexplicable sense of belonging, a longing that wrestled with my mind, urging me to break the silence. "Montague," I began hesitantly, "tell me why you think wealth is power."Montague leaned back, his eyes sparkling with intrigue. "Wealth can shift the balance of influence," he started. "It allows access to ideas, opportunities, and the ability to mold the very fabric of society. But underneath it all, it’s not just the power of resources; it’s about the connections you build, the alliances you forge."

His voice dripped with conviction, and I felt myself hanging on his every word. "And yet," I interjected, "don't you think there’s more to life than that? What about love?" The atmosphere shifted. His gaze turned contemplative, and I caught a glimpse of vulnerability as he pursed his lips. “Love, you say? It can be a distraction, a weakness. But...” he faltered, his eyes searching mine as if he was weighing the truth of my words.

Before I could respond, the lights flickered, and we heard the rolling thunder outside. The storm had rolled in faster than we expected. I stood up to close the window, feeling a thrill race through me as the rain began to pour, painting the world outside in shades of gray. “Would you like to do something a little less serious?” he suggested, an unusual twinkle in his eyes. “Let’s make this sleepover memorable.”

“What do you have in mind?” I asked, feeling a rush of anticipation. He chuckled, that deep, infectious laugh that I adored. "I have an absurd amount of board games. We could see who really has the strategic edge." And so, we dove into a world of playful rivalry. As the night wore on, the atmosphere became lighter. Laughter echoed off the walls, and I found myself captivated by Montague in ways I hadn’t expected. I discarded my initial perception of him as a cold strategist, seeing instead a man willing to let go of his burdens, even if for just a while.

After a particularly heated game of strategy, he fell back on the couch dramatically, his mismatched eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ve bested me at my own game,” he declared, a mock seriousness to his tone. “How could a mere student defeat a founding member of the Society?”I laughed, playfully nudging him with my foot. The warmth in the room seemed to grow, matching the flutter in my chest—one I had tried to ignore but couldn’t any longer. “Maybe you underestimated me,” I replied, trying to maintain a façade of confidence.He fixed me with a gaze that felt like an eternity. “Maybe, just maybe, you have something no one else in the Society has—a heart willing to challenge the norm.”

As electricity hovered between us, I impulsively blurted, “Is that why you invited me here? To see if I could fit into your world?”Montague sat up, his demeanor suddenly serious. “No,” he said, his tone earnest. “I invited you here because I wanted to spend time with you, away from the pressures of the Society.”

We were quiet for a moment, and the storm howled outside as if offering a dramatic underscore to our uncharted territory. I took a breath, heart racing. “Montague, do you think love can indeed coexist with power?” His expression softened, and he leaned closer, brushing his thumb against my knuckles. “I believe love is a power of its own. It can drive ambition but also distract. It… complicates what we think we know.”

Underneath the glow of dim candlelight, with the patter of rain serenading us, I dared to tilt my head slightly, brushing my lips against his. The world felt electric as he responded, kissing me back with a thoughtfulness that took my breath away. As our kisses deepened, the weighty ambition and the longing for love collided in an exhilarating rush.

Montague, the embodiment of dreams and desires, held onto something more than power; he held the promise of a shared journey—one where hearts of diamond and steel could beat together, forging a new destiny within the shadows of ambition.

And for that moment, in the midst of a storm, two hearts dared to hope.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

[ivy72376]

NEW BEGINNINGS, March 1-31, 2023

Sound sleep is the ultimate success... Yes, we can have everything we want in life: wealth, fame, status, adventures and miles, experiences and milestones; yet, the truest tests of whether we have arrived are peace, confidence and faith, and a sound sleep... When one grows older however, sleep is hard to come by, which is biological; and which makes us doubt whether babies who sleep soundly live better than insomniac adults... And our story and text today would seem to affirm that... For indeed, innocence of evil and wrongdoing, the absence of malice and greed, bereft of pride and selfishness, we can truly trust the One who made us; and we can truly manifest that we have faith in His salvation and healing, in His provision and protection, in His leading and love...

#HappyMarch312023

The real good... An online writer expressed sorrow over one of his favorite Christian singers who abandoned the faith for disillusionment, whom he said ultimately declared that he doesn't believe in God anymore, that is, the God preached to him since he was a kid, and a pastor's kid at that... And we feel regretful too, over such things, but more than that, over the people and the situations that that person said made him lose faith, especially since one of those was what he said was the lack of consistency between what the Word preaches and what most believers claim to be their faith and convictions, against what they do... And we call such hypocrisy and disconnect as sin, what the apostles in these passages proclaimed as not doing the good we ought to do, but instead doing what is not good--for strengthening our connection with our God and with others... Personality tests indeed prove that the self-righteous--particularly those who say and outwardly manifest adherence to the traditions and rituals of their faith--have the dirtiest and often most perverse secret sins; much like those who claim to know a lot and feel superior over other people, especially over those whom they think are of lower rank and status than them, are actually massively ignorant and incapable... May we truly see ourselves before the eyes of our Maker, be fair and just to all, and remain humble through all of life's ups and downs; that we might not cause others to stumble in the faith, and that we might have peace and confidence until we meet our Great Judge and King at the end of our days...

#HappyMarch302023

When life doesn't go according to plan... There were dreams we had lost, places we would have wanted to go and explore, things and opportunities we would have wanted to do, but we didn't and never got to, because life, and the connections and hold of our loved ones prevailed... If we had and if we did, things would surely have turned out differently... But as it is, and like every prayer and wish not granted, it seemed that God had other plans for our lives... It might seem torturous and annoying, almost to the point of disillusionment, but really, since we are limited by our own concepts of time and mortality, age and space, we might think that we can just settle with what we have been given... But if like Moses, we trust that God had better and greater plans, then surely, that too will manifest... Our losses and misses today mean that our victories and hits lie just around the bend, if we only be patient and wait just a little while for them to be revealed and come to fruition... For He has never abandoned His beloved, and we can trust that as His nature and promise, He always works out everything for good...

#HappyMarch292023

The right mindset... Our cute 8-year-old neighbor's kid very confidently talks about "mindset", not really understanding the word itself, but just mimicking what he probably hears in video games... And he's right to a certain extent too... All of us have our own issues and concerns; we deal with different situations daily, that stresses us out, puts us on edge, and generally threatens our peace and sense of stability... But if we have the proper "mindset", that is, when we prayerfully and in faith, trust or cast our cares on our Maker and Savior, He truly blesses us with wisdom to handle everything with grace and peace... And it's not the kind that is forced, nor a pretense of being cool and calm outwardly just so people will see us poised and confident, but real peace; that whatever happens in life, in abundance and want, both when our dreams come true or our plans fail, either when people fulfill their commitments or break their promises, we are confident and secure that our God makes a way for us, and that everything works out well... May we be encouraged by this, and may our hearts be set at peace...

#HappyMarch282023

The love shield... A character in a popular children's book stated that the 'Boy Who Lived' was saved from certain death by the shield of love from his mother, as she gave her life to protect her infant son from the evil one which massacred their family... That story also reminds us of the power of prayer, in which we heard of testimonies that certain people were saved from destruction and a wayward life because somebody cared enough to pray for them... And too often, real, loving, heartfelt prayer is done in secret; for the moment we brandish it to the world, when we impress people that we are prayerful, we lose its essence of love, we diminish its capacity to affect and change lives... May we instead show that we care for others, that we truly love them, not in telling them that we pray for them, but that we show such in how we understand them, how we are patient with their issues and concerns... For real prayer bears fruit in discernment, where we begin to understand how people feel, and what are their unsaid needs and challenges, and makes us rise to the occasion by meeting so, with generosity and humility... With our prayers and true love, may we shield people from the discouragement and disillusionment that life's downturns bring, and may we help encourage and strengthen their faith in God and humanity...

#HappyMarch272023

Situation-ships... Some Bible experts argue a homosexual relationship in the story today, thereby encouraging to affirm LGBTQIA+ relations in the faith, seeing as great men of God seems to be involved in it too... One can't argue with them or with the traditionalists, because of spirited, aggressive, often hostile discussions on both sides... However, for the sake of identity, sanity, and peace, one best remembers the true essence of friendship: that, like the one written about between God Himself and Abraham, it transcends age, gender, sexual and intimate relations, intellectual capacities, power and authority status, race, and time... May we learn to celebrate instead our nature of being made in God's image, and build ourselves and our connections on the soul-level, where each one of us seek only the good of our friends and acquaintances, where we celebrate each of our milestones, where we respect the ideas and issues of our colleagues, and instead of throwing our weight around, gently nudge each other in case we forget or are remiss in our obligations, where we do not brandish errors and mistakes, that the erring ones may be castigated as examples, hoping that such may inspire adherence in others, but rather, to pick up the slack... Because truly, punishments and penalties, even when the law says are the requirements for implementation, have been proven by history to be untrue and ineffective in the face of love, freedom, respect, tolerance, and understanding... For indeed, what better way to manifest true love and real humanity than inspiring and encouraging others to do good, to fulfill our duties, and when we see what's lacking in others, to be the better person in being generous and in extending some form of comfort and reassurance? ...

#HappyMarch262023

Everyday is a chance to do better... Most of us believe that, but sadly, because many of us would want to protect our pride, our self-serving interests, we always default to our usual old ways of doing things; so much so that corruption and greed, abuse and oppression always reign... If we but study nature however, we learn of its great adaptability in the onslaught of the changing seasons, to try to survive and thrive until the day it becomes extinct... And so we realize that no matter what comes next, we need not worry, nor should this confidence be the source of any feeling of superiority... Because each of us is given grace each day to welcome the love and mercy showered to all by our Maker; and each one of us are given talents and skills to make do with whatever we have in life, and make of them something better and greater...

#HappyMarch252023

More than a voice in the head... It is amazing to me how some people could claim to hear the voice of God speaking to them yet, they could still put themselves in positions of moral and spiritual supremacy, proclaiming judgments of others, either to outright condemnation or worse, taking of and over their persons, properties and most cruelly, their lives... We see a lot of documentaries these days exposing such charlatans... Maybe false prophets and teachers get away with it because the natural human need to belong, to be accepted, no matter how shallow or pretentious the manner in which the giver manifests it, make us gullible... Never mind that we often forget the appropriate response of God's people had been humility in the face of revelation, obedience and wisdom and not prideful proclamations and solicitations for material things and unpaid labor bordering on slavery in the name of volunteerism... Good thing though is that we have the Word as a strong, moral compass: anything that flies in the face of logic and reason that our Creator has ordained in the universe, anything that oppresses and abuses, that demeans and devalues life and dignity--whether human and everything else, anything that ruins the peace and beauty of the natural universe, is most probably evil and must be avoided or shunned... May we live our days as good stewards; for it is by showing deep respect to the Word and work of our eternal Master, that we can truly fulfill our mission of spreading His good message of love, and hope and peace...

#HappyMarch242023

Making a life... Sometime ago, some young college friends retorted about the use of doing well and getting good grades in their minor and units-bracketed subjects, when it is the major ones they need to get evaluated on for graduation... And I responded with what I've learnt and realized from my time in university until now: "It may be our major subjects that teach us how to make a living; but it is our minors that teach us how to make a life"... "Physical education teaches us sports and camaraderie, English hones our communication skills, Filipino makes us more aware and appreciative of our national language, History makes us not forget the past that we might learn how to deal with the present better, and the natural sciences teach us more about life, nature and the environment so we could become better stewards of them"... For all its intents and purposes, a holistic, well-rounded education makes us less ignorant and more responsible people... And this, more so, in our study of the Word; especially when we learn more about the life and times they were written, when we validate them with other factual and recorded sources, and most meaningfully and fruitfully when we live them daily, until we reach its goal of making us into our Creator's worthy heirs and children--the ultimate peacemakers and ambassadors of His love and grace to each other and all creation... May we not let our education in life and the Word go to waste, and use them as part of our everyday identity, and source of wisdom, hope and strength...

#HappyMarch232023

Sabbaticals and work-life balance... Few people realize that one of the clearest sources of these two practices is the Word itself, because it records the Creator of the universe declaring and blessing the days or such days to be so... In our race to perform well, to meet worldly expectations, to get recognized and promoted by the world, to get compensated handsomely and earn our worth in people's eyes, we try our best to work really hard, to put in long hours, even working all seven days a week, holidays, working until late nights... We forget that nights are created for rest and recuperation, and Sabbaths (or days of rest; in our culture, that is, weekends) are for the restoration of our humanity and souls; so much so that whether we admit it or not, when we trespass such God-ordained and nature-set times and still struggle to do our money-earning endeavors, we disrespect the Creator of the universe, and ultimately, we cannot stop our health from deteriorating, our emotional and mental faculties from getting off-balance... Fundamentalists argue that we are in the last days, and the Son of God is very, very soon coming back... In the physical realm, we feel it to be so: we are at an inflection point--in climate, in human-made systems, in civilization... Maybe we should slow down and think, try to get back to the essence of who we are, sans the trappings of modern life that we pursue in the name of status and convenience, and give more time to rest and fellowship with family and friends, and especially more time with God, alone, and in nature; so that we could enjoy the blessing He proclaimed on the rest day, at His resting moments... For there lies His power and joy, and there lies our hope, to strengthen and encourage us all our days and beyond...

#HappyMarch222023

Our walk manifests our character... Some of us are so seemingly vocal about the things we want, while secretly manipulating things to go our own way, even if it means that there are people we pull down and step all over to get ahead... We think that if we project what we think is a transparent attitude, that makes us more relatable, nicer, promotable, desirable... But actually, who we are and what we want need not be spoken out loud, for our walk, whether in the physical and spiritual, reveal to the world our desires and dreams, our thoughts, our goals and destinations... That is not just manifesting, but truly living out the fruits of the Spirit in our lives... For if we really are as great as we parade ourselves to be, that should equate to humility and magnanimity, peace and joy, contentment with what our God has blessed us with, freedom from materialism and envy, vigilance and care about others and the environment, wisdom and love... No cosmetic procedures indeed can make over a wicked heart and a rotten soul; but a humble heart and meek spirit, as proclaimed by our Lord and Savior Himself, will endure and inherit the earth...

#HappyMarch212023

Herein do we know if we have truly succeeded, if we have truly lived out our faith and convictions, if we have indeed let the Holy Spirit bear fruit in our lives--we are content, patient and enduring... Because in whatever business we may be: in the God-business with an undying desire for more and more members and a larger and larger church and reach, or in the secular with the unquenchable lust to be promoted and to earn more and more, we will soon learn that there is no end in sight, and that the pinnacle we aim for is hollow and shallow... For a life completely lived is a life content every moment, with appreciation for each little event and milestone, secure in the knowledge of our God's provision and care, fully aware and accepting of life's realities and issues, knowing and being confident by finding value and beauty in the little ordinary aspects of life; that we truly and without burden, gain and receive love, respect, peace, and wisdom until the last of our days...

#HappyMarch202023

Uncoloured, unlabelled... One of life's truest blessings is when God sends people our way to accompany us in our journey, helping us see how good life is, how much more fun and pleasant it can be, and how much more peaceful and confident we become when we learn to trust and deal with everything in wisdom and love... And they could be people within our family, our neighborhood and community, and even complete strangers... For we not only proclaim and preach the Word by talking about it; but more than declaring our faith, we confirm it to be true and alive, and we glorify our Creator and King with every act of kindness and understanding, with every word spoken in humility and consideration of others, with every thought and prayer for peace, health and abundance we utter for ourselves, our next of kin, the people around us and those whom we meet and interact with each day...

#HappyMarch192023

The insidiousness of self-righteousness... Sometimes we get all absorbed in our so-called life achievements, in working in the best jobs in the great companies, in being perfectly married and raising the very best kids, in being very active with our nice little communities and social circles, that sooner or later, with just a mere pink slip, a little health blunder, a minor accident, a slip of the tongue, we realize that all our little hypocrisies and illusions have crept up and built themselves up to shatter our glass houses... It is then we realize how shallow a pretentious life can be, how devoid of meaning our illusions and desires to be on the pinnacle of perfect living... And that is the ultimate sin: living obsessed only with our own agenda without giving respect to others' issues and concerns, desiring only to pursue our own passions without giving a chance to others to express their opinions and ideas, hogging all the limelight and advancement opportunities, being the queens and kings at home and bringing the same attitude wherever, forgetting that life is solitary, but living is communal--not only with our nuclear family, but with neighbors, friends, colleagues, the service workers we meet as we go through our day, and most especially strangers... May we learn to be less selfish, be more understanding and humble, be more vigilant of our rights and the rights of others, to uphold peace and justice and fairness; that we might not fall prey and accomplice to envy and pride, to hypocrisy and oppression, to discrimination and abuse...

#HappyMarch182023

Alone and confident... In a very real macabre twist to our story today, it seems that from far-flung rural areas to the middle of bustling metropolises, crimes against people living alone have increased in recent years... Yet, demographic data show that as World population continues to age, more and more people find that they have to live alone and independently, far from the support of immediate family and friends... We can still have hope and be confident however, because we have a God who cares for us, who gives us wisdom and a keen mind to protect ourselves and secure our property and person, and who always sends good people our way to inspire us, and even give us company and fun in our most desolate moments... May we learn to trust that everything in our lives will work out well, if we remain humble and faithful in what He said we should be and do... And even when the rhymes of everyday living and reason and logic have abandoned us, with our minds clouded with senility and old age, may we have faith that our God will always watch over us, root for us, and give us courage and confidence to our last breath...

#HappyMarch172023

Knowledge is its own reward... And so it is that bibliophiles are some of the few truly contented persons on earth... But reading does not actually just involve the academic, the fictional, or in this case, the Word itself... For as we love our Lord and Savior so much we never get tired of reading about Him, we show our affection best by knowing more about the times and life He lived in through reading other historical and archaeological sources; and we show our true obedience when we read people--because all of us no matter our gender, nationality, beliefs and persuasions are for whom He came and died for... More than preaching about the good news, we experience the good news manifested in our lives and the lives of others when we read and understand others, even strangers, especially those whom we perceive are different and of lower status than us, and treat each other with respect and courtesy, with kindness and consideration, with generosity, wisdom and love... And that is what it means to live as people of His book, people who live on His terms...

#HappyMarch162023

Still, silent, waiting, goes a long way... And our story today, and incidentally, the Doodle we woke up to this morning express the same thing: it is when accepting who we are in the eyes of our Maker, in the company and comfort of those who truly love and care for us, we learn how beautiful, rich, diverse and deep with meaning and purpose life is... That in the face of the everyday onslaught of stress and tension, the demands of work and the ratrace of corporate struggles, we can do much not in giving in by filling our plates with much more than we can handle, with achieving more and more, with climbing the ladder ever higher; because true success and achievement lie in humility and acceptance, that yes, we may be passed upon and forgotten, left behind and down, but like Filipino adobo that comforts the body, soothes the heart, and pacifies the soul, our God is with us every which way when we remain humble and hopeful, patient and persevering, unassuming, honest, transparent, generous and wise...

#HappyMarch152023

It's not an "us against them" world, but "us against our ignorant, sick minds"... And that seems to be the case with every discriminatory situation we encounter, with every act of violence, abuse and hate we see and experience around us... And the Word today gives us the cure--love, not between lovers, because that too is actually bordering in the zone of selfishness, insularity and narrow-mindedness--but with those around us whom we perceive to be of lower status, of weaker and baser qualities, of more common, ordinary or unassuming, often-despised and ridiculed physical features,of those who have faith, beliefs, persuasion and convictions different than us... May we truly live out the Words of our Savior, and be more understanding and kind, respectful and courteous to all... Because how we treat those we feel inferior than us, reflects the quality of our character...

#HappyMarch142023

It's a run, it's a walk, it's a marathon and a journey... Life that is, and for one who is not a runner like me, I take all of its challenges walking, preferring to go by my goal card and pace in appreciating the goodness and provision of God through and through, step by purposeful and meaningful step all the way... As people created in the image of our God we run and walk in different speeds and paces, but all of us are ultimately cared for and supported by, and accountable only to Him, the One who breathed life on us... Therefore we have no right to gloat over others, to judge how life turns out for them, to condemn or ridicule if we don't like the way they live their lives, or to resolve and try to emulate what comes to them believing that "if they can, so can we", which is the heart of envy and pride... May we learn to live with the mindset that matters, to do our best to remain kind and courteous to all, to respect other people's rights, choices, time and issues; that we may truly be worthy to be called faithful and good...

#HappyMarch132023

Not sowing discord... Many wise and cheeky people say to keep our friends close, and our enemies closer... Which for greed and selfishness, really does pay well; but strangely, in a positive manner, also spiritually a fulfillment of our Savior's command to love our enemies and to do good to those who mistreat us... Indeed, what ultimately reckons with us in the daily accounting of our deeds, words and motivations is our conscience; which, if we live in peace and understanding with each other's issues and concerns, give us confidence and a sound and healthful sleep at night... A peaceful soul is a healthy soul, which translates to a healthy mind and body... When most other people want to get ahead even if they have to put down and deprive others; when many want the higher ups to be impressed with them even if they badmouth and slander others; then, maybe we have to leave them to it, give them what they lust for, which ultimately won't last long anyway and still makes them dispensable... The most important thing is that we get to keep our peace, our sanity, our souls, safe in the loving and powerful hands of our God and Prince of Peace...

#HappyMarch122023

Healing waves... Herein does one know that many people are unsettled, anxious, stressed out, whatever may be their professed belief, religion, affiliation or persuasion: grumpiness, rudeness, short-tempers, rage and tirades when experiencing even the slightest issues and provocations... Hence, social media is awash in ambient sounds, ASMR, meditation videos and audios... For truly, as hugely complicated are the inner workings of our bodies as well as the nanoscopic and unseen forces that power up its functionings, sound waves particularly have a significant impact; especially since doctors and scientists say all that causes us pain and illness start from inflammations, and strangely they are minimized if we are able to relax and slow down a bit... And our story today shows a great example, where to a highly stressful and insecure job as leader whose days in position are numbered, music soothes the demons that plague one's psyche... May we always listen to good music, the ones that affirm how good life is despite its hardships and difficulties, and shows us how loved and cared for we are by the God who designed and created us, and who holds the breath of life that powers every small details of our bodies, even to the connections and communications of our neurons, hence how we think, feel, understand, make choices, decide and resolve to persevere...

#HappyMarch112023

Non-toxic positivity... True, loving and honest encouragements truly give people the feeling that they are loved, needed and supported; the toxic ones, well, their insult, sarcasm, abuse and oppression oozes out... And as believers, we have to be careful of this... For we might just say the words, but if we don't have an ounce of empathy, if we cannot imagine ourselves in the shoes of another, if our encouragement actually couches languages of self-righteousness and condemnation of the other person's choices, preferences and character, we better keep silent... For silence itself is golden, as the hallmark of one who listens deeply and tries its best to understand the other person's story, is a greater encouragement than all the positive, rosy and flattering platitudes combined... More than talk, we start with listening, we begin with understanding and caring...

#HappyMarch102023

What's on our walls... The story today hits close to home, as, being a museum junkie and a primarily visual learner, I belong to those groups of people who can't appreciate and remember something unless I see a constant reminder... Yet, being poor and due to the humble structure of our abodes, we put our visual reminders on our walls instead of on doorframes, not of pricey or expensive beautiful paintings we cannot afford, but of verses and words that encourage, build up, affirm, gently rebuke and keep to mind... And countless times, this has indeed brought comfort and peace, healing and enlightenment to our souls... In our virtual or social media life, as much as in the physical, may we examine what cones up in our walls, and make sure that for us and others, these affirm and remind us of the greatness of our God, the beauty of life and creation, and the goodness and potential of others too...

