#the first glimpses of how easily they gravitate to one another

[simplyavatrice]

ava + every episode - episode 3: "ephesians 6:11"

[a-gal-with-taste]

Gala of '81 (NSFW)

No one said "Masquerade AU" so I guess I got to do it. Welcome to Sinning-Sunday~

NSFW | F!Reader X Silco

Masquerade, one-night stand (?), dirty-talk, minor dom/sub elements, spit as lube, P in V, marking, slight breeding kink

Your aunt was very, very drunk.

She could easily fall apart with a second cocktail, but apparently it was the eighth glass of champagne is the one that did-her-in tonight. Escorted, half-carried to a more private room where she could sober up, you mentally counted down the seconds from the moment your chaperones form got out-of-view, to the moment he would appear at your side.

It took exactly twenty-six seconds, before a gloved hand touched your elbow. With an embroidered coat-sleeve gliding along your arm, a palm slid into yours before fingers interlocked, and finally, you were once more his.

"My lovely, it's been too long," the purr rumbled next to your ear. "Only about three or four songs," You commented back when the goosebumps faded, and caught the edge of a crooked smirk, peeking from the half-mask that covered his face. Pitch-black, it seemed nearly molded to the right-side of his angular face, with red and gold designing mimicking the curves and sharper angles of his countenance that were hidden from view.

The dark colors matched with the highlight of his mask; a black-sclera with burning iris peeking from the eyehole of his masquerade. You weren't sure if it was an effect or truth, but it scorched through your body all the same.

"As I said," He murmured, guiding your gloved-hand up to his mouth, the press of his lips felt even through the expensive layer of satin. "Too long."

It was magnetic, the space between you and him.

A pull so strong you didn't dare touch a glass, for worry it would dull the sensations. And he had set his own barely-touched one down the moment he caught your eye as you elegantly glided down the great-hall's staircase.

Forgotten, the stranger had slipped into the elegantly and smartly dressed crowd. Materializing like a sudden, silent storm at your side with the next dance, and a silent, offered hand.

Your aunt allowed the first two, was frowning by the third, and at the conclusion of the fifth song, all but snatched you from his arms. "You are an heiress." She'd hissed, stumbling slightly as she dragged you from the less-populated corner you and your dance-partner had been gravitated towards. "Piltover's most upstanding and finest are here, at least have the decency to browse the selection."

You had.

It had consisted of generals, high-classed merchants, more-than-one bankers and astute judicials. The glimpse of a councilors trimmed-coat was even thought to be seen, but while most were able to easily deduce one-another, you hardly cared for mingling with your fellow countrymen, playing at secrecy.

The desire of the mystery, from the one man who you didn't have a prayer of identifying, was too intoxicating for you to pay any mind to a single other in the room.

'Browse the selection,' she had said before her words started slurring in true.

How could you even consiter browsing, when you had already made the greatest find?

"Another dance, or have the other ladies worn you out?" You teased, knowing full well he had been left halfway sulking in the corner. A snort sounded, as your chosen-stranger lifted his chin to gaze boredly at the other patrons and guests of this annual gala. Something cool entered his tone, like he was serious in his following quip, "Just the thought of giving them energy tires me."

A hum, and you subtly tugged on his arm woven with yours, pulling his attention back to you. You smiled up, raising a brow over your own elaborate eye-mask around your eyes. "Not too tired, I hope? The night is still relatively young..." There was a glimmer of want in the exposed bright, cyan eye at your suggestive cooing.

"I think you'll learn that I could go-on for quite a long time, darling."

You were glad he soon proved to be a man of words, and action.

The two of you didn't even last another two song, and half-escorting, partially tugging him from the ballroom, your practiced steps to the nearest private study was quick, much to his amusement. "Careful, you'll almost seem eager," He teased, for a moment a cheeky gentleman, but then he swooped down to whisper into your ear, now more akin to living seduction.

"Are you always so eager at the prospect of fucking a stranger?"

"Hm... maybe you're a special-case."

How you managed your words out without shuddering, you had no clue, but you managed to resist melting into his clutches until after the study door was shut. Fingers finding the loveseat-side lamp to give an illusion of light as his arms wound from behind you soon after. One slipping just beneath your chest, while to other creeped across the expanse of your exposed neckline, fingers leaving tingling lines on your flesh as he murmured from just above and behind you, "A special case, am I? Then I suppose it's only polite to make it a very special evening."

Shivers rolled down your skin as his fingers caressed at your neck, outlining your jugular, and you rolled your head back to rest back on his shoulder. You didn't offer any name, nor did he, only snaking his hand from around your throat to grasp your chin. Pinching it softly between fingers, before he turned your head to kiss you as deeply. As if you were familiar lovers, instead of perfect strangers.

You needingly dug your nails into the arm around you as he seemed insistent on taking this slow, before growing frustrated and tearing your gloves off in swift movements. A rumbling chuckle sounded into your mouth as you tossed them aside, though soon his own short, leather gloves came to follow.

Then the coat, though he took his time with it. Your earrings, also carelessly thrown. Heels were kicked off, boots tugged free, and by the time you were being lowered onto the couch, hair and mask askew while his own remained secured on his face, your only remaining cover was the dress.

You nearly tore it from your body, before an open, bemused laugh sounded and your hands were grabbed warmly in his own.

"You'll get what you want, but allow me the chance to savor this," His chiding was soft, but his grip you a firm-squeeze around your hands before he dropped them, slowly swinging one leg over your body to straddle you as his palms rested on your chest. The man was slender, but loomed over you. Even more so with you reclining on your back, while the shades of the room only sharpened the contours of his half-masked face. "I rather like this image, and being my first time seeing it, I'm looking to enjoy it for all it's worth..."

A squeeze of his hands through the fabric of your gown on your chest redirected your attention, and by the time he slowly slid those hands up to hook a single finger beneath each strap of your gown, you were breathing heavy.

"Promise I'll get it?" You whisper as he takes his sweet time sliding down your sleeves, allowing you to work your arms up through them when necessary. "You seem to be taking your time-" "And you Topsiders seem to have no paitence, even when the night is still relatively young."

Despite the nip in his voice, a warning, you caught the way his exposed blue eye drank in the every-details of your exposed skin, and you flushed darker when you caught the peek of a tongue flicked out over his lips as he worked down the top half of your dress.

The Topsider comment should've given you pause, and taken the time to deduce this clue to his identity. But you found it hard to care about little else from this man as he leaned down to begin abusing and wrecking the soft skin of your neck and collarbone.

You had necklaces of fine jewels and diamonds, but you knew this one of bruises would be your favorite.

All the while, he darkly growled in delight with every whimper or cry he pulled from your lips. Only growing louder as his hands reached beneath you to unhook your brassiere, which he barely worked to move aside before moving further down, and taking a stiffened nub between chipped teeth.

"Fuck," You hissed, hand snapping up to grip at dark hair at suction, letting out a panting moan as his tongue swirled. Careful not to let your fingers catch on the tie holding the mask to his face, your other hand came up to hang onto the short locks as he popped off his mouth, latching onto the other nipple while you arched into the attack of lips and teeth. "Fuck."

"What'll they say come morning, hm?" Mused the man as he finally leaned up from your chest, granting you a shudder as his fingertips grazed over the stiffened peaks, one breast now sporting a rather-telling indent of a gentle, but marking bite. "Do you a plan for when you walk out, limp-legged and marked for all to see? Plan to tell them about the mystery-man who did this to your body, all without ever getting a name?"

"I'll-" You let out a small keen as fingers pinched, rolling at the sensitive nub of your nipple between the pads of his fingertips as you arched up, gasping out, "... I'll tell them how I wish he could've left more evidence."

This earned another look of pure-fire from the eye behind the masked-side of his face, and there was little-less paitence in his hands as he shuffled off your body, and started tugging impatiently at your gown.

With the combined, eager efforts of both you and your masked-stranger, your very expensive, perfectly tailored goan was left ripped and thrown onto the floor, while his hands stroked up your exposed inner thighs. "By the time I'm done, you'll have more than enough evidence of this night," He vowed, again flicking out his tongue-tip to wet his bottom-lip as he took in the soaked lace undergarments, your juices already staining the fabric. "I imagine you won't be able to look at many things without thinking about our time together... this study, your dress, the dance-floor, your neck..."

A hoarse chuckle sounded as he slid a finger down to catch at the strap of your twin-garters, pulling them back to snap the elastic bands against the skin of your thighs once, bringing your hooded gaze back onto his face.

"What more do you want to remember this night?" He asked, to casually as his fingers glided further up, teasing at the apex of your thighs. "Tell me." You shuddered and pressed your head back as fingertips played at the hem of your wet panties, but kept his eyes on him as his own green eye flicked from between visual devouring of your soaking, covered pussy, and your glazed-eyed, panting expression of want. "Do you want me to bite you? Leave handprints? Wrap my fingers around your neck, until that not even your highest collar can cover the marks...?"

He sounded willing, and eager, to do all of this stuff your command, but there was only one thing you wanted:

"Fuck me."

You wish it didn't sound so needy, but his hands stopped stroking your thighs as both the masked and unmasked eyes snapped back onto your face as you pleaded.

"Fuck. Me. Fill it up as much as it can take, and more some. I don't care if this is our one and only time together, leave me filled and satisfied-"

"One and only?" He growled, at the same time fingers hooked over your panties and all but tore them down. You shivered as your wet-mound was exposed to the air, but lifted your legs obediently as he tore them down your body, tossing them and the connected garter-straps carelessly to the floor. "After that look on your face? After those sounds you're making, all for me?"

You groaned as one hand moved and slid fingers through your folds to tend to your throbbing sex, while the other fumbled at a belt and pants buckles. "Based on how you're moaning and whining for it, I may just need to make this a required-stop when I travel up here..." It's halfway to a snarl, but only of frustration, as he's furiously shoving his pants down in a single, final shove. You have no time to savor the sight of his hard cock before he's spitting into his palm, smearing the saliva between his fingers before reaching down to stroke himself to complete fullness. Just as his other thumb finds your clit, and begins rubbing circles to coax more moaning pleads from your mouth as you buck into his hand.

"You dirty thing... amongst the shining and the gleaming of Piltover, I never thought one so filthy as you could even exist here," You whimper under his words and ministrations, bucking up your hips as he grounded the pad of his thumb around the swollen nub between your legs. "You don't even know my name, don't know where I come from or what I do... and just look at you..."

The man's voice was strained from his own preparations on his cock, and perhaps from the sight of your writhing form, before he moved his palm off his shaft with a groan, reaching to grasp under and around your thigh. With a few movements, he had your legs braced apart as he guided his length through your dripping folds, a pleased hiss between tight teeth as the head of his cock nudged agaisnt your convulsing hole. "Coming apart at a strangers touch. Begging for a strangers cock, for a stranger to fuck you senseless..."

As your gaze looked up to him, chest heaving with your pants, you caught the glint of a canine catch on his bottom lip as he smirked, and purred out, "I... very much doubt we'll be strangers much by the time we're done, lovely."

The half-masked stranger slid in slow with a completely lewd sound, and soon the sound of wet, thrusting flesh filled the air as you wordlessly urged him on. Never once did you say a name, nor did he offer his, but his arm came around to brace you when your hands snapped up to cling to his shoulders. Growls, vulgar swears and hints of praise breathed against your ear, tipping into a higher-pitch when he paused to adjust himself within you, and your ankles raised to cross and lock at the small of his back.

There was an exposed bit of his collarbone from his slightly unbuttoned shirt, that your teeth immediately latched onto right as you came. Biting down at the same time you clenched around his pounding-cock with a choked, wordless groan. His nails left equally sharp marks into your back and hip as his thrusts became erratic into your tight, pulsating heat.

"Think I'd want this only once?" He groaned through tight teeth. "Don't want you running off for another stranger. Might just have to come back, again and again... only me inside. Pretty cunt like yours, full of me... making sure everyone knows, even when you yourself doesn't even know who is in you-"

The idea nearly made you slam into orgasm a second time, but the tightness around him sent him straight to his first. Slamming his hips flush to yours, you whimpered into his skin as you felt his hot release spill deep, and you clung tighter as he sagged slightly after the moment passed, and he finally drew in a long, shaky breath as his forehead slumped slightly against yours.

Wordlessly, you slipped an arm around to his back, drawing small circles and mindless designs as you finally got enough concentration back to go over his words.

Magnetic.

The pull remained, even with your bodies literally connected as cooling drips leaked out of you; the pull of you to him. You to him. In the few dalliances or sexual rendezvous you were able to sneak away - only a handful, but nearly all in the past had accepted the short-lived union for what it was, a quick escape and a temporary round of fun.

All others had understood these single-nights together as simply the subconcious need for release, for a break from decorum and grace in the eyes of Piltover's most 'upstanding and finest.'

This was the first stranger you knew you would have a hand time letting go.

You didn't need a face, nor a name or some sort of impressive job-title that would approve to your family - you wanted him. Wholly, and as much as he was willing to offer.

And based on your masked-gentleman's early words, it seemed he had much, much more to offer.

And so, hopeful, you extended the invitation.

"If this is what I get from our first meeting..." You murmured as your lips dragged up his skin, and pressing your cheek to the hard, decorated surface of his mask. Hand coming up to coax through sweaty hair, you breathed past the cover to murmur close to his ear. "... i'm dying to know what I'll find out what we get to our second."

His breath catched, there was only a gentle, rhythmic feel of his chest rising and falling with yours in response. For a moment, you worried that you had scared him off, being nearly explicit in your desire to do this again in the future. And something inside you twisted at the idea of him pulling away, leaving you empty while escaping and never being seen again-

A small roll of his hips leaves you choking out a gasp, a wet squelshing sound as he slowly pushed back into your used-cunt again. Clearly, looking to make good on earlier promises of leaving you good & filled entirely.

A rough chuckle sounded as you buried your face into his shoulder.

-

"Who knows, my lovely?" He mused, gritting his teeth with a dark, pleased look as he slowly began to work your body, and your moaning back up to cries that echoed around the Piltover study. The black, red-irised eye seemed to glow behind the mask.

"You might just earn yourself a name, next time we meet."

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[goddess-pan]

c!Technoblade having a crush on a strong!Reader

Dsmp x reader prompt; c!Technoblade having a crush on a strong!Reader. Credit would be appreciated so more people can find this and make their own things based on it.

Requested from my idea list by @vanhakirja and @universal-vibe , if you would like to request something, you are still able to.

Mostly fluff and crack type prompt, romantic-coded

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

Techno being very shy around the reader, but at the same time trying to show off. He'd get super flustered whenever the reader showcased their strength no matter if it was intentional or not. Even just the thought of a strong partner/lover makes his brain go brrrrr.

He finds strength really attractive and it would relieve his concerns in someone hurting them solely for the reason that it was him that was interested in them, because they would be able to defend themselves. While that is the first reason he would be attracted to them, he soon finds more by spending time with them. When they end up hanging out together they tend to gravitate towards things that interests them both, but occasionally they do something only one of them really has an interest in.

Even though the reader can defend themself, and Techno knows that, but he still has an urge to protect them. But due to not wanting to seem like he thinks less of them or that he's babying them, he tries to push it down and indulges himself only rarely in not demeaning ways like gifting them better armour and weapons. Though sometimes when his instincts get better of him he might ask to walk them home to make sure nothing happens to them or secure the perimeter around their house. One time he ended up fixing the stairs to the reader's house to make sure they didn't trip and hurt themself. While he might be able to find something to distract him from the thoughts of protecting the reader, because of the voices starting to immediately talk about it he isn't going to be able to shake the thought.

The voices might like the reader a lot too, but he is much more interested in the reader than they are. In fact he’s the one ranting and fawning over them constantly to the voices. And if Techno coached his voices on how to spot the reader in the wild in case he somehow missed them just so he could get a glimpse of them before they were out of his sight, that’s his business and his business alone. 

Techno would consider telling Phil about his crush just so he could have a another person to rant to about them. He’s kind of on the fence about it because there was this one time where the reader was helping him and Philza chop wood for the fires keeping their homes warm and he ended up not being able to keep his eyes of them and blushing every time they hauled wood back to the stockpile. Phil noticed it, because of course he did, and then began the light teasing of him over his interest in the reader and his blushing. Is Philza teasing him every waking second of his life worth talking about the reader to an actual person instead of just the voices in his head, not to mention a person he could get advice from regarding his crush? Techno sure as hell doesn’t know.

Should the reader at any point flirt with him or show interest in him in a romantic way, he would just be a flustered mess. When giving compliments to Techno he responds the best to compliments about his skills and talents since he can recognize that he’s good at those, usually it ends up with his tail wagging and ears flapping with blush spread across his cheeks while he makes tiny proud snorts unconsciously. If they called him pretty, beautiful or handsome (etc.) his brain would just shut down while he heavily blushed, averting his gaze and being unable to speak. If they compliment his voice he goes on a small tangent on how he polarizing his voice is and how some people like it, but other’s think he sounds like he’s smoked a pack for like a decade despite that not being the case, and with his tangent he forgets that the reader complimented him in the first place. He is also easily flustered by physical contact, though with hugging him they would have to keep an eye on not hugging him for too long since he can get super antsy due to being restricted and not being able to do anything if his mind doesn’t turn off. Though he would get the most flustered if the reader lifted him or picked him up. Please reader, pick this boy up and carry him, he will swoon hard.

While the reader is a strong person if their fighting techniques aren’t that great, Techno would gladly teach them what he knows and he knows a lot. Probably starting with the basics and then onto more advanced techniques plus any kind of life saving tricks he thinks they might need to know just in case. When the reader has gotten most of it down he would happily spar with them to help them practice that way as well, but he wouldn’t exactly feel comfortable fighting them if they didn’t know what they were doing despite their strength. And when the lessons are over and done with he wouldn’t be opposed to sparring with them in the future to hone both of their skills, but also to spend time with each other and have fun.

A funny thing that has happened to him was when he was just hanging out with the reader at his base feeding the hounds. While he was congratulating himself in his head for keeping his cool and appearing somewhat normal today, the reader stared at Ranboo’s house for second and then at Philza’s with a puzzled expression before snickering to themself. This drew Techno’s attention to them and they remarked

“You know both your neighbours are married...” He just grunted in affirmation, so they continued

“With your guys’ similarities, when is your wedding coming up big guy? Got someone special in mind already?” His mind immediately went to ‘Marry me’ as he locked eyes with them. Feeling way too self-conscious about his thoughts and feelings, he averted his eyes quickly and coughed clearing his throat. “Sounds nice, but probably not” he said.

“Why’s that?” They continued to question. He looked at them again, his face blank as he gestured himself. They just raised an eyebrow and stared at him in silence for a second. “If you so much as are even referring to yourself as being unlovable I will hug you until you stop talking nonsense.” 

“First of all, I didn’t even say anything an-”

“Now listen up here mister wise gu-”

“AND second of all is that supposed to be a threat?”

“It is, you handsome bastard, so unless you want to be unable to move for the next 10 minutes you better start watching yourself.” That caused his face to flush harshly while he quickly turned away going back to feeding the dogs and mumbled out a “Shut it.” Which got him a giggle in return and thankfully they didn’t deliver on their threat this time. While they changed the topic to something else, his mind was still running away with the thought of what their wedding would look like and the fact that he was called handsome.

[nopelleen]

Perish, Pretty Please (5/5)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Rick Flag was known to be a pretty good leader, it was the reason why he had been chosen to lead a squad of infamously reckless and idiotic criminals, however it was a lot harder to maintain his authority when one member of the team despised his guts for seemingly no reason.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Rick Flag x Reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.7k

ɴᴏᴛᴇ: it took me so long, but it’s finally there -- the last part! I started this fanfiction knowing I had a tendency not to finish them and I’m honestly so proud right now, I hope you’ll enjoy this last part as much as I enjoyed writing all of this! (also please let’s all have a moment of silence to remember the moment my hopeful, foolish ass actually posted the first part with “1/2″ in the title)

“Nope, there’s something we gotta take care of first."

You watched with blatant bafflement as the three men nonchalantly walked away from the blazing truck that had been transporting them merely minutes ago. There was almost a bit of disappointment in your heart as you watched the plan you and Cleo had so meticulously orchestrated on your way here vanish into thin air. It was a shame – your rescue plan involved a lot more wow factor. Had you known the outcome of this small drawback, you wouldn’t have put so much effort into it; but how could you have guessed the three of them would find a way out of a van guarded by multiples soldiers all the while handcuffed and therefore supposedly incapacitated? That was absurd.

“Don’t look so surprised, it’s insulting.”

You shot Flag a tight lipped, mocking smile as a response to his friendly jab, clearly recognizing the words you had used against him in the afternoon. Your sardonic grimace poorly mirrored the playful smirk the colonel adorned as he walked towards the van, and you were surprised to feel your heart swell a bit when you noticed his smile spread into a genuine one as he walked past you, slightly shaking his head in amusement.

Without even questioning how they had gotten themselves out of that prickly situation, you whirled around and followed suit as Rick climbed back into the van, telling Milton the small change of plan. That one enthusiastically nodded before happily informing the squad that you’d reach the city by dawn, making you realize you had spent a good chunk of the night at that bar and yet did not feel that tired yet – which might just have been from the adrenaline released into your system at the sight of your three teammates walking out of a blazing vehicle.

“You sleep, I watch Thinker,” Nanaue suggested as he heavily lumbered towards the back of the van, where the hostage was surprisingly staying very still, wise enough not to attempt anything while sharing the same space as King Shark.

Your steps faltered as you entered the van, your gaze hesitatingly flickering towards the seats in the back which appeared way too crowded for your liking. You usually would’ve simply gone back to your seat at the front, but Rick was now occupying the one near the window, probably as a way to stay close to the driver.

With a reluctant sigh, you were about to follow King Shark towards the back when Rick casted a pointed look towards you before patting the seat beside him in case you did not understand.

Relief washed over you and you didn’t even need to give it a second thought before flopping onto the space beside him, glad not to have to settle for a spot anywhere near Peacemaker. Your muscles were stiff as you quite literally bounced onto the cushion, and as soon as your back did as much as graze the backrest, the entire day of walk, hours of dancing and minutes of worrying about Flag’s well-being caught up with you with a dizzying speed.

If earlier that day you had been able to fight off sleep vigorously, you now found yourself melting into the cushion of your seat as soon as you flopped onto it. At first, you remained steadfast, refusing to yield to your basic human needs as you forced yourself to sit up straight, but then there was a strong gravitational pull making you sway a bit on your seat as your head started lolling forward, and then another pull – Rick’s hand, this time – gently steering you back into your seat. Incapable of fending off the drowsiness any longer, you surrendered and finally allowed yourself to loosen up, feeling your head snugly land upon Rick’s shoulder as you drifted off into a soundless sleep.

-----

“Outburst, hey!”

“She’s sleeping.”

From his seat at the very back of the van, Peacemaker frowned as he craned his neck in an attempt to peer at your figure still slumped over Rick’s shoulder. “Well, wake her up,” he groused, tinges of annoyance seeping from his usually polished tone. “She’s… spewing her emotions all over the place. It’s reeking of sadness in there.”

◦◦◦

“It’s reeking in there; crack a window open, will you?”

Your finger harshly jabbed the switch, your gaze remained firmly fixed on the buildings passing by in a blur as the window lowered just a bit in an abrupt, choppy motion. From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of your mother shooting you a brief, curious look. You hadn’t uttered a word ever since you two had left the family reunion. You knew it hadn’t been a good idea to agree to come.

The car then lapsed into another uncomfortable silence. You were both acutely aware of the thick, sweltering acrimony flooding off of you and yet still refused to address it, instead letting you bask in it with your mouth clamped shut, letting it gnaw your insides until your lungs felt charred, incapable of drawing oxygen any longer.

Why had you agreed to this? You were an adult; you didn’t need to expose yourself to this anymore.

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to breathe in deeply, only for your chest to constrict, becoming painfully hollow. Tears started brimming at the edges of your vision and you finally allowed your lips to part, letting a bated breath stumble out of them with urgency.

“I heard you earlier.”

◦◦◦

“I’m not waking her up,” Rick scowled in one curt sentence, already feeling a bit on edge and therefore not wanting to dwell on the matter.

Peacemaker’s eyebrows furrowed even deeper at Rick’s unwavering tone. He usually dealt easily with negotiation and compromises, he worked well under authority and was a suitable soldier because of it, but at the moment, he couldn’t find it in himself to be patient – maybe because of how thick with tension the atmosphere had become because of you.

“We can feel her,” he insisted again, spitting the words out in an irritated hiss.

◦◦◦

“Honey, I can feel you, tone it down,” your mother complained as she kept her eyes on the road. Either your words went completely over her head, or she refused to acknowledge them, knowing that with the amount of resentment she could feel rolling off of you in waves, there was no way a discussion could lead to a good outcome at the moment. She was already having a hard time not letting the irritation get to her in spite of the smoldering atmosphere.

“I heard you talking to aunt Matty,” you reiterated. “You said it was my fault.”

“What was?”

“Dad leaving.”

The uttered words dropped like thunder in the car, leaving the air charged with electricity.

“I didn’t say that,” she rebutted with a bit of an acerbic tone. The tension was starting to get to her, slowly but steadily eating away at her mind in spite of her resolve. She could feel the resentment seeping into her like a foreign body infiltrating her immune system, but paradoxically, the angrier she got, the less willing she was to fight it off. “Don’t twist my words, you know I hate when you do that.”

◦◦◦

“I didn’t say she wasn’t allowed to sleep,” Peacemaker clarified, starting to sound a bit agitated as the tensed atmosphere got more and more on his nerves. “I’m simply saying she shouldn’t until we are.”

“She’s not hurting anyone.”

◦◦◦

“You said I was hurting him.”

“I said he was often on the wrong end of your temper. Listen, it’s—”

“Back off!”

◦◦◦

“Back off,” Rick sternly admonished him as soon as Peacemaker made a step towards the front of the bus, protectively wrapping an arm around your sleeping form. “She needs to rest. She got shot acting as a distraction so your team could make a smooth entrance, remember?” he reminded the man scornfully.

Peacemaker’s face remained calm in spite of the irritation coloring his eyes. His gaze briefly flickered from you to Flag, hesitating.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

◦◦◦

“You know how you made him feel,” your mother uttered, efficiently putting an end to the exchange.

