#she's been breathing with more difficulty the past couple days too so i know the tumor on her tongue is getting larger

[cuntwrap--supreme]

Dog has a swollen lymph node. Just one for now. Which means her cancer is getting worse already. The longer this goes on, the more detached I feel from reality.

[akuma-coffee]

Can I request Gojo and walking in on him showering? 🥺

order for anon! gojo x reader request menu

cw: walking in on gojo, nudity, suggestive!

mdni!

shoko’s bathroom doesn’t have a lock.

at first, this bothered you. the fear of being intruded upon would often plague your thoughts, however as time passed and you grew used to this knowledge, you didn’t dwell on it. it wasn’t exactly like you were bathing in her house; it would only be a few minutes spent within those 4 walls before you’d be back in the lounge with the others.

satoru and suguru would frequently joke about walking in on one another to newcomers (nanami's horrified expression when learning of the bathroom’s unusual feature comes to mind), though you were thankful to be past that fear.

it wasn’t until you’d gone to shoko’s apartment alone that the lock would become an issue.

it had been a long day at work. an influx in sightings coupled with the fact their were less sorcerers available meant your missions were growing steadily in difficulty. usually, a grade 1's exorcism would be a quick job for you, though today had been different. an unusual curse of intelligence, one that had been the conductor of a lengthy fight, resulted in a near grievous amount of damage to your body. for the most part you had felt confident, though by the end of it, you weren’t so sure you were going to win. you had, though.

shoko was always ready to patch you up, and just as quickly as you’d released the veil and returned to the school, your injuries were healed.

“just go back to my apartment, take a shower, and we’ll drink tonight.” she held her keys before your face, the metal chiming as one key hit another. opening your mouth slowly you begin to protest, though glancing at her stern expression, you decide to do what the woman says.

“it is friday.” you weren’t sure if the response was to convince yourself or to encourage her but you take her keys nonetheless, leaving medical to venture back to shoko's, not too far away.

your shoes are kicked off at the door, a heavy breath escaping dry lips as you close it behind you, keys strewed into the dish at the entry way. there’s a whirr in your ears and you can’t seem to remember if that’s simply the apartment, or if it’s your headache manifesting into something worse.

shoko’s room is by no means neat, just like the rest of her apartment. there’s papers in here too, stacked on a dresser, and most of her laundry is thrown just shy of the washing basket. thankfully you’re able to find some of the pyjamas she’d mentioned, and a (definitely used) towel. the next stop is the bathroom, handle placed in your palm and pulled down, door pushed open-

in the shower is a figure, pale and tall. you’re faced not with their head, but instead their groin. there’s water on his skin, droplets dripping down wet flesh.

“gonna take a photo?” satoru’s voice rakes through your body, and you jump at the sudden noise. at last, your eyes fly upward to meet his blue ones, your mouth ajar as your fingers clutch at the musty towel in your hand.

you stand for a few more moments to fester in your shock, and much like a deer in headlights, you're faced with the decision to either run or face your own death. at present, your body decides not to run, but to instead crash and burn before the cockiest person known to man. his grin is wide as he stares down at you, a playful glint in his blue eyes.

you’re finally released from your mental prison, heading straight to shoko’s room to slam the door behind you, sitting in front of the wood. with your back against the door you close your eyes, attempting to reach some sort of medatative state with your quick breaths, but one does not come.

instead, you hear footsteps coming toward you, and the door handle above your head rattles.

“go away.” your voice is quiet but you know he hears you, the squeak of metal and clunk of the latch signalling that he had let go. after a few painfully long minutes you decide satoru's left by now - you’re almost sure you hear the quiet droning of the tv, but as you swing the door open you realise how wrong you were.

satoru is not in the lounge but instead stood waiting for you, back to the wall, arms crossed over chest. thankfully, he is now dressed, a black longsleeve and grey sweats with hair still wet and messy.

“done with your tantrum?” he’s already teasing you seconds after you’re faced with him, your face burning hot in embarrassment.

“i was just in shock.” your voice is low.

“ah, long enough to get a good look?” there’s a sneer to his tone that you don’t appreciate.

“it was an accident - i don’t know what you want me to say. sorry?” you huff, hurrying past him as there's a clatter at the front door, and it opens to reveal shoko.

“you didn’t say satoru was gonna be here.” she doesn’t have a chance to take her shoes off before you're greeting her with your annoyance. she smells like cigarettes, and the bags under her eyes hang low. they’re purple, and etched into her skin as every other imperfection, mole, and freckle.

“satoru’s here?” she rolls her eyes. “well, that’s news to me.”

“she’s just mad because she walked in on me showering-“

“shut up satoru-“

“and stared at my naked body with awe.” the back of his hand flies to the top of his head for dramatic effect, and shoko’s brow raises. she doesn’t speak for a few seconds, glancing between your sheepish frown and his grin before finally sighing, the pack of cigarettes you hadn’t noticed until now being opened, and one placed between her lips.

“right.” she walks past the pair of you to the lounge, on route to her usual perch over the balcony for yet another smoke.

you whip round in annoyance, scowl ever present over your face as you look to satoru. even with him fully dressed and radiating confidence in an annoyingly childish manner, you still feel your stomach twist, flashbacks echoing over your eyes.

“stop with that, it’s embarrassing okay?” your final hope is honesty, a last ditch effort to save yourself from the white mop of hair. he's at the very least a sadist, but you hope that deep down he might care for your feelings, and perhaps will refrain from clout chasing if your emotional state were to be at risk.

“stop with what?” satoru’s teasing makes you doubt your initial thought process.

“please.” you look at him with your heart on your sleeve now, practically on your hands and knees. “don’t tell anyone else.”

satoru’s face softens, only for a second but you swear you see it; his brow gently raising and the curve of his lips falling to no longer crease at the edges, but all hope is immediately lost as the smile returns only as quickly as it had dampened.

“what if we break even?”

“satoru…”

“you saw me, i’ll see you, then you won’t have a one up on me.” it feels like he's wearing a snarl as his teeth peak through his lips, much like a beast hunting it’s prey. it certainly feels like that, your concerned gaze captured in his jaw.

“you’re the one with the step up, not me.” you sigh, but for some reason your heart is racing. he’s relentless, you know that, and the curious part of you wants to entertain his idea.

“fine.” without second thought, you grab ahold of his wrist, tugging at the lanky limb to bring him toward the bathroom, pulling him into the doorway and slamming it behind him before you’d had a chance to release the breath caught in your chest.

you pulled the loose t-shirt over your head (one of shoko’s old band tees) and threw it to the floor. the trousers were next, drawstrings tugged apart and elastic waistband dropped to ankle.

by the time you had stripped off, satoru’s expression had dropped, face displaying a genuine state of surprise that you swear you’ve never seen before now.

the trousers are tugged up, t-shirt pulled back over your head, and satoru is still stood in the same position, mouth still ajar. you momentarily pause to say something before escaping, only when your eyes were lost in his, nothing comes to mind. instead, you choose to flee the awkward air and relieve the tension set heavy in your chest, slipping through the exit and running straight to find shoko. she is only just coming through the balcony door.

“you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” shoko speaks and you’re a little startled, though as you start to reply in confusion, you feel an arm drape over your shoulder, pulling you toward his torso.

“nah, we were just chatting.” you breathe deeply beside him, trying to maintain your poise. there’s a little bit of nausea rising through you as the weight of your actions set in.

shoko doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t push either, simply throwing herself on the couch, still dressed in the turtleneck and chinos she’d been sporting beneath her coat.

“well, you can keep one another company while i go to the store. we’re out of beer, who would’ve guessed.” she points her finger between yourself and satoru, who is now sitting down beside the brunette.

“maybe you need to stop inviting us over to drown our sorrows.” you joke lightly and shoko rolls her eyes.

“what do you expect if you ask me for help?” she places both hands on each leg, standing. “don’t kill each other,” she’s by the lounge door, putting her jacket over her shoulders and pulling her hair from the back of it. “or do, i don’t care.”

this was longer than i had initially planned but oh well! thank you anon, please send more requests! this was so much fun.

[trippinsorrows]

ltye + sick days

authors note: oneshot inspired by this wonderful ask . this is purely canon and actually takes place a lil bit into the future. not too long after chapter 23, so let's say a couple weeks after solana has been home from the hospital.

might or might not have one or two things sprinkled in this here one......

gif by @romanreigns

warnings: none, really. just roman being roman.

words: 4.3k

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

It started with irritability. More so than usual. Not towards her, per se. Never towards her. Just in general. 

An increase in snippy comments, harsher gazes, and more yelling that traveled from the confines of his office and soon made its way to the sanctuary of their kitchen, often fighting with the music Solana usually had playing. 