#HappyMarch092023

The solitary in families... In this life, even with progress in the assertion of rights and respect, a lot of women are still objectified and abused, treated second class, considered only for their bodies and reproductive obligations, and passed up when it comes to benefits, proper pay and recognition... Yet reading the Word in its entirety shows us that our God upholds women and affords them due honor as the second half of humanity... If one is confused and prejudiced, dismissive, oppressive and abusive to women because of their perceived superiority towards whom they perceive as weak, it is ignorance of the worst kind and have no proper and right basis in scripture and faith... And so we learn that a lot of us must change our attitudes and not find validation in how people see us and in what tradition dictates; for our God meets our needs and predicaments every which way: Father to the fatherless, Defender of the oppressed, Lover of the neglected, Provider of widows, and Family to the solitary and single... May we indeed find and settle on His acceptance, His recognition, His respect, His provision, His love...

#HappyMarch082023

In different paces... Our story today is far too common, but not in the way the author interpreted it, that is; because far too often we see others' weaknesses and relapses as lack of faith, and think that they are forever lost to the ultimate hope of a happy ending and reconciliation... There is that one element we should all overcome however: the pride, prejudice and self-righteousness of one who thinks that he or she is better than others because outwardly, they are religious, faithful church service attendees, and vocal about their faith and conviction... For as our Savior even overlooked Peter's momentary cowardice and betrayal, so too He overlooks our discouragements, weaknesses and momentary exhaustion and rest; seeing only our great potential and contribution by working for His kingdom, in different paces, in different places, at different times... And so, it is of the enemy to believe that they who are not of our little congregations are doomed, because corralled sheep that have not known life's true challenges are easy prey to lies and deception by ravenous wolves; but they who have been exposed to much difficulties, even rejection, misunderstanding, abandonment and harsh judgment, are in a better position to gain victory and live lives truly filled with God's Spirit, bearing fruit, overflowing with His grace and mercy, shining examples of His light and love...

#HappyMarch072023

Alone, but not lonely... In our increasingly lonelier and anxious world, one needs stronger connections to get through life, to stay sane, to remain hopeful and strong... Yet, it is also a fact that as more and more of us ages, and less and less born to replenish our kind, more and more of us will find ourselves alone many times, either through our choice, or the choices of others... But, as an introvert, thankfully, we are not stranger to being left alone, left out, or unnoticed, unacknowledged and unrecognized... Good thing too, that we have faith in a God who always attends to our needs, and at each moment, cares for our concerns and our dreams and plans... May we always put our hope in this, and hold on in faith that even if the rest of the world turns its back on us, the God and Creator of the universe will always give us His time and attention, His provision and peace, His love and mercy...

#HappyMarch062023

Seen and known... An omniscient God is scary, yet that is what we believe about the God we worship... One wonders however, how some people can act with seeming impunity, hurting others with words and actions, pulling their weight around, robbing and depriving others of their God-given rights, their hard-earned fruits of labor, their humanity, if they are aware the Highest Deity sees them, knows them, and would surely make them pay for it?... But then we realize that because our God knows and sees us, He also knows that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, what doesn't deprive us of one breath today is a chance to rise up to life's challenges and persevere for a better and greater tomorrow... And so we trust that because we know we are seen and known, that all our hardships and difficulties, the abuses and oppressions we receive are nothing compared to what awaits us; for we might feel injustice and unfairness today, but surely, in faith we can believe that our reward, our deliverance, our greatest breakthroughs and victories lie just ahead...

#HappyMarch052023

Stiff necks... We sometimes get them in the morning, thinking that maybe we only turned our heads to one side when we slept, so that our necks became sore when we woke up... But sometimes, I observe that we get them when we carry things too heavy for what we can comfortably accommodate... And that may just be all on the physical side, but strangely it seems to be how it is on the spiritual and mental side of things... When we don't listen to good advice, to reason, to logic, to the Word, we find that though we may get what we want, it comes at a cost too painful, too heavy, too material to affect our character, disposition and overall perspectives... And sometimes too, when we fail to acknowledge what's good in others and not recognize their potential, but insist that only we are right and qualified, when we bite off more than we can chew, at the end is misery and pain... May we learn to be humble, and like the proverbial cat who looks at both sides before crossing the street, consider the effects of our words and choices, our actions and fleshed out motivations on others, that we might avoid becoming stiff-necked and a 'pain in the neck' for others too...

#HappyMarch042023

Serpents in our midst... Not a few of us have encountered, and unfortunately have been victimized, by people who say and do one thing, but when it comes to preserving their ego, would not hesitate to betray us or sell us out... And I do not dare use the word snake on them, because our reptile buddies are quite predictable, studied and known; whereas there is no end to the selfishness and greed, the venom and vitriol, the abuse, suffering and agony unleashed by traitors... Yet, we thank God that, like in our story today, He doesn't betray us, He does His best to give us what is good and fair, He gave His all, even His Son, to show His love and grace... We can take comfort in the hope that the human serpents in our lives will soon experience what an ancient serpent in a fabled garden has experienced (if we don't lose ourselves, our cool and calm, our poise and integrity in the face of their attacks) - - these will soon be driven out from a life that is full of peace and love; and all the things that they have accumulated as rewards from their oppressions and abuses of others will soon come to nothing... Inspite of life's challenges made more difficult by traitors in our midst, may we still go on in faith, in patience, in wisdom, peace and love...

#HappyMarch032023

Healthy feeding... No one would doubt doctors and health professionals when they say we have to eat healthy and clean, in order to live productively functioning lives in wellbeing... But it seems that isn't the same sentiment when it comes to our minds and souls... Not just during the pandemic, but especially with the use of social media, far too many of us spend more time on useless and shallow content that only elicit mockery and cheap laughter, envy and pride; instead of those things that make us learn more about life on earth, about civilization and commerce, human behavior and culture, about history and facts... And that is reflective of our spiritual and moral feeding too... May we be grounded more on how to make life better for others, and ours but not at others' expense; for as we seek to do good, to be fair and just, to be understanding, generous and kind, to learn more, we get closer to knowing our God and how He works in each of us, and we lean more towards how best we can live His Word in our lives, and how to make it bear fruit...

#HappyMarch022023

The length of our work week... This generation and these times invite us to think about the things we work for, and how we do it... In generations past, we were taught to work doubly hard for every peso that we earn, to put in long hours, to always be on call in order to be called responsible... But we realize those things prove hollow and our dreams and aims shallow; for far too many have paid with their lives and health for a promotion, for a recognition, for a raise; for indeed, no amount of the highest salary, and no level of the highest status could ever come up to the value of a life, mental and physical well-being, relationship with family, kids and friends... May we take up our Savior's offer, who gave us an example of a humble and simple life, free from the burdens of materialism, far from the halls of richness, status, position and connection, within the company of the lowly, the outcasts, the dregs of society; yet, was able to influence humanity, history and eternity, to become the champion of our souls, and the captain of our fates... We may not have the same length of work week, yet, we can all surely spend each moment of it in faith, in love, in peace, in humility and humanity, in generosity and understanding...

#HappyMarch012023

[ilyalljasonsandnon-jasonsthesame]

Batkids + Batdad as Folklore songs (bc I was looking at the track list for my last post and I noticed a lot of songs fit them so well):

"Please picture me in the weeds, before I learned civility, I used to scream ferociously any time I wanted."

"Keep your helmet, keep your life, son, just a flesh wound, here's your rifle. Crawling up the beaches now, "Sir, I think he's bleeding out", and some things you just can't speak about."

"Only 20 minutes to sleep, but you dream of some epiphany, just one single glimpse of relief to make some sense of what you've seen."

"When you are young, they assume you know nothing."

"You drew stars around my scars, but now I'm bleedin'."

"The smell of smoke would hang around this long 'cause I knew everything when I was young."

"And when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed, you put me on and said I was your favorite."

"August slipped away into a moment in time 'cause it was never mine."

"Back when we were still changin' for the better wanting was enough, for me, it was enough to live for the hope of it all."

"I've been having a hard time adjusting, I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting, I didn't know if you'd care if I came back, I have a lot of regrets about that."

"Pulled the car off the road to the lookout, could've followed my fears all the way down, and maybe I don't quite know what to say, but I'm here in your doorway."

"I just wanted you to know that this is me trying."

"They told me all of my cages were mental, so I got wasted like all my potential, and my words shoot to kill when I'm mad, I have a lot of regrets about that."

"I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere, fell behind on my classmates, and I ended up here."

"And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound."

"Even on my worst day, did I deserve all the hell you gave me?"

"And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want, just not home."

"And when I break it's in a million pieces."

"I want you to know I'm a mirrorball, I can change everything about me to fit in."

"The masquerade revelers, drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten."

"You'll find me on my tallest tiptoes, spinning in my highest heels, love, shining just for you."

"And they called off the circus, burned the disco down, when they sent home the horses and the rodeo clowns, I'm still on that tightrope, I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me."

"I'm still a believer but I don't know why, I've never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try, I'm still on that trapeze, I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me."

"Because I'm a mirrorball, I'm a mirrorball, I'll show you every version of yourself tonight."

"I never had the courage of my convictions as long as danger is near, and it's just around the corner, darling, 'cause it lives in me; no, I could never give you peace."

"All these people think love's for show, but I would die for you in secret."

"Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?"

"But there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west, I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best, but the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me."

Sad Bonus:

"And it took you five whole minutes to pack us up and leave me with it."

"I think I've seen this film before and I didn't like the ending, you're not my homeland anymore, so what am I defending now? You were my town, now I'm in exile, seein' you out."

"Second, third, and hundredth chances, balancin' on breaking branches, those eyes add insult to injury."

"I think I've seen this film before and I didn't like the ending, I'm not your problem anymore, so who am I offending now? You were my crown, now I'm in exile, seein' you out, I think I've seen this film before, so I'm leavin' out the side door."

"So step right out, there is no amount of crying I can do for you."

"You didn't even hear me out (You didn't even hear me out), you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)."

"I never learned to read your mind (Never learned to read my mind), I couldn't turn things around (You never turned things around), 'cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) so many signs, so many signs, you didn't even see the signs."

Happy Bonus:

"Bill was the heir to the Standard Oil name and money."

"Filled the pool with champagne and swam with the big names and blew through the money on the boys and the ballet and losin' on card game bets with Dalí."

"And they said "There goes the last great American dynasty", "Who knows if she never showed up, what could've been", "There goes the most shameless woman this town has ever seen", "She had a marvelous time ruinin' everything"."

"They say she was seen on occasion pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea, and in a feud with her neighbour she stole his dog and dyed it key lime green."

[agapaic]

[19 days] whiplash [ch. 365 after-shot]

The shop will be closing soon. He’s seen an attendant wandering around, who will probably ask him to leave in the next five minutes. There’s no one else here. His clothes are vivid against the neon glow of the tanks. The fish cast strange shadows on his shirt, living out a second life on his skin.

They swim in half-circles before sharply changing direction, never touching the glass. He wonders if they know it’s there, as if they can sense some immovable wall that holds them back.

He’s not getting deep about this. He could contemplate, quite extensively, about how their freedom must be bought by some higher power, and they would really only go from one tank to the next, slightly bigger, slightly richer. It’s all fake shit, and he remembers that in some ways he’s got it better than an animal. He can, at least, run away. Maybe he won’t get far. Just to the edges of the city villages where he’ll get a job earning less than before and lose his place in school.

Guan Shan puts a finger on the glass in front of him. There’s a label in the corner, peeling away from the glass. Veiltail goldfish. They have wispy, membrane-like tails. He could put his hand on the other side and see all the way through. Guan Shan watches the only black fish in the tank move placidly through the water.

Beneath the label, a smaller one: Black moor. For a minute he considers tugging the label off and putting it in his pocket, a little secret. He remembers that would be stealing, in some way, and someone in the shop would have to go to the effort of printing and laminating and reapplying the label just for one fish.

Guan Shan turns away.

He wanders for a few more minutes. He’s aware of his reflection in the glass. He worries about how long the attendant will let him stay there, and the thought that they will make him leave makes him feel slightly sick. He likes it here—the quiet, the muted hum of the tanks, the strange lights. They make him feel somewhere else.

His mother is working the night shift and won’t be home until just before he’s meant to go to school the next morning. They’ll have long enough together that he could tell her he got fired from the shop, but not long enough that he could reasonably pretend to have forgotten as he tugs on his uniform and slips out the front door.

She won’t be mad—she never is.

She can’t take on another shift.

Mentally, he has started taking stock. His Xbox is a few years old, but he’ll get something for it. He has a stack of old music magazines from his dad that could catch the eye of a collector. His computer, maybe.

The earrings.

His stomach twists.

Really, it’s not much. It’ll earn them a month, which could be just long enough for him to get another job, but what’s the likelihood of that in a city where most kids are just trying to bulk their CV’s for their college applications. Besides, his grades speak for themselves. He got lucky with the shop, and lightning doesn’t strike twice.

‘Hey, kid. We’re closing soon, so unless you wanna buy something…’

Guan Shan nods. His shoulders round.

For no logical reason, he says: ‘Can I take a goldfish?’

‘Sure. The black moor? Saw you had your eye on that one.’

‘No, one of the others.’

The attendant comes up next to him. ‘Just the one? They don’t like being on their own, you know.’

He presses his jaw tightly. A small sound comes out of him. He looks at the price tag and is somehow shocked and saddened to see the figure so low.

‘Fine,’ he says. ‘The black one, too, I guess.’

He pays, then leaves. It’s late enough that the streets are quieter than he expected. He’s usually home by now, his shift over, reheating leftovers while he works on his homework. He stands there while the shop attendant locks up behind him, holding the plastic bag with two fish in his hand. He feels stupid. Behind his eyes, he can feel a sort of stinging sensation.

He has the unnameable urge to grab one of the passing strangers and tell them how he’s feeling, what has happened, what could happen. On some level he knows that everyone has their own problems, and he’s not the type of person to overstep his bounds. Instead, he watches them pass, and after a few more minutes he goes to the nearest subway station and gets the train home.

/

He had half expected He Tian to find him on the street. He’d imagined it, He Tian catching his arm as he wandered from store to store, deliberating at large windows with thin mannequins and expensive jewellery without price tags. There is a part of him that’s disappointed that it didn’t play out like this, a part of him that is even angrier to find He Tian sitting in the stairwell of his apartment when he eventually does get home.

It’s close to midnight, and the stairwell is clinically quiet. Outside, the stars are dusty and covered in a thin layer of smog that is less noticeable in the day. He Tian looks exhausted. He’s the type of good looking where even the slightest imperfection somehow makes him even more attractive. Guan Shan hates it.

He stands when Guan Shan walks in, suddenly filling the space, and Guan Shan says, ‘Get outta my way.’

‘Where have you been?’

Guan Shan shoulders past him. There’s a moment where he thinks He Tian will grab him around the shoulders, the air around him simmering enough that Guan Shan is convinced it’s a near thing, choking with danger, but he lets him pass. He follows Guan Shan up the staircase, his footsteps silent, his body casting long shadows on the steps where Guan Shan sets his feet.

At the door, Guan Shan pockets the notice that’s taped there, knowing He Tian has already seen it. Less sharply, he picks up the notes in He Tian’s and Jian Yi’s writing and folds them into careful squares.

‘You’re not comin’ in,’ he says.

‘I called you, like, fifty times. Did you block me?’

Guan Shan thinks He Tian sounds angrier than he really has a right to be. He turns and presses his back to the door. He has his keys clenched tightly in a closed fist.

‘Yeah. I didn’t want to talk to you. I thought you would’ve gotten that.’

‘I can get you another job. Something better paid.’

‘You’re so fuckin’ clueless.’

He Tian’s eyes tighten.

‘You’re ruining my life,’ says Guan Shan.

‘That’s—that isn’t true. I’ve helped you. You would’ve been expelled if—’

‘Maybe I would’ve gotten expelled. But I wouldn’t have had She Li on my dick all the time, would I? Wouldn’t need you to get me a job ‘cause you made me lose my last one, would I? You’re just—stickin’ a bandage on shit when you hurt me first.’

‘It’s not always like that. Don’t make it sound like it’s always like that.’

Guan Shan shakes his head. ‘I want you to go. I told you I didn’t want to see you again. Fuck off.’

He Tian says, ‘Let me pay what was on the door.’

‘Fuck off.’

He Tian doesn’t move and Guan Shan squeezes his eyes shut. He’s going to cry again, the frustration bubbling sourly in the back of his throat. He doesn’t trust himself to open the door while He Tian is still here because he knows he’ll probably let him in.

‘Do I really make you feel like a failure?’

Guan Shan rubs at his eyes with his fist. His voice comes hoarse and thick: ‘I am a failure. Bein’ around you just makes it so much more fuckin’ obvious.’

He doesn’t want He Tian’s pity when he says this, or his reassurance. He’s just being honest. Saying it out loud is kind of breathlessly relieving. He couldn’t say something like that to his mother, or any of the teachers at school. He couldn’t say it to Grey, who he’s known for years. He Tian knows more about him than anyone. It’s a terrifying thought.

If they never see each other again, will He Tian tell everyone the things Guan Shan has told him? About the restaurant and his dad, or about She Li and the things Guan Shan has let him do to him? He feels vulnerable and sick thinking about it, completely powerless, as he does a lot of the time when he’s around He Tian.

He oscillates between that feeling of uselessness and the feeling of being so empowered that he thinks it must be what being high or drunk feels like. That latter has him trusting his own convictions, having an unadulterated faith in himself like jumping from a bridge and thinking he might just fly—so long as He Tian is with him. He doesn’t like how it’s one or the other, empowered or powerless, and rarely anything in between. He’s heard adults on TV talking about being codependent, pulled punishingly into each other's orbit, and he wonders if this is the same thing.

In the end he supposes it doesn’t really matter. So what if He Tian tells everyone? Probably, he won’t see the rest of the year out at school. He’ll get a job on a different side of the city and no one will hear from him ever again. The embarrassment will all be internal and will only last a week or two. Then life will move on. He wishes he were older and wiser and better at believing this. He wishes it didn’t feel like the universe might fall out from beneath him.

‘Doesn’t matter what I do, it turns to shit,’ he tells He Tian. ‘No matter how hard I work, I’m never gonna earn enough. I can spend three hours studyin’ for a test and still come last. If it isn’t She Li, then it’ll be someone else. I just—I can’t catch a fuckin’ break, He Tian. But you do somethin’ and you come first every time. Life’s so easy for you.’

He Tian shifts from side to side. ‘Do you think things wouldn’t feel so hard if you stopped focussing on what you think my life is like?’

‘You’re pissin’ me off.’

‘I don’t know how I’m meant to help you. You won’t let me give you money. It’s like pulling teeth from you just trying to know what’s going on with you. What are you so fucking afraid of?’

‘I never asked for your help.’

‘You shouldn’t have to—that’s why we’re friends.’

‘I never said I wanted to be your friend.’

He Tian frowns, his look very serious. He isn’t teasing tonight. Neither is Guan Shan. There is the sense that their interactions are always anything but teasing, really, some dark undercurrent that runs between the two of them like dark veins.

He Tian says, ‘Are those fish?’

For a moment Guan Shan thinks he’s joking, deflecting wildly to distract from the seriousness of what Guan Shan has just said. Then he feels the crinkle of a plastic bag in his hand and, remembering how he’d just spent the last few hours, nearly drops the two goldfish onto the floor.

‘Yeah,’ he says.

‘You don’t have a tank.’

‘Yeah, no. I don’t know why I bought them.’

He Tian hesitates. There is a curious, predictable gleam in his eyes. ‘Red and black?’

‘It’s all they had left at the store.’

He Tian is looking intently at the bag. ‘Do you remember when we went to the aquarium? And you said I wasn’t someone you could forget?’

‘I just meant that—’

‘I know what you meant. But I always pretend like you meant it the other way.’

Guan Shan thinks, Don’t you think things would be easier if you stopped focusing on what you want me to mean and what I actually mean?

Instead of saying anything, he looks down at his sneakers. They’re scuffed and starting to rip at the seams. The thought of having to buy new ones makes him panic and the thought of buying a pair of second-hand ones online makes him panic even more. There’s no shame in it, but the thought of wearing someone else’s clothes makes him feel strange, especially when he knows He Tian could buy fifty pairs without blinking.

Guan Shan considers that thought and replays what He Tian has just said about focusing on his life too much more than his own. Maybe part of that is true.

Before He Tian, did he always feel things so intensely? Did the bad always feel so fucking awful? He knows that things were mechanical, and he was mean and didn’t think much about other people in particularly nice ways. He knows he didn’t laugh much then, or have dinners and sleepovers with friends. He knows everything hurt on a distant, muted level that was easy to ignore. Not much time has passed since then, and he reasons that nothing about him has probably changed, just everything else around him.

‘I can’t understand why you won’t let me help you,’ says He Tian, when the silence has stretched too long.

‘Because I’ll get used to it.’

He Tian frowns, not understanding.

‘One day, you’re not gonna be around. And I’ll be fucked.’

‘I’ll always be there for you.’

‘You don’t know that. People say that a lot and then they disappear or get taken away, even if they didn’t want to.’

It’s obvious they’re talking about his dad, but it feels safer to talk about things in vague, subjective conversation. Maybe things would be easier if they talked openly about things and didn’t use metaphors and hypotheticals. As it is, Guan Shan doesn’t feel ready to try the alternative. He is conscious of the fact that this feels like a conversation. They are passing words back and forth that hold meaning and neither of them has touched the other yet. It feels new and fragile as an oil painting, still wet, and so he doesn’t let himself think about this for long.

‘I think you’re getting this wrong,’ says He Tian. ‘I’m not asking you to rely on me. Obviously, I’d kind of like that. I like the thought of you needing me, and I know that says something about me. But—I’m just asking you to let me help you. Just here and there, no strings.’

Guan Shan rubs his forehead with the back of his knuckles. His keys are starting to pinch his skin and he can feel a headache starting to surface.

‘I’m tired,’ he says. ‘I actually do want you to go.’

He Tian’s jaw clenches and he breathes out heavily through his nose. He’s probably thinking he’s wasted his time.

‘Okay,’ he says then. ‘But we’re not done.’

A new wave of exhaustion comes over Guan Shan, crippling and final. He wants to get into bed with his skin against cold sheets and sleep for twelve hours without waking once.

‘You’re not the only one that ever gets to decide that,’ he tells He Tian, a little sharply. ‘You’ve gotta learn to let people go.’

‘But what if I know I can help them?’ says He Tian. ‘If I don’t, I’ve just—failed.’

They look at each other.

A minute stretches into an eternity that could be seconds or hours, and everything has gone backwards. Everything is the same.

Guan Shan can’t put his finger on what has just happened, but he feels like laughing. Their fears are twinned, self-perpetuating, some kind of ouroboros chasing its tail. Who will get caught first?

They both seem to take in a breath at the same time, and He Tian takes a step back.

‘Goodnight,’ he says.

Guan Shan nods. He waits for He Tian’s retreating back to disappear a few flights down before opening the door to his apartment, and shuts it swiftly behind him.

/

There’s a knock at the door while he’s brushing his teeth. The fish are swimming placidly in their bag on the edge of the bathroom sink. It’s past one, and he keeps all the lights off because his eyes are feeling sore. He’s adjusted to the dim glow that comes from street lamps seeping through the curtains, the blink of the timer on the electric stove, his Xbox gleaming in his bedroom. His mother shouldn’t be home yet and she has her own set of keys.

