#(admittedly it's probably because he grew up on the streets. Thug Life and all that. But still)

[magic-multicolored-miracle]

Why does this small creature that lives in my house get so Hangry?

[veryjanewatson]

c o n t i n u e d : [ x ]

Barnes wasn't entirely wrong saying that she didn't seem like the sort of girl to get mixed up with that sort of thing. Unfortunately 'that sort of thing' was somehow exactly the thing that road sidelong in her life. Mary Jane had very little interest in shit-streaks like Caesar Cicero, infamous for being one of Silvermane's Maggia Thugs of Choice; Cicero was also a local vape enthusiast and, most notably, a fucking asshole. However Circero's interests toward MJ had, in point of fact, very little to do with her at all and more focused on her aggressive and sleuth-like curiosity surrounding the events involving the recent arrest of police chief; George Stacy.

[ And even more specifically the external hard drive that an informant whose identity was known only to Matt Murdock agreed to meet her late that night to hand over the hard drive. She was so certain no one followed her. ]

If it was the very last thing on earth that she and Peter did, it was going to be clearing Gwen's father. Peter always inclined to feel he owed everyone more than anyone expected, and because they loved Gwen more than most people gave them credit for, because even if MJ and Peter didn't love each other in a way that could romantically bind them, they were and still are family. Gwen would always be apart of that family. So no, the old soldier wasn't wrong thinking she was the type to avoid Maggia thugs so caked in vape smoke they smelled like a goddamn pancake breakfast from a hundred yards away, but for Gwen Stacy, even a Gwen Stacy cold in her grave - Mary Jane would be and do anything. With all that said - what Mary Jane would have been, if not for the very immediate actions of James Barnes, is very dead. The Silvermane Maggia always did snipe behind Caesar's back what a complete shit-show he was when it came to small firearms and close quarter fighting; getting so enraged his aim was all over.

The bullet went through the side of her arm, nothing to pull out, but leaving a fairly meaty gash that would absolutely require some suturing. Conversely, MJ had been vehement against going to the hospital. Too much attention, she was too noticeable, either through people's familiarity with her very bad and b-budget movies (and probably not her quite good and vastly better funded theater and Broadway work) or (what was more likely) the public's awareness of her association to Spider-Man; an association that's almost cost the girl her life more times than she, and even more so Peter, would care to think about. Mary Jane compromised with Bucky, warmed more than she could realize in the adrenaline of the moment over his blind compassion, because what she found she loved most of all is that she was entirely unrecognizeable to him. It was the first time such a thing had happened to her in, well- years. Admittedly, on her end, she didn't feel it was all that big of a compromise, because while he didn't know her, Mary Jane very well knew him. Never would MJ have agreed to go off with a strange man from an alley she met off of Canal Street had she not known him, but the reality was she'd known him most of her life. Most who attended elementary school in America would as they all grew up to know Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes as the closest comrade and friend to Captain America. [ And very much unrelated to anything at all was that on a four grade history test she got the question wrong asking what Sergeant Barnes' nickname was; Mary Jane, after three very lazy seconds of thought, scribbled in the 'Bucket'. ]

A part of her imagines for a moment of floating backward in time to tell her ten year old self that one day Bucket Barnes was going to have to stitch her upper arm meat, because of a scenario of 'fuck around and find out' gone chaotic, and adding for irrelevance’s sake that he's a lot gentler than his broody black and whites in her textbook would suggest. That same kid spoke out through the years when she hissed in pain and swallowed a whimper, “--we sure are, since you're gonna' be Jesus and take the wheel of this situation.” She pushed out air meant to sound like a laugh, but due in part to how breathless she felt from the adrenaline crash it was the best attempt MJ had to signal she was trying very poorly at humor. Subsequently, her plummeting adrenaline was causing her to have small body shakes; nothing severe and more likely a hit to her pride as MJ never felt like she could quite escape her distressed damsel scenarios. Such was a life of the physically powerless human running adjacent to the city's heroes and their criminal counterparts. In truth, this situation didn't leave her embittered to being thrust into danger as a tool of leverage, but rather something she did of her own choosing. Even her savior had done so, not for who she was or who she knew, but because he saw her at risk and so he acted. Very, very rarely was she able to just enjoy heroism for exactly what it was. It was good to be reminded.