And then there was the fatigue. Solana has always thought Roman doesn’t get enough sleep, for a variety of reasons. But, rarely does he lag. Does she visibly see the difficulty he’s having in seizing the day. And for the most part, he does a phenomenal job, making it, pushing through as he kisses her cheek and leaves for the day.

But, she sees it.

And finally, when she’s awoken by a set of hoarse, painful sounding coughs. Solana just knows. Not the specifics, just the general, overall consensus.

That Roman is sick.

Not that he wants to believe or acknowledge that anyway.

Hand to his forehead, she doesn’t need a thermometer to know that he’s burning up.

"What’s your doctor’s name and number?" Solana moves to grab her phone off the bathroom counter, unlocking it and looking up at Roman expectantly. "Well?"

Of course, he only rolls his eyes and slips into a state of avoidance. "Solana, I don’t need—"

"Roman, you’re sick. You’ve been sick the past couple days, and it’s not getting any better." She reaches for his hand, turning it over, feeling on his palm. She then moves her two fingers to his wrist, eyes closing for a good minute. She then places her hand over his heart and asks, "are you having any pain in your chest? Sharp pains? Shortness of breath? I’ve noticed the fatigue and obviously the cough and fever. Any chills?"

"Solana—"

"I’m trying to see if you have any symptoms of pneumonia. Could also be the flu."

"Or, a cold."

"Maybe, but I want to find out for sure." Her expression softens, lips moving downward into a small frown. "The doctor, Ro…….please."

And she’s certain it’s that last 'please', the way her voice dips into a different level of concern that wins him over. That gets him to give her the requested information, Solana arranging it so that his doctor is over at the house in a little under an hour.

Dr. Michaels examination is a matter of minutes before he’s sharing with both patient and patient’s wife. “Yup. It’s definitely the flu.”

Roman looks annoyed, meanwhile Solana is a combination of relieved and worried. She shifts into protective mode, asking, “so antiviral medications, right? Probably Xofluza? Less side effects. Single dose. Unless it counteracts with his high blood pressure medication?”

Solana’s unexpected medical expertise takes both Roman and Dr. Michaels by surprise, the latter cracking a small smile as he asks, genuinely curious, “you in the medical field?”

Her eyes widen a bit. “No. No. I–my mom was, and she taught me a lot, and I just—I’ve read a lot.” More than the average person. Solana would spend hours on end reading medical journals, watching online lectures, finding free online courses on various medical topics.

It also became a bit of a necessity when her father stopped taking her to the hospital, and she had to learn to tend to her own injuries.

But that.....that doesn't really need to be stated.

Shawn chuckles. “You should be.” Roman doesn’t say anything, but he agrees. “You know more than some of my students.” Solana’s cheeks redden as she looks down, clearly unsure of how to take such a compliment as Dr. Michaels returns his focus to Roman. “The Mrs. is right. I’m gonna call you in some medication, Xofluza, as she stated. And again, like she said, it’s a single dose, which means you only have to take it once, which with you, makes it more likely for you to actually follow through with taking it.”

“He’ll take it,” Solana chimes, nodding to both herself and the two men before. “I’ll—I’ll make sure.” 

Again, the doctor looks impressed, smile widening. “I like her, Reigns. Don’t fuck it up.” Roman looks increasingly irritated, as Shawn hits Solana with an unexpected question, “you wouldn’t happen to have a guess as to what dosage I’m prescribing, do ya?”

Solana is obviously taken back for a second but doesn’t skip a beat as she thinks back onto all of her reading and research. “He’s an adult, and because of his weight, the 80mg?”

The doctor makes a sound, shaking his head as he types on his tablet. “Tell you what, you ever decide to enter the field, let me know. I will personally assist you with anything you need.” Solana doesn’t know what to make of that, doesn’t know how to take an actual medical professional, someone who has an abundance of accolades and degrees behind his name speaking so highly of her, someone with only a high school diploma. It’s flattering, to say the least. 

“Thank you.” She clears her throat, shaking her head, getting back to the main issue at hand. “He needs to rest, right? Lots of liquids. Motrin or Tylenol, if he needs it.”

Dr. Michaels closes the cover over the screen of his laptop, directing his comment to Roman. “You’re definitely in great hands, Big Guy.”

The Tribal Chief doesn’t disagree with that. Doesn’t disagree with that at all. 

—------

Roman has always noticed Solana has a caretaker type of personality. That she cares about others and likes to help when and how she can. Truthfully, it’s one of the many things he loves about her. Her heart. She’s the most empathetic person he’s ever met.

But, what’s new for him is being so deeply on the receiving end of that caretaking. He’s experienced it with her patching him up after War Games and the night he attacked her father and brother. Maybe even in the way she stays tops of him with his high blood pressure medication, but never to this extent.

Starting with her actually stipulating shit.

He’s in the room, dressing himself when she walks in having returned from the pharmacy with his medication.

She suddenly stops and asks, "what....what are you doing?"

“Getting ready for work,” he answers it so simply, so easily, like it’s the most basic thing he could ever say. “Just have to—”

“Roman, you can’t go to work.”

He turns to look at her, having just pulled his shirt over his head. With a chuckle, he gently replies, “baby, I have to.”

Solana places the bag on the bed, crossing her arms as she walks over to him. “Ro, you have the flu. Not only is it highly contagious, but you're in no position to work.”

“Sol, I’ve been working through sickness my whole life. I’ll be fine.” He always is. “And if it’s that contagious, I definitely don’t need to be around you. I don’t want to get you sick.”

“I don’t care about that.” Her dismissal is quick and sharp. “I care about you and taking care of you until you feel better, which starts with you staying here, so I can watch you." Solana makes a face, something similar to indignation as she shakes her head. “You’re staying here.” 

Roman sighs, loudly. “Baby—”

“No!” She raises her voice, quickly and rapidly saying something in Spanish that he can’t make out but doesn’t necessarily need to to know that she’s not happy. Taking a deep breath, she asks in a calmer manner, “please?”  She steps toward him, grabbing onto his forearm. “I’ll just worry about you all day if you leave…..”

Roman’s gaze is knowing, as he asks, “you know I don’t like you worrying about me.”

She nods, eyes almost mischievous as she confirms, “so you’ll stay?”

He can’t help it. He has to laugh a little. It’s such a different side of her, seeing Solana almost be manipulative, playing upon the fact that she knows he hates when she spends her time worrying about him. “Today.”

“This week,” she counters. 

That’s absolutely not going to happen, but he doesn’t want to argue with her. “Fine.” Solana looks relieved and a part of him feels bad lying to her. He knows she means well, that she only wants to help him, but the truth is that he can’t afford to be out of commission for a whole week.

Or maybe he can, and it’s just his naturally controlling personality that makes him feel like he needs to stay in the loop. Regardless of that fact, he’ll just let her have this for now.

Emphasis on for now. 

Solana nods, clearly pleased with this win. “Here.” She moves to grab the bag of medicine, ripping it open and reaching it to him along with a water bottle. Where the fuck did she even grab that from? “Take your medicine. I’m going to make you some soup.”

Roman scowls at that. “Soup?” He loves Solana’s food. She truly can cook her ass off, and while no soup she’s made has ever been bad, it’s not his favorite thing. “What about—”

She lifts up a hand silencing him, at the same moment a nasty set of coughs leaves his mouth. Stupid fucking flu.  “Only soup for the next few days.”

His eyes widen a bit at that. “Days?” How the fuck is he supposed to live off fucking soup for the next few days? “Solana—”

“Yes, soup.” She pouts, crossing her arms and waiting for him to swallow the pill before she continues, “we need to keep fluids in you, so that means lots of soup, water, and juice.” 

This shit just keeps getting more annoying and stressful, as Roman tries to help her understand his side of things here. “Baby, I’m 6’3, almost 300lbs. I need more than just soup.”

“I’ll make it hearty.” She shrugs, but that doesn’t do him much good, cause she always does. And he always ends up wanting more, both because it’s good but also because he has a massive appetite. “Now take off those clothes and change into something comfortable, but  keep your shirt off.” The last part definitely catches his attention, and Roman has to bite back a chuckle as her cheeks redden. “Not ... .not that.  I picked up some Vicks Vaporub to rub on you.” Again, his eyebrow goes up and again, she gets even redder. “Roman, please. I’m trying to help you.”

“I think I need a different kind of help.” When he goes to grab her and pull her into him, she jumps back, lifting her hands to stop him. 

“Get changed,” she redirects. “ I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

—------

Solana is a patient person, much more than most, but she’s also human. Compassion and empathy can have limitations. And in a twist she never saw coming, she feels that to a certain extent with her big, strong husband who’s not much different from the kids she reads to when they come in for reading time feeling not the best.