With a sinking heart, Guan Shan pictures his landlord demanding payment.

Worse, he pictures He Tian. Before He Tian left, they’d resolved nothing. It feels like being back to square one, chasing each other around a chess board. It fills him with a vast emptiness that makes him feel like he’s existing outside of himself, waiting for someone else to take over.

He pads silently towards the front door, his toothbrush jammed into his cheek, and peers through the viewer. There’s toothpaste dripping down his chin. In the hall, there’s no one there. He’s half-convinced he imagined it. He counts to ten before he opens the door, steps out—and his foot connects with something hard. There is a cardboard box sitting on the welcome mat.

Guan Shan peers around. The light in the stairwell is artificially bright. He kneels down and opens the tabs on the box, which hasn’t been taped. He swallows.

For the fish, says the note on the second box, nestled inside the first. Careful, it’s fragile.

Guan Shan rubs the heel of a palm into his right eye. He sighs. Then he reaches out, braces himself, and picks up the tank. He carries it into his apartment, and the door locks behind him.

/

thank you for reading! if you’d like to support me on my ko-fi/request a short drabble, you can do so here: https://ko-fi.com/agapaic 💞

[sunmoonandeddie]

edge of the devil’s backbone

pairing: knight!bucky barnes x princess!reader

word count: 4,918

summary: Your knight has sworn to protect you always, even if that means committing a grave sin.

warnings: Smut, cussing, violence, murder, angst with a happy ending.

a/n:  Lol I really hope you enjoy this.  Bucky is kinda dark but??  Not really???  Also, I suggest listening to Devil’s Backbone by The Civil Wars while you read this.

It’s midnight when he slips into my room, Selene’s soft light guiding him to the bed where I lay, dozing peacefully amongst my mountain of pillows.

A slumber he hates to disrupt, but knows that he must.

To leave me without a word, without a goodbye and a promise to return one day when he can, would be the utmost betrayal to the delicate heart he holds in his hands.

“Princess,” he whispers.  Slinking through the room like a cat, he manages to not make a single noise loud enough to wake me.  It is not until his fingers gently brush against my cheek that my eyes flutter open.

“James?  What’s going on?” I ask, brows furrowing as I slowly push myself up on my elbows.  One hand holds the blanket to my chest, as though it’s anything he hasn’t seen before.

James is… familiar with my nightgowns, to say the least.

“I have to go,” he whispers, his hand shaking as he cups my cheek.  “I have to go before they catch me.”

“What?”  I lean into his touch instinctively, not even thinking about the strange wetness on his fingers that I feel.  “What do you mean?  What did you do?”  When my eyes adjust to the light, I realize what he means.

James’s white undershirt is stained with blood, the hot liquid smeared across his cheek like it is on mine now.

Letting out a squeak of alarm, I rush to look him over, trying to find any injuries to speak of.  “What happened?!  Are you okay?!”

“I killed him.”

I freeze, my hands pressing against his body through the thin fabric of his shirt.  Despite the chill of the oncoming winter, he is so, so warm.  Even with the knowledge he has given me, there is nothing I want to do more than drag him closer and make him cocoon himself around me to keep the cold away.  There is nothing that could ever make me not love him anymore.  Even murder.  I would still run to his embrace and spend the rest of eternity in his arms.

A foolish dream, considering our stations.

Even though James does love me the way I love him, my father would never allow a union between the two of us.  James has been my personal guard since I was young, barely five years old.  A peasant boy granted the honor of training to be a knight because he had found me after I had been kidnapped by bandits and kept for a ransom.  He’d just been fourteen at the time, and braver and smarter than my father’s entire army.

But no, none of that matters.  According to father, princesses must marry princes, who will make good kings.

Anyone with any sense could see that James was worth more than every prince and king put together.

“You killed him?  What him?” I ask, rushing to get out of bed to grab a rag.  I wet it carefully before moving to his side to gently clean off his face.  Even though I want answers, that doesn’t matter as much as getting him presentable again.

But he pushes my hand away, his sea blue eyes glimmering with something that causes a pit to form in my stomach.  “My princess…  My love…  I have to go,” he says, taking my hands in his and squeezing.  “I killed Prince Brock, and they will know it was me come morning.  I have to go…”

“James, don’t be ridiculous,” I scold as I try to start cleaning him off again, tugging to get his ruined shirt off.  “You need to change.  We’ll make it so they’ll have no idea it was you.”

James whispers my name, his bloody hand coming up to cup my cheek as though I am made of glass.  “They will know it was me, and regardless if they didn’t, the king would still pin it on me…  My affection for you is not exactly the world’s best kept secret…  And we both know how the maids like to gossip…”

Tears prick my eyes, and I shake my head desperately.  “No.  No.  You cannot leave, I forbid it!” I say, clutching onto him desperately.  “James, you cannot leave me.  Please, don’t leave me.”  My throat is suddenly dry and tight, my heart pounding within my chest so hard that I am sure I will not make it out without a few broken ribs.

A small price to pay if only my knight will stay by my side.

“You have stayed by my side for sixteen years, do not leave me now,” I order, trying to put on my most commanding voice.  I have been practicing for when I eventually become queen, but it has never ever worked on my most precious knight.

A choked laugh tears from James’s throat.  It’s harsh and broken, a far cry from the usual melody that I chase after.  “My love…  If I do not leave now, they will have me in the gallows by noon,” he says quietly, his forehead pressing against mine.  “Or worse, on the chopping block like a hen ready for the feast.”

I try to push the images from my mind, tears freely flowing down my cheeks.  “No.  No, they won’t know it was you.  Please, don’t leave me…  Or at least take me with you…  Please…”

“I need you to promise me something, princess,” he says as both his hands hold my face, his calloused thumbs rubbing against the tender skin under my eyes to get rid of wayward tears.  “If they catch me…  If I am sentenced to death…  Do not watch.  Do not watch them hang me or draw and quarter me or behead me, whatever it is, I forbid you.  Do you hear me?  I said, do you hear me?!”

“They can’t kill you, I won’t let them,” I sob, still somehow trying to get him to stay.  “I’m the princess, they have to listen to me.”

I have not gone a single day without seeing him in over sixteen years, and I do not plan to now.

But it seems as though there is nothing I can do to stop him.

The silk of my nightgown slides against my skin as I trace his features with my fingers.  “Will you come back to me?” I ask desperately after he denies my request another time.  “Once it is safe, will you please come back to me?  Come home?  I cannot live without you, without knowing you will come back to me one day…”

“I will,” he says reassuringly as he takes one of my hands and presses kisses over each fingertip, each neatly trimmed nail, each line in my palm.  “I will…  I swear to you…  But I could not let him live after today in the garden…”

“I am not angry with you,” I whisper reassuringly as I watch him, trying my best to memorize even the smallest of details.  “You swore to protect me… from anyone and everyone…”

“And I shall always keep my promise.”  He says it with such conviction, with such a fire in his eyes.  He always had, which is partially why I am not surprised that he punished the prince for his crimes against me.

When it comes to my safety, my happiness, James is the judge, jury, and executioner.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A growl rumbles in his throat as he pulls me closer, letting his eyes shut as he allows himself the comfort of knowing that Prince Brock had not gotten far enough to truly hurt me, to permanently mark me.  “I told him that nobody who touches you without your permission gets to keep their hands.  He didn’t believe me until about an hour or so ago,” he grumbles.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, I can’t fight the giggle that erupts from my lips.  “My hero…,” I murmur as I look up at him.  As my eyes meet his, I am reminded that he needs to leave.  “I will miss you…  Please…  Try to find some way to write to me…”

“I will,” James says, his nose nudging against mine.  His blue eyes sparkle with tears as he swallows around the lump in his throat.  “Steven knows I am leaving…  He knows what I have done.  He is the one you can trust with your safety now, the only man I trust with your life, and he is outside your door now.”  Chapped lips press against my forehead for a lingering moment.  “I will write to him, and he will get the letters to you.  I swear on my life, princess.”

“Before you go…”  I take a deep breath.  “Before you go, will you grant me a kiss?  Just one…”

It is a request he does not think hard about, grabbing my face and kissing me so gently I think I may wither away from the sheer tenderness.  “I love you,” he says, stealing another kiss from my lips, over and over again.

It seems that now that he has started, he cannot stop.

Or will not.

I will not argue either away.

“I love you…  I love you more than words can say, James,” I say, fingers tangling in his long hair.

“I must take my leave, my darling… my dearest,” he breathes out.  “Before dawn comes and the lark sings…”  He stands, his weight disappearing from the bed, and a pang hits my heart.  “You must get sleep, my sweet nightingale.  Once they realize what has happened and that I have disappeared, they will question you for hours, I am sure, if not all day.  But rest well knowing that when you wake, I will be safe and waiting until I may come back for you.”

Tears roll down my cheeks as I hold onto his hand for as long as possible.  “I cannot watch you leave,” I whisper as I squeeze my eyes shut.

“You don’t have to, my love,” he says soothingly, pressing a kiss to my hair.  “Rest…  I will be home to you before you can even miss me…”

His hand slips from mine, and I do not hear him leave the room.  “James, please don’t leave me!” I say as I open my eyes, thinking he was still there.

But he had slipped through the door without a sound and left me alone in my cold bed.

My dearest,

It has been a month since I left you, and it has been the hardest month of my entire life.  I did not have the time to write to you until now because I was unable to get my hands on some parchment and a quill, and I had some trouble finding some place where your father and King Alexander could not reach me.

I cannot risk telling you precisely where I have had the luck to find myself, on the off chance that the letter is intercepted.  I cannot see why it would be, as it is carefully hidden with a letter written to Steven, but considering the man that I know your father can be…

Well, I am aware that I shall not need to explain more than that.

What I can tell you is that the sea here is beautiful.  The journey here was hard, filled with storms and a tumultuous sea, but it was worth it.  Though, it would be much better if you were with me to see it, my love, but you already know that.  Seeing the sun rise on the blue water—Water clearer than any I have ever seen before!—made me hopeful for the first time since I left your side.  In fact, the dress that you wore to your father’s last birthday feast is the exact shade of the sea here.  The soft sand reminds me of the gold trim, the white diamonds embedded in the leather…

Do you see what you have done to me, my love?  I miss you so, my heart longing to see you again, to hold you, that I have started to wax poetic about your gowns.

I cannot start on the way the flowers here remind me of the scarlet rouge you use to stain your cheeks and your sweet lips or I shall never stop.  But, I have dreamed of your lips each night, of the way that my name falls like a prayer, of the way you told me you love me…  I dream of kissing you again.  More mornings than not, I wake with tears on my cheeks because of the need I feel to have you close again.  I had waited for so many years to finally tell you how I feel, despite knowing the way we both felt it, and the night that I did, I had to leave.

It feels like a tragedy from one of those books you like to read so much.

One of the sailors on the ship guessed that I had left a woman behind that had broken my heart, and he told me that time would heal the gaping wound.  It was all I could do to explain to him that I had been the one to break both of our hearts, and that time could do nothing because I am counting the days until I may run to you again.

Time may also do nothing because of the depth of my adoration for you.

I wish that I could tell you where I am so that I may receive a letter in return.  I hope you do not regret what happened the night I left, the kiss.

I hope you will still want me, still love me, when I return to you.

All of my love,

Your James

My dearest,

It has been a year since I have seen you last, since I left your side, and I fear I am on the verge of dying if I cannot get a glimpse of your sweet face soon.

Despite writing to you every few weeks, I feel as though there is so much more I can say.  Every tiny little thing that occurs during my days, I wish to tell you.  I wish to tell you so you do not think that I am at the taverns, flirting with every wench that I set my eyes on.  Despite the way they bat their eyes, they can do nothing to even catch a glimpse from me because I am always picturing you.

Have you thought of me since that night?  I imagine you have had to, since I am writing to you and I am sure that Steven is getting these to you.  He may be a dunce in some things, but he is generally a capable man.

When I saw you in your bed that night, slumbering so peacefully, my first thought was that you looked like an angel.  I had been worried that I would be scared to touch you, to even set my eyes upon you, after what I had done.  But all I felt was reassurance that I had done the right thing.

I still cannot apologize enough for leaving you alone in that garden for so long.  Despite knowing that it technically wasn’t my fault, considering that the king had called for me to discuss the journey back home, I am wracked with guilt.  I should have had a servant fetch Steven to take my place while I was gone before I left.  But, I was naïve enough to assume that the palace guards that were present in the garden would protect a princess, even from their prince.

Coming back and seeing you so upset, panicking as he gripped your soft, sweet body hard enough to bruise…  I had realized when I looked at you that you thought I had abandoned you.

I hope you know that no matter where I am, I have not abandoned you.  I could never leave you forever, my dearest.

Your handkerchief no longer smells like you.  I had swiped it from your room as I left, needing something to comfort me on my journey.  I sleep with it pressed to my nose so that I may see you in my dreams.  But now it has lost your scent, and I have been on a search to find the perfume that you wear so that I may buy a bottle and need not worry about it losing your scent again, but alas, I have not been able to come across it.

I fear it would not smell exactly like you anyway, my love, and I would simply be disappointed.

I have pressed a few more flower petals to send to you, but I may not be able to send them again for a while, as winter will be here soon.  Even in this warm kingdom, it brings a chill that withers the flowers and crops.  Until then, I shall send you as many as possible.

All of my love,

Your James

My dearest,

It has been two years to the day, and I can only pray to whatever gods that I will be able to be with you forever soon.

Did you get my present?  I snuck into the palace after deciding that I couldn’t wait much longer to see you.  Even if I was not able to speak to you, just seeing your angelic face as you slept gave me a moment of peace.  My heavy heart was lightened.

You may need to hide the letters I write you better, it only took me seconds to find your hiding spot.  Of course, your father doesn’t know you as well as I do, so he most likely won’t think to check behind your mirror.

The necklace I left on your pillow is inlaid with pure opals and diamonds.  I had never heard of opal, I must admit, until I found my way here.  It is a great source of pride in this kingdom.  I knew the second I saw it that you would look absolutely stunning in it.

Perhaps you will wear it on our wedding day.

Every day I grow fearful that your father will find another suitor for you and force you to marry him before I can make it back to you.  I know how adept you are at avoiding the princes and lords that he shoves in your direction, but what can I say?  To see you with another man, even if you did not truly wish to be with him, would kill me.

I have been on a ship again for the last few weeks, so unfortunately there is not much to write to you about.  But please, know that you are in my thoughts every moment of every day.

All of my love,

Your James

My dearest,

I have just gotten the news of your father’s passing.

I am on my way home to you.

All of my love,

Your James

I sigh as I sit on the throne—my throne.  Mere hours before, I had been crowned as the new queen of my kingdom.

The scepter is heavy in my hand, the cold metal seeming to burn my skin.  How can I do this on my own?

My father raised me to be a queen, a wife, but not to rule.  I was raised to be the queen to a king, to support the man I end up marrying as he rules the kingdom.

But the only man I will ever marry is not here.

Steven is standing beside the throne, his hands clasped behind his back.  He has been good to me the last few years, as I have waited desperately for the day that my love, my true knight, will come home to me.  “You are troubled,” he says quietly as the both of us watch the nobility dance in magical patterns that draw the eye and lift the spirits.  “You should be excited, Your Majesty.  Today is a day of great celebration.”

“He isn’t here,” I say.  It’s all I need to.  His last letter is pressed against my breast, hidden inside my gown.  The necklace he left for me is heavy around my neck, the precious jewels glinting in the light.  “He said he was coming so where is he?”

The prince that had been seeking my hand before my father died is present, his gaze continuously finding me as he slowly works his way closer.  Over the past weeks, I’ve been able to avoid his advances with claims of my grief.

As if I could ever truly grieve a man as cruel as my father.

“It is possible his ship may have been caught in a storm,” Steven comments, trying to soothe my anger.  He has seen how unstable my emotions can be when James is not close by.  “He will be here.  You know he will, my queen.”

I am growing more and more annoyed as I realize that I will soon be expected to join the dancing.  But dancing is the last thing I want to do without my love there.

Beside me, Steven tenses, and I watch as his blue eyes flit around the room.  “Interesting…,” he says under his breath, almost too low for me to hear.

“What is it?” I ask, sitting up a little straighter.

“It appears that your latest suitor has disappeared.”

What?  Brows furrowing, I look around the room, pointedly searching for Prince Quentin for once.  Sure, he is a handsome man, but his blue eyes are forgettable when I compare them to James’s.  “Well, perhaps he found some maid to consort with in the gardens,” I say with an eye roll, quickly giving up on the search.  “It is not as though he is getting any sort of connection from me.  Let him have his fun.”

Steven snorts, his head dipping for a moment.  “I think it is time for you to join the dancing,” he says simply, in a tone that makes me wonder what he has up his sleeve.

He knows something that he is not telling me.

“Fine,” I say with a glare in his direction, getting to my feet.  I hand my new scepter off to the servant who has immediately rushed to my side, the song currently floating in the air coming to an end.  A new one begins as I step into the fray, easily joining the dance.

I am so swept away in the swirling skirts and joyous laughter of the crowd that I do not notice the man that had joined the dancers on the other side.

Passing from partner to partner, I keep a fake smile plastered on my face and absentmindedly nod with everything that is said to me.

“It has been a long time, my love.”

My eyes snap up to focus on the man whose arms I have just been passed into, and my heart stops inside of my chest.  “James?” I breathe out.  My eyes well up with tears just at the sight of his loving face, his sea blue eyes sparkling in the bright light of the ballroom.  “James, is it really you?”

His smile is almost blinding, and I realize that his own eyes are glassy as well.  “It is me, my princess.  Or should I say, my queen?”  Despite the rest of the people around us switching partners, he refuses to let me go, his hand tight on my hip and the other holding my hand firm.  “I saw your coronation this morning.  You looked radiant.  You still do, my dearest…”

I barely notice the world around me as I watch his tongue flick out between his teeth to wet his chapped lips.  “You were there?”

“Of course I was,” he chuckles, his large hand squeezing my hip.  “Do you really believe that I could ever even risk missing your coronation, sweetheart?”  Feeling the crowd’s stares, he leans in a little.  “Meet me in the garden in a few moments.  By the gazebo.”

Twirling in time with the music, my heart sinks as I am passed to the next partner and the next.  My hands are trembling with the fear that he could disappear again.  Logically, I know that he won’t.  But after spending so many years away from him…

“Go,” Steven says after I finally break away at the end of the dance.  “He is waiting for you.”

I don’t need to be told twice.  As I make my way to the corridor to slip out to the gardens, I have to reassure several servants that I am alright, but just escaping for a fresh breath of air.

The gazebo he told me to meet him at is further back in the garden, out of view from any of the palace windows.  His dark figure stands at one of the railings, looking out at the ocean.  The necklace around my neck burns as I take a moment to look at him, really look at him.  His hair is longer than it was when he left, and stubble lines his face.

Did he shave just for me?

I like the thought of him preparing to see me, nervously checking his appearance in the mirror.  Perhaps he bought a new jacket and waistcoat in his excitement.

“James?”

He turns to look at me immediately, a smile brightening his face, and I feel as though I am a teenager again, fresh with the feelings of love and adoration.  “My dearest…”  He does not waste any time as he pulls me close, his lips slotting against mine and his hands roaming over my body.  “I have missed you…  I have dreamt of you each night.”

And I know that anyone could come out and see us at any moment.  And I know that the gossip would run rampant and the possible alliance with Prince Quentin’s kingdom could crumble.

But I do not care.

I have been craving his touch for years, praying to the gods he would come home and hold me just as he is doing now.

“I need you.  I need you, James,” I say as my hands tug at his jacket and push it off his shoulders, going for his waistcoat next.

Thankfully, he does not argue.  “You’ve dreamt of this as much as me,” he says in relief as he unties my corset enough to tug it down to reveal my chest to him.  James chuckles as he catches his letter as it falls.  “You kept this so close to your heart, my love.”  Seeing the letter only makes him more ravenous, his lips attaching to my neck as he works his breeches down.

Pain runs through me as he sits and pulls me on top of him, finally joining our bodies together, but I don’t take the time to care.  The glory of finally being with him is far greater than any pain I could ever feel.

We are so tangled that you cannot tell where one of us ends and the other begins as he moves me, taking his pleasure and granting me my own.

“You’re mine,” he growls, nipping at my neck.  “That sorry excuse for a prince thought he could touch you.  Thought he would ever be worthy enough for you.”

It suddenly occurs to me that his arrival and Prince Quentin’s disappearance were correlated, and I see a drop of blood on his white undershirt.

It tears a moan from my throat.

The knowledge that a man as powerful, as strong, as my knight would protect me in such a dangerous manner, so desperately, sends a jolt down my spine.  The fact that he is willing to go to the ends of the earth, to commit such a sin…

It is delicious.

The dagger he must have used glints in the low light of the moon as it rests on the stone floor, having fallen from his breeches when they’d been torn down.  The sharp edge is crusted with a dark red, almost brown substance.

“I am all yours.  I have always been yours, my knight,” I say as my fingers tangle in his hair and pull, our lips locking.  “I love you.  I love you so.  I cannot breathe without you.”

“I am never leaving you again.  Never.”  His teeth grab onto my lower lip as he picks up the pace, grinning as he glances down to watch my body.  “Fuck…  It’s even better than I dreamed of.  I love you so much, my queen.”

My release is fast and hard, knocking the breath out of my lungs as I cling to him, my nails scratching at his back and creating a rip in his shirt.  “JAMES!”

James is quick to follow, his hips jerking as he reaches his peak and spills inside of me.  “Perhaps you will become heavy with my child,” he whispers as he steals another kiss, tenderly fixing my dress before helping me stand and dressing himself.  “Perhaps we will have a little prince or princess on the way.”

“Well…”  A smile spreads over my face as I cup his cheeks, running my fingers over the dark stubble.  He would look so delectable with a beard.  “In case you have not been informed, I have been made queen…  And I decree that you are to be my king.”

A laugh bubbles in his chest as he pulls me close once more, dipping me low and kissing me something fierce.  “Your wish is my command, my dearest.”

[lightsinthedistancee]

Congrats!!! Angst 11 with Frankie? I can totally picture one of the boys asking him that and calling him out when he’s in denial of his feelings for f!reader

Thanks! Hope you enjoy!

“Is she really just a friend?” - Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x Reader

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Secrecy

Words: 1.6k

Excerpt: “You’re the one who always knows how to keep him up when he begins to spiral, begins to drink a little too much, begins to think of certain substances he’d once abused in order to forget.

“You’re the one who always knows what to say when he feels his exterior cracking, feels events of the past begin to seep through in anger, grief, or pure instability.

“In uncomplicated terms, perhaps you’re simply the only one who always seems to know him.”

Warnings: Very Mild Smut, Language

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.

Present

You’re simply staring.

Out the window of the living room, into unremarkable space. Onto the street where car after car passes by, each one seemingly blending into the last. Upon overcast skies that drain the colors outside of their saturation.

“You gonna say something or not?” says Frankie, breaking the silence. An air of hostility lies between the two of you. He sits on the couch, back hunched, forehead propped against his fist.

The main event of the past few hours lays heavy in the background, fogging both your minds—storm clouds that threaten to bring carnage upon everything.

It’d been a statement by Frankie in the company of the guys—just the mere beginnings of one, one with enough information behind it for you to intervene, to cut him off and shut it down before anything was heard.

The statement…it was one that would’ve told a lot. One that would’ve told of the many times Frankie’s hands had woven into your hair before his lips found yours, one that would’ve revealed numerous long nights together.

Not officially a secret, but never a relationship mentioned nor told.

