#but one) john is SUCH a close second they might as well be tied

[sga-owns-my-soul]

omg new pfp just dropped!

shout out to @the-mushroom-faerie for making me an adorable matching pfp i love it 🥰🥰

[houseofperfecttaste]

Even

The second Rafe saw John B climbing out of Sarah's window around midnight he felt bad for you knowing you were in love with John B and here he was cheating on you with his sister. To make matters even worse you were the Camerons' housekeeper. Rafe snapped a quick picture of JB on the roof before heading inside acting like he didn't see anything.

You arrived at the Cameron house early in the morning starting to clean the kitchen not expecting to be bothered so early especially not by Rafe. "Good morning Mr. Cameron." You greeted Rafe as he walked in wearing basketball shorts, his hair messy from sleeping. As much as you hated Rafe you had to be nice to him if you wanted to keep your job. He was rarely home when you were working which made the job a lot more tolerable. "Good morning beautiful." Rafe never hid that he found you wildly attractive, so you were used to his compliments.

"Y'know I saw something you might be interested in last night." Rafe chirped leaning against the kitchen counter as he sipped his coffee. "Oh yeah? And what would that be?" You didn't turn your attention away from the chairs you were dusting until you heard his response. "I saw your little boyfriend sneaking out of my sisters' room last night." You stood up turning to look at him duster still in hand. "He wouldn't do that." You said crossing your arms thinking this was one of Rafes tactics to sleep with you.

"Well, he did. I can prove it." He fished his phone out of his pocket pulling the image up and turning his phone around to show you. The picture showed a boy climbing out of the window but it wasn't 100% clear who it was. "That could be anyone." Rafe chuckled knowing you would be in denial. "Look at the sweatshirt and bandana Y/N." You took his phone zooming in your heart sinking a bit when realizing he might be right. You sent the picture to yourself so you could have it when confronting him. You avoided Rafe for the rest of your shift, giving him one-word answers if he tried to talk to you.

You rushed to the Chateau seeing the whole gang on the porch, Sarah and John B sitting next to each making your blood boil. You slammed your car door shut stomping up to the screen door. "Hey, ba-" "Were you with Sarah last night?" You cut him off your hands on your hips and when he and Sarah looked at each other you knew Rafe was right, you knew it was John B in that picture. "Y/N I'm sorry." He apologized standing up making you back away. "It's fine, you want to start fucking a Cameron, I will too." You smiled sweetly at him and Sarah knowing it would piss both of them off. The look on John Bs face when you said it was priceless and you left the Chateau driving over to Figure Eight.

You knocked on the door waiting a few seconds before Rafe opened the door a shocked look on his face. Without a second thought, you leaned up pressing your lips to his and it only took him a second to start kissing back. He closed the door pushing you against it his hands roaming everywhere. "I was right. Wasn't I?" He always had to make a comment, didn't he? "Shut up Rafe." You groaned against his lips as he kissed down your neck. He picked you up leading you up the stairs to his bedroom throwing you on the bed.

Rafe's eyes were dark with lust and he ripped off his shirt and pants leaving him in his boxers as you took off your housekeeping uniform you never had a chance to change out of. "Look so pretty for me." He stood at the foot of the bed staring down at you licking his lips. "Look even prettier tied up for me though." He smirked heading to his closet and pulling out a pair of handcuffs. "Always need to be in control huh?" You teased but he quickly shut you up when he handcuffed your hands to his bedframe.

"Hm, where do I start?" He squeezed at your thighs kissing your breasts his fingers teasing your clit. "Fuck Rafe, please." You whined bucking your hips causing his finger to rub against your clit making you moan. Rafe started pinching and rubbing your clit watching as your muscles tensed and untensed and you were a moaning mess. "Rafe. Rafe." You moaned tugging at your restraints your legs opening more allowing him to kneel between your legs you were on full display for him. "Yeah, princess? Feel good?" He mocked slipping two fingers inside of you.

"Fuck yes, baby." You grew wetter when making eye contact with him, he was so fucking hot and his pupils were huge as he stared at you. He leaned down starting to lick and suck your pussy eating you like you were his last meal. He played with your nipples as your back arched into him and he had your legs shaking. He pulled away right as you were about to climax and his lips and chin glistened with your juices.

Your pussy clenched at the sight making him groan quietly. "Open your mouth." He instructed and you opened your mouth sticking your tongue out. He spit into your mouth making you moan at the taste of yourself. "Fuck you get me so hard. Always." He whispered into your ear making you blush, goosebumps rising to your body as he trailed his finger up your arms smiling at the handcuffs. "Fuck me, baby." You whined impatiently as he pulled his boxers down your mouth watering at the length and girth of his cock. "R-Rafe." You stuttered scared, John B was a lot smaller than him and nowhere as thick, Rafe was going to be a tight squeeze.

"It'll fit pretty, and if it doesn't I'll make it." He winked spitting on his cock before lining himself with your entrance. He pushed his tip in making you cry out in pain at the stretch, it getting worse as he pushed himself in more. "You're so big Rafe fuck." You moaned as he started thrusting into you your moans filling his room. "Such a tight little pussy. Squeezing me so good." He groaned his hand on your waist watching as your tits bounced with every thrust. "H-Harder." You choked out and he placed your legs over his shoulders folding you in half his cock reaching a brand new spot. You screamed at how deep he was making him smirk knowing no ones ever been this deep inside you.

His cock grew bigger at your vulnerable state, your hair was a mess, mascara smudged under your eyes, mouth hanging open in pleasure, screams leaving your mouth. Rafe pulled out of you flipping you onto your stomach spreading your ass and plunging into your pussy. You watched him in the mirror as he watched your ass jiggle with each thrust. You tried to keep your eyes open but the pleasure was too overwhelming causing your eyes to close enjoying the feeling of Rafes cock sliding in and out.

Your eyes snapped open when hearing your phone ring but soon drowned it out focusing on Rafes cock but Rafe answered the call when seeing who it was. "Y/N I swear to god you better not be with Rafe." Rafe chuckled putting it on speaker. "It's a little too late for that John B. She looks so pretty under me." A part of you felt bad about what was happening but soon got over it when remembering John B cheated on you with Rafe's sister. "I'll fucking kill you, Rafe." John B threatened and Rafe bit his lip laughing.

"Big talk coming from a cheater. I'm just giving her what she deserves." John B was growing more pissed off each time he heard your moans over the phone. "It was a mistake, I-" You rolled your eyes knowing he was going to start rambling so you snatched the phone from Rafe's hand. "I'm a little busy right now Routledge I'll talk to you later." You choked through moans hanging up and throwing your phone across his room shaking your ass on Rafes cock. Your actions shocked Rafe but also turned him on making him go full speed into your pussy making you cream all over his cock.

"That's it baby come for me." He helped you ride out your high before pulling out cumming all over your back. He grabbed a hand towel from his bathroom and wiped you clean handing you one of his shirts laying next to you. "That was the best sex I've ever had." You admitted panting and he smiled pushing his hair out of his face. "Yeah me too." Rafe agreed making you look up at him bewildered. "Out of all the girls you've slept with I was the best?" You propped yourself on your elbow as he mirrored you his hand on your waist.

"Yeah, you're the only girl I've slept with that I care about and like." He gave you a small smile embarrassed of his confession knowing you hate him and slept with him to piss off John B. You were about to kiss him but John B busted into the room causing Rafe to stand up protecting you. "No hard feelings right?" Rafe smiled shrugging causing JB to punch him in the face the two boys starting to fight. "John B stop!" You pulled him off of Rafe shielding him with your body. "You're protecting him?" He yelled his face red and chest heaving. "Yes! I initiated this! I'm the one who wanted to sleep with him." You crossed your arms knowing Rafe for once wasn't in the wrong.

John B scoffed looking between the two of you before leaving slamming the door shut behind him. You sighed running a hand through your hair turning to face Rafe helping him get on the bed. You grabbed his face in your hands kissing him softly his arms wrapping around you in response.

[homestuckreplay]

Harlequin Anger vs Jester Ennui - Color as John Egbert’s Emotions

Week 2 Retrospective

John Egbert is the silliest little guy, but we’re starting to see hints of what he’s feeling beneath the surface. Looking at the themes of the comic so far, my current theory is that the colorful elements in the comic are the things that make John feel strong emotions - both good and bad - while the monochrome elements represent what makes John feel bored and frustrated.

Analysis below the cut - about 2,200 words.

‘A familiar note is produced. It's the one Desolation plays to keep its instrument in tune.’ (p.82)

Desolation has two, related meanings - one is loneliness, grief, and lack of companionship, while the other is ruin, emptiness and destruction. The first meaning is John’s current mental state, while the second is the suburb he lives in. The majority of what’s surrounding John is entirely monochrome, and so is John himself. We also learn from the narration on p.82 that ‘something feels missing from [John’s] life’ and that he has a sense ‘not of mirth, but of lack’. I think he spends a lot of time going through the motions - poking at things in his room without settling to anything, wandering up and down the stairs when his dad is occupied - but his life is the same day in and day out, and he struggles to inject any excitement into his life, or even any anger at the situation he’s trapped in. 

I think it’s extremely notable that almost everything relating to John’s family is monochrome. In addition to the house as a whole, the portraits of his dad and nanna are monochrome, as are the gifts and cakes from his dad, the car outside, and most importantly the piano. I don’t think John hates his father, but I think he struggles to connect with him or feel close to him. Ignoring page 72’s peanut ambiguity, the worst we hear about Dad is that he will ‘monopolize hours of [John’s] time’ (p.30) and ‘can be a real cornball’ (p.49), which is a big contrast to him calling Betty Crocker his ‘arch nemesis’ (p.48). 

Therefore, John’s dad is an inconvenience, not a threat. John might know intellectually that his dad loves him - ‘the old man really came through this time’ (p.19), as well as the kind fatherly notes left on John’s birthday presents (p.12, p.55) - but I think he can’t make the leap to actually caring about his dad in return or enjoying his company.

John is a gifted piano player, and gives us a ‘haunting piano refrain’ (p.77). Him being a musician ties back into the act title - ‘the note desolation plays’ uses the language of music, something so often filled with emotion, to describe a lack of it. Given that, of course the piano is monochrome. Perhaps John even sees the piano as the source of his problems, or at least representative of them. 

I noted at the time that it was strange John hadn’t listed piano among his interests when it’s clearly something he’s spent a lot of time on, and now I think it’s something that was taught to him as a kid by either his dad or nanna. He’s good at it, but he’s so disconnected from family life that it no longer brings him any joy, it’s just a hangover from his childhood. ‘Haunting’ makes me think it was his nanna who taught him - now every time John plays, he’s haunted by her memory (or even her literal ghost). Possibly her death is what made John disconnect from the hobby, especially with ‘desolation’ relating to grief.

On page 4, we get our first glimpse of the outside. The blue sky shot through with the brown tree is the largest splash of color in John’s room. The promise of the outside world is extremely colorful, and we know John wants to go there - the window reflected in John’s glasses on page 28 as he grins excitedly is a clear visual indication of that. Yet when we finally see it, the outside isn’t all color - the grass, sky, trees and flowers all are, but the man made aspects such as the driveway, tire swing, and other houses in the neighborhood are gray and dull.

Page 82 gives us the dramatic moment of John removing his clever disguise and gazing up at the sky. It’s the first time we see the sun and the uninterrupted expanse, and it’s framed like it’s significant for John, too. I don’t think it’s literally his first time stepping outside (you can’t tell me his dad didn’t push him on that tire swing as a kid) but I think it’s the moment he realizes that leaving his literal house doesn’t mean he’s not stuck - the neighborhood is just more of the same, and whatever restrictions John’s working within mean he can’t go any further than this. A front yard is legally part of a house, and the reality of the outside doesn’t excite him as much as the idea of it.

And then there’s the clowns. The one aspect of his dad that really gets John going; the harlequin portraits in the hallway and living room that Dad brought back from clown con are bright, obnoxious, and impossible to ignore. Interestingly, the ones in the study are black and white - perhaps John is okay with the clown pictures in the study, because that’s explicitly his dad’s space, but he doesn’t like the ones in the main area, because they make him feel like the house is fully his dad’s, not a shared space they could decorate together. 

This is pure speculation, but I don’t think John has ever moved house. I get the impression that he grew up in this house, which is his dad’s now and was perhaps originally his nanna’s, and has never known a world outside of this specific neighborhood. Because John’s been there since he was born, it’s never crossed his dad’s mind that John might want to, say, put his Little Monsters poster in the living room - hence why that gift was left in John’s bedroom, while the harlequin doll is allowed to be downstairs. 

Speaking of John’s room, it’s definitely not an oasis of color within the house. In our first shot of the room, we see six splashes of color, including the outside and John’s shirt - comparable to the living room (six including John’s shirt and hat) and study (five including the outside and John’s hat). A full three of the colorful elements in John’s room are related to Sburb, which in both the visuals and text is the thing John’s by far the most excited about right now, but I’ll circle back around to this. 

John’s magic chest, magician’s hat, blood capsules, and copies of Colonel Sassacre’s and Wise Guy are all colorful too, but other prank elements - fake arms, beaglepuss, handcuffs, sword, smoke pellets) are all monochrome. This one’s tough, but my best guess is that John feels conflicted about his interest in pranks because it’s so similar to his dad’s interest, and perhaps even that the monochrome items are things John’s dad bought for him for past birthdays and holidays, while the colorful ones are things John got for himself. 

John’s shirt is also worth mentioning here. John’s ambivalence with the house extends to himself, and kids often don’t have a lot of control over their appearance. He probably doesn’t choose his own clothes or glasses or haircut, and he definitely can’t go out and get a tattoo of Slimer or anything like that, so it’s very telling that wearing a shirt with a favorite movie on it is the one way John can actually connect to himself. 

That said, all the movie posters in his room are monochrome, which I’ll again circle back to. One exception is the close up of the Problem Sleuth poster (p.11), which is mostly monochrome, but has four kernels of colorful candy corn. I love this detail so much. It’s a fun reference to Hussie’s previous work and suggests that the candy corn gags in Problem Sleuth are John’s favorite part, which feels right for him. I wonder if John will use candy corn for a prank at some point in reference to this game he likes. I also noticed that the menu bar at the top of the web page also contains four kernels of candy corn - is this just because Problem Sleuth is Hussie’s most notable work, or could it be a clue for Homestuck too?

The most colorful and complex elements of the comic so far are the screens. We see John’s computer, which as a physical object is monochrome but which lights up to a brightly colored world of chums, flashing programs, desktop icons and stunning feats of graphic design, including things John loves (Slimer) and things that make him boil with rage (coding). We also get to see a very green tinted TV commercial in the living room, and a full color clip of Con Air linked from page 20. 

All this makes me wonder if John’s list of interests is chronological. First on his list (p.4) is ‘really terrible movies’, and many of his favorite titles are from the 1980s and 90s, meaning he probably grew up with them. I think he still loves watching and discussing them, but - given that movies are a fairly passive medium - just the reminder of them on his wall isn’t enough to take him out of his own head anymore. He then got into programming, the paranormal, magic, and video games in sequence, meaning that the final two are his most active interests right now, and the ones to which the most time and color are devoted. In this way, the casual end to the list ‘You also like to play GAMES sometimes’ reads like intentionally downplaying something that’s actually really important, the sarcasm of ‘sometimes’ revealed later when we learn that John has ‘put countless manhours into this assortment of quality titles’ (p.31).

Unlike the movie posters, most of the games on John’s CD rack are in color, and unlike movies, games can offer an interactive, immersive experience. Games are enticing to John right now because they’re the best escape from a monotonous, suburban life that John has access to. He’s played his current collection time and time again (to the point that Bard Quest and Problem Sleuth have lost their color), and that’s why he’s so desperate for Sburb to arrive, and why the colorful reminders of Sburb are all over his room.

I think there’s a very real question of whether Sburb will live up to John’s expectations. At only one letter away from Suburb, it’s a clear reminder that video games don’t actually take John away from the life he’s stuck in, they’re a cosmetic alteration at best - and if the themes of the game are too close to John’s real life problems, he won’t find that escapism. So while I’d love to see a version of this comic where John finally starts playing Sburb and the whole screen immediately explodes into color, I’m not sure it’ll be that easy.

Finally, there’s the meta elements of the story. The captchalogue card overlay and strife specibus are pink and green respectively, and other elements that pop up (indication of whether or not we’ve got John’s name right, the cake turning blue when selected, the blinking green telling us we can put the poster on the wall, etc) are colorful too. The hammer that John allocates to his strife specibus is monochrome, however, which fits really well with John allocating it on TG’s instructions and not knowing that the allocation is permanent. If he’d known, he would have chosen something he felt more strongly about.

Interestingly, the narrative text is black. I still don’t think we’re directly getting John’s perspective, I think that’s been filtered through a specific narrator who has a voice very different to John’s (based on John’s Pesterchum messages), but I don’t think John has any awareness of this. In contrast, he’s all too aware of his captchalogue deck and the artificial, needlessly complex limitations it imposes, and he visually reacts to us getting his name right or wrong. 

If John were to somehow become aware of the narrative text, and have strong feelings about the way he’s being portrayed (or the fact that he’s being written about at all), perhaps it would change color? After all, when John talks to his friends, each of them has a defined color, perhaps relating to the different relationships he has with each friend, and different emotions arising from that. John doesn’t seem to always like his friends - he gets frustrated at the notifications, and spends his whole conversation with TT already trying to leave - but he still replies and actively engages with them, a massive contrast to how he is with his dad. 

‘His riddle is Absence itself.’ (p.82)

To conclude, I do find it interesting that the brightest colors in the comic are the things that are most natural (grass, flowers) and the things that are most artificial (screens, the abstract concept of the inventory) while everything in the middle is black and white. This fits with the idea of color being about both extremes at once, and the idea that John wants a chance to explore both the real and virtual worlds. 

The meta function of color is to make certain visual elements stand out to the audience and tell us they’re worth paying attention to. From a purely functional perspective, it makes sense that the things most important to John would also be highlighted to us. But given the theme of lack and emptiness, the absence of color is just as important. And as the comic is already playing so much with the meta, I think that’s the most helpful starting point for analysis. 

[littledigest]

Astro Observation: Commonalities in Serial Killer charts

DISCLAIMER: Any aspects, placements, signs, etc. that I mention here on out do not mean that people with one or all of these are, will become, or will act out serial killer tendencies. I am merely finding common aspects and placements in famous serial killers' charts to delve deeper into the reasons for their actions. As always, one aspect can be expressed in so many different ways. So, take everything with a grain of salt.

Subjects:

Ted Bundy 11/24/1946

Pedro Lopez 10/8/1948

John Wayne Gacy 3/17/1942

Harold Shipman 1/14/1946

Jeffrey Dahmer 5/21/1960

Charles Manson 11/12/1934

David Berkowitz 6/1/1953

Richard Ramirez 2/29/1960

Aileen Wuornos 2/29/1956

If we break down each person's chart by only personal planets, what sign comes up the most often?

Scorpio and Gemini are the signs that came up most frequently. Every serial killer in my list has Scorpio or Gemini in their charts except for Richard Ramirez and Aileen Wuornos.