Roman is a horrible patient. He’s stubborn and borderline obstinate, Solana constantly having to remind him that he needs to rest and resting does not including cussing people out over the phone which has happened more often than not in the past three days since he’s been out sick.

Which was a whole other thing. She’s found it practically impossible to convince this man that he can afford to take a couple days off, that the Bloodline will not collapse and cease to exist if Roman Reigns takes a couple days off.

Except that seems to be exactly what he thinks. 

Solana is in the kitchen, whipping up another pot of Caldo de pollo when Dulce comes sauntering in, stretching her short little body, tail wagging.

Placing the lid over the pot, Solana smiles and moves to pet her puppy when a thought crosses her mind. Dulce was in their bedroom sleeping, as was Roman. Dulce typically only gets up at movement. 

Which means…..

Sighing heavily, Solana mumbles to herself, “este hombre.” Walking with purpose, Dulce right on her heel, following with naive excitement as Solana starts with his office. When that’s a dead end, she goes to the only other place he would sneak off to despite her orders for him to stay in bed and rest.

Sure enough, Solana finds him changed into workout shorts, no top, phone in his hand. She snatches a brief second to take him in. Roman doesn’t look bad—she’s not sure he could ever look bad even if he tried—-but he doesn’t look amazing either. It would be obvious to anyone looking at him, the paleness of his complexion, the ruddiness of his cheeks, the cough that’ll probably be the last to go, that he’s sick.

If only he could accept that.

“Man, R! I literally told you 789 Little Street!” Solana recognizes Jey’s exasperated voice on the other end of the call. “How is it every time you mess this up?”

“I thought you said 987 Little Street!” There’s another voice present, one Solana doesn’t recognize. 

“I told you to stop letting his dyslexic ass handle shipments!” Jimmy’s annoyed voice sounds, and Solana watches Roman pinch the bridge of his nose.

“That’s—that’s on me. My—my bad. Imma make it right though!”

“No,” Roman’s baritone voice, even deeper with his sickness, cuts through. “Jey, have Jacob handle it. I don’t have time for these types of fuck ups.”

And at that, giving Roman enough time to issue a clear order, Solana makes her presence known, arms crossed, a scowl on her face.

Roman looks briefly surprised followed by a quiet, “fuck.”

“Roman, you are literally worse than a child. How many times do I have to tell you to rest?” She more or less rants in Spanish, well aware of the fact that he can’t understand her. It’s preferred. She doesn’t like fussing at anyone, let alone him. Marching over, Dulce right beside her, she extends her hand. “Give me your phone.”

He looks at her with disbelief. “What?”

“Aye, Soso, is that you?” Jimmy asks, clearly recognizing her voice. “Look, I know Big Dog sick and shit, but if you cooking, can you leave some food outside or something? I can swing by and pick—” The request is cut off by Roman’s finger jabbing the end button. 

“I just need to get a workout in, Solana.” Roman explains, running his hand through his hair. “It’s been two days. I feel like shit because of it.”

“No, you feel like shit, Roman, because you have the flu and because you refuse to actually rest,” she counters, hand still extended. 

“I can rest when I’m dead,” he deadpans. 

Solana winces, scowl dropping into a frown. “Don’t say things like that.” She steps toward him, dropping her hand and instead placing it on his chest. His skin is warm to her touch, most likely to the fever that still hasn’t broken. “That—that’s why I’m trying to help you. Take care of you.”

Something flashes in his eyes, something akin to compassion. “And I appreciate that, baby. I do, but you’re too worried. You took off work this week, check on me every hour on the hour, cook even more than that—”

“And I’ll keep doing it, because it’s what you need and because I love you, and that’s what you do for the people you love.” She explains, taking full advantage of the way Roman seems briefly distracted and possibly moved by her kind words to snatch his phone away. It shocks the both of them. He’s definitely sick, because there’s no way a non-sick Roman would allow her, even with her speed, to get away with that. “Now come with me in the kitchen. Food’s almost ready.”

Roman goes to protest when Dulce jumps against his leg. One look down, and she’s essentially growling at him. 

He starts to say some smart shit when Solana giggles. “See, she agrees with me. You need to rest.”

“Yeah, because that’s all her biased, lazy ass does.”

“Don’t be mean to her,” Solana scolds and moves to hold his hand, tugging slightly to get him in the right direction. The one opposite all the equipment that will cause him to expend energy he really doesn't have. “It’s almost time for your next Tylenol dosage.”

Roman doesn’t try to stop her from guiding him, but he does groan at her latest statement. “All this damn medicine.”

She shakes her head, Roman easily finding a much better thing to focus on in the sway of her ass in the short, little gray nightgown she has on. It’s mesmerizing and distracting in the best kind of way. 

“It’s only going to help you feel better……” She says more, but again, his attention elsewhere. No workouts. No real food. No sex. This shit is fucking torture. Roman is so caught up in his overall dissatisfaction that he’s briefly taken back when they’re in the kitchen, and he’s sat down at the table while Solana moves over to the stove.

His gaze falls on her, not even her ass. Well, not entirely. Just her as a person. To be fair, he knows he hasn’t been the easiest person to deal with. He never is, really. And while he hasn’t done the best job showing Solana his appreciation, his gratitude is immense.

Years. He’s spent years feeling alone. Following that night, Fetu has only been present since he was 21, but that’s not consistent. He can’t see her as much as he’d like, can’t spend time with her to the extent he would prefer. He’s limited, and that limitation doesn’t do anything to quell loneliness. 

For so long, he’s been on his own, taking care of himself, looking out for himself. It’s such a new experience to have Solana. To know she cares for him as much as she does. For her to love him like she does.

He’s not sure he could ever admit it aloud, but it can be overwhelming. Having someone like her love someone like him.

Undeserving, almost.

“Here ya go,” Solana announces, placing his tray in front of him, consisting of the soup, a spoon, napkins, and his drink. “Let me know if…...what’s wrong?” Before he can answer, she feels his forehead. “No chest pain, right?”

He shakes his head, not quite sure just what is the best thing to say or even how to say it but doing what he can. “I’m not…..I’m not used to anyone taking care of……taking care of me.” It’s usually the other way around, Roman having to handle everything for everyone around him. “I’m sorry for….making things harder on you.” 

And, he is. He knows that he’s a dick. Beyond that at times. But, she’s the one person in his life he never wants to be on the receiving end of that kind of behavior. Especially when all she wants to do is help.

Solana’s smile is soft and gentle as she moves into his lap. That’s another thing he hates. Her being around him so much. He doesn’t want to get her sick, something she seems almost completely uncaring about. 

She strokes his beard. “You don’t have to apologize, Ro.”

“Don’t do that shit.” His tone is firm, but the delivery is patient and truly apologetic. “I’ve been difficult, and you don’t deserve that. You deserve an apology, and you don’t have to dismiss it.”

Because one thing he’s always been and will always be adamant about is helping her know what she does and does not deserve. She’s been done so wrong by so many people in her life. He refuses to let anyone else be added to that list, including himself. 

Solana chuckles, her gaze on him warm and loving. “You might be the only person in my life I don’t think I’d ever want an apology from, Roman.” He doesn’t necessarily agree with that. Not at all. She thinks so damn highly of him. Too highly, maybe. “I love you, and it’s like I’ve said before, I’d do anything for you.” She leans over and kisses his temple, teasing, “even put up with you being a big baby about being sick.”

He scowls a bit at that, unable to hold in his clarification. “I’m not being a baby. I just don’t like being sick.”

At that, Dulce barks, sitting down on the floor in front of them, watching the entire scene unfold.

Solana giggles. “No one does, baby.”  She pouts for a minute before her expression switches to something more serious. “And I can help you get better, but that means you have to listen to me….okay?” He sighs, Solana adding, “even if you don’t necessarily like it.”

“I don’t like any of it.” Roman is many things, and brutally honest is near the top of that list. “Especially the not being able to fuck you part.”

As expected, she starts blushing at his raw admission, but it’s followed up with one of her own too. In her own Solana type of way. “I—I miss that too, but—” she shakes her head as his eyebrow goes up. “—your health comes first.”

It seems like everything comes first when it comes to him for her. Again, he’s torn on that, but another conversation for another day. 

Climbing off his lap, she lightly squeezes his bicep. “Now get to eating.” Roman moves to slap her ass, Solana squealing and shoving his hand away. “Behave, Roman.”

Dulce barks again, Solana directing her to follow her out the back door. “I’ll be right back,” she informs, closing the door as soon as the puppy is outside. 

Roman chuckles to himself, staring at the tray laid out for him so thoughtfully by his wife. His best friend. 

His everything. 