You remembered the times during which you were moody, when you came back home after having spent the entire day feeling everyone’s emotions around you, when your father did as much as try to talk to you about it, thus instantly setting you off. He was always the spark that ignited you. Whether he was inquiring about your day, or commenting on your behavior, or even just standing a bit too close to you… He’d end up angry, hurt, aggressive – whatever you were feeling at the moment, he’d always end up feeling it too.

Your mother was just wise enough to stay away.

But you also remembered the shouts in the kitchen, the jabs, the constant bickering between them. You remembered listening to it from the stairs and then being blamed for their bad tempers. You’d be blamed for the anger, the aggressiveness, the slaps that so often echoed through the house.

She was wise enough to stay away, and yet be close enough when she’d need an excuse.

“It wasn’t just me,” you whispered through gritted teeth.

“I never said it was.”

“It was you,” you spat out as you whipped your head towards her. “You made him miserable.”

Your eyes were completely focused on her face, her pursed lips and closed-off features, and never once did you notice the way her foot slowly started pressing further onto the accelerator.

◦◦◦

You woke up with a start and instantly casted a frantic gaze around you, expecting the usual blaring horns and shouts that followed this exchange. You were surprised to find yourself in a safe environment, all wrapped up in an unexpected warm, comforting atmosphere. Usually, the second you woke up, your instincts picked up on the foul aura of anguish you had unconsciously secreted into the air, and yet, here, you could feel nothing but utter peacefulness.

One of your eyebrows formed an elegant arch as you lowered your gaze to glimpse at the warm weight wrapped around you, only for your eyes to land on a familiar calloused hand hanging from your shoulder and almost grazing your cheek. You felt a faint smile tenderly pulling at the corners of your lips before even turning your head to confirm the identity of the owner of the arm wrapped around your shoulders, and when you turned your head to direct your gaze towards Flag’s sleeping face, you simply found yourself incapable to fight it off anymore.

Then, with a fond smile pulling at the corners of your lips, you snugly nestled you head back into his side and shut your eyes, this time knowing for a fact that you wouldn’t risk infuse the atmosphere with anything else than a blissful quietude.

◦◦◦

It was chaos. Utter chaos.

Your car was long abandoned a few feet away from you, fuming after having hit another vehicle in the middle of an intersection. The driver who had started fighting with you was now in a fully blown-out fist fight with another man who had merely tried to step in for you, and the more people got out of their cars to understand what was going on, the more people got trapped under your influence and started fighting, some going as far as purposefully ramming their vehicle into another’s.

Your voice was hoarse from shouting at the driver who had first attacked you and you were now trembling with anger as you watched an entire riot unfold before your very eyes, unconsciously fueling it with intense waves of rage that'd hit any innocent that'd happen to walk a bit to close to the scene.

Someone gripped your shoulder and you tried to jerk away from the touch, whirling your head towards the person with your teeth bared, ready to attack whoever was trying to get your attention.

“Honey, focus on me, alright? Focus on me.”

The voice was rough, the tone frenzied, and yet when the hands grasped your shoulders, it was with an unexpected gentleness. The fingers were quivering with restraint, barely managing not to dig into your skin in an attempt to snap you out of it.

This staggering tenderness startled you so much that it managed to take you out of your trance for a fleeting moment, allowing reason to take over as you fought back the instinctive urge to shove the hands away. With frantic, brimming eyes, you diverted your gaze towards your mother, desperate for a comforting point of focus to latch onto like a lifeline.

A sob threatened to crawl up your throat as soon as you met her eyes. There, in the midst of all the hardly concealed anger – a glint of affection, a vacillating spike of tenderness battling to emerge from under all that vibrating rage your mind was forcefully pushing into her. With a choked-up breath of relief, you instinctively stepped forward, latching onto that abiding twinkle of kindness in spite of all that surrounding violence like a lifeline.

Then, when there was an anticipated screeching of tires coming from your side, a glimpse of grey metal flashing out of the corner of your eye, and an oh-so-familiar harrowing feeling of dread seizing your insides, you kept your eyes unwaveringly locked into your mother’s, resolutely shutting out everything else around you. You bored your gaze into hers and let your mind soak in her warmth.

The car never came, the shouts quietened down, your surroundings slowed down until coming to a complete halt, time stalled and your dream mercifully stepped away from your memories to spare you.

You stood there for ages lost into your mother’s loving gaze, until – having strayed too far from reality – your subconscious lost all senses of what was and wasn’t at the time and let the scene morph into whatever your mind desired. Then, when the voice spoke up again, it wasn’t your mother standing before you anymore,  but a person you now trusted more than you ever thought you would.

“Don’t be scared of me.”

 -----

“We need to help these people.”

The words went completely over your head as you despairingly gaped at the glass in front of you, feeling cold to your bones.

You had gotten a bad feeling as soon as the elevator doors had cracked open.

There hadn’t even been time to make a step forward before you had gotten hit by the foul, repugnant thickness sullying the air with a strength that almost had you rearing your head back a bit. For a dizzying second, the vile and nauseating reek had left you standing there, blearily blinking as your senses had desperately struggled to accommodate to the repellent atmosphere. Yet, in spite of the tears brimming at the corners of your eyes just from the sheer despondency emanating from the place, you had been far from imagining the atrocity, the barbarism of the experiments that were taking place down here.

Despite your reluctance, you had been forced to follow the others as they had stalked out of the elevator, engaging into the dark and humid place with feeble, hesitant steps. As you had all crossed the small entrance leading to the laboratory, you had needed to fight your instincts that they had urgently pleaded you to simply whirl around and run back into the elevator.

Every breath you had taken weighed heavily on your tongue, the pungency sticking to the walls of your throat and poisoning your lungs. Every other second you had spent down there had simply felt like another year taken off your life, the wretched atmosphere slowly eating away at your brain like acid.

In spite of all of that, it had taken some time for the horror to truly dawn on you.

The despair had crept into your heart with every step you had made into the cellar, and then, when you had gotten to the center of it, you had felt for the very first time of your life an intense claustrophobia swarming your heart. Surrounded by a sea of decaying bodies all bound together by the same searing, devastating agony, the hostile basement had quickly gone from a gruesome laboratory to a deadly trap slowly closing in on you.

With nothing but wandering bodies all around you, you felt at the bottom of a pit of wretchedness, your head swelling with an intense, overwhelming pain. It was as though you were entrapped in the center of a microwave which was channeling thousands of screams directly towards your brain instead of radiations, however one of them was significantly stronger than the others and seemed to come from the wide glass wall right in front of you.

“Impossible, dear. They’re corpses below those stars.”

In spite of the searing agony flaring through your chest, your heartbeat seemed to slow down and settle onto a numbing, soporific pace as you unconsciously started stepping towards the wide glass, as though bewitched by the heart-wrenching wail you felt coming from whatever was hiding in that liquid.

With trembling, tentative fingers, you lifted your hand and slowly pressed your palm against the freezing glass, yearning to soothe the poor sufferer from their wrenching agony. The pain only seemed to intensify at the touch, the feeling of desolation gripping your insides as your ears started ringing, completely isolating you from the others. There was nothing else in that room but you and a desolated martyr screaming with thousand of voices right into your mind.

You watched with mournful, brimming eyes as the dark figure behind the glass started stirring until a single, colossal eye revealed itself in front of you, appearing emotionless to any common spectator and yet emitting an amount of woe that would’ve had you on your knees had you not gotten so used to sensing people’s emotions.

“Outburst?”

Rick’s voice rose up right behind you but still didn’t startle you, your eyes riveted onto the creature before you with rapt focus.

“It’s in pain,” you croaked out, the faint words scraping your dry throat like some sandpaper grating your vocal cords. “It’s in so much pain.” You shifted your fingers a bit, as if trying to press your hand closer to the glass, get closer to that strange creature, completely blind to the danger it represented. The tentacles, bumps and single eye did not matter – all you could see was the utter suffering it was in.

“Well,” the Thinker unabashedly butted in, “if I’m not mistaken regarding the purpose of your self-righteous egomaniacal mission – not for much longer.”

His words dawned on you with a dry clarity and had you shifting away from the glass in one brisk motion to whirl your head towards Rick. “We can’t kill it,” you asserted with an adamant, steadfast tone that did not match the slight waver in your voice.

“We have orders.”

Rick’s steadfast voice was way more convincing than yours, and what would’ve usually been a mere reminder of his status as colonel felt like a frustrating hindrance that only heightened the desperation swarming your heart and made you let go of the glass to tighten your fists as you turned around to fully face him.

“No, we can’t, we have to help it, it’s—”

“It’s dangerous,” Rick cut you off, his distrust-colored eyes briefly flickering towards the glass wall.

“It’s suffering!”

Your distressed screech echoed through the cellar, your plea painfully reverberating on the walls and splattering the frantic desperation dripping from your tone all around the basement.

For a fleeting moment, Flag remained speechless, as if hit with full force by the intensity of your despair. During that fleeting moment, you caught a glimpse of the hesitation flashing in his eyes, the way he seemed to ponder over the situation for even just a second, wondering what to do and which way to choose. Then, his gaze flickered to the side, briefly meeting Peacemaker’s, and you were able to pinpoint the exact moment he put his guards up again, welding back on his old mask of professionalism to tightly shut out any emotion you could try to induce in him.

There was a subtle shift in his expression, so subtle you might not even have noticed had you not been so desperately seeking any trace of support on his features. Instead of showing the understanding you were so badly hoping for, the traits of his face hardened, the glint in his eyes dimmed, and then you weren’t standing before Rick anymore, you were facing the colonel, towering over you with his back straight and his orders engraved in his mind.

You were acutely aware of the fact that the mission outweighed you; you had just hoped Rick would hold enough respect towards you to give your words the slightest bit of consideration. Apparently, this respect only allowed you one minute of his time before he completely shut you out.

With a sharp, regretful sigh, he took a step towards you and grabbed your arm with a gentle reluctance that contrasted with the harshness of his tone as he said that you needed to go with the other team.

You tried to protest but his strides were long and hasty, and before you even knew it, he was punching the first-floor button of the elevator as you stood inside of it, stunned.

Just as the doors started closing before you, you feebly parted your lips to utter one last plead; your pained, wavering voice coming out laced with betrayal. “You said I could trust you.”

When he had seemed ready to turn away as soon as the doors started closing between you, Rick’s attention seemed to be piqued by your words as he shifted his gaze back onto you, lingering in front of the elevator for just a second more.

The distress coloring your eyes melted into a sullen resignation as soon as your gaze bored into his, your chest constricting with dejection. There, under the thick coat of seriousness, in the midst of all the restrained belligerence this place inspired him, no glint of affection was to be found, no spike of tenderness desperately trying to emerge from the vibrating anger – nothing but cold, glaring callousness.

Not Rick.

Colonel.

-----

“Where’s Flag?”

Bloodsport turned his gaze towards you, and you instantly recognized the apologetic look in his eyes.

As he grimly shook his head, you finally experienced it firsthand – the agony of a thousand people.

-----

“Apparently Waller sent something to his hospital room. People are joking and saying she sent flowers, but if you want my opinion the old hag probably sent him a reminder that his contract doesn’t cover paid sick leaves.”

The voice, just like the steps accompanying it, echoed through the corridor and kept getting closer to your cell, undoubtedly coming from yet another guard who’d attempt to get a word or a reaction out of you – anything that’d stop them from having to book in an appointment with the jail therapist.

You had seen many of them pass by while you had spent days in a temporary cell during your recovery but hadn’t thought they’d keep on sending them after having transferred back in your old cell this morning.

The landscape change didn’t make any difference for you, as you simply kept on staring at the wall for hours on end with the most irksome gloomy look clouding your features.

You couldn’t think about anything else than Rick.

You didn’t think you had even truly processed it yet. It had happened too fast.

Within the span of a few days, the colonel had somehow gained your trust, slowly leading you to warm up to him by showing you an affection you hadn’t experienced in years. It felt like he had turned your world upside down, made everything brighter with the prospect of saving lives alongside a superior who truly valued you, and then you had made the mistake of letting him out of your sight, forced to walk away from that dreadful laboratory for just a few minutes, and he had died there, the one person on this earth who you could genuinely trust now buried under the rumbles in that bottomless pit of agony.

You had mulled over it what felt like a thousand times already and you just could not figure out how to simply go on with your life. Not when your one chance at a brighter future had been squandered so violently as soon as you had turned your back to it.

Somehow, it felt like your fault.

You had been careless, unfocused. You had forcefully dragged Rick’s attention away from the mission at hand only because you were too weak to handle the downsides of your ability, your eyes pathetically overflowing with tears of empathy as the rest of your team simply tried to achieve the mission. You had distracted Rick as that one had been forced to take you to the elevator like a child, had unconsciously helped Peacemaker steal a secret file and forced Cleo to try and stop him on her own before Flag could come to her aid.

The file had been retrieved, but only after Bloodsport had stopped Peacemaker from coldly eliminating Cleo. Only after Rick’s body had already been left laying soundly in the laboratory.

They had fought with all their might for that file, for those values you had accused Flag of lacking merely days ago, and you hadn’t even been there.

It had been crushing to find out that the trust you held towards him had been misplaced, but it was nothing in comparison to discovering he shouldn’t have trusted you either.

You forcefully swallowed back the lump in your throat when you heard the steps finally come to a halt right by your cell and had a hard time concealing the startled look on your face when a very familiar voice rose up.

“Well well well, from what I’ve heard little princess doesn’t want to eat anymore?”

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end at the falsely dulcet tone dripping with a syrupy looking but dangerously abrasive poison. You had to keep yourself from gritting your teeth as your gaze caught up on Griggs’ silhouette standing before your cell from the corner of your eye.

“You’re not even gonna make an effort for me?” he teased you as his lips spread into a sneering smile that made him look more moronic than sadistic due to the absolute lack of sagacity behind his eyes.

You kept your mouth tightly shut and your eyes riveted to the wall across from you, trying to muster the blankest expression you could not to let him affect you but feeling a peeved expression weighing down on your features nonetheless.

“Aww, guys it looks like we’re gonna have to use the feeding tubes,” Griggs ironically groaned, turning towards his colleagues with a facetious glint in his eyes. One of them instantly stepped up to open the door to your cell, not even needing to think twice about the threat just emitted. “You know how much I hate doing that,” he then kept on jeering, much to the amusement of the other guards.

You waited with anticipation as he stepped into the cell, feeling your entire body buzzing with an overpowering apprehension, not having a clue of what you could do but knowing for a fact that with all the adrenaline slowly being spread into your system, there was no way you’d let Griggs go back to his old mistreatment.

His filthy fingers barely grazed your skin, and, as though electrified, you jumped to your feet, putting some distance between you and him. You kept your eyes determinedly fixated in front of you but could see from the corner of your eye how stunned he was by your abrupt reaction. He had gotten to the unresponsive side of you that had emerged after only a few months here, the poor figure staying down on the ground and no longer batting an eyelash at his constant abuse. His face remained dazed for a fleeting moment before the ghost of a smirk reappeared on his features.

After all, he had broken you once, it’d be no bother to do it a second time.

“What, you go on one mission with Task Force X and then you don’t like me anymore?”

He reached out a hand again, much more aggressively this time, and you jolted away, instinctively bringing a hand up without even knowing if you were willing to take the risk of hitting him.

“Step away from her, Griggs.”

The stone cold words loudly rang through the cell and heavily fell between you both, instantly followed by a deafening silence as Griggs’ hand hovered in the air for a fleeting moment, just inches away from the skin of your arm.

Then, for a dizzying, fleeting moment, it felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the cell.

Chill shivers of relief racked your spine before your brain even had time to process the voice, and then, when the familiarity of it finally sank in, you felt as though some freezing water had been dumped over you, leaving you soaked and shivering in the middle of your cell – only this time Griggs wasn't the cause of it.

You whirled your head towards the entrance of your cell with a vertiginous speed and had to bite back a choked-up noise from stumbling out of your lips when your gaze landed upon the owner of the voice glowering at Griggs with a murderous look in his eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be back yet,” Griggs pointed out sheepishly, letting his arm limply drop to his side now that his focus had been completely taken off of you.

“I was feeling better,” Rick informed him with a tight-lipped smile which then briskly dropped from his features. “Now stand down,” he repeated himself, his voice steadfast and as neutral as he could muster it. “I wouldn’t push my luck if I were you. I’ve seen what you did to her, and I’d love to show you what it feels like to be on the wrong side of the blade.”

The threat made the cell go utterly silent and for just a second, the sweetest second ever, all traces of amusement vanished from Griggs’ suddenly pale face. He looked started, nervous, oh so pathetic, and then when he finally regained his composure enough to quickly muster up the most serious look he could to paint on his pallid features, he had already lost all respect from every occupant of the room.

“You’d risk your job for a bitch who told you to eat shit five minutes into your mission?”

There was an imperceptible twitch on Rick’s features at the reminder. He had to briskly fight off a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, but you could still discern the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes and had to swallow back a choked-up laugh – your heart swarming with a bunch of overwhelming emotions you couldn’t even identify at the moment.

His eyes briefly flickered to you. “Apparently,” he conceded with the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, before he cast his gaze back on Griggs and recovered a cold, severe expression. “And, trust me, given how liked you are around here, I don’t think I’d risk more than a paid leave even if I attempted to murder you.”

Yet another sullen silence fell over the cell like a heavy fog, and this time, Griggs made the wise decision of not shattering it, containing his anger within a single huff before stalking out of the cell with heavy steps that made him akin to a stomping child. His colleagues briefly glanced at Rick, not quite knowing what to do, before meeting his eyes and promptly deciding to follow Griggs’ decision.

“You’re alive,” you breathlessly uttered as soon as you were both left alone.

“A bit roughed up, but yes, alive,” he winced back, turning his gaze towards you.

You knew he couldn’t feel the blissful exultation swarming your heart now that your ability was smothered by the collar secured around your neck, but you hoped he could see it in your eyes and in the way you just couldn’t seem to blink those relieved tears away.

Rick took a few steps towards you and let out a bated breath, as if he was finally allowed to exhale, as if he hadn’t been able to feel comfortable until standing near you again – and you then knew for a fact that if he couldn’t see the exultation in your heart, he at least felt it as well.

Without another word, he then tentatively brought a hand up before letting it hover uncertainly in the air. He seemed hesitant as if he wasn’t sure how to act anymore now that his mask of professionalism was gone, and you couldn’t help but let out a short chuckle. This was enough for a single droplet to finally fall from your brimming eyes, and the way Rick’s gaze seemed to soften even more at the sight of it almost led you to shedding a few more.

With utter cautiousness, he brought his hand to your face to brush the stray tear away and then left it there, his warm palm cradling your cheek.

“Looks like I’ve won again,” he said in a breath, the words merely stumbling out of his lips as if he were afraid to break that frail, tender moment of vulnerability between the two of you. His thumb gently stroked your cheek again and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, your gaze never once leaving his. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

You had once said that the only way for Rick to ever get close to you was for you to give out your last breath, and yet, ever since that very vow you had felt yourself ever-so-slowly opening up to him, as though there was something in the air and it was killing you softly.

Now that the sweet, sweet poison had filled up your lungs – all wrapped up in his arms and boring your gaze into his with a wide-eyed fascination – you chose to completely let go of that vow, braving the risk to perish and merely uttering back two candid, gentle words.

“Pretty please.”

Previous

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[spxllcxstxr]

Inked • S.B

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hi! Could I request a Soulmate AU with Sirius please? Marauders era with matching tattoos. No rush and thank you 🌹🖤 — @fific7

Summary: Mary is determined to find your soulmate and not even an oncoming storm will stop her. (Soulmate AU)

Warnings: some tattoo talk?, rain, thunder, I guess hints/implied bullying, Peter makes an appearance but like he’s not a key part and he’s not like bad or anything

Word Count: 2.3k

A.N: This is the kind of star I’m envisioning for your soulmark (just not yellow) I actually never specify the color, so you can imagine any color you want. This took me like a week to write for some reason. But I like how it turned out. Hopefully you guys do too! Love you all ❤️

****

No one ever told you that soulmarks tingled.

When the eight pointed star seared itself into the flesh of the inside of your left elbow at age sixteen, you thought that was it. You thought that it would just sit there innocently to the point where it wouldn’t cross your mind every second of every day, but Merlin were you wrong.

The prickling of the mark was constant, like pins and needles jabbing relentlessly into your arm. It wasn’t exactly painful, it was just an obnoxious and infuriating reminder that you still haven’t found your soulmate.

Hogwarts was practically the place for the vast majority of witches and wizards to find their soulmate, as it was basically the only topic discussed amongst the sixth and seventh years.

Honestly, you just wanted your mark to stop its incessant tingling to the point where you wouldn’t mind anyone being your soulmate. You’ve never heard any complaints from your friends who had already found their true loves, so you assume that the sensation stops eventually.

But you were tired of scratching at your arm making it look like you had some weird sort of flesh eating disease. It was unflattering and highly inconvenient.

Sure, you could run around like a headless hippogriff with your sleeve rolled up asking everyone you encounter if they’ve seen another person with that identical mark, but that’s not romantic. And you wanted romantic, Merlin damn it.

Plus, imagine the burn of embarrassment that would overtake your entire being if no one shared your soulmark. You shudder at the mere thought.

So, you learn to live with it.

You almost want to rip your arm off when it gets particularly bad while studying or trying to get the perfect measurement for your potion, but after a full year you’re almost used to it.

You’re used to how often your friends would gush about their own soulmates and their constant questions about why you’re still single as well.

Mary MacDonald, one of your best friends, had already found her soulmate, some boy from Beauxbatons that sent her too many Howlers during breakfast, but they loved each other, so who were you to complain?

But ever since she found hers, she’s been pretty determined to seek out yours. Even getting her boyfriend to ask around his own school. You can never show your face around Beauxbatons and that’s final.

She’ll make you sit around the courtyard, pretending to read a book, while she scans the arms of the many crowds in search of your star. Mary tries to walk in on top secret Quidditch practices to get a glimpse of any rolled up sleeves, but so far, no good.

That’s really the only reason she’s dragging you down to the Black Lake even though dark grey clouds are hanging heavy in the sky.

“Mary!” You huff as she drags you down the grassy hills, the smell of rain thick in the air. “I know what you’re doing, I’m not daft, y’know.”

Her hand tightens around yours as she starts to feel you resist.

“What I’m doing? (Y/n), it’s a nice day to just hang out at the lake!” Mary cries, the lie hidden well if she wasn’t your best friend.

“Mary it’s about to torrential downpour.” You scoff.

“I thought you liked the rain.” She shrugs innocently, the sound of weeds getting crushed beneath your school shoes loud in your ears.

“Mary, my soulmate might not even be at Hogwarts!” You exclaim, trying to get out of this whole situation. You could be curled up by the fire with a sugar quill, but no, why would Mary let you have some peace and quiet? “They might be older or younger than me—“

“Well we won’t know that, will we, until we check everyone in our year first.” She insists.

The deep murky water is in sight, a few people are lazily lounging around the water’s edge. Like they haven’t even noticed the rain clouds overhead.

“You’re obsessed.” You sigh, finally stopping your attempts to wriggle away from her.

“It’s because I love you.” She smiles sweetly at you, cheeks pushed high, obscuring her dark eyes.

You continue to rub the inside of your arm against the side of your abdomen, attempting to find some sort of relief. The scratchy fabric of your white button down against your grey vest is probably the most effective. The closer to the bank you get, the better you’re able to make out the figures.

The owner of the vibrant red hair was obviously Lily, one of Mary’s friends, and also the more sensible of the group considering her coat was tightly wrapped around her. She’s in a somewhat similar situation as you—she hasn’t shown her soulmark to anyone. However, if what Mary drunkenly told you one night is true, it matches James Potter’s to a tee. Poor her.

Peter was also there, kicking rocks around and chuckling at whatever story Lily was telling them. His Gryffindor jumper is a little short on him while his slacks are a little long, mud dirtying the hem of them. As far as you know, he doesn’t even have a soulmark. It’s not uncommon or something to be ashamed of, but ever since certain people found out, it’s been quite the issue. Sure the infamous Marauders took care of the situation the best they could, but the damage was already done.

The last person was obviously Sirius, you could tell by the way he has his wand situated in his bun. He was closer to the water, picking up flat stones to skip across. His bark like laugh echoing across the space. You and Mary weren’t too far from the group now, so you could tell that the top two buttons of his dress shirt were popped open. Sirius Black’s soulmark was another mystery. He seems like the type to brag about something as important as a soulmark, but as far as you know, only James, Remus, and Peter were privy to that sort of information.

“Hey guys!” Lily perks up, waving at the two of you.

You smile and wave at her, but as Mary stops and chat, you gravitate closer to Peter and Sirius.

“So where are the other two?” You ask, watching as his stone skips across the water, finally ending with a satisfying plunk!

Sirius turns to face you, a few loose strands framing his face, blowing slightly in the wind.

“Detention.” He remarks casually, lazily trying to tame his curls.

“And you two aren’t?”

Peter shakes his head enthusiastically, blond hair bobbing around. “Sirius and I managed to escape before Slughorn lost it.”

“Hey Pete!” You hear Mary call from behind you. “Don’t you wanna know what you missed in Muggle Studies?”

“Shit, yeah.” Peter bounds over to where Lily and Mary are sitting, leaving you and Sirius alone. Your feet shuffle at the predicament.

You slowly inch closer to Sirius, the large distance awkward without a third person. You’re forced to hold down a wince as your mark prickles almost painfully.

Sirius’ eyes are almost the same shade as the clouds in the sky as they pierce into yours.

“You know how to skip rocks?” He tosses you a smooth stone which you catch effortlessly.

You open your mouth to respond but before you’re able to, you’re cut off by a clap of thunder. The ripples of thunder makes you jump slightly.

“We should probably go inside—“ You start, shivering at the cold wind that begins to roll past you.

“Scared of a little thunder, (Y/n)?” Sirius teases, smirking at your shivering form.

“Don’t be a prick.” You snort. “Just throw your rock.”

You push the thought of the oncoming storm to the back of your mind as you position yourself on the bank.

The water laps at you shoes as you toe the edge, running your thumb over the smooth surface. You mirror Sirius’ position, slightly crouched at the knee, body angled towards the lake.

“One...two...three!”