Scorpio is not a big surprise since this is the sign ruled by Pluto. Death, taboo subjects, obsession, fascination with darker sides of life, control, and power are all very Scorpionic and Plutonian themes. Negative Scorpio traits include being vengeful, manipulative, aggressive, and insensitive. They have innate seductive energy that lures people in as well.

Gemini is a bit more surprising. However, Geminis are curious, clever, impulsive, moody, and good with words. They like to know private information about other people. They are also social creatures, so if they are lacking social connection, things can go south for them. Or, they can use their social skills to lure others to them. The duality of Geminis could go to the extremes; two different personalities in one.

The next most frequent sign is Aquarius. Richard Ramirez and Aileen Wuornos have Aquarius in their charts.

Not a huge surprise with Aquarius. Negative Aquarius energy could mean detachment from emotions, lack of empathy, extreme rebelliousness, pessimism, and coldness. They can be unpredictable and have a superiority complex as well.

The sign that did not appear at all among personal planets is Leo. Taurus and Cancer come in a close second with only one each.

By modality? Not much difference here, but Mutable signs are in the lead. Mutable (17), Fixed (14), Cardinal (13)

By element? Air and Water came up the most with 15 and 13 respectively. Fire and Earth tied at 8 each.

Most common aspect?

Neptune - Pluto (8/9)

This is a generational aspect so 8 out of the 9 have Neptune sextile Pluto, except for Charles Manson. This aspect lasts from the 1940s to the 2030s (Charles Manson was born earlier in 1934). Because this aspect includes such a wide range of people, it does not have a huge effect on our serial killer study. I also do not know their birth times, so I do not even know which houses Neptune and Pluto land in their charts.

Venus - Mars (7/9)

Venus-Mars aspects are typically seen as attractive aspects since they join the planet of love, beauty, and sensuality with the planet of action, physicality, and aggression. From a negative perspective, Venus-Mars can also mean a love for aggression, sexual frustration, and an imbalance between wanting to be accepted/acceptable and wanting to act out in self-interest. May want love and affection, but either in an unconventional way or a part of them fights against or feels uncomfortable with this desire. (Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer are the only two who do not have this aspect; Ted Bundy was known to be attractive to a lot of people and had a certain charm; he does has Venus square Pluto.)

Moon - Uranus (7/9)

Once again, because I do not know birth times, the Moon placements are not accurate. However, I still thought this might be good to look at since there are so many of them. Moon-Uranus gives an unpredictable and disruptive nature to emotions. Their emotional lives may feel unstable, and strong emotions may rise suddenly. They could be rebellious and may feel restless frequently; may desire to separate themselves from others. Childhood could have been unstable/unaffectionate, and these people could lack slow, routine comfort. (John Wayne Gacy and David Berkowitz are the only two who do not have this aspect; David Berkowitz does have Aquarius Moon, which is different from Moon-Uranus but could give a similar flavor)

Sun - Saturn (6/9)

There is self-restricting energy that comes with Sun-Saturn aspects. In a negative light, this aspect shows seriousness, self-denial, lacking a strong sense of self, insecurity, and taking yourself too seriously. This could also show that people deny the Sun-Saturn people their self-expression and acceptance. (Pedro Lopez, Jeffrey Dahmer, and David Berkowitz are the only three who do not have this aspect)

Mars - Neptune (6/9)

Mars-Neptune can be spiritual, elusive, sensitive, imaginative, and dependent. In the realm of serial killers, spirituality can be taken to the extreme; think cult activity, believing a higher power is making you do bad things, etc. (Charles Manson has Mars conjunct Neptune, and David Berkowitz has Mars trine Neptune.) Serial killers can blend in and play in the shadows too, which is Neptunian. They can also assume a different persona, act like a completely different person. Many of these killers were seen as sensitive, shy, and/or polite during the day or in childhood. They can be impressionable; could have been heavily affected by their childhood environments, and acted out physically by imitation or by lashing out. (Pedro Lopez, Harold Shipman, and Jeffrey Dahmer are the only three that do not have this aspect.)

The most aspected planets are in this order:

Saturn (47)

Neptune (46)

Pluto (46)

Moon (46; birth times not accurate)

Mars (44)

Jupiter (42)

Venus (37)

Chiron (36)

Uranus (35)

Mercury (34)

Sun (32)

North Node (21)

South Node (20)

Closing Thoughts

When it comes to serial killers, I see two trains of thought. There is an intense fight between two opposing sides in one person. There is also an extreme detachment from themselves and other people. Saturn is the most aspected planet among these 9 charts, which speaks volumes astrologically about what can push someone to that level of violence and anger. Control, denial, and detachment are huge themes. There is absolutely no excuse for these serial killers and what they did to their victims and the victims' families and loved ones. But it is important to know that most, if not all of them, were denied love and affection in childhood. They were controlled or neglected by authority figures, whether or not this was perceived or for real. And they developed the ability to detach from themselves and other people. They then exert control over their victims and literally deny them their lives. During the act, they detach from any societal morals and ethics and any part of themselves that could possibly say that they shouldn't go through with their violent thoughts.

When there is discomfort within one's self, it builds up and, over time, this pent-up frustration and anger has to come out somehow. This is oftentimes through aggression (Mars) that is ignited by strong emotions (Moon). Serial killers take this to another level (violence, violent emotions)

It is also interesting to see Jupiter within the top half of the list. Serial killers tend to have strong ideologies/principles about the world, people, and everything that is wrong with both. This can also show an urge to expand and inflict their ideologies onto other people.

This is my little "study" on some famous serial killers. Kind of creeping me out right now so...

Everyone, take care of yourselves and be safe!!!

[sea-owl]

I just love the idea that the Bridgerton spouses are all so protective for each other, especially in the Isekai AU. Or even when the Bridgertons are slowly showing their interests. Like Ben leans to close to Sophie? Kate pops up to take her away (glaring at Ben/. Anthony sniffing Kate? A second later Simon is there distracting Anthony while Kate flees. Colin stares at Pen's boobs a second too long? Look at that, Philip suddenl whisks Oen away to her mother for a nonexistent talk. And if anyone theres to try and mess them up, the entire spouse group is there wrecking misery and havoc to the poor bastard. Like yaasss give me protective spouses who will go out of their way to make sure they never get the bad ending they had in their previous life.

Yes, protective spouses over one another for the win! They're all like we all have issues, whether from family or society. Oh, hey, someone similar! Wait, what do you mean they been messing with you? Not on my fucking watch.

In the iskeai au, they obviously have Portia and Mary as well, and they'll fold in the family members they like, too, like Felicity, Edwina, and Posy. John and Richard are friends of a friend type of situation. But this group they formed is the first that let them be vulnerable and let down their walls.

Or have situations like wait, what's that weirdo Bridgerton doing? Oh no, not my siblings. Hold on, I'm coming to the rescue!

I know I just know the spouses have made many cry (or worse) for disrespecting one of the others. And God help you if you made one of them cry. Then they might get stabby or shooty.

This is their second chance and they all want to make sure the others and themselves are happy and loved.

None of them realize how tied together they are with their Bridgertons. Or the happy ending they are looking for does include them.

[cecescomposition]

Hello, Lovelies! Someone on my AO3 requested a part two to this little ficlet from Februwhump, so here it is! I tried to keep this shortened as much as possible because these two pieces may end up being used in my upcoming multi-chapter work🤫

Enjoy!

When Hamilton enters Washington’s office for the second time that day, he comes alone. His hair is tied neatly behind his head, a few strands falling loose in their usual fashion. His cravat is securely snug around his neck, and his coat sleeves are rolled up so they don’t fall around his knuckles (the boy was far too small - his uniform never fit him quite right).

Washington looks up from his work when Hamilton knocks lightly on the doorframe. He furrows his brow in confusion as he sets his papers aside and removes his glasses. What is he doing back here?

“I thought you’d returned to your rooms, Hamilton,” Washington glanced out the window. “It’s nearly midnight, what are you doing back here?”

“I’ve rested enough, Your Excellency,” Hamilton responds calmly, “Plenty of work to be done.”

There is something different in his voice, he seems so much more mellow than when Washington saw him mere hours ago. Unease settled deep in the general’s gut as he surveyed the soldier in front of him. Washington notes how Hamilton has returned with nothing - no paper or quills or inkwells, all his materials he had returned with him to his room.

Washington sighs and stands, moving towards the boy, though it unsettles him greatly to do so.

“I’m afraid I must deny the thought, Colonel. It’s near time I retire for the night, and you as well.”

He makes it all the way to Hamilton before he notices. How he did not notice in his sleep deprived state surprises the general, but not nearly as much as the fact itself. Hamilton’s eyes were no longer their chocolate hazel color, instead a bright azure. A beaming color, yet somehow eyes so dull.

“What-“ Washington brings a hand up to Hamilton’s face.

And then it’s like a switch is flipped.

Hamilton lets out a shrill scream and shoves Washington away with all of his might. Washington is much taller and bigger than Hamilton, it would barely have moved him if he was not so taken aback. His head was reeling, a fog suddenly taking over. He saw red, literally, as the mist in his mind seems to be reflected in front of his vision. The boy is suddenly less visible, but Washington can see his face. He is not afraid. Hamilton’s scream was not one of fear, it was a signal. Perhaps, even a spell of its own. A distraction.

Suddenly Washington’s vision is waxing and waning, and he is somewhat aware that Hamilton is not the only one in the room. He is unsure, though, if he is simply seeing double in his disoriented state.

And then he hears a second voice and he is sure.

Laurens - he blearily realizes - it’s John Laurens who is in his office now. Washington tries to lift his head, but his whole body feels heavy, he can barely move off of the wooden floor he has somehow found himself on.

The general can barely make out the image of John Laurens ruffling through his desk drawers unceremoniously, helping himself to paper upon paper, all filled with notes and messages of the utmost importance.

Laurens moves towards the door without closing a single drawer. He knocks over an inkwell in his heavy movements, black liquid spilling onto the wood like a pool of blood.

Now that Laurens is in full view, Washington notices how without a startle - he’s not enough energy - how he too is walking, moving differently. But unlike Hamilton, it is not reflected in his voice. He hasn’t said a word.

Laurens reaches Hamilton, who hasn’t moved a muscle for the past however long (Washington isn’t sure how long - days, weeks, months?) and touches his face wordlessly. Hamilton’s eyes immediately flutter closed and he collapses bonelessly to the ground. Washington gasps when he hears Hamilton‘s head crack against the wood. Hamilton does not move again.

Laurens reaches for the doorknob before turning back to the general and smiling.

“I do hope you two survive this, General Washington. I would so hate for my fun to be cut short at some boring letters.”

He exits, closing the door behind him.

Washington hears the lock click.



[bladedwoe]

( Astrid ; closed starter )

      𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬, her eyes peering over the rim of her glass at every attendee. Unlike usual jobs, this particular one wasn’t intended to end in bloodshed. There was no ex-lover, no cheating spouse, or a shady merchant she had to make a deal with. Instead, she was looking out for the right time to strike and coax a man none of these things away from the liveliness of the party. Rather a source of hers name-dropped an important name within the Patriot cause, and when there was a mention of a certain Patriot officer attending a Tory party, it was all too apparent Astrid wouldn’t be the only one with a persona.

      The man was Benjamin Tallmadge. A Major, but a supposed Spymaster. He was the Head of Intelligence and it wasn’t only the British that had their own spies to hide in the chaos of war. She spotted him in the crowd and she wondered if he took the same lengthy steps she took to secure an invite. While her source could’ve easily forged an invitation, that wouldn’t be enough to secure her place. If he was truly on a spying mission, she had the assumption that he would be watchful of all of the guests, and one that never surrounded herself with a friend might arouse suspicion. So, she took upon the act of a wealthy heiress, it didn’t take much to embody the high-class persona her mother wished to ingrain in Astrid in hope that she would be able to secure a wealthier man’s hand in marriage, bringing in fortune for their family. This same act Astrid grew up with and used as a second shell upon one of the guests, the daughter of the host, a woman still unsure of what suitor to choose from and frankly, naive to the world, still rosy-cheeked with youth. She was a bundle of anxiety and Astrid’s reassurance and improvised stories of her own time dealing with suitors and similar experiences were enough to gain her trust. 

      The daughter has now been pulled to the attention of one of the suitors she couldn’t choose from. It was both Mr. Mason and Mr. Thompson that made her heart sing with joy and for her face to become flushed, but with an estate tied to her name, her father had a heavy say in her choosing.

      Astrid’s eyes peeled away from the sight of the young woman and now she set her sights on Mr. Bolton. She passed her empty glass off to a tray in a well-dressed man’s hands and crossed the floor to get a chance to speak with the so-called John Bolton now that he was away from anyone seeking his attention.

      She remained calm and collected as she stood next to him, peering out the corner of her eye, she waited patiently for him to turn and regard her presence. As he shifted on his feet, she finally gained his attention and started the conversation.

       ❝ Are you a friend of the host? I haven’t seen you at one of these gatherings before. ❞ Astrid’s voice remained soft, even, and friendly, an innocent curiosity to her words.

@honorhearted​

[ducknotinarow]

Yvonne and Rapheal [2003] || @aflockoffeathers​ contuined from [ here ] When I first heard about this whole nonsense about Bishop, I just knew I needed to keep some tabs on the guy see if he was up to anything, scummy. Course I completely believe he always be up to no good, the guy had such a vendetta against anything that ain’t human after all. How many times has he threatened to dissect me or one of my bros after all. Nah I gotta follow my gut and keep an eye on that Matrix loving loser Was Raph main motive, Bishop was someone to look out for in the first place for many reasons. But Raph had to admit it was all personal for him on why he had be trailing after the guy tonight. Sticking to the shadows despite how much he wanted to just jump and go right into the punching. Raph had to tell himself that was dumb though even if it might just bring him some satisfaction on his own end. No no he needed to stick through this. Raphael groaned a bit he needed to be a serious ninja like Leo right now. Didn’t even bring Casey along because well, Case just helps rail him up. Besides this was all for Raph’s own sanity in the end. It was a bit weird though as he trailed after the guy it seemed like they were just walking around with out a plan in mind but nah this seemed far to on purpose. Maybe he knew he was begin followed? Shit when did he noticed Raph. Or maybe he was trying ti make sure he couldn’t? So why was he sneaking around? That’s when he saw them meeting with someone, it was hard to tell from where he was perched but he was positive they weren’t human. Raph was ready sai in each hand in case he had to jump in on the rescue when he saw them hugging?

Hugging a mutant? Bishop? Okay something was up. He couldn’t hear what was begin said. Far to open to risk getting in closer. So instead he waited making this women his new target now. Waiting for old John to dip out once he had an opening to drop in on her. He could see fair better now she was 100 percent a mutant like him. Well not like him she was a bug for one but still. He stood and let her talk, arms crossing over his plastron as he fixed her with a look. Did she really think he would buy into this? This girl was a terrible lair. For so many reasons what she was trying to say wasn’t adding up. One this is New York, New Yorkers were far from the kind to hug a random stranger. Two it was John Bishop she was hugging some tells the turtle that he ain’t the type to go out and about hugging people openly like that. And three she was a mutant hugging the same damn guy who seeked to get rid of anything that wasn’t human. The only way Raph saw someone being close enough to this guy to get a hug? Nah she knew him. Brow furrowed as he scowled a little at her, Raph would admit he wasn’t brainy sure but he wasn’t that stupid and he felt a little jerked around right now. Why would a mutant claiming to look for other mutants have anything to do with a guy like-

 The second the thought came to him he lowered his arms not out right moving to a fighting stance but making sure if he had to he could grab for his sais, if he needed to. “Clueless that the story you aiming to stick to here uh? listen girlie just cause you got connections with that lunatic don’t mean I won’t pick a fight with ya. What that is scheme now?” Clearly he had ignore when she gave her name and offered to ask for his own, pointing a finger her way he still in part felt she wasn’t a threat she wasn’t giving off any tells that she was up to something other than lying about her connection with Bishop, That’s why he wasn’t able to trust her. “What lure the mutants out with ‘nother eh? that the plan now? I get all chummy with ya’s and let you meet any others I know then once we all think we good and safe you send the single and suddenly we get ambushed and captured. Pft yeah cause I really gonna fall for that old trick.” Raph lays out if he’s harsh in tone its meant to be that way. She clearly covering something her, but in part as he looked at her. She wasn’t averting her eyes, or fidgeting the only time any tell came across was when she claimed Bishop was some stranger to her. “Ya know I can’t stand a lot of things, got a bit of a short fuse one can say but if there is one thing that ticks me off most? it’s a bad lair.” At best that was the only thing marking her as a threat to him. She was lying. “No I don’t know if you got some deal with him but let me tall ya that guy aint now good hes nothing but bad. I’d say he worse than any other scum in this city and I deal with that scum on the daily. So tots stop wasting my time.” Slightly break his harden expression a moment in the off chance this was against her own wishes. “Look maybe he’s got something over you, maybe you in a corner if thats that case fess up and tell me.” He could help here get away if that what she needed maybe she was a tool against her will? ugh Raph hated not having what he needed to know his mind didn’t like having to tread so carefully. Sort of wished he did have his brothers with him. “So which is it Yvonne” Oh guess he did listen “Are you gonna keep playin’ dumb with me or you gonna be honest here? I rather not waste my time if that’s how it gonna be.”

[adelaidedrubman]

might as well. remaining odds + johnjess

hey zak hurts you KILLS YOU with knives, you’re evil <3

3. Do they wear the other’s clothes? (sweatshirt, bandana, necklace, etc.)

IT’S LITERALLY MY PINNED POST WHAT DO YOU THINK. they trade jackets, yeah. john will willingly give jessie his jacket, she will exclusively wear it tied around the waist or in some other way that will piss him off and frustrate his purpose in giving it to her. would wear his shirt (less willingly given) in the same way. if given unsupervised access to the vest she would burn it without a second thought rather than wear it, even ironically.

john would wear the jughead jacket, not in public of course but when he missed her and wanted to feel close to her. (you know, okay? you know.) occasionally puts on some of the graphic tees to sleep or do things around the house sometimes for the same reason, is exceptionally embarrassed when jessie (who is exceptionally smug) comes home to see him curled up in the reading nook with the book of joseph wearing her “so good with my rod i make fish come” shirt.

5. Describe their cozy night in.

they curl up around the fire, either pit or place depending on the weather. jessie brings the shittiest dirt IPAs john’s ever tasted and swears this brew is really good actually, trust her. he’s contractually obligated to drink at least two before switching to something he actually likes. if they’re indoors, they might put on a movie — if john chooses the film jessie complains it’s “pretentious” and “not shrek 2.” if jessie chooses, it’s shrek 2 (2004). if they’re outdoors she explains the plot of shrek 2 (2004) (he’s not allowed to contribute, regardless of how many times he’s also seen shrek 2 (2004) at this point. he doesn’t get it.)

they eventually get into an argument, possibly about shrek 2 (2004), possibly about something tangential. from there standard argument to sex pipeline, followed by proclamations of eternal love, cuddling, and watching shrek (2001). cue argument about why they never watch shrek (2001) first, since they do this same thing at least once a month. you basically get it from there.

7. Would they build a pillow fort together just because?

yes, while they’re watching shrek 2 (2004). they pop one of these bad boys on it.

joseph has at least once walked in to be very confused, but to john’s relief not disapproving. (dirt IPAs hidden in pillow fort).