—------

It's a long week and a half, most of which is spent Roman doing his best to follow his wife’s orders but also struggling to not fall into his normal routine. He definitely earns a couple of Spanish scoldings as well as some low growling from her pocket pet, but when all is said and done, Roman comes out on the other end starting to feel more and more like himself.

Enough to where he’s ready to actually see beyond the inside of his home. 

A necessity, as he was most definitely teetering on the verge of going stir crazy. 

Roman is prepared to head out the door in a little under twenty minutes, already having a line of meetings awaiting him, all coordinated by his Wise Man.  

But, he has to do something first.

She’s in the kitchen, washing up some dishes, humming to herself when he comes up behind her. 

Solana jumps a little, a small smile falling on her face that morphs into confusion when he lowers his hands in front of her. He hears her gasp as he places the diamond necklace on her neck, moving her hair to the side to clasp the hook. “Roman…..” She reaches for a towel, drying her hands and looking down, fingers carefully grasping at the nearly 100k gift. “This is beautiful. You didn’t have to—”

“Of course, I did,” he dismisses, moving his hands around her waist, kissing the side of her neck. “You took care of me all last week, and you didn’t have to. I appreciate that. I appreciate you.” He watches her continue to admire just a small token of his gratitude for her and everything she does for him. “And you know, Michaels was right. You’re smart as hell, Solana. You ever thought of trying to go to school?”

At that, she turns to him, eyes set with slight confusion. “M–me?”

Roman chuckles, gently squeezing her cheek. “Yes, you, baby.”  He continues, seeing she could use a bit of affirmation and encouragement. “The fact that you know and have self taught yourself so many things, even without a college degree just shows how smart you are. How good you’d be at that, whether nursing, a doctor—”

“A doctor?” She interrupts in a small voice, Roman enjoying the smile that’s gradually growing. “Do you really……” And there it goes, he can see it, the insecurity sweeping in as she shakes her head. “Roman, I’m almost 30. I’m too old for that now. I–I missed my oppurt—”

“Hey.” He cuts her off, firm but still patient. “You can do whatever the fuck you want to do, Solana.”  He gently palms her face, making sure she understands he’s fully behind her. No matter what. “You want to go back to school? I’ll make it happen. You have my support in whatever you want, baby.” She’s visibly moved by this, and he’s grateful to at least see that spark return. “Just think about it……okay?”

She nods, agreeing in a quiet voice. “Okay.” Roman kisses her forehead, moving to step away when he catches the change in her expression. As she briefly covers her mouth. Like she's about to throw up.“What’s wrong?” 

Solana looks up and shakes her head, explaining with a shrug after a few seconds of clearly gathering herself, “I've just been kind of tired the past few days. Nauseous too.” 

At that, Roman tenses and curses. “Fuck, did I get you sick?” He knew that shit would happen. She was around him too much. Interactions and touches exceeding what was appropriate. “I’ll stay—”

“No,”  she cuts him off, turning to face him as she places her hand on his chest. “I don’t think it’s that. I’ve—I’ve had the flu before. This feels different.” That doesn’t help him feel much better either, but she seems determined. “I’ll be fine. If I still don’t feel good at work, I’ll just come back home.”  She shrugs guessing, “probably just a stomach bug or something.”

He’d rather her not leave at all, but a part of him also wants to see her out of the house as well. A change in environment. “Okay, but if you come home early, let me know, alright?” Cause there’s no way in hell he’s going to let her be sick all by herself. Not when she spent a week and a half off work tending to him. 

“Okay,” she agrees, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “I love you.” 

Roman doesn’t stiffen at the words, doesn’t feel torn or conflicted, just an intense amount of reciprocity.

“I love you too, baby.”

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

tbf, lxc is valid for noticing how one-sided is the wangxian dynamic and it's true that wwx didn't give an f about lwj in his first life... and except for some moments when he went "oh no, he's hot", lwj is the reason people ship them because that ship has no real basis on wwx's part...

In the end, it feels as if he falls for lwj only because he's literally the only one there for him. What's ironic is that he even ponders on how it used to be the other way around and he used to have jc by his side and lwj against him...

MXTX created a mess of a fandom because of all these mixed signals she gives so no wonder there are a lot of wwx / jc shippers. I mean, it's OBVIOUS that she didn't intend for jc to be a love interest at all... but she still made him "ex"-coded. The fact that he's the one wwx made a big sacrifice too for, and not lwj when, on the other hand, lwj sacrificed a couple of important things for a wwx that didn't care about him in their first life, and that won't get the same devotion in return is just. weird.

Well hello there, little troll.

This is certainly a bad/sad understanding of the entire point of Lan Xichen's angry rantings, as the audience was supposed to be exasperated on behalf of all involved due to each one only having their own perception of this entire situation and the ongoing theme on relying on self-biased thought and perception.

Just as Lan Xichen has only his own understanding of one-sided reciprocity(on Lan Wangji's behalf), Wei Wuxian was terrified of being the only one to have thought he was taking his feelings to an inappropriate level that was not reciprocated, mind on the heels and only hours after Jiang Cheng accused them of being more and mocking Wei Wuxian.

1:

In the time they’d been traveling together, he’d gotten the feeling Lan Wangji thought highly of him. That he thought of him differently than he once had. But at the end of the day, he didn’t dare guess how far that “highly” stretched, nor whether “differently” really was the kind of “different” he assumed.

Wei Wuxian had never considered confidence a bad thing and was often smug and frivolous as a result. The cultivation world had once gossiped that the Yiling Patriarch was the sort who frolicked among the peach blossoms, always surrounded by the sweet smell of their fragrant flowers. But in reality, he had never experienced this kind of flustered confusion before. In the past, he had thought Lan Wangji was an open book, but now he found him difficult to read. He was terrified that he was lost in this fantasy all alone; that all of this was only his own wishful thinking and that he was overly confident to presume

otherwise.

2:

Wei Wuxian could not believe that had just happened.

It seemed like a nightmare had intruded on his tender, enchanting dream—one that upended a basin of cold water directly over his head and chilled him to the bone, from head to toe. It was also like he’d been slapped hard across his face, so hard that his ears rang, his heart pounded, and his world spun. He couldn’t react for the longest time. It was with difficulty that he managed to open his mouth, but his voice was hoarse.

3:

One of his worst theories had just been confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt. Lan Wangji was indeed very nice to him, but…it was probably not the kind of nice he had been hoping for.

4:

Do not take it to heart?” Lan Wangji echoed again.

He’d initially thought he’d rather have Lan Wangji think him fickle and abominable than endure the awkwardness of knowing his feelings, which would surely make their friendship delicate going forward. But now, he regretted all the foolish things he had just blurted out without thinking.

"...Sorry,” he muttered under his breath.

5:

Wei Wuxian reached out and brushed a hand across two figures with puckered lips kissing on the wall, before trailing up to the words “Lan Wangji was here.” The sentence needed to be cleaned away, but before Wei Wuxian did so, he traced the strokes of Lan Wangji’s name with his fingertips.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The more he traced them, the more he was loath to part.

6:

While leaving Lan Wangji behind and freely roaming the world alone did not seem an impossible thing to consider…

...a voice deep inside Wei Wuxian told him the clear truth: It was impossible.

The nonsense he’d spouted back at Golden Carp Tower had really come true. The Wei Wuxian of today could not do without Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian has only stopped trying to rationalize (comphet) and explain away their close relation as only being friendly, he knows very well his own advances can't be explained as being a joke any longer and, doesn't want them to be seen as such especially by his own self. He is terrified of Lan Wangji seeing this as either a cruel joke or Lan Wangji not feeling the same. He wants it to be reciprocated and always has.

And within the extras we see the blatant proof, while he may not understand he was in the midst of a crush, given he was fifteen and once more, he have Jiang Cheng being nasty, he much exhibited his fixation upon Lan Wangji by mentioning him within Lotus Pier and being happy to discuss him with Jiang Yanli without the excuse of wanting to just mess around with him.

1:

Jiang Yanli sat down between them. “Who are you two talking about?” she asked. “A friend you made at Gusu?”

"Yeah!” Wei Wuxian answered happily.

"You have the cheek to call yourself his ‘friend’?” Jiang Cheng said. “Ask Lan Wangji about that, see if he’s willing to accept you as one.”

"Screw off. If he doesn’t, I’ll just pester him—we’ll see if he caves.” Turning to Jiang Yanli, Wei Wuxian asked, “Shijie, do you know Lan Wangji?”

Yes,” Jiang Yanli said. “He’s the second young master of the Lan Clan, the one everyone says is very handsome and capable, right? Is he really very handsome?”

"Very!” Wei Wuxian gushed.

"Compared to you?” Jiang Yanli probed.

Wei Wuxian thought for a moment. “Perhaps just a tiny bit more handsome than me.”