“Why don’t you want to tell them? Why don’t you want to tell anyone?” His voice is profound in the quiet, loaded with hurt and confusion and a desperate need to know. “What’s the harm in it?”

And still without a single word, without a single glance towards him, you walk from the room.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Past

“F-Frankie….”

His name is a stutter from your lips as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, practically panting into his skin as his hips work against yours.

The wall you’re pressed up against painfully digs into your spine, yet the ache is an afterthought, buried in the shadow of the pure pleasure coursing through your veins.

The sounds of the guys in the kitchen below faintly travels through the floor. It makes a thrill as well as a menacing nervousness spike hot in your mind.

It was a simple weekend get-together among friends that had brought you here, you and Frankie being sent up the stairs of the house to get something, somehow ending up in this situation.

You groan at a particular movement, knotting your hands tighter into his locks, pulling hard enough to make him groan. He’s muttering filth in your ear, your legs gripping his waist tighter and tighter.

“Did you find it?” Benny’s voice echoes up the stairs all of a sudden, piercing the haze you and Frankie had been lost in together. Your mind is in an incoherent state, entirely forgetting what you’d been sent up here to find. “What’s taking so long?”

You stare at Frankie, whose eyes are wide open now, his movements frozen. The corners of your lips beg to turn upwards, and you nearly giggle at the absurdity of it all, and you slowly raise your index finger to your lips, signaling for him to stay quiet.

“Still looking!” you call out. “Should find it soon.”

An affirmative response sounds back, and despite everything going on, Frankie feels all his emotions diminishing to one thing, one sensation that sets every inch of him alight.

The feeling of you clenching around him, your index finger to your lips, a hint of a smirk on those beautiful lips of yours—the secrecy of it all…it’s exciting.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present

“Sweetheart….” His voice is a whisper as he approaches you from behind.

You’re in the kitchen now, hands shaking as you pour yourself a glass of water. Exhaustion is seemingly the main product of the tension that had hung between the two of you.

His hand rests gently on the side of your waist, the rest of his body refraining from even grazing yours. An acute worry runs through his head in circles. “I know you’re not leading me on with whatever this whole thing between us is—“

“I’m not,” you whisper, saying your first words in a while.

“—so talk to me. Why don’t you want to tell?”

The ever-pervasive question. Again.

You sigh, turning around to face him. Your hips gently settle on the edge of the counter, your eyes tiredly shutting. “I…I just…I really like you, Frankie.”

He raises an eyebrow, the confusion written across his face nearly comical. “I-I should hope so? I mean, you’re not really explaining anything, cariño.”

You laugh weakly, the sound pathetically dying out near the end, lacking the conviction to even resolutely finish. “What I mean is….” You draw in a deep breath, your eyes finally flicking to his. “…I don’t want what I have with you to fail, and I’m terrified of that happening, and…isn’t that only possible when something is officially real?”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Past

“C’mon, ‘Fish. Is she really just a friend?”

Frankie laughs, shaking his head in a perfect lie of denial. “You’re an idiot. Of course she’s just a friend.”

The small bar the four of them are in—him, Santi, Will, and Benny—possesses a unique calmness and comfort to it, a place they’d been going to for ages.

“Friends who fuck, then?” Santi continues his barrage of questions, the beginnings of an infuriating smirk on his face.

Friends who fuck really fucking well. “No,” Frankie insists, even as the other clumsily-formed thought sounds in his mind.

The other three guys practically shake their heads, returning to their previous conversation. The questioning is nearly a ritual at this point, said repeatedly, as if they’re determined to wrench what they want to be said out of him.

Frankie can vividly recall the things all of them had been saying over and over for months, in one way or another.

She knows you entirely too well.

What is it with the two of you?

You cannot possibly fucking tell me there is nothing going on.

And perhaps they’re right.

Frankie had risked his life with these guys, almost died with them, made last confessions and regrets in the near certain face of death. He’s inexorably bound to them till the day he dies. But despite that, when it comes to Frankie, even in competition with his closest friends, you always seem to be just one step ahead when it comes to knowing him.

You’re the one who always brings up the subject of leaving when places grow too crowded for his liking, striking a subtle discomfort across his face that no one else notices.

You’re the one who always knows how to keep him up when he begins to spiral, begins to drink a little too much, begins to think of certain substances he’d once abused in order to forget.

You’re the one who always knows what to say when he feels his exterior cracking, feels events of the past begin to seep through in anger, grief, or pure instability.

In uncomplicated terms, perhaps you’re simply the only one who always seems to know him.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present

Your words shock him.

Isn’t that only possible when something is officially real?

He doesn’t know what you’ve been through to develop this level of paranoia, this level of reservation, but god, does he want to know. He wants you to let him in all the way, wants to be able to kiss you whenever he likes, wants to say three words that’ll  officially cement things as serious.

But, even then…looming over all of that is a more menacing question that demands to be answered, one that makes him want to shrink into nothing.

“You don’t think this is real?” he whispers, his voice cracking at the implication—that what the two of you feel even in secrecy is not enough to make it so.

“What?” Your eyes snap up to his with the urgency of distress. “No, of course I think it’s real.” The statement is a near desperate exclamation as you watch him, looking for any sign that he believes you, that you haven’t destroyed even more of this with a single sentence.

His features relax, back to a quiet concern.

A long, drawn-out stretch of silence passes, filled with relief and more questions to be asked.

“Then why does telling make it more real?” he finally asks.

You falter, searching for an explanation beyond a simple feeling of fear. “I…I don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe it’s just conceptual, maybe something I’ve just made up in my head and refused to go back on, but…but it just scares me, the thought of this being real and then failing. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but—“

“—I think it makes sense,” he interjects. More tentatively this time, he leans into you, wrapping his arms around your waist, rubbing soothing circles over the small of your back. “And why are you terrified this’ll fail? Do you think it will?”

“I…I don’t know,” you respond softly, brow crunched in apprehension. “Things just happen…I suppose.”

He hums in contemplation, fingers pulling your chin up to look at him. “Well, that’s not a very good reason,” he muses, a signature humor to him that you’re all too familiar with. When you laugh quietly, it’s a real laugh, one that delights his ears. “Things just don’t happen, too, y’know.”

You press your face into his shoulder, the slightest act of affection, an unsaid agreement. It feels different now that he’s in it with you, now that he knows and can challenge every absurd thought you’ve entertained.

“We can start just by telling the guys,” he proposes quietly. “If you want to…. It’s just them.”

His hand squeezes yours assuredly, a promise that everything is going to be fine. Your response is soft, a little hesitant-sounding at first, but ultimately decided. “Alright.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

A/N: I’ll admit I’m not super sure about this one since this is a little different from what I usually write but it was so much fun to write and such a fun challenge to create. And @hnt-escape, so I…umm….obviously changed the “Frankie in denial of feelings” part of the ask, so I hope you didn’t mind that?

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[captainrogers-ass]

Leather & Spice - Zemo x Reader One-Shot

Summary: You could never say no to a mission when it was Sam Wilson calling, yet cooperating with a convicted mass murderer hadn’t exactly been what you were expecting. Wounding, maiming, killing; those were all in your job description. Acting as Helmut Zemo’s lover was not.

Word Count: 4900

Pairings: Zemo x Reader, Sam x Reader (platonic), Bucky x Reader (platonic)

A/N: Ok so I know I’ve been super inactive and I know this isn’t strictly Chris Evans related but I’m currently obsessed with TFATWS; more specifically a certain mass murderer. I’ve substituted Serbian for Sokovian, although Zemo talks to Bucky in Russian. As always, any and all feedback is much appreciated. I hope you enjoy!!! Let me know if you want a part 2!!!

The call had been tense, brief, and widely lacking in any important information, and yet you had still gone anyway.

No matter how many times the Avengers had screwed you over you couldn’t help yourself when Sam Wilson called. Your resistance was futile. He was too charming to say no to, and you were pretty sure he was perfectly well aware of that.

The private jet had been a nice surprise in all honesty. Sam had seemingly always had a knack for finding the seediest alleyway or dingiest motel room to meet up in whenever he called for your help, so you couldn’t help but smile at the change in scenery. Your boots clicked loudly on the tarmac below as you approached the plane, your hand pausing as it connected with the railing of the stair car, a small smile escaping onto your lips as you tried to contain your unusual excitement.

A butler with greying hair and aged skin greeted you at the entrance to the plane. He was dressed in a neat, black suit and smiled at you kindly upon your arrival, his arms already extended as he motioned towards your luggage.

“Oh, thank you,” you said with a smile as you handed over your bag.

The cabin was lovely; spacious, lavish and filled with two grown men who were currently too enthralled in their escalating argument to take any notice of your arrival.

Bucky and Sam were sitting next to each other; Bucky slumped over within his seat with his arms folded across his chest, Sam perched at the edge of his own seat, his hands raised passionately before him as he berated Bucky in a tone that was clearly trying to stay relatively calm but was miserably failing. You cleared your throat as a small smile escaped onto your lips; these two hadn’t changed one bit.

Sam’s eyes met yours first.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, immediately rising from his seat and striding the few steps towards you, engulfing you in a hug. “I wasn’t sure, you’d come. I haven’t seen you in so long!”

You laughed as you managed to extract yourself from Sam’s embrace.

“You know I can never say no to you, Sam,” you chuckled.

“It’s because I’m too handsome, right?”

“Sure.”

You turned your attention to Bucky who was now standing just slightly back from Sam, their argument apparently forgotten as Bucky smiled kindly towards you.

“Hey there stranger,” you said as you gave Bucky a brief hug.

“And here I was thinking I was the most antisocial person I knew,” he retorted.

“I haven’t been avoiding you two, I promise. I’ve just been busy.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “With whatever it is you do.”

You laughed but didn’t answer his implied question.

“This jet is a nice touch. How in the hell did you afford this?” you questioned.

The atmosphere changed immediately, the smile on your features faltering slightly as you felt the tension rise around you. Bucky turned his eyes to the floor, his figure hunching over slightly so that he looked far smaller than he usually appeared. Sam averted his gaze as well, instead turning to look at something past your shoulder.

“It’s mine actually. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Having worked in secret services your entire life you found yourself quite shocked at having failed to notice the third man on board. There was no doubt that this man hadn’t been in the main cabin upon your arrival, but having failed to recognise his presence until he spoke was an unusual oversight on your part; especially since he was standing quite close to you.

As you turned around you registered three things before your eyes landed upon him. Firstly, his accent was unusual, captivating and alluring, not one that you could outright recognise on an initial introduction alone. Secondly, his cologne was extraordinarily enticing; a dark, spicy smell that washed over you and filled your senses all at once so that you couldn’t help but inhale deeply to try and get another whiff of it. And thirdly, his presence was remarkable. Even before you looked upon him you could tell that this was a man of wealth; his tone, his posture, his cologne, his everything, oozed sophistication.

And then your eyes met his.

“I’m Helm-”

Before he could finish you grabbed the hand he had been in the process of outstretching for a handshake, twisted it behind his back before shoving him up against the wall of the plane with quite possibly a tad more force than was strictly necessary. A grunt escaped his lips as you did so, but whether it was from pain or surprise you couldn’t tell.

“Y/N!” Bucky and Sam yelled in unison.

“Would someone care to explain to me why there is a convicted criminal on board this plane.” Your voice came out far calmer than you were expecting.

“Well it is my pla-”

“Shut up,” you, Bucky and Sam all said in unison.

You pushed his contorted arm higher and a flicker of pain crossed his features for just a second, yet he remained silent. His face was pressed against the wall, your body weight holding him in place, and yet his eyes were trained on you, a piercing blend of hazel and gold that sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t resisting at all—which was surprising considering he could probably overpower you with his military history—and he no longer made any obvious outward indication that he was in pain even though the placement of his arm would suggest otherwise.

“We need him, Y/N,” Sam finally spoke up.

You struggled to pull your gaze from his, lingering for what felt like years.

“And his life-long prison sentence just happened to be up, I suppose?” you replied.

You couldn’t quite tell, but the subtle vibrations coming from Zemo made you think that he was laughing.

“Well, Bucky was the one who actually broke him ou-” Sam began.

“Oh yeah blame it on me,” Bucky exclaimed.

“Were you not the one who broke him out?”

“You know we needed him I was just the-”

“Ok, ok, boys,” you interrupted. “I really don’t care whose fault it is. What’s done is done. But will someone please explain why the hell we need a mass murderer’s help?”

“Well, there’s this new terrorist organisation called the Flagsmashers,” Sam began.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Zemo interrupted. You pushed him up against the wall harder but he continued on unfazed. “But I feel like this story is going to take a while so is there any possibility that I can have the function of my arm back, please?”

There was that accent again, so unusual and yet so smooth that it took you a few seconds to actually register what the man was saying. You glared at him for several seconds but eventually loosened your grip.

Immediately turning around, Zemo brought his hand up to rub at the arm that had been angled uncomfortably behind his back, his gaze never leaving yours. Your eyes travelled down his figure, taking in the luxurious coat draped around his shoulders, the well-tailored purple turtleneck underneath that shaped his frame well, and the expensive-looking black gloves that clung to his fingers. When your eyes returned to his a smile was peeking through onto his lips.

“As I was saying before, I’m Helmut Zemo.” You noticed that he didn’t extend his hand a second time for a handshake. “But I take it you already knew that…Y/N, is it?”

You didn’t answer, simply continuing to stare at him through slitted eyelids.

“I would say it is a pleasure to meet you,” he began again, making his way over to a small bar cart as he poured himself a drink. “But it was actually a surprisingly painful introduction.”

Extending a gloved hand towards you Zemo offered you a glass of the brown liquid. With some hesitation you accepted, your eyes never leaving his as your hand brushed over his gloved one.

Tearing your gaze from his you made your way to the seat in front of where Sam and Bucky had been previously sitting. Taking a sip from your drink you motioned for the two men to reclaim their seats.

“So, tell me about these Flagsmashers.”

*

“If we have to do something about this, I’m the only one that looks like a pimp,” Sam commented, looking down to admire the colourfully decorated suit he was wearing.

The four of you were currently walking across an empty bridge, the lights of the bustling city burning bright in the distance.

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing; a sophisticated, charming, African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger,” Zemo replied, passing his phone to Sam, a photo lighting up the screen.

“He even has a bad nickname. Hell, he does look like me though.”

You walked closer to Sam, leaning over his shoulder to get a look at the picture. You laughed slightly to yourself.

“You sure you don’t have some alter ego you’re not telling us about?” you questioned.

“Ha, ha,” Sam responded dryly.

“So then who am I supposed to be?” you asked Zemo. “Some stunningly beautiful millionaire who also happens to look exactly like me, I presume?”

The sarcasm was obvious in your tone and yet you were still surprised at the small laugh that left Zemo’s lips. It was deep, dark, and didn’t last very long, but it was charming. You turned away from him and looped your arm through Sam’s instead, pretending to need assistance with walking from the six-inch heels Zemo had you wear.

The dress he had presented to you on the plane was surprisingly stunning. It was black and fell just above your ankles, a large slit running up the left side of the fabric and a cowling neckline that accentuated your figure perfectly. The back was low, the straps criss-crossing across your shoulders doing little to provide any solace from the evenings cold wind.

“In a sense I suppose that is correct,” Zemo responded. “You will be playing the role of my date.”

Your head whipped around to stare at him.

“Excuse me?”

Bucky and Sam tried in vain to hide their snickers. You punched Sam lightly in the arm.

“The Smiling Tiger, the Winter Soldier and I all have reputations that we can rely on here in Madripoor. Nobody knows who you are Y/N and that makes you the most valuable person here. By limiting you to just my date people will begin to underestimate you which makes you a valuable asset if things begin to go South.”

His words made sense and yet you refused to admit it.

“He’s not wrong, Y/N,” Sam whispered to you.

“I think if Bucky can pretend to be the Winter Soldier,” Zemo continued. “Then you will be perfectly capable of pretending to be my date.”

“No, I think Y/N still got the short straw here,” Bucky said, causing you and Sam to begin to snicker as a scowl appeared on Zemo’s face.

A black car began to approach you on the bridge, pulling up beside you. Just before you could open the door a gloved hand enclosed around the handle.

“Allow me, draga.”

He opened the door and motioned for you to enter. You met his gaze, raising an eyebrow up at him.

“I’m not your date just yet.”

“A lady should always be treated with respect whether she is one’s date or not.”

You hadn’t been expecting a response, yet he had provided one so quickly and with such sincerity in his voice that you couldn’t help but furrow your eyebrows at him. Your gaze lingered upon his for several seconds before he provided you with a curt nod.

You entered the car without another word, Zemo following in behind you so that you were now sandwiched between him and Sam with Bucky sitting quite comfortably in the front seat.

The drive into town was mostly quiet. You enjoyed looking out the window at the bright city, mesmerised by all the neon signs and blinding lights. The streets were riddled with guns; hidden in holsters on people’s hips, tucked into the backs of pants, or simply waved around nonchalantly. You checked the holster attached to your thigh for good measure.

Glancing into the rear-view mirror you could have sworn that you had met Zemo’s gaze for a split second, but with a blink of your eyes his head was now directed out the window, his gaze fixated on the passing buildings. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, but returned your gaze to the window once more without a word.

The streets were crawling with criminals when you reached the bar. Guns were being waved around as if they were a fashion accessory and blatant felonies were being conducted out in the open with no attempt to conceal anything.

Zemo exited the car first, and as you scooted across the seat to make your own exit you found that familiar gloved hand was already extended towards you. Looking up, your eyes met his, taking his hand without a word. You were now in character and you were going to play the role as best you could.

You didn’t let go of Zemo’s hand as he helped you from the car. Instead, after waiting for him to close the door behind you, you looped your arm through his as you had done to Sam only minutes previously, this time leaning into him much more closely than you had done with your friend.

If Zemo was surprised at your gentle touch he did not show it. Instead he flexed his arm to bring you slightly closer before leading you, Bucky and Sam into the bar. As soon as you had exited the car it seemed as if the whole street had their eyes on you. Your heart fluttered nervously in your chest, but your features remained neutral even as your eyes roamed freely around your surroundings.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you whispered to Zemo. “But I think you should’ve given me something a bit more revealing to wear. This dress is beautiful, but I look so out of place.”

Zemo turned to you with a smile on his face.

“Any woman on my arm will always be dressed in the finest of silks. It would be far more suspicious if I made you wear a more revealing dress, trust me.”

His voice was low as he spoke to you, his gaze fixated on you as he smiled cheekily.

Your heart fluttered nervously once more.

The bar was loud, hot and filled with half-drunk people rubbing their private parts against each other. The popular neon lights trickled in to the establishment, casting contrasting shadows of yellow and red across the space.

A bartender greeted you as you approached the bar, his face stoic and void of emotion.

“Hello gentlemen,” he nodded towards Sam. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

Zemo answered for him.

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby.”

The bartender turned to Sam.

“The usual?”

Sam nodded.

When the bartender returned with a snake and began to gut it right in front of you you couldn’t help the small smile that crept up onto your face when you realised what was happening.

“Ah,” Zemo began, “Smiling Tiger, your favourite.”

His tone was slightly mocking and it nearly caused you to burst out laughing right there, but you managed to retain your composure. Sam turned with a resentful look on his face to see you and Zemo trying to hide the smiles that were creeping on to your faces.

“I love these,” Sam said as he raised the glass to you.

You leaned your head on to Zemo’s shoulder in an attempt to hide your snickers. Sam clinked his glass against Zemo’s, and after some hesitation, downed the shot in one.

The smile was wiped from your face as you felt a presence approach you from behind, struggling against the instinct to reach for your weapon. Zemo felt you still beside him and immediately turned to meet the approaching man, placing you slightly behind him.

“I got word from on high,” the man said. “You ain’t welcome here.”

Zemo’s voice sounded nonchalant as he responded.

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists he can either come and talk to me,” Zemo looked behind him to where Bucky was standing.

“New haircut?” the man said to Bucky with a scoff.

Zemo’s voice was deep and demanding, grasping the man’s attention once more, “Or bring Selby for a chat.”

The man left but now your senses were on high alert as Zemo turned back to talk to Bucky. Your eyes scoured the room, noticing several men beginning to approach you. Slowly your hand began to travel down to your gun.

“Not yet, dušica.” Zemo’s gaze turned to Bucky just as one of the approaching men placed his hand upon Zemo’s shoulder. “Zimniy soldat. Ataka.”

Without hesitating Bucky grabbed the arm of the man who had touched Zemo, bending it painfully backwards. You watched on with bated breath, worried for your friend as he reverted back to what he once was, not because he wasn’t able to handle the fight—he wasn’t even breaking a sweat as he took on three guys at once—but because of what this little act might have on all the progress he had made.

Your gaze flickered to Zemo for a split second to find that he was smiling.

“It didn’t take long for him to fall back into form,” he whispered to you.

Ever since this trip had begun you had slowly started to become desensitised to the fact that you were in the presence of a mass murderer, often forgetting at times that the man before you had caused so much pain and suffering. But now it hit you all at once, causing you to become quite repulsed by the presence beside you.

Wanting to remove yourself from his side but knowing that you couldn’t you instead leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“If you smile again from Bucky’s pain, I’ll punch your teeth in so that when I burn you to death they won’t be able to use your dental records to identify your body.”

To say that Zemo was surprised at your comment was an understatement as he whipped his head around to look at you, his mask of composure forgotten for a split second as his eyes met yours. He didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes told you that he had not been expecting such a response. His gaze fell to the floor and you thought, just for a second, that maybe he was about to apologise, but when his eyes came back to look at you his mouth remained closed.

He noticed the change in your attitude immediately. Whilst you did not disentangle your arm from his, you now distanced yourself as far as you could from his side, your touch no longer the comfortable presence he had begun to enjoy, now cold and impersonal.

The sounds of guns being cocked brought your attention back to the room.

“Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us,” Zemo quickly whispered to Bucky. “Otlichnaya rabota, soldat,” he said louder.

Everyone in the bar paused as Bucky let go of the man he had been in the process of choking.

“Selby will see you now,” the bartender interrupted.

A small sigh of relief escaped from your lips.

The back room was poorly lit and smelt of alcohol and cigarettes, the wall to your left illuminated by small televisions that displayed the security camera footage from all over the bar.

Selby—a middle aged, menacing looking woman with short, platinum blonde hair—was sitting upon one of the luxurious couches, dressed in an ill-fitting suit with a loosely tied tie hanging around her neck.

“You should know, Baron,” she began, tapping her hand against the head of the couch. “People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.”

“Not a demand,” Zemo responded. “An offer.”

Zemo took a seat on the couch opposite to Selby’s, his hand in yours as he motioned for you to sit next to him. You paused for just a second before perching yourself so that you were instead sitting in his lap. As much as you didn’t want to be in this position, when you went undercover you did it well. Zemo’s face showed no hint of surprise, but his hands fumbled for a split second, unsure of where to place them before he rested one on your waist and one on your thigh, quite high up so that he was basically at your knee. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed and you found yourself quite surprised at his willingness to respect your boundaries.

Selby raised an eyebrow at you.

“A lot has changed since you were last here,” she said, her gaze now fixated on you. It made you feel uncomfortable, but you didn’t show it as you leaned back into Zemo’s touch. “By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”

Zemo’s gloved hand began rubbing circles on your knee, your skin exposed from the slit in the dress. You were pretty sure he wasn’t aware he was doing it, but you weren’t altogether against the touch.

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” he responded. “I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.”

“What’s the offer.”

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum, and I give you him.” Zemo’s gaze turned to Bucky who remained stoic and impassive in the corner of the room. “Along with the code words to control him, of course.”