9. What are their thoughts on having children?

you KNOW the story. heavily against, for their own individual trauma reasons, both consider themselves inherently incapable of ever truly nurturing rather than destroying, don’t think children should be brought into an evil, dying world, jessie has never gotten past her own perception that she doomed her mother by being born, etc. thoughts change when they agree to temporarily foster a set of siblings post collapse (nothing could go wrong with this) to earn easy brownie points, and when it comes time to actually let them leave to go off to be adopted by strangers, john has a panic attack (literally no one could have seen this coming) and after a very emotional discussion jerome is reluctantly present for, they end up adopting the kiddos themselves.

they eventually conceive two more, after deciding they haven’t completely ruined the first two. (or because they need everyone to know they weren’t cringe enough to name their children all J names, depending on your preferred version of events.)

11. Do either try to hide their emotions if upset? Can the other still tell?

they think they do, but emotional outbursts are far more the brand than stoicism. but by god, do they think they’re doing something. the other can usually tell, and feels very perceptive for it (anyone else could tell, no one else actually cares).

13. Who’s the bigger tease?

john attempts it more often, but jessie is somewhat more successful at actually being withholding long enough for it to count.

15. Do they always say 'i love you' before leaving?

in their own way:)

17. Who's more likely to pull the other in by the waist and kiss them passionately?

either, although jessie would be more likely to be outwardly aggressive enough to do it early on, john would be more likely to ease his way in instead of doing it in one swoop.

19. How do they feel about PDA?

oh you wouldn’t know. this you?

23. Who's more likely to convince the other to stay in bed come morning?

tough call, jessie is a heavier sleeper and tends to linger in bed for longer, but john is more openly clingy, more likely to try to keep jessie with him. point usually goes to john because he could easily get out of bed without jessie ever knowing but usually doesn’t, more likely to sit there fully awake staring at her, pretend to still be asleep when she finally starts to wake up, then ask her to please stay it’s such a nice morning he’s so tired.

29. Who is more likely to jump in an elevator? Who freaks out?

jessie (just to be obnoxious). also jessie (fear of falling).

31. Can they sit side by side without touching the other or are they handsy? (lacing fingers, touching knees, etc.)

they would literally rather die than not be constantly touching.

35. Who's more artistic?

john, who doesn’t swoon at the corpse art? (jessie sketches sometimes, though.)

37. Which is more likely to swear?

empirically proven by uquiz jessie’s nervous filler profanity is the only thing that distinguishes dialogue from jughead. at least one fuck per sentence so the cw doesn’t sue me.

39. Who would rescue an injured animal and nurse it back to health? What would the other think?

jessie, although she’s unlikely to keep the animal in question. (was never allowed to keep a pet as a child, has a complex).

41. Which one would take their jacket it off and drape over the other one because they were visibly shivering?

john, but it’s Her Jacket. (she likes that fucking jacket, and etc.)

43. Who would give their life for the other without a second thought?

jessie, out of spite.

47. Does either of them have a secret that could potentially ruin their relationship?

say what you will about them, they wear their worst traits on their tacky jacket sleeves with each other from day one. john’s most gruesome acts are very much on display to jessie from the get go, there’s not a lot of additional detail about his actions that could shut her down. jessie is if anything worried about her “secrets” ruining their dynamic by being too lackluster after how carefully she’s guarded them and causing his interest to wane. (possibly true, if she were more forthcoming, her obstinance is part of the appeal. girl who wants to be mysterious so bad but also cannot shut the fuck up but still doesn’t give you any personal detail but still pays such close attention to you. swoon. )

49. Does either of them have a hard time being away from the other?

we are still dealing with the fallout of her leaving for twenty minutes, and she has since promised him via their one method of assuring they’re telling the truth to each other that she would personally max out at a week.

51. What’s a non verbal way they say I love you?

those rare occasions they actually shut the fuck up and exist in comfortable silence? yeah. also reaching out for each other, no matter the situation, watching the other carefully for reactions, etc.

53. Would they ever go skinny dipping?

much to the county’s chagrin. banned from every body of water but seed boat launch and drubman marina.

55. Do they like watching clouds or star gazing?

:/

57. Whose the serious one when grocery shopping and who likes to toss random things in the cart?

john is the one who actually comes in with an ingredient list and a plan (he is not capable of executing either). jessie is likely to not show up to the grocery store at all, but if she’s dragged along she will throw things into the cart.

59. Who tops? Who bottoms?

rebranding jessie as a subby bottom what do we think?

[odanurr87]

My thoughts on... Doctors

Yoon Kyung Sang as Jung Yoon Do, Park Shin Hye as Yoo Hye Jung, Kim Rae Won as Hong Ji Hong, and Lee Sung Kyung as Jin Seo Woo If I were to draw a line segment and place the medical kdramas I've watched to date on it, with the degree of over-the-top drama and lack of professionalism decreasing from left to right, I'd place Yong Pal all the way to the left, followed closely by Doctor Stranger, and Hospital Playlist all the way to the right, with Doctor John probably somewhere around the left of the midpoint (still haven't finished watching Angel Eyes). Much to my surprise, I think Doctors probably belongs somewhere to the right of the midpoint (but not too far) and I'll try to explain why that is, but first let's talk a little about the premise. Doctors aka Female Gangster Hye Jung (no, really, that’s another title for it) focuses, not surprisingly, on the transformative journey of Yoo Hye Jung from a smart, rebellious, and kickass teen who doesn't get along with her dad, has no friends and no dreams about a better future, to a driven and talented doctor who's well liked and respected by her colleagues, but who's held back by a tragic event from her past. Hong Ji Hong, as her home-room teacher at high school, is the one who sets her on her path to becoming a doctor, and later as her mentor/boyfriend also helps her move on. Yes, you read that right, her home-room teacher eventually becomes her lover. Personally, I don't think they handled the pacing of the teacher-student relationship very well. The first couple of episodes do not hint at any romantic feelings between these two but then along comes Episode 3 and suddenly they... kinda do? It all felt very rushed, especially her friendship with the second female lead, Jin Seo Woo (Bok Joo!), and the fallout between them, what prompts a bitter rivalry when they meet again working at the same hospital 13 years later.

She’s not called gangster for nothing

Subverting expectations or bland storytelling?

It is perhaps to be expected that Hye Jung has an agenda, tied to a possible case of medical malpractice that involves Seo Woo's father and the hospital's director, Jin Myung Hoon, played by Uhm Hyo Sub, known for playing the antagonist in several dramas (but I always remember him as the butler in Shopping King Louie). Curiously, while this plot thread is present throughout the show it isn't given the prominence one might expect, with the screenwriter (Ha Myung Hee) slowly developing it over the course of the show, always careful to keep the details of the event shrouded in mystery. Instead, the show chooses to give more prominence to the development of the relationship between Hye Jung and Ji Hong and to the medical cases that the doctors face, how they resolve them and how they often tie to their personal lives, but mostly Hye Jung's.

And here's where I got the largest positive impression of the show: the doctors don’t lose their composure in the OR, they act calmly and professionally. The one time this doesn't happen it is considered a serious breach and immediately addressed. This show doesn't feel the need to artificially create drama by having characters act irrationally, having doctors sabotage each other for the sake of their personal glory, or having patients die in the OR so that a doctor can be conveniently blamed and drama can be amped to eleven. In fact, I can't recall a single surgery that didn't go as planned. There were several times I'd go, "Aha, now this will happen so that event X and Y will follow!" and the show would answer with a resounding, "Nope." Perhaps many viewers will find this boring but I found it refreshingly different. And this is not to say there are no dramatic or tension-filled scenes, what sometimes make it lose points on a realism scale, but they're never overplayed.

Not sure I want to know what he means by that

Besides Seo Woo, whose rivalry with Hye Jung takes some time to resolve, the only other character who's initially distrustful of Hye Jung's ability and disapproves of her attitude is the second male lead and her senior, Jung Yoon Do. However, after a couple of instances where Hye Jung proves herself in his eyes he apologizes and never doubts her again. This becomes a turning point for our SML as he slowly starts falling for Hye Jung's charms and loosens up considerably, to the point I really liked him despite his unrequited love for Hye Jung. This is another plus for Doctors, as when he confesses his feelings to Hye Jung she wastes no time clearing the air replying, "I don't trust love between a man and a woman. But if I have to love, that one person will be Hong Ji Hong." That's that potential love triangle neatly resolved. Even when he later gives Ji Hong a heads up about his feelings for Hye Jung (Yoon Do is very straightforward and honest) the latter nonchalantly replies, "Good. Try your best." what leaves Yoon Do thinking he's already lost before he even had a chance to compete.

Ji Hong and Hye Jung: A mature relationship with little drama

Ji Hong is a charming, easygoing, glass half-full, kinda guy, who always looks out for his students and never holds a grudge. As he tells Hye Jung one episode, there are too many things he wants to do in his life to waste time mulling over negative things like revenge. If this were a fantasy cdrama, he'd probably be a Daoist (he'd certainly make a better Daoist than The Taoist Grandmaster). This may irk some viewers looking for a revenge-driven plot where the protagonists actively seek the downfall of some powerful figure/s with almost single-minded determination, like in Graceful Family (which I do recommend btw). The seeds are certainly there for Doctors to take that route but it chooses not to, what makes me think that perhaps they were planted because it is expected for this type of show to have that plot line and not because the screenwriter particularly wanted to, but this is pure speculation. While Ji Hong helps Hye Jung with her search for the truth he does so out of a desire she'll be able to close that painful chapter of her life and live more in the present, and he doesn't waste an opportunity to let her know she can be happy, as this dancing scene to The La's "There She Goes" proves.

This man makes it difficult not to fall in love with him As for Hye Jung, I think this is probably the better Park Shin Hye performance out of the dramas I've watched with her (no, I have not yet watched Pinocchio). She was cute as Go Mi Nam in You're Beautiful but I felt the show never let her grow out of that character and show us who she was as Go Mi Nyeo. Here I felt she was able to show more range and she looked comfortable with her male costar despite their age gap. Certainly, the two actors/characters seemed to have a lot more chemistry than that shown in her latest drama, Sisyphus: The Myth, between Kang Seo Hae and Han Tae Sul, and makes me wonder what a reunion with Kim Rae Won as Han Tae Sul would've looked like.

I still love you, Go Mi Nam.

Honestly, the only obstacle to their relationship is themselves, as they're both highly intelligent and independent people who've never been in a romantic relationship before and who usually try to solve problems by themselves rather than relying on others. This veers dangerously close to "noble idiocy" territory at times but doesn't outright cross into it, to my mind, or at least doubles back fairly quickly. For instance, in order to protect Hye Jung, Ji Hong makes a deal with a character one time that I won't spoil. When Hye Jung finds out about it she confronts him but Ji Hong defuses the situation by arguing he's "taking one step backwards and two steps forward" to ease tensions, that this is not as bad as she makes it out to be (glass half-full kinda guy), and that he's actively looking for a way to revert this. When I took my time to ponder his argument I had to concede it was fairly reasonable. Like I said, Ji Hong is surprisingly mature about handling relationships and conflicts, something that was unexpected. Another time the two have a conversation where Hye Jung points out how he's always trying to protect and comfort her but that this is not reciprocal, that she also wants to protect and comfort him but he won't let her, finally asking him to change if he wants to make their relationship work. While she definitely had a point I was a little irked about the conclusion, which came across as rather one-sided. Quite surprisingly, it didn't take long for Hye Jung to acknowledge she was wrong to corner him into changing when she was also asking him to love her for who she was, a confession that leads into this beautifully awkward scene where Hye Jung tries to make the first move and Ji Hong doesn't know quite what to make of it.

When you try to give him the green light and he doesn't get the memo Their relationship isn't perfect (what relationship is?), there are bumps on the road, and they alternate between being lovers, teacher and student, and colleagues, throughout the show and depending on the situation, and sometimes their inability to recognise what role they should be playing (the characters, not the actors) causes some tension or friction between them that usually gets resolved by, shockingly, having a conversation like normal adults. Maybe these are the moments that some reviewers had trouble believing, as they sometimes appear to be dissecting the ins and outs of their relationship with clinical precision. They are neurosurgeons after all.

Of second-lead relationships, The Beagles, and music

I've praised the main leads and the second male lead, but what about the second female lead? Seo Woo's growth is very slow and a large part of it occurs when a conflict that personally involves her arises towards the end of the show. Seo Woo is initially jealous that Hye Jung has managed to become so successful in life and doesn't take kindly to Yoon Do falling for her rival. She has insecurity issues tied to her parents' expectations of her and Hye Jung "taking things away from her" (she also had a crush on Ji Hong in high school) that should've been better fleshed out in the initial episodes of the show. Surprisingly, what seems to be a trend with this show, the second leads don't end up together and, in fact, Seo Woo ends up in a relationship with fellow doctor Pi Yeong Kook, the one friend who's always there for her no matter what. Eventually, Seo Woo is also able to let go of the past, daring to stand up for Hye Jung and call her a friend, and overcomes, if not her parents' expectations, certainly their narrow-mindedness and greed, not to mention her own ego.

I guess this qualifies as subverting expectations? There is also quite a bit of comedy too, in no small part thanks to "The Beagles," Jung Pa Ran (played by Lee Sun Ho), Yoon Do's uncle, and Jo In Joo (played by Yoo Da In), both of which are Ji Hong's closest friends, who have a great friendship and a running gag of annoying the heck out of Yoon Do by constantly staying at his place. There's one episode where even Seo Woo joins the beagles and Yoon Do is like, "I give up. Live happily among the three of you." and finds himself temporarily exiled to Ji Hong's apartment, much to the latter's surprise.

The Beagles adopt a new member Music-wise, I wasn't particularly impressed by the songs, as the one that made the most lasting impression was The La's "There She Goes." The score itself was composed by Park Se Jun, who previously collaborated with the show's director, Oh Choong Hwan, on shows like Start-Up and While You Were Sleeping, but perhaps this shouldn't be surprising as Park Se Jun's name pops up everywhere. The score itself is actually not half bad but it wasn't particularly memorable, save for a few exceptions. The first one is the fact that Doom at Your Service's "Destiny to Love" is used regularly throughout the show, what surprised me seeing as it's a track from a 2021 drama playing on a 2016 show (they really should've used it when Ji Hong steps out of the helicopter). The other is the track "Goodbye My Fellow" which, for the life of me, sounds like something lifted straight from another 2016 show I recently watched, Marriage Contract. I could swear they're playing the same, or mostly the same, music as in either "Beautiful Memories" and/or "Beautiful Days" but to different notes, speed, or something. The second I listened to that music playing in Doctors I instantly thought of Marriage Contract. Initially, I thought maybe they were simply reusing the score from one of their shows but Marriage Contract is from MBC and Doctors is from SBS so I'm not really sure what's going on here.

Marriage Contract. Probably the best contractual relationship kdrama there is. Watch it.

Conclusions

All in all, Doctors was a surprisingly pleasant watch throughout and I didn't find it boring despite its 20-episode order, what usually makes me suspicious of the quality of the show. Some reviewers have argued the ending feels rushed and while I disagree I have to concede certain plot lines are purposefully left unresolved. In short, if you want to see the antagonists killed or in shackles, then this is not the drama for you. It's not that there are no consequences for their actions, there are, but we don't get to see the full extent of them. Following Ji Hong's life philosophy we only get to see the positive outcomes, not the negative ones.

In the end, I think I can confidently say Doctors succeeded in subverting my trope-oriented expectations, what I consider to be a positive. It’s no Hospital Playlist (that’s a high bar) but it’s certainly a lot better than some of the other medical dramas I’ve watched. Of course, perhaps my baseline isn’t diverse enough, with medical dramas like New Heart, Good Doctor, D-Day, and Dr. Romantic still on my watchlist. What about you? Have you watched Doctors? Where would you place it on your own medical kdrama line segment?

[madamspeaker]

Is there anyway to bypass the paywall on that? I’m usually always willing to pay for good journalism but considering I’m not Irish, subscribing doesn’t really make sense and there’s no single article option

I've copied and pasted the article below the cut to spare everyone's dash.

Nancy Pelosi profile: Steely Democrat who entered the dragon’s den

Alistair Dawber

Nancy Pelosi is one of the most powerful women in American politics and renowned for her effectiveness. Her daughter, Alexandra, a documentary film-maker, put it bluntly: “She’ll cut your head off and you won’t even know you’re bleeding. No one ever won betting against Nancy Pelosi.”

Pelosi, 82, the only woman ever to have held the position of Speaker of the House of Representatives, is second in line to the presidency after the vice-president — but not for much longer, according to polls: the Democrats are expected to lose their majority in November’s midterm elections and she will have to pass the gavel to a Republican.

But Pelosi is not going quietly. Last week, in what may be the climax of her career, and ignoring warnings on all sides about raising geopolitical temperatures in the South China Sea, she became the most senior US politician to visit Taiwan for a quarter of a century.

After keeping everyone guessing for weeks whether she would risk it or not, she was seen descending the steps of a military plane in Taipei in her favourite salmon pink trouser suit amid a blaze of camera lights.

More than 700,000 people were reported to have gone online to monitor the course of Pelosi’s flight — many of them perhaps wondering if China, which regards Taiwan as a renegade province, might shoot it down.

The visit, part of her tour of the Asia Pacific region, prompted fury and outrage in Beijing, which sent a formal diplomatic protest to the US State Department, staged war games and fired missiles close to Taiwan before cutting ties with the United States on a range of critical issues from climate talks to defence.

Yesterday,Taiwan scrambled jets to warn away 20 Chinese aircraft, including 14 that crossed the Twian Strait median line, Taiwan’s defence ministry said.

Some in the US called the trip foolhardy and reckless — President Biden was reported to have urged Pelosi not to go. But the Taiwanese were delighted. A large crowd of flag-waving supporters gave her a hero’s welcome.

On Capitol Hill there were murmurs of support on both sides of the political aisle: finally someone was standing up to China: “We support Speaker of the House of Representatives Nancy Pelosi’s trip to Taiwan,” normally hostile Republican senators said in a statement. Few in Washington were surprised by the Californian congresswoman’s chutzpah.

First elected Speaker in 2007 when she served for four years, Pelosi returned to the job in 2019, when the Democrats regained a majority in the house halfway through Donald Trump’s presidency.

Trump called her “stone cold crazy” and eventually blamed her for the January 6 riots, when his supporters sacked the US Capitol in support of his claims that the Democrats had stolen the election. She backed the move to impeach the president.

They were at loggerheads throughout his time in office. The bitterness came to a head in 2020 when, after listening impatiently to his state of the union address for 78 minutes, she tore up his speech as he basked in the applause of his Republican colleagues.

Pelosi may soon write a memoir about her life’s journey which began in Baltimore, an hour’s drive from Washington, where she was born as Nancy D’Alesandro and raised in a strongly Democrat household.

Her father was the city’s mayor between 1947 and 1959, as well as mover and shaker in the national party. In 1960, aged 20, Nancy was photographed with a youthful-looking John Kennedy, months before he won the presidential election.

After attending college in Washington, in 1963 she married Paul Pelosi, moving first to Manhattan, and then San Francisco, where her interest in liberal politics blossomed.