You watch his body move fluidly through the positions, the stone releasing and skipping across the water delicately. Not only do you get distracted by Sirius, but the mark on your arm gives a sudden jolt, making your posture falter and your stone crash recklessly into the lake.

Sirius brings a ringed fist up to his mouth, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

“It’s not that funny.” You grumble, embarrassed.

“I mean, it’s pretty fucking hilarious. I thought you said you knew how to skip rocks?” He crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised, a chuckle still lightly escaping his amused smile.

“Technically, I didn’t tell you shit.” You remark. “The thunder cut me off.”

“Ah yes. The spooky thunder.” He drawls, wagging his painted fingers at you mockingly.

You bring your hand up to flick him off when you feel a cool dot of water drop onto your hand.

“Hey, did you just feel a—“

In the middle of talking, one raindrop becomes hundreds, the torrential downpour almost instantly soaking you to your bones. You hair plasters to your skin, clothes clinging onto you.

“—raindrop?” You utter weekly, a chill coming over you.

Your eyes widen as you look at Sirius, how his dark hair sticks wildly to his face, like curtains across his eyes.

Lily and Mary let out identical high pitched shrieks, and you hear the sound of mud squelching as the three run back towards the castle.

As Sirius tries to wipe the wet hair from his face, you grab onto his wrist, pulling him as your sprint back to the castle. You’re fumbling as you try not to slip in the mud but at the same time try get to the cover of the castle quickly.

“A little thunder, my arse, Sirius!” You huff out, his wrist still grasped tightly in your hand.

You hear him chuckle behind you, easily keeping up with your pace.

Cold water traces down your back and fills your shoes, your discomfort rapidly increasing with every step and every second you spend outdoors.

Your mind drifts off to Sirius, who was only in his white uniform button down. He must be freezing.

After sloshing through puddles and mucking up your shoes, you manage to get under the cover of the stone castle.

Your teeth are chattering and you body trembles, but at least the rain isn’t cutting into your skin anymore.

Lily, Mary, and Peter are nowhere to be found, though they’re probably making their way to the Gryffindor common room already.

Sirius is wringing out his drenched dark curls, his wand between his lips, but you’re too focused in the face that his shirt is now completely see through. Your eyes wander as you ogle his fit body, shamelessly trailing everywhere. You bite your bottom lip at your confidence.

However, something catches your eye as you admire his arms. A black splotch. Like a tattoo in the inside of his elbow. You somehow go colder than you already were.

“Admiring my beauty—Hey!”

You step forward and latch onto his arm, trying to get a better look at the spot on his arm. Initially, he struggles, but you jab your finger into his skin, your own mark tingling beneath your wet clothes.

“What’s your problem, (Y/n)?” He angrily grunts.

“What’s this, Sirius?” You demand, looking at him.

“Why?” Sirius rips his arm out of your grasp, trying his best to hide the mark from you.

“Because,” You explain, rolling up your own sleeve to expose the eight pointed star on your arm. “We might have something in common.”

Your entire body erupts into shivers both from the cold wind against your soaked skin and the way your soulmark buzzing.

The star stands out against your skin and you watch Sirius’ eyes widen, his jaw going slightly slack.

“Sirius.” You whisper. “I need to know if you’re my soulmate.”

The rain pounds against the castle, wind whistles, and thunder claps, and yet you don’t jump. You’re too focused on Sirius’ expression.

Silently, he brings his index finger to your mark and lightly traces the shape with his fingertip. His finger is cold, but you barely realize it because of the shock that runs through your body, originating from his touch. Goosebumps run wildly across your flesh.

He swallows harshly before pulling away and recklessly pushes his sleeve up the length of his arm. Your heart beats wildly in your chest in anticipation.

Sirius shoves his arm in front of you and you bring your gaze to focus on the inside of his elbow.

And there it is.

His soulmark.

Your soulmark.

The lines are clean and the points are sharp, the star is clear against his skin.

“Oh.”

“You’re my soulmate.” Sirius mutters. “Oh thank Merlin!” He’s laughing, a smile growing across his face.

His laughter is infectious and you find yourself joining him, practically jumping with glee.

Sirius latches onto you, pulling your wet bodies close. He brings his lips to your forehead, warmth spreading from the contact.

“We should celebrate.” Sirius remarks, pulling away just enough to see your entire form.

“Hold on.” You chuckle. “I think you’re forgetting to do something.”

His grey eyes flick down to your lips. “How could I ever forget the best part?” He smirks.

You lips are slow to connect, relishing in the sounds of the rain and how his his hands wrap around your elbows, thumb pressed into your mark.

When they finally join together, you feel whole. Like two puzzle pieces linked together. Eyes flutter shut as emotion run rampant through your body. Your mark tingles before fizzling out when you and Sirius disconnect.

You’re breathless as you cling onto him, as he clings onto you.

“We’ve got a party to throw,” Sirius grabs your hand. “soulmate.”

A stupid grin makes its way across your face.

“Lead the way, soulmate.”

•

Sirius Black Taglist: @quindolyn @fific7 @msmb @lunalovecroft

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

[oftenderweapons]

Meeting the Squad | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy), feat. BTS and their gfs

Wordcount: 4.8k

Genre: crack, fluff, angst

Rating: 18+

So, @scooby-galleta sent me this request a bit ago, and now, here it is!

hi miss Dita! hope you are doing great :) congratulations on reaching your first milestone!🎉 you are a really talented lady, and you deserve the world ❤️ now, I don't really know how the commissions and prompts works, so bare with me ok? 😅 OK, so you said to ask for something we would like to read, and you know how in jk's steamy waters it's mentioned the night he introduced candy to the guys? well, I really want to know more about that moment, like how was it, their thoughts and feelings during the meeting, all of that you know? and was it just the guys or the girls were there too? sorry if it's a little weird 😬 blame it on my love for your characters, and honestly? I live for the interactions they have with each other :) also, sorry for doing this through a submission, it got super long 😳 have a nice day/night! 💖

Trigger warnings: allusive jokes and comments, alcohol consumption, angst in form of TWO BIG LARGE FOOLS (one of them is actually not that large) REFUSING TO SAY THEY'RE HEAD OVER HEELS FOR EACH OTHER WITH ONE OF THEM BEING A VERY VERY STUPID DUMBASS KEEPING SECRETS. The maknae line is a flock of manaces and there's another pair of fools who is actually trying to deal with their issues. Guess who's who. TaexLace are intimidating and YoongixKitten are parental. The Soulmates are two gossips. NamjoonxVixen are full-time honeymooning (tho they aren't actually on their honeymoon).

almost forgot! This was beta read by my 2 favourite people, @nervous-moon and @joheunsaram. I love you, my bby 💜💜💜💖💖💖

here’s my masterlist! enjoy ✨💜

Entering the room was only mildly scary. And there were way more women than you thought.

“Everyone, this is ____, but you can just call her Candy.” Jeongguk said to the whole room, your eyes immediately meeting Jimin's kind and warm ones.

“Hi Candy!” he cheered, immediately friendly, and though you bowed to him, he opened his arms. “I wouldn't let a sister just bow. Come on.” And how could you deny him? His embrace was warm and welcoming, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Princess is around here somewhere…” he said with a large smile. “Welcome to the squad.”

You felt a blush creep to your cheeks as you thanked him, Jeongguk standing behind you, trying to be an anchor for you.

Seeing all seven of the wondrous BTS men in one single room was mind-blowing, but you got used to it pretty easily. While working for Big Hit, you had often caught glimpses of them, but your job was far from the guys' position and duties.

“Hello, I'm Kim Taehyung. Nice to meet you. And this is Lace, my girlfriend,” his introduction was brief and formal, the woman so alluring you had to blink a couple times to gather her opulent beauty, so full and vibrant that you struggled to understand it completely. “Nice to meet you too, guys,” you greeted them, picking up on their casual tone.

“Let's see if you can guess the couples. Some of them are easy, you have only four left to figure out,” Lace said, breaking the ice.

“How fun! Yes!” you agreed before observing the people in the room. “Okay, Yoongi and the girl beside him, drinking… maybe?” you mused, observing the way they talked quietly together.

Taehyung smiled and tutted. “Try again.”

“Of course, the one sitting, wearing black, talking with the bright coloured one, who should be Hoseok's girlfriend?”

Lace nodded, her face shaped in a lazy smile. “That's right. Only partly. That's just a very close friend of Hoseok. But they're probably dating. Don't tell him we know.”

You found yourself trying to hold back a snicker as you nodded. “So, the girl with Yoongi is probably Seokjin's and… The one helping Jin with the food is Namjoon's. Right?”

“Yes, that's right.” Lace’s enigmatic smile once more appeared, her hand naturally gravitating towards Taehyung’s waist. “We’re very happy to finally meet you. Jeongguk has told us quite a lot about you. He talks about you all the time,” Taehyung said, looking at the maknae with a proud expression. “We're glad to know he's in safe hands this time around.”

The compliment sank in slowly. Apparently you had passed Kim Taehyung's mythological vibe check. You were absolutely grateful for the door to the balcony opening, Namjoon and Hoseok emerging with two sets of beers. “Hey there!” the smaller one greeted you, already using informal speech since he knew you were born the same year as him.

“Hello!” you cheered back. Hoseok was easygoing from the very start. The way he introduced himself to you lively but not in an unsettling way. His friend greeted you next, her personality already manifesting itself with her strawberry blonde hair and the cute sprinkle of freckles peppering her nose. Plus, when she told you she works as a vet, she became your favourite human in the room.

After Jeongguk, of course.

“Nice to meet you,” spoke a deep voice from beside the fridge.

So it was actually true, Namjoon's voice was significantly lower in real life.

It was impressive. You were also impressed by his charisma, immediately understanding why he was the leader. However, that vibe of formality soon dissolved once a warm smile appeared on his face, turning him into the gentle giant Jeongguk always waxed poetic about. Watching the two of them hug felt very warm, like they were saying something to each other without even talking.

“Vixen? Come say hi,” Namjoon called, his hand moving slightly as if to invite her.

You had maybe never seen a woman so… so pretty. She was just. Pretty.

Her face spoke of gentleness and charm. “Hello,” she chirped, and no matter how small she looked beside her partner, she sounded like a queen.

“Uhm… Hello, hi, I'm _____.”

She smiled and you were slightly taken aback by it, your eyes running away, only to notice her hand in Namjoon’s. That felt endearing.

As the night progressed, you couldn’t help studying everyone as they moved across the living room.

Yoongi and Kitten were the exact opposite. They were sitting at different ends of the table and between them you could feel the reassuring solidity of a bond made of steel. They both greeted you, Kitten looking like someone who would take a while before speaking a word to you. Yoongi, although happy for his friend, also looked incredibly wary. Nothing like the exhilarating fireworks of the woman at his side — Angel — who seemed to be set on a very high average of oxytocin in her blood considering how bubbly and sparkly she was — but that was probably a side effect of being Kim Seokjin's girlfriend. Her expression got even brighter the moment he appeared behind her, placing a hand on her back, greeting you easily. Namjoon and Vixen seemed to be close all the time in a secret dance that oscillated between reassurance and attraction: even a fool would have noticed the insane chemistry between them. It was as if electricity was sizzling in the very air that divided them.

Watching all the interactions was fascinating and confusing at the same time: Hoseok and Giggles especially.

Jeongguk stared at them together with you. From what he had told you, Hoseok and him were the ones who had taken the longest to find a significant other — and formally, his hyung was still looking.

Jin had been the first and, quite apparently, he and his Angel were the kind of couple that didn't need much skinship to show their bond. From the way they talked to each other and looked at each other, you could feel so many things hidden, kept away from the public eye, from them sitting side by side at the table, moving in perfect synchrony, to the way their glances lingered on each other, Seokjin blushing and fussing each time Angel complimented his cooking — which was very often. He always said it was Namjoon's girlfriend's merit and moved on, still, he sported a proud smile on his face. Jeongguk looked at your face as you watched his friends around the table, his free hand touching your knee chastely, calling your attention.

You turned towards him, waiting for him to tell you something while all he did was smile, unknowingly becoming the object of Yoongi's attention.

The older man sat beside Jin and across from his girlfriend, who was instead sitting beside Jeongguk. It was a very complicated social network, where everyone seemed to have many things going on other than the insistent thanking for the food and complimenting culinary skills. Taehyung, for example, seemed to live in a different world from his girlfriend altogether — they had mentioned they had officially got together only a few weeks before and they were still settling. Still they seemed to radiate the same steady, pulsating magic, somewhat a fairy king and the most florid of nymphs. Across them, Giggles chuckled quietly, chatting with Kitten so comfortably that the two of them didn't quite make sense the same way Yoongi and Hoseok didn't, but at the same time, like their boyfriends, they seemed to be each other's favoured interlocutor. And then there was Jimin and Namjoon sitting at the shorter ends of the table. Jimin's Princess ate politely, in silence, mostly because like you she was busy scanning the table — and Hoseok most of all. You assumed it was because he was her boyfriend's roommate, and closest member.

You took your time before addressing your gaze to the other end of the table, where another kind of silence reigned.

Namjoon's compliments to his partner were quiet, barely hearable. She ate so elegantly, she looked so classy and poised, though from personal experience, you asked yourself what kind of undercurrents flowed under her crystalline looks. Her gaze was so sharp that once you met it, you averted your eyes, feeling your cheeks blush.

Though Jimin and Hoseok kept asking you questions, and you were eager to converse with them, Namjoon was kind enough to remind everyone you still needed to eat in peace.

“So, how was your trip, Vixen?” The question was casual, if not spoken a bit too brightly. The fact that it had come from Kitten made it even more curious.

The young woman seemed to brighten up all of a sudden. “It was amazing.” She fixed her hair casually, shyly, her whole face reddening, she turned to Namjoon and the glance between them was so intimate, so eloquent, his expression proud and happy.

“It really meant a lot to both of us. It was very relaxing after all the running and working for the tour,” Namjoon replied, looking at Kitten first, Yoongi next.

“We relaxed too, you know” Yoongi teased, stage whispering.

Watching Kitten bite her lip, you were glad for Jimin chirping in. “They're neighbours,” said the saccharine gossip.

You sucked in your lips while Jeongguk cackled mischievously. “You should go on holiday more often, hyung,” your boyfriend commented casually, his hand squeezing your knee unassumingly.

You looked at him, at his bright, boyish smile, at his cute cheeks. He was so in love with his people and you were so glad his quiet and timid persona had grown so splendidly in that environment.

“Well, after being apart for the tour, we all needed some quality time,” Lace admitted. She looked at Taehyung and once more, a veil of privacy seemed to cover her words as she reached his face and moved a lock of hair out of his face, the man basking in the softness of his lover.

“That's true,” you confirmed, searching for Jeongguk's hand to reassure him.

“Ouchie!” said a girly voice on the opposite end of the table. Giggles.

Hoseok was all over her in an instant, wrapping a tissue over her finger. “Clumsy berry,” he scolded her, his voice drenched in worry. “How did you even cut yourself.”

“I got distracted!” she whined back, Hoseok's lineaments becoming harsh in an instant before softening equally quickly.

Everyone was frozen in place, only Vixen standing up and expertly opening a cabinet to find a first aid kit.

“Thanks Vixen, but we should head to the bathroom so I can disinfect the cut.”

She smiled calmly as the other two stood up, Hoseok grabbing the kit and fussing over his… friend.

“Do we need to keep pretending he's not head over heels for her?” Vixen commented, finishing the last veggies on her plate, Namjoon eating her carrots while offering her his sliced cucumbers.

“I don't want to deal with the consequences of getting on his nerves,” Kitten admitted, Princess agreeing with a hum.

“He'll come around, at his own time,” Yoongi commented noncommittally.

Once they were back and all the food had been eaten, the team seemed to slip into comfortable little habits. “I'll do the dishes,” Namjoon informed, his girlfriend following him like a shadow.

“Let me help,” Angel exclaimed, wearing an apron as Vixen leaned against the counter, grabbing a cloth.

You were a bit confused, but you didn't have much time for that as the infamous soulmates dragged you and your boyfriend to the living room.

“Have you seen the rings? That vacation was definitely more than what they told us,” Jimin conspired. “Do you think they eloped?”

“Vixen would never,” Lace replied with surety.

“But she's been a bit off lately. Maybe they're expecting,” Taehyung suggested.

Lace and Princess shook their heads in unison. “Nah,” the latter excluded, looking at the scene by the kitchen sink.

“Angel and Jin are very different from last time,” Jeongguk noticed, Jimin blinking rapidly, knowing that what he knew shouldn't absolutely be shared.

“Maybe the alone time helped them too.”

Jeongguk hummed, thinking. “It's like… There's tension.”

You looked at how Jin kept chatting with his friends while keeping an eye on the figure by the counter. He was in love for sure, but there was also longing. A longing that shouldn't be half as painful considering the fact that the woman he was pining for was his girlfriend and loved him quite evidently — almost eclatantly so.

“I know I've never seen them before but I agree with you, there's tension,” you spoke softly, only needing for Jeongguk to hear.

“Angel is tense. Work and family keep squeezing her up, and she's tired. And Jin coming back didn't help. There's been rough days lately,” Princess informed.

“Isn't hyung helping?” Jeongguk asked, extremely concerned. He knew Angel was the perfect woman for Seokjin. But maybe he wasn't the perfect man?

“Help needs to be wanted in order to work, Kook,” Princess said with a heavy tone. “Maybe his help is not what she needs.”

Kitten and Yoongi reached the living room shortly after. As soon as he sat down, he spoke, “If anyone else needs to pick a ring, please don’t ask me for help.”

“Is he getting married?” Hoseok asked, joining the conversation as soon as he arrived.

“Hopefully,” Seokjin mused. “Vixen's been a blessing to him. Of course he would want to put a ring on it as soon as possible. Though it's very soon, I'll concede.”

Giggles sat far away from Hoseok, his eyes following her before a frown obscured his fine visage.

Yoongi nodded. “He knows what he's doing. Like he always has.” Kitten brought some beer and soju bottles on the table, Yoongi patting the empty seat beside him and her following his invitation immediately. He continued, “He believes in it. Like he believed in all of us.”

Jeongguk's arm snaked behind your shoulders and pulled you into him slightly before speaking, “One time he told me being with her is like laying on the grass in a park on a sunny day. He has no worries at her side.” You smiled at the image. It was a very Namjoon thing to say.

“Are you doing better, Giggles?” Lace asked after a couple seconds of silence, the conversation shifting to another topic.

“Yes, I just realised while you were all suffering for the tour, I hadn't even met Hoseok yet.” Her embarrassed look made you realise she was the kind of girl you could turn into one of your cartoon characters.

“Well, they're abroad this September for a few days, so you're going to experience their unexpected trips,” Princess spoke distractedly, toying with her necklace.

Giggles' face fell. “Oh.” She seemed to lock herself away further.

Hoseok internally cringed. That was his thing to tell. “There's a bunch of interviews mixed with recording and shooting new content.”

“You don't need to tell me.” You could tell she was being a little hostile.

“I need some fresh air. Giggles, would you like to come with?” Vixen asked by the living room door. The other woman stood, Hoseok slightly conflicted as he watched them head to the balcony.

“You're crazy,” Lace spoke, Taehyung placing a protective hand on her leg, Hoseok still too shaken by the rollercoaster of emotions that the whole night had been so far. “Weren't you going to tell her?”

“I was going to!” he objected, standing up, freezing, then starting to pace.

Namjoon and Angel arrived just in time, Namjoon easily solving the crisis. “She's in good hands,” he spoke, reassuringly rubbing his friend's shoulder. “But I think you should reconsider how you feel for her.”

He nodded and sat back down, Angel squeezing in beside Jin, by the corner, the man placing his arm along the back of the sofa while she placed her head on his shoulder, Seokjin blushing only lightly at such a display of affection in that semi-private environment.

Namjoon immediately noticed there wasn't much room left, opting to sit on the floor and leave some space beside Lace, where Giggles would feel safe.

“So, you're a graphic designer and you worked for Big Hit?” he asked, his question very appreciated on your behalf. It was way more inclusive and unobtrusive than anything you had expected.

“Exactly,” you replied, kindly, politely.

“She also makes comics!” Jeongguk added enthusiastically. “Her main character is a bunny, can you believe that!?” He was so excited that you only blushed and laughed at his enthusiasm. He turned to look at your happy expression, taking in the sound of your laugh. “She's perfect, isn't she?” he murmured, suddenly so entirely enamoured with you.

Yoongi and Seokjin exchanged a knowing glance before looking at the maknae with a fond expression. Behind closed doors the older men had always discussed their worries about Jeongguk's character, noticing how his desperate need for a companion had led him to search for love in dark places. Seeing you glow at his side calmed them both, and watching Jeongguk's extremely private nature bloom in your company was their biggest relief.

“I just draw little illustrations and post them online. No biggie,” you replied shyly, trying to dismiss Jeongguk's exaggeration.

“Oh, I need to follow you then!” Hoseok exclaimed, trying to stay in the conversation even though his gaze kept tumbling towards the way to the balcony.

You smiled at him and waved your hand. “Really, no need!”

Namjoon already had his phone out. “Drop the at, miss.”

You confessed it with a blush on your cheeks, your voice barely audible. “Thank you, guys,” you murmured as most of them typed in your username, Taehyung and Jimin exclaiming 'cute!' in unison as they found your page.

“In this house we support art,” Namjoon stated solemnly, smiling at you with warm eyes.

“I heard art!” said a voice from the kitchen, a curious expression on Vixen's face as she appeared on the doorway.

“Candy said she's a graphic designer and an illustrator,” Lace explained, her nose twitching a little as she sniffed at Taehyung. “You changed your cologne,” she whispered, her tone analytical.

“You said you like cedarwood,” he replied, Vixen picking up the conversation where Lace dropped it.

“That sounds so fun! Is there any kind of project you particularly enjoy?” she asked, smiling timidly as she noticed your eyes looking down, where Namjoon's hand grazed her calf.

“I really like doing mockups for websites. Different businesses mean different concepts so you never get bored,” you explained as she nodded, her hand subtly caressing Namjoon's hair as he leaned on her. They had to be in full honeymoon phase.

“I understand. That sounds very exciting. I guess it's the same reason why I love boutique hotels and luxury apartment buildings,” she confessed with a cheerful tone. You were a bit confused by her statement before Princess clarified, “she's an interior designer and art dealer.”

Your mouth went agape as you nodded. That made sense now. Even though you were still positive about her having a side job as a model. Though she wasn't the only one who could end up on a magazine even in their current homely attire.

Your sixth sense told you Kitten could easily strut down a catwalk and have everyone pining for her. Not to mention Princess.

“That sounds so interesting, really. As an artist it must be pretty fascinating to see things from the other side.” Her elegance seemed a little less intimidating now that you knew she was a fellow art lover.

“Oh, I spent many years living among artists and I must tell you your people are way more fascinating than mine!” Vixen seemed to get warmer and warmer as other conversations started developing around the two of you, Jeongguk and Namjoon observing your exchange in silence, smiling at each other as you got to know each other more, getting along perfectly.

“Well, now I know who to call if I have to design a nursery. Or if they ask me for an illustrator!” Vixen said with a chirpy laugh before promising you a courtesy ticket to her next exhibit.

Once your conversation concluded, Jeongguk and you looked at each other before he leaned his forehead against the top of your head.

“So, how is he doing, Candy?” Jimin asked, his voice tauntingly mischievous.

You chuckled. “He's not doing bad. At all. His fear of microwaves is slightly unnerving but very endearing. I can live with that,” you quipped, eliciting a reboant laugh from Taehyung.

“Really Guk? Still with the microwave?” he teased.

“I just prefer staying away. They're not that healthy anyways,” he considered. “I'm sure you have pet peeves too,” Jeongguk quipped, Princess getting the cue immediately.

“Oh, he has. He only washes the dishes with the gloves on because 'my hands are too delicate',” she said, imitating Jimin's voice and accent. “And the dirt on the dishes makes him queasy.”

“That's not true!” he scoffed, looking at his girlfriend with a pout.

“That is true,” Taehyung confirmed. “And you're a spoiled brat who likes to sleep in.”

Jeongguk stood and grabbed a drink, passing one to Namjoon and Seokjin too before he moved behind the sofa, placing a hand on your shoulder right before you laid your palm on top of it, touching your fingers.

“You always sleep in too!” Jimin contested, Lace nodding silently while her boyfriend stared at her with wide puppy eyes full of youth and adoration. From the way Taehyung looked at her you were sure you could safely bet your life on him treating her like his goddess. “I have such a beautiful girlfriend, I don't see why I shouldn't sleep beside her as long as I can.”

Jeongguk squeezed your hand, making you look at him. “Lovey dovey,” he whispered, making fun of his friend.

You shook your head before smiling mischievously. If he made fun of his friend it was only right for things to be even. “Well, Jeongguk still wakes up super early to work out—” He wore a threatening face before you turned to the guys. “But he always showers and comes back to bed because he says wants to watch me wake up.”

Jimin bent over, hand on your knee as he tried to hold himself from falling over with his uncontrollable laughter, while Taehyung simply stared at you with an amused look on his face. He knew Jeongguk was incredibly romantic, almost sappy, but you confirming it made his day — and also made him look at you with even more familiarity and affection; if you managed to make Kook happy, then he was happy too, and if you lovingly embraced his tender side and welcomed his gallant courting, then Taehyung couldn't expect anyone better for his friend. Plus, you playing along in the friendship dynamics was really something.

Nothing like his ex for sure.

“Don't be bothered by them. That's very sweet, Jeongguk. There are plenty of women out there who wish to have something like what you give to Candy,” Princess said tactfully, ever the balanced, soothing presence.

You picked your head up, tipping it back as you looked at him, sneakily mouthing an 'I love you' that made him blush to his ears and made you smile gently.

As your gaze fell once more to the people on the sofa, you noticed Yoongi and Kitten quietly chatting with Giggles, talking about her experience in the city since she had started working there only a couple months earlier. She was sitting beside Lace, just as Namjoon's move had hinted. Her face was adorably flushed and though her previous stressful situation, now she looked significantly more relaxed, mostly because of the couple's anchoring presence.