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately.” She paused as she considered the offer. “You were right to seek me out. The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank…or condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo questioned.

“Oh, the breadcrumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron.” Selby’s gaze shifted to Bucky before it returned to land on you. “Who is this beautiful creature you’ve got with you?”

You felt Zemo stiffen beneath you.

“Ah,” he began, his voice somehow having grown deeper. “This one isn’t part of the deal. She’s mine.”

There was an intensity to the way he said mine. It was subtle, but it was there, and Selby noticed it as she quirked an eyebrow up at him.

“Are you sure about that, Baron?” she responded with a laugh. “These young creatures get so restless. Are you sure she’s not bored with you already?”

Zemo’s hand was now gripping your thigh a lot lower than where it had previously been and a lot harder; not so roughly that it hurt, but hard enough for you to realise that he was unsure of how to proceed. You turned your gaze to Selby who licked her lips as your eyes met hers, before turning your attention back to Zemo. He looked up towards you, a confused look flashing across his eyes as he tried to figure out what you were about to do. Having made your decision—and before you had enough time to really question what you were about to do—you leaned down towards the Baron and collided your lips with his.

Zemo hesitated at first, his lips unresponsive against yours for a split second before he returned the gesture. His hands came up to tangle themselves in your hair, your own hands gripping the base of his scalp. You slipped your tongue into his mouth and turned slightly so that Selby had a clear view.

You made sure the kiss was dirty and ferocious, and it left both of you breathless as you pulled away from him.

You turned to Selby with a smirk on your face, wiping some saliva from the corner of your mouth with the pad of your thumb as you maintained eye-contact with her.

“Not quite yet,” you said.

A viscous smile spread across her face but before Selby could respond Sam’s phone began to ring, and everything went downhill pretty quickly from there.

When the sniper shot came through the window you didn’t have time to be surprised, immediately leaping to your feet, gun already in hand. Before Selby’s henchmen had even had time to react you had already shot a bullet into two of their chests, Bucky taking out the third man in the room.

“We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead,” Zemo said, quickly making his way back down to the bar with you, Sam and Bucky close behind, your gun back in its concealed holster.

Descending the stairs quickly, Bucky leaned back with a smirk on his face. 

"Told you you got the short straw."

Punching him in the arm to try to get him to shut up you quickly realised your mistake as you brought your hand to your chest, pain flaring in your knuckles at having collided with the vibranium. A short laugh escaped from Bucky's lips.

"Focus," Zemo called from the front of the group.

You made your way back on to the street quickly, following Zemo as he hastily walked in a direction that you hoped would get you off the main strip. Looking around you as you walked you kept noticing people getting notifications on their phones and a bad feeling began to grow in your stomach.

A round of bullets were shot towards you, the proximity of the bang causing your ears to ring painfully. All four of you ducked immediately as you scrambled away quickly. Bucky and Sam ran forwards and Zemo, grabbing your hand swiftly, veered off into a small alley way, his hand never leaving yours as he ran. The sound of several footsteps followed close behind you, but before you could reach for your gun Zemo crowded you into a small alcove.

“What are you doing? They’ll see us here,” you angrily whispered. Your hand began to reach for your gun once more but Zemo stopped you.

“There’s too many of them,” he said quickly, peeking out from behind the alcove to spy on the approaching men.

“We’re sitting ducks here. I can probably get a few shots out if-”

All at once Zemo whipped back around and placed his index finger upon your lips to stop you from speaking.

“I’m truly sorry for this.”

For the second time that night Helmut Zemo’s lips were now upon yours, kissing you far more softly than you had kissed him before. His body was crowding yours against the wall of the alley way, his broad form easily shielding you. The footsteps got closer and closer, all the while you kept kissing the Baron. This time there was no tongue, just gentle lips upon yours as he kissed you tenderly and slowly.

That cologne you had first smelt that morning engulfed your senses now so that it was all you could smell. Your hands came up to grip at the fur collar of his coat, pulling him closer by the furred lapel, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the softness of it. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered the approaching footsteps; how close they came to you before they past right by, the group of men not giving you a second glance as one shouted orders to the rest in a language you couldn't be bothered to recognise.

At some point Zemo's tongue ended up in your mouth, or maybe it was your tongue in his. Either way you couldn't recall who had initiated it, and couldn't quite find the effort to care. One of his hands came up to cup your cheek whilst the other became entangled within your hair, pulling at your roots slightly so that you moaned at the feeling.

You moaned.

Pushing the baron away from you you immediately put as much distance as you could between the two of you. His lips were red and swollen and you were quite sure yours looked the same, both panting slightly as the cold air illuminated your breaths.

You could feel your cheeks begin to redden immediately, and swiftly turned away from him to hide your embarrassment.

You could still hear the men who had been following you, their footsteps far quieter now as they continued down the alley.

“I think they’re gone,” you finally said, having allowed the awkward silence to grow palpable between you.

“Yes…yes I think you’re right,” he responded, not meeting your gaze.

The sound of footsteps coming down the alley filled your ears once more, and this time you didn’t hesitate as you pulled your gun from its holster.

“Woah, easy there tiger, it’s just us,” Sam said, his hands held upwards in a sign of surrender.

You let out a sigh as you saw them and immediately felt Zemo’s gaze fall upon you.

[rax-writes]

Enchanted - Part II

Fandom:  The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina Pairing:  Caliban x Reader Warnings:  Violence, death + resurrection Notes:  Part I ♥ Here’s part two! Hope you all like it!

Your relationship with Caliban did not remain a secret for long. Your sister was the first to know.

As you jogged over to her at the carnival the following weekend, you said, “Sister, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I know how the Plague Kings’ plan to overthrow you. They’ll be keeping an eye on you for any missteps, and once given probable cause, they will force you and Caliban to embark on a quest to retrieve the Unholy Regalia.”

She was visibly stunned, and understandably so. “That’s great! But how did you find all that out?”

“That would be the bad news.”

As if on cue, Caliban then materialized, and wrapped an arm around your waist – which was immediately noticed by Sabrina.

“What did you rope my sister into?” she snarled at Caliban, but you held up a hand to silence them both before the bickering began.

“Caliban came to me and stated that he wished to court me. I first tried to convince him to end the coup in exchange for courtship, but he explained that even if he wanted to, he is unable to stop the Kings. So, instead, the exchange became useful information for courtship.”

“Mhmm,” Sabrina mused disbelievingly, glaring at the man at your side. “And for how long does she have to date you?”

“The only requirement to fulfill our agreement is a single date, hence our presence at this mortal affair,” Caliban answered, then smiled warmly at you. “After that, the status of our courtship is up to my lady.”

“Oh. Well, that’s not so bad,” Sabrina muttered, then shrugged as she turned to you. “At least you can get this night over with and never have to see him again.”

“In all honesty… I am not entirely opposed to seeing him again,” you admitted hesitantly, and Sabrina’s jaw dropped slightly as her brows furrowed in agitation. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Sister. For Satan’s sake, have you seen him? He’s more than a little easy on the eyes.”

Caliban chuckled, both at your compliment and your sister’s obvious annoyance. “Come, little dove. Let us explore this fanciful event.”

Though the evening had been a delight, and you enjoyed your time with your date, you couldn’t help but notice that Caliban seemed slightly on edge all night. After the sun had gone down, and you’d surveyed the majority of the carnival, Caliban requested to take you to dinner in a nice restaurant. You agreed, and he thoroughly surprised you by taking you to a quiet, romantic rooftop restaurant in Italy, having remembered you stating that Italian was your favorite food. It was the following morning before you realized that he’d been sensing the impending danger of Herod’s attack. Coincidentally, he had disappeared for a short while during dinner, and although he’d claimed to have gone to the restroom, you learned from Sabrina the following morning that he’d actually returned to Greendale to collect King Herod's crown.

Naturally, the two of you had bickered about him cheating your sister the next time you were together, but his soft lips and skilled hands had done wonders to dissipate your anger. Although you refused to admit it, you were positively hooked from thereon out.

You told yourself that you continued the dates and the trysts simply because it was merely an enjoyable pastime. But in truth, it was because you were slowly falling for the prince. Knowing it was a mistake due to his allegiance to Hell, and his position as the enemy of your sister, created a forbidden nature to the romance, and it only made you crave him more.

Little did you know, Caliban felt the same for you. Your smile set his soul aflame, and your laughter made his chest tighten with affection. The sight of your hair fanned across your pillow, mouth slightly agape in pleasure, was not one he would ever grow tired of. He had fallen well and truly in love with you.

This information was kept secret from one another, because both of you were scared to admit such a thing and risk scaring the other away.

It wasn’t long after your mutual realizations that he met your aunts and Ambrose. Although they were all pleased to have met the object of your affection, and they remained civil with him, it was evident that each member of your family distrusted him, and questioned his intentions with you.

Their distrust turned out to be short-lived.

Immediately following your coven’s Hare Moon celebration, one of the Pagans had developed a very intense dislike for you. All it took was for her to sense that you were a very powerful member of your kind – that is, until your powers faded – and she, being a harpy, notorious for their insatiable hunger and lust for torture, had decided that she would feast upon your witch flesh as her next meal.

It was that evening when she appeared. You had been relaxing on the front porch of the Spellman Mortuary, and at first, you thought she was merely a mortal woman – then her wings spread out from behind her as her glamour faded, bird-like legs sprouted from her torso, and her face became hideous, decayed and rotting. You had instinctively tried to run, but it was futile. After all, harpies were originally thought to be the personification of wind, so it was unsurprising that you were in her clutches before you even made it to the door.

The harpy’s sharp talons dug into your shoulders, and you screamed for help as she launched you into the yard. You fell flat on your back, which knocked the wind out of you, and she was on you again in the blink of an eye. As you felt the most impossibly intense, agonizing pain across your abdomen, you screamed again as you glanced down and realized she had torn you open. She began feasting on your flesh and organs, blood dripping from her claws as she ravaged you.

You were vaguely aware of a horrified scream from Sabrina somewhere behind you. She had just swung open the front door of the Spellman household to see the ghastly scene before her, Aunt Zelda, Aunt Hilda, and Ambrose right behind her. With a roar of pure rage, Ambrose charged at the harpy with his blade drawn, which drew her away from you. Sabrina and Hilda then kneeled beside you, the former with tears in her eyes and a terrified look on her face as she held your hand, and the latter clearly trying to hide her panic as she unsuccessfully attempted to heal you. But your injuries were far too extensive, and your loved ones’ magick was far too weak.

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot pierced through the night air, and you weakly turned your head to see Aunt Zelda holding a shotgun, Ambrose a few feet from your attacker, and the harpy lying dead on the ground. The two then ran over to you, both dropping to their knees at your side, their faces just as solemn and fearful as Sabrina and Aunt Hilda.

It was then, looking upon the panic-stricken faces of your family, that you knew you were going to die.

Darkness began to cloud your vision, and you vaguely heard your sister sobbing, and aunts and cousin begging you to stay conscious, giving you empty promises that they would find a way to fix this, and that everything would be alright. In the midst of all their hysterics, it seemed an idea donned on Sabrina.

“Caliban!” she screamed desperately into the night, her voice breaking from the force as she put behind it.

He appeared instantly, the usual vortex of flames escorting him onto the scene. He opened his mouth, no doubt to make a smug retort to Sabrina’s unceremonious summoning, before his eyes fell on you.

“No,” Caliban whispered in disbelief, still frozen on the spot. Blood poured from your abdomen, and the sight of you torn open and half-dead filled him with a sense of gripping terror and worry he had never before experienced. He ran over to you, skidding to a stop on his knees and gently cradling your head in his hands.

“Do something!” Sabrina begged, a sob raking her body. Caliban panicked for a split second, then a solution came to him. It was a last ditch effort kind of plan, but seeing as your eyes had already drifted shut, and your body was growing colder by the second, he knew that he must do something that would absolutely ensure your survival.

“With a desperate heart and no time to waste, I call upon all three Fates!”

In a cloud of smoke, three hooded figures appeared. Each had clouded eyes, long white hair, and greenish-gray, wrinkled skin.

“Fates, I beseech you to save this woman’s life,” Caliban pleaded.

“In exchange for our aid, you must give up the fate you have been pursuing so fiercely.” The Fates spoke in unison, their voices raspy and eerie. “You must cease your pursuit of the throne of Hell, and no longer seek to make Earth the tenth circle.”

“I shall. Here and now, I end my quest to become King of Hell, and remake the Earth as the tenth circle,” Caliban vowed. The lack of hesitation and conviction in his voice astounded each of the Spellman’s, although that was but a minor thought in the back of their minds at the moment. “Just save the woman I love, please.”

The Fates disappeared without another word in another cloud of smoke, at the same moment that a ragged, desperate gasp tore from your lips. The Spellman’s and Caliban all snapped their eyes back down to you. The fatal wound had been healed, and even your clothing was fixed. You sat bolt upright, as if you’d just been necromanced back to life – and, technically, you had. As you looked around at your loved ones, the realization that you were alive and safe sunk in, and you immediately began to cry.

“I saw Dad. I saw him,” you sobbed pitifully, and your family took you into their arms. You despised how weak you sounded, but seeing your father was something you were entirely unprepared for. Caliban rubbed his palm up and down your back, not wanting to interfere with your familial embrace. Still crying into Auntie Zee’s chest, you explained, “I died. I died and Dad was there waiting for me. He hugged me and told me that he was happy to see me, but it wasn’t my time yet.”

It was several minutes before you were able to compose yourself, although you supposed that was somewhat to be expected for someone who had just died then came back to life. After your aunts wiped your tears, you turned around to look at Caliban.

“I know you had something to do with this. We’re all powerless right now, so that is the only explanation,” you whispered. “What did you do?”

Caliban hesitated a moment, so Ambrose answered for him.

“He called upon the Fates. They demanded that he give up the fate he has been pursuing, in order to save you. So, he vowed to give up the throne of Hell, and said it was to save the woman he loves.”

You looked slowly from Ambrose back to Caliban. He appeared slightly perturbed that Ambrose revealed what he’d said in that moment of fear-fueled vulnerability, but didn’t bother to deny it.

“Caliban… is that true?”

“As I’ve told you before: anything for you,” Caliban answered, giving you a soft smile. You threw your arms around his neck, and he immediately wrapped his around your waist.

“I love you,” you murmured, your face buried in his neck. Caliban held you tightly and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“And I love you, little dove.”

[cozy-the-overlord]

Masquerade

Part 2 of Cozy’s Fluff-To-Angst Fun and Games

@loki-hargreeves said

Here's a fluffy-ish prompt for you,

Dancing together (anything between ballroom dancing or just dancing in the living room at 2am together) 💚

Summary: It didn’t have to be bad, Loki told himself. His parents were married through such an arrangement, and they were happy together. 

He would be happy too.

Word Count: 1,659

Pairing: Loki x OFC

A/N: I feel like if you’ve read any of my other stuff, you’ll know how my favorite trope is childhood friends to lovers. I thought I’d try a twist on that formula. Not sure if it worked, but here you go!

Thanks for reading!

Warnings: None? I think? It’s just Loki being lonely

Tags:  @lucywrites02 @silver-lupines @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

Loki had always loved dancing.

Alfheim balls were a little different from the ones he had grown up attending on Asgard, but the dancing was similar enough. It was a comfort, little scraps of familiarity floating in a frozen sea. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be swept up in the rhythm.

Rowan was radiant, as always. She laughed as she spun in his arms, the skirt of her dress flaring around her legs in a sparkling golden blur, and when he pulled her closer he found himself laughing too. It was impossible to resist—her smile was infectious.

His wife was a brilliant actress.

Loki hadn’t known what to expect from the arranged marriage laid before him. He had been granted only a month to attempt to straighten his thoughts before being sent away to Alfheim to meet his bride. It didn’t have to be bad, he told himself. His parents were married through such an arrangement, and they were happy together. Happy enough at least. He would be happy too.

And … he could almost feel happy here. Dancing. Drowning in the music. Letting the cacophony of the ballroom wash over him. The two of them swooped across the floor, so smooth they might have been flying, all eyes on them. It almost felt like the life he had always expected to lead.

It almost felt real.

Loki felt lightheaded. Before his wedding, he had never cared for Elven wine, but now he had been finding himself warming up to the drink a little more with each banquet. It made everything seem distant. He liked that.

Rowan twirled again. Her gown was silky green, swathed in gold—his colors, of course. She had been wearing something similar when he first arrived. Really, between the dress and her dark curls, she could have been mistaken for Loki’s sister. It was something Thor had been quick to point out, smacking his shoulder with a boisterous laugh as soon as they stepped off the Bifrost.

Loki missed that laugh. Everything here seemed too quiet. The highlight of his wedding feast had been watching his brother drunkenly frolic his way through the night, challenging men he didn’t know to duels over women he had just met, spilling wine all over himself when a pretty girl brushed up too close to him. His mother had been mortified, but Loki found it endlessly entertaining.

He had nearly cried the next morning, when he came down to bid his family farewell. He hid it, of course. It wouldn’t do to have a son of Odin bawling like a baby over a goodbye. He even managed a weak laugh, when Thor clapped him on the back and congratulated him for surviving his wedding night, although he was curious as to what his brother would say had he known Loki spent it on a couch.

But he really felt it rising, that frozen knot of panic in his throat, when his mother gave him one last embrace. He wondered if she could hear the frantic, childish plea he left unsaid.

Please don’t leave me here.

But as powerful as his mother was, she couldn’t read his mind, and so leave him they did.

He didn’t blame Rowan. He couldn’t—this was no more her fault than it was his. In fact, he had tremendous respect for her. The speech she had given him that night, when they returned to the apartment they were to share as husband and wife, had been straightforward and concise—perhaps a little rehearsed, but not so much that her conviction was unclear.

Still, it had startled him.

“I’ll be your wife. When I’m crowned Queen, you’ll be my Crown Prince. You and your realm will have the power and control you so desperately desire. But you won’t have me. You’ll never have me. Understand?”

Loki nodded. What was he supposed to do? Of all the scenarios he had run through his mind, over and over again until he could barely focus on anything else, he had never prepared for such an abrupt dismissal. When she disappeared into the bedroom, slamming the door with a swish of her emerald gown, he could only stand there like the great gaping idiot he was.

She was swishing that gown now, as they circled the floor once more. She stretched her hand out to his, his hand grazing her waistline as they turned to the music. The crowd of nobles watching from the edges of the ballroom seemed to have drawn even tighter around them since he last looked. The muscles in Loki’s neck tensed, but he held his easy smile. He had learned to dance through these maskless masquerades, and he danced them quite well.

Rowan wasn’t bothered by all the eyes on her. She peered across the assembly, scanning the faces even as she fell back into his arms beaming. Loki didn’t even have to look up to know who she was searching for.

He had met him once. The Other Man. His name was Ari, and he worked in the royal stables. For banquets such as this, however, he was occasionally called in to aid the overworked staff. It was a station he had been born into, it seemed—his father had served as groom, his mother a kitchen maid. Ari had served alongside him as a stableboy in his youth. He and Princess Rowan had known each other since they were children.

Loki had met him when he discovered him lounging in the very rooms he shared with his wife. It was a rare occasion—usually Rowan was smart enough to keep her extramarital engagements outside of the palace—but it seemed that she had to step out for a moment and asked Ari to wait for her. They shared several minutes of stilted conversation. Loki tried to be polite, but the stablehand was clearly uninterested in friendship. They were both exceedingly relieved when Rowan returned to whisk her lover away. The foul-eyed smirk Ari shot at him as he left made Loki feel sick.

He thought about asking Rowan not to bring him back to their apartment. Surely that would be a fair request. If Thor had been in his position he would certainly have no qualms about making it. No, he’d demand that Rowan never do such a thing again.

But … Loki had never exactly been the demanding type. He didn’t want to be the demanding type. It was her life, her love, and he was the intruder from another planet butting in and turning it upside down. It didn’t bother him that she wanted to be with someone else. He wasn’t jealous. He didn’t want Rowan, not like that. He didn’t love her, and she certainly didn’t love him, and Loki was perfectly fine with that. He wanted her to be with Ari, if that was what brought her happiness. They both deserved to be happy.

But … he found himself thinking about them a lot. He had precious little else to do here, besides nod along in meetings where he had no real say and reread books that no longer offered him escape. Loki’s mind would drift off, and he’d wonder how they met, the princess and the stableboy. Maybe Rowan had been lonely as a child—after all, she had no siblings, and the Alfheim court held precious few her age. Maybe she had come to the stables to hide away from the weight of royalty. Loki had done that when he was little—hide in the stables, or the wine cellar, or anywhere safe and secluded where it felt like nobody was looking at him.

Maybe she had hidden in an empty stall, and Ari found her when he came into clean. He imagined Ari had been quite lonely too—there couldn’t be a lot of conversation to be had when one spends their days mucking after horses—and so when he came across the princess huddled in the corner, her silk skirt carefully tucked under her knees, he sat down next to her.

Loki imagined them talking, not about anything in particular, just bouncing from topic to topic the way children tend to do. Maybe Rowan brought up her favorite book. Maybe Ari showed her his favorite flower. It didn’t really matter. But Loki pictured them growing closer, meeting up in secret again and again, their endeavors growing wilder with their childish glee. He saw them sneaking away to the roof of the palace to watch the sunset and count the stars, laughing at the ant-like people scurrying by below as they snacked on stolen chocolates. He saw them creeping away to practice dancing in the moonlight, with nothing but the nightingale’s song to count their steps. He saw them slowly begin to look each other in a different light, nervous lips brushing against each other for the first time. He saw them hatch plans of escape—long, intricate schemes that called for stolen ships and falsified identities—before they came to their senses and realized such plans would never come to fruition. He saw himself enter their story and felt their loathing.

Loki wished he had that. That closeness, that bond. He wished he could talk to Rowan, really talk to her and trust her to listen. Not in a romantic sense, but as something else. Friends. Weren’t there stories like that, where the husband and wife in arranged marriages grew to have a friendship more powerful than anything romantic?

But somehow, Loki knew that to his wife, he’d only ever be the man trying to rip her from her beloved.

The music was reaching a close. Rowan pulled away in a graceful curtsey. Loki let her go with a bow. The crowd rippled with polite applause, devoted and empty as always. Loki kept his smile, blithe as can be.

His wife wasn’t the only brilliant actor in the room.

[fanmoose12]

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 7/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

The city he had chosen to stay in was terrible.

It was noisy, it was crowdy, and the constant heat was making Levi go insane.

And while the city’s loudness and the amount of people in it made it easier for him to blend in, get lost in plain sight and all that bullshit, the heat— the fucking heat, gods, it was killing him.

Levi didn’t like cold weather, despised all the layer of clothes he had to put on just to get to the nearest supermarket and buy instant noodles, he hated the snow with passion he carried since his childhood, he thought that winter was the worst season of them all.

Oh, how wrong he was.

The heat was making his skin crawl. Even in just tank top and shorts, he felt too hot. Drinking cold water, taking cold showers, none of it helped. Levi turned the air conditioning in his room on maximum, but the motel he was staying at was shitty, his room was shitty, and, as a result, the air conditioning was shitty too.

Levi was sick of it. His skin was constantly clammy and sticky, he couldn’t sleep at night, there was never enough air around him, and walking around the city during the daytime made him seriously consider whether he was actually a vampire.

The sun… could it really burn so much? It didn’t used to be so unbearable before.

But apart from that… Levi was starting to accommodate to his new life.

Leaving his hometown behind, he decided to let go of his previous habits too. He got himself a job - not a respectable, but at least an honest one.

Being a janitor in a shitty bar after spending most of his life as a thief was almost… therapeutic.