He held two of his fingers a tiny distance apart to demonstrate. As Jiang Yanli collected the plates, she smiled.

"Then he must be really very handsome. It’s a good thing to make new friends. You guys can drop in on each other to have some fun in the future, when you have nothing to do.”

For the very next extra to make good on this, almost 20 years later and Wei Wuxian to admit he had always wanted Lan Wangji's attentions romantically and poking at Lan Wangji seemingly not sharing that interest, that was dispelled as soon as both were able to out their shared romantic love.

1:

He turned his head and said to Lan Wangji, “When I was at the Cloud Recesses way back then, I kept urging you to come visit Lotus Pier. I especially wanted you to come with me to steal lotus seed pods from him. Do you know why?”

When it came to Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji always answered every one of his questions and acquiesced to all his requests. And so, he answered him seriously, “I do not know. Why?”

Wei Wuxian winked at him and snickered. “Because that old man sure was something whenever he hit people with his boat-pole. It hurt way more than your family’s disciplinary ferule. I thought I just had to trick Lan Zhan into coming here and let him take a few beatings too.”

Lan Wangji smiled slightly at this. The cold glow of the moonlight on the lake melted at the sight.

In that instant, Wei Wuxian felt dizzy. A smile also unconsciously rippled its way onto his face.

"All right, I admit—” he began.

2:

Amid smiles and laughter, they grabbed hold of each other and embraced in the water before exchanging a kiss.

After their lips parted, Wei Wuxian raised his hand and continued their earlier topic of conversation. “I admit it, I was talking nonsense. I just wanted to hang out with you back then.”

Lan Wangji lifted him from behind, and Wei Wuxian clambered back onto the boat. He looked back and held out a hand to grab Lan Wangji.

“So tell me honestly, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji got on the boat and handed him a red cord. “Of what?”

Wei Wuxian held the red cord with his mouth as he pulled back his hair, which had come loose in the water. “Tell me if you felt the same way,” he said solemnly. “You know, your callous rejection of me every single time I asked really made me lose face

back then.”

"You can try and see if I would deny you anything now,” Lan Wangji said.

The unexpected statement hit him right in the heart. Wei Wuxian choked for a moment, but Lan Wangji was still as composed as ever, like he didn’t fully grasp the weight of what he had just said.

Pressing his palm to his forehead, Wei Wuxian said, “You… Hanguang-jun, let’s agree that you’ll give me a heads-up before you say sweet nothings in the future. Otherwise, I won’t be able to take it.”

Lan Wangji nodded. “All right.”

"Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian said, “Oh, you…!”

Of all the millions of possible words, there was nothing left to say. There was only laughter and hugs.

As for Jiang Cheng, yes he is jealous, yes he is a homophobe, no there is no mixed signals from Wei Wuxian to anyone other than Lan Wangi. Me, unlike you, understand what logical comprehension is and can read what MXTX meant for her CP. Have fun with your salty Jiang Cheng/Chengxian fic ideas though, save that energy for that instead of bugging me.

[yuriko-mukami]

His Possession Dark: Prologue

I didn’t want to come here. But I didn’t want to stay in the past either. Did I truly have any options? The time for questions was over for me… …or maybe it just had only begun. Forward was the way to go but I think I got lost at some point. To get lost is to be found. The thing is… I got caught in something I never expected. The night became endless, yet… …maybe that is where I belong?

Yuriko lumbered into the school she had only visited once before with her father. The huge building had a peculiar and eerie atmosphere that felt weird comparing the school Yuriko used to go to just a couple of weeks ago… No, compared to the school she used to avoid, saying that more precisely.

All the corridors looked the same and Yuriko had a hard time remembering where her classroom was. The teacher had shown it to her but still… And to make the matter worse she had difficulties keeping her eyes open. It wasn’t that late, not yet but knowing what had been ahead sleeping had been impossible, and now she wouldn’t have a chance before morning. This was the first time she attended a night school instead of a regular one. The funny thing is that not so long ago she hadn’t even known that there was such a thing as a night school.

After rambling around for a while Yuriko was able to find her classroom and she wasn’t even late yet; realization released a bit of tension from her muscles. Nothing could have been worse than drawing the wrong kind of attention to her on her first day… night here. She stepped into the classroom facing the teacher, forcing her lips to curve upward. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder if the teacher knew all about her past. How had much her father told him?

If the teacher knew all the details, he didn’t say anything about it. At least not for now, instead, he told Yuriko to introduce herself to everyone. She nodded, swallowing. This part always sucked, not that she had truly first-hand experience of transferring schools but… she had seen the transfer student coming and going, feeling pity when they were put into this situation.

Now I just need to get through it…

Yuriko drew breath, her hands shaking as she stood in front of everyone. Her one-size-too-big beige cardigan was running down from her left shoulder, but she quickly tugged it back up. Suddenly she felt very self-conscious. Everyone seemed to wear their school uniform’s blazers, yet Yuriko had decided to go with the cardigan because it covered her better… but now she realized her mistake as she stood out from the mass even more. And she knew she should have buttoned her shirt all the way to the collar, but she just hated how the topmost button pressed her neck, so she always left that open. For the very same reason, her ribbon was always tied rather loosely.

Why do I do this to myself? Such a failure right from the beginning…

Yuriko pushed her glasses upwards before opening her mouth.  “Um… hello everyone! My… my name is… Tsukino Yuriko. I… I moved to… Kaminashi City with my father a couple of weeks ago and transferred here. I… I hope we all get along…”

Yuriko’s voice quivered as she spoke, and she hid her hands to the hem of her skirt. Her eyes gazed at the classroom quickly stopping for a second to a book cover with a rather philosophical title; she noticed slender fingers holding the book and deep eyes scanning it, but didn’t want to stare too long, so she let her eyes wander to the floor of the room but soon they were drawn to that book again, and a moment later her eyes met the piercing steel-blue gaze. Yuriko averted hers as fast as she could, heat running on her cheeks without mercy.

The teacher pointed out an empty seat for Yuriko after she had bowed. She rushed there, noticing that the desk next to her was empty. The sight made her sigh with relief. Maybe she could be in peace in this new school.

As the class started Yuriko let her gaze drift through the classroom. The students were somewhat different than in her previous school and there was a strange atmosphere that lingered everywhere. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, yet she was able to feel it. Almost like she had smelled something…

Yuriko’s eyes stopped for a moment again to the young man with those piercing eyes. It was impossible not to notice that he wore his uniform in quite a relaxed manner, the tie tied loosely, the shirt half unbuttoned. This rebel attitude of wearing clothes was the opposite of the mind-capturing literature he was reading. Yet he was strikingly handsome with dark hair that faded to a lighter color on the tips, not that Yuriko should care about that kind of thing. Somehow this thought made heat rise on her cheeks again.

No! This is dangerous!

Yuriko turned to stare at the teacher and combed her ivory hair better to cover her face with her fingers as their light blue tips tickled her neck. Her heart kept jumping, and it was hard to listen to what the teacher was telling them, but she shouldn’t allow these thoughts. Not on her first night, not ever again. Those kinds of thoughts were a shortcut to hell, and she wasn’t going to visit there again.

But his way to dress… I guess it’s a bit like mine, though it’s even more rebel. I wonder if the teacher ever scolds him over it. Maybe it’s more relaxed here in this school? Perhaps teachers don’t mind such things? That would be nice…

Yuriko tried her best to concentrate. She wanted to do better this time; if she were to fail again father would never forgive her. It was so shameful that she had to do the third year of high school all over knowing it was her fault. She was the one who had decided to skip all the classes and laze around. Yes, there had been a reason… but as her father had said, there wasn’t a reason good enough to ruin her family’s reputation. Yuriko had been nothing but a selfish little brat who hadn’t been thinking anything but herself. Now it was time to make amends and proof that she could still be worth her father’s love.

Though sometimes Yuriko wondered if the family was even the right word for them… Ever since her mother had left Yuriko had felt that she didn’t truly belong anywhere. She was a disappointment to her father, and nobody surely missed her in her previous school. Probably her classmates had been nothing but happy when she had decided not to show up anymore. So, no family, no friends. She wanted to change all that but at the same time, she didn’t want to stand out.

It’s better to stay out of everyone’s way while I’m here. It’s just one school year and then a new life awaits me… University and freedom from this all.

A sigh left Yuriko’s lips as she finally opened the book they were using in the class. Her right forefinger ran to the edge of the page a bit too fast and suddenly a sharp pain slashed the skin of her fingertip. She quickly put the finger on her mouth trying to ease the pain, but it still lingered. The salty metallic taste jumped on her tongue as she licked the cut hoping the pain would dull. When she pulled her finger out, the tip was still slightly red. The cut was tiny and sharp, there was just a little drop of blood, nothing dangerous… but as everyone knew the papercuts were the worst.