Out of all the couples in the room, they seemed extremely parental, so calm and composed, almost as if they were emanating reliability from their very pores. You simply listened to them for a while, studying their mannerism: Yoongi, apparently unaffected, chatted with his friend's crush while Kitten's arm, curved behind the sofa, allowed her hand to draw patterns on Yoongi's fresh undercut, where his hair had to be soft and short, like velvet under the touch.

However, your observation was cut short by Jimin calling you back into the conversation, which proceeded deep into the night, until half past midnight, when Vixen's intense yawning caused Namjoon to insist on them going home.

“I can lay down in your room, I don't want you to miss out,” she replied meekly, staring at her boyfriend with bambi eyes that reminded you of Jeongguk's most efficient persuasion techniques.

“I think we all need some sleep, right?” Yoongi added, since — contrary to you — he knew that Kitten petting his hair meant that she was sleepy.

“Uhm… Lace, are you taking the bus?” Giggles asked quietly, knowing that the woman was probably the only one headed in her same direction.

“I'll drive you home,” Taehyung reassured Giggles before Hoseok jumped in. “I'll drive you.”

Seokjin placed a hand on Hoseok's knee. “Let Taehyung drive her.”

Giggles looked visibly uncomfortable for a minute. “No… it's— it's okay, thank you Seokjin. I guess I'll just drive with Hoseok if he doesn't mind.”

He looked like the sun appearing from behind a cloud. “I don't mind at all.” His face was so relieved as it beamed up.

“Anyone staying in the dorms?” Yoongi asked, especially glancing at Namjoon, Vixen's eyes closed as her head leaned on his shoulder. “She's exhausted. I think we'll just crash here.”

Yoongi agreed with sympathy, Jimin and Hoseok obviously communicating with their eyes. They were the only ones who still shared a room.

“I'll head home after I drive her,” the older said.

“You're staying at mine, right?” Yoongi asked Kitten before she nodded sleepily. He smiled fondly. Now everyone seemed to look at Jeongguk. And you.

“No, I'm staying at mine tonight,” he informed, helping you up from the sofa.

“Good. Only Namjoon at the dorms. We're meeting here tomorrow to prepare for the interviews, right?” Seokjin questioned, reminding everyone of their unusual schedule.

“What time is it again?” saidTaehyung just as Jimin complained, “Not in the morning, please!”

“Tomorrow at two pm sharp. Please, let's be punctual since we all have people at home waiting for us,” Namjoon reminded everyone, his hand wandering to Vixen's smaller one.

“Okay, boss!” Jeongguk joked, everyone stirring into motion.

Yoongi and Kitten were the first to leave, saying bye to everyone as they left hand in hand, him wearing a bucket hat and her disappearing in a hoodie before joining him in the chilly summer night. Next were Seokjin and Angel, his lower face hidden behind a face mask while she carefully donned a silk scarf around her head.

Everyone seemed so skilled at concealing themselves and you realised that had become part of your life too as you pushed the hem of your hood down your face before saying goodbye to Vixen and Namjoon. You had almost wanted to hug her, but she was safely locked in Namjoon's embrace, his arms around her waist and her head slotted under his chin.

Everyone else left together with you and Jeongguk, Taehyung and Lace waving at you in the parking lot while you climbed into your boyfriend's car.

“We’re sleeping together tonight, right?” he asked, his voice frail.

“Yes, baby,” you confirmed before placing your hand on his leg.

He smiled at you. “Then let's go for a drive. I don't want them seeing me taking you to mine.”

You froze a little, confused. “Why…”

“They'll tease me non-stop. I don't care too much about that, I just care about you.” Jeongguk caught your hand and kissed it, your fear immediately dissipated. It was childish, but it was also extremely in style with his friends. “Also, in case anyone follows us from the dorms. Unwanted people.”

You agreed with a nod and let him drive you through a quick trip around his neighbourhood, enjoying the city lights and his exquisite playlist.

Once in the parking lot, he switched off the engine, waiting a couple minutes. He was almost ready to kill the lights when he spotted two figures in the dark.

“Get down,” he said, his voice protective, his hand on your head as you balled up in the space before the seat.

“Wait.” Jeongguk squinted at the two people, immediately recognising a sweater. As they turned and shifted, Jeongguk switched off the car.

“Fuck, we were right.”

“Kook?” you called, afraid.

“You can come up, baby. Come look.”

As you sat back up, you gasped. “Oh my god.”

You recognised a cascade of strawberry blonde hair, and a very colorful striped shirt. You had been staring at it most of the night.

Right before your eyes, under the cold neon lights of the parking lot Jung Hoseok was making out with his "friend", Giggles, and that hand was most definitely not looking for his keys as he pushed it up her shirt.

[bigskydreaming]

@hood-ex

Okay but re: the subject of wingfic.....picture this....His Dark Materials style AU where instead of kids having daemons who shapeshift until they settle, kids have wings that are constantly shifting and trying out new forms until they settle.

And maybe Dick’s generation is the first one to have this.....like, the DC multiverse is constantly having these universe-altering Crises, that are all metaphysical and unleash and reshape cosmic and universal creation energies....and early in Dick’s tenure as Robin, let’s say the DC multiverse undergoes a Crisis whose resolution has an unexpected side-effect.....at that point forward, teens begin manifesting their like, soul or whatever, in physical or metaphysical form, in the shape of wings.

They first pop up around when kids start entering puberty, and tend to settle around them kinda ‘finding themselves’ as adults....and we’re not talking just bird-type wings. Wings of any kind, any shape, any material. They’re described as ‘metanatomy’ not in the sense of metas having altered anatomy but more in the sense of how metaphysical relates to physical.....these wings don’t have to prescribe to any biological or anatomical rules because they’re not biological in nature. Kory’s people describe the wings as a child’s ‘over-soul’ - a manifestation of their fundamental, individualized essence that’s overlaid on top of their physical self.

So, many wings are bird-like in nature, physically capable of being touched, damaged, healed, etc....but just as many are batlike or dragon-like, they can be just wing-shaped and made of fire, they can be mechanical appearing or insectoid or pretty much anything. There was a period when Dick was around fourteen when his wings were just wispy wing-shaped stormclouds behind him, lightning constantly flickering up and down their lengths as though it were the wings’ veins.....another period where they were just giant sweeping shadows behind him that he could nevertheless fly with, and while he was Robin, they most consistently manifested as bright, gleaming swaths of luminescence that glowed as though they constantly had spotlights trained on them. 

(Which had Bruce paranoid it would just make Dick an easy target, until they realized that a ‘side-effect’ of Dick’s wings when they looked like this was instead of making it easier for the bad guys to train their weapons on him, even the most hardened villains would find themselves hesitating to pull the trigger. Some kind of pulsating, emotion-laced effect of those wings drawing their attention was it was more like moths drawn to a flame....they were so busy being momentarily entranced or hypnotized by the spectacle of them that they were usually a second too late in actually firing....by which time Dick was in a position to strike them first. Well, at least that’s how it went until the Joker managed a lucky shot anyway. But then, when isn’t that asshole an exception to the rules?)

Some wings had little quirks or fringe effects that went with them taking on a certain form or appearance....though those didn’t tend to stick around when the wings shifted to a different appearance, unless a person’s wings settled in the shape a particular fringe effect was associated with. Like when Roy hit adulthood, his wings settled in the appearance of bright red feathered wings with black accents......his wings are fairly small and not suited for long range flight, or even flight in general, as they tend to be more useful in helping him glide in short, quick spurts. But they also come with a perk unique to him....when Roy uses his own feathers to fletch his arrows, those arrows never ever miss. 

In adulthood, Donna’s wings settle as giant bird-like wings, all black feathers with silver specks of stars scattered all across them, same as her Troia costume. They’re like patches of night sky sliced straight out of the heavens, and when Donna’s in costume she’s impossible to see cutting through the dark. Her huge sweeping wings would cast an easily noticed shadow over the ground if not for the silver specks dotting her feathers, but thanks to those, by the time she’s close enough for you to make out her features, distinct from the night sky, its far too late to do anything but go oh fuck.

Wally’s wings are more of a presence than a visual. Hummingbird type things that match his speed but never manage his stillness. Beating at the air a furious several hundred wingflaps per second, so even when he’s standing still he’s far from motionless....the air around him thrumming with movement, humming with vibrations that make it look like he’s constantly surrounded by shimmering ribbons of heat baking off an asphalt pavement. And again, that’s when he’s just standing still. When he actually gets agitated, they hit the air like a thunderclap. Sparks shooting up from the points of contact as the friction of them is so fast and furious it ionizes the atmosphere around him all on its own.

Garth’s can be a bit unwieldy when on the surface, but in the water they make him glide faster and smoother than any Atlantean before him. Stretching out from torso to underarms like the wings of a manta ray, they’re black and gray and streaked with purple like his eyes and the tattoo around it, just inverted. The material of them thick and coarse enough that when he flings his arms out or wrapped around himself just so, the folds of his wings draped around him create a dense barrier capable of shrugging off any number of projectile impacts.

Vic’s are mechanical marvels, smooth and sleek metallic expanses that aren’t dissimilar to Marvel’s Archangel, but where Warren’s feathers are knife-like flechettes, Vic’s host a variety of sensory arrays and feed him all sorts of data. Gar’s never fully settle....they shift as often as he does, sometimes vast and feathered, sometimes batlike and leathery....always green though, and always there no matter what animal he shifts into. He’s never a snake so much as a feathered serpent, a pegasus instead of a horse, a manticore instead of a mere lion, and well, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen Beast Boy take to the streets of Manhattan as a T-Rex with giant pterodactyl wings. Why his wings never fully settle could be due to his shape-shifting or it could just be in his nature.....Gar’s the original Lost Boy who’ll never FULLY grow up.

Raven’s are purple and black on the outside but bone-white on the inside.....like her empathy, they cut both ways. When she pulls her wings tight around her and someone else like a protective shroud, they can shield her and those in her care from prying eyes and scrying magic....when she throws them wide and strikes out with them at enemies on either side, the touch of her feathers is like feeling the cold of the grave. Kory’s are a deeper, royal purple juxtaposed beside Raven’s shadowed inky violets.....but rather than feathered, Kory’s are tall and draconian, imperious and imposing canvases adorned with swirls of red and green like nebulas painted across a cosmic backdrop. Curling emerald flames lick around the edges of them just like her starfire sometimes dances through her hair.....even when ‘ablaze’ her wings are cool to the touch if she invites you to touch them, but touch them uninvited and you’re going to get burned. Badly.

Lilith’s are four enormous feathered wings of green and gold and black spread behind her like the many layered wings of a seraph. They’re decorated in various places with dark concentric circles like those found on peacock feathers....until those circles flare and open wide and you realize you’re staring at dozens of eyes that are all looking back at you.....each a window to your own soul, freezing you in place with a glimpse of your own darkest secrets or possible destiny.

Joey’s are many-hued mosaics, like wings made of stained-glass windows. Hazy and indistinct shafts of rainbow light slanting through his varied ‘feathers’ when he spreads his wings in the air behind him.....like viewing screens or windows they show glimpses, afterimages of everyone he’s ever joined his soul to when riding shotgun in their bodies.....making them forever a part of him, a link he can tap into at will and rendering his power less about possession and more about connection, a forever-door that lets him merge with one of his previously tethered-to teammates, no matter where they are in relation to him. But with the slight change that now what he makes up for in range, he loses in stealth, as his wings show up behind the body of his ‘host’ for as long as he remains merged with them.

And Dick’s wings finally settle in adulthood to sweeping feathered wings of blue and indigo banded with gold.....but where his presence is less attention-commanding than in his younger years, his impact is definitely felt. As his settled wings act as an epicenter for a kind of gravitational bubble around him that’s keyed to his mood.....when he’s lighthearted and in high spirits, everyone around him feels a little bit lighter, purely in a physical sense, gravity within his sphere of influence being a little less heavy, leaving his friends and teammates a little lighter on their feet, quicker in their reactions, etc, etc. When he’s feeling heavy though, his immediate environs feel it with him - though that’s not always the worst result when surrounded by enemies he’s better off having feel overburdened, weighed down, like they’re struggling to get to their feet and the air itself is sitting a little heavier in their lungs every time they take a breath.

[cakesunflower]

a court of golden shadows: elain archeron and azriel endgame

so this is like an 11 page paper i wrote on why i think Elain Archeron and Azriel from Sarah J. Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses are endgame. i made a joke on twitter that i’d write a proper MLA format styled paper on them because i love them so much and a bunch of my moots convinced me to do it so here i am.

this is for the Elriel lovers like myself. if you read it, which you don’t have to, please refrain from commenting anything negative. everyone is entitled to their own opinions, and this whole essay is just my opinion on it. so if you read, i hope you enjoy!!

keep in mind, it’s LONG.

         A Court of Golden Shadows: Elain Archeron and Azriel Endgame

Sarah J. Maas’s fantasy series A Court of Thorns and Roses displays epic, world-shattering love stories among the thrilling action and fantastical elements present throughout the novels, as seen in the romance between Feyre Archeron and Rhysand and, most recently, Nesta Archeron and Cassian. Two sisters have already accepted and embraced the (so-called) rare mating bond with their respective counterparts, yet the question remains on what is to happen with the middle sister, Elain Archeron, who apparently has a mating bond of her own with Lucien Vanserra, but has not, for two books and a novella, made any indication of accepting it. However, Elain, in her quiet, gentle way, has shown to be more attentive towards the Night Court’s resident Shadowsinger and Spymaster, Azriel. Who, in turn, has notably started to move on from a five-century long love harbored for another female and gravitating towards the last remaining Archeron sister.

It can be said that the concept of the three Archeron sisters all ending up with the three Illyrian males is a cliché, but if done right, they can capture the reader in their grasp—one that no one would want to get out of. Taking a look at the novels, particularly starting from the second book, A Court of Mist and Fury, since this is where Azriel’s character is introduced, it is difficult to ignore the fact that Maas has been laying the groundwork for Elain and Azriel—or Elriel, as I will refer to them throughout this paper—to be a couple from the moment they met, whether these hints are subtle or obvious. In chapter 24 of ACOMAF where Feyre, the Illyrian faes, and her sisters have dinner together, we see tentative interactions between Elain and Azriel, despite the two of them having just met and Elain, as a mortal who grew up with stories of the terrors of faeries, seems to look towards the spymaster more. The first glimpse of their interaction, no matter how small, is shown on pages 253-254 when “a faint smile bloomed upon Azriel’s mouth as he noticed Elain’s fingers white-knuckled on that fork”. Though this moment can be overlooked, it is only the first of many oncoming moments of Azriel noticing Elain and her actions, a subtle hint of the spymaster’s attention towards Elain. The focus of attention is returned when Elain then turns to Azriel a few pages later, wanting to know more about their ability to fly, even so far as going to say “That’s very beautiful” when Azriel describes Illyrians as being “born hearing the song of the wind” (256-257). Additionally, there are two moments in this particular chapter where Elain, in some semblance, looks towards Azriel as a way of relaxing herself. The first is noted when Azriel’s attention is said to be on Elain, and he offers her a “polite, bland smile”, and Feyre notices how Elain’s “shoulders loosened a bit” in response to it (256). Rather than looking towards Feyre for indicators during an unexpected dinner with faeries, Elain seems to be more drawn to looking at Azriel, which is shown once again in the following passage: “Rhys chuckled, Cassian’s wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and Elain, noticing Azriel’s ease as proof that things weren’t indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well” (258). Elain tends to check everyone’s reactions to the circumstances to determine the levels of tension in the atmosphere, but she truly seems to be put at ease when she notices Azriel’s own relaxed state, once again indicating the attention she pays to him from the moment they met.

The first three books in Maas’s series are told through Feyre’s perspective, so it can be said that our perception of and desire for Elain and Azriel getting together is skewed because of the point of view we are given. I, however, consider this to be a moot point because Feyre’s character is the type to notice everything around her. She comes to grow close to both Azriel and Cassian, and with Elain being her sister, the reader can depend on Feyre as being as much of a reliable narrator to tell us exactly what she sees and how she sees it. With this in mind, some of the examples given will be from Feyre’s own musings, but it is important to note that she, more than once, groups Elain and Azriel together. This is shown when, in chapter 49, Feyre is distracting Rhysand as she tries to take care of his wounds and muses about her sisters visiting Velaris. There, Feyre mentions to Rhysand, “I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet”, before proceeding to think to herself—and the reader, “I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together” (487). Of course, this observation is followed by the acknowledgement of Azriel quietly loving Mor, as he has for centuries, yet what we don’t know, during this, that this wouldn’t remain an issue for long.

Moving on to focus on the third installment of the series, A Court of Wings and Ruin, there is a solemnity surrounding Elain, who, at the end of the second novel, was forcefully turned into fae against her will. After the transformation, Elain has become a shell of who she used to be, trapped in a state of deep mourning of the humanity she lost, of the love of her fiancé she inevitably lost, too. She doesn’t eat nor does she speak to anyone, an empty yet no less beautiful version of herself as her Cauldron given powers, unbeknownst to everyone else, manifest. But even in her state, in her indifference towards her mate Lucien and yearning for her human fiancé Graysen, Elain managed to acknowledge Azriel. He is gentle with her, much like everyone else, as he carries her into the townhouse, smiles, inquires if she’d like for him to show her the garden. And although he stands tall, intimidating in his fighting leathers and large wings, Elain does not recoil from him in fear or shyness. Instead, she takes the arm he offers her and, although it is unsure if she is looking at his Siphon or his scarred hands, she still utters “Beautiful” in response to him (254). Even when life has unexpectedly turned bleak for Elain, even when the world loses its color in the aftermath of the trauma she suffered, in that moment, there was a glimpse of who she used to be as she found beauty in nothing but Azriel.

This same chapter is followed by an insightful conversation between Feyre and Rhysand, triggered by Feyre watching her sister and Azriel. Feyre notes how at odds Azriel looks sitting in the garden next to Elain in his armor, yet she still questions, “Why not make them mates?” (257). This spurs a significant conversation between the High Lord and High Lady, where readers are given some more history on mating bonds and introduced to the prevailing concept of rejected bonds. Rhys provides examples of ill-chosen bonds, such as his parents, who were mates yet their relationship was not ideal in the least. Here, we are told that sometimes fate, the Mother, whatever chooses two mates can be wrong in its pairings, and it is rare for the bond to bring together “true, paired souls” (258) like Feyre and Rhysand. It has been established that the female can reject the bond, and while the male may feel the tug of it, it’s their burden to push through it. Maas spends an entire page or so talking about the concept of ill-chosen or rejected bonds, so it would be naive to look over these details if they weren’t placed in the storyline for a reason. Elain and Lucien may be mates, and Azriel (at least currently within the book) may be in love with Mor, but the idea of free will is not something to be so easily dismissed. Elain already had the choice of her humanity, her mortality, ripped away from her—it’s doubtful she would let this pattern continue.

In chapter 24 of A Court of Wings and Ruin, when Elain is having her first conversation with Lucien, she states, “No one ever looked—not really” (252), and although here she is referencing Graysen, this statement comes around a few chapters later. In chapter 27, Elain walks in on a conversation amongst the Inner Circle, and Azriel was the first to step forward as he noticed something amiss. His observations and questions when he says to her, “[But] you heard something else” and “What did you see” indicate that he, unlike Feyre and Nesta, believes that Elain’s riddled musings have a deeper meaning and need to be heard. The scene ends with Feyre looking to Azriel, noticing that his “hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away” (287). Azriel didn’t brush off what Elain said, because while her sisters thought Elain had gone mad, Azriel listened to her—he looked. He looked past her “too-thin body” and read between the lines of what she said, and knew there was more than what meets the eye. He looked, which was exactly what Elain had wanted.

This is repeated in chapter 32, when Elain brings up another queen and no one is quite sure what she’s talking about, except for Azriel, who steps forward and gently prods Elain to elaborate. Even Lucien watches Elain warily, questioning if they need to help her, yet Azriel is firm in his assessment that Elain doesn’t need help, that they need to be the ones who need to listen, before ultimately determining that she does, in fact, have powers and is established to be a seer. So while Lucien “stared and stared at [Elain], as if he’d never seen her before”, it was Azriel who actually looked at her and saw what no one else was seeing, whose acknowledgment of her gift and the attention he brought to it from everyone else “freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in” (336).

The idea of Azriel truly looking at Elain transitions into him looking for her, too. But first, another example of the former is seen in chapter 63, when Feyre, Nesta, and Amren hear the call of the cauldron in the middle of the night. They wonder about it, question why they three heard it because they were Made, not noticing that another who was Made was missing from their group. That is, until, Azriel asks, “What about Elain?” (560), and he is moving alongside the sisters to inspect Elain’s tent, only to find her missing. Azriel notices Elain—whether she is present or not. And so the concept of Azriel looking for Elain is introduced when they are discussing Elain’s rescue from Hybern in the following scene:

“From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, “Then you will die.”

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”” (563).

There was no hesitation on Azriel’s part in being the one to get Elain back, but there was obvious rage, as noted, in his gaze at the very idea of Elain having been kidnapped. A silent, lethal aura surrounds the shadowsinger that can be so clearly picked out within that scene, showcasing Azriel’s unwavering determination in returning Elain, even if it meant slipping into the heart of enemy camps—especially if it meant that. And throughout the dangers and urgency of this particular mission, when they do reach Elain, Azriel takes a moment to be tender towards her as he “gently removed the gag from her mouth” (573) and asks if she’s hurt. Elain, in turn, is shown to be “devouring the sight of him, as if not quite believing it” before she says “You came for me” (573). Elain looks at Azriel in wonder and disbelief, and this reaction hints towards how she feels drawn towards him. In their very first meeting during the dinner in the Archeron house, Elain looks to Azriel for reassurance, for judgement of the situation, and in the event of her rescue, she finds that same kind of comfort on a far more intense level. Because here, he truly is her rescuer, appearing in front of her to save her from the dangerous hands of their enemies and bring her to safety. And Azriel, in this sense, is devoted to her, holding up his fierce promising of getting her back. Even when he was injured, Azriel held onto Elain, refusing to let her go even while getting shot at and chased, and when they landed in their own camps, the first thing he claimed was for someone to get the chains off of her, rather than even mentioning his own injuries. This just reminds us of ACOMAF when Elain was being dragged to the cauldron and Azriel wasn’t even conscious to witness it—there is no doubt that if he was awake—and uninjured—he would’ve done all he could to save her. Maas robbed us of that type of scene.

Furthermore, evolving from the concept of Azriel rescuing Elain, we get another significant scene between the two of them that displays the kind of trust these two characters smoothly and effortlessly developed. On top of Elain accepting Azriel’s offers of taking her to the garden, a silent indicator that his company was one she enjoyed, Azriel shows a great act of trust to Elain as well when, in chapter 69, he offered her the use of his beloved knife, Truth-Teller. This blade is Azriel’s most prized possession, and to offer it to Elain to bring her the same kind of comfort and safety that we have seen she finds in Azriel himself portrays the trust he has in her—and his desire to protect her. This is emphasized when Rhys tells Feyre, “Never. . . I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife” (610). Even Cassian was stunned that Azriel would let someone else use Truth-Teller, which is significant to note given that he has not let even Cassian nor Rhys—his brothers he has known for centuries—even touch it. And Elain, who had refused to take the knife Cassian had offered her, ends up accepting Truth-Teller—because it’s Azriel’s, and because through the short time she’s known him, he is someone she has poured her trust into and understands he wouldn’t lead her astray. And he didn’t, for it was Elain who “stepped out of a shadow” (653) and used that very same blade to kill the King of Hybern. A temporary gift, given from Azriel, that she used to put an end to one of the greatest threats to both the human and faerie realms.

In the post-war novella A Court of Frost and Starlight, Maas furthers the Elriel endgame agenda by continuing both subtle and blatant hints in their favor—and not just through actual interactions between the two. The concept of Azriel avoiding Lucien because of his mating bond with Elain is important to remember, for it will come back around later. But in this novella, we see it when Rhysand asks Azriel if he keeps an eye on Lucien, given that he is the spymaster. Azriel, in turn, informs him that he does not track his movements, because “He is Elain’s mate” and “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him”, which Rhysand, since this is shown from his perspective, notes is because Azriel does not want to be aware of if and when Lucien seeks out Elain, and what they do together—if they do anything at all, given Elain’s tendencies to utterly ignore Lucien (70). Rhysand questions Azriel’s motives on this, but doesn’t get a response, but there is an understanding of Azriel’s intentions behind it. Not only does he want to remain ignorant of the forced bond between Elain and Lucien, but a big motivator for him is also Elain’s privacy, which he doesn’t want to intrude on—ironic, given that he is a spy, and it’s his job to know of others’ movements and thoughts.

Another example of Azriel very subtly showing his blossoming feelings towards Elain is when he unforgivingly states that if Lucien were to kill Elain’s ex-fiancé, then “good riddance” (71). He was well aware of how Graysen treated Elain after finding out she was fae, is the one who sits with her in the gardens because he is a comforting presence for her in the face of mourning, so he understands her. This idea is repeated in Azriel’s bonus chapter in A Court of Silver Flames, when Rhysand catches Azriel almost about to kiss Elain—that is definitely to be unpacked later—and warns him that Lucien has the right to invoke a Blood Duel to defend the mating bond, and Azriel does not hesitate, is confident, when he retorts that he would easily defeat Lucien, would have no problem in pulling Elain out of a bond she doesn’t even want.

The novella also includes some more obvious, sweet moments between Elain and Azriel, ones that show Elain’s own growing interest and feelings towards Azriel. Like in chapter 12, when Feyre notes that when Azriel enters the room, she feels Elain freeze at the sight of him, and then Elain proceeds to be almost in a trance when Azriel, after she greets him, moves towards her and takes the heavy dish of potatoes from her hands and says he’ll take care of it for her (105). This scene then continues when Elain hurries off to make herself more presentable, and rather than letting others dive into the food, Azriel stops Cassian from putting food on his plate and all but commands him to “wait until everyone is seated before eating” (106). Rhysand informs Feyre that this sudden reaction from Azriel stemmed from the treatment his mother received as a near servant, but it can also be tied to how Azriel keeps aware of Elain and the recurring theme of looking after her in any way. He notices her, just as she notices him, a subtle way of this being present in Elain’s solstice gift to Azriel. She doesn’t get a gift for Lucien, her mate, but does get one for Azriel, one that makes him laugh in a way that, Feyre notes, she’s never heard before. A genuine sort of joy breaking the cold, indifferent mask of the shadowsinger as he accepts and cherishes the gift Elain gave him—the extent of which we see in his bonus chapter, where it is revealed that he looks at the small vial every night before going to sleep, a not-so-subtle showing that Elain is the last thought on his mind before he descends into slumber.