The vomit on the walls and piss on the floors were enraging him to the point of seeing red and sometimes he wanted to break a leg of every asshole who didn’t know when they had enough and went to make a mess in the toilet, but… working there was therapeutic nevertheless. And a definite improvement too.

At least, his life wasn’t in danger anymore and he didn’t have to run away from police.

Although, he wouldn’t mind running away from a certain police officer. Perhaps, this time he would let her catch him. Perhaps, then his heart would stop clenching in pain every time he thought about Hange.

Perhaps, then he’d be able to let go.

He tried letting go, forgetting about Hange, just as he tried to put behind his life of crime. Unfortunately, putting Hange behind proved to be that much harder.

Some nights, when the heat was especially bad, he felt especially lonely and the shitty whiskey at the shitty bar he was working at didn’t do the trick, he’d snuck a look at how Hange was doing. He’d open his phone, scroll through a news feed. If he’d get lucky, there would a recording of some press conference with Hange at the center of it all.

Apparently, she was doing well. Her shoulder was almost healed, although sometimes she still winced, when gesticulating too frantically. But the paleness in her face that was present when he had visited her at the hospital was long gone, and at the few press conferences that allowed Levi to catch a glimpse of her, Hange’s cheeks were adorned by healthy, rosy blush. Her hair was just as wild, just as messy, and her voice carried the same inspiring conviction.

Whether Hange found out the truth about him or not, he didn’t know, but she had moved past Ackermans’ case and during the time Levi was getting used to his new life she alredy solved two robberies.

She was working on a new case now, something about a young girl who had mysteriously vanished. Levi didn’t bother to find out the details, the name Krista Lenz meant nothing to him, but nevertheless, he wished that Hange would succeed. She deserved that, her quick wit and determination were meant to be recognized and celebrated.

That bright, happy smile on her face, the one she was sporting during the conference that discussed one of the solved robberies, it suited Hange so much. Levi wished she’d wear it more often.

He wished he’d see it more often, but well… some things just weren’t meant to be.

Strangely so, Kenny didn’t contact him even once. No obnoxious phone call, no mysterious messages or weird gifts. There was no sign of him for almost two months, and Levi would have started worrying, would have tried to contact the man himself, if… if Kenny wasn’t Kenny.

His uncle was like a cockroach, Levi was one hundred percent sure that nothing and no one could cause him any harm. And if there was someone who actually could do this, Kenny would have harmed them back, ten times worse.

Still, the thoughts about Kenny lingered at the back of his mind, and memories about Hange did the same irritating thing. It made Levi feel awfully nostalgic sometimes, borderline melancholic. And fairly quickly he found out there was nothing he could do about it. No amount of whiskey or dirty toilets could chase that sadness away. That sadness was a new part of his new life.

Maybe, it was better than always living on the edge.

Luckily, he didn’t feel so lonely all the time, his colleagues at the bar made sure of that.

And while his boss, a bald, gross man called Shadis definitely wasn’t a joy to have around, two others – a barmaid named Sasha and waiter Connie were so much better.

They were annoying in their own right, of course. Sasha had a weird obsession with food, Connie’s sense of humor left much to be desired, and together both of them were so damn loud, but for brats who barely stepped into adulthood, they provided a fairly enjoyable company.

They let Levi take his mind off certain things, and they kept him from falling into the abyss of loneliness and depression.

They also opened up the side of him that Levi wasn’t even aware of.

Connie had once mentioned in a passing that his mother had died years ago, and whatever happened to Sasha’s family, she wasn’t living with them anymore, sharing a small flat with Connie and another guy, Jean.

In Levi’s humble, unbiased opinion, Jean was a self-centered, pompous jerk. He wasn’t working in the bar with his two friends, and instead had involved himself in some shady shit with a local gang, which apparently terrified the whole neighborhood. Levi wanted to tell the boy that he was a fucking idiot, if he thought that messing with criminals was a good idea, but he doubted that Jean would listen. Luckily, Jean wasn’t around too often and visited the bar only, when he was miserable about some girl he had a crush on, or whenever he wished to get drunk for free.

It was a good thing that Levi barely interacted with Jean. The boy was so annoying. And also – too damn tall.

He didn’t hear about any other friends of theirs, and as far as Levi was aware, there was no actual adult watching over Sasha and Connie, so… he kinda, unwillingly, of course, took that task upon himself.

Obviously, he made sure to remain discreet. He didn’t want the brats to know that he cared, because he didn’t, naturally.

He claimed that he simply cooked too much food and the leftovers would go to waste, if he didn’t give them away, when he brought them pasta or soup. He mentioned his insomnia and pretended that long walks helped him sleep better, when Sasha and Connie went home after midnight. He lied about having experience in bartending when Sasha got stomach flu. He said that he was just accidentally passing by their apartment, when later that day he visited to check on her.

The brats were too dense to notice his subtle attempts anyway, or so Levi hoped. They had never brought it up, and that had to mean something, right?

And that time when Connie tried to fix Levi’s air conditioning, or when Sasha brought a whole jar of his favorite tea, or all those evenings when he felt blue and homesick and they helped him clean the bar and took him out to dinner, surely it was nothing more than a coincidence.

The brats had their moments, Levi had to admit, and sometimes their presence was almost pleasant.

But sometimes they made him wish they shut their mouths and never opened them again.

Right now, that desire was more prevalent than ever.

“Say, Mister Levi,” Levi hated when they called him that, it made him sound even older than he actually was. He told them to stop it, many times. But the brats didn’t care. He slowly raised his eyes to show that he was listening. As soon as he did, Sasha put a fist underneath her chin, forgetting about the important task of cleaning the glasses to stare at him curiously. “Do you have someone?”

“Someone?” he had an inkling of what Sasha was asking him about, but he didn’t wish to discuss that with the damned brats. He didn’t wish to discuss that topic with no one, ever. Because… there was nothing to discuss.

“Yep, someone!” Connie chimed in. “Like, hm, a significant other?”

“A beloved!” Sasha agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

Levi felt the migraine coming. “I don’t have any kind of someone,” he gritted. “And I never did.”

“Really?” Sasha tilted her head to the side, looking so skeptical that Levi was ready to get offended. Was he not convincing enough? “I thought you do. It’s just that sometimes—”

“When you think no one is looking!” Connie swiftly added.

“Your face seems so much softer, and your scowl almost disappears, and you look—”

“Just like Jean when he thinks about Mikasa.”

Who the fuck was Mikasa? And what face was Jean making? Levi couldn’t be making the same one, could he?

“But if you say there is no one,” Sasha sighed, returning to her task of cleaning glasses. Wearing the same sad face as she did, Connie went back to gathering dishes from the tables. “Then I guess we’re wrong.”

Damn right, they were. There was no one, and whatever face they thought he was making, it couldn’t possibly be related to a certain police officer from the other side of the world.

“And if there is no one you have to think about,” Sasha winked, like she was seeing right through him. “Then let me make you a drink. It’s a new recipe I found, it involves tequila, vodka and—”

Levi raised a hand to cut her off. “Just surprise me.”

Sasha nodded and went to work. She frequently let Levi taste her new cocktails. He was the perfect man for it – he didn’t get drunk too fast, and he was the only Sasha’s friend who tasted something better than cheap whiskey or a beer from a local supermarket. He also never shied away from telling her when the drink was fucking awful.

Sasha hummed as she mixed the drink, some song Levi vaguely recognized from the radio. She was smiling too, she did that frequently, and something about her, be it the ponytail that jumped up and down when she was excited, or her easy-going, cheerful personality reminded him of Hange.

These days, lots of things reminded him about Hange. There were days when almost everything reminded him of Hange. It seemed like today was exactly a day like that.

“You’re making that same face again,” Sasha whispered, as she handed him the drink.

Levi scowled, glaring at the girl, as he put the glass up to his lips. He finished it in one go. “It tastes like shit,” he told her. “Put it on the menu.”

Sasha beamed, refilling his glass. “Knew you’d like it.”

“By the way, boss,” Levi wasn’t their boss, as far as he was aware, their actual boss was getting drunk in his office, all the while mumbling incomprehensible gibberish about some Carla. But Levi had to admit, being called boss was so much better than the godforsaken mister Levi. "Are you free tonight?"

Levi was free every day and every night, when he wasn’t working in the bar with Connie and Sasha. It wasn’t like he had any friends or even acquaintances beside two brats. However, saying it out loud would make him look even more pathetic that he actually was. So Levi shrugged, and said, as nonchalantly as possible, “Depends.”

“Would you like to come over for dinner?” Connie asked, looking at him with a smile so hopeful that Levi was ready to say yes right that instant. God, they already had him wrapped around their fingers. How embarrassing. At least, Kenny wasn’t here to witness it. He’d have a laugh of his life, if he found that Levi was adopted by two teenagers. “Jean is away on a trip, so we’d be glad to have some company.”

“He went to see his family?”

From the way Sasha bit her lip and Connie refused to meet his eye, Levi knew – their friend didn’t go on a simple trip. He sighed, taking a sip from his glass and letting the bitter liquid burn his throat. Admittedly, it was none of his business. He shouldn’t care about it, he wasn’t their father, for god’s sake. But… a friendly piece of advice wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Your friend plays with fire. And if he continues doing so—”

“Jean knows what he is doing,” Connie crossed hands on his chest defensively. “He is smart.”

Levi couldn’t help but scoff. “Just being smart is not enough. There will always be someone smarter.”

“Jean knows what he is doing,” Connie repeated stubbornly. “He’ll be fine.”

Maybe, he will, maybe, he won’t. At the end of the day, Levi had no say about it. He might call them brats, but they were already adults. They were allowed to do as they wished. They were bound to make some mistakes.

“Tell him to be more careful. Otherwise, you’ll suffer too.”

Levi left it at that, not wanting to antagonize Sasha and Connie any further. Besides, it was time to open the bar, or the drunkards all across the block would start banging on their doors. Worse than that, Shadis might come out of his office too. His sour face was the last thing Levi wished to see.

“Let’s get to work,” he nodded to the kids, and took his drink to the dark corner of the room, where he usually spend his shifts, waiting until the patrons start making a mess he’d have to clean.

Surprisingly, the evening came and went, but there was no mess for him to deal with. No one vomited, no one shitted all over the toilets. No one spilled their beer on the floor, or even a table. Were their patrons starting to learn how act like people, and not pigs? Or were they so well-behaved because it was just the beginning of a week? Or did the heat finally get to them and turn them just as slow and tired as Levi himself felt?

However, the weather was more merciful that day. The temperature was still high, too high for Levi’s taste, but just after the sunset the wind was starting to pick up, the storm slowly brewing. During the smoke break outside the bar, Levi could see the lightening, illuminating the far edge of the sky. The rain was in the air, and he allowed his lips to curl up in a pleased smile. Perhaps, he’d finally be able to sleep through the whole night and not toss and turn, feeling like the bed turned into a scorching pan.

When he went back inside, the bar was almost empty, just a few regulars left, nursing their half-finished drinks.

“Do you want to have pizza or sushi?” Sasha asked, as he started sweeping the floor. “We can order both if you wish.”

Levi rolled his eyes with a disgusted tsk. “Eating so much takeout is unhealthy. Let’s finish here and go to supermarket. I’ll cook you something decent.”

Connie yelled a loud yahoo, while Sasha squeezed him in a suffocating hug. The heartwarming moment was cut short, when the door to the bar was thrown open with a loud bang.

It let inside the gush of wind and drops of freezing rain. With a broom still in his hands, Levi turned sharply to the door, ready to rip the unlucky drunkard a new one, the bar had closed almost an hour ago, the sign was right there for everyone to see.

All harsh words died on the way between his throat and his tongue. Levi froze on the spot, and in the silence that followed the lightning strike was as sudden as a gunshot.

Sasha’s distressed cry and Connie’s shocked sob put him out of the stupor.

Throwing the broom away, Levi moved, catching the falling, bloodied boy into his arms.

“Jean!” Sasha was the first one of the two to snap out of it. She ran to Levi, with trembling hands lifting up her friend’s face.

“What the fuck had happened?” Connie kneeled next to them, his eyes wide and scared as he stared at Jean.

Jean looked awful, there was no way around it. His cheeks and jaw were bruised, his right eye was already swollen, and his light brown hair had too much red in it.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, too weak and injured to offer something more than a shaking whisper. “I’m sorry, I’ve fucked up, I didn’t know where to run and now they’re coming here, I didn’t mean to do this, I didn’t think, I—”

He could continue that nonessential ramble for the rest of the night. But if they, whoever those they were, were truly coming, Jean and his friends didn’t have that much time. Carefully, Levi lifted Jean’s arm, wincing when he saw that the boy’s shirt was bloodied too, and threw it over Connie’s shoulder. Then he took the key from the back pocket of his shorts and thrusted it into Sasha’s palm.

“Take him to my room in the motel.”

“And you?”

Levi pushed the hair away from his face, already hating himself for his next words. Kenny was right, he cared too much, and it was his biggest weakness, one that would probably get him killed one day. Perhaps, that day had already arrived.

“I’ll stay here and buy you some time.”

“No!” Jean protested, frantically grabbing Levi by the elbow. “It’s my fuck up, you shouldn’t get involved, you don’t know—”

“I do know. And unlike you, I can actually take care of myself.”

Perhaps, he was too harsh, but it was necessary. Jean had fucked up, and whatever he had done, he had to own that mistake and learn from it. That was the only way he would survive through another one of his mistakes.

“Hurry up,” he told Sasha and Connie. “I’ll meet you as soon as I’m finished.”

Thankfully, they didn’t try to argue. Connie wished him luck and Sasha made him promise to come back, and that was it.

As soon as they had left, Levi hopped behind the bar counter to pour himself a shot of whiskey. He lighted up a cigarette, waiting for the front door to swing open and Jean’s persecutors to arrive. Hopefully, they’d do it without guns blazing.

He was just finishing the first glass and was thinking of getting himself a second one, when the mighty kick almost as loud as the thunder outside pushed the door open. Three men tumbled inside a second later, their faces transformed by fury into caricature masks.

“Where is that son of a bitch?” roared one in the middle, their leader, Levi assumed.

Levi was in no hurry to answer. He took the last drag of the cigarette, meticulously put it down against the surface of an ashtray. Then looked at the men in front of him. “The bar is closed. There is no one here but me.”

“Stop fucking with us!” the asshole on the left shouted. “We saw him run inside!”

“If that fucker isn’t here, perhaps we should look around for his friends,” the third man offered. “I know they’re working here.”

So there was no way around it? Levi sighed, walking from beyond the counter. “Just so you know,” approaching the men, he cracked his knuckles. “I don’t condone violence.”

One of the thugs started laughing, the other two immediately followed. Levi didn’t expect any other reaction. The men were burly, large, they definitely weren’t smart.

“What are you going to do to us, midget? Do you seriously think you can beat us up?”

The insult was followed by a punch, a careless, blundering one. Levi effortlessly dodged it, delivering a vicious kick to the stomach of his attacker. The man - who upon the close inspection had yellow teeth and reeked of cheap alcohol – staggered. He caught himself at the last second, holding onto nearest table with white-knuckled desperation. Levi hit again, this time with his knee. With a gasp that turned into a groan, the man fell onto the ground.

Luckily, he stayed there, and Levi turned his attention to the other two.

The one who stood at the left attacked instantly, aiming his enormous fist at Levi’s jaw. There was an unfinished bottle of whiskey on the counter right behind him, and Levi grabbed it, smashing it against the man’s head. The resulting sound was loud, almost deafening. Levi tried to forget about the mess of spilled whiskey on the floor and let himself enjoy that pleasant sound for another moment.

That was a slight miscalculation on his part, because the last man apparently was armed with knife, and he swung it without hesitation. Levi jumped to the side, but wasn’t quick enough. The knife’s edge kissed his cheek, leaving a smear of blood behind it. A mere second later, the knife was in the air once again. Levi was ready for it this time, but as he prepared to take a swift step back, his ankle refused to budge. He looked down to see that one of the defeated men was back in the game, still laying on a floor, but holding Levi in one place. Levi quickly dealt with him, using another leg to kick the man’s head. It took him no more than a moment, but it was enough for him to lose sight of his last attacker. Whatever plan of retaliation Levi had, he lost it, when the knife embedded in his forearm, making him hiss and cuss. Irritated, he roughly grabbed the hand that held the knife, twisting the arm at the wrist.

There was a loud crack, then the even louder scream.

Not too elegant, but, at least, it did the job.

Yanking the knife out of his arm, Levi threw it away, allowing it to clutter on the ground.

“Get the fuck out of here!” he snarled at the men, who weren’t laughing anymore. On the contrary, their faces were panicked, frightened. They pathetically scrambled to their feet, pushing each other to get outside as fast as possible. “And don’t come back!” Levi shouted to their backs.

When the door fell closed, Levi slumped back against the counter. The spot on his cheek was tingling unpleasantly, his arm was hurting like a bitch, and the whole bar had turned into a mess – the shards of glass and spilled whiskey were all over the floor. The blood from his arm was creating a small puddle too.

Levi viciously cursed and grabbed a towel, making a make-shift bandage. It had to do for the time being.

One mess was dealt with, and now another was awaiting him. He’d be lucky if the dirty floor would be the biggest of his troubles tonight.

But somehow, Levi knew that it was just the beginning.

***

Levi never considered himself to be a philosophic kind of person, he never pondered on the meaning of things, never felt the desire to look at the problem at hand from all possible angles, never reflected on his feelings and emotions.

He did however notice that the small room he had rented in a shitty motel at the edge of the city never felt to him like home. It was a place to live, it had a bed to sleep, it held some of his belongings, but it wasn’t a home, it didn’t provoke in him the feeling of belonging that he found inside the walls of his and Kenny’s old apartment.

He spent a little more than two months, living in that shithole, and never once he thought – I’m home, never once he felt – I belong right here.

But something very similar was blooming in his chest, when he passed the threshold of his shitty motel room and fell right into the arms of Connie and Sasha.

Sasha started cleaning his wounds right away, while Connie rushed to get the new bandages for his bloodied arm.

“You should have been more careful,” Sasha chided, and, fuck, he really got adopted by a couple of kids just like that.

“We could have dealt with this ourselves,” Connie said, and then, after a little pause, added, “Probably.”

Levi hummed and resisted the urge to ruffle the hair on their heads. He didn’t have that much affection for the little shits. Probably.

Just as they finished, Jean appeared, unsteadily walking out of the bathroom. He stopped not long after, leaning against the doorframe. Patched up and cleaned, he still didn’t look like his usual, confident and complacent self. Now he reminded Levi of a puppy who was thoroughly and viciously kicked. His hair was now clean of blood, but the shirt was still covered in red patches. Levi would have offered him one of his own t-shirts, but… on Jean’s lanky body it’d look more like a crop top. Or a child’s shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Jean murmured, not meeting Levi’s eyes. “I didn’t know it’d lead to this.”

Yeah, they almost never know. Levi sighed, there was no point in scolding boy any further. He had realized his fuck up already, his buddies from the gang made sure of that.

“What the hell happened?” Levi asked, his back turned to Jean, as he went to prepare the tea for all of them. It would help to soothe some of Jean’s injuries, and it would also help to relieve Levi of the building tension in his shoulders.

“I… wasn’t quite ready for this life, I guess,” Jean sat down on a bed, covering his face with hands. “There is a guy I’ve been working with, he stole some drugs he was supposed to sell, and other gang members found out and decided to punish him, make an example out of him, but that guy… he was my friend, sort of? We hanged out a lot, and I just couldn’t see him get hurt like that…”

“Oh my god!” Sasha’s hands flew to her face and her mouth opened wide. “Did you get beat up because you tried to protect Marco?”

Connie snorted. “I see you’re getting over Mikasa pretty quickly.”

Behind his hands, Jean’s face started to gain color. “I just helped a guy out.”

“And didn’t even ask for a kiss after the heroic rescue?” Sasha teased.

“There wasn’t much time for kisses after the whole gang started running after us.”

“You poor thing,” Connie patted Jean’s head, sharing a mischievous look with Sasha. “Didn’t even get a kiss for all the trouble.”

The two boys started to bicker, and Levi watched the scene, feeling the pounding inside his head increase. It’d be a long, long night. The one he’d have to spend sleeping on a floor, because there were three brats in his room and only one queen-sized bed.

He raised a hand, putting a stop to the argument that was starting to raise in volume.

“Is the other guy alright?” he asked Jean, as he handed him a cup, filled with steaming tea.

Jean accepted the drink with a grateful nod, but didn’t answer the question right away, staring inside the cup thoughtfully. “He managed to get out of the city. The assholes that beat me up caught me just after he got on a bus.”

Well, that was certainly good news. The only one they received since the beginning of this evening.

“You have to run away too, preferably for quite some time. Those guys won’t forget about you so easily. Do you have a place where you can hide?”

“Well…” frowning, Jean rubbed his neck, “My parents have a summer house…”

“Excellent, does anyone know about it?”

“No, not even these idiots,” Jean answered, pointing at Sasha and Connie.

“Then take these idiots, because your gangster pals know, where all of you live and work,” Levi grumbled. “And get out of here first thing in the morning. Spend a few months in the countryside, wait until this shitty storm is over.”

“And what about you? Now they know about you too.”

What about him… good question. And a very easy one to answer. He’d have to change cities again, luckily, he already had some experience with that. Sure, it was an inconvenience, but… better than live his life and have to constantly look over his shoulder, or die in some dirty alleyway. Perhaps, he’d be able to return some day, when the tensions were long over.

“I’ll leave the city,” he told them. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You had to run away before?” Connie asked, awe written all over his face. “So cool!”

“And you beat up all these guys for us!” Sasha agreed, adoration shining in her gaze.

“You aren’t just a janitor, eh?” Jean stared at him with narrowed eyes.

Levi saved from answering by a loud shrill of the phone.

Everyone in the room tensed, Levi felt his heart pounding inside his chest, a relentless boom, boom, boom. He wet his lips, his throat suddenly too dry, and stood up.

“No!” Jean grabbed his arm, stopping Levi from picking up the phone. Levi understood his panic, it was the middle of the night, who in their right mind would call him at this time? Who would call him period, all the people Levi knew in this city were sitting next to him. Unless, it was Shadis who got out of his drunken stupor and decided to have a friendly chat with a janitor from his bar?

And if it wasn’t Shadis, then…

Acutely feeling his every heartbeat, Levi pulled his arm out of Jean’s grasp. Swallowing that persisting lump inside his throat down, he put his hand on a phone handle. Slowly, holding in his breath, he lifted the phone and put it to his ear.

“Is your name even Levi? Or was that another lie, you asshole?”

That voice. Her voice. Levi helplessly fell back in the armchair behind him.

“H-hange?” the crack in his voice was heard and analyzed by a bunch of kids, who now all stood beside him. Levi waved them away, drowning out the intrigued murmuring, and focused on a person on the other side of the line.

“You still remember my name, I’m flattered, Ackerman,” ah, so she found out. Not surprising in the slightest, but disappointing nevertheless. But how did she find out? And when? And why she was calling now? And how she managed to obtain the number of a motel he was staying at? So many questions, Levi wanted to ask them all at once. He didn’t even know where to start. “And just a piece of friendly advice, next time you go into hiding, don’t go around asking police officers on a date.”

Well, that was one question answered. Only one hundred remained.

“Are you going to arrest me now?”

“No, unfortunately,” Hange bitterly replied. “I need you, Ackerman. For work,” she added, before Levi could get any ideas and just before his heart started racing like crazy. “Take the first flight back to city, if you don’t want me to drag you out of there by force. I’ll be waiting for you in the airport.”