Not content solely as a housewife to a rich banker husband — although she was a mother of five before turning 30 — she used her party connections to play an influential role in Jerry Brown’s presidential campaign in 1976.

He would lose the party nomination to Jimmy Carter but leading lights in the party spotted Pelosi’s talents and within five years she was chairing the California Democrats, before winning a house seat in 1987.

After the Democrats won the house in the 2006 midterms, Pelosi was first elected as Speaker on January 4, 2007. The Democrats won back the house in 2018 and Pelosi returned to the speakership in January, 2019 — the first person in more than 60 years to serve terms as Speaker non-consecutively.

While a new generation of leftwingers in the Democratic Party, such as the New York congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez — now tipped by some on the left as a possible Democratic challenger to Biden in 2024 — have not always seen eye to eye with Pelosi, she has always aligned with the liberal Democrat faction.

An early advocate for LGBT rights, she pushed in her early days in the house for funds to pay for research into HIV/Aids. In 1994 she was also one of the sponsors of a bill that for a decade led to a ban on assault weapons, and was an opponent of the Iraq war in 2003.

At times her family’s huge wealth has been an embarrassment. Her husband is a real estate investor and venture capitalist, making her one of the richest members of Congress with some estimates putting the couple’s wealth at more than $100 million.

A teetotaller who also avoids coffee, she credits The New York Times crossword puzzle with helping to keep her mind sharp.

Asked when she first became Speaker what qualified her for the job, Pelosi replied: “Having five children in six years.”

[pumathoughts]

NFL Conference Championship Rundown

And then, there were four. Here is my NFL Conference Championship Rundown:

Conference championships: Jan. 28

AFC

(3) Kansas City Chiefs at (1) Baltimore Ravens

Sunday, Jan. 28, 3 p.m. ET on CBS

The Kansas City Chiefs are in their 6th straight AFC Championship game. Patrick Mahomes will have his second career road game in the post season. The Baltimore Ravens are hosting their first ever AFC Championship game, the last conference championship game in Baltimore was in 1971 when the Baltimore Colts took on the Oakland Raiders. TE Travis Kelce and LS James Winchester will extend their Chiefs record for playoff games by appearing in their 21st. Andy Reid is the only coach to reach at least four conference title games with two different franchises. He has six in Kansas City, and 5 with Philadelphia. Mahomes has thrown for 4,561 yards in the postseason. He needs 404 yards to pass John Elway for eighth on the NFL’s career list. Mahomes will be playing in his 17th game while it took Elway 22 to reach his total. Mahomes has 44 TD passes in the postseason. He needs three to pass Peyton Manning for fifth on the career list. Mahomes has 13 postseason wins. He can tie Elway, Manning, Steve Young and Terry Bradshaw for third behind Tom Brady and Joe Montana on the career list with a victory Sunday.

During the regular season, the Ravens won an NFL-record 10 games against teams that finished with winning records. They won those 10 games by an average of 17.8 points. Baltimore led the league in scoring defense (16.5 points per game) and sacks (60) and tied for first in takeaways (31). The Ravens are the first team to lead the NFL in all three of those categories. The Ravens had 16 players with at least one sack this season. Only Detroit (18) had more.

Now that I’ve dumped those stats on you, this game should be close and it should be low scoring. The Ravens are one of the most balanced teams while the Chiefs are coming together at the right time. I think the Ravens might take this one by a field goal. Lamar Jackson is gunning or a second MVP and this game will be the one that solidifies it. Also, teams who have beaten Josh Allen in the playoffs have gone on to lose their next game. 2020 Houston beat Buffalo then lost to KC. 2021 KC beat Buffalo then lost to Tampa. 2022 KC beat Buffalo then lost to Cincinnati. 2023 Cincy beat Buffalo then lost to KC. Just saying.

NFC

(3) Detroit Lions at (1) San Francisco 49ers

Sunday, Jan. 28, 6:30 p.m. ET on Fox

America’s sweethearts the Detroit Lions are one step closer to a Super Bowl. Only problem is they have to play arguably the most balanced and well coached team in the league to do it. San Francisco can beat you in a multitude of ways and every player is good at the little things. It’s all going to come down to can Detroit stop Christian McCaffrey. Can Detroit’s defense keep an explosive 49er offense grounded. The wild card in this game is Lions coach Dan Campbell. Detroit leads the NFL with 118 fourth-down tries since Campbell got the job, converting 52.5% of them. The Lions have converted both 4th down attempts in the postseason, scoring TDs on two fourth-and-shorts. Detroit's 13 TDs on fourth down in the regular season and playoffs since 2021 are tied for the most in the NFL. San Francisco has attempted only 50 fourth-down tries the past three seasons, the third fewest in the league.

Jared Goff is looking to return to the Super Bowl trying to avenge a 13-3 loss to the Patriots in Super Bowl 53. Jared Goff is also trying to reverse some bad mojo. Quarterbacks who have lost in their first Super Bowl appearance since 2000 have not gone back to the Super Bowl. My heart wants Detroit to shock the world and win it all. They deserve it. But I can’t overlook a battle tested 49ers team looking to avenge last season’s NFC Championship loss. I think the 49ers win because the Lions do not convert a 4th down they had to have.

[teconkaals]

Walking With A Ghost Chapter 3

Back in the UK, Soap invites Ghost to dinner at his house.

AO3 Chapter link: Chapter 3 - Back Home

Fanfic Masterlist: Here

Next Chapter: Chapter 4 - Home

Previous Chapter: Chapter 2 - One More Heartbeat

Wordcount: 8063

Rating: Mature

Tags of the fanfic (some of them): hurt/comfort, taking care of each other, blood and violence, happy ending, non explicit sex

A/N: A bit long, but it's all fluff I swear

I don’t give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform (I’m publishing on my Ao3 account both English and Spanish).

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY - TF 141BACK HOME CHICAGO, USA NOVEMBER 4, 2022, 04:15

A buzz woke him up.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to drive away the sleepiness, and looked around him, trying to place himself. No, this certainly wasn't his room. He turned a little to the left when he felt something on his waist and saw Soap hugging him, his forehead resting on his back. Ghost looked at him for a few seconds before moving carefully so as not to wake him. He pulled the blanket gently over them, and Soap stirred in his sleep. He hugged him a little more and Simon couldn't contain a half smile, feeling how his heart warmed.

The hum was heard again somewhere on the floor, insistent, and he frowned as he recognized it as the vibration of a mobile. Simon had a feeling it was his and he moved quickly to find it. He always kept it in silent mode and the only calls he got were from work, so there was a good chance it was Price. Ghost found his pants, rummaged in its pockets, and pulled out the little device. He rolled onto his back, carefully placing Soap on his chest, and opened the phone, confirming his suspicions.

He took a deep breath before answering.

“What's up?” He asked in a lower tone of voice than usual.

“Finally, I've been trying to reach you,” Price replied. Ghost didn't miss the slight relief in his voice. “I went looking for you, but you didn't answer. And I’ve also called you. Five times, where have you been?”

“We're on break.”

“That's right.”

“Then why so much insistence?”

The Captain was silent and Ghost continued speaking.

“You wouldn't be worried about me, would you?” he growled.

“Maybe a bit restless. A lot has happened in these last few hours.”

Ghost looked at Soap as he noticed him move again and lowered his voice a bit more as he spoke.

“Too many. Do you want to talk about a specific one?”

Price snorted.

“I hardly hear you. You know that phones have a microphone you put near your mouth, right?”

Ghost looked at the ceiling for a moment.

“Get to the point, Captain.”

Price chuckled softly.

“It's nothing important,” he replied. “I thought you might like a drink. You know, for old times sake.”

Simon cocked his head and took a deep breath.

“I'll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

“Don't worry.” Price said and Ghost sensed that smile that downplayed the matter. “We'll have a chance for that later.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he chuckled. “Try to rest, we'll leave early tomorrow morning.”

He hung up the phone and closed it. He wasn't surprised that Makarov's name had stirred up the Captain's past. In fact, he too would have been in the same situation if he hadn't been busy with… other things. Makarov was a bad guy, one he didn't expect to meet again. On the other hand, perhaps he could take advantage of it to collect a series of debts.

“You've stayed.”

He turned to Soap upon hearing his sleepy voice. He'd moved his head a little to see him and, although he was smiling, Ghost couldn't help but feel a pang of pain in his chest.

“I can go if…”

“No!” John hastened to answer. “No, it's okay. I'm just… I'm surprised. I thought you'd leave after… well, you know.”

Sure.

It was logical that he thought that of the cold and distant guy who, once the physical need is satisfied, leaves because nothing ties him there. And the truth is that he wasn’t wrong; on the few occasions he'd slept with other people, he'd walked out without saying a word. With Soap though, it was different because there were feelings involved. Emotions he hadn't felt in many, many years, and that had kept him from leaving the room in silence.

He sighed.

“I'll leave when you ask me to,” he growled.

John made up a huge smile and chuckled. He rested his cheek on his chest and frowned a little at his hand.

“What've you got there?”

“My cellphone.”

John lifted his head slightly and moved to take it.

“Your cellphone?” He took a good look at it before laughing. “This thing is older than me. Why do you have a grandpa's phone?”

Ghost took it from his hands and let it fall to the ground. The device made a thud as it landed on the clothing, and Soap laughed, settling himself against it.

“Don't sulk,” he told him, smiling, “I'm asking because I'm interested.”

Simon looked at him and snorted.

“It's for calling. I don't need more.”

“To call,” he repeated.

“You don't call or what?” Ghost growled.

John laughed again.

“No. Well, sometimes," he added, seeing his mate look at him. “My grandma, for example. She doesn't quite understand how messaging apps work, so I've to call her,” he cocked his head. “You don't text with your family?”

Simon looked away and stared at the ceiling. He was silent for a few long seconds before speaking.

“I’ve no family.”

Soap sat up like a spring.

“Fuck… I… I'm sorry, Simon. I didn't know that…”

“Calm down,” he cut him off.

Soap was silent, looking at him carefully.

“You don't…have anyone?”

Ghost looked at him and growled a curse at the tone of sorrow in his words.

“Save your pity, Johnny.”

“It's not pity,” he snapped back. “It's… how to explain…” He ran a hand through his hair and huffed after a few seconds. “Okay, fine, you're right: It's pity, but it's how I've been raised. I've always had my family there, and we're a lot,” he added with a cherished smile, “so I'm a little sorry when people grow up without it. It's… that kind of pity. I didn't mean to offend you, Simon. I'm sorry.”

Ghost glanced at him and nodded. He understood what he meant and, if he made an effort to empathize, it was logical that he would have that reaction. He was distracted when he noticed Soap climb on top of him to get to the edge of the bed. The Scotsman leaned out and reached out to rummage through the clothing.

“Where the hell is it?”

“What the fuck are you doing, Johnny?”

“Aha, found it!” He answered triumphantly, getting up again and showing him the cellphone that Ghost had dropped. “No matter what, you'll always be my friend,” John continued. He sat on the bed and typed on the device. A Bruce Springsteen song blared from somewhere on the floor, cutting off abruptly after a few seconds. “You can call me whenever you want. You can even give Price my number in case… something happens to you,” he handed back the phone. “You'll never be alone again, Simon.”

Ghost picked up the phone without saying anything, completely shocked by Soap's words. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, realizing that he couldn't make a sound. John looked at him with understanding and lay down next to him, putting an arm around his neck and pulling him gently. Simon let go and rested his forehead in the crook of his neck. He felt his chest split open at having all those emotions at once. He, who always thought of himself as a person who didn’t deserve to be loved, a kind of killing machine, was receiving love from a person whom he considered good. Someone who did seem to care about him beyond camaraderie. After so many years suffering abuse from his father, having been betrayed several times, having lost everything that was important to him; after having put on a shell to not let a single emotion pass…

Simon broke down.

And Soap hugged him tight as he began to tremble, kissing him on the hair. John moved a little to cover them with the blanket and gently caressed his back, offering him his silent support, and Ghost, far from feeling vulnerable, felt protected. Like he'd found a safe haven. And noticing him brought on a sudden wave of exhaustion as he released the tension that had accumulated over years. Pretending that he was strong, that he wasn't affected by anything and that he was fine alone, was exhausting.

He took a deep breath and felt Soap move a little.

“You better?” He asked.

Ghost nodded wordlessly. He was so comfortable in his arms that he didn't want to break away.

“I'm glad,” John whispered into his ear and kissed his cheek.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door and they both jumped. Gaz's voice sounded on the other end.

“Hey, Soap! You there?”

John sighed.

“I'd better open it before he kicks in,” he whispered and Ghost moved a little to let him go.

Soap quickly dressed and hurried to open the door. Although the bed was invisible from the hallway, Simon shifted his position just in case, casting a quick glance at the floor to see if there was anything to indicate he was there.

“Hey” Soap greeted him with a jovial voice. “What’s up?”

“Haven't seen you all day, man. Still sleeping off your hangover?” Gaz asked with a laugh.

Soap chuckled.

“I think I drank too many beers.”

“And also whiskey. Did you have company?” He added he mischievously.

Ghost tensed for a moment, relaxing when John laughed.

“I wish! I was so drunk that I didn't see that I had already drawn a glass.”

Gaz laughed with him.

“You're a basket case, man” he took a deep breath. “Price sent me to remind you that the plane leaves first thing tomorrow. Try not to fall asleep.”

“I'll set seven alarms” Soap assured him and his partner laughed again.

He said goodbye to Gaz and closed the door, stepping into Ghost's field of vision. He glanced at him and smiled.

“Go home, huh?” Soap commented casually.

“Don't want to?” Simon asked.

“Of course I do” John chuckled softly and sat down on the bed, close to him. “It's weird after being away so long. And it's funny because it's only been a handful of days, but it feels like months,” he added, quietly. “It'll be a rest to sleep at home and go back to the routine.”

Ghost nodded wordlessly and Soap looked at him.

“What're you gonna do when we get back?”

Simon took a deep breath, thoughtful. The truth is that he hadn't given it much thought because he assumed that he’d do what he always did: inventory the weapons, clean them, review the reports, train and read a book at night. Maybe he'd have a drink at Amelia's pub.

“I don't know,” he finally answered.

“We can go somewhere,” he suggested. “If you want,” he added, outlining a smile.”

He looked at him carefully. Although Soap kept his usual smiling, Simon could see past him and see that he was hesitating. Apparently, Soap didn't seem to be sure where they were. Well, neither did he, so they were both equally lost. What was clear to him was that he wanted to follow the new path that was opening up before him.

One corner of his mouth turned up.

“Sure.”

John's smile widened and his face seemed to light up. And also the room. A kind of superpower that never ceased to amaze Ghost. He let his heart warm a little before taking a deep breath and sitting up on the bed.

“I should go,” he commented, rubbing his eyes. “I need a shower and something to eat.”

“I thought you might want to shower with me.”

He looked up. Soap was smiling shamelessly, one eyebrow raised, and Simon would have kissed him if it hadn't been for the words his mate had said.

Showering together.

This was something Simon had never done with anyone. Not even in the army. He'd always managed to shower alone, away from the prying eyes of his partners. It was a very personal moment for him because the water relaxed him, relieving stress, apathy and anger. He’d never considered that there was a chance to share that with another person, not even Soap. And he didn't know if he was ready for it.

John's smirk faded and the mischievous look turned into a worried one.

“Simon?”

Ghost swallowed and looked down.

“I've… never done it.”

“You kidding!” Soap exclaimed, stunned. Ghost looked at him and John's expression softened. He sighed before speaking. “The last thing I want is to pressure you, so take your time, okay?”

Simon shook his head, surprised to realize that he wanted to try; see how the experience was and how it ended.

“I want to, it's just that…”

He sighed, leaving the sentence in the air, not knowing very well how to formulate it. Luckily for him, Soap seemed to understand what he was trying to say.

“Don't worry,” he replied kindly. “Let's try, okay? Set the pace, and if you get overwhelmed, let me know so I can give you space.”

Ghost nodded, and after Soap removed his clothes, he led him into the bathroom. Although the shower was a standard size, it was a bit small for two such large men. They managed to keep from falling, and when the water began to run hot, Soap moved so that Ghost was under the tap. The effect was immediate, and Simon felt him relax. He let out a soft sigh and lifted his head, closing his eyes to keep out the water. Seconds later, he remembered that he was accompanied and opened his eyes.

The Scotsman was looking at him carefully and lovingly and Simon's heart skipped a beat.

“All good?” He asked. Ghost nodded. “Can I?” He added, holding up a hand with the sponge.

He stared at him for a few long seconds before nodding again. Soap placed a hand on his shoulder, a gentle touch, and gestured for him to turn around. Simon complied and turned away from him, taking a deep breath as he felt the soft pressure of the sponge against his skin. John took it easy, indicating when he needed to change position or raise his arms, and Ghost grew more comfortable. He also understood why people liked to shower in company. Perhaps it was because Soap was the person with whom he was sharing that first time, but he perceived it as something intimate; something that reinforced the trust he had in his partner.

No, mate no. Friend, he corrected himself.

“Okay, only part left.”

He looked at Soap, pushing thoughts of him away. GH frowned a bit, not understanding, and Soap smiled.

“The war paint you're wearing on your face,” he clarified. “Sure you've left some on my bed, but there's still some left on your face. And between the tears and the water, you look like a raccoon about to commit a crime.”

“What's wrong with that?”

John didn't answer, but he laughed. He reached out a hand out of the shower and reached for a towel, dampening it, motioning for him to close his eyes. Ghost obeyed and crouched down a bit so he could reach better. Soap washed his face with the same gentleness that he had applied to the rest of his body and Ghost found himself wanting to do that again.

“That's it.”

Simon glanced at him and Soap smiled, cocking his head to get a better look. He raised a hand and placed it on his cheek, carefully, like someone caressing a wounded animal to tell it he won't hurt it. Ghost closed his eyes and leaned his face into John's hand.

“Your turn,” he whispered, taking the sponge from his hand.

Soap laughed and switched places. Simon repeated the same movements Soap had done on him, slow and gentle, and found that it relaxed him, too. Feeling how John's skin crawled at his touch gave him a small sense of triumph. Being responsible for such a positive reaction was something new, something he wasn't used to.

Something he was beginning to enjoy.

He had always considered his hands to be another weapon, a tool to take lives. And suddenly he felt stupid for forgetting that he could also use them for something less violent. Yes, he was aware that they had a more than pleasant use during sex, but that... that was something else. Feeling John's soft skin under his fingers, feeling him relax, hearing him sigh and even groan in low pleasure. Ghost could get used to it, he could do it every day without getting tired.

And then you'll lose it because everything good you've ever had has been brutally taken from you.

He unfocused her gaze and stopped his hand almost without realizing it. That intrusive thought had caught him off guard and blocked him without being able to put up any kind of resistance.

“Hey, everything okay, big guy?” He asked softly.

Ghost nodded, still distracted.

“You can leave if you want. Don't feel forced, okay?”

Simon half processed the words and nodded again, silently, as he left the shower. He dried himself and dressed, sitting up in bed and trying to clear his mind. It didn't take long for Soap to come out of the bathroom. He crouched in front of him, a towel tied around his waist and his arms resting on his thighs. Ghost didn't miss that he hadn't touched him.