This notion of the two of them looking after one another in their own ways is again repeated in A Court of Silver Flames in the following passage on page 221:

Azriel smirked. “You and Nesta are wanted down there.”

“Because of the shit with Elain?”

Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?”

Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened.

Throughout the friendship they have formed, Azriel becomes a kind of protector of Elain’s, deriving from her being a part of their Inner Circle as well as the notion of Azriel’s own personal feelings for her. He is so obviously shown as going on the defense at the news of Elain getting into any kind of fight, of Elain potentially being hurt. It’s repeated on page 233 when Elain and Nesta are arguing, and after Nesta utters a nasty comment that lands on Elain like a blow, there is an acknowledgement of the “shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike”. The shadows, of course, are Azriel’s, ready to jump between the sisters and defend Elain from Nesta’s verbal attack, to once again be her protector.

Of course, we can’t forget that Elain has a mate in Lucien, and how it seems to offer the enticing forbidden love trope between her and Azriel. We see a hint of it in A Court of Wings and Ruin, when in chapter 24, Lucien can scent where Elain had gone off to and who she’d gone with, in this case having it be Azriel, and he’d nearly snarled until Rhysand assured him that Azriel wasn’t the “ravishing type” (254)—although I think we can all agree that he most likely is, but wouldn’t even dream of it in terms of the state Elain was in at the time. Maybe it is the mating bond or maybe it’s both Elain and Azriel’s quiet personalities—or perhaps a combination of the two—but the shyness that has them looking at each other and then looking away continues. On page 467 of A Court of Silver Flames, Cassian notes how Elain nods shyly towards Azriel, who in turn offers her a small smile that she quickly looked away from, prompting Cassian to be puzzled as he wondered, “Lucien was certainly not here to snarl at any male who looked at her for too long”. Elain doesn’t look away from Azriel because of the bond, but perhaps because she is well aware of her feelings for him and, for the moment, is too shy for them to be known, especially by Azriel.

The mating bond between Elain and Lucien does serve as a barrier between her and Azriel, though. This is particularly present during the Winter Solstice, when a layer of Azriel’s character specifically has been peeled back to show his feelings for Elain. Like on page 597, when Elain is laughing at Nesta, the older Archeron sister notes that “Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it”. And if that wasn’t enough, Nesta watches as Azriel’s “gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting”. This is perhaps the most prominent moment of both of their feelings being reciprocated by the other, because Nesta notices the way they look at one another, as if they both see past the person they put in front of everyone else and truly see the other. And even Nesta understands that there is something deeper between the two, even if they themselves haven’t figured it out yet, when she approaches Azriel where he stands by the doorway and, when asked why he doesn’t sit, responds with a “pretty lie” of his shadows not liking the fire. But Nesta looks to where Elain is the one sitting by the fire, and why Azriel chooses to stand as far as he can, because it is “his secret to tell. Never hers” (600). Just like that, Nesta is aware of Azriel’s feelings for her sister and, perhaps, her subtle way of comforting him was her showing her approval.

We get a deeper insight of this scene in Azriel’s bonus chapter—an entire chapter that allows readers to see exactly how he feels about Elain, and that she returns those feelings, too. It is confirmed that Azriel stands by the doorway, away from Elain, because Lucien is in the same room, and the sight and scent of their mating bond is one that Azriel cannot stand. Because the female he feels deeply for, according to fate, “belongs” to another male and he needs to put distance between himself and the two of them when they’re in the same room. Yet, the mating bond doesn’t prevent Azriel from thinking of Elain, from fantasizing about her every night. He goes from being shown as relieved when Rhys tells him he doesn’t have to buy the sisters presents for the Winter Solstice in A Court of Frost and Starlight, to actively buying her a beautiful flower necklace that she would no doubt love. Their secret exchanging of gifts leads to an epic, steamy, full-of-yearning almost first kiss that shows so clearly that Azriel’s feelings for Elain aren’t unrequited, that she, just like him, is desperate to give into what’s been brewing between them for so long. Yet it’s all cut short when Rhys interrupts Azriel, reminding him of a mating bond that Azriel’s painfully aware of—and confidently willing to pull Elain away from if Lucien decides to invoke the Blood Duel. Azriel’s questioning of the cauldron, wondering why it picked three sisters and had two of them end up with his brothers while the last remaining one was mated to another, is not him declaring that he has a right to Elain. This is him questioning the powers and forces that no one truly understands, this is him questioning from a place of heartbreak, wondering why, yet again, he was the one left behind. It happened when his father imprisoned him, forcing Azriel to delay in his training as an Illyrian, it happened when the female he spent centuries loving never once returned the same kind of love, and now it’s happening again. Azriel does not believe he deserves Elain—it goes against his character, because he is self-deprecating, does not think he truly deserves anything good and worthy. He is simply questioning why his choice doesn’t ever seem to matter, and why Elain is yet again left having her decisions being taken away from her.

Because the matter of choice is a prevalent, significant theme for the two of them. For Elain, she was never allowed to truly make a choice in her life. Her mother’s death, her family falling into poverty, turning into High Fae, losing Graysen, the mating bond, her father’s death—these were all huge, significant life changing moments that she had no say in and was forced to endure, completely upending who she was and how she lived. But there is one choice Elain can make, and that is to reject the mating bond with Lucien. There are so many examples throughout the books where Elain turns away from Lucien; she doesn’t express any interest in him—it’s like he doesn’t even exist to her. There is utter indifference on her end, despite any effort made by Lucien, and that in itself is Elain choosing to all but formally reject the bond, however that may come about. There is a moment in A Court of Wings and Ruin in chapter 54 when Elain, while pleading with Graysen, claims, “I belong to no one. My heart belongs to you” (498). Of course, Azriel has nothing to do with what Elain was saying at the time, but her declaration of this speaks to her character and how dearly she holds onto the idea of being with someone of her own choosing, with someone she loves. This can further be developed into the idea that although fate, the cauldron, the Mother may have chosen Lucien for Elain—a pairing that can, ultimately, be ill-chosen—Elain would not give it the time of day unless it’s what her heart wants. And from what we have seen so far, her heart wants Azriel. She chooses Azriel over Lucien, and that holds significant weight to her and, I imagine eventually, to Azriel as well.

Azriel, who has not been other people’s choice. Azriel, who was imprisoned by his own father, who was rejected by the Illyrians. Azriel, who has spent five centuries loving Mor, who will never love him the way he did her. And it’s saying something, isn’t it, that he has finally stopped yearning for her, and that it was Elain who he is enraptured by? Even Cassian noted that the way Azriel used to look at Mor have become few and far in between, telling the audience that the spymaster has finally begun to move on, or already has, from Mor. And Elain wanting to kiss Azriel confirms to him, in particular, that he is her choice as well. And she is his, as further confirmed when Azriel tells Rhys he has no problem engaging in the Blood Duel with Lucien if it means freeing Elain from a bond she doesn’t want, and allowing them both to dive into the choices they clearly want to make.

Truthfully, there are many examples throughout the books where I can talk about Elain rejecting Lucien. She cringed away from the very first time he touches her in ACOMAF—though, granted, it happens right after she comes out of the cauldron. She is unsettled when Lucien tugs on their bond, saying that it felt as though he pulled on a thread connecting to a rib, which sounds painful and nothing like the comforting bond readers have seen between Feyre and Rhys. Elain doesn’t buy Lucien any presents for solstice, and the first present he got her, gardening gloves to prevent her hands from tearing, are ones she doesn’t use. Because she would much rather feel her hands get torn up while she’s working in her garden, uncaring if they scar, which in turn is a reminder of Azriel’s scarred hands and how she found them beautiful. And for those who wonder about Azriel giving the necklace he got for Elain to Gwyn, it is important to note that he tells Clotho to give it to any priestess who would want it, and merely mentions Gwyn by name because he trained her, because he was the one who rescued her after an attack, and she is the one he knows most familiarly by name because of it. At the end of it, Azriel only wanted the necklace gone because he didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to remember that the female he wants, wants him back just as much, but he was all but forbidden to pursue her. Once again, a choice that was taken away from him, and giving the necklace away is far easier than keeping it and remembering how he couldn’t be with Elain. At least for now.

Throughout the novels, there are many symbols that hint towards Elain and Azriel being together, but that is a paper for another day. This one’s goal was to simply point out the many physical and emotional indicators of the way the two of them are drawn to one another, despite the obstacles that are thrown their way—the biggest one being the mating bond no one asked for. There is comfort in the relationship they have, an ease you wouldn’t expect someone with Elain’s light to find in Azriel’s darkness. He offers her comfort in shy smiles and soft looks, and Elain does the same for him, which we see in the act of his shadows disappearing around her. These very shadows provided him comfort when he needed them, were his friends in his prison, and them leaving him when Elain is around is a sign of the contentment Azriel feels, because he doesn’t have to protect himself in her presence. Azriel loved Mor, and it has been noted that he lights up when she is around, and Elain is the only other person he reacts similarly to—because Elain is who he wants now that he has moved on from Mor. It’s important, isn’t it, that Elain is who pulls Azriel away from the centuries-long love he’d been lost in? That she is who he looks for, thinks about, wonders after?

Elain has found comfort in Azriel’s darkness, and he has found peace in her light, and so how could they not defy what’s been expected of them and rewrite fate to fit the choices they make themselves?

[demonlovesangel]

Azriel and Elain... Maybe something else?

Just a cute post because I've noticed how they are around each other, but mainly a couple of interactions that scream... Something else.

In Acowar we really start seeing Elriel crumbs, and I think it's interesting how things develop for them.

But Azriel asked softly, "What about Elain?"

~

From the shadows near the entrance of the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, "I'm getting her back."

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel's hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta, said, "Then you will die."

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that state, "I'm getting her back."

~

Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. "You came for me." The shadowsinger only inclined his head.

~

Azriel's roar echoed off the rocks as the hound slammed into him, dragging those shredding talons down his spine, his wings-

The girl screamed, but Elain moved. As Azriel battled to keep them airborne, keep his grip on them, my sister sent a fierce kick into the beast's face. Its eye. Another. Another.

It bellowed, and Elain slammed her bare, muddy foot into its face again. The blow struck home.

~

Rhys lunged for Azriel, taking Elain from him and gently setting my sister down. Azriel rasped, swaying on his feet, "We need Helion to get these chains off her."

Yet Elain didn't seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger's cheek. And then walked to me and Nesta, who pulled back long enough to survey Elain's clean face, her clear eyes.

I don't know about you, but when rereading this interaction something struck me as odd.

They're supposed to be friends, or acquaintances at the very least, right? They met like 4 months ago considering Feyre was in the Spring Court for 3 months and a little before that she took the bat boys to meet her sisters.

The interest in each other was always there, while Azriel's interest towards Elain was always very vocal (he talks to her a lot even when he hates talking), Elain's interest towards Azriel is a little different, since she is shy around him, but she wants to get to know him and doesn't balk from him even if for everyone else he's intimidating... Weird, huh? Considering how she is. Everyone seems to be afraid of Azriel, and she isn't.

So, coming back to how long they've known each other... Isn't it weird that Azriel decided to risk his life in order to save her? Isn't it weird that somehow, without knowing, he sensed that Elain must have heard the Cauldron and left? He was the first one to notice, the first one to go to her cot and see how long it had been since she left and the first one to say he would go save her. Not even her sisters said that first.

Not only that, but he's covered in shadows the whole time, and we know shadows do that to him when he's having negative emotions.

When Elain sees him she can't believe he came for her. Not Feyre, but him. Why though? Maybe because they haven't known each other for that long, maybe because she knew the risk of him going there, maybe somehow she called him and didn't expect him to come.

And when they are airborne and Azriel screams in pain and his wings are shredded, Elain kicks the hound with her bare feet. She risks getting hurt (the beast could have easily cut off her foot) in order to defend Azriel.

When they arrive at the camp he is swaying and spilling blood from his wings and he still thinks about her wellbeing first. And she notices this, kisses his cheek and goes to her sisters.

Elain shows her caring by being a lot less aggressive than her sisters. She doesn't resort to kicking or killing unless it's something serious, like when the King of Hybern was about to kill Nesta. So that makes me wonder, and I can't help it, why she helped Azriel in that way. She could have screamed in terror, but instead she defended him.

And that brings me to my other point, and maybe it is a reach but... This screams mate behaviour.

Mates are supposed to not be able to hurt each other, not physically at least (because we know both Feysand and Nessian have said hurtful things to one another). They always defend each other even if they risk their lives (again, Nessian and Feysand, both of them risked their lifes to save each other)... And in this case, Az risked his life when he knew Elain for less than six months and he didn't even think twice about it, and Elain did the same thing without thinking a few pages after that. Again, they have known each other for a very short period of time.

Don't get me started at how they seem to communicate without words and how they just understand each other and see each other. Because that, to me, looks a lot like soulmates.

I can't help but wonder how they gravitate towards one another and how they display similar reactions with each other as Nessian and Feysand do.

Don't get me wrong- I've never wanted them to be mates, but when you read their interactions you can just see there's something else going on there. Something bigger, something that's deeper than what we've seen so far.

I'm not surprised at all Azriel wondered if the Cauldron was wrong, because if you look at their relationship, they clearly have a similar pattern as other couples we know (Feysand and Nessian). And if he feels when Elain is in danger or when something is wrong with her... It sounds like they have a deeper connection than what we have glimpsed so far. I think he's wondering how he can feel all that for Elain, that it feels as something deeper, stronger, than just a crush, not a real connection, since she already has a mate. Honestly? I would be wondering that too if I were him.

Elain knowing what he needs is something that I'm wondering too, because no one else seems to notice him and she's the only one that gifts him something he actually needs. Where Azriel is adamant on keeping her safe and seeing her, she speaks and pays attention to him and knows what he's going through.

I really want Sarah to acknowledge at least some of this, because she did write in Acosf not once, but twice, about Az going to the heart of Hybern's war-camp to save Elain, like it was something truly meaningful.

I sincerely think there's something else in their whole relationship and I just need to know what it is.

[literate-lamb]

can I kiss you on the dancefloor?

Steve Rogers/Reader

One year into a relationship, yet still dancing in secrecy. Steve thinks he’s protecting you.

When a civilian and a hero fall in love, anything could go wrong. But not in the way Steve would have thought.

Or how the media play with the lives of superheroes.

►word count: 7.6k

► warnings(!): slight angst, alcohol

A/N: My gift to @blue-like-barnes for the Hoelentines Fic Exchange! I’m sorry it took some time, giftee. I didn’t expect this to turn into a monster (yikes). Thank you for hosting @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes ! Dividers from @firefly-graphics​ and GIF from Giphy

On his day-offs, Steve Rogers was a man full of disguises. 

When they first started, it was the baseball cap and thick-rimmed glasses. He liked it, it was simple, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone would notice. How could one not when his face was the one plastered in old war propaganda, in the museums commemorating his achievements, and even flashes on the telly when you walk past the local electronics store. 

Hence, it wasn’t a surprise when the tabloids posted a photo of him in his disguise, waiting at a crosswalk on a cold night. 

‘Captain America spotted on a midnight stroll’ came the next morning. It was taken after he was done walking you home, thankful they didn’t catch a glimpse of you.

“So capsicle, where were you off to last night?” Tony greeted him at breakfast, offending paper in hand. He unrolled it, opening and making a show of reading, displaying the front page for all seated to see. “Nice reading glasses, wasn’t aware you needed them.”

Striding into the room, Natasha came and snatched the tabloid. She gave it a critical eye, judging, before turning towards him. 

“Hmm, recycling disguises, Rogers? I’m disappointed.” 

Steve just groaned in reply.

The second time it happened, he had gone to the Black Widow herself for advice. He had expected sound advice coming from a former KGB spy who spent her paycheck on hair, but all he got was a stick-on mustache. Something about ‘needing to blend in rather than pointing the obvious’.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Steve, but at least it’s better than that nerd get-up,” she smirked.

You had liked it. Giggling every time he kissed you, the fibres tickling your lips. He had ‘a caterpillar’ on his upper lip as you called it. And Steve had learned to get used to the itch.

But it wasn’t long before his new look was the star in barbershops. 

‘Captain America’s new look takes the world by storm.’ They had caught him again in another paparazzi shot. Tony had teased him for days after.

He couldn’t shake it off easily, constantly reminded of it when he walked the streets. Seeing them on screens when he’s channel-surfing. Even when he’s training new recruits, his vision filled with a sea of unshaved cadets, their hairy upper lips a prominent fixture.

He knew he had to do something when Bucky and Sam came in one day sporting twin mustaches. 

He discarded the strip of fibre in the bin. Reminding to pay Natasha a visit.

The third time he decided, he seeked out the help of Scott Lang, who was a master in keeping out of sight during his burglary days. Scott had given him a black beanie and told him to grow out his facial hair. 

The beanie hid his golden locks and the beard made him look rugged. You loved it, your thighs quivered when it was him and you in the four walls of your room. Uncontrollable groans as he went down. ‘Beard burn’ you had called it. Whatever it was, he loved the sounds you let out.

Four months. That’s how long the disguise lasted. His longest disguise to date. 

Before he became a trend.

‘Captain America is the new style icon.’ The internet sleuths found out where he got it too. ‘The sale of Walmart beanies skyrocketed by 70% thanks to Captain America.’

Tony had bought everyone in the compound a black beanie for Christmas, including the receptionist.

“Our grandpa’s a trendsetter, who knew,” he announced. Steve had smacked the back of Tony’s head with the beanie before retiring the disguise.

Now, sitting in The Sleeping Cat, Steve had opted for aviators and a Nasa baseball cap. He still kept his beard after your pleads, and he liked the look, he admits. It was back to basics for him and this was one of the only places where he was safe from prying eyes. Afterall, it was in this very café where he had met you.

The Sleeping Cat was a quaint little thing, a hole in the wall in a quiet part of the city. Not many knew of its existence, the entrance obscure, a blink and you’ll miss it. Which made it all the more perfect for him. The baristas knew him and minded their own business, offering him a smile every time he visited. ‘You’re safe with us’ they seem to say. 

He could say the same about the patrons. Most that frequented were regulars like him, they seemed the same, looking for a place to get away from the overbearing world. They seemed to share an understanding, paying him no mind as if he was just another man they passed on the streets. And that’s how he preferred it. 

Just a boy from Brooklyn.

Ding!

The chime of the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Facing the door, he saw you, smiling as you came through.

This was the best part of his days. 

You had met Steve Rogers at the most unexpected of times.

Terminated from your previous job at a small gallery, dumped by an ex-boyfriend after a 2 year relationship, you were at an utmost low. To escape your roommates —in case of pitying or prying, but if you were honest with yourself, it was to escape your own humiliation— you left the apartment on weekdays under the guise of going to work. In reality, you were at The Sleeping Cat applying for jobs on your laptop.

It was during one of the afternoon hours when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning to your left, you were greeted by a pair of startling blues. They were bright but worn as if they’ve seen too many. Looking at the bigger picture, you took him in. Hair hidden under a cap, a sharp jaw and an equally sharp nose, and if you looked closely, you thought you could spot a few moles on his cheeks. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t put a finger to it.

Eyes fleeting to his lips, you realized he was actually talking.

“Huh?” 

“I was wondering if this seat’s taken?” He smiled, gesturing towards the empty seat opposite. He was clearly amused.

“Yeah, sure, sure,” you nodded, making room for his things. 

The following days, it became a routine and an arrangement. You would be at the café as early as the owner would allow, laptop in hand. While he would come in the afternoons in a different jacket each day, a sketchbook in hand. You would be propped up, sending application after application, praying for luck. While he would quietly sit, churning sketch after sketch, in a relaxed demeanour. 

Sometimes you would peek over your screen and watch him draw for a few minutes, lost in his strokes. When you look up, you’ll find his eyes locked with yours, and you’ll immediately reimmerse yourself behind the screen, embarrassed.

It was a comfortable routine. You came to expect him everyday. And on the days that he didn’t make it, you felt a bit forlorn looking at the empty seat. You both didn’t talk much, yet you were getting comfortable in his presence.

Until one day, he broke the silence.

“So, what is it that you do?”

You stared, dumbfounded. Looking around there wasn’t anyone nearby. 

“Were you talking to me?” you asked.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “It’s just that you’re always on your computer…” he trailed off.

“I’m an assistant curator at an art gallery— or, er, used to be,” you explained. “Long story short, I lost my job and now I’m looking for a new one, that’s why I’m here.”

He seemed to ruminate before replying, “So you know a thing or two about art?”

You both started a new routine; one with a lot of communicating. He would ask you about your mundane weekends and interests and in turn, you would ask about his. Except, he was anything but mundane. 

On the days he was absent, you learned Steve was away on a lot of ‘business trips’. When he returned, he had never failed to present you with a souvenir. From matryoshkas to sarongs, it was always a surprise accompanied by a tale.

“The pattern on the sarong is called a batik, and it’s amazing how they’re drawn using wax like a liquid crayon. It’s an interesting art form.”

Outside of your little routine, he was an enigma. You barely knew about the Steve outside of The Sleeping Cat. Sometimes he threw the names ‘Bucky’ and ‘Sam’ a lot —out of exhaustion— without giving away anything, remaining tight-lipped. While his mysteriousness should’ve been a cause of concern, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards him, wanting to peel more of his layers, like the shell of a matryoshka. 

The routine went on for a few more weeks, with calls of interviews and business trips in between. Before you received a phone call.

“I got a job! At the Whitney!” you squealed, shaking his shoulders over the table, oblivious to the other patrons. Steve endured it, smiling. 

“Congratulations,” he said when you’ve calmed down. “I guess this is the last time I’ll be seeing you?”

You froze, high coming down, realization settling in. After a few weeks of secret meetings, of getting to know him, of having lunch together, of sharing laughs, you’ve come to see Steve as a good friend. And maybe, there was the birth of something more.

“Let’s exchange numbers,” you said, opening your phone. “This way, maybe we can hang out again. Have lunch sometimes?”

“I’d like that.” He smiled. 

And the rest was history.

Making your way towards The Sleeping Cat, you amused yourself with past memories. Memories from almost over a year ago. 

Steve had come to give a speech at the opening ceremony of an exhibition at the Whitney. Your first exhibition as a curator. An exhibition on art from the war times. When they had announced his title, a loud ‘oh’ was the only thing you could muster. 

The ‘ding’ of the bell resounded, announcing your arrival. Heading in, you saw a head perked up, beaming, baseball cap securing his golden locks and aviators hiding his mesmerizing blues.

This was the best part of your days.

But maybe, you were getting a little tired.

If someone were to ask you months ago if you were happy and content with your relationship, you would’ve replied with a swift yes in a heartbeat. No hesitation, no reservations, no doubt. Now, sitting in the same cafe, the same one you frequent on dates, the same one you both met in, you weren’t sure of the answer anymore.

As Steve gets up to order for you both, your eyes wander to his sketchpad. It was filled with sketches of random objects; the flower on the table, the pastries on display, sometimes the patrons of the cafe, and occasionally, you. 

“You’re my favourite subject, so far.”

It was not for the lack of love or the lack of affection. Steve was the most loving; loyal in so many ways, gentle when asked, and protective to a fault. Maybe the protectiveness was the cause of it all.

Staring at Steve’s back, your mind shifted to a memory from the past week, when your roommate pulled you aside from a get-together at the ice rink.

“Hey,” she called your name, taking a hold of your elbow. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure, what’s up?” you followed her, leading you to the sides.

Her eyes conveyed her worry. It amplified with the chewing of her bottom lip, a nervous tick.

“Are you and Steve… okay?” she asked, her brows perked. “I’m not sure if you notice, but today, it’s full of couples.” 

You looked towards your group of friends. There was your roommate’s girlfriend tying her skates, your other roommate and her boyfriend talking to another couple —their friends— and they were all holding their significant other’s hand. Oh.

“I don’t want to throw you out of the loop, but there would probably be a lot of double skating involved today,” she said, widening her eyes, looking comical. “Do you want me to talk to Steve? Maybe I could convince him to come, y’know?” 

Out of your two roommates, she was the only one who knew of your paramour. Having walked in on you and Steve making out on the couch. She was sworn into secrecy, with the promise of autographs from all the Avengers. 

“Look, it’s okay,” you assured her. “I can handle skating alone, and you know why he can’t really come here with us,” you shrugged.

“Okay, but aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around? Don’t you want to shout to the whole world ‘I’m fucking Captain America!’” she flailed.

You shushed her, muffling her mouth with your gloved hand.

Part of the secret was how Steven Rogers was an engineered superhero. A superhero with many enemies, leading him to fear for his loved ones, and that included you.

You went into the relationship whole-heartedly knowing the challenges; discreet rendezvous, kisses in the dark, minimal contact in public. You were his secret and he was yours. It was for your own good, wasn’t it?

“What’s got your little head wrapped up?” Steve’s voice startled you, bringing you back to the café. On the table, two cups of coffee and a slice of cake was served.

“Hmm? Oh, just thinking about this party the museum’s throwing this weekend,” you took your cup, blowing, contemplating your next words.“Say, how about you and I, I don’t know, go as dates?”

Steve crunched his brows. “You know that’s a hard thing for me to do, especially with your colleagues around.”

“I know! But maybe… maybe, you can go in one of your disguises this time? Remember that one time we went to Central Park?”

Steve exhaled, he remembered that afternoon. It was the one-off that you both ventured on a date in the outdoors. 

Decked in his beanie, casually strolling through Central Park with you beside him. Although he was still wary, keeping his hands in his pockets, fighting the urge to hold your hand. 

No one had recognized him; not the ice-cream man, not the kids running around, not the mothers pushing strollers. No one. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You leaned forward, pecking him on the lips multiple times. “Thank you!”

“You sure this looks convincing?”

“Trust me, punk. Grade A assassin here, thank you very much,” Bucky boasted while fixing the wig on his scalp, untangling the unruly strands.

Steve had sought Bucky for help, with the belief that assassins were good at hiding in plain sight (and maybe, he just didn’t want to go to Natasha twice). Bucky was also his most trusted confidant and he knew about you, Steve trusted him not to tell. But now looking at himself in the opposite mirror, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. 