Cold sweat run down Yuriko’s collar as she felt like something had just shifted in the classroom. She looked around her, noticing a few pairs of eyes glancing at her as if she had just done something unforgivable. The chill went down her spine as she tried to appear as small as possible in her seat. She hadn’t even said anything, not even yelped. How come people had noticed what she was doing? She stared at the cut on her fingertip. This was not something she would have expected to draw attention to her.

Yuriko did her best to calm her breathing and jumping heart. She had done nothing wrong. If she acted normal now, nobody would think of anything about her licking her finger in the middle of class. Such a stupid thing, but that was so like her. She always made these tiny mistakes which led people eventually to hate her. Maybe that’s why mother too…?

I shouldn’t think about her now. Yes, it might have been my fault that she left but if I start to ponder that… then I will definitely… No… I can’t, not now. Focus on the class, focus on this pain in your finger. That will keep the other thoughts away…

When the class finally ended Yuriko’s eyes started back to the young man who had already grabbed his book. She didn’t want to stare but she couldn’t help but wonder if he loved reading as much as she did. The book wasn’t one of those light novels Yuriko had seen other boys gobbling one after another; this title was probably digging deep into the human mind and would widen the reader’s point of view of the topic. In fact, Yuriko hadn’t seen anyone from her age group reading such tomes. She had gone through a few and others had always found that odd.

It would have been interesting to ask about the book, ask about the young man’s thoughts on it. Maybe he could even recommend something new for Yuriko to read, there could be a chance for a deep bookish conversation for once. But she could never ask about that, there was no way she could speak to him.

Yet Yuriko glanced at the young man again. Steel-blue eyes locked with hers for a moment that turned her stomach upside down. Did she like the feeling or not? It was hard to tell but there was something cold in him behind those beautiful eyes. It was better to concentrate on studying and forgot the stupid thoughts about socializing, getting new friends… or something more.

If I just keep my head down and get through this year, everything will be better. Dad will believe in me again and then we can try to find Mom together. Maybe she’ll come back home if I’m good enough…

Yuriko sighed. The next class would begin soon, and she had a lot of catching up to do. There was no time for distracting thoughts.

All I wanted to do was to sort out my life.

I wanted to figure out the truth and then move on.

I never thought that transferring to this school would change everything.

The answers were waiting for me, and they came with the price.

Yet there was something else lingering too. Something unexpected.

Beta read by @ruki-mukami-dl

@yuriko-mukami

[jodilin65]

I'm going to start drafting this entry as I lie here feeling exhausted, depressed, anxious, and totally hopeless. Damn, do I miss my healthier days! I miss so many aspects of the old me, but I fear more and more that these things are permanently in the past. The harder I try to take control of my health, the further it seems to slip away. I just can’t get a handle on it.

Yesterday was absolutely horrible. Every time I drifted off to sleep, I kept waking up feeling like I was suffocating. I was utterly exhausted. I’ve only been getting a few minutes to a couple of hours of sleep here and there.

I finally decided to set up a virtual Urgent Care appointment, hoping for advice. The doctor I spoke to was a Jamaican woman with a strong accent that, combined with the garbled audio, made her hard to understand. She seemed robotic and detached and I didn’t really like her much. She thinks sleep apnea might be the root of many of my issues. Thinking back, I wonder if the shortness of breath I experienced a couple of months ago was really related to sleep apnea rather than the nasal spray. Maybe both the fatigue and breathing struggles have been tied to the apnea all along. Her advice was to go to the ER to get oxygen or contact my primary care doctor to arrange for it until my sleep apnea could be addressed.

I definitely regret giving up on the CPAP! Now, I’m desperate enough to try anything. I used to insist one’s throat structure didn’t change but according to some digging I did, aging does affect muscles and other things.

Tom was skeptical of her advice, thinking she was just covering herself, so we decided to go to Urgent Care for a second opinion. It was my first time at Urgent Care since the ‘90s although it wasn’t much different than the Minute Clinic. It was surprisingly dead too.

They agreed the ER wasn’t necessary and said nothing would resolve the sleep apnea without some kind of device. I’d prefer a mouthguard, but dentists who make them are hard to find.

I hadn’t thought to wear long sleeves with the temperatures in the 70s, so both the medical assistant and the doctor noticed the big ugly bruise on my forearm. I told them a heavy box fell on me while I was reaching for it on a closet shelf. I don’t know if they believed me and I don’t care, but I definitely need to stop doing shit like that. If I need to let out frustration, punching a mattress or pillow is a far better option than beating on myself or breaking things. It’s not my fault I have all these health issues. Either it’s no one’s fault because it’s random, or there’s a god up there allowing me to suffer and therefore it’s his fault.

Anyway, to help with sleep and anxiety, the doctor prescribed hydroxyzine—the same stuff Galileo gave me before. It does help me sleep, but it leaves me feeling hungover and groggy. Still, it’s better than nothing. Last night, I slept a bit more, even though there was still some snoring and breathing difficulty.

I asked if my breathing issues were anxiety or sleep apnea-related, and she said both. I even feel short of breath when I’m up and moving sometimes, though it’s much worse when lying down or trying to sleep. My nasal issues certainly don’t help. I can’t get in to see Rhonda fast enough!

On top of all this, my schedule is completely messed up. Tom told me not to worry and to sleep when I could, but it still weighs on my mind. I worry about how much time and money it’s going to take to deal with all of this and how much more suffering is in store for me along the way. Even if everything were resolved with the snap of a finger, I know there will just be something else. I know how it works for me.

I’m still feeling mild pain in my lower left abdomen and it worries me. If it’s anything serious (although I doubt it), we can’t afford for me to go under the knife every year. I might need surgery as it is to fix my nose just to breathe properly again. I’d love to believe my nasal issues and sleep apnea will be resolved in the next few months and that the lower pain is nothing but I can’t know that.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Spencer hc idea/request

Him going feral after you slipping up and calling him your husband for a whole day at work

decided to turn this into a ficlet/blurb <3

cw: marriage, bau!reader, kissing

The buzz of the satellite FBI office was strangely loud for such a late hour. Half of the team, consisting of Y/N, Spencer, and Hotch drew the short end of the stick for the overnight shift. Hotch and Agent Sharma stood side to side facing the whiteboard with Spencer's geographic profile cluttering the white space. They murmured quietly together, knowing that Spencer slept a yard or two away.

Y/N, unable to sleep, nursed a cup of stale coffee with way too much sugar. That and a powdery donut were the only things that kept her awake as she combed through files and files of the unsub. Usually her work kept her awake or ridden with nightmares. But tonight she was struggling to stay awake. She decided, for a couple minutes at least, to watch Spencer sleep. He looked so much younger when he slept. Gone were the worry lines and creased forehead of concern. Spencer was always beautiful, but he was stunning when he slept. She grinned into her cup of bad coffee as his lips twitched in his sleep.

"Y/L/N."

Her named was clipped and short in the stoic agent's professional demeanor. She turned to Agent Sharma, who had left Hotch standing alone at the whiteboard. Y/N knew her teammates well, her unit chief in particular. He seemed to have difficulty sharing territory, even with the same agency.

"I know he's a piece of work." Y/N said, nodding toward Agent Sharma. She smiled, something that Y/N suspected wasn't often with agents with Sharma and Hotch. They were two sides of the same coin.

"Aren't we all, Agent Y/L/N." Sharma said congenially. She took a seat next to Y/N. "Especially that Dr. Reid. He's rather brilliant. I'm sure the Quantico office likes to keep him all to themselves."

"Well, I can't say I blame them," Y/N beamed, looking forward to any circumstance to talk up Spencer's merits, "My husband is rather brilliant. And I do like to keep him to myself, but I've come to understand I have to share him with government intelligence."

"You two are together?" Sharma asked, her eyebrows raised in an uncanny Hotch like away. Y/N had half a mind to tip Penelope off at this revelation. Sharma would certainly be able to keep up with Hotch. It's more of a question if Hotch would be able to keep up her.

"Yup." Y/N said, proudly popping the 'p' sound with her lips. "And you know who is single? Agent Hotchner. He's very reserved at work, but he's been know to savor a whisky or two."

"I do enjoy myself an Old Fashioned." Agent Sharma remarked. Her bright brown eyes flickered to Hotch, who still stood at the whiteboard in his dark gray suit. "And he seems to be a good man. Like your husband."

"Agent Sharma." Hotch said, interrupting their conversation. Sharma smiled and Y/N winked as she went to see what Hotch needed.

Y/N looked back to the desk in front of her, expecting to see Spencer sleeping with his face planted on a pile of case files. Instead, he was gone. But a cool breeze behind Y/N, alerted her of someone's presence. Spencer's hands squeezed her shoulders. He leaned down so his mouth was even with her ear.