“I think you've gotten a little overwhelmed there,” he commented. “Sorry, maybe it was a bit soon.”

“No,” Ghost managed to reply, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “It…was good.”

“So?”

Simon shook his head and took a deep breath. He met John's eyes and stood up. Soap immediately followed suit.

I'd better go.”

Ghost moved across the room to retrieve his jacket and frowned when he couldn't find his balaclava.

“Here.”

He turned to Soap. He had his hand outstretched toward him, holding the garment.

“You're going to need it to get back,” he added with a half smile.

Simon reached over to grab it and pulled it over his head. He said goodbye to Soap and left the room. He put his jacket on and pulled the hood up before moving. He walked through the corridors of the hotel and used the stairs instead of the elevators so as not to meet anyone, although, due to the silence that reigned in the building, he was sure that there were hardly any people passing through the corridors. Simon took a deep breath and took out the card to open the door to his room when he heard footsteps in the corridor.

He snapped around, alert, but relaxed when he saw who it was.

“Price.”

The Captain looked him over and raised an eyebrow. Ghost didn't miss that he was trying to hide a half smile.

“I see you've been out for the night, Lieutenant,” he commented casually. Simon was silent, unmoving, and Price let out the smile he was trying to hide. “That, or you’re gone Scotch.”

Ghost looked down at his left arm and saw the St. Andrew's Cross there. He closed his eyes for a second and forced himself to breathe deeply. How had he been so stupid as to take Soap's jacket instead of his?

Damn him and his habit of wearing clothes several sizes too big.

“Don't worry,” Price continued to speak gently; in fact, he thought he heard a paternalistic tone in his voice. “I know you pretty well, and considering what you’re been through, I'll be glad of anything that adds a bit of color to your life."

Ghost felt his heart sink a little. Yes, too many emotions.

“Have you come just for that?” He replied, unable to answer anything else.

“Something like that,” he fished in one of his pockets and pulled out a small USB stick that he offered him. “Take a look at it when you can.”

Simon picked up the small item and pocketed it without saying anything. Price patted him on the shoulder and headed down the hall. Ghost looked at him for a few seconds and walked into his room. He made sure everything was locked up tight and pulled the drive back out. He looked at it for a few seconds and looked for his laptop. He should eat something, and he knew it, but he knew that whatever was on that little hard drive was important.

And confidential.

He plugged the device into his computer and scanned the contents. He clenched his jaw and took out his cell phone. He kept his gaze on the first number in the call log as Soap had saved his phone as “Johnny” and added two emojis next to it: a fist and a bar of soap. He added it to the speed dial before calling Price.

“When is this from?” He grunted as the other picked up.

“A week,” replied Price; he heard him breathe and knew he had just taken a drag on one of his cigars. “The CIA sent it to me a few hours ago.”

Ghost squeezed the phone a little.

“Where?”

“Never mind. They've already checked the place and it's not there,” Price paused a little to take another drag. “They've taken everything there was, and as far as I can tell, it's not good.”

“Weapons?” Ghost guessed.

“And the bad ones,” Price sighed. “I've spoken to Laswell. His team has a lead and we're going to follow it.”

Ghost knew that even though he spoke in the plural, this mission bore his name. And he wasn't surprised. The Captain knew that not sending him would be a mistake.

“When?”

“The day after tomorrow. I'll give you the details then.”

“Copy.”

He hung up without saying anything else, keeping his eyes on the laptop screen. It showed a person much larger than himself, head covered and holding an assault rifle, issuing orders. It didn't take Ghost much to recognize him. To recognize the bastard that had screwed up his life ten years ago and the one he had left for dead. He slammed away a series of memories that tried to break through and he cursed, slamming the laptop lid shut. His jaw clenched, and he forced himself to take a deep breath.

“You won't run away again,” he growled and pocketed the USB stick.

Simon got up, left the room, and walked out of the hotel. He needed to be alone for a while with his thoughts, away from his companions. He walked for several hours until he couldn't keep ignoring the rumbling of his stomach, so he stopped at a fast food restaurant and returned to the hotel. That information had brought out a series of memories that he didn't feel like managing and that, moreover, was forcing him to go back to healing old wounds that still hurt.

Ghost put the food on the table and opened the beer can. He uncovered his head and took a drink, plopping back into the chair with a huff. He ate in silence, trying to keep his mind blank, and took out a glass where he emptied what was left of the can. He dropped the flash drive in and watched the bubbles surround the device. Simon pulled it out and plunged one of his knives into it to break it open. He'd buy another for Price.

He picked up the remains of dinner, threw everything in the trash, and lay down on the bed, sighing. Streetlights streamed in through the window, and Ghost watched the flashes of passing vehicles. He turned in bed, and for a moment, he missed John's presence. He found himself feeling a small twinge of guilt that he hadn't told him anything all afternoon. He took a deep breath and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Should he call him? Write him a message?

What the hell is done in these cases?

His phone vibrated once and he jerked back in startle. He reached over to the nightstand for it and opened it to see that he had received a text. Simon felt his chest warm when he saw it was Soap's.

>Hey, I hope I didn't push you too hard today. Try to rest.

He kept his eyes on the message, reading it several times until the screen went black on its own. He took a deep breath and hit the answer button.

>All good. Rest up Johnny.

He hit send and put the phone down on the table. He was surprised that Soap thought he had pushed him when he had, in fact, been very careful with him, letting him set the pace. Apart from his mother, no one had been that considerate of him. That didn't surprise him either. Since that night, so many years ago, he had become inaccessible to people. And his mask, coupled with his bulk and height, didn't help. He knew the impression he gave, that of the hard and cold type that you did not want to make angry; that of a person who wouldn't blink an eye when taking a life. A killing machine. And no one wants someone like that around.

Except Soap.

For some reason he couldn't understand, he seemed to enjoy his company. He always had. From the first minute they'd met, John had greeted him with a huge smile on his lips and, most of the time, with a soft punch on the shoulder. At first that bothered him. And his attitude too. Always smiling, always cheerful, always positive. However, after a few months, he began to tolerate it and time passed until he finally found himself in his bed. With him. Two poles just as opposite as day and night. Simon was broken in many places, patched haphazardly to keep going, and using the darkness as an ally instead of drowning in it. By contrast, John was light. The spitting image of a person who had had a normal life, without great losses and full of people who loved him.

Someone who wanted to live and eat the world.

And he, selfish, drank every drop of light that that smile gave off. Until then, always from a distance and without getting too close for fear of rejection, pain and betrayal. People like John (charismatic and laughing) could have anyone around and the thought that it was just a simple crush flitted through his mind.

Simon snorted and lay face down on the bed, his face buried in the pillow.

He was too tired to think about it all. He needed sleep, so he took all those thoughts, and feelings, and stuffed them into a drawer, shut it tight, and put it in the corner of his mind. He would deal with them another time.

When he boarded the plane, most of his companions were already seated. Ghost suppressed a sigh and looked around for a free spot, if possible, away from everyone. A smile caught his eye and he knew it was Soap. He nodded at him, and Ghost moved closer to him. The Scotsman removed a backpack from the seat next to him and waved at it, inviting him to sit down. Simon complied without saying anything, placing his backpack between his legs and leaning back against his back. Although the rest of the team sat close to them, their seats were relatively far away from the people. For a moment this surprised him; however, it was clear to him that he hadn't forgotten that he didn't like people.

Heat filled his chest again. He was completely convinced that John barely remembered what happened in the bar, too much alcohol; that's why he was surprised to see that he hadn't forgotten that he didn't like people.

“I have your jacket,Lt.” Soap whispered.

He cocked her head slightly at him when he spoke.

“And I yours, sergeant,” he replied. “You'll give it to me another time.”

John didn't answer, just smiled a little more and nodded. He settled into the seat and leaned his head against it, closing his eyes. Ghost looked at it for a few seconds before putting on the headphones, took out the eBook and turned it on. They had almost eight hours of flight ahead of them, so he hoped to finish the book. He felt a small pang of apathy as he remembered that as much as he liked paper books, he didn't have any. Actually, he had few things because he always traveled light and all his belongings fit in a sports bag. He often told himself that someday he might have a house with a room full of books. Unfortunately, he knew he wouldn't live for it.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, pushing those thoughts away, and settled back in her seat.

When they had been in the air for a couple of hours, Simon noticed something over his shoulder. He looked up from the book to see that Soap had stirred in his sleep, resting his head on it. Ghost slumped down a bit in the seat to give him comfort and looked around him to rest his eyes. Some of his companions looked at them in surprise and Ghost gave them a look full of anger and threat. As he expected, they looked away and sat down without saying anything. Usually, he didn't care what people thought, but he didn't like being stared at. And that situation had repeated itself on more than one occasion, especially when they returned from a mission.

Soap had the enviable ability to fall asleep anywhere, so he usually dozed off on the way back. He almost always ended up resting on his shoulder, like at that very moment, and Ghost used to move so that he was more comfortable. Needless to say, in a helicopter full of soldiers, this didn’t go unnoticed and soon there were rumors. He didn't care, however, he waited to see if John was bothered before taking action. When he saw that he didn't seem to mind being talked about, he forgot about it.

His partner growled and Ghost turned to him. Soap was frowning slightly, his body tense. Simon didn't need any more information to know that he was having a nightmare. He sighed and moved a hand to rest on John's thigh, pressing down a little.

“Easy,” he murmured to him in a barely audible tone.

Soap took a deep breath and his posture relaxed. Ghost kept his hand there throughout the flight, intending to accompany him in his dreams. It must have worked because his friend didn't move again and he slept for eight hours. He woke him as they were about to land and Soap yawned and stretched. He glanced down at Ghost's hand on his thigh and smiled sleepily.

“Have you slept at all?” he whispered, rubbing his eyes.

“No.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, half surprised and horrified. “Nothing?”

Ghost shook his head and showed her the eBook.

“I've been reading.”

“Reading,” Soap repeated, still in astonishment. “For eight hours.”

“It's a good book.”

John opened his mouth to reply, but seemed to think better of it and sighed. He composed a half smile and shook his head.

“Don't ever change,” he told him, patting him on the arm.

The corner of Ghost's mouth turned up without his being able to help it. They got up, picked up their luggage and got off the plane. They walked the track in silence, and when they reached the limit, they stopped. Simon turned to say goodbye to Soap when Soap spoke before him.

“Do you have plans for today?”

Ghost blinked.

“No.”

John made up a huge smile.

“I invite you to dinner. At my house,” he added quickly. “I have the impression that you don't like restaurants.”

Ghost looked at him for a few long seconds, evaluating his proposal. The truth is that, knowing that he was going to leave in less than twenty-four hours, he wanted a little company.

“Sure. What time?”

“Seven?” John guessed and Simon nodded. “Great. I'll send you the address later. Try to get some rest, okay?”

He punched him lightly in the shoulder and stalked away. Ghost stood there, motionless as he watched him go. He barely moved when he sensed someone standing next to him.

“Spying on other people's conversations?” he asked.

Price burst out laughing.

“Soap is a good boy,” he replied, crossing his arms. “I'm glad you finally decided to take the plunge.”

“Do you mean him or me?”

“Both of you,” Price looked at him and smiled kindly. “I think, this time, you are the last one to notice everything.”

Ghost looked away and stared ahead.

“What time is the meeting?”

Price fell silent, and Simon knew he was debating whether to press about Soap or go along with it.

“At six.”

Ghost's phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out to read a message from Soap with his home address. He put it back and turned to Price when he slapped him on the back.

“Have fun tonight,” he said before walking away from him.

Simon turned and walked across the base to the barracks. He went into his room, took a pair of headphones and an mp3 player from his backpack and dropped the bag on the floor. He lay down on the bed and turned the music up a bit before taking a deep breath.

I think, this time, you are the last one to notice everything.

He clicked his tongue. Price had to be wrong, no one in his right mind would be attracted to someone like… him. At least, that's what a part of his mind said; the other was dedicated to throwing at him the memories of the night he had spent with Soap. Kisses, caresses, words and names whispered between moans that made him shiver when he remembered them. Simon closed his eyes, tired of dealing with his mind. Why couldn't he accept it? Why did it insist on trying to screw him over? To plunge him into the deepest of miseries?

“Dammit.”

He turned up the music a little more and tried to make his mind go blank. When he got it, he fell asleep almost without realizing it.

It was ten to seven when he woke up. He muttered a curse and shot up. He took a quick shower, changed his clothes, and headed out of his room toward the parking lot. He plugged Soap's address into the GPS and left the base for Hereford. He stopped at a supermarket to pick up a bottle of whiskey because, according to what he understood, if you were invited to dinner, or to eat, you had to bring something. He thought about getting wine, but he didn't know if Soap would like it either, so he played it safe. When he reached his destination, it was seven thirty.

“I thought you wouldn't come,” Soap greeted as he opened the door and invited him inside.

“I fell asleep,” Ghost growled.

He laughed and closed the door.

“That's what you get from reading during the flight.”

Ghost didn't reply, just followed him into another room that turned out to be the kitchen. The place was permeated with the smell of food and, to his surprise, it smelled quite good. He put the bottle of whiskey on the table, took off his jacket, and sat down in one of the chairs. With a sigh, he tugged on his mask and ran a hand through his still-damp hair, trying to comb it out.

“Have you brought whiskey?”

Simon looked up. Soap was looking at the bottle with a smirk.

“I didn't know what to bring,” he admitted. “I’m…  I'm not good at this stuff.”

Soap put the bottle down on the table and walked over to him. He placed a hand on his cheek and leaned down to kiss him on the lips.

“You're doing great.”

Ghost nodded and John grinned. He pulled out a couple of glasses, poured ice into them, and opened the bottle of whiskey. He handed one to Simon and raised his own. They clinked glasses gently and both drank.

Suddenly, something jumped on the table and Ghost jerked up, reaching for the knife from his back. He took a deep breath as soon as he checked what it was and looked at Soap.

“I didn't know you had a cat.”

“You're allergic?” he asked, concerned.

“No,” he replied, reaching out a hand to the animal. It sniffed him before rubbing against his hand, purring. “What’s its name?”

“Biscuit.”

“Sorry?”

“Its name’s Biscuit,” Soap chuckled. “Don't judge me, my niece put it on.”

Ghost's gaze blurred upon hearing this and he couldn't help but remember Joseph. The echo of his voice, and his laughter, echoed through his mind, and pain gripped his chest as he felt the emptiness of losing him.

“Simon?”

He blinked and focused on Soap.

“All good?” He added, looking at him with concern.

“Yeah. A bad memory.”

John pulled out a chair and sat near him. He gestured for him to follow suit, and Ghost complied. Biscuit hopped off the table onto Simons’s lap and snuggled into it. He stroked its back absently.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Soap asked.

Ghost didn't answer. He kept his gaze on the cat as he watched his fingers sink into the animal's dense fur.

“It'll spoil dinner.”

“It won’t.

He looked at him and could see that he was serious. He could tell him. Price trusted Soap and Simon trusted Price. And as scared as he was, as suspicious as he was, it would be a test of confidence John would have to pass.

He sighed.

“I've remembered my nephew,” he finally replied.

He knew that Soap remembered that he had no family and he could see how he added two plus two. John placed a hand on his arm.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Ghost nodded. “What… what happened to him?”

Simon focused back on the cat.

“He was killed, just like the rest.”

Silence fell on them like a heavy slab of concrete. Ghost was aware that this was the last thing Soap was going to hear, so he gave him a few seconds to absorb it.

“A former mission partner killed them. He was following orders from a Mexican narco,” he added.

“Have they been found?”

“I took care of that myself.”

John pressed lightly on his arm, and Ghost glanced there.

“It's classified information,” he said rather harshly. “Only Price knows.”

“I won't tell anyone, Simon,” Soap assured him. “I already told you: I'm not going to hurt you.”

Ghost nodded and looked curiously at Soap when he saw him move. When he held him close, he closed his eyes and rested his head on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a few minutes until Simon's stomach protested.

“I'm sure you haven't eaten anything all day,” John snorted mockingly. “Let's go have dinner and then watch a movie, shall we?”

He nodded and went to get up to help him when Soap put a hand on his shoulder.

“Stay. You’re the guest and you’ve a cat on your lap. Your mission is to stay there.”

Simon smiled and complied, watching as John placed plates on the table. They dined quietly, talking about everything and nothing, and Ghost slowly relaxed. He hadn't realized that he was tense until that moment. Like sharing the shower, he’d never dined with another person like that. And it was clear to him that Soap was aware of it by the care with which he was. It was a very subtle thing that someone else might have missed, but not him. Not when he'd learned to read people's body language to know how to react.

“Did you like dinner?” Soap asked.

“I'm surprised it didn't get burned.”

John burst out laughing.

“I like to cook, I admit it. Especially for others. It's not much fun to cook for yourself, so I always end up making myself anything.”

“It's logical.”

“Do you like cooking?”

“No. But I'm good at baking.”

Soap looked at him, surprised, and smiled.

“Makes sense.”

“Really?”

“Sure,” he replied, getting up as soon as the coffee pot started to make a noise. “I've seen you assemble and disassemble the weapons to clean them and I know you're a very meticulous person. In confectionery you’ve to measure the ingredients very well so it doesn't end up as a disaster. That's why I never make desserts," he added with a laugh.

“I'll bring one next time.”

John's face lit up when he heard it.

“That would be great,” he agreed. He paused to get a couple of mugs from a cupboard. “Sounds like Biscuit liked you. He doesn't usually get along with strangers.”

Ghost looked at the cat, still curled up in his lap, and stroked it gently.

“For some reason, animals usually like me.”

“People judge, they don't,” John commented. He had both coffee cups in his hands. “It’s logical that they know how to see beyond appearances.”

“Like you?”

Soap chuckled.

“Possibly,” he cocked his head. “Let's go to the living room?”

Ghost nodded and scooped Cookie into his arms, following his friend out of the kitchen. Although Soap's living room was not very large, Simon found it cozy. He had a couple of sofas placed in front of the TV, with a small table in the middle, and an armchair next to one of the windows, the largest. Several bookshelves lined the walls, mostly filled with books and comics, as well as a few games. Over the television were a handful of framed illustrations of various sizes. Art was never his strong suit, however he did know enough to realize they were good.

“Okay, what do you want to watch?” John asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He turned to him and sat down next to him, placing the cat back on his lap.

“Anything is fine.”

“No, no. You choose. I want to know what movies you like.”

Simon looked away.

“You'll laugh.”

“I promise not to. I don't judge, remember?”

Ghost sighed.

“Pride & Prejudice.”

“What?” asked Soap, surprised. He smiled. “The 2005 movie?”

“It relaxes me,” he murmured, noticing him to blush. “It’s a balanced rhythm and the soundtrack by Dario Marianelli is brilliant.”

“I admit I didn't think you were the type of person who likes romantic movies.”

Simon was silent as Soap got up and turned on a small computer on the counter. He pulled out a wireless keyboard and mouse and sat down next to him again.

“I like movies, in general,” he replied at the end.

“Me too, but I admit I have preferences. Like fantasy and sci fi.”

“We can see one of those genres.”

“No, no; Pride & Prejudice is fine. I haven't seen it in a while.”

Ghost glanced at him.

“Have you seen it more than once?”