“No, that's not usually how I spend my Saturday nights, but I guess that's on me for not picking better company? Or at least knowing the company my company is keeping.” Her little nose scrunched at the wording, not really intending to sound so Seussical.

The gleam of that metal hand drew her eye like a cat's to errant movements; she heard Peter reference it with fascination in their idle conversations about various super powered individuals and their abilities. Unclear on the right social pleasantries with cybernetic appendages, MJ threw her wild and vividly green eyes to anywhere else in his incredibly minimalist (sparsely furnished?) apartment. “Jane,” unsure of why she was so quick to hand him a name that she never gave over to anyone else. Initial reasoning said she did it because she's trying to be incognito, but deeper logic undoes initial reasoning by informing her that it's moot since it'll only be a statistically short amount of time before media or people familiar in Bucky's life alert him to otherwise. MJ's actual truth was that so much did she love the uniqueness in this moment, she felt an impulse to make herself unique inside of it. [ And universal truth muttered at the farthest back of her mind; “--he do be very handsome up close, though.” ] “People call me Jane,” she said like a fucking liar.

.

@soviet-ghost-story

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

  OUR FUTURE WILL BE A BRIGHT ONE: CHAPTER FOUR

                        eremika soulmates through time modern au

                    ( chapter one/chapter two/ chapter three/ ff.net/ ao3)

YOUANFEN

CHINESE; A relationship by fate or destiny, predestined affinity or relationship. The driving forces and causes behind yuánfèn are said to be actions done in previous incarnations

"Meeting your soul mate is like walking into a house you've been in before - you will recognize the furniture, the pictures on the wall, the books on the shelves, the contents of drawers: You could find your way around in the dark if you had to."

― Jandy Nelson, I'll Give You the Sun

Before the clock strikes noon and his morning coffee turns cold, Eren makes a mental list of all the things he has learned about Mikasa after he spent the night in her bed.

There's her surname on top of it and he finds it kinda funny, but she's horrified when he points it out. There's the fact that she comes from Charleston ("I wouldn't take you for a Southern Belle," he says to her and she snorts into her tea. "You mean, I'm not a lady?" she asks with a playful glint in her eyes, which leaves him biting his tongue in a hurry to assure her that yes, of course, she is, indeed, very ladylike). She admits that she had to move to Chicago because her career required that, he tries to show restraint by waiting a full minute before asking what she does for a living.

"Professional gymnastics." She bites on her lips and blushes a little when he whistles, impressed.

"I knew you were fit," says Eren triumphantly and she laughs at that, scrunching her nose up adorably. He wishes he could bottle up this sound and keep it always in his pocket, for rainy days.

"And I do capoeira and ice skating in my free time, just for fun," she adds off-handedly as if she was not honestly-to-God boasting now.

"Show-off," he murmurs under his breath and there's a small smile dancing on her lips as she shrugs.

There's also the fact that she has a cat, which, honestly Eren can't wrap his mind around.

"I've been here whole evening yesterday," he says, bewildered as he watches Mikasa opening the lid of the laundry basket in the bathroom and exclaiming, " There you are!"

"Whole evening and a whole night. And whole morning. And it hasn't left this basket the whole time?"

"She. And no, she's a little bit shy," explains Mikasa, walking out of the bathroom to retrieve a tin of tuna and then tapping her fingers on the lid above the basket. " C'mon girl, say hi."

Eren is not a cat person, not even by furthest stretch ( in fact, he's the opposite of a cat person. He silently thanks all the higher powers that he didn't tell Mikasa any stories from his childhood that included him tormenting his neighbors' fat, nasty tabby. )

But even he has to admit that Mikasa's cat is pretty cute, as much as a cat can be cute. In fact, she looks a little bit like Mikasa herself; small and sleek, gracefully jumping out of the basket onto Mikasa's shoulder and eyeing him suspiciously with her tilted yellow irises.