Hange was going to end the call, Levi could practically see her finger hover over the button. Before she did, he cried out, “Wait!” and then, much more calmly he added, “What do you need me for?”

“Your uncle went missing. I need you to help me find him.”

The line went dead immediately after that. It took Levi another moment to pull himself together.

Kenny was… missing? Kenny, his ruthless, unstoppable uncle? And Hange was looking for him? Too much was unknown, too much was unclear, too much was yet to be explained.

One thing for sure, he wouldn’t find the answers here. Well, one problem was solved then, he didn’t have to change cities anymore. He’d just have to return home.

“So.”

Just a short word, but so much meaning was put in it. With a feeling of dread, Levi turned to face Sasha. He shuddered at the sight of her wide, shit-eating smile.

“Hange, hm?” she asked, twirling a lock of hair.

“Hange is your someone, right?” Connie excitedly exclaimed. “Your Mikasa?”

“Hange is his Marco,” Sasha corrected, earning a vicious curse and a middle finger from Jean. “I guess it’s all over with Mikasa.”

It was all over with Hange too. There was nothing with Hange to begin with. And there would be nothing, because apparently she hated him now. For a good reason too.

Fuck. Kenny, Hange, the brats, they all caused Levi a massive headache. And there was no running away from it, they’d find him whenever he ran.

Perhaps, it meant that he had to stop running. And come back home.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he told the kids. “A long journey is ahead of you. And ahead of me too.”

“You’re leaving? To your Hange?”

“Hange is not my someone, I’m just leaving,” Levi grunted, turning off the light. “Go to sleep before I knock you all out.”

Thankfully, they listened and got on a bed without a word of complain.

“It’s good that your Hange found you,” Sasha mumbled, already sleepy. “Maybe, now you won’t be so sad anymore.”

Sasha seemed to fall asleep immediately after, not waiting for Levi’s answer. Or, perhaps, she wasn’t interested in it.

Soon Connie was out as well, and even Jean, after a few of tosses, turns and more than a dozen pained groans managed to settle in comfortably and fall into deep slumber.

Levi didn’t get so lucky, the thoughts about what tomorrow would bring swirling in his mind and keeping him awake.

But, well… at least his melancholy and homesickness wouldn’t be a problem anymore. After two months of being away, he was going home at last.

Strangely, the prospect didn’t seem that thrilling.

[attack-on-kiwi]

Jean alphabet ?🥲😌

The crush I have on this man is embarrassing-

Jean Kiirstein:

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Jean is a simple guy. Any time he’s around his s/o, he’s content. Usually, he will let them pick what they want to do. He’s not averse to just spending a day tending to the horses and riding around valleys on them. He finds it freeing. It’s especially enjoyable if they two are sharing the ride and his s/o is hugging him just tight enough from behind and laughing into his back. He doesn’t think that will ever stop bringing butterflies into his stomach.

He looks forward to any sort of domestic activity. Sleeping in and holding his s/o from leaving bed, helping them cut up vegetables for breakfast, surprising them with flowers or sweets when he has the opportunity to- anything classic, sweet, and intimate.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

They bring him back to reality. He’s not idealistic in any sense- instead he tends to get lost in his thoughts and can spiral into negative outbursts. He can also become closed off, so having his s/o, who can snap him back to his sense and remind him that not everything has gone to hell (even though, it’s pretty damn close to being so), means the world to him.

Jean is smitten. Another guy who thinks his s/o is the most gorgeous being to ever grace the earth. He thinks they’re the most beautiful when. they’re concentrating on a task. The way they refuse to let anyone or anything get in the way of their objective, no matter how menial or grand, bubbles pride in him.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Jean would drop everything that can be put off to help his s/o. He absolutely hates when they feel upset, and he’s not that good at comforting people. He’ll just crouch down (or bring them down if they’re taller) to eye level and ask them what they need him to do. His voice is soft, laced with concern. 

Jean damn near might tear up himself if his s/o is upset enough. He’ll stay with them for as long as they need to, and then some more. He’s likely going to hover or keep an eye on them for the next few days to make sure they’re truly all right.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Jean wants to get married and have a family. He doesn’t care if the kids are biological or adopted, but he wants kids. He could settle for a son and daughter, but it doesn’t really matter. He’d like at least two kids to keep him on his toes. He aspires to give them the most peaceful life and wants to be present in their lives for anything and everything.

He’s terrified of the idea of becoming a husband and father, but it’s one of the thoughts that keeps him going. He knows he wants his s/o by his side for the rest of their lives. Considering everything they’ve been through, he’s already planning on how to propose.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Jean doesn’t think of being dominant or passive in a relationship. He can take initiative in most cases, but he’s not going to impose on his s/o. He’s present in the relationship, and will often check in with his s/o. to make sure that they’re okay. It’s important to him that they be transparent and aware of how the other is feeling, though he might bury his own feelings quite often.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Being as confrontational as he is, it’s not uncommon to get into fights. He never gets physical with his s/o. The two are rather prone to heated arguments that can escalate to screaming at each other if the conflict is serious enough. 

Jean absolutely hates that he can’t hold himself back. He’s too forthright with his thoughts.. He does try his best not to hit low blows. No matter what, his arguments are based on fact and he won’t rely on jabbing at his s/o’s insecurities to gain an edge during a fight.

He needs his space. Usually, this just means the two separate and cool down a few hours. The longest he will go without speaking to them is a night. First thing in the morning, he’ll try to calmly confront them and apologize for his behavior, asking if they can try to talk the issue out now that they’ve had some rest.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Jean’s a grateful man, even if his slight pessimistic attitude can point you otherwise. He doesn’t verbally say that he’s grateful, but his actions truly speak louder than his words. He’s always got an eye on his s/o, he stops them when they’re overexerting themselves, he can sense when all they need is to be held for a few moments, and he’s always seeking out ways to make their day brighter. 

One way he might allow himself to be vulnerable is sitting behind them in bed and clasping their hands together, kissing each of their knuckles lightly. Jean likes to speak just above a whisper, listing why he loves them.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

No huge secrets. He does hide how he’s feeling at times, especially if he is stressed and doesn’t want them to feel pressured. Jean does press his s/o to tell him whatever is on their mind, though. The two have an honest relationship. You have to be blunt if you want to work with Jean, after all. He doesn’t mind if his s/o needs to keep secrets, as long as it’s nothing serious, like their loyalty to him shifting.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Jean allows himself to be more sensitive around his s/o. Normally, he would never entertain being overtly emotional or softer yet around his s/o, he’s quite different. There’s a gentleness about him which no one gets to see any other time. Truly, he will keep this persona for behind closed doors, but it does seep into his day to day. He’s kinder to people after he’s spent time with his partner. 

He is fighting for the people he loves-- to guarantee they can live fulfilling lives, grow old, then finally die peacefully. It’s all he wants, and having people to fight for is his heaviest inspiration.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

He’s secure with himself in most senses, but there are times when Jean feels like he could be giving his s/o more attention or time. He may feel a twinge of guilt if his s/o starts to deflate at the idea of asking him if he has free time because it hurts that they worry about getting in the way of his work. During these episodes, it’s easy for Jean to become suspicious of other people, specifically other men, that are hovering around his s/o more than before. If it bothers him enough, he will call it out.

Usually, Jean is to ashamed of feeling insecure to outright explain why he’s jealous. His s/o can gauge if he’s uneasy by how clingy he is afterwards.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Jean’s kisses are either shy or extremely passionate. Depending on how much adrenaline is rushing through his body, he can encapsulate his partner in a fiery lip lock that will leave them short of an accidental asphyxiation (sorry I need to shut up). When he’s sleepy or has been missing his s/o, he’s prone to soft, short pecks. He likes to whisper into their lips, most of the time, he will be saying, “Just one more” as he dozes off.

His s/o is his first kiss, so it’s about as awkward as first kisses can get. His mouth and throat were dry. He wasn’t sure if he should tilt his face. They would get close then Jean would fumble, trying to adjust for better access. Finally, he got frustrated and just crashed their lips together for not even a second before pulling away, face glowing pink. Don’t worry, he’s gotten slightly better.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Jean discovers early on. Within months, he’s positive he’s in love with his s/o. He is terrified of telling his partner due to fear of abandonment and humiliation that stems from a childhood of being bullied. (pry this from my cold dead hands). Regardless of how strong he feels, he won’t outright confess his love until the two have been together for a good amount of time. That can amount to months or even a year or so, depending on just how serious he’s feeling about the relationship.

He’s the type of person that is practicing in the mirror how to confess, and unknowingly, his s/o will hear him. If he’s lucky, they feel the same way and just walk in to tell him they love him too and watch his brain short circuit as it processes what just happened. 

On a serious note, though, Jean would be nervous to confess. He’d make a date out of the entire ordeal-- choosing to take his s/o out for a nice dinner and at night, as they’re stargazing in a remote field, he’d hold their hand and say he needs to tell them something. Even in the evening, it’s easy to see him heat up. He’d whisper it at first. His s/o needs to let him collect his thoughts, and as soon as he’s gathered them, he’d confess full throttle. His voice shakes slightly, but his conviction is apparent.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Jean fantasizes of getting married quite often, and this only increases as he gets closer to his s/o. 

He’s honest with his s/o and the topic of marriage comes up in late night conversations quite often. He’s confessed that once the fighting is over, they’ll get married the next day. There’s no proposal, just a promise that keeps the two fighting to live another day. His mother actually gives him her own wedding ring, telling him to get it resized if need be, but she hopes it can become a family heirloom. Jean’s a romantic, and this gets him flustered yet excited.

Peaceful. Marriage with Jean is as mundane as can be. Sure, there’s going to be times when old friends come wreck havoc, but it’s all taken in stride. He likes waking his s/o up with a kiss to the cheek. If they want to pat his hair dry or brush it after his shower, he’ll try distracting them with sly neck kisses. He wants his kids to see how much he loves his spouse and groan in disgust as they try to get their parents to hurry up so they can all eat. Jean’s content/

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

He calls them by their name mostly. Sometimes he’ll shorten it or give them an alternative where it’s the first syllable of their name with -y at the end if possible. 

Jean calls them beautiful and gorgeous when he’s trying to make them laugh.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

The beginning is akin to puppy love. He’s so flustered but curious about everything they do and say. He’s kind to them and chokes up around them when he hasn’t had time to formulate a response. Definitely the type of guy who stares at his s/o wistfully with a dazed grin on his face. He’s been caught doing this to them across the room on multiple occasions. Needless to say-- everyone and their mother knows Jean’s smitten.

He tries to express his feelings by complimenting them. If he can help them out with errands or studying (if they met during the cadet training) he’s more than happy to shave off time to do so. He likes being able to take a load off their shoulders, so he won’t mind doing a little extra work.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Jean acts big, but he gets shy. The only time he’ll ever really kiss his s/o in front of others Is if he’s being teased or egged on and he wants to show he’s not ashamed of his partner. He loves them dearly, but showing affection in public isn’t the biggest priority for him.

 If they’re out in the market, he loves having them hold onto his arm as they lead him wherever the like. If there’s less people around, he won’t argue with locking fingers. His s/o might catch him off guard with some sneaky kisses that are sure to provoke him.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Everything about his hands. They’re not as rough as some other people, though they aren’t insanely soft. He can give amateur massages and knows how to exert just the right amount of pressure to make the experience enjoyable, even for the most fidgety/ticklish s/o. It’s his secret to helping them relax and release pent up tension.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Jean loves romance. He loves being in love and having an excuse to try his hand at sappy love letters and poetry. He’s not the best, but what he writes down makes his s/o’s heart flutter. He just wants them to know how much he cares about them, even if he has a hard time expressing himself accurately. 

He’s the type of guy who picks up pastries because he remembered his s/o liked them a few weeks ago and the bakery finally made them again. He’ll polish their shoes if they haven’t had the energy to do it themselves. He’ll remind them to eat. His idea of making them happy is making sure that they are well taken care of.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

He’s their biggest fan and simultaneously their biggest critic. Jean supports their endeavors, but he will not mask his opinions just to make them feel better. He’s tough on them because he wants to see them succeed. He’ll help them if he can, but he won’t hold them back from their potential by lying to them. 

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Jean loves trying out new things with his s/o, especially once the world opens up to them. He wants to explore everything, while still having some sense of routine in their lives. No dates that could potentially harm him or his s/o. He’s spending time with them, not trying to fight for survival, after all. Dates can be adventures-- he won’t mind going on hikes or exploring nearby terrain, however, he’d much rather try new foods and experience new technology instead. 

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Jean likes to think he knows his partner inside and out, but he’s conflicted about the duality of everyone in his life when push comes to shove, so he finds himself wondering if he truly knows them. This is just his insecurity and hurt surfacing, but he can spiral into pondering whether his s/o care about him as much as he cares for them. He knows he gives them opportunities to tell them about themselves, and he’s picked up on their quirks over the time they’ve been together. In reality, Jean genuinely does know more about them than he thinks he does. It’s hard not to feel comfortable around him, after all. 

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

His relationship is extremely important to him as he’s always had issues with letting people in on his vulnerable side. He has insecurity issues stemming from a variety of sources and knowing how people could use him puts him off from working on most relationships. Finding his s/o and being slapped in the face by the reality that someone genuinely loves him and wants to learn with him is eye opening. Due to this, Jean tries extremely hard to work on himself and the relationship as best he can. There’s no way he’d half ass something so good.

Though Jean’s relationship is on the. top of his priorities, his mission is still going to overshadow his desire to be with his s/o. It’s not that the mission is more important-- it’s that he needs to complete the mission so that his beloved can finally rest. He wants to protect them, and protecting them means he has to put his life on the line, unfortunate as it is.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Jean’s a mother hen to his s/o. He’s always nagging them to eat, sleep, shower and make sure they’re taking care of themselves. He’s always been in tune with the health of other people, and he just naturally wants to make sure that his s/o is in optimal condition. He will literally snap and physically force them to sleep if he needs to. He gets irritated if they’re neglecting themselves due to the fear of them getting hurt or sick.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Yes!! All he wants to do is cuddle. He loves holding his s/o, but he loves being held more. When they run their fingers through his hair and mention a silly hairstyle he could try, he almost considers it. He falls asleep on their chest almost every night. 

If he’s upset, a simple kiss to the cheek or head is enough to bring a small smile back on his face.

His favorite place to be kissed would be his temples. There’s something soothing and homely about soft lips brushing past his hair to linger right above his brow. It’s also a surefire way of inducing drowsiness in him.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Jean just bites the feeling back and swears that he will see his s/o as soon as he can. The idea that they will be waiting for him is enough for him to power on. Occasionally, Jean may doodle them in the margin of a report or in his personal journal. He thinks about what their next date could be and wonders if they ever found that stray cat they mentioned a few conversations ago. He thinks about them and all the things they can do once they’re together, and it’s enough to motivate him.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