"Husband?" Spencer whispered, a layer of uncertainty mixed with wonder and awe clouding his question.

"It just slipped." Y/N admitted. "I hope you're not mad. I can correct Agent Sharma. I mean, it's really just a silly mistake. I just--"

Spencer's lips collided with Y/N's lips. He nearly knocked the wind out of her, but cushioned the kiss by cupping her cheeks with both of his hands. Spencer grinned into the kiss, clearly delighted by the very thought of being her husband. Y/N's premature and unfounded worries were washed away by a clash of teeth and the mix of coffee breath and tooth paste.

"That's not a problem at all." Spencer said, puncturing his words by planting a kiss on her forehead. "It's an easy fix too. I'll just have to actually marry you now."

[folklorelise]

The cadets are turned into kids and think you and Levi are their parents (2)

Here is PART 2 of this!

MASTERLIST

— You were mad at them.

Since the cadets turned into kids you were more stressed than usual – between taking care of them all, doing your paperwork in time and helping Hange with theirs, it was a lot. Adding to this, your sleeping hours were cut in half as well due to kids never sleeping. You were overwhelmed and on edge, ready to snap at any moment.

“Levi,” you called him after lunch, “can you watch over the kids for a few hours? I–.” you took a deep breath, ���I just have to take a bath and rest a little bit… it won’t be long!”

“Of course, take your time.” Levi kissed your forehead before leaving your room.

Levi went to the children’s room while you went to relax a bit.

“Where’s mommy?” Eren asked when Levi came in alone.

“She’ll come later.”

“I want mommy now!” Jean shouted frowning.

“Stop whining or she won’t come here at all.” Levi told them which made them all shut up.

They continued to play together when Jean came to Levi. He struggled to climb on the couch but succeeded and sat on Levi’s lap. He turned around so he could face Levi and asked.

“When is mommy coming here?”

“I don’t know.” Levi answered calmly.

“Play with us then!” Jean pouted. “Come with us.” Jean stood on Levi’s lap when Levi ignored him.

“No. Sit down or leave.” Levi told him in a harsh tone. “No, don’t cry.” Levi’s voice softened when he saw Jean’s tears. “I’ll come and play ok? Just… don’t cry.” Levi stood up with Jean in his arms.

For a few hours, Levi had to play dolls with the kids who were really into it – imagining complex stories, doing voices etc. It was dinner time when they all started to get tired of playing.

“Where’s mommy?” Armin asked shyly.

“Aren’t you all hungry?” Levi quickly changed the subject.

“Yay!” they all shouted.

“I’ll go grab something to eat then, don’t move.” Levi ordered before leaving the room.

When Levi left the room, Eren stood up and told the others that he was going to look for you. Sasha, Connie, Mikasa and Armin were against the idea knowing that Levi would not be happy about it, then there was Jean who agreed with Eren.

“Fine, we’ll leave without you!” Eren opened the door with difficulty.

Mikasa quickly followed Eren and Jean as well as Armin because lately, Armin got the habit of following or imitating Jean. Wherever Jean went, Armin would follow – whatever Jean was doing, Armin would do the same. Jean felt irritated when Armin follow or copied him, but he never said anything. He did once – the first time – and Armin cried which made Jean felt bad and he swore never to make Armin cry again.

“Where is mommy?” Armin asked.

“I don’t know.” Eren said.

“Just go to her room.” Mikasa commented.

They all run to your room and it was not locked. You were trying to sleep in your bed after a few hours of work when you suddenly heard the kids yelling.

“Mommy!” Jean yelled, jumping in your bed.

Meanwhile, Levi immediately regretted his decision when he came back to only two kids out of six. He asked them where the rest of them went and Sasha told him that they were looking for you. Levi took them with him and directly went to your room. Armin and Mikasa were clinging onto you while Jean and Eren were shouting and jumping on the bed.

“Stop jumping on the bed or you’ll break it!” you desperately tried to stop them.

“Eren! Jean! Stop.” Levi ordered in a harsh tone which made them immediately stop. “Y/N,” Levi said more softly, “are you ok?”

“Is mommy sick?” Sasha asked.

“No.” you said.

“Then come play us!” Eren shouted.

“Stop screaming.” you warned him. “And let go of me.” you told Armin and Mikasa but none of them listened to you.

“Kids, come here and let’s go.” Levi tried.

“NO!” Eren shouted loudly, “MOMMY! Come play with us!”

“Mommy!” Jean joined Eren.

“Stop calling me that!” you shouted back which made everyone shut up, “I am not your mother so all of you… just –.” you felt tears falling down, “stop.”

“Mommy?” Mikasa whispered worried.

“I heard shouting outside.” Erwin came in. “What’s happening?” he asked worried.

“Take the kids with you.” Levi said. “And close the door please.”

Erwin did not questioned Levi’s request and took the kids with him in his office. None of the kids wanted to leave you, but Erwin easily took them in his arms. Levi walked to you and wrapped his arms around you.

“Hey, it’s ok.” Levi murmured. “Let’s sit down.”

Levi brought you to bed and sat next you and let you cry on his shoulder. He would just hold you close to him until you stopped crying.

“I feel like shit.” you sobbed. “The kids probably hate me by now too.”

“They don’t.”

“Did you hear what I said? Th-they’re kids! And I- I just yelled at them.” you lamented, “I am the worst mother ever, and they’re not even my real kids!”

“I’m sure everything will work out.”

Erwin on his way to his office with the children saw Hange and brought them with him. Erwin, with Hange’s help, tried to cheer the kids up but they would not stop crying – they wanted to be with you and Levi.

“Is mommy going to leave us?” Armin sobbed.

“No!” Erwin said quickly.

“Y/N, she loves you all very much.” Hange said. “But you have to understand that she was… mh… very tired and she had a lot of work to do.”

“And sometimes,” Erwin continued, “you just have to let that person alone.”

“We have to leave mommy?” Connie asked.

“Yes,” Hange said, “but not forever. It would just be for a day so she can rest.”

“Is mommy not going to be our mommy because we made her upset?” Jean asked shyly.

“No, of course not.” Erwin reassured them. “I’m sure she’ll come back soon.”

Erwin and Hange stayed with the kids until night before Levi came in to put them to bed. Once they cleaned up and changed, they all went to bed without protest.

“Ok, I’ll turn off the lights.” Levi walked out.

“Daddy.” Armin called him before he closed the door, “Is mommy not going to say goodnight to us?”

“She’s n –.” Levi thought about it, “I’ll go and ask her.”

Levi came back to your room and you were already laying in bed, comfortably installed under the blanket. Levi sat next to you and rested his head on your stomach.

“The kids want to see you.”

“Aren’t they upset?” you worried, putting your hand through his hair.

“No, they’re just… they want to see you.”

“I should go then.” you stood up. “I’ll be right back.” you kissed him before leaving.

You walked very quickly toward the kids room and when you opened the door, you noticed they were all still up even though the lights were off. Sasha was the first one to see you and she jumped out of the bed to hug you.

“Hey.” you smiled, kneeling down. “Aren’t you sleepy?”

“No.” Sasha smiled.

“Let’s go back to bed alright?”

You sat down on the bed next to all the kids – they were all staring at you, waiting for you to talk first.

“I’m sorry about what happened earlier.” you apologised. “I should never have yelled at you kids.”

“Don’t stop being my mommy please.” Eren frowned.

“We’re sorry mommy.” Jean said with teary eyes.

“No don’t be.” you comforted them, “I love you all very much.” you smiled.

You opened your arms and they all came to hug you, smiling and happy.

— They sleep between you two — captain dad and squad leader mum.

Armin:

Armin had a nightmare about you leaving for an expedition and not coming back to him. He had Levi coming back devastated and not talking to him or anyone. A stranger – someone from your squad – had to tell him the news that you were never coming back. He woke up panicked and ran to your room. You and Levi agreed that the doors to your room would always be opened if there were any problems.

“Mommy! Daddy!” Armin came in crying.

“Armin?” Levi woke up. “Hey what’s wrong?” he put Armin between you too.

“What’s wrong?” you asked still half asleep.

“Mommy!” Armin cried next to you which woke you up instantly.

“What happened?” you panicked. “Armin, it’s ok.” you patted his head, “I’m here.”

“You didn’t come back.” Armin sobbed.

“What?” you whispered looking at Levi.

“I don’t know.” Levi mouthed.

“Armin,” you wiped his tears away, “what happened?”

“Bad dream.” Armin sobbed harder. “You were n-not here and daddy was s-sad! An-and he wasn’t w-with me!”

“Armin, it’s ok.” you reassured him, “I’m here and daddy’s here too.”