The cat's name is Madeline which apparently comes from a French cartoon Mikasa was watching as a kid while spending summers at her uncle's in Lyon.

( "French-Japanese American. What a mix. " " Best possible, full German here, nothing interesting." )

The last position on his mental list is that they have a mutual friend, which comes as a surprise to both of them.

"Well. I wouldn't really call Annie my friend," Eren huffs in amusement, putting a framed picture of Mikasa and a petite, blonde girl making silly faces back on the shelf. "But she goes to the same martial arts center as me, so we pass each other all the time, even spar from time to time and I say "hi" to her, so that probably counts for something? My friend has a thing for her, though. He keeps coming over just to stare at her above his textbooks and then denies it ."

Mikasa giggles, taking a sip of her coffee. She seems somehow… calmer, after this night. She woke up radiant in his arms, with the morning light caressing her face, her hair messed up and pillow wrinkles pressed on her right cheek, and the first thing she did was smile at him; she's more talkative now, hence him learning so much about her. And he guesses that this night benefited him too, in a way. Her presence is still intoxicating, but he deals with it better now. Can admire her without agonizing over the need to touch her; actually, listen to what she's saying instead of getting lost in his feelings and babbling like a senseless idiot.

In fact, he has learned quite a lot about Mikasa during this tranquil hour or so, with the quiet conversation over their respective plates and even quieter one that they had on a purely non-verbal basis.

He pays attention to details; to the way she's so still sometimes it's almost creepy, but when she moves, damn, it's like she was dancing. The way she walks and the tilt of her neck; she turns making scrambled eggs into a spectacle.

"If you're good enough in martial arts to spar with Annie and her crazy Muay Thai magic, you should not be impressed with my interests," she points out after a moment of silence, interrupting his (admittedly sappy) train of thought.

"Yes, but I'm not doing capoeira." He takes a bite of his eggs and almost moans (another fact; Mikasa definitely knows her way around the kitchen.) "Or gymnastics, or skating. Those require - you know-" he makes a vague waving gesture with his hand. "All this."

Her eyebrows shoot up and he feels her sudden urge to bark a laugh. At least she seems to be amused with his inability to explain himself.

"Flexibility? Grace?" she adds helpfully and he nods, relieved.

"Yup. Not my biggest strengths."

"Haven't noticed," she deadpans with a tone so serious that it takes him a second to notice the sarcasm.

"Ouch, that was harsh." He groans with theatrical pain in his voice, pressing his hand to his chest, above his heart. "You wound me."

Madeline chooses this moment to jump on the kitchen table, meowing impatiently until Mikasa feeds her a piece of toast and Eren realizes, with more than a little bit of embarrassment, that she leaves way fewer breadcrumbs than he did.

"And you? " Mikasa leans her chin on the hand, looking at him with this interested glint in her eyes, her curiosity echoing in the bond between them.

"Me?"

"I mean, we keep on talking about my life. Tell me something about yourself. Something that is not a story about all the shit you pulled in primary school."

He bites on his lip, wondering what to tell her. Well, better start with basics they neglected yesterday, right?

"So, full German, I've already told you that. Dad's a doctor, Mum is a midwife, guess I did not exactly live up to their expectations… I was less than stellar at school if you know what I mean. But I'm a police officer, that's probably not the worst job they could think of-"

"You're in the police? Really?" She seems so genuinely surprised that he contemplates feeling offended, but then he realizes that all that Mikasa knows about him, is that he was pretty much a thug, as a kid. Oh and that Starks are his favorite Game of Thrones house.

"Yup. A childhood dream come true. " He smiles fondly, recalling his ten-year-old self-sitting in front of the tv and watching with wide eyes yet another kidnapper arrested and yet another burglar caught on a crime scene. The police force grew and grew in his eyes until they turned into figures more alike to demigods than simple men. And of course, there was this time with his mum which-

Well. He didn't really want to think about it.