Long dangly tresses hung on the sides of his face parting in the middle, a trimmed beard leaving a bit of goatee, and to finish it off, Bucky dressed him in a checkered shirt consisting of random coloured squares. He looked like he just stepped out of the 60’s.

“Oh, wear these,” Bucky handed him a pair of large wire-framed glasses. “Done.”

Steve took a look in the mirror. A seedy pimp was the first thought that crossed his mind.

“Thanks Buck, I owe you one.”

“Sure Stevie, just bring me around next time on one of your dates, I’d like to meet her,” Bucky winked. “Or make it double.” He wagged his brows. “Like old times.”

Steve snorted.

“Okay, I got—“ Steve’s words halted when an alarm blared overhead. It demanded their attention.

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, your presence is required in Prep Room six,” called the disembodied voice. “There’s been a breach of extraterrestrial energy in the airspace of Sweden.”

Steve exited and rushed through the hallways, Bucky following close behind. He made it through the living quarters, trudging to the training wing before entering one of the many prep rooms. 

“Nice costume, Cap. Halloween already?” Sam quipped. Almost everyone was present, they were equally amused.

Before anyone else could follow, Tony strided in immediately, grumbling. “Okay team, there’s been an E.T synthezoid putting holes in the ozone layer. I’ll fill you all in the quinjet. Suit up and meet me at the hangover in 10.”

Everybody gathered their equipment and hurried to leave, passing by him. Before Tony could, he took notice of Steve and did a double take. And then a third. 

“What’s with the pimp daddy get-up, Capsicle?” 

Steve huffed, ignoring the jab. “I have something that I need to attend. How important am I in this, Tony?”

“We need all hands on deck. We don’t really know what we’re up against, Fury’s still running recon,” Tony explained, squaring his shoulders. “Whatever it is you have, Cap. It can wait. Lives are at stake here.” With that, he left, not standing by for a response.

“Darn it,” Steve cursed, removing the glasses and the wig.

He left the prep room with his shield in hand. With one hand, he shot a text to you. He’ll make it up next time.

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Emergency mission

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Can’t make it, sorry

You switched the screen off, sighing. Around you, the party was in full swing. Invitees mingling with refreshments in hand, discussing the pieces on display tonight, and bidding on the pieces they find exquisite. Hors d’oeuvres and champagne were being served, brought around by servers on silver platters. You’ve been munching on them non-stop, grabbing one every time a server comes your way, needing something to occupy you.

Surrounding you, you’d see the occasional couple walking around, enjoying their time. The palms of their hands locked in each other’s as they navigate together, rarely straying afar. 

You clenched your hand, reminded of how empty it felt. 

It was inevitable, you were warned of this, you were told to expect this. Dating a superhero meant that he was never solely yours. You were sharing your boyfriend with someone, except that someone was the world. 

“Hiiii!” a shrill voice broke your thought, calling you by name. A blonde woman, followed by a brunette emerged from the gathering of art-goers, headed towards you. “It’s been a long while!”

“Hey! Yeah, it’s been awhile,” you waved, recognizing the two. 

When they reached you, you were aware of the slight tension in the air, leaving the three of you standing awkwardly. After all, these two were your ex-colleagues and you didn’t exactly leave the previous gallery on good terms. Tonight was a night with masks, it seemed.

“So, how are you two doing?” you decided to get it over with.

“We’re fine, everyone’s fine! But how are you? We heard you worked here now, pretty impressive,” the brunette —Claire— winked at you. You laughed.

“Yeah, it’s so nice seeing you again, and at the Whitney? The pay must be good, you know what I’m saying?” Hilda chimed, knocking her elbows with yours. You didn’t appreciate it but you endured.

 “Say, what are you doing over here far away? Why not you join us over there,” Hilda pointed, towards a mounted canvas at the end of the hall. It was occupied by two men in a discussion among themselves. “Chat a bit to catch up, a bit of art philosophical debate in between. What do you say?”

You contemplated her offer, not wanting to seem pretentious, but thought about the false flattery and ego-stroking that would sure ensue in their company. The thought of it drained you.

“It’s okay,” you waved them off nervously. “I have to call my boyfriend sooner, gotta check up on him and let him know I’m... alright.” You held up your phone, playing on convincing.

“Oh? He isn’t here tonight?” Claire seemed to feign worry. 

“No, he got caught up with something. He’s a busy man,” you cooked up an excuse. No one could know. 

“Okay… In that case, we’ll leave you to it. Maybe we’ll bump into each other sooner.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys soon.”

They waved before backing away into the mass of patrons. You let out a breath you didn’t know you held in. 

While the interaction was unexpected, this was what you had to deal with when it came to the question of your relationship. The excuses, they became second nature to you. The lies. The deceit. Anything to protect Steve’s identity, and inadvertently, you.

Throughout the night, you mingled with any clients interested in a work of art, all the while stepping out of Hilda and Claire’s line of sight. You didn’t wish a repeat of the earlier evening.

When the crowd started dwindling, signalling the end of the night, you were relieved of your duties. You headed straight for the restrooms after, one getaway before leaving. You huddled yourself in a cubicle, locking it shut.

Seconds in, you heard the creak of the restroom door followed by the clicks of heels.

“Can you believe it? Someone like that got the chance of working here.” 

You recognized the nasally tone. It was Claire. 

“Yeah? Not like she deserves it. I mean look at her? Demure, slow. It’s like talking to a mouse. I bet she’s a prude too.” That was Hilda.

The gushing of the faucet muffled their voices, but their sharp words were clear as day, your ear catching every snark and hiss.

“And when she was talking about her boyfriend? He probably doesn’t even exist, it was just to get off our backs,” Hilda paused. “Last time I heard, her boyfriend dumped her. So, I guess she’s creating imaginary ones now.” 

They both cackled.

By now, you knew they were talking about you. Their words didn’t hurt as much, you knew the colour of their hearts beneath the masks. But was that how people viewed your hidden relationship? A facade? A farce?

Once the door clicked shut, and the tapping of their heels faded, you left the restroom, heart feeling heavier.

(y/n) [6:45 PM]: stay safe stevie ! remember to hydrate

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: punch those meanies

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: (`⌒*)⍟-(`⌒´Q)

Steve chuckled when he turned on his phone, amused at your texts. You always sent him good luck messages every time he went off for missions. Although he didn’t seem to get the emoticons that you sent, even after being taught by Peter Parker. He just didn’t get them.

Steve dialed your number, sitting on the edge of the bed as he dried his washed hair. Beeps ringed before you picked up, your smooth lilt permeating the speakers. 

“Hello? Stevie?”

Steve smiled, missing the caress of your voice after a day filled with explosions and cries.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted. “How’s my girl been?”

“Great, now that you called,” you teased. “But are ‘you’ fine?” you emphasized.

On the other end of the line, you mirrored his position, sitting on one corner of the bed. Picking the newspaper in your lap, you observed the front page: ‘Avengers saves the Arctic!’ 

“Same old, same old,” his voice carries. “Listen, about yesterday—“

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him, other hand gripping the newspaper. “You have to protect the Earth and that also means me. You don’t have to apologize, I knew what I signed up for.” 

Did you? Or was it now a hollow statement to convince yourself?

“I still want to make up for it, my girl deserves that much,” he responded.

You slowly unclenched the paper. It left Steve’s form crinkled.

“If you want to sooo bad,” you exaggerated. “There’s a Valentines charity ball for our arts program in three weeks time. You think you could make it this time?”

“You know no promises, but I plan to, even if I have to do everyone’s laundry for a week.” You heard rustling on the other line. “What’s the exact date? I’ll put it on my calendar.” 

“The 16th.” Scratchy scribbling filled your ear, the sound loud in the silence. 

“Done. Can’t wait to see you all dolled up, sweetheart.”

“Me too, baby,” you said. “At least put on a nice moustache this time.”

He laughed. Your heart felt lighter. To him, it was probably nothing, but to you, it was a form of reassurance. A reassurance that what you had was real.

“Steve, you got a moment?”

The aforementioned man turned around, taking a glance over his shoulder. Sharon Carter slowed to a stop, a small smile on her face. As always, she carried an air of superiority, matching that of Steve’s wavelength. Yet today, it seemed dim.

“I think we need to talk, you have time for coffee?”

Glancing at his watch, he nodded. “Sure, Sharon. Lead the way.”

She took them outside of S.H.I.E.L.D and into the chilly air of DC, navigating through streets and crowds while huddling in their coats. They chatted, breaths puffing as they caught up, the familiar scenes passing by.

He hadn’t been in DC in awhile, it felt good to be back. 

“We’re here.”

Sharon headed in first, holding the door for him. He thanked her. They ordered and got seated. A smile was shared, strained as it seemed. 

“Better just rip the band-aid off,” Sharon sighed. “I miss us.” 

“Sharon—“

“Please, hear me out first,” she insisted, showing her palm. “We probably shouldn’t have done what we’ve done after Aunt Peggy’s funeral. I just lost someone I looked up to the most, and you lost the woman that you loved. We were both grieving. It wasn’t fair to the both of us.”

“While I do miss us, I know that it wasn’t meant to be,” she continued, shooting a sombre smile. “I understand that now. I guess, what I wanted was closure.”

Her hand quivered on the table between them. Steve clasped his over hers, offering to soothe.

“I don’t regret what happened in Germany. While yes, it should have not happened, it was what we thought we needed at that time. We both lost someone we held dear,” Steve explained, hoping his words reached her. “None of it was a mistake, Sharon. You’re still someone I trust and hold dear, remember that.”

Steve clutched her hand tighter, running his thumb over her knuckles in circular motions, attempting to calm and show understanding.

In his efforts, unknown to the two, the shutter of a camera went off across the street.

Something felt off. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. At first, you thought it was your own anxious mind running. 

You woke up late on a work day, burned your eggs and toast, accidentally wore unmatching socks, and your roommate was acting weird. All jittery when you entered the hall, stammering her words, and performing this bizarre dance when you walked past the living room. You gave her no mind when you passed the threshold and slammed the door, phone gripped in hand.

Loverboy [6:00 AM]: Good morning, dear 

Loverboy [6:01 AM]: [image]

A photo of Steve, sweaty after a run showed on the screen. He was smiling, shirt stained and clinging to his chest. You had taught him how to take selfies.

You [7:20 AM]: morning, handsome

You [7:20 AM]: 😍😍😍 

The morning texts were the best part of your morning commute. It made the arduous and packed journey worthwhile. Even when you almost tripped at the doors, it couldn’t take away your joy.

You made it just in time and clocked in, meeting clients and discussions with artists throughout the day. It was uneventful, although the bad luck seemed to have followed when you spilled your coffee on the concrete.

It was when you left the museum that your day took a turn for the worst.

On the ride home, the man opposite you was reading a newspaper. Nothing unusual, but at a glance, you thought you saw a familiar face printed on the corner. Before you could take a closer look, the man folded it in half and got off.

A few minutes later, you arrived at your stop, exiting the station with the fast-paced crowd. That’s when you were bombarded.

Lining the streets, your vision was filled with the scattering of a crowd of papers. Every face you saw was plastered in them.

‘The Good Captain In Love?’

‘A Superhero & A Civilian Romance?’ 

‘Captain America’s Girl? Mysterious Woman Sighted’

The sight of them left you in a panic, your anxiety spiking through the roof. Your world started spinning, everything —buildings, trees, faces— blending altogether. Everywhere your eyes deflected, a headline invaded your sight, imprinting itself on your retinas. Had they found out?

Composing yourself, you headed towards the nearest news stall, mind boggled with too many questions and not enough answers. How? Why? When?

Only, it wasn’t your face they were publishing.

‘“Oh Captain, My Captain” America in love? Spotted last week in DC was Captain Steven Rogers with a mysterious lady. They seemed to be cozy with each other, an eyewitness told Us Weekly. Story on Page 11.’

The photograph showcased Steve with a blonde woman, sitting in a café with their hands clasped on the table. Your heart shattered at the sight, remembering how empty yours have felt lately. 

Was he purposely out with this woman in public? What did that mean for you? Why were you shadowed?

“Are you and Steve… okay?”

“She’s creating imaginary ones now.”

“Aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around?”

“You know that’s a hard thing for me to do.”

“Hey lady, you gonna pay for that?”

You were shaken out of your stupor. Looking down, you were clutching the magazine too hard, ripping the image of Steve and the woman in half, right in the middle where their hands met.

You apologized to the man and paid for the magazine. Immediately discarding it in the next trash bin you saw.

“So… you and Sharon?” Sam had asked him after training.

“What?” 

“You, and, Sharon,” Sam emphasized, pronouncing each syllable. “Are together. Man, when were you gonna tell me? I thought it was over.”

Steve froze before replying, “Because it is. A long time ago.”

“Well, this seems to say otherwise.” 

Sam showed him his phone, the screen displaying an article; ‘Captain America’s Girl Revealed. A Family Affair That Transcends Time.’ On top of the article was a photo of him and Sharon at the cafe in DC, his hand atop of hers on the table. A zoomed in version of their hands were provided, fueling the tabloid’s narrative.

Steve paled at the sight. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was his fears manifested; his anonymity taken, his privacy invaded, but his worst fear was putting his loved ones in danger. And if it was due to their association with him, it would leave him racked with guilt. 

While the tabloids were wrong, he knew that Sharon could defend for herself. You on the other hand… 

His heart rate rose, a new wave of anxiety spiked. Steve wondered if you’ve seen this. No, you must’ve seen this. 

Fishing for his phone, with clammy hands, Steve quickly dialed your number, anxiously waiting for the beeping to end. 

‘The number you’ve dialed is not—‘

“Damn it!”

His outburst surprised Sam, shocking him. Sam gave him a look, inquisitive. 

“Sorry Sam, I have to run.” 

He left, heart in his throat.

When Steve arrived at your apartment, he was almost out of breath. He was still anxious, the ride here not doing much to his addled mind. But he was determined.

Rapidly knocking on your front door, Steve composed himself. When it opened, he was met with the sight of your roommate -- the one that he has never met before.

“Ca-Captain America?” she yelped, shocked to see him on the doorstep.

“Is your roommate in?” he steeled.

“Which one—” 

“Steve,” a voice interrupted.

The door pulled further, widening the entrance. Steve was met with your familiar roommate. She was tense, arms locked across her chest, eyes full of fury. Steve detected something else in them; worry.

“You fucked up,” she said. He winced.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m here to make things right. Can I please see her?”

She sighed, stepping in, nodding towards your room. 

Steve hastily walked in, stopping in front of your door. He knocked thrice, signalling you, before turning the knob. It was unlocked. The room was dark when he entered, every source of light switched off, except for your curtains. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed was you, figure illuminated by the street lights against pitch black darkness. When he stepped in closer, you looked up, eyes meeting his. 

Steve turned on the lights and closed the door. He took a good look at you; hair frazzled, eyes bloodshot and dry, nose red. You were the image of heartbreak.

“Are you ashamed of me?” you asked, eyes locked with his. 

“What? No, I—“

“Is it because I’m not strong?” you cut him off. “I know she’s Peggy’s niece… a-and I know how much you loved her. She was your first love.”

“She and I, it’s all in the past. She moved on and lived her life, and I… did too.”

“But did you really, Steve? Move on?” you whispered, getting up. You stood in front of him. Steve could see how puffed your eyes were from crying. “Or was I just… a rebound?”

“No. No, you were never a rebound,” he took hold of your forearms. “I care for you, too much.”

“Then why?!” you shrieked, shocking Steve. “Why the secrets? Why the hiding? Steve, you’ve never even introduced me to your friends. Shouldn’t they know?”

“I wanted to protect you!”

“Protect me from what?!” you roared, eyes full of fury. “The Avengers? If they knew about me, they would protect me. Don’t you think so?”

Steve had no words to that, his mind a jumbled mess.

“I’m… beginning to think that you’re embarrassed with me,” you sighed. “We’ve never been on a date publicly, as each other. We’ve never held hands in public. I want you to meet my friends. I want to introduce you to them, and maybe soon, I want you to meet my family.”

“B-but, I’m tired, Steve. Tired of all the hiding. Of all the sneaking around. I want to tell the world that I’m in love with Steve Rogers, not Captain America,” you sighed, shedding a few tears.

You waited for his reply, only to be disappointed. 

“You know I can’t do that.”

You saw red. All you saw was red. 

You started pushing him, swatting him in the chest. Steve didn’t fight back, letting you unleash your anger, your disappointment. He took your hits, letting you release your pent up emotions. He began backing away when you started advancing, back against the door.

“Get out! Get out!” you screeched, pushing him.

When he unlocked the door and crossed, you immediately shut the door in his face. Steve heard sobbing from inside, his heart shattering at the sounds. 

“This way, Captain,” your roommate approached him, showing him to the door.

Steve relented, shame flooding him. He fucked up.

You stopped visiting The Sleeping Cat, wanting to avoid him at all costs. You blocked his number. You immersed yourself in your work, prepping for the upcoming charity gala. 

Sometimes you find yourself thinking about him when sleep proved to be difficult. It’s when you’re laying at night that you missed him the most.

But it was for the best, you reasoned. For you and him.

The Avengers PR had pushed for a fix-it, publishing a story that spoke a truth. ‘Just Friends: Romantic Allegations Proved False’. Steve had hoped you’d seen it. 

He called you every day but found himself blocked from everything. He still tried, hoping you’d come around one day. He came by The Sleeping Cat every other day, sitting in the same spot, hoping to catch you. 

But you never came.

You clasped the necklace in place, admiring how it sat on your clavicle through the mirror. You took a step back and took yourself in, smiling at what you saw. It didn’t reach your eyes.

Today was the day of the Valentines gala and you weren’t feeling particularly giddy about it. 

Opening your phone, you stared at the one contact that stood out, finger hovering over his name. That name used to give you so many feelings, but today it was a reminder that you were going alone, again.

Sighing, you threw it in your purse and left. Another lonely night, and on an even celebrating love.

Days turned into weeks, and soon, before he knew it, the day of your Valentines gala arrived. 

Steve stared at the calendar. The heart-shaped doodle he drew called out to him, reminding him of fond memories. Fond memories that seemed like a distant dream. But then, he went back to last week, and it all came crashing.

He had hurt you. While thinking he was protecting you, he hadn’t realized he was inadvertently pushing you away. He had no one to blame but himself. 

He loved you. No, still loves you. You grounded him, gave him the normalcy that he craved. Reminded him of a distant time before he was Captain America. 

You made him feel like the boy from Brooklyn again.

While he was ruminating in his feelings, Steve was caught off-guard when the door burst open with Tony Stark coming through. From his peripheral, he could see Bucky and Sam peeking through the frame.

“Heard from the Manchurian Candidate that someone has a case of the achy breaky heart,” Tony said, smug.

“Leave me alone, Tony. I’m not in the mood,” he grumbled, setting down the calendar. 

“And leave you wallowing like shit while your girl is out there probably equally miserable? I know a thing or two about women, Rogers, and it’s that they don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Tony snapped his fingers and from behind, Sam came in with a tuxedo in hand.

“Thought you might need this,” Sam said. 

Bucky came out behind him, with a brush and can of hairspray. “And I still know how to do hair.”

“And I have friends in places,” Tony quipped. “I can get you in.”

Steve was surprised. His friends had surprised him. You would’ve loved them. He was left speechless.

“What are you waiting for, Cap? Suit up.” Tony winked.

Swirling the glass of rosé, your gaze fell towards the dance floor. An upbeat song was being played as people flocked near the middle, letting their bodies take charge for the night. You saw your former co-workers among the throng, hands thrown around their significant others, having the time of their lives.

The gala was in full swing, if the crowd and chatter was any indication. Red and roses were the main theme, with a red carpet stretching from the grand staircase towards the main hall and roses lining every corner and wall. Taking it all in, you were proud to see your ideas visualized and work came to fruition.

You sipped your rosé, enjoying every bit of the gala as you could. From the sidelines, you spoke with a few potential clients and art collectors. Their presence made you feel your importance, and if you dared say it, a little less lonely.

It was during one of your little chats that you didn’t realize when the hall suddenly fell quiet. You turned around when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hi folks, mind if I crash your party?”

Steve smiled at Tony’s antics. They both had arrived at the gallery dressed in their best, and with Tony’s connections, they were granted access. 

Stepping down the grand staircase, Steve felt all eyes on him. He paid them no mind, the thought of you the only occupant of his racing mind. Gazing over the crowd, Steve spotted you to the side, occupied in a chatter. 

Taking deliberate steps, Steve soon found himself behind you. He admired your gown and hair, it entranced him. You still hadn’t registered his presence, even when your partner had ceased chatting and was now staring at him.

With a tap on your shoulder, he was taken away as immediately as you spun around. Steve took in your whole image; your dolled-up face, your intricate dress, your styled hair. It left him floored.

You always did manage to take his breath away. Was this what he had been missing out all this time?

Taking your unoccupied hand, Steve pressed a small kiss before meeting your eyes. 

“May I have this dance?”

Giving away your drink, you took his hand as he pulled your towards the centre, taking space among the crowd. A slow number started, and before you realized, you were swept in a slow dance. It didn’t take long before you felt the sensation of his two left feet.

“Sorry, a hundred years and you’d think I’d know how to dance,” he said.

A small smile lightened your face. Steve savoured it all he could. Gulping, he took the first step.

“I’m... sorry for what I’ve done. I realize now that you were right,” he started. “I thought I was protecting you, but now I see that all it did was push you away. You have all the rights to be mad at me. I was being an idiot, a selfish one. I didn’t think about how you felt about it.”

You winced. Steve had stepped on your toes again. He murmured an apology, resorting to swaying instead.

“Can we start again? No more hiding. No more disguises,” he breathed, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “ We can meet your friends, you can meet mine. Bucky’s been pestering me to bring you to the compound, he wants to meet you.”

You laughed. How Steve had missed the tune.

“How can I make it up to you? How do you want to take the first step? A picnic at Central Park? Dinner at the compound? A trip to the beach?”

You seemed to contemplate, a thoughtful look on your face. You both failed to realize all the eyes on you two.

“How about now?”

“Right here? Right now?” he asked.

“Yes, right here, right now,” you said, determined.

Without hesitation —no more— Steve dived in, planting a kiss on your wine-coloured lips for the whole world to see. Your first kiss in public, yet it felt as if it was only the two of you there, lost in the moment. 

You both didn’t notice the gasping crowd nor the clicks of cameras from photographers nor the booming laughter of Tony Stark. You both only felt the other in your orbit, and that was all that mattered.

“Can you put that down? You’ve been staring at it for the past hour.”

You pouted, setting the frame on the side table, where it has been designated since its publication. 

“I can’t help it, I think it’s a good shot. Don’t you think so, Alpine?” you petted the snowy white cat lazing on the arm of the sofa. Its’ purrs intensified.

“Dinner’s ready!” Bucky shouted.

You and Steve left the room, joining the others in the dining room for dinner. On the side table, the framed article sat neatly, showcasing the tale of the famed occurrence that took place at a charity gala.

‘America’s Girl: The Modern Woman of The Captain’s Dreams.’

Fin.

[idontblushsrry]

SFW Alphabet Tamaki Suoh

A/N: It’s missing Ouran hours. As usual, features a gn reader, there’s a mention of makeup but it doesn’t go into detail so you’re free to imagine what type of makeup it is

Word Count: 1885

A: Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Tamaki is incredibly affectionate! If you get together while he’s still in the host club, good luck keeping your relationship a secret because as soon as he sees you, this overgrown puppy is running towards you shouting “Ma cherie” with the dopiest expression on his face. Of course, Kyoya will immediately shut him down with the reminder that there are customers that Tamaki still has to attend to.

B: Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

As a best friend, Tamaki is very affectionate. He’s really one of those friends who’s very supportive and will hype you up no matter what, But he’s also very dramatic, like so ridiculously dramatic that it’s a wonder Kyoya put up with his nonsense all this time.

C: Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Tamaki cuddles like a koala, like he’s got his arms and legs wrapped around you so if you’ve got anything to do...good luck. He loves to cuddle with you and honestly he prefers to spend his days off wrapped around you.

D: Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Tamaki definitely wants to settle down with you. He has this dream of you both living in the countryside, quiet and unassuming, he definitely has a pinterest board or something to that degree that just consists of sections upon sections of things he wants to do with you in the future. In terms of cooking and cleaning, Tamaki could if he tried. He’s no michelin star chef but he can make pancakes if given proper instruction his cleaning however definitely needs some work.

E: Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If you had to break up, he’d be incredibly somber about it. Likely you both would break up due to an outside influence (ex. arranged marriage) as opposed to anything either of you have done. He can barely look you in the eye and his voice wavers, when he finally finishes breaking up with you he kisses your hands and apologizes before walking away.

F: Fiance(e) (How would they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Tamaki definitely has a dream wedding board on pinterest. He’s not one to rush into marriage but he also feels if the time is right and the both of you want to, why not? He’s also incredibly dramatic with the proposal asking for your guardian’s permission (despite you telling him that you are in fact, grown). He also does like a whole fairytale proposal and wedding, he’s so in love with you and strives to give you a perfect storybook happily ever after.

G: Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Tamaki may be oblivious sometimes but he can be incredibly in tune with your emotions when you need it most. If you’re ever feeling angry or upset he’ll just listen if you’re ranting (may get more than a little hyped up for you but-), if you’re feeling down, he’ll just kiss your forehead and hold you. Overall, he’s very gentle with you, you are his precious love ad as such, you deserve all the tenderness in the world.

H: Hugs( Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Tamaki loves to hug you, any opportunity he can, he’s hugging you. It’s so bad that he basically gets flamed by the whole host club for how much he hugs you but to him, it’s worth it.

I: I love you (How fast do they say the L-word)

He says it incredibly fast. On your first date, he just dismisses it as butterflies in his stomach and first date nerves. However, the first time you kiss him, he’s already blurted it out without even realizing. Tamaki however, has not a single ounce of subtlety when it comes to love so if you haven’t figured this out beforehand, you and him are just gonna be oblivious together.

J: Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous)

Tamaki acts a complete fool when jealous. This man is ready to like bite someone, sic Honey on the person who he’s jealous of, call Kyoya’s special SWAT team, everything. You’re gona have to calm him down at this point. To be fair though, he doesn’t get jealous all too often, he trusts you it’s just that person was a little too close that’s all, he swears! 