Soap laughed.

“Of course I do. Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen have amazing chemistry. The scene where he helps her into the carriage? One of my favorites.”

Simon smiled helplessly, stunned. No turning up the corner of the mouth, no half-smiles. No. A full smile. And John widened his as soon as he saw it.

“Now who's surprised?” He added in a mocking tone.

Ghost laughed, and Soap with him. He turned on the television and searched for the movie. Saying nothing, he took Biscuit off Simon's lap to rest his head on and placed the cat on his chest. Ghost looked at him, surprised, and placed a hand on John's abdomen. He covered it with his at once and moved his head to look at him.

“You should laugh more,” he commented in a lower tone, a fond smile on his lips. “Suits you good.”

Soap’s smile widened when he saw him blush and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, turning his attention back to the movie. Absently, Ghost tangled his fingers in John's hair, trying to take in his words as he stroked him. The heat that he’d been feeling for a few days filled his chest again. He felt very lucky to have those moments of peace, those moments of affection and intimacy with another person. They were a breath of fresh air to everything he’d suffered and the truth is that he did not want to live without it.

The thought that he would lose everything reared its head and he inadvertently tensed. Soap began to caress the back of his hand, gently, and Simon knew he hadn't missed the change in his mood. Again, he was grateful that John was there with him. That he had insisted so much to make a place for himself in his life. And Simon certainly wouldn't regret that. Not after everything he was feeling.

It was almost twelve when the movie ended and they both got up, stretching their muscles after sitting for so long. Ghost looked at the clock and sighed.

“I have a guest room, if you want to stay,” Soap offered.

Simon looked at him and felt something tighten in his heart. It must have shown in his face because John reached over and stroked his arm, running his fingers over the tattoo that continued past his shirt.

“Trust me: I'm trying really hard not to drag you into bed,” he murmured, looking at the patterns that covered his skin, “but above all else, I don't want you to feel pressured.”

“Not with this,” Ghost whispered, moving a hand to place it under Soap's chin. He looked at him. “I sleep better with you.”

A smile lit up John's face and, incidentally, Simon's chest. He hesitated before leaning in to kiss him. Soap clung to him a bit before pulling away. He took his hand and led him into the bedroom. Once in bed, Soap leaned his back against Ghost’s chest and he hugged him. He thought about telling him that, in a few hours, he’d have to leave on a mission and that he wouldn't know when he would return, nor how dangerous it would be. However, he didn't know how to bring it up, and by the time he wanted to know it, Soap was asleep. He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to match his breathing to his until he fell asleep.

As his phone vibrated, Simon was thankful John was a sound sleeper. Moving carefully so as not to wake him, he tucked him in and got into the shower. He dressed quietly and left the room in search of a pen and paper. He found nothing in the kitchen or living room, so he opened the door to one of the rooms, stopping as soon as he entered.

It was a study.

Three of the four walls were lined with bookshelves and cabinets, filled with drawing supplies and reference books. There was a work table just below a large window, with jars full of pencils, brushes, markers and the like; as well as some notebooks and papers on top. Simon walked over to the desk and took a look, recognizing the same style as the paintings in the living room. He opened a notebook on the table and was surprised to see that it was full of sketches. Drawings of people, landscapes and things.

Still in his astonishment, he turned a little towards the door.

In that instant he understood what Soap did when he took out a small notebook during missions. He had never tried to read it because he always thought it was some kind of diary, however, now it was clear to him that it wasn't.

He smiled helplessly and picked up a small piece of paper from the table. He wrote a note with a pencil that he hoped wasn't too expensive and walked out, closing the door carefully. He left the paper propped on the bedside lamp and turned to Soap, who was still sleeping. He saw Biscuit lying on the bed and stroked her head gently.

“Take care of him for me,” he whispered.

The cat purred a little louder and Simon leaned down to kiss John on the forehead. He put on his balaclava, picked up his jacket, and left the house.

[hremaximh]

(maximilian habsburg – john david washington – 43 – holy roman emperor) welcome MAXIMILIAN HABSBURG. you hail from THE HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE and have been risen to the position of EMPEROR. you are a member of the house of HABSBURG and will go down in history as the JUDICIOUS. though you are VENGEFUL & , MYOPIC you are blessed with being DEVOTED and PRUDENT. [juno – 21+ – she/her– none– gmt] ♱

BIOGRAPHY

Maximillian knew greatness would always come to him; born to strong bloodlines in the heart of the Empire, he had little doubt he would become Emperor - the election process, being a mere formality; his parents primed him for the throne from the moment he was born. Max honors his parents in all that he does -- he is superemely proud of his family and stellar lineage. 

Serious and studious from a young age, Maximilian is prodigious in his biblical studies, and nearly zealous in his beliefs (a very important note that he loves his faith but in no way believes it superior; he believes himself a defender of all faith, for otherwise we would all fall to hedonism) 

The empire is everything to him -- its prosperity and might, a deeply personal cause; he believes all failures and triumps, are his presonally. Max is prudent and cautious -- he does not readily leap into battle or conflict, and seeks peace above all other things; he is aware of his power, and more so, of how easily a man can lose his crown. He has watched English kings come and go -- his Empire is more tediously strung together, govening different people and cultures; should he become unpopular, his reign would be greatly challenged.

Intelligent, affable, softly-spoken to some, and an ardent quoter of scripctures and philosophers, Max is eager to share and learn from the delegations in Paris; if he had not been born a man of the Empire, born to rule, he would have happily been a scholar. 

Max has a close relationship with the Pope and Rome -- he sends letters so often, the Pope undoubtedly rolls his eyes when he receives another; but the relationship on the surface, is wholly united and strong. 

His sons marriage is a promising one, and his empire stands at new heights, as he enters Paris; Max believes himself at an advantageous position, one that will allow him to pick and choose alliances that greatly favor him; he wishes to forge bonds with the east, and create further opportunity for trade and friendships. He does not wish to become involved in others petty squabbles -- unless those who plead their causes, are able to to persuade him their victory, will be echoed in the Holy Roman Empire. 

HEADCANONS

he loved his first wife, and conducted a prolonged state of mourning; but he was eager to be wed again, once the worst of his grief has passed -- he knows he may not father further heirs, but his second wife is as dear to him as the first. he is loyal and believes firmly in the power of marriage

max is far more involved with this son than most royal parents of the era; he has had a large hand in his sons education and tutoring, and believes his son as the divine heir to his empire 

 WANTED CONNECTIONS 

Foreign allies, friends, etc - diplomacy aside, max is an engaging figure, and seeks to make the summit a personal success, as well as a political one; he deeply hopes to form friendships with likeminded figures ; perhaps they both enjoy archival work, share notions on god, religion, etc or eat cakes and vibes 

trade partners, diplomatic ties  -- the empire has vast and has a lot to offer; likewise, there is plenty they lack, and max wishes to strengthen the HRE through new diplomatic ties 

enemies of the empire - for whatever reason, your character detests the empire; being the figurehead, it is impossible for it not to lead back to disliking max; he is a patient man, but would bristle at those who oppose him 

[from-the-clouds]

Kiss Me More (Part IIII) - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | 

Summary: Reader ponders the decision they made after meeting Zemo in Riga. Series now complete!

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Kissing, marijuana & alcohol abuse, heavy angst & depression, small reference to suicide, implied casual sex, yearning

A/N (also check out A/N at end when finished reading): This is it, everyone! I was going to end this completely differently originally, but after some thinking --  and some light peer pressure from ya’ll, I did something a little different. I did fight with this part the most out of all of them, so I hope it’s still good. Please enjoy. And thank you for all the love on this series, it’s been so fun to write! Also I was listening to this song while writing this.

---

The incessant buzz of her alarm clock jolted her out of her dreamless sleep. Fumbling in the dark, she slapped the top of it, hitting the snooze button and looking at the interface with bleary eyes. 

4:00 A.M. It stared, indifferent, back at her tired face. 

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and lamenting, bargaining, half expecting the clock to turn back time when she opened her eyes again. Unfortunately, it did not. With a huff, she threw back the covers and stretched, disturbing the orange cat that slept in the empty spot next to her where her husband used to lay. 

Snorting, the cat lifted its head to look at her as she climbed out of bed before curling back up in a ball where her feet had been. 

“Don’t mind me, just getting ready for work so I can feed us,” she said, grumpily, then in a moment of repentance, affectionately scratching her behind the ears. 

She had always been a night owl, so she didn’t think it would be possible to ever get used to waking this early. No human was meant to function at this time. It was the one part of the job she hated most. The rest of it was manageable, though it was still work. 

Setting about her morning routine, she showered, made coffee, and donned her uniform. Eating a day-old bagel and nursing her coffee on her tiny balcony, she looked out over the darkened horizon. It was far too early to even enjoy a sunrise. 

There was a saying, time heals all wounds. After her husband died, she’d heard it a lot. It was a saying she had come to find true. But it’d been well over a year since she’d left Helmut, alone in that swanky hotel room, and it still hurt like it was yesterday. 

“I understand,” he’d murmured, and she felt the ghost of his kiss on her forehead, arms around her waist, even now. She shivered, not from the chill of the morning air.

She’d left her old life behind, all of it. Sam and Bucky, too, about a month after their time in Riga. She couldn’t look them in the eyes after what she’d done.

But, she was proud of what they’d accomplished. They’d defeated the Flag Smashers. Bucky seemed happier, more at peace. Sam had accepted his role as the new Captain America. John Walker seemed to have faded into irrelevancy. All the loose ends had been tied up in a pretty little bow.

Except for hers.

Which is why she moved, sold all the stuff in her tiny NYC apartment, and packed her car full with what she couldn’t bear to part with, some photos and momentos from a different lifetime. Her car didn’t stop until she hit the Atlantic Ocean, on an island just south of Charleston. All but undiscovered by tourists, the residents in the sleepy beach town kept to themselves, and she could go about her life in peace, undisturbed. 

She couldn’t just run away from her problems, that was why she’d left Zemo. It seemed counterintuitive, but in her mind, it made sense. The problems would catch up to her, like they always had. The dissatisfaction she had with her life, with herself, was always going to return. And she knew she had to be alone to deal to face it head on. Like a wounded animal, crawling into the woods, there were only two ways things could end here; either she’d heal and come out stronger, or eventually she’d die. And so far, the healing part wasn’t going great. 

Each day was a matter of convincing herself that she’d made the right choice. Especially now, as her eyes burned, fighting to stay open against the inviting embrace of sleep. 

Despite it being dark outside, the bakery was bustling already when she walked in the service entrance. It smelled amazing, as always. Sweet and warm, a cacophony of aromas, baking bread, fresh coffee, sugar.

She set about the usual preparations to open up, packaging orders for the regulars, sweeping the floor, wiping down countertops. Once the place was open, she didn’t have to work the register, as she prepared batches of dough in the back for proofing, to be baked the next day. 

Before, she’d been a terrible cook, but she’d grown comfortable in the kitchen after learning to bake. There was something satisfying about working with her hands, at this point she’d memorized all the recipes and the work became second nature to her. Now, she always had fresh bread and pastries in her kitchen, although they were the slightly disformed, ones the shop owners deemed too ugly for the glass display cases. Daylight was cherished, even if she barely saw it inside the shop. Because while she was awake, busy with work, her thoughts remained pleasant.

At night it was the hardest. Things got quiet, lonely. When she got home, she poured herself a drink. Cheap whiskey, the kind that came in a plastic bottle and burned on it’s way down. She had never been much of a drinker before, she was now. Her thoughts were more manageable after a drink. Especially because she was usually thinking of Helmut. 

It was often that she wondered what he may be doing, and those thoughts usually ended with the image of him lying in the sun, poolside, on some island in the Pacific Ocean, drinking expensive champagne with a supermodel. It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought to her, and yet she was plagued by some variation of it every night. 

Sometimes, she’d humor herself, and imagine what they might be doing had she decided to stay with him. Unfortunately, thinking of that was more upsetting. She wanted it, selfishly, though she wasn’t willing to admit it.

When she was younger, it had been so easy to block out the pain, to just press forward, no matter what. Much to her dismay, it didn’t get easier as she got older. Years of watching those she loved in pain, years of being in pain had taken a toll on her resilience. She wasn’t the strong woman she once was, she was weak.

That night, one drink had turned into two, into three. Wallowing in her own self-pity had become second-nature, she felt like Hamlet, lamenting her circumstances, a constant turmoil monologuing in her brain. But this night felt particularly worse, for some reason. 

For the record, she had been doing better. But she was all-too-familiar with how grief worked, pulling her back down the dark side of the mountain, where she was forced to fight her demons over and over again. At some point, they were going to win.

It was a funny thing. Despite the loss of her husband, who she had loved dearly, his death had been easier to accept. Final. She couldn’t bring him back. Helmut on the other hand, was still out there, an open wound that could never fully heal.

Before she knew it, she was four drinks in, at her bedside table, fumbling through the bottom drawer, until she found what she was looking for.

Back on her couch, she stared at the card in her hand, the hastily written phone number on it, an international line. Helmut had given it to her, the day she left, stuck it in her purse while she wasn’t looking. She didn’t discover it until she had returned home.

It had been months since she last did this, pulled the card out of its hidden place in her drawer, placed it on the coffee table in front of her next to her phone, and considered dialing it. It had been a frequent occurrence when she first moved here, when she couldn’t find a job and spent most of her mornings either hungover, or stumbling home from rendezvous with men whose names she wouldn’t remember, and she wouldn’t care to, because there was only one man she really wanted. She could only hope he’d be as close as one call away. But she never called. 

I mean really, he’d probably moved on by this point. If she was going to call, she should have done it months ago, when there was more of a chance that he’d give a fuck. 

She considered this a setback. But she’d made her way halfway through the cheap bottle of whiskey, it was the drunkest she’d been in ages and she was curious. She didn’t know whose number it was, who’d be on the other end of the line, and never knew why Helmut would want her to have it to begin with.  

At this point, she wasn’t capable of good decision making. In general, it hadn’t always been her strong suit. So why did doing the right thing matter now? It didn’t, she decided. 

Taking a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, she ensured she wouldn’t remember what happened next, at least not clearly. 

The phone rang twice before someone picked up. “Hello?” she didn’t recognize the sound of the man on the other end of the line immediately, so she didn’t answer. All she had wanted to do was maybe hear Helmut’s voice, he didn’t even need to know it was her that was calling. 

“Hello?” the man repeated, and she realized it wasn’t completely unfamiliar. The grandfatherly, comforting tone wasn’t her former lover, but someone close to him. And she supposed that wasn’t terrible.

“Is this Oeznik?” she asked. 

“It is,” he said after some hesitation. “May I ask who’s speaking?”

Truthfully, she was shocked she’d allowed herself to go this far. This was a bad idea. If she stopped now she could get off without doing any real damage. But just as she was about to hang up, she heard her name, muffled, on the other end of the line. 

“H-How do you know it’s me?” She raised the phone back to her ear. 

“I thought you sounded familiar,” Oeznik chuckled, low and soft. “Helmut told me you might call.”

“He did?” she squeaked. “Yes, although it was awhile ago. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I uh….I….well….” she managed. “I guess I just….I guess I wanted to see how he was doing.”  Her words flowed together like the liquor she was drinking, she knew she sounded drunk.

“Good, since we last spoke,” he said. “I don’t hear from him much these days...maybe every couple months. As you might imagine, he’s trying to keep a low profile for the time being.”

She nodded. Perhaps Zemo was as lonely as she was, hidden away in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. Though she had to imagine it looked much nicer than her current place, and maybe he had better company than a portly orange cat that begrudgingly liked him. “I understand.”

“How have you been?” he asked.

It sounded stupid, but she realized it was the first time someone had asked her that. Sincerely. Checked up on her. Even if she was the one who had dialed the number in the first place.

“I’m good,” her voice cracked. “Just keeping busy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Helmut always had such nice things to say about you.”

“Really?” she couldn’t stop herself. 

“Of course, would you like me to let him know you called?” 

“No, no...I wouldn’t want to bother him,” she choked on her words, something catching in her throat.

“Are you sure you’re alright, dear?”

“I’m okay, I just….” she felt tears prick at the back of her eyes, lowering her voice, since she didn’t think her normal register would come out as anything other than a whine. “I think I made a horrible mistake.”

“What’s the matter? What did you do?”

She shook her head, shaking the tears loose and now they were lining her lashes, threatening to spill over. However, she managed to make the next words she spoke come out clearly. “Nothing, I just...it’s really stupid, I really shouldn’t have called.”

He sighed on the other end of the line, and she felt like, despite her attempt at staying calm, he could still see that she wasn’t somehow. “It seemed Helmut was awfully sweet on you,” Oeznik’s words next came hesitantly, calculated. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he told me if you ever called, to help you with whatever you might need, no matter the ask.”

Oh God, what had she done? A sob left her, one she couldn’t control, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle any more. Her tears were flowing freely now, tracking down her cheeks and along her chin. She wiped at them clumsily, clearing her throat. 

“That’s very kind of him, but you can’t help me. I’m so sorry to bother you, please just forget I even called,” she forced a smile on her face so that hopefully he could hear it. “Goodbye.”

She hung up, horrified, and within seconds had deleted the call log from her phone. She’d been thoughtful enough not to memorize the number, and the lighter she used whenever she smoked sat in front of her. Without a second though, she burned the card, watching the paper blacken and disintegrate, until it was all but a pile of soot on her Wal-Mart coffee table. It was a fair punishment, and ensured she’d never get the chance to embarrass herself like that again. 

And then she cried, sobbed into a pillow next to her, until her tears ran dry and she wore herself out, falling asleep on the couch alone. When she’d wake the next morning, the only evidence of her actions would be a throbbing headache and a dead phone. 

She wouldn’t remember the call.

----

Life went on, as it always did. It had been about a month, and since that night she grew more indifferent, remembered how to ignore heartbreak. For now, she was stuck in her purgatory, waking up before the sun and falling asleep before it set, smoking joints, drinking cheap liquor, and going on the occasional date with people who she didn’t really like, tourists who would leave after a week and wanted temporary company. 

Despite everything, she partly believed things were getting better. Maybe they weren’t, but the possibility that someday they would seemed feasible. And that was enough, for now. 

On her days off, she’d walk to the beach and lay on a blanket, reading a book until the sun dipped below the horizon and lit up the sky in hues of pinks and purples. She found a record player at an antique store and began collecting vinyls, listening to obscure artists whose albums she found in the $1 bin. It wasn’t so bad. Life wasn’t so bad. 

She took a shower after work. Tomorrow was her off day, and she wasn’t sure what she had planned besides maybe watching a movie and getting stoned. Maybe she’d try going to the beach. The weather was getting warmer, and she could even go swimming if the water wasn’t too cold. 

Exhausted from her day of work, she laid down in her bed, still in her robe, her hair wrapped in a towel around her head. The sun was setting outside, the windchimes she’d hung outside slowly clanging together, birds singing in the warm spring air. Her cat hopped on the bed, offered an affectionate trill and curled up at her side, purring, in a rare display of affection. A cool breeze drifted through the open window. And for the first time in over a year, she felt content. Closing her eyes, she savored the moment, committed it to memory, so she could recall it the next time she was drunk-crying in front of her TV. 