Mikasa shivers, wrapping her arms around herself and sending him a worried glance.

"Everything okay?" she asks, hesitantly reaching out a hand to put on his shoulder. A simple gesture, easy reassurance; the sentiment that made him shake his head, shrugging off bad memories like a dog getting rid of water from his fur.

"Yes. Old times, not much to talk about." At least yet, he thinks. Not a time or place to unload this kind of baggage, not when it's a nice, sunny day, snow sparkles in the noon light and Mikasa nods and then simply moves her hand down to rest it on the crook of his elbow.

"It seems that we may actually have more than one mutual acquaintance, if you're in the police, you know?" she says, tilting her head a bit to the left.

"Who can possibly- wait." Some wheels in his brain turn to slowly click in place and he almost gasps. How could he not think about it? They have the same fucking surname! She even told him her uncle is half French! "You're Captain Levi's niece?! "

"Well, yes." She shrugs. "You know him?'

Does he know him? It's like asking a kid in Spiderman costume on Halloween if he knows Peter Parker.

And then her eyes widen with recognition and she simply bursts into laughter.

"You are the brat! The brat he keeps on complaining about, right? New in his team," she manages to let out, breathless and her shoulders shaking. "What are the odds?"

The odds are, in fact, simply astronomical.

But this is the thought that brings him so much warmth, so much happiness; we would find each other anyway, different time, different place but if we didn't pass each other on that street, we would soon meet somewhere else.

He wonders if he would spot her at the annual Christmas Ball, clad in this scarlet dress he saw hanging in her closet. Or if she would drop by the station to talk with Levi about something and they would bump into each other in the crowded corridor, sending his cup of coffee and a pile of papers flying into the air.

Mikasa stops laughing and chuckles a few times, flushed with happiness, glowing from inside out and he just knows that she's thinking about the same thing.

Destined. So that's what this word means; all of the roads I could take would eventually lead me to you.

"Go out with me," he blurts out, words escaping from his mouth before he can stop them.

She raises her head to look at him, brows furrowed and eyes all surprised.

"Wait, what?"

He taps on her knee once, twice. They're sitting on the floor in her living room, a jigsaw puzzle with Lion King motive scattered in between them. Just a moment ago she was deeply engaged in finding a missing piece of Simba's front paw and he jumps out with something like that?

She reaches for his hand and laces their fingers together, waiting for an explanation. She's also wondering if that's how it's always gonna be – him surprising her at every step, proving her wrong every time she feels she already knows him well enough to at least predict some of his actions. These are the little moments that mess in her head, that remind her that even though his soul may sing to hers, he's still just a little more than a glorious mystery left for her to uncover.

He shrugs, eyes distant. It's warm and comfortable inside Mikasa's flat, the two of them basking in the heat of their closeness, brushing each other's minds every now and then, bolder and more curious with every contact. Not holding their breath, but still waiting impatiently for when the last dam to break.

"I just though… like, I should probably introduce you to my family? My friends? I called them to let them know I'll be – out for some time because I met you. But I'd really want for you to meet my mum, at least, if it's okay. "

She chews on her lower lip, one of her hands in his, the other playing with a puzzle between her fingers. The sun hits her face just right, bringing out every curve of her lovely features; the sharpness of her jaw and cheekbones, the gentle slope of her nose, the almond shape of her eyes. She's so stunning, so incredibly unreal. And he would be lying if he said that he doesn't want to show her to his world. Put her in front of his friends and say; look. Look at her. What did I ever do to deserve that?

Her hesitance tastes like metal on his tongue, as she lowers her head, letting her dark hair obscure half of her face.

"Of course, we don't have to do that, if you're, um, not feeling comfortable with that yet." He adds hastily, cursing himself internally. Really, his impatience will one day fucking get him killed, they met just yesterday and he wants to show her around as if she was a new Porsche or something, great fucking idea -

Everything plays out so quickly that his brain simply shortcuts for a good minute.