K: Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Tamaki’s kisses are so good, it’s like he takes all the love he holds for you and the sparkle i his eyes when he sees you and puts them all into one kiss. His lips are also soft because best believe Tamaki wears chapstick. He likes to kiss you alone of course, he views kissing as something between the two of you and prefers to keep it that way.

L: Little ones (How are they around children)

Tamaki is actually really good with children. His overall kindness and general whimsical/carefree attitude meshes really well with children.

M: Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings with Tamaki (bar he have a ridiculous dream or something of the like) are so domestic. Like he just holds you and kisses your forehead. If he wakes up before you he’ll stare at you until you wake up so you can both start your day together.

N: Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights with Tamaki aren’t as lax as mornings. For one, Tamaki has a strict nightly schedule he follows, even if he’s coming back from an event and dead tired, he’ll get up to complete it. His routine consists of anywhere from 10-12 steps (depending on the day) and is relatively complicated. On the bright side, he’ll help you with tying your hair up at night, removing makeup, etc. In general he’s very serious about his night time schedule, but he’ll also help you out if you’re slacking on yours.

O: Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Tamaki sort of has stages of openness. There’s his first stage, which is the false vulnerability act he puts on for customers. His second stage where he’s somewhat unguarded but still puts on an act for around his friends. And there’s his 3rd stage, Tamaki really never lets anyone get here, but glimpses of it sneak through if you pay enough attention. Gradually as you deepen your trust in one another, he’ll tell you more about his fears, vulnerabilities, insecurities, etc.

P: Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Tamaki honestly doesn’t get angry easily, and when he does get angry he’s pretty good at hiding it. He only really shows his anger if you strike a particularly sensitive nerve or if you put yourself in danger.

Q: Quizzes (How much would they remember about you?  Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Tamaki remembers everything you tell him but if he ever finds out something about you he gets a little offended about the fact that you didn’t tell him. He’s really good at remembering things you like or mention having an interest in however, and often asks Kyoya for help in getting things/experiences for you.

R: Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Tamaki’s favorite moment in your relationship was your first kiss. You were both walking around, no place in mind as the sun set. He saw the way you looked bathed in the last glimmers of sunlight and asked if he could kiss you, from there, the rest is history.

S: Security (How protective are they? How would they like to be protected?)

Tamaki is pretty protective, he knows that considering the fact that he has a reputation as the prince and the hoards of people who are actually in love with him, you’re most definitely a target. He worries about you but he keeps an eye on you and knows you’ll tell him if anyone is bothering you, but he still worries. As for how he’d like to be protected, he has this love fantasy that some girls will be chasing after him and you’ll just stop them by proclaiming your love for him in front of everyone.

T: Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

The ‘T’ in Tamaki stands for try. This man is the definition of effort, not a single expense will be spared when it comes to ensuring your happiness, not if he can help it.

U: Ugly (What are some bad habits of theirs? (I’m gonna add arguments here because they aren’t on the prompt list I found))

Tamaki has a really bad tendency to overreact. While it usually isn’t too much of an annoyance, in situations where you really need him to be your rock, it can become overwhelming and add to your panic. Your irritation will lead to you snapping and his concern will lead to him snapping, causing a argument between you that becomes a stalemate once you both realize the other has points but are still too upset to apologize.

V: Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He is admittedly very vain, like yes, he is a gentleman and in any other circumstance you would be put before him, you are his love after all, but he realllllly needs the bathroom so that he can do his morning routine.

W: Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Tamaki doesn’t feel incomplete so much as he feels withered without you. You are his sun, he can’t help but gravitate towards you. Without you he feels downtrodden and aimless. He covers it relatively well around others, but he’s whining to his friends about how much he misses you behind closed doors.

X: (E)xes (Any previous relationship experience. How does that factor into your current relationship?)

He doesn’t really have too, too much relationship experience. He has experience flirting sure, but as far as going past that and actually being in a committed relationship with someone every moment with you is a learning experience.

Y: Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner)

He doesn’t like people that don’t hold themselves in high regard/classily. He admires people who are kind and graceful and he thinks that people who are mean for the sake of it are repulsive. And while this isn’t necessarily a yuck, he does like people with confidence and a decent sense of self. 

Z: Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Tamaki sleeps like a starfish, especially if he’s sleeping alone. It’s ridiculous, he could be on a bed 4x his size and he’d still find some way to take up the entirety of the bed to the point where he’s the only one able to sleep on it comfortably.

[thebookreader12345]

Sink or Swim

Pairing: Kelly Severide x reader

Summary: Y/N is the newest member of Squad 3, and when out on a dive rescue, things take a turn for the worse

Requested: No

Warnings: slight swearing and a near death experience

Word Count: 2,064 Words

“Everyone, can I have your attention please” Chief Boden announced to his firefighters, who all turned to look at him, meaning they saw me standing next to him. I had my hands tucked into the pockets of my jacket, and I was rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet. “I want you all to meet Y/N L/N. She’s going to be filling the open spot on Squad 3.”

“Uh, hey,” I say and wave shyly at the group of people sitting in front of me. For a second, the room was quiet, but it wasn’t long before a blonde haired woman stood up and rushed over to me, wrapping me in a big hug.

“I can’t believe we’ve finally got another girl! You’re going to love it here. I promise. I’m Sylvie Brett” the woman stated.

“Nice to meet you. I was the only girl in my old Firehouse, so when I walked up, I was really hoping there’d be a girl here. By the way, whoever owns the mustang parked out front, nice whip” I comment.

“The Mustangs mine” a man with salt and pepper hair spoke and raised his hand. My eyes immediately gravitated over to him, and when I saw who had spoken, my cheeks flushed. The stereotype for a firefighter was a young, handsome, muscular man, and the guy in front of me fit the description perfectly.

“Oh, Y/N, this is Kelly Severide, your lieutenant,” Sylvie told me.

“Nice to meet you, Cap’n” I speak and give him a small smile.

“Where you from, L/N?” Kelly asked me after he heard me use foreign slang for the second time this morning, the first being when I said “whip.”

“The Big Apple. I just moved here a few weeks ago,” I answer.

“NYC, huh? Why’d you move?” a man, who’s jacket read Cruz, questioned.

“Family reasons” I stammer out. “But I’d prefer that we don’t talk about. Lets just say I wanted a change of scenery. Chicago is very different from New York, but good different, you know? I like it here.”

Just then, an alarm blared from everywhere in the building, and everyone shot up out of their seats, heading towards the apparatus floor. Now I knew one similarity between New York City and Chicago; there’s never a boring day at work. 

“Follow me,” Kelly ordered and took my arm, leading me out of the break room. “I’ve got a few rules. One, obey my orders. I don’t like firefighters who exhibit insubordinate behavior, and I absolutely hate doing paperwork for that. Two, if you’ve got a suggestion for how to approach a situation, speak up. I don’t come up with all of the good ideas. And three, never stand around doing nothing. There’s always people who need help, so help them.”

“All right. I think I’ve got it,” I say as we got to the apparatus floor where my gear was already laid out for me.

“Oh, and L/N, welcome to Firehouse 51,” Kelly said.

..................................................

It had been a few weeks since I started on Squad 3, and I was loving every minute of it. Capp and Tony, the other two guys on Squad besides Kelly and I, were very funny and easy to get along with, so I had no problem fitting in. The rest of Firehouse 51 was also inviting, and I really felt at home here. However, there was definitely one thing I enjoyed the most, and that was hanging out with Kelly. Every shift, when things were slow, Kelly and I would sit on the roof together. He would smoke cigars while I chewed on my polar ice gum, and we would have conversations, whether it be about something stupid Otis had done that day, or something in our personal lives outside of work.

“Oh. Did I tell you about the prank I played on Mouch the other day?” I ask Kelly and blow a bubble, popping it with my lips.

“I don’t think so,” Kelly said and took another hit of his cigar. “What’d you do?”

“I stole his secret stash of chocolate” I admit. “And then I blamed it all on Otis.”

Kelly laughed and glanced over at me, meeting my gaze. I could feel myself getting red, so I turned away and looked at the sky. I had a huge confession to make, and it was that I had gained a crush on my lieutenant.

“Um, Kelly, there’s something I have to tell you” I confess.

Kelly put his cigar down on his tray and leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees, clasping his hands together in front of him. “What is it?” he asked.

Just before I could tell him that I had feelings for him, the alarm went off inside of the firehouse calling for Squad 3, dive rescue. I got out of my chair and made my way over to the ladder, sliding down it expertly like I had done many times before. Getting my gear on took seconds, and as soon as all of us were in the truck, Tony started the engine and drove out of the garage. It didn’t take long before we got to the river, where a young, red haired woman, who was drenched in water, was waiting for us.

“You have to help them. Please,” she begged.

“Ma’am, calm down. Who do we need to help?” I ask.

“Them,” the woman shouted and pointed out into the middle of the river where a boat was submerged halfway underwater. I could make out a few people on the deck, and at the moment, it looked like they were all safe.

“Can none of them swim?” Kelly questioned as we started putting on our gear, which was basically a second skin to us.

“No. I’m the only one who can” the woman responded. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. We just wanted to get one last ride in before summer ended.”

“Hey. Everything is going to be okay........” At the moment, I realized I didn’t know the woman’s name.

“Marissa. My name’s Marissa” the woman said.

“That’s a beautiful name. I’m Y/N. I promise that we’re going to get everyone to safety” I say and grab my oxygen tank from the truck, slinging it on my back.

The rescue itself did not take long. The four of us each took about two trips to the boat, easily getting the people back to land. However, as soon as I began taking off my wet suit, the panic started.

“Where’s Davie? Where’s my son?” a man called out and looked around. I glimpsed over to the boat, and that’s when my eyes caught sight of a boy struggling to stay above water.

“Kelly,” I alert him and point to the water. 

Kelly followed my finger, and when he saw where I was pointing, he cursed. “Our tanks are out of oxygen. We never refilled them after the last dive.”

“That’s cool. I’ll just go in without one” I say and step out of my suit.

“Hell no. Y/N, that water is freezing cold. You’re not going out there. I’ll call in for backup,” Kelly announced.

“What? No. By the time you do that, that kid’ll be dead. On my first day on squad, you told me to never stand around because there are always people that need help. That kid needs help, so I’m going to help with” I share before jumping into the water.

As soon as my skin touched the water, I began to shiver at how cold it was, but I pushed past that and continued swimming. Kelly was calling my name from the shore, but I ignored him and kept going. When I was a few feet from the boy, he sank beneath the waves.

“Shit” I mumble and take a deep breath. Then, I dove deeper into the water, my eyes scanning everywhere for the boy. That’s when I saw Davie struggling to swim to the surface not far from me. He was holding his breath, which was a good sign, and he was still conscious. I swam over to him and got behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. I kicked my feet in an attempt to propel us up and out of the water, but the current was too strong. I was starting to loose my breath, and I could tell Davie was too, so I did what any firefighter would do; save the victim first. I pushed Davie as hard as I could to the surface, hoping that someone else could get to him, and that’s when I felt the sudden urge to breathe. I couldn’t hold my breath anymore, and when I breathed, all I took in was water. Suddenly, I got lightheaded, my eyes drifted shut, and I lost consciousness deep in the Chicago River.

Kelly’s POV

I waited a few minutes, and Y/N still hadn’t resurfaced with Davie. Where the hell was she? At that moment, Davie appeared back on the surface, but Y/N was nowhere to be found.

“Capp, go out and get the kid. Now!” I demand. “I’m going to look for Y/N.” Capp nodded and jumped into the water with me following close behind. I swam out to where Davie was, and as Capp took the boy, I dove under the water. I looked around, hoping to find Y/N, and thankfully, I did, but she was unconscious. I made my way over to her, grabbed her body, and kicked towards the surface. When I got above the water, I tugged Y/N’s body with me to shore. Tony and Capp helped me lift her out of the water, and when I got back onto land, I pressed my ear against her chest. She wasn’t breathing.

“I’m going to call an ambulance,” Tony informed me and rushed towards the truck.

I took a deep breath, pinched Y/N’s nose, tilted her head back, and then I placed my mouth to hers. I breathed into her mouth a few times, and when I pulled away, I watched to see if she began breathing again, but she wasn’t. “Come on” I cry out and breathe into her mouth some more.

“Ambulance is 5 minutes out,” Tony said to me.

“She doesn’t have 5 minutes. Come on Y/N. Breathe,” I mumble and press my mouth to hers again. No matter how many times I tried, Y/N did not seem to come back. Just as I was about to give up, Y/N turned her head to the side and coughed up water. “Y/N! Thank god you’re okay.”

Y/N’s POV

The feeling of water leaving my lungs did not feel good. As I continued retching, Kelly helped me turn my body so that I wasn’t choking on my own spit and whatever else was coming up my throat. I coughed one more time and sucked in a huge breath before laying back down on the pavement.

“Y/N,” Kelly spoke and cupped my face with his hands.

“Hey, Cap’n,” I mutter and give him a tired smile.

“What did I say about following orders? You know I hate filing insubordination charges,” Kelly said.

“Maybe you can forget about that just this one time,” I whisper as I heard ambulance sirens getting closer.

“Only if you promise to never do that again. I mean it,” Kelly told me.

“Okay. Deal. Look, there’s something I never got to tell you,” I manage to breath out.

Kelly only smiled and pressed his lips to mine, giving me a quick kiss. “I like you too,” he assured me as an ambulance parked a few feet away from us. “Just focus on getting better now, okay? I promise we can talk about all of this as soon as you’re back in business.”

“Sounds good to me. Hey, could you ride with me in the ambo?” I ask. “I may or may not be afraid of hospitals.”

Kelly laughed and kissed my forehead. “Of course. Now, lets get you treated. I want my girl back on Squad as soon as possible.”

“Your girl? I thought we were talking about that later,” I say with a grin.

“Just shut up and accept it,” Kelly said.

“All right. I can’t believe Kelly Severide, the Lieutenant of Squad 3 and the hottest firefighter in Chicago likes me. I can get used to this,” I murmur.

___________________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13​ @campingmonkey @winterberryfox @anotherfan07 @giagma​

[dizzydancingdreamer]

It's Good | Clintasha

Well-- it's 1:15 and this isn't what I expected to write and post today but it's what happened and I'm not mad at it. It's a deviation from my usual style and I think that's good. I love them and this made my heart happy so I might do more when I need a break. Please enjoy this change of schedule my lovelies!

Pairing: Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff

Word Count: 1.9k

Tags: Fluff, slight angst

Clint’s fingers weave through her messy red curls, not tugging hard enough to hurt her, only enough to untangle the soft strands. Perhaps, if it were a year ago and the first time she’d stumbled back into the compound— face muddy with streaks of dirt and dried crimson, hair a wild mane and fingers too shaky to do it herself— he would have tugged too hard and earned a shocked yelp. It wouldn’t be his fault— being gentle isn’t really how he operates. At least it wasn’t until it had to be. Now he knows better—

“One or two, Natty?”

It’s taking the redhead a few beats longer than usual to answer, her head slumped towards her chest, and he sighs, quiet enough that he can be sure she doesn’t hear it. He’s not mad at her— or even annoyed— braiding Natasha Romanoff’s hair is one of the few moments of peace he gets to enjoy in his usually chaotic life. One of the few moments he wants. He just wishes it wasn’t here— he wishes it wasn’t so fleeting.

Can you braid hair for the rest of your life and not get tired of it?

He’d like to try.

Just— maybe in a nice house with a dog. Nothing too extravagant— he’ll leave that to Tony— but something cozy. Homey. That’s all he wants— a home. He glances down at the girl in front of him, eyes drawing over the slope of her neck, counting all the little scars— still only seven; that’s good. Maybe he doesn’t want a home— maybe he just wants a home for his home.

“Natty.” He tries again, fingers pushing against her warm scalp, coaxing her tiny body further against his.

She still doesn’t answer and he instantly understands why, her back rising and falling with even inhales and exhales, breaths so much steadier than normal. She’s asleep. Still, he sweeps the fluffy mane as lightly as possible from her cheek, head peeking around to glimpse at her closed eyes— yep, asleep; that’s good. She doesn’t sleep nearly as much as she should. He would never call her out on it. He would call her on other things— and he has, many times— for not eating enough, not relaxing enough, not thinking of her own well being enough— but he would never call her out for not sleeping. He knows better.

He understands.

He has them too— the very same nightmares that have her screaming so loud in her sleep that he’s out of his bed and at her door before his own eyes are even fully open.

It’s why he continues on his mission, his movements somehow even gentler than before.

Grabbing the comb from beside him— a wide tooth thing he picked up once this became a regular happening in order to keep his shitty brush from destroying her curls— Clint rather skillfully parts her hair down the middle, using a band to gather the left half into a loose knot. He learned quickly that if he leaves the halves down at the same time the strands will gravitate back towards each other and re-tangle. It’s like magic how easily her hair becomes untameable. He supposes that’s just her though— wild. Wild but not so free.

He sets the comb back down, running his fingers through her curls one last time before setting to work. Taking three tiny sections from close to her forehead he, almost mechanically, begins to plait the hair on the right half of her head. He always starts on the right. He’s not superstitious but he figures he does it for a reason so who is he to stop doing it now. Testing fate isn’t Clint’s main objective in life— not when he has something to lose.

The movements are locked in his muscles, hands moving from sheer memory. The right strand goes under the middle strand. The left strand goes under the middle strand. Repeat. It’s simple— so simple he wonders why it took him so long to pick it up in the first place. Right strand under, left strand under, repeat. Pick up more hair as you go. Simple. Maybe he just wanted to feel her hands on his for as long as possible— to hear her giggles as she taught him, much too tired for his liking but still mesmerizing. Pick up more hair. Right strand under. Pick up more hair. Left strand under. Natasha is always so damn mesmerizing— even when she’s stumbling through his door, hair still wet from her shower and so worn out that she doesn’t even knock.

He likes it better like that anyway; when she chooses him to help her.

She doesn’t ask for help enough.

He knew that before he started braiding her hair. It simply became more obvious after. He shouldn’t have been so surprised— this is the same girl he saved all those years ago. The same girl he was sent to kill and instead came back with, body tossed over his shoulder, out cold, gun still in his hand and pointed at Nick Fury, daring him to take the next step. The same girl he fought for because something inside him snapped when he had that very same gun aimed at her head and she had begged him to pull the trigger. That was the only time he’s ever seen Nat beg and god if it didn’t spark something almost as wild as her curls inside his chest. He should have known then how hard it would be to get her to ask for help.

Clint sighs again, tying the plait off with another band. He runs his fingers over his work— not half bad. Nat can do it better— of course she can. It's her hair. She can but she chooses not to. So he doesn’t care— not about the little bump halfway down the braid or the way a few strands poke out near the bottom where his movements started to get choppy. None of that matters, only the fact that she’s here, in his arms, finally safe. Even if only for a few hours. His chest squeezes and he forces himself to move his fingers from the completed braid.

God what he wouldn’t do for a secluded house and a golden retriever and a farm.

He starts on the second braid. Under, under, more hair, repeat. He doesn’t know how to farm but it really can’t be that difficult. It would be more for fun than anything. To pass the time. To sit in the sun with this breathtaking woman and not have to think for five minutes. He can’t say that he can picture it— he’s not a liar. Not intentionally, at least. He can’t picture it but he wants to. A dog and a porch and some lemonade. And her. Simple.

It’s so simple and for once something so simple hadn’t taken him ages to learn. He knew right away. It wasn’t like braiding— he didn’t knot his wants the way he knotted her hair for months, fingers stiff and harsh. No, it was simple. How he feels is simple. Love should be simple and with her it is. Loving her isn’t like braiding hair— he didn’t have to learn how to love Natasha he just knew and he did it. He still does it. Like the braiding, it’s now muscle memory. It’s a part of him. It won’t go away.

That’s good.

Sometimes he has to remind himself what in his life is good because, honestly, there aren’t that many things. Most of them— all of them— include the redhead sleeping in his arms. Drinking coffee with her before the sun rises is good. The smell of her cocoa butter lotion on his sheets is good. The softness of her hair, the little black dress she wore to Tony’s party three months ago, the way she stands so close to him at briefings that her shoulder brushes his. Good, good, good. The way his chest feels when she rolls her eyes at his jokes but then the corners of her lips pull up, almost like she’s trying to stop herself from smiling but can’t.

Amazing.

Wonderful.

Life— her smile is life.

She is the embodiment of life— she’s his life.

His entire damn life.

That’s good.

As Clint finishes tying the second braid Natasha stirs against his chest, legs stretching out in front of her and knocking into his which are sprawled on either side of her. Her arms are next, reaching high above her head before falling, landing a little awkwardly against his face. Chuckling, he captures her fingers, smoothing them properly against his cheeks. They’re cold and he’s expecting it, used to the chill of her skin by now and more than happy to share his warmth. She scratches through the stubble on his jaw for a moment, yawning into the dim space of his room.

“What time is it?” She murmurs, rolling her head onto his shoulder.

Her voice is a tad squeaky, laced with the same sleep he can now see clouding her blue eyes and he laughs again, massaging her hands. He has to force himself to not get lost in her stare— a job easier said than done.

“I think eleven— not really sure though.”

She raises a brow, nose scrunching, and he can hear her words before they’re even out of her mouth. They drive a knife through his chest before they’re even out of her mouth.

“Shit ‘m sorry— didn’t mean to pass out.”

If braiding her hair is muscle memory for him then apologizing when she shouldn’t is muscle memory for her. Maybe it would hurt less if she didn’t mean it. But she does— she always means it— and he wishes he could erase the lines around her mouth as it tugs into a frown. He doesn’t have an eraser though.

He only has his arms.

So he does his best to curl them around her shoulders, pressing his face deeper into her wandering fingers. They creep over his jaw and under his eyes, tracing the ridge of his nose and the slight bump that she gave him. He grins at that— she’s a fighter. That’s good. That’s why they’re such good partners— not that she would admit it. She’s too damn hard on herself. Like him tugging on her hair; she’s always too rough.

“How many times do I gotta’ tell you that it’s okay, Natty?” He mumbles, guiding his nose along her fingertips. “You don’t gotta’ apologize.”

She only smiles— I know.

That’s good.

She yawns again, dropping her hands from his face and instead curling them around his arms, her blue eyes fluttering tellingly. It’s what she does when she’s tired but doesn’t want to say anything. Like she’s afraid to tell him that she wants to sleep. Like she’s afraid to sleep at all or she’s afraid he’s going to tell her no. As if he could ever tell her no. There are a lot of things he wants to tell her— ask her. No isn’t one of those things. There are too many other things to let something so silly come between saying them.

Can we paint the walls of our house blue? Can we name our dog Lucky? Will you mar—

Time for bed— he’s losing his mind.

Still, he asks— she always has the deciding choice with him. “You ready to sleep?”

It’s not the first question he would have chosen if he could ask her anything but for now it works— for now it’s good.

Just like her answer— her answer is good too.

It’s a nod and a hum and a “Can you carry me, Clin?”

Yeah, it’s good.

And he knows better than to say no to good.

[elucien]

A VICTOR IS NOT A FISHERMAN

All I can do is snort; Finnick Odair is somewhat of a legend to Four, but more a joke to the two of us. He’d won his games at fourteen, youngest ever; and combined with his golden looks, he instantly became a Capitol favorite. But it doesn’t take away from how he’d been one of us before. A fisherman. I’d seen him at the docks when I’d been a young girl clinging behind my father, and more than a few times at that. But we’d never spoken. Once he won his games, he stopped showing up to the docks at all.

The fisherman called him The Capitol’s Whore. Said he went through multiple Capitol citizens in his trips there, not to mention that we’d seen him before showing visitors around Four, with most often giving him the smile that I’ve seen only reserved for lovers. I didn’t know him, so I never chimed in. It didn’t feel fair to me, passing judgement on someone I hadn’t spoken to before, but I understood the sense of betrayal. The fishermen stick together; we do not lie to one another, nor turn our backs on our people, or anything of the sort. We are all one. And when he’d come back from the arena… well, he seemed to have forgotten he was a fisherman. The added recent love for The Capitol only worsened the blow.

chapter one of an enemies to lovers odesta fic, focusing on annie’s reaping and the events that follow. annie is a daughter of four, a recently orphaned fisher that belongs to the lower class of the district. finnick is a victor, in a social class untouched by the rest of four, and what the district views as a class traitor. 

REAPING DAY.

I wake to the sun hanging midway above the sky, to the soft caws of the gulls that often frequent this portion of the beach. I don’t have neighbors, either, save for the stubborn pesks; the houses scattered amongst the sand dunes are now abandoned, and the old wharf to the north is only frequented by the elderly, who more often than not squat in the decrypt ruins of ancient houses and partake in drug consumption.

The peacekeepers often look the other way; I don’t, because they’re the ones I sell my fish to. I don’t know how they have money after spending their coins on drugs, but for me, I’ve learned not to question my source of income or who it comes from. Money is money, and it’s what’ll fill an empty stomach and repair shattered windows after the mid-summer storms. The District is not merciful, and I’ve long learned not to rely on the charity of the wealthier folk. Fate and survival,  it seems, are entirely in my hands.

I hear the scuttling of crabs on the roof that hangs above my head and then knocking on my door, loud and persistent, and I’d be content enough to turn and ignore it if I didn’t know who it belonged to.

“Annie Cresta, if you don’t open up this damned door, I swear to god,” starts Sofia Marinus, “I’ll break it down myself and leave you defenseless against the winter storms.”

Her words are laced with enough irritation that I know to take her seriously; a threat from a Marinus, particularly Sofia, is never idle. Her family’s a large one, with seven children and a father that’s famed for a restaurant that only caters to the wealthy, but known mostly for their mob-like mentality. We don’t have gangs in Four, but the Marinus family is probably the closest thing we have to organized crime. I even remember Sofia being pushed once as a child and going home with torn knees. The next day, the culprit showed up to school in crutches. Courtesy of her brothers, of course, but we knew better than to voice our thoughts.

“Annie, I swear,” chimes Sofia again, this time knocking on a window that offers a glimpse into a living room that’s seemingly coated in dust. 