She fell asleep slowly, so slowly that when she woke, startled by something in her kitchen clattering to the floor, it felt like she hadn’t even been sleeping at all. The clock next to her red 11:31 p.m. and it was pitch dark outside, the cool breeze from before had grown stronger and her bedroom curtains were billowing, wind whistling loudly through the apartment. Her cat had left her side, and she frowned, shivering in the sudden cold.

Pulling the towel off her head, she made her way over to the window with the intention to close it, sleepily, lazily, until she heard something else. A creak in the floorboard. A heavy footstep in her kitchen. That wasn’t just her cat. 

Some kind of muscle memory was ignited then, an ancient instinct that called to her from a different lifetime. Darting across the room, the gun she kept was in her hand, stealthily pulled from its hiding spot beneath her mattress. Truth be told, she never thought she would’ve needed it. Anyone looking for her would be smart enough to kill her in her sleep, not be so foolish as to wake her first with their heavy footsteps. 

A dark silhouette stalked through her kitchen, moving slowly. It was a man, she assumed, based on his broader figure, and lack of coordination. In her experience, women were often stealthier without trying. He took another step, the floor creaking below him, shuffling on bargain linoleum. 

Staying low, she crept forward, ducking stealthily behind furniture, avoiding the spots on the floor she knew made noise. It didn’t appear the intruder had a weapon, in fact, it seemed he was bumbling about, searching for something. A burglar, and a bad one at that. An island full of vacation homes owned by rich doctors and they thought they’d find valuables in her shitty apartment?

It wasn’t until she was standing directly behind him, gun aimed at his head, that she finally spoke up. 

“I believe you’ve come to the wrong place,” she said flatly. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’d be in your best interest to leave empty-handed.”

Her eyes were still adjusting to the dark, but the intruder froze, arms slowly raising in defeat, empty-handed, as he turned around to face her. In the dingy room, she couldn’t make out any of his features, could only see that he was clad in all black.

“Unfortunately, liebling, that wasn’t my intention.” 

She would’ve recognized that voice anywhere, though the endearment he’d used was enough to clue her in. Hitting the lightswitch with her free hand, she was face to face with the man she’d spent the past year trying to purge from her memory, Helmut Zemo. 

Her gut twisted, her mind raced, but the only thing currently bubbling up, over the surface of every other emotion was the pure, seething rage left behind in the wake of fearing for her life.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she stepped towards him, gun still raised, fuming. 

“Hey, hey!” he staggered backwards, hands raised, eyes averted. 

“I thought you were a fucking robber!” she hissed. “I thought you were here to kill me!”

“Lower your voice,” he scolded. “You’re going to wake your neighbors.”

Taking a deep breath, she realized she still had her gun trained on him and she lowered it, clicking the safety and discarding the weapon on the countertop. “What the fuck?” she asked. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I didn’t know you had such a mouth on you,” he smirked, but she wasn’t finished, and she glowered at him. 

“You broke into my apartment!” she growled.

“I had to be sure I was in the right place.”

“Yeah? You couldn’t have knocked first?”

He nodded, eyes trailing down to her hands, which were trembling, she hadn’t even realized. He seemed to understand what he’d done then, and she flexed her fingers, eyes locking with his. “I suppose...you may be right,” he said, surrendering.

She felt the rage subsiding as she took in his appearance. He looked not so different from the last time she’d seen him, except a fair amount of stubble covered his jawline in a short beard. He was still devastatingly handsome. Zemo’s dark eyes, filled with longing, drank her in, tilting his head as his gaze shifted to her lips. It was like she could read his mind, she knew what he wanted, what he was thinking. And her body was going to betray her if he kept it up.

Despite everything, she was still upset. Upset and embarrassed, as the light was doing an unflattering expose of her tiny, cluttered apartment, full of mismatched furniture and water-damaged wallpaper that her landlord refused to replace. It probably gave the prison cells that Helmut had spent years in a run for their money, and was in stark contrast to every other aspect of his life.

“What’s this?” he asked, gesturing to the empty liquor bottles on her countertop, stowed in her trash can. “Have you been drinking?”

“Not tonight,” she quipped, on guard. Had to be. As much as some old instinct told her to throw herself into his arms, press her lips to the underside of his jaw, and let him envelope her in the comfort of his embrace, she knew she couldn’t.

“Hmm,” he brushed past her, frowning, looking disappointed, as he made his way to her living room. 

“How did you find me?” she asked, eyeing him wearily.

“I’m a wanted man, I trace every call that comes into my estate,” he said over his shoulder. 

Helmut was taking inventory of the cramped space, staring at the photos she’d hung in a collage on the wall behind her couch, with a few watercolors painted by her late husband. One in particular, that he was focused on now, was from her wedding. Of all the memories she chose to hang, this one was her fondest, her former partner was all dark curly hair falling into deep blue eyes, and she was the portrait of a blushing bride, wearing a dopey love-drunk smile, gazing at him, ignoring the camera. 

“You looked so beautiful on your wedding day,” he said, turning over his shoulder to look at her. He was so out of place here, standing in her living room, for a moment she thought he might be a hallucination, some physical manifestation of the heartbreak she’d experienced. “Although that doesn’t surprise me.”

She flushed, suddenly self-conscious in her thin black robe and still-damp hair. It occurred to her that she wasn’t looking her best, which made this whole situation that much more disconcerting. However, the compliment disarmed her slightly, and the anger she felt began to dissipate, slowly. She was going to offer him something to drink until her cat, who had been absent through the chaos, suddenly jumped up on the back of the couch and promptly hissed at him in an attempt to defend her territory.

“Pumpkin, be nice,” she said, although it was mostly to placate Helmut. Pumpkin never listened to her. 

Helmut let her sniff his hand, and she was stunned when the cat rubbed her face against it. Of course, Pumpkin would like him of all people. That made sense. Then again, she supposed it made them not so different. He turned away to look at the rest of the room. “I see you haven’t kicked that bad habit you told me about,” he gestured at the ashtray full of roaches on the coffee table. 

“Did you just come to my place to insult me?” she asked, putting her hands on her lips and feigning confidence. She could’ve rolled over and cried and told him how much she missed him, how many nights she’d spent crying over him, and while all of it was true, she felt indignation was the better option for her self-preservation.

“That’s a good question,” Helmut turned to face her now, hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he was wearing. Completely inappropriate for the weather here, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. “Why do you think I’m here?” he asked.

She shrugged, feigning indifference. “I don’t know, but you shouldn’t be.”

He snorted, his frustration evident, and she saw a glimpse of the man that so many feared, the side that had earned him his dangerous reputation, that had him locked away in a high-security prison for nearly a decade. “I didn’t come all this way for nothing, draga, we’re going to have it out.”

“Fine,” she said, lacing as much venom as she could into her words to prepare herself. “Then get on with it.”

He stared her down, and the expression her wore startled her, something sparkled in his eyes, mischief, relief maybe? It was insulting. Like he didn’t take her seriously. But there was something else there, too, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it was wiped from his visage before it registered.

The tension in the room dissipated slightly when Zemo sat on the arm of the worn couch she’d bought from a yard sale, and she winced. “I spoke to Oeznik the other day,” he said flatly, snorting, eyes focused on a stain on one of the rugs she owned. “He told me he had the pleasure of speaking to a friend of mine about a month ago.”

Frowning, she tilted her head, her eyes meeting Helmut’s. Something in her brain sparked a memory she’d once dismissed as a dream after a particularly bad night of drinking.

“He was concerned, you see, because this friend didn’t seem to be in the best state of mind,” Helmut rose from the arm of the couch, stalking forward slowly, and she couldn’t move backwards, not even if she wanted to, as he could pin her easily against the front door. His voice grew louder, faster as he went on. “He said she was crying, slurring her words, he told me he thought maybe she might be-” Helmut cut himself off abruptly and closed his eyes, clenching one of his fists, a look of distress on his face as he took in a terse breath. “I won’t finish that thought, but you’re a smart girl, you can imagine what I’m getting at.”

Swallowing hard, the phone call came back to her in pieces, the tears, sobbing on the phone to a man she hardly knew. It was the night she finally admitted to herself she’d made a mistake, even though she’d already known it, deep down when she left him in the hotel room. 

“Please forgive me for breaking in tonight,” Helmut said. “But I couldn’t bear the thought of you not answering the door, I needed to see with my own eyes that you were okay.”

Exhaling through her nose, she looked at the floor. “It’s not like that. I had too much to drink.” she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible. “It was just a bad night.”

“Then tell me, what was the horrible mistake you made?” he asked, stepping closer. He was close to her, now. So close. And his proximity made everything more difficult.

God, if only she could remember exactly what she’d said, the only thing that came to her were the emotions, desperation, sadness, grief. It was all too much, and he was threatening to bring them all back to destroy her again. 

“I shouldn’t have called,” she said, shaking her head. “And I’m sorry. What do you want me to say? What do you want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” He asked, tilting his head, his eyebrows pulling together. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? How hard it was to sit on a plane when all I wanted to do was be here? With you?” His hand rose to cup her cheek, stopping just short of her face when she flinched away from his touch.

“Please stop,” she managed, the burn of tears behind her eyes almost menacing. The last thing she needed was to cry in front of him. “You’re undoing everything.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. 

“You’re….you’re here,” she murmured weakly, wetness seeping, glossing over her pupils. “I only have so much capacity for pain right now, if you touch me now, you’ll ruin everything.”

No one ever had this kind of hold on her, she’d never bent her rules to appease anyone else, and she’d gone toe to toe with super soldiers. He was just a man, and yet, he terrified her. 

“You really want me to leave?”

She couldn’t answer, but one tear escaped, sliding down her cheekbone, and she sniffled. 

“I’m not the one who did this to you,” his thumb, swiped along her face gently, wiping it away. He’d touched her, just barely, and she was reeling. 

“I know,” she stuttered, gasping. “I know it was me, but I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You are so stubborn.” His expression softened as he looked upon her, his thumb tracing underneath her jaw, tilting her head upwards to look at him. Malleable, she obliged. “I’ve thought about you everyday since the night we spent together. You’ve plagued me. That can’t be a coincidence. Are you really happier this way? You must be honest with me.”

She shook her head, blinking out fresh tears. “No, I’m not. I just thought...by the time I realized I made the wrong choice, you’d have moved on. People like us don’t get to be happy.”

“Says who?”

How could she refuse him anymore? This would continue to go on until she gave in. And from the beginning, she wanted to give in. There was no use in fighting the inevitable. The small point of contact -- his hand on her chin -- radiated impressive warmth, and she could feel every part of herself being attracted to him, quelling some ache deep within her. 

Reaching up, she clutched at Helmut’s palm, which didn’t last long, because he pulled her into his arms, nestling her head underneath his chin. She melted into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his solid frame. 

“Come home with me,” he coaxed softly. 

“I will,” she murmured, surrendering to the comfort of his presence. “But you have to let me bring Pumpkin.”

He chuckled, warm and amiable, the vibration of his chest echoing in her own. “Of course, you’ll bring Pumpkin,” he murmured into her hair. Oh, how she had missed hearing him laugh. They could’ve stayed that way for hours, and she would’ve been content, but he pulled away, hands on either side of her face as he studied her.

Unable to hold back any longer, she leaned in to kiss him. It was chaste at first, all the memories of her last night with him came flooding back quickly when he parted his lips to deepen the kiss, but she didn’t want that quite yet, just needed a moment to process this. The simple comfort of being held by him, kissed by him, was more than enough for now. He’d been waiting for this, she could assume in the way that he responded, pulling her impossibly close so she was engulfed in him.

Her stomach flipped, a warmth blossoming in her chest as he pulled away, their foreheads touching. “Oh, I missed you,” she sighed, shivering as his beard tickled her neck, his mouth on her sensitive skin.

“And I, you,” he murmured. His eyes studied her, carefully, up close, and for the first time since meeting him, she really let him see her, teary-eyed and vulnerable.

She would never let him go again. 

---

A/N: So here we are! I know it’s been a ride, but I’m really excited for these two. However, I don’t feel like I’m done writing for Zemo yet. If ya’ll have any headcanons, thoughts, questions, requests, etc, feel free to drop them in my ask box or shoot me a DM. I’d love to talk more about him. I also would be down to write more oneshots based around this series, because I am sort of like….okay, they obviously have a connection, but they don’t know that much about each other, and I may or may not have a light future already mapped out for them. I might do an epilogue at some point even. But if you have anything you’d like to add, let me know!

Taglist: @juice-1981  @sapphiredreamer26  @tatooineisdry  @marvelsvision @spookycereal-s @trelaney @fireghost-x @booksarekindaneat  @thunderingbats  @felicityofbakerstreet @takacsgram @mischiefmanaged71 @fanfictionedagain @merelyhooper @gyllord @mundaytuesday @friday18eo  @lovegood7553  @adara-wolfhart @a-djarin @farawaywasteland @sky-writes-stuff @fuckinglittlekitten @katyasrussianaccent @agent-jbarnes  @neoarchipelago @pattispunk @kpopnena @purebloodwitch @spookyconsultingcriminal @msmarvelwrites @professorrw @lazyradeecal @captainrexstan @notyourfuckingbusinesss @felicityofbakerstreet @unlikekiana @maeday-18 @friendly-letters @fandom-lover-4 @meefal @queenfairyfangirl @gogomonbebelf @scullys-alienpussy @the-multiverse-approach @sky-writes-stuff @safiakillspop @eggofhumiliation @originalcollectorsaladsstuff @archangelproperty @friday18eo @jayden-rose-leon @actuallyanita @mayhemmachine @kermuddgen @zadiewrites @pach-inks @theokatz @reichelhache @autumnsoidier @mischief-siriusly-managed @danaaeaa @joey-motorola @singlemomslayer @stevesbestgirl @dinna-fashh @popriskra @xaanyhs @adorable-punk-superheroes​

[cazimagines]

Perfectly Exasperating - Chapter 3

Synopsis: While you have been unknowingly kidnapped Zemo is determined to make the time he spends with you the best that he can

Word count: 5.4k

Author’s note: Hey all! This is sorta a one-month celebration of my account and for all the love you guys have shown this series and my other series 'A Freudian Slip' I can't thank you enough! My editing program decided to screw me over though so if you can see a difference grammatically in the first half and the second half that's why

Masterlist

(Please check out my master list to see what I will be writing next and if requests are open or closed)

Cross-posted to ao3 under the same username

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Your eyes slowly flutter open as the warmth from the sun shining through the curtains touching your skin waking you up. Yawning and stretching, feeling the soft duvet move on top of you, you sighed in content, closing your eyes again as you embraced the happiness which had been foreign to you for so long. You reach out to seize the end of the duvet and gradually slide out of the bed; you feel the slight chill of the morning breeze brush against your exposed legs. Crossing over to the wardrobe your hand reaches out to flick through the many dresses, shirts, trousers that hung in there, all belonging to shops such as Gucci, Prada, Valentino. There were clothes appropriate for any event, but today you choose comfortably as you pull out a maroon knitted sweater and dark blue jeans. Though appearing to be rather cheap clothes, you knew Zemo would never have spent less than $100 on them.

When Zemo said he would take care of you, he meant it in every aspect. It was a culture shock going from the relatively poor life you lived, surviving off the small amount of money they paid you for being an Avenger to being treated like royalty by Zemo. Not that you were complaining. It was a guilty pleasure of yours enjoying this luxury, a part of you hoping it would never end. If you had told yourself just a few weeks ago, you would have enjoyed living with Zemo you would have laughed in your face but that man had certainly turned on the charm and you couldn’t help but feel the slightest big thankful for him for everything he has done for you.

You finally leave the confines of your room, something you had only been allowed to do a few times until today. You convinced Zemo yesterday that you weren’t concussed from when John had hit you with the shield and that you would be fine getting up and walking around. He was still hesitant but knew he couldn’t keep you confined in your bed forever.

You close your eyes as you inhale the sweet smell of cooking pancakes, making your stomach grumble greedily. Following the scent, you work your way down through the interior design living room into the lavish kitchen where Zemo currently had his back turned to you as he attempted to flip the pancake he had in the frying pan. His purple turtleneck sleeves were pulled up, exposing his forearms as they tensed, trying to get the timing right to flip the pancake. He does so with perfect accuracy, the golden brownness of the pancake soaring up into the air and landing back down in the frying pan, sizzling.

Zemo giggles to himself, celebrating his minor achievement as he waves the frying pan, his body swaying along slightly with it.

“That smells heavenly,”

Zemo whips around at hearing your voice pierce the air. “Ah y/n! Please, take a seat while I make breakfast,”

His eyes follow you as you take a seat down at the table he had prepared for this morning, then focus back on the breakfast at hand. You pour out some orange juice Zemo had left on the table, then your gaze flickers back to him as he finishes cooking. He stacks the pancakes onto two plates and grabs some sugar, maple syrup, and lemons out of the shelves, giving you a choice of toppings.

You scoff as he turns around, seeing on the apron he had tied around himself the words ‘kiss the chef’ on it.

“Really?” you ask, raising the glass to your lips as you watch him glance down to his apron and then back up to you offended.

“You don’t like?”

“It’s embarrassing to look at!” you exclaim as he places the plates down on the table and sits down opposite you.

Zemo’s eyebrows twitch as he scoffs back at you, “I think it suits me, plus a kiss is expected after I worked so hard on breakfast” he says, tapping his cheek with his finger.

You raise an eyebrow, letting a breath out as you laugh, “Yeah, in your dreams,”

You two settle into a comfortable silence as you readily eat the breakfast he made. The pancakes were soft but delicious, sickeningly sweet but you have always had a sweet tooth and so it seems, does Zemo.

“I thought you would have one of your staff make breakfast, you never struck me as the person to do something yourself when you can make others do it,” you say breaking the silence as you finish the last of your pancakes.

Zemo glances up to you, tilting his head, “Why do you think that? Because I grew up rich?”

You nod, not attempting to make yourself sound nicer, “Yes. It’s common knowledge the rich are always spoilt”

His lips twitch up into a smile at your bluntness. He sighs, leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs as he addresses you.

“You’re right. Even though Sokovia was a rather small country, I grew up with more riches than most people could dream of. But at least I acknowledge my privilege. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

“Depending on what you use your privilege for. Blowing up the UN isn’t exactly putting it to good use now stop avoiding my original question,”

Zemo bites the inside of his mouth as you see through his attempts at trying to dodge the question. His admiration for you however outweighed any annoyance he might have felt at being called out for it. Leaning forward again to rest his arms on the table he says,

“It’s only me, you and my Butler who occasionally comes in. After I was arrested, there was no work for my staff so they all left and I can’t exactly hire anyone else,”

You nod, satisfied, then dab the napkin that Zemo has set out beside you, on your lips to get rid of any leftover sugar. You place your hands on the table and push yourself up from it.

“Well, thank you for breakfast, and thank you for looking after me this last week… that was nice of you, but I better be going. Do you know where my phone is?”

Zemo’s eyes furrow and he immediately stands up as you walk away from the table. He rushes past you, stepping in front of you to stop you from walking.

“You can’t leave y/n,”

Your head jilts back in confusion, “Why not?”

“We ruined Karli’s plans, so she is trying to find us. That’s why Sam and James are out hiding and why we must remain here,”

“I can handle Karli,” you tell Zemo, trying to step past him, but his hand reaches out and grasps your arm firmly.