Mikasa's suddenly on his lap, her folded legs on both sides of his thighs, the smell of her hair sending all his senses into overdrive; she wraps her arms around his neck and leans in.

All his mind registers is her black eyes and the way her nose bumps gently against his, the tiny second full of tension and -

And, completely out of blue, she's kissing him.

Someone could as well soak Mikasa's nice cream-colored carpet in gasoline and then throw a match at it.

Because as soon as her lips touch his – soft, so soft and so eager and he has no idea if this eagerness is hers or his, nor does he care – as soon as he breathes her in and closes his eyes, the rest is a simple muscle memory.

He puts his hands flat on her lower back, pulling her closer until their upper halves press to one another like pieces of the puzzle that's laying forgotten, scattered on the floor; her breasts flush against his chest, her wild-beating heart thumping a rhythm against his sternum. His fingers woven into her hair and he's kissing her back; with all the desperation and need and want he feels swirling inside his belly, with all his wonder and amazement and worship.

An echo powerful enough to make them both shiver and gasp against other's lips rip through their bodies; memory from before memory, as they're kissing each other for the first time and the thousandth, something completely new tangled up with something as natural as breathing.

Her lips are warm on his, persistent and sure. No backing down, no hiding underneath a shy smile and a blush; not, when her lungs burn and her mind races and he holds her like he never wants to take his hands off her, kisses her like a madman given sanity. Glorious technicolors burst underneath her eyelids; poppy red, deep-sea blue, sparkling gold and sizzling silver.

This body may not know him, nor this mind; but her very self, her soul hums with contentment and rejoices.

This is what coming home feels like.

Her lungs burn for air, but her mouth has a mind of its own at this point, chasing Eren's lips with twice the desperation until they slowly part, leaning on each other's foreheads and with eyes still closed. Her lips tingle and she can't somehow catch a breath. She's too big for her body, feels too vast to be contained within the bounds of a beating heart and skin burning with his heat.

There's this weird sensation in his head; it's like the second after the roller-coaster ride has ended and your body is no longer in motion, but you're still all shaky inside, you're still expecting to spiral down and soar up any moment.

"Why- why did you do that?" he breathes out, reaching up blindly with one hand to brush her parted lips, her cheek, her jawline.

"Because I wanted to," comes her response, slow and quiet but sure, no waver and not a trace of shyness.

He opens his eyes to find her staring at him, and the sight of her knocks him defenseless on the ground, makes his heart clench painfully in his chest. With his fingers still in her messy, black hair, with a swollen mouth and this wild, wild look in her eyes, she looks like the prettiest disaster, like a tsunami wave moments before it hits the beach and consumes everything in its way.

"And I'd love to meet you mom, Eren," she adds softly, smiling with only corners of her lips and a happy glow in her black eyes

Cream-colored carpet, scattered Lion King puzzle, half-closed white curtains and the ocean of white behind the window. "Uncle" blaring in red on Mikasa's muted cell phone thrown haphazardly on the night table in the bedroom, long-cold coffee in two mugs by the kitchen sink, Madeline purring gently on the loveseat, watching the pigeons on emergency stairs.

The pair of them in their own, small bubble, two faces leaning towards each other once again, two sets of eyelids fluttering closed and the heart-aching goodness between them.

"And I had spent the whole evening wanting to do just that," she said and then set him on fire.

"Because I wanted to," she admitted and bewitched him completely.

Restrained, but honest in her desire, quiet and sure in her want.

The final thing that Eren learns this morning, is that Mikasa Ackerman's not a shy, greenhouse-grown Southern Belle. She's not small nor delicate, nor confused. She knows what she's doing, controls her every gesture, every word; she aims true, always.

She wouldn't be his soulmate if she didn't.

In a warm, Chicago 2 o'clock light, with his hands in her hair and her fingers dancing on the back of his neck, they spiral and then soar up, up and up.