I don’t bother answering; the sound of my steps traveling through the well-worn and rather small hovel is enough for her to know that I’m awake and letting her in. I swing the door open and she’s there in seconds, as if materializing; her wideset obsidian eyes are bright as she takes me in, and I vaguely note that her thick black hair is tied up neatly with a ribbon that I haven’t seen before.

“I thought I’d check in on you today,” says Sofia rather sweetly before thrusting a crinkled brown bag in my direction. “These are cookies, by the way. The bakery still frosts them the way you told them to, all those years ago.”

I take the bag and step aside, ignoring the warmth that her mere presence evokes. The two of us are as familiar with one another as one possibly can be; it merely took one look at each other in the first grade to know that we’d found our best friend. Despite the difference in class, Sofia often seems to enjoy spending her time with me, and particularly when I have business in The Trench. There’s perhaps nothing more enjoyable to her than the bartering that takes place in the broken down buildings that claim the southern wharf, even; and she likes to sell my own catches for herself.

“You’re up early,” I say after peering at the freshly frosted confectionaries. “What’s the reason?”

She pauses dusting off one of the couches to shrug. “Gabi woke me up; said that needed someone to go with her to the tailor, and that she’d rather it be me than any of our brothers. Bribed me with cookies too.”

I hold up the bag now before snorting. “And here I am, thinking you brought me these out of the kindness in your heart.”

The cookies do look good, though: and I remember the day that I’d spent in the bakery with the baker’s son and daughter, poring over the cookies and frosting. I’d had an eye for color when I was younger, and had spent my days cataloguing and breathing and living it. It had been my nature to notice the beauty in the most unexpected things, but that had faded when my father had died mere months ago. Never mind that I still had spare money lying around that I could use to get paint from The Trench; his absence had left a hole in my chest so large that I couldn’t do anything but ignore it. 

And doing so required whatever energy I had on most days.

“Think we’ll see Finnick Odair?” asks Sofia while lounging on her back on the couch. She holds a book in her hands and leafs through it, as if actually curious about whatever words were inked into it. “We’ll be closest to the front now that we’re eighteen. Maybe he’ll even look at us.”

“We’ve seen him at The Trench, Sofia,” I remind her as I pad towards the kitchen, in need of both water and something that isn’t sweet for breakfast. A luxury such as the cookies she’d given me are for after the reaping, for our celebration in escaping all the reapings we’d attended. Perhaps I’d even drag her out to The Trench for the rowdy parties they threw. Or maybe one of the pubs that were near the tip of the fisherman’s village, all the way on the outskirts of the main city of the Four. “He spoke to you before, too. Remember? He asked you to step to the side.”

I can hear her howling with laughter from across the wall. “It wasn’t the kindest proposal, but it was one nonetheless.”

All I can do is snort; Finnick Odair is somewhat of a legend to Four, but more a joke to the two of us. He’d won his games at fourteen, youngest ever; and combined with his golden looks, he instantly became a Capitol favorite. But it doesn’t take away from how he’d been one of us before. A fisherman. I’d seen him at the docks when I’d been a young girl clinging behind my father, and more than a few times at that. But we’d never spoken. Once he won his games, he stopped showing up to the docks at all.

The fisherman called him The Capitol’s Whore. Said he went through multiple Capitol citizens in his trips there, not to mention that we’d seen him before showing visitors around Four, with most often giving him the smile that I’ve seen only reserved for lovers. I didn’t know him, so I never chimed in. It didn’t feel fair to me, passing judgement on someone I hadn’t spoken to before, but I understood the sense of betrayal. The fishermen stick together; we do not lie to one another, nor turn our backs on our people, or anything of the sort. We are all one. And when he’d come back from the arena… well, he seemed to have forgotten he was a fisherman. The added recent love for The Capitol only worsened the blow.

“When you marry him, make sure you remember me, yeah? Coins aren’t getting hard to come by,” I call out before nudging my way back into the kitchen, balancing a few plates in my hands. There’s one seastar shaped cookie, frosted pink and gold and white, along with biscuits that are slightly stale and tea. Luxuries like these are saved for reaping day; they allow you a sort of comfort when you need it, a sense of wealth that you don’t have. And there’s nothing we enjoy here at Four more than grasping at straws.

I set the plates atop the dusty table in front of the couch before snapping the cookie in half and offering Sofia her piece. “Happy Reaping Day.”

Her answering smile is brighter than the dawn. “And may the odds be ever in your favor.”

We enter the district square fairly late, but somehow manage to escape a slap on the back of our hands. The parents stand crowded off to the sides of the clearing, but there aren’t many. Life in the districts is cruel and cold, but here, it only seems to show in the deaths of our parents, who are often still too young and show no signs of illness. They simply seem to pass in the blink of an eye, unexpectedly, and from reasons unknown. A new orphan is a common thing, and they quickly tend to band together to find a way of surviving. There are often family houses left abandoned in the sand dunes due to orphans leaving.

“Stop scowling,” whispers Sofia, nudging me in my side.

But all I can think of is how there had been three before, and now there are two. We’d lost Ivan at fifteen, and he’d been brilliant; with cropped obsidian hair and hazel eyes, he’d been a looker, even when young. He’d gravitated towards Sofia and I quickly, and we’d become a unit, seamlessly and easily. I’d had my first kiss with him too, on the sands in front of my dune home while the sun had left the beach aglow in soft hues of pink and magenta. Perhaps I would’ve grown to love him, too, if he hadn’t been reaped; and then slaughtered on TV by the Careers, simply for sport. To spice things up for The Capitol.

He’d promised us he’d make it back.

The only difference was that he made it back in a box. In pieces.

And Sofia and I had lost parts of ourselves that we knew could never be recovered.

“I know what you’re thinking of,” she hisses, and her grip tightens on my hand. “We’ll make it past the reaping, Cresta. We’ll go home and finish those cookies to celebrate, and drink some cider too. Then we’ll get more cookies and go to a party at The Trench. You hear me?”

I’m too lost in the stragglers that push past us, in the noise of the weeping of the terrified younger children and the mumbling of the older teenagers who simply wanted this to be over. 

I’m terrified, and for the first reaping in my life, I find myself numb.

“Come on, Annie,” repeats Sofia somewhat worriedly.

And so I’m pulled forward to the front, where the other eighteen year olds stand, and true to her words, we find Finnick Odair on the stage above us. It’s perhaps the only thing that rouses me from my fears, and I focus on the cream linen shirt that’s tucked into beige pants. Both are utterly simple but made of the most exquisite fabric, and I know without a doubt that one garment could leave me well fed for months, if not a year. Clothes like that are only from The Capitol.

“You were right,” I whisper back as we finally stand in a row, arms linked together. “He’s right in front of us.”

“My husband,” replies Sofia dreamily.

She’s joking, of course, and it’s the mere thought of either of us finding him attractive that has us both giggling, the noise so at odds with our surroundings and circumstances. 

He turns to us then, with eyes that are gleaming even from where he stands, and I know then that the rumors had never exaggerated his looks. But instead of butterflies, I merely feel anger stirring within my veins, the emotion resurfacing after months of its absence.

Finnick Odair is a traitor. The Capitol Whore. He’d turned his back on the Fishermen for the shiny possessions one could get in The Capitol and lovers, and he’d never turned back. Nevermind that he had likely fished alongside us, and perhaps starved when we all had; he’d taken his first opportunity out and ignored all of us. It makes me want to wrap my fingers around his throat.

For a moment, we lock eyes and remain staring at one another until I see the escort and mayor leave the Justice Building. The other Victors are already seated, and I notice that while Triton Calpernius is deceased, his empty seat is still present. As if The Capitol is trying to remind us that no one is more powerful than them. I notice the look that Finnick gives it when he turns; almost as if he still can’t believe what had happened last year. Calpernius might’ve even been his mentor. If I’d been capable of feeling anything for the traitor, it would be sorrow and a sense of kinship. 

But it is reaping day, and every single person is out for themselves today.

Including the fisherman.

REAPING

I don’t pay attention for the beginning half of the reaping; it’s the usual customary speech, with our Mayor thanking The Capitol for their mercy, and telling us about how the Dark Days were a stain in our history. And perhaps they were a stain, but only because we didn’t succeed in overthrowing The Capitol. I’ve never voiced a thought like that, of course, but a life like this for an entire nation is absurd. 

Sofia nudges me the second Amazon Blackfrost steps onto the stage, and we both have to reign in our laughter. It doesn’t stop the giggle that comes from me, which earns both a look from Finnick Odair and the parents who stand to our far left, but I don’t mind it. A few more hours and we’ll hopefully be free from this Hell; and I’ll no longer have to worry about nightmares that take place in exotic and terrifying arenas, and that always end with my certain death.

“She really went with the mermaid theme this year,” whispers Sofia as Amazon teeters forward, attempting to step towards the mic in her ridiculously high platform heels. 

I giggle again. “It’s better than the year she went with the pirate costume. Remember how horrible it looked?”

“It almost showed her-”

Amazon taps her mic twice, effectively silencing Sofia and anyone else in the square that wished to talk about how ridiculous her outfit looked. From the look on Finnick Odair’s face, it’s clear that he’d been watching me and Sofia exchange comments. But rather than take pride in having captured his attention, I simply feel that simmering anger yet again.

“Welcome, welcome,” starts Amazon, her smile freakishly large and absolutely manufactured. “Welcome to the 70th annual Hunger Games.”

I turn to Sofia yet again, but this time I catch her staring at where the boys our age stand. Ivan usually stood at the far right, at the very edge, so that we’d be able to see him and mouth what we were saying. And although we’ve stopped mentioning his name at reapings, we look at that very spot each year, as if he’ll materialize and give us that smile that he was known for.

“Ladies first,” declares Amazon, and we all straighten immediately.

It takes her another minute to teeter over to the bowl, but the second she does, she dips her hand and pulls at the first slip that surfaces in her hand. She wobbles her way over back to the microphone before smoothing the cream colored slip in her hand and clearing her throat.

“Andromeda Cresta.”

I still.

Sofia shrieks and immediately wraps herself around me.

The other girls clear away immediately, giving us a wide birth.

Some of the parents look at me with stark, bottomless pain in their eyes, and I remember that some of them knew my parents. There are the fishermen too, who dip their chins in respect and mourning. 

“Andromeda Cresta,” repeats Amazon, waving a hand excitedly. “Don’t be shy now, come on up! This is your time for glory.”

I tear my gaze away from the parents and turn to Sofia with such calmness that I don’t recognize myself. I have to pry her fingers away from my arm, and I see her panicked gaze alternating between where I stand and where Ivan used to stand. And I know then that I’ll become another story that parents tell their children about their friends or people they knew who lost their lives to the arena.

The thought makes me want to roar, to scream and to fight for my life, but I know that the Games don’t begin when the gong goes off in the arena; they begin the second your name is called out, when the cameras turn to you. And it’s why I’m gentle when I pry myself away from Sofia. A kiss is pressed atop her forehead before I say a few more parting words.

“We’ll talk in the justice building,” I cry as the peacekeepers make towards me, towering over the crowds in their polished white shells. “We’ll talk then, Sofia. Don’t… don’t worry.”

And I don’t know what else to say when the peacekeepers lead me away, taking me to the stage.

[inkweaver22-blr]

Three chapters in three days! I’m on fire! Welcome to the first of the intermediary filler/fluff chapters! There will be a few of these chapters in between each of the major plot-relevant ones to break up some of the seriousness of this fic. Can’t be torturing our boy the entire time now.

AO3 Link

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Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Three: The Brightest Sun

Tang takes some time to think about everyone's favorite delivery boy.

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Qí Xiǎotiān. MK. The Monkie Kid.

Tang watched as the younger man mopped the floor of the noodle shop with a spring in his step. He hummed the theme song to The Monkey King Animated Series as he worked, his bright smile never fading despite the menial labor.

Tang couldn’t help being in awe of the young man. He supposed that if their life were a tv show or book series, MK would no doubt have been the main character with how everything seemed to center around him. Becoming the Monkey King’s successor, fighting demons regularly, being the hero and protector of the city. Throughout it all MK remained upbeat and optimistic. A beacon of happiness and cheer.

Outwardly at least.

Tang felt a pain in his chest as he recalled the cycle where he first learned of MK’s insecurities. The fears of being abandoned by his friends. Anxieties over Monkey King deciding he chose the wrong successor. Absolute dread at not being strong enough to protect everyone.

It hurt the scholar’s heart that the poor kid had felt the need to shoulder the impossible weight of such terrible thoughts on his own. He had gone through his own bouts of such feelings very early on in the cycles and knew it wasn’t a good idea to keep such emotions bottled up.

So he did his best to encourage and reassure MK whenever he could. A pep talk here, some unconditional support and comfort there. Tang also got the others in on it as well, making sure they understood what the kid needed.

(Oh how he had yelled at Pigsy the cycle after learning of MK’s troubles for even daring to suggest that MK was replaceable with a robot.)

The humming soon turned to singing as MK continued cleaning.

Tang didn’t bother hiding the smile that came to his lips. MK was an incredible person in the scholar’s eyes. Yes, he had his own fears and issues, but who didn’t? It was when he confronted those feelings with the help of the people that cared for him that the scholar could see a glimpse of the Monkie Kid’s true potential.

Strength. Confidence. Self-reflection. Love.

With his worries conquered by the affection from his friends, MK seemed to radiate an inner light that was almost blinding. A bright and warming sun that lit up everything around him.

Tang mused that if MK was a sun, then it made sense that he had a collection of people that tended to gravitate around him.

MK’s background never seemed quite the same throughout the cycles, but they were consistent in leaving him without parents in one way or another. Pigsy had filled in as a father figure very easily. The chef’s silent forms of affection and steady presence had been the perfect remedy for a lonely and distrustful teen all those years ago.

The Monkey King also fit into the father role rather quickly once he began teaching MK. He was a bit more distant than Pigsy when it came to showing affection, but Tang still had to admit the old monkey did actually care about MK as if he was his own son.

(It had been a struggle to get him to admit it to the kid, like pulling blood from a stone, but Tang had been patient. The smile on MK’s face had been more than worth it.)

Mei was obviously like a sister to MK, sharing in his enthusiasm and love for life.

Sandy was the kind and doting uncle who always had some helpful advice and a cup of tea ready.

Tang wasn’t exactly sure where he fit in but liked to think of himself as a favorite tutor who told some good stories.

The scholar chuckled as MK began to dance around with the mop, having switched to sing some popular pop song.

It wasn’t just the five of them that tended to get caught up in MK’s shining personality. More often than not, their enemies were also ensnared by his light in various timelines.

Jin and Yin had their mischievous streaks toned down to simpler pranks and goofs whenever MK befriended them.

The Spider Queen had become a powerful ally and aunt to MK one memorable cycle.

Even Macaque would give up on his plans of revenge if he spent time with the kid outside of their twisted training sessions.

There was just something inherently likeable about MK. Some sort of effortless charm and caring he exuded that captured the hearts of those around him.

Tang was of the opinion that if a being spent an extended period of time around MK and still disliked him, then there had been no hope for them ever being a good person.

“Noodle boy!”

Tang smirked into his bowl. Speaking of spending an extended period of time around MK…

MK greeted Red Son enthusiastically, the demon’s reply much more sedate.

The scholar slowly ate his noodles as the unlikely pair conversed. Out of every enemy they faced, the son of the Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan was the most likely to be caught in MK’s light.

He supposed that made sense, as he spent more time than any of their enemies interacting with the kid through their fights.

They complimented each other as well. Both were always enthusiastic about whatever they did. MK let himself be pulled along by his heart and emotions while Red Son kept himself grounded with his more logical approaches.

Like himself and Pigsy, the exact relationship between the two seemed to be determined by a toss of a coin. Some of the time they were simply best friends. Other times they were kidnapping each other in the traditional demon equivalent of a marriage proposal.

He would never say it to their faces, but he found the pair cute together regardless of the exact relationship they had.

“I’ll be back later,” MK called out as Red Son pulled him from the shop. “Bye Dadsy! Bye Dad!”

Tang choked on his food.

He quickly placed his bowl down and stared wide-eyed at the closing door. He turned to the chef who had an equally surprised expression. Pigsy and him were the only other ones in the shop at the moment. So that must mean-

“Did he just call us…?” Tang let the question trail off, unsure of what he actually had heard and desperately hoping he wasn’t wrong.

“Dadsy and Dad? Yeah. Yeah he did,” Pigsy answered as a wide grin grew on his face.

Oh. So he had heard correctly.

Love, strong and warm and bright, welled up inside of Tang. His smile was equally as big as the chef’s and he had to remove his glasses to wipe away a few tears.

MK had the brightest personality Tang had ever known. One he was in awe of.

He would do his absolute best to be a good father for MK if that’s what he wanted.

Isn’t that what all the best dads did for their sons?

----------

D'awww! Wasn’t that just so sweet? Next chapter won’t be as fluffy but I would still consider it a bit of filler. Until then!

[johns-prince]

I was reading Norman's biography of Mick Jagger the other day and at some point I realized that good old Mick had it BAD for John. They hung out a lot in the Lost Weekend and Mick seemed heartbroken when May told him John had gone back to Yoko. He was so upset that he talked to the press about it multiple times, whining about not having any access to John and that he was hiding behind Sean. Mick wasn't wrong, though. I was just very entertained by his reaction. Then there is this:

"Mick, as a result, had found himself in the—for him—highly unusual position of wanting to see someone but having his every friendly overture rebuffed.

From his sitting room window, he could see the Gothic rooftops of Lennon’s home, and would sometimes act out the part of a spurned girlfriend: “[John’s] right over there. Does he ever call me? Does he ever go out? No. Changes his phone number about every ten minutes. I’ve given up . . .” But there was no disguising how much this apparent indifference really hurt. Once or twice, he put aside the Tyranny of Cool sufficiently to leave Lennon a note with his own current phone number at the Dakota concierges’ desk, but no response ever came."

LOL "John is right over there. IS HE THINKING OF ME?" The thirst was real, you guys. I don't remember Mick being this sad about any of his women leaving him. Me thinks Johnny hit and quit it but someone fell in love, you see.

I agree, Mick sounds like a jilted lover/girlfriend here who just wants to be at least acknowledged. He was seriously upset about the fact that, when John went back to Yoko he knew that she didn’t like him. She thought he wasn’t worth John’s time and was a bad influence. Gotta remember, Mick and John had been friends since the sixties-- Mick was much closer to John then Paul, even.

Also talk about the gall because she was completely fine with John hanging out with the likes of Klein, Phil Spector, and Magic Alex... Like, talk about bad influences-- Phil fucking pointed a gun at John because he liked to freak John out and upset him. She liked these people. She approved of them for John. Yoko isn’t fully to blame, John also holds blame for how he’d treat people and just cut them off [even if he personally didn’t want too] but she encouraged John to cut ties with family and close, old friends just, like that.  

I feel for Mick. I honestly feel for anyone who loved John, it did seem trying at times. I mean, sometimes it’s not always easy for me to love John just as some crazed groupie... I could only imagine how intense and, confusing and exciting and, memorable it would have been to know him, personally, and get to love him personally. 

I personally don’t think anything serious happened between John and Mick. Kind of like how I believe nothing deeper then just, solid friendship was between John and Stu-- someone he could confide in, who wasn’t just Paul. 

Was there flirting between the two? Absolutely, though I find it to be a partially playful joking sort of flirting between friends, and partially with a serious edge to it. Libra’s are natural flirters, they often to do it unintentionally because it’s just, part of their personality. John most likely both an unintentional and intentional flirt, and his male friends weren’t left out on his teasing’s and naughty, playful behavior [specifically moreso open and direct about it in the 70s] 

But, I do think you’re right that Mick had it bad. Most male friends of John seemed to have it bad for him, in some way or another. Women and men loved John-- he was rather easy to love, despite how he’s painted and the sort of front he put up. As Paul said-- John was a loveable guy, everyone loved him, and he was right [though Paul usually only mentions everyone else when talking about loving John, deflects onto others at the same time but I digress] 

Even men who apparently thought of him a poky bastard seemed to inevitably be drawn to him, and like him [like David Bailey] 

He was loved, so, so much.

“The theory is that when John went off to Spain on holiday with Brian, that’s what it was all about - John trying to get his position clear as the leader of the group. Also, I’m sure Brian was in love with John. We were all in love with John, but Brian was gay so that added an edge.” Paul McCartney - Anthology

PAUL: “Well, I’m sure Brian was in love with John, I’m sure that’s absolutely right. I mean, everyone was in love with John; John was lovable, John was a very lovable guy.” [x]

“What did John Lennon see in me? I think outrageousness and being true to myself and not giving a fuck. We hit it off straight away, even though I was in complete awe of him. He was nothing else but kind to me. I never saw the other side of John, the Harry Nilsson drinking side of John, where he turned on a sixpence. I only saw the gentle, gorgeous side of John, and he was gentle not only to me but my parents, my band members, and I just fell in love with him.”

— Elton John [x]

“Nowhere can the caring side of John Lennon be documented more accurately than in his relationship with Malcolm Evans, the very tall and bespectacled man who became a regular as a road manager, along with Neil Aspinall, on the Beatles’ tours. Evans had a magnetic personality and was a favorite with reporters and the women who tagged along. His smile and charm could be deceptive; he would have done anything to protect the Beatles. At one point on the touring aircraft, while traveling from Jacksonville to Boston in 1964, a tired Mal Evans sat next to me in the rear of the aircraft with tears trickling down his face. I asked, “What’s the matter?” Mal answered, “John got kind of cross with me … just said I should go f— off. No reason, ya’ know. But I love the man. John is a powerful force. Sometimes he’s rough, if you know what I mean, man. But there’s no greater person that I know.” I never learned what the dispute was about, but I do know that a few minutes later, a sullen Lennon walked by and embraced Evans.” — Larry Kane [x]

“Sharing a twisted sense of humour and a penchant for mischief, Nilsson and Lennon were natural buddies. It was perhaps inevitable that the LA-dwelling singer would gravitate towards Lennon. Lennon clearly appreciated Nilsson’s edginess and was very likely looking for a male soulmate to fill the hole left by McCartney. For his part, Nilsson’s feelings for Lennon ran even deeper: ‘I really fell in love with him. He was all those things you wanted somebody to be.”

Man On The Run: Paul McCartney in the 1970s by Tom Doyle [x]

“But the acerbic John is the one we know and love, you know, because he was clever with it, so it was very attractive. But, for me, I have more than a slight affection for the John that I knew then, when we were first writing songs, when we would try and do things the old songwriters had done. I slightly regret the way John’s image has formed, and because he died so tragically it has become set in concrete. The acerbic side was there but it was only part of him. He was also such a sweet, lovely man – a really sweet guy. ””

— Paul McCartney, discussing John Lennon [x]

John was a charming man in his own right, charismatic, and funny. Having a good sense of humor is always attractive, and draws people to you. As Paul says, and Elton, John was kind, he was sweet and friendly. He wasn’t always this, Mr. Tough and aggressive, ripping into people with his sharp tongue. He was gentle, he could be gentle, in his own way. Warm, and loving. 

He had this ability to just... make you feel like you’ve known him longer then you actually have. Like you have some sort of, special relationship or connection with him-- that you were the only one who was close enough to see underneath his armor, to know him as intimately as anyone else ever could. 

Course, this was simply how many felt and wanted to be the reality[specifically men], when it wasn’t, not exactly. They didn't really know the real John, they didn't get to see him at his most sincere, when his beautiful armor was chipped away and he was standing naked and scared. He described himself like a chameleon when it came to social settings, when interacting with different individuals [friends], which honestly makes sense as a Libra [Gemini’s are just as guilty of this] 

They got to know a facet of John... Maybe they did get a glimpse of John here and there, but it’s just reality that John didn’t just, open up so easily to people like that. He didn’t like feeling vulnerable, and he had a habit of testing people’s loyalty and love for him [whether it had been consciously or not, I’m not always sure] because of the insecurities and doubt that one day, they’d turn on him or abandon him. 

Again, he had this way in making people [other men] feel as if they had an intimate and special connection with him. And maybe they did to varying degrees. John had a way to act open with others, without actually being open and vulnerable, or at least not fully. I’m not sure if I’m making sense lol

Only ones who I think ever got to know the real John, were Mimi(of course she raised him), Pete (friends since they were just peanuts), Cynthia somewhat, May got glimpses and wanted John to be himself and independent... Yoko to a degree (though she focuses on entirely pushing and talking about Brand John Lennon™)  

And who I know for a fact did, and does know John the most intimately, deeply, unabashedly, is Paul.

But anyway, speaking of being so very attractive, John was attractive. Like, many women and men found him exceedingly attractive, like this one male photographer who believed John was the most handsome out of the band;

“I think John was the best looking, actually. The refined nose.  He never went out of his way to be a disagreeable person.  He would be the one to go over and just sit and sign some little girl’s book...” 

Harry Benson, photographer who took the photo of the iconic pillow fight and other well known Beatle photos, talks about John. [x]

Then we have David Bailey, who described Paul, Ringo, and George as rather pleasant-- while describing John as being a fucker, a bit poky. 

And yet, it was John who David Bailey claimed to like, out of all of them. 

“I didn’t like the Beatles – I liked John ... John was a fucker. Paul was always the nicest guy in the world. George, he always seemed full of angst. Ringo always seemed Mr Nice Guy. But John was a bit poky; I liked him.” 

-- David Bailey Originally; published in the March 2014 issue of British GO magazine.

That’s honestly the only parts of the interview worth reading, Bailey is sort of a dickhead and clearly seems biased against Paul, and just The Beatles as a band in general, so [which is fascinating. Considering he might’ve been peeved towards Paul ever since John brought his partner along for that photoshoot because he didn’t want to go in alone lol]

Mick did love John, though in what way or in what varying degree, is up for discussion and personal conclusion. Just like how it’s up to interpretation and discussion how much and in what way David Bowie, Elton John, Harry Nilsson, Mal Evans, Billy Preston, and Brian Epstein loved John. 

But it’s clear as day that, in my opinion, they almost all seemed to have some sort of man-crush on him. A serious admiration. Harry Nilsson sounded like he was in a bro-mance with John [or at least he wanted to be in one with him]

Course we can’t forget Paul, but we all know that Paul loved John in such varying degrees, it’s truly impossible to label it. They’re soulmates, can’t really categorize the love between soulmates so easily. 

Anyway, point of this all; Mick definitely had it bad for John, but then again who didn’t?