“Not a super-soldier y/n. It’s too dangerous, especially after your recovery. James and Sam will reach out to me once it is clear to leave, but for now, we stay.”

You huff in frustration, shaking Zemo’s hand off your arm as you cross them. “Well, at least get me a phone so I can keep in contact with them too,”

“I’m afraid I can’t get you a phone currently, but you are welcomed to use mine. Alas, James and Sam have my number but I don’t have theirs’s so unless you remember their numbers we have to wait till they message first to reach out to them,”

You let out a melodramatic sigh, rolling your head looking to the side of the room then back to Zemo.

“So what the hell am I to do to keep occupied?”

Zemo tilts his head, his eyes flicker to the side in thought as he opens his mouth wordlessly and his eyes move back to yours, his eyebrows raising as he frowns thinking over the idea that has just entered his head.

-

With his fingers, Zemo, gazing at you eagerly, beckoned you down the corridor, towards a giant door that was at the end.

“I’m not a dog Zemo” you complain as you follow him

“Have you ever heard of dramatic effect?”

Zemo had taken off his apron and replaced it with that coat he loved to wear so much. You firmly believed it gave him a power complex. He strutted to the end of the hallway and placed his hands on the door. His face turns to you smirking, enjoying this dramatic pause as you roll your eyes at him. He pushes the door open and stands to the side, sweeping his arm across the space to let you in.

You walk past him and your eyes widen in amazement as you walk into the most magnificent library you had ever seen. The room itself stretched out almost further than you could see, seeming to go on and on. The shelves looked like they reached up to the sky, each one stacked with thousands of beautiful hardback books. The design of it looked like you had just stepped into heaven, with white and gold being the main colour scheme. On the ceiling was a painted sky with the gods on, looking down at you. On the pillars separating the shelves were little cherubs, their bows positioned to pierce your heart. Everything about this library was beautiful. It felt like a library that should belong to a museum not kept in this private mansion.

“You see why the dramatic effect was necessary?” Zemo says stepping up beside you, looking out at the shelves before you.

“Zemo this is… this is beautiful,”

His eyes flicker to you then back to the library, a smile appearing on his lips, “Yes, I suppose it is. When I was younger, I had always taken things like this for granted, but after my time in prison I believe it’s made me more humble,”

You walk over to the nearest bookshelf, letting your fingers brush over the colourful hardbacks. You pull one book out, stroking the golden platted side. “You must have every practically every book in existence here”

“I have more books than I could ever get round to reading. You can find anything you want to read here,”

After ten minutes you had gathered a rather sizable book pile you were determined to read, full of fictional and non-fictional books, some of your favorites and some you had never read before.

Zemo chuckled as you tried to hold all of them in your grasp. As you picked one up, the book on the very top of your pile slipped and fell to the floor. Panic surged in you, worried you would damage something so expensive, but Zemo’s hand appears and catches it before it could hit the ground.

Straightening up, he gave you an amused smile, “Maybe you should let me help carry them”

Accepting his help, he takes half the book pile off you and guides you over to a place deep in the library where you two could read. There were two light green armchairs facing each other, with a fireplace just behind them. To the side of the chairs were small tables which contained bookmarks, a goblet, and an ashtray, and to the side of one chair was a globe which could be opened, and inside it held a decanter full of whiskey.

Zemo places the books in his arms on the table then walks over to one shelf, browsing till he finally finds the book he was looking for. He returns to find you getting comfortable in your chair, opening the first book.

“Whisky?” he asks, opening up the globe beside him.

A few days ago you would have said ‘no, no way,’ but today you smile and nod your head, reaching out with the glass beside you to gracefully accept the drink.

-

The next couple of days were spent similarly with you and Zemo spending much of your time reading in the library together. Occasionally you two would even read to each other as he had first done with you when you had woken up here. Though you would never admit it to him, his smokey voice made you very comfortable. If he tried, he could lull you to sleep with that accent of his.

You couldn’t help but try to separate the Zemo you know now as the one you used to hate. Yes, he had torn apart your family, but he had all the reason for what happened to Sokovia, what happened to his family. Plus, this Zemo seemed to try hard to make it up to you. Almost too hard. He was trying everything to keep you entertained while you were stuck here, make your life as comfortable as he could. It was nice.

You strolled into the kitchen hearing the quiet buzz of the radio playing the latest top hits and the sound of someone humming along to the music. In there you find Zemo by the counter, fixated on the bowl he held in his arm and the spoon in his hand as he delicately tries to put the mixture into the cupcake trays before him. You had offered to make food, feeling like he always did too much for you but every day he insisted he would, even on days where it Butler would come around.

“Need help?” you ask, walking over to stand beside him.

He glances at you, then back to the tray he has laid out before him. “I’ve got a handle on this,” he replies just as he spills some mixtures onto the counter, making him swear under his breath.

“Uh-huh, sure,” you say, looking down at the spilled mixture. You turn to face him, letting out a chuff as you place a hand on his arm, “Zemo stop being so prideful and let me help”

As soon as your hand comes in contact with his arm, he freezes. He glances down at the ground, swallowing then his eyes flicker to yours and he smiles gently, his usual arrogance disappearing. “Okay,”

You grab a spoon from the draw and help Zemo scrap off what he puts into his spoon into the cake tray with accuracy. You two stand together, your shoulders brushing up against each other till you finish and put it into the oven.

“We have 30 minutes until we need to get them out. Why don’t you read for a bit while I clean up,”

“I can help clean up,” You tell him already going over to the sink to turn the water on, “You’re not my servant Zemo,”

“Helmut” he suddenly says

You turn back to look at him, confused at the seriousness of his face, “Please y/n, call me Helmut,”

Your mouth moves wordlessly for a moment, then you say, “Helmut,” trying the name out on your tongue. You were so used to calling him Zemo, you had forgotten that that wasn’t his first name.

“Thank you” he whispers, glancing away from you bashfully.

He takes a towel off the side of the rail and dries up everything you washed as you two settled into a peculiar silence.

Attempting to liven the atmosphere again, you put a cup just at the right angle of the running tap that the water splashed into Zemo’s coat. He steps back shocked, glancing down at his coat then back to you. He lets out a laugh, his mouth open in surprise that you would do that. “Oh, if that is how it is”

Zemo quickly grabs a mug, running it under the following water. Realizing what he was going to do you let out a squeal and rush for the door but you don’t get far enough till you feel the water hit your back, soaking your t-shirt.

“Helmut!” you gasp as he chuckles at you. You run forward to grab the nearest thing in front of you to chuck it at him, a piece of bread in this case but he ducks as it flies over him. He fills the cup up again and runs towards you but you get to the table and hide on the other side till you were both poised opposite each other waiting for one of you to make the first move.

“This isn’t fair!” you whine, feeling the coldness of your t-shirt cling to your back. “Who said anything about fairness!” Zemo shouted back, grinning at you.

Eventually, you two called a truce when the oven chimes letting you two know the cupcakes were finished baking. After that day, Zemo always asked if you wanted to help him make meals.

-

“Is the popcorn ready?” you shout as you jump up from the floor where you were placing the DVD into the DVD player.

“Almost done” Zemo calls out.

While waiting, you settle yourself down on the middle of the red sofa, twisting your back to get that perfect spot as you stared up at the giant screen in front of you.

Zemo emerges from the kitchen holding the popcorn and places the bowl onto the table in front of you. He settles down beside you, instantly positioning his arms on the top of the sofa, resting behind your head.

He leans forward to pick up some of the popcorn, tossing it in his mouth as he asks you what you have chosen to watch tonight.

“Beauty and the Beast,” you say excitingly and Zemo coughs, leaning forward as he accidentally inhaled the popcorn in his mouth.

He wipes the tear from his eye as he leans back and you give him a confused look, “Do you not like the film?”

“No-no, it’s not that. W-why do you want to watch the film?”

“It’s my favorite Disney film,”

He nods his head slightly looking down at the popcorn, “I see…” he then glances back to you, looking you in the eyes, “Why is it your favorite Disney film?”

You lean back sighing as you think the movie over, “Well, I’ve loved it since I was a kid. I always wanted to be like Bell and I found the beast so sweet and gentle”

“Even though he imprisoned her?”

“He let her go in the end, and she came back to him”

Zemo opened his mouth wanting to say more, but you sushed him as the movie started, wanting to concentrate only on it.

Zemo turned down the lights to make the experience feel as cinematic as he could of you. Grabbing the bowel he offered you some of the popcorn and you smiled at him in thanks. He tried to enjoy the movie, but his eyes kept wandering back to you, watching your expressions as you watched the movie. His heart skipped a beat every time you laughed at it when that gorgeous smile would grace your face, even in the sad moments where it looked like you were about to cry. He loved seeing how you reacted to everything. There were so many things he had taken for granted, and it felt like he was discovering them all over again with you. It fascinated him to find out the beauty and the beast was your favorite film. It was almost ironic given your current situation, one of which you remained painfully unaware of. He knew he couldn’t keep you in the dark forever. Sam and James were bound to discover where you two were eventually, which is why he wanted to enjoy every moment he had with you to the fullest before it was over.

As the movie went on, Zemo could feel your body moving closer and closer to him. The heat that radiated from your body made him want to wrap his arms around you, but he didn’t know if that would go too far. Roughly by the end of the movie, your head rested against his chest, moving slightly up and down as he breathed. He could tell by your shallow breathing you had entered the realm of dreams.

Looking down at you, he couldn’t help but admire how peaceful you looked. When on the mission with Sam and James you had always appeared tense, prepared to fight your way out of a situation as soon as possible, but at this moment you were relaxed and it made his heart flutter. He could look at you forever like this and never tire of it.

He had found himself in the past comparing you to his wife. He felt conflicted feeling this way about another woman, but how he felt about you differed from how he felt about his wife. It was new, exciting, addicting. Slowly raising his hand, he brushes a piece of hair that had fallen over your face while you slept. Your skin was smooth against his fingers and so soft. His fingers lingered on your skin before finally, he let his arm rest around your body, holding you close as you slept against his chest.

-

Your arms were raised, feeling the walls on either side of you as you tried to figure out if you were going and if you were about to bump into anything while Zemo’s hands were clasped around your eyes tightly.

“Don’t you trust me y/n” he whispers in your year, snickering.

“Do you want a pleasant lie or the harsh truth?” you ask, turning your head slightly but Zemo tuts and moves your head back with his hands

“Not long now, just a few more steps,”

“Till what!” you whine

“Be patient y/n!”

Zemo lifts one hand of your eyes telling you to keep them close and you hear the creak of a door open ahead of you. His hand returns to your face and with slightly pushing his body against yours, he urges you forward into this new room.

“Can I finally look now?”

Zemo removes his hands and steps back from you, “Okay y/n, open your eyes”

Opening them you gasped in shock seeing what was before you. On a stand was a replica of Belle’s dress in Beauty and the Beast. Its honey yellow colour shone out, the top of it tightly clung to the mannequin it was on while the bottom poofed out, it hung with no shoulder straps and came with yellow gloves. Everything about it was perfect.

“Helmut I- I’m, stunned,”

“You like it?” he asks anxiously

You turn to him grinning, “Of course I do!”

You hug him tightly, ecstatic, then rushed over to the dress, brushing your fingers along it. “It’s beautiful” you whisper.

“I think I got the sizes right,” Zemo says coming up beside you, a pink tinge to his cheeks, “There’s only one way to know for you,” he adds on, turning to you giving you a gentle smile

He helps you take the dress off and chuckles as he watches you rush off with it to get changed, then leaves to get changed himself.

The dress fitted perfectly on you. Everything from the bust down to the waist. Even the gloves fitted perfectly. When you entered the bathroom, you found Zemo had even found some make-up in case you wanted to use any. He thought of everything.

Finally looking at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face. You truly felt like a Disney princess. Slowly you walked back down the stairs and enter the room Zemo had to lead you in, to begin with. As you walked in, let out a merry laugh as you saw Zemo, dressed up in a blue jacket, embroidered with yellow roses on the sleeves, just like the beast. He was standing by a record player, putting a disk in as you walked in. He turns to look at you, his mouth opening in wonder.

“Y/n… you look glorious,”

His sincere comment makes your cheeks heat up and you hold your arms out to him, squeezing your hands letting him know you want to hold his hands.

He turns the record on and your favorite song from Beauty and the Beast floats out, making your cells light up with excitement.

“Helmut” you start to say as he walks over to you, holding his hand out, “Why are you doing this?”

He gently takes your gloved hand, bending over to kiss it. “I know it isn’t easy being stuck in here all the time and you said you loved ‘Beauty and the Beast’ so I thought it would make a pleasant treat,”

His arms hesitantly touch your waist as he looks into your eyes as if asking it was okay. You nod and step closer to him, taking his hand in yours holding it up. Getting into the waltz position you two start to move along the dance floor, swaying to the music.

You two slide along the ballroom floor, picking up speed. As you look up to him, he breathes out smiling back down at you happily. His hand on his waist spins your around as your dress flutters out. You squeal in delight as you grasp back onto his hand as you felt dizzy.

You two turn around the floor looking each other deep in the eyes. You could feel his breath on your face as you two were barely inches apart from each other. Zemo pulls you in even closer as your arm goes around his neck, your body pulled into his. He dips you as you cling to him tightly for dear life as the music fades.

He holds you into that position, panting as he looks at you, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. You could feel that pull towards him, your eyes starting to flutter shut. He leans towards you but suddenly you feel your fingers slip and you almost let go of him. His other hand quickly wraps around making sure you don’t fall to the floor.

He helps you back on your feet and you two steps apart. You look away feeling your cheeks burn up again.

“Helmut, thank you. Thank you so much” you tell him earnestly

He looks deep into your eyes, smiling in bliss, “Anything for you y/n”

-

“Y/n, are you awake?”

You groan as you hear Zemo whisper beside you, waking you from your sleep.

“Ugh, Helmut what time is it,” you moan turning over with your eyes are closed.

“It’s 8, time to wake up”

“Nooooo” you whine screwing up your eyelids.

You hear him chuckle and then you feel something push against your lips. You open your eyes confused to see Zemo beside you, holding a strawberry to your lips.

You smile and take a bite out of it, moaning in delight as you taste its sweetness as you sit up. He sits up beside you and holds out some melted chocolate for you to dip the strawberry in.

“Helmut, you spoil me”

“Not enough,” he whispers back as he puts the chocolate-covered strawberry to your lips letting you take another bite.

“I’m not even surprised anymore to see you in my bed when I wake up,” you tell him

“Technically this is my bed”

“You know what I mean!”

He chuckles as he pushes his head back into the headboard, “I thought it would be a nice way for you to wake up,”

“Consider me impressed,” you tell him, looking over at him smiling. He glances back to you, his lips twitching up. You lean into his side, not caring at the moment you were in a simple nightdress. You close your eyes inhaling his cologne and picking up a strawberry to feed to him.

“I could get used to this,” you whisper to him

-

You scan the piano music book before looking back down to the notes before you. It had been a while since you had last played so you thought you might as well pick it up while you were stuck in Zemo’s mansion.

You press the notes but every time you tried to play one of the chords you always missed one. You were trying to play your favorite song 'Comptine d'un autre été' but to no avail.

“You need to flow with the music and not worry about hitting the right notes”

You turn around and smile as you see Zemo approach you from behind. “Isn’t the whole point of music to play the right notes?” you say sarcastically

Zemo lets out a huff chuckling, “Well yes but you’ll hit the notes when you stop trying so hard. Now try again”

You turn back around and attempt the music again but hit the wrong notes making you slam the piano in annoyance.

“Don’t damage the piano”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, “I should give up,”

“No don’t do that” Zemo says, brushing his fingers over your waist, “Here let me help you”

He puts his hands on top of yours guiding them, “Let’s try again,”

You look to the music then back down to your hands which had Zemo’s resting on and attempt to start playing again. His hands moved in time with yours as they guided along with the piano, pressing down on your fingers when you needed to. You got every note. Well, Zemo got every note.

“See, easy,” he says as he pulls back from you. “Now try again”

You attempt to play again but feeling his eyes stare into your back you couldn’t concentrate and messed up the notes again.

“We just went through this!”

“It’s hard to concentrate with you staring at me!” you exclaim turning around to him. Your eyes widen as what you just said as he tilts his head, a smug smile appearing on his lips.

“Oh, I make it hard for you to concentrate do I?”

You groan at his cockiness, looking away from him so he doesn’t see your glistening red cheeks.

He walks up behind you again, his fingers grazing your jawline, stopping at your chin as he raises your head to look up at him. Seeing him look down at you made a knot in your stomach tighten.

“You are awfully red y/n”

“Shut up”

He chuckles and leans down, placing a kiss on your forehead, “I like it when you blush”

The breath gets caught in your lungs as you feel his lips on your forehead, their softness cooling your burning skin.

For the first time in your life, you were rendered speechless, by Helmut Zemo no less.

His teeth flash in his smile as he looks down at you, “Come let’s practice this again” he says, leaning over as his back pressed into yours, putting his hands back on top of yours.

-

“Zemo do you mind if I borrow your phone briefly to see if that new video has been released?” you call out picking up Zemo’s phone that he had left on your seat.

“Go ahead! Just don’t check anything else on there” he yells back

“Worried I will find your nudes?” you call out as you unlock the phone. Pressing onto the youtube app you sigh in annoyance seeing no new video and so you were about to put the phone back down when a message appeared from a contact simply labeled ‘S’

It read, ‘S: Look just tell us where you have taken her. Whatever you are doing with her it isn’t worth it”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion at what the hell could that message mean. You click onto the message stream just to see a ton of messages from this ‘S’ contact but with no reply from Zemo.

You hesitate for a moment, knowing Zemo wouldn’t want you to do what you were about to do, but your curiosity got the best of you and you pressed the call button.

It rang for a few seconds and then the line picked up.

“Zemo” Sam’s voice rang out through the phone

“Sam?” you ask back

“W-what, YN/!? Are you okay? Where are you?”

“Woah Woah Sam, calm down, I’m fine! I’m with Helmut-Sam what is going on?”

“What has he done to you?”

“What do you mean he's done nothing, Sam I thought me and Helmut were hiding out here till Karli was done with her plan?”

You hear a sigh down the phone and then the muffled voices of what you could make out as Bucky and Sharon down the line.

Sam picked the phone back up and spoke directly, “Y/n you need to get out of there now. Zemo, he's kidnapped you”

The phone slips from your hand and lands on the floor with a loud crash.

Tag list: @sinister-sleep @cable-kenobi @faustlyaccused @chipster-21 @icarusinstatic @yallgotkik @montypythonsholysnail @bunniwritesx @checkurwindow @huntheimpossible @jayxkelsi @avgravy @prestigious-tea @aloyssiac @hannahbal-the-fannibal @alainabooks143 @jokerprettyprincess @plumsandkiwis @latenightartist-author @e-barba @flutterskies @loonylunalovegood77 @lieutenantn @wonderwoman292 @there-goes-thefighter @multiyfandomgirl40 @freyjasamael @ineffablebean @arianalilyblack @mandowhatnow @scullys-alienpussy @felicityofbakerstreet @babayaga67 @spookycereal-s