He’s literally tryna save the world for them lol

~~~

Based off @snk-warriors​ fluff alphabet prompt

[prepare4trouble]

Vikings fanfic - Apparition

Hvitserk rolled over onto his back and stared forward. Candlelight from the single candle that he had left burning on the nightstand illuminated the room in soft light. He lay still for a moment, uncertain what had woken him from his slumber.

The night was silent, save for the sound of the wind outside.

Puzzled, he allowed his eyes to close once again. If something had woken him, it had passed now, and his body was eager for sleep. He felt himself begin to drift away, sinking slowly beneath the waves of slumber that washed over him.

“A nice, comfortable room you have here, brother.”

With a sudden, sharp intake of breath, Hvitserk’s eyes sprung open again. The voice that cut through the silence of the Wessex night was one that he had never expected to hear again. Not in this life, at least.

He searched the bedchamber with his eyes, peering through the darkness. The long shadows cast by the candle, formed dark shapes that morphed and changed as they danced in time with the flame that flickered in the air currents of the room.

Hvitserk took a deep breath, and tried to still the pounding of his heart. When, finally, he trusted himself to speak again, his voice was a low, uncertain whisper.

“I...Ivar?”

No. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. Ivar was dead. Hvitserk had seen it happen. He had watched in horrified disbelief as the life had drained from his brother’s body; he had carried him from the battlefield himself, and finally, he had placed him in the ground, careful, so as not to cause further breaks to his fragile bones as he had lowered him into his final resting place.

And yet that voice had been unmistakable; not just the voice itself, but the tone, the subtle hint of a mocking smile he could hear concealed within the words.

He was answered by silence; a silence that felt much more complete now than it had a moment earlier. Hvitserk held his breath, hoping for a reply but terrified that he might get one.

Nothing happened. Carefully, he reached for the candle still burning by his bed, and with a trembling hand, tilted it to touch the flame to the wick of several other candles. Wax dripped onto the nightstand, and with each new flame, the shadows moved, intensifying as they shrunk away from the light, until they revealed a dark, impossible shape seated at the end of his bed.

Hvitserk blinked, giving his eyes time to adjust, and to make sense of what he was seeing, but the more he stared, the more he could see Ivar. He frowned. “You’re dead,” he said.

The shadows that had somehow come together to form his younger brother, turned to look at him. His face was completely familiar, right down to the scars. Ivar shrugged. “So what? Does that mean I’m not allowed to visit my brother? Or can I not be here because you’re a Christian now and it upsets your delicate new faith. Is that what you mean, Athelstan?”

Hvitserk felt himself flinch. Ivar had never been supposed to know. Not about the conversion, or the name that King Alfred had bestowed upon him. The idea that he did know, even though he was certain that this was not real, provoked a deep sense of shame. He was firm in his conviction that he had made the right choice, but he was equally certain that it was something he would never have done if Ivar had been there to tell him what he thought of the idea.

He shook his head. “Don’t call me that.”

“What, Athelstan? Why not? It’s your name now, isn’t it? You cast aside the name our mother and father gave you, renounced it along with Odin, and all of our other Gods. I’ve got to call you something, haven’t I?”

“My old name will do fine,” Hvitserk told him.

Ivar frowned, then shrugged as though it didn’t matter anyway. “If you say so.”

He was dressed in the same clothing he had worn the last time Hvitserk had seen him alive, and he wore his hair in the same braids. Everything about him looked exactly as it had that day on the battlefield. Everything but his eyes. The whites of his eyes appeared to have lost their blue tint, indicating that the danger of broken bones had now passed. Too late, of course.

“This isn’t real,” Hvitserk said to himself. His new faith did not allow for visitations from the other side. The dead remained where they were, in Heaven, or in Hell. “I’m imagining it,” he said. “Or dreaming.”

“If that’s what you want to believe, feel free,” Ivar told him. “But I assure you, I am very real.”

Hvitserk looked at him again. He certainly looked real. And sounded real. “Really?” He wanted it to be true, no matter how impossible it might be.

“Absolutely,” Ivar told him. “But of course, if I was a figment of your imagination, isn’t that exactly what I would say? I probably wouldn’t own up to it, would I?”

He had a point. Hvitserk kicked back the blanket that covered him, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed so that he and Ivar were sitting side by side. He reached across and touched him on the shoulder, half expecting his hand to pass right through him. Impossibly, he felt real, as though flesh and blood.

He tried again, reaching for his brother’s hand this time, and feeling the well-worn leather of the fingerless gloves he wore to protect his hands on the rough ground. Once again, it felt familiar, and completely real.

“How…?”

“The dead are often around us. You used to believe that too.”

“But not like this. Anyway, I…” Hvitserk hesitated. “I don’t believe it anymore. The dead are in Heaven, or in Hell. They don’t come back.”

“The Christian dead, maybe. But then, maybe not. I’ve met a few of them, they aren’t so different from us.” Ivar shrugged. “But if that’s what you choose to believe, I won’t try to stop you. That’s not why I’m here.”

Hvitserk nodded, relieved, because faced with something like this, he was certain that his new faith would crumble if Ivar chose to challenge it. “Then why are you here?”

“I just wanted to see that you were all right. After all, even though I am the younger brother, I know you always looked up to me -- not literally, of course, since I spent so much time crawling on the ground, but in a manner of speaking -- and now I’m gone, I thought you might be feeling… untethered.”

“I’m fine,” Hvitserk lied. “Anyway, this only proves you’re not real. The real Ivar wouldn’t care how I felt.” If he had, he wouldn’t have gone into battle that day, knowing how vulnerable to breaks his bones had been. Hvitserk had never seen his eyes more blue than they had been that day, and although they hadn’t known exactly how it would happen, both of them had known that Ivar wasn’t going to leave the battlefield alive.

Ivar feigned shock, gasped, and clutched at his chest as though shot by an arrow. “You wound me, brother,” he said. “Of course I care. But I see you’ve found yourself another new faith to keep you occupied.” He leaned forward on his crutch, then turned to stare searchingly at Hvitserk. “How does being a Christian suit you? It looks a little boring. What kind of a god doesn’t want a sacrifice now and then? And all that kneeling…” he smiled. “It would be no good for me. One advantage to being a cripple is that I cannot kneel. Not even to Odin himself, and certainly not to your god.”

He had a point. “Are you still a cripple, then?" Hvitserk asked him. “Even in Valhalla?” Somehow, he had expected that after the Valkyries carried his brother to Odin’s great hall, he would find himself free of pain, and able to walk and run, and to do all the things that had been denied him in life.

“Of course,” Ivar told him. “After all, this is who I am. I’m Ivar the Boneless. Take that away, give me a healthy body, and what would that make me?

“It would make you Ivar,” Hvitserk told him without hesitation. “Ivar Ragnarsson.”

“Exactly,” Ivar agreed. “And whoever heard of him?”

Hvitserk smiled. “I have,” he said. “He’s my brother, and I love him.”

Ivar smiled too. “I should go, Athelstan,” he said. “I imagine that after this, you have a long day of praying ahead of you.”

“Will I see you again?” Hvitserk asked.

“Maybe.” Ivar shrugged. “Certainly in the next life. For now, I’m going to check in on Prince Igor, and find out the name of my child. I’m going to drink with our father, and make sure that mother knows about everything I managed to achieve in life, because for all that she loved me, I honestly don’t think she ever believed I would do anything truly great. Maybe I’ll even get Sigurd to forgive me for cutting his time so short. And by the time I’ve done all that, maybe you will be ready to join us in Valhalla.”

Hvitserk rubbed at his eyes with a finger as though tired, trying to disguise the tears that threated to fall. He shook his head. “I’m a Christian now, Ivar,” he reminded him. “I don’t get to go to Valhalla.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. There is room for all the sons of Ragnar at Odin’s table,” Ivar assured him. “But I’ll let you in on a secret that not even the Seer knew while he was in Midgard. Valhalla, your Christian Heaven, Hel, all the other places that people we never even got to meet believe they go when they die? They’re not so far apart. No matter where you go, we’ll see each other again. If that’s what you want, of course.”

It was. It was what he wanted more than anything. Hvitserk nodded.

Ivar leaned forward to rest his weight on his crutch, and levered himself to his feet as Hvitserk had seen him do many times before. “I suppose I’ll see you there, then,” he said, then took a step as though he intended to walk away.

“Wait!” Hvitserk reached out to grab his brother’s arm, half expecting his fingers to pass through him as though he was already gone, but he still felt impossibly real. “Wait,” he said again. “I don’t want you to leave. I’m all alone here.”

Ivar shook his head. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Live a little; marry some Christian girl and have some children to keep you company. Raise them with our stories. Tell them about Odin and Thor, Frey and Freya. And tell them about your crazy, crippled brother who led two great armies to England, and traveled the silk road.” He smiled. “Tell them they have a cousin in Rus. The world is getting smaller every day, so who knows, maybe one day they’ll even get to meet him.”

Hvitserk nodded. This time he didn’t bother to hide his tears. “I miss you,” he said.

“Why?” Ivar asked him. “I’m not that far away.”

Without warning, a sudden gust of wind chilled the room and extinguished the candles that Hvitserk had lit, leaving only one remaining. He turned to look at them, only for a second, and when he turned back, Ivar was gone, replaced by the flickering shadows that had been there before.

He took a deep breath, smelling the unmistakable scent of extinguished candles as he did. “Ivar?” he said hesitantly. There was no reply. He reached out into the space where, seconds earlier, his brother had been standing. This time, his hand passed through nothing but the air. “Ivar?” he tried again, a little louder this time, but no longer expecting a response. The silence obliged.

Reaching to his side, he placed a hand on the bed, where moments earlier his brother had been sitting, and was not surprised to find the surface warm to the touch. He sighed. “Fine, be like that,” he said to the silence, then wiped his tears with the back of his hand, and smiled. “I suppose I’ll see you soon,” he added. “Not too soon though.” Ivar was right, he needed to live first.

And now, for reasons that he didn’t quite understand, the conversation that should have left him shaken and questioning his Christian faith, had instead lifted a weight from his shoulders that he hadn’t even realised he had been carrying.

With one final glance around the room, Hvitserk lay back down in his bed, pulled his blanket over him, and allowed sleep to drag him back down into its comforting embrace.

[fuckyeahmoriharu]

In This Corner

In This Corner | MoriHaru | SFW | 2k word count Love can begin in the most unlikely of places but stranger still, it can flourish in a place long forgotten. Now in university Takashi and Haruhi choose to meet where the light doesn't reach, where students never wander, where dust collects and book spines age in shadow. Sweet kisses, honest smiles, and requited feelings thrive in this corner.

Light was sparse in this corner of the grand library, one of few dark corners hidden far between the elegantly arranged shelves of texts and literature. Social couches, well lit tables, and an inviting floral atmosphere with potted plants and flower vines hanging from painted ceilings centered the library where students would normally gather for quiet study. The thick aisles of books mazed throughout the space leaving little welcome within its far shadows.

However, in this dim corner tucked away behind the oldest shelving in philosophy of law, where the nearest window faced a moss covered concrete wall and towering bookshelves walled them into the shadows, was where they found their solace.

Satchels placed against the wall, textbooks and notebooks opened to corresponding pages, and a blanket to soften the dusty carpet, set underneath the one ray of light that snuck past its many obstacles. It was their little corner of peace, of quiet, of earthy cologne and strawberry spritz.

They had claimed this corner for themselves, seeing it as all but abandoned by their university populace. No one cared to stroll though the law section of the library since most of the books shelved here were outdated and no longer required in class, skeletons of education’s past.

It was perfect for them, a quaint space in the universe held only for them, a haven they could step into and step out from the stressful responsibilities of being university students on the brink of graduation and just beginning.

Haruhi absentmindedly bit her bottom lip as she read over the same worded question, trying to make sense of what it asked her. A black compound notebook sprawled across her lap, balancing on her crooked knees, with her pen held in a lazy grip while she tapped it’s end on the paper’s edge.

She felt his weight shift beside her, inching closer to peer over her shoulder. He sat relaxed with one arm perched on a bent knee and the other slung over her shoulders, his long fingers gingerly tracing her goosed skin.

“In case of any misstatement in the prospectus, the persons liable are; promoters, directors, or experts,” Haruhi read out loud, pausing her methodic tapping, “I don’t understand what it’s asking me.”

Takashi leaned a little closer, barely brushing his lips against her ear, not seeing the blush creeping up her neck at the feel of his skin, and mouthed the words as he silently read them.

“What do you not understand?” He asked, his breath carrying remnants of his earlier chai brushing her flushed face.

Haruhi leaned into his closeness, letting her cheek find a curve in his side beneath his tented arm, and sighed, “It feels like a trick question because all the answers are right, yet there’s no option for multiple choice. It’s like I have to choose one of the right answers.”

Takashi nodded, having to agree. The correct answer would be to choose them all but unfortunately there wasn’t the option. He thought whoever wrote out the textbook assignment had forgotten this one crucial detail.

Haruhi gripped her pencil and began to write in the white space between the question and answer options. Her fist blocked his view until she was done and moved her hand away. There in small lettering she wrote; answer not available, all of the above.

Takashi smiled and rubbed her arm approvingly while she bookmarked her notebook before closing it and returning her pencil to the side pocket of her satchel.

“You’re done for the day?” He asked her, raising an eyebrow as he watched her work to pack everything up. His own textbooks lay beside him on the floor, stacked in volume order. He always brought his old textbooks in the rare case she needed to look something up, which has happened four times already. They were bulky, heavy, cumbersome, but he still chose to bring them every time they met to study. The strong kendoist didn’t mind, he’d carry an entire library on his back if it meant to see her again.

Haruhi nodded, her back turned to him while she organized the space in her satchel, “I’m pretty tired after today so I don’t have a lot of brain power to push through the last set of problems. I’ll finish them after a nap.”

Takashi grunted in response, not needing to say more than his acknowledgement. University demanded more than their astute intelligence. For Haruhi to keep her scholarship for Ouran University she’d have to continue her striving efforts to remain at the top of her classes. Although her friends were more than willing to offer their own money toward her education to relieve her of such liability, her commoner pride wouldn’t allow herself to fall back into their debts. She had already learned that lesson once.

“Oh!” Haruhi nearly jumped as she suddenly sat up, remembering a very important detail to their afternoon. She twisted herself around to face her startled boyfriend, for a moment finding his jarred expression humorous. She beamed triumphantly, “I got a question right.”

Takashi relaxed into a soft smile and nodded. She had chosen the right answer, although it hadn’t been listed for her to choose.

She twisted herself around to face Takashi again, her knee brought against the wall as she scooted from her satchel. Takashi didn’t have to move, only to wait for her to still herself, until she was comfortably sitting in front of him.

The dim light in their corner allowed enough for reading their textbooks, nothing more than hazy sunlight filtering between oak and stone. However, as Haruhi sat in front of Takashi, nervously rubbing her knees, her bright chocolate eyes still shone as glimmering pools of honey. Her lengthening hair nicely framed her maturing features, allowing this young maiden who had once been mistaken as a boy to flourish into a beautiful young woman. She sat before him with expecting eyes, watching between his gaze and his lips, her patience beginning to wear thin as her knees ran red beneath her palms.

Takashi allowed a smirk as he bent over, glancing from her pools of honey to her soft lips beginning to purse. He couldn’t deny her just rewards after getting a correct answer. She was driven enough to take her assignments seriously but his minor incentive helped soothe the headache of fussing over strongly worded questions and mathematical equations that eventually blended into blurs. A sweet kiss for every correct question, promptly delivered after she’s finished scribbling in her notebook.

His lips met hers, gently pressing soft skin against the shine of cherry chapstick. A slight shift enough to snare her bottom lip coaxed a humorous moan from her throat.

He pulled back, fixated on her satisfied half-lidded eyes but was stopped short when he felt her fingers tug at his university vest.

“Technically I got three answers correct.” She whispered with a conviction, darting between his stone gray eyes and his parted lips, catching a shimmer of her chapstick where he kissed her.

His smile widened as he considered her suggestion, resisting the urge to laugh at her quickwits. She would make a fine lawyer one day.

He leaned forward and replaced his lips against hers, pressing in his adoration and reverence for his keen girlfriend. She never failed to surprise him with her canny observations, sometimes her remarks even making him uncharastically burst out laughing.

She liked his laugh, as she had said many times before, stating his baritone carried it well.

He placed fleeting kisses as she moved to keep pace, remaining a step ahead amidst her following his rhythm. One kiss, two, three, four, five, losing himself in the familiar high that was Haruhi Fujioka kissing him back until he knew he’d given more than he’d needed to. His hand lifted from its perch on the floor to find her chin, moving his fingers to cradle her blushed cheeks and feeling her smile within his calloused palm, swatting away the modesty tugging at his propriety because frankly he didn’t give a damn.

In this corner of the library, where only flies happened to cross, their privacy was held safe behind dusty bookshelves and unflattering windowed views. Where light seemed scarce compared to the brightly jovial center filled with lively hushed chatter and foliage bringing the beauty of nature indoors. Where students wisely chose to congregate.

In this corner of the library a rare beauty pulsed to life, growing with strength and solidity with every kiss, every smile, every quiet laugh, and every ruffling of hair as they could manage to fit into one evening. A flickering flame; fragile as the single ray of sunshine that caught the golden stars scattered throughout her chocolate eyes yet strong as the Morinozuka’s undying loyalty that forever coursed through their veins.

In this corner of the library, where dust collected under the shadows of long forgotten shelves filled with outdated books, where the skylights and fluorescents barely skimmed this corner so out of reach, where no one cared to walk through for there was nothing for them to find, this was where true love in its purest form grew. Like a spring sapling, roots forged in their days of the host club and grabbing purchase amidst fond memories and secret feelings.

At first they dug their heels into their friendship, unwilling - or too afraid - to dare cross the line that tempted them with every shared strawberry and gracious head pat. However, like every young sapling, the seeds that were planted needed time to grow, to strengthen its foundation before it could bear fruit.

Haruhi pulled away, dragging Takashi on a kiss’s tail, and flattened her palms against his chest. The sun would set soon, what little light they had would fade, and she began to feel the lull of much needed sleep. Kisses always tasted sweeter at the edge of conclusion.

Takashi caught his breath as he slowly retreated, pressing his forehead to hers to keep her close. His fingers lazily traced her face while his hand fell away, releasing her from his intimate hold. A part of him never wanted to let go, to forever keep her safely tucked inside his palms. To have and to hold…

Haruhi folded the blanket while Takashi situated both their satchels on his left shoulders and his pile of heavy textbooks with the crook of his right arm. No matter her protests he insisted on relieving the burden, allowing her to carry the blanket on what she considered an unfair compromise. He had to smile upon seeing her captious glare comparing their differing loads but she chose not to speak on it. At least this time.

Together they left their corner, skirting around study groups hunched over tables and freelance vines nearly touching the floor. Bright skylights and lively whispers, a refreshing ambiance far contrasting where they had spent their last hour. However their tired smiles held no regret, content with returning the next day.

Takashi held the heavy oak door open for Haruhi, keeping it open for a group of young seniors entering the library just as they left; nodding their appreciation as they walked beneath his arched arm. He rejoined Haruhi’s side in the marbled hallway and together headed toward the nearest exit. Takashi’s apartment was closer than Haruhi’s dormitory this way but he insisted on walking her back, arguing her safety was more important than his convenience.

Haruhi checked his hold on the satchels and textbooks, searching for signs of struggle as she normally unconsciously did each time they left together. Takashi knew to treat it as her courtesy. She seemed to forget he’d spent the larger portion of his life in his family dojo.

Haruhi broke the minute silence blanketing their clacking steps, “I’m not very tired anymore.”

Takashi looked down, meeting her gaze and immediately seeing the tell-tale signs of exhaustion in her relaxing features. An arched eyebrow begged the question she knew he’d ask.

Haruhi shrugged, breaking eye contact to check their surroundings, “I’m just saying I don’t need a nap anymore. I guess I just needed to stretch my legs.”

Takashi jostled the satchels further onto his shoulder and allowed a smile to betray his skepticism, unable to hide his relief in their evening far from ending, “Mitsukuni brought back uji tea from his visit in Kyoto. He gave me a bag. It’s at my apartment.”

“At your apartment?” Haruhi didn’t need to ask, already knowing his answer before she finished speaking.

Takashi nodded with an affirming grunt, neither hiding his enthusiasm. He learned to cherish every moment with her when in high school he had to share her among friends and eager suitors alike. As the years passed those suitors slowly fell away at her kind rejections until Takashi was the last one standing among them. Until one day he realized he had gained her undivided attention just as she had stolen his many tears ago.

Haruhi turned to meet stone gray eyes that seeped into oblivion, the deepest shade of requited love, and smiled, “Tea sounds lovely.”

[jamespotterthefirst]

October 31st (Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2.3K Warning: Language Premise: Ethan Ramsey doesn’t do costumes... except maybe for her.

A/N: A pointless Halloween fic

A/N2: For Day 28 of @choicesoctoberchallenge2020​. The prompt is “Costume”.

1. Intern Year

Ethan resisted a groan as an atrocious, remixed version of The Monster Mash blared through the speakers, eliciting a cheer from the drunken crowd. Characteristically, he pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut as he wondered why he decided to venture out on the worst night of the year. Perhaps he needed a drink that badly after another full day of dealing with interns.  

“Time for a refill, Dr. Ramsey,” a voice said over the music.

Ethan hated the way his pulse quickened at the sound.

Doing his best to appear collected, he shot what he hoped was an impassive glance at the figure now standing beside him at the bar, the floral notes of her perfume already caressing his every sense. One single glance at her, however, was enough to shoot all efforts of appearing aloof straight to hell.

She leaned casually against the bar, clad in a sensuous, forest green number that molded to every curve of her body and ensnared every bit of his attention. Dark green leaves embellished every surface of the sinfully short dress, tapering off into delicate, curly vines along her exposed shoulders and arms. Her glossy, dark hair was hidden away beneath a cascade of long, auburn waves that made her eyes appear greener still.

“Wig,” she explained with a small laugh when Ethan continued to stare.

At last, he pried his eyes away, feeling his neck flare with heat. Unsure of what else to say, he feigned indifference as he asked, “And what are you supposed to be, Rookie?”

Aside from fucking irresistible, his idiotic, addled brain added on impulse.

He could see Lilac's jaw go slack in a way that was almost comical but somehow managed to be entirely too adorable.

“You're kidding, right? I'm Poison Ivy.”

Ethan had known that. He had been, after all, a comic-book obsessed teenager once. If someone had told him back then that he would one day witness the sexiest version of the character imaginable, his head would have caved in on itself. Adult Ethan, it seemed, was no better because his eyes fell on her once again, unable to resist her magnetic pull.

Lilac, however, was too busy looking at the dancefloor. She nodded toward her group of friends, dancing, laughing, and contributing to half of the noise in the bar.

“We were all supposed to be Batman villains but Bryce and Landry got lazy. They put on a Thing One and Thing Two shirt and called it a day.”

Ethan followed her gaze to where the young surgeon had peeled off the aforementioned shirt, relishing in the attention that decision was earning him from a gaggle of girls nearby. The other one Lilac had mentioned stood awkwardly off to the side, too pale and and gangly to ever be Lahela's counterpart.

“More like tweedle dee and tweedle dum,” he muttered.

Lilac met his eyes at once and to his delight, she laughed, the sound sending his stomach into a dive. It was already maddening enough that the sound was entirely too attractive, but Ethan felt a swelling sense of satisfaction at being the one to inspire it.

When she sobered up, her green eyes remained on his, humor melting into a pensive expression. She continued to watch him with the conviction of someone discovering a new secret. He would have given anything to know what she was thinking at that very moment.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

He had been distracted by her full lips and by how fitting the damn costume was. Much like every weak-willed man in his comic books, Ethan would have risked absolutely everything to kiss her.

“No costume?”

“God no,” he spat, inspiring another little laugh.

“Never say never,” she told him in a sing-song voice.

“I can confidently say never.”

______________

2. A year later.

They paused outside the door to Bryce's apartment, the muffled sound of music and laughter making its way to the hall. Ethan briefly wondered if his neighbors would complain enough to derail the whole affair. It would mean he could go back to the peace and quiet of his home.

As if reading his mind, Lilac turned to face him, a knowing smile pulling at her lips. God, he loved it when she looked at him that way.

“You're not getting out of this,” she reminded him, her fingers moving to play with the orange Ascot tie she had forced him to wear.

“We're well into November. There was no need to dress up.”

As usual, Lilac rolled her eyes lovingly.

“It's hardly dressing up when all we did was put you in a white sweater you already owned, babe,” she explained for the hundredth time. Ethan tried to scowl at the pet name, but he was beginning to enjoy it. Instead, he relaxed into her touch, trying his best not to follow the lazy path her fingers made on his chest. “You wouldn't even wear a wig, so it doesn't count. As for the party being this late, it was the only night we all had off. And we'll be damned before we let a whole year pass us by without dressing up.”

She finalized that sentence with a searing kiss to his neck. His hands banded around her waist reflexively, pulling her soft body flush against his. In their time together, he had avidly learned the many ways to drive her just as crazy.

“You and I can still dress up,” he murmured darkly against her ear.

Lilac shivered, to his immense delight.

“Are you suggesting role play, Dr. Ramsey,” she returned in a poor attempt to mock him.

The formal mode of address, uttered in a low, breathy voice against his ear, made his blood buzz for her. More maddening still was the short, purple dress she wore along with the auburn wig that made a reappearance after a year.

“Got a thing for redheads?” she asked, correctly guessing the contents of his thoughts yet again.

Ethan smiled crookedly down at her. “I got a thing for you.”

The words rang with sincerity and an overwhelming sense of relief at finally being able to say them out loud, without any fear of consequences.

Lilac, for her part, looked as though she wanted to shove him against the wall and kiss him fiercely, but the erupting cheers from inside the apartment interrupted their exchange from advancing further.

“Mystery Gang in the house!” Bryce, dressed as a pirate, hollered as soon as they walked through the door. Everyone else cheered and hooted, the sounds no doubt fueled by the contents of the many red solo cups around the room.

“You guys look adorable!” Sienna commended over the music, greeting each of them with a friendly hug. “Fred and Daphne makes so much sense for you two.”

“Because we solve mysteries for a living?” Ethan asked, voice deadpan.

“Nah, because those two were a thing long before any of the others found out,” Elijah said as he joined them.

Lilac laughed out loud, the sound teetering on the edges of relief. She had been nervous, just like Ethan had been, that her friends would be awkward around them now that they knew of their relationship.

By the way they easily joked with him and included him in conversation throughout the night, their concerns had been for nothing. They even helped Lilac pressure him into dancing a modern pop song he had heard many times on the radio. Not that he needed much convincing when he would gladly do anything just to see her radiant smile directed his way.

By midnight, the party had dwindled down to drinks and board games. There was a raucous consensus to play Clue, which caused Bryce to roll his eyes.

“Of course the diagnosticians want to play the nerdiest game.”

Ethan rolled up his sleeves in preparation, which earned him a coy and borderline lustful look from Lilac. “You're just bitter that we're playing something other than beer pong, scalpel jockey.”

Elijah let out a surprised yet impressed laugh, wasting no time to high five Ethan. Even Bryce couldn't help but grin.

“Trash talk all you want, old man. I'm more than just a pretty face.”

When it came to Clue, however, Bryce had no chance against Ethan, who analyzed every player with sharp precision and correctly guessed the murderer, the room, and the weapon. Several games later, Ethan easily proved victorious while Bryce only laughed graciously, raising his palms up in defeat.

When even the board games ebbed into quiet conversation at the end of the night, Lilac sat on his lap, circling her arms around his neck. They sat like that for minutes, enjoying the nuances of being that annoyingly cute couple at a party.

“Thank you for dressing up for me,” she said as she pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

Even that sent his heart into a tumultuous rhythm.

“Only for you,” he murmured. “And as a one time deal only.”

______________

3. Many years later.

Ethan plastered the fur-lined hat on his head, a perfect complement to the fur-lined everything else he was currently wearing. Luckily, fall time in Boston was cold enough that the ensemble would prove to be practical as they walked the streets. He stepped into the hallway, not bothering to check his reflection. There was no doubt he looked utterly ridiculous.

But he didn't care.

He would do anything for her and for the unbridled joy in the eyes he loved so much.

Lilac was already waiting when he entered the living room, her smile impossibly wide as she glanced him over. It was the exact reaction he expected and he couldn't help but grin too.

“Is this how it's supposed to look?”

“Yes!” she all but shrieked in delight. The magenta cape of her costume fluttered behind her as she rushed to him, her body crashing against him in an overjoyed hug. “I love you so much for doing this.”

The words still sent a thrill through Ethan, as strong as the first time he heard them. Heart thundering wildly at his chest, he leaned down to kiss her, just because he could.

When they pulled apart, she watched him through half-closed eyes, her teeth catching her lush bottom lip. All Ethan wanted to do was carry her to their bed and tear off the costumes they had spent so much time perfecting. Inwardly, he marveled at how everything had changed over the years, but there were some things that remained the same.

Instead, he captured one of her plaits between his fingers. “These people we're dressed up as,” he started, gently trailing the ridges of her braid. Lilac watched him, captivated by his every word. “Do they end up together?”

She allowed a laugh. “We've watched nothing but that movie for a week straight.”

Ethan shrugged, allowing a sheepish grin. “I tune it out thirty minutes in every time.”

More laughter and Ethan decided then that he could hear the sound forever and not get enough.

“Don't let Dolores hear you say that,” she warned with one final kiss. She moved to break apart from their embrace but he stopped her.

His wife looked at him expectantly and Ethan frowned, suddenly doubtful.

“Do you think she'll like it?”

Lilac's curious expression melted into a fond smile. “She's going to love it,” she assured him, leaning in to press a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose.

Not surprisingly, Lilac had been right because moments later, a delighted shriek of laughter announced the arrival of their toddler daughter. Her godmother trailed close behind, crouching over in an attempt to fix the blue tulle that trailed along the floor as the child ran towards her father. It was futile and Sienna sighed in defeat, shooting Lilac an amused look.

“It's pointless,” Sienna laughed. “There's no stopping little Lolly when she sees her father.”

Proving that point, his daughter flung herself into Ethan's arms and cried, “Dada!”

“Hello, princess,” Ethan laughed as she pressed her version of a kiss on his cheek.

“I'm Elsa,” Dolores corrected sagely.

“Yes, babe,” Lilac added with mock seriousness. “You are in the presence of Queen Elsa of Arendelle. Have some respect.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Ethan said to his daughter with such formality that the child laughed. Sienna watched the exchange with a watery smile, failing to repress a squeal.

A loud roar coming from the threshold informed them that their son had joined them. Sienna laughed as Jonah ran around the room, the antlers of his costume bobbing wildly as he moved. At last, he stopped right before Lilac, who picked him up in her arms.

“I didn't know reindeers roared,” she laughed, swaying her son in her arms.

Jonah roared again to demonstrate that reindeers could indeed roar formidably, at least when impersonated by a five year old. “I'm a Halloween reindeer,” he explained. “He roars to be spooky, but just for today.”

The adults laughed. “You're a good big brother, Jonah,” Lilac informed him with a kiss, closely followed by a tickle.

“Lolly wanted to be Elsa so bad so I wanted to help,” their son said through a giggle, as though it was the most obvious explanation in the world.

It was for Ethan.

As Sienna ushered them together for a picture, Ethan looked at his family, everyone smiling radiantly and far more beautifully than the moon itself. Little Dolores clung to him, laughing and looking happier than he had ever seen her.

His wife caught his eye and shot him a knowing but proud smile. Ethan knew she was remembering the cynical, jaded version of himself who had confidently proclaimed he would never do this.

Ethan had never been happier to be proven wrong.

______________

A/N: I HC they name their daughter after Dolores and nickname her Lola/ Lolly

Once upon a time I used to write for another pairing who canonically dies on Halloween. You have no idea how happy I am to write for a pairing who’s alive and well lol.

Thank you so much for reading! I love these time hop fics so much. I wrote another one for Ethan x MC a long time ago that I will publish on my birthday in November :)

Finally, Chapter 10 of the Pictagram is coming soon. It might be two parts... Yikes. Thanks for waiting so patiently for it! Life has been crazy over here

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