Levi laid on the bed and put Armin next to him. You took the blanket and put it on the three of you and soon enough, Armin calmed down and fell back asleep. In the morning, Armin was found to be sleeping on top of Levi, with his hand resting on Armin’s back so he would not fall.

“This is too much for my heart.” you whispered to yourself.

Jean:

Jean had been feeling slightly sick for the past couple of days but did not tell anyone. He stayed in bed when it was time to eat dinner and you were worried at first which made you bring him dinner but he was asleep already. You brought back the tray and gave it to the kids who were not against the idea of eating more.

Jean woke up in the middle of the night, still slightly sick and extremely hungry. He discreetly go out of bed and went to your room. When Jean came in, he noticed lights were still on – Levi was still awake, probably working.

“Daddy?” Jean asked timidly. Which startled Levi.

“What are you still doing up at this hour?” Levi whispered, scared to wake you up.

“I’m hungry.” Jean admitted.

“Come here.” Levi put away his papers.

Levi took him in his arms and put him on the bed between you two which woke you up.

“Mh. What’s wrong?” you mumbled.

Jean turned his head toward Levi so he could answer for him.

“Jean’s hungry.” Levi said.

“Mh – I’m up.” you dragged yourself out of bed slowly. “I’m going to bring you some food alright?” you patted Jean’s head and noticed his forehead was a little hot. “Are you sick Jean?” you asked worried.

“No.” Jean answered.

“Jean, don’t lie. Are you sick?” Levi asked again.

“I don’t know.” Jean said looking at his hands playing with the blanket.

“Jean,” you said softly, “it’s ok. I’ll go and bring some hot tea too alright?”

You went to the kitchen and prepared some food and started to boil some water as well. You took two cups – one for Jean and another for Levi - and poured some water in it with the tea leafs. You put the smashed potatoes and the vegetables on a plate and put everything on a tray before going back to your room. Levi started to feed Jean while you prepared a cold towel for Jean.

“Jean, what did you forget earlier?” Levi said when you came back.

“Thank you mommy!” Jean smiled.

“You’re welcome baby.” you smiled back.

When Jean finished eating, Levi offered to cleaned it up while you put Jean to sleep. You thanked him and went back to bed. You put the cold towel on Jean’s forehead and laid next to him.

“You can sleep now.” you rest your hand on Jean stomach.

“Good night mommy.”

“Good night.”

“Good night daddy!” Jean said when Levi came back to bed.

Eren:

Just like Armin, Eren had a nightmare that night. When he first woke up, he tried to go back to sleep because he did not want to bother you nor Levi. But after thirty minutes of trying, he went to your bedroom. This time, both of you were asleep.

Eren hesitated a second about whether he should wake you up or not. He quickly decided not to and laid on the floor. Levi woke up not too long after Eren came in because he was thirsty. He only noticed Eren’s presence when he came back from the kitchen.

“Y/N.” Levi whispered

“Mmh?”

“Eren’s on the ground.”

“Mh.” you mumbled, “What?” you asked again a minutes later – your eyes wide open.

“Look.” Levi pointed at Eren.

“What is he doing on the ground?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bring him here.” you told Levi.

“You do it.” Levi argued.

“I’ll wake him up.”

“And I won’t?”

“You never did when I used to fell asleep in your office.” you reminded him.

“Fine.”

Levi miraculously brought Eren on the bed without waking him up and put him between you two. During the night, Eren ended up on Levi’s left side meaning Levi was in the middle. While he had his arms around Eren – so he would not fall – you had yours around Levi.

— Sasha and Connie would often sneak out and sleep with you and Levi.

— Mikasa never did. When she had nightmares she would only hug her teddy bear closer. She was scared to bother you. Once she did wake Sasha up and slept closer to her.

——————————

Shorter Stories

— Mikasa was known to be always quiet – she was afraid to bother people especially you or Levi. Even when she was hurt, she would stay quiet. Once during a meeting, she accidentality cut herself with a piece of paper. It was Eren, ten minutes later who had to tell you.

“Next time, you tell me immediately ok?” you told Mikasa as you cleaned the cut.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“You had to leave for me.” Mikasa explained.

“You are more important than the meeting, so next time just tell me alright?”

Mikasa only nodded and followed you back to the meeting.

— Jean is known to be a momma’s boy – he would always stay with you and play with you rather than Levi. He often cried when you had to leave without them. He loved to be held by you, he knew how to walk perfectly, but he would rather stay with you.

“Stop spoiling him.” Levi would often say to you.

“I can’t help it. Jean is adorable!”

When others were watching over the kids, you were the one Jean would be asking for, not Levi which surprised you when Hange came because Jean hurt himself while playing.

“Jean’s at the infirmary – nothing serious though!” Hange quickly added.

“I’ll go.” you stood up.

“Mh…” Hange stopped you, “he asked for Levi.”

“Are you sure?” you asked them.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” you gasped dramatically, “did you hear that?”

“What?” Levi asked ready to leave.

“My heart being broken by that kid.” you threw yourself back to bed.

When Jean got better, he immediately came back to you. You tried to be mad at Jean – in a playful way – but when you saw him nearly crying, you apologised and let him stay with you.

— The kids were staying with you in the morning, and it was decided that Levi would watch them after lunch because you had work to do with your squad. You were holding Eren in your arms and he refused to let go of you when Levi arrived.

“I want to stay with mommy please!” Eren cried holding onto you.

“Eren,” you calmed him down, “I will be back really quick, I promise.”

“Noo!” Eren cried as Levi took him.

Eren was desperately trying to hold your arms, but Levi was swift. Eren leaned over and grabbed your hair and pulled it which made you scream and lose your balance.

“Eren!” Levi yelled putting him down. “Y/N, are you ok?” he knelt down.

“I’m fine.” you reassured him, “it’s ok.”

“Mommy?” Eren hesitated.

“Eren,” Levi started, “go to your room with the others.” but Eren did not move, “right now!” Levi ordered.

“Levi.” you put your hands on his face, “I’m ok.” you turned to Eren who was now crying silently. “Eren, it’s ok, I’m fine.”

“’M sorry mommy!”

“It’s ok, now go with daddy and listen to him ok?”

Eren nodded and took Levi’s hand and left.

“Sorry daddy.” Eren sobbed.

“Mh.” Levi answered. “Don’t ever do that again am I clear?”

“Never!”

——————————

Short HCs:

— Sasha’s birthday happened that year when they were still kids. You all baked a cake together.

— Connie would often draw pictures of you all as a family during meetings.

— Erwin loved staying with the kids. He would often put them to bed.

— Hange loved the kids too – they would always play with them outside with Moblit, Mike and Nanaba.

PART 3 (coming soon)

[deadpoetsmuses]

"inspiration". | neil perry, dps.

in which a summer is spent with the poets, with a significant feature of neil perry.

✧ title: "inspiration".

✧ pairing: neil perry x fem!reader.

✧ genre: fluff, with slight mentions of angst.

✧ word count: 2,733.

✧ warnings: written in headcanon format, home life mentions, the reader lives in meeks' grandma's house, knox being a simp for chris.

✦ author’s note: requested by @mybabysweetascanbe! it's kinda funky how i wrote this as a headcanon but it still ended up being my longest fic lmao. also i wrote the poem that neil made for the reader myself so i'm sorry if it's kinda cheesy 🗿 but i hope you all enjoy this one !! don't forget to take care of yourselves guys <3

✎ The summer holidays had always been a time for the poets’ relief.

✎ Their academic year was constantly filled with difficulties for the poets, but it was harder for some when they were home for the summer.

✎ Neil felt as though he couldn’t be himself-- he loved reading and writing even more so than he did with accomplishing any of his parents’ wishes, like heading into medical school. He especially loved to act, and it was rough to keep that concealed around his dictatorial father.

✎ Todd’s older brother would be at home as well, and it was worse enough being in his shadow; but it had gotten worse with every one of his parents’ daily proclamations.

“We were quite disappointed with your grades from last semester, son,” His father reprimanded, looking down on him with stern eyes. “I just don’t understand what’s gotten into you. Your mother and I raised you quite well and you have your brother to guide you along. You know that he’s remarkably intelligent and well accomplished. Why can’t you be more like your brother?”

✎ Charlie and Knox had been just like Neil. The constant pressure that their parents put on them about becoming a banker and a lawyer was daunting; and all they wanted was to simply live as regular teenagers without concern for their future.

✎ Fortunately, Meeks’ grandmother was a woman who had a colossal and motherly love for the poets with a sizable residence in which her grandson’s friends could inhabit during their vacation.

✎ Thus, the poets resided in the Meeks household in the summer before their senior year so as to escape the stress and troubles brought to them in their own homes.

✎ Even though the summer was fleeting and their time was short, the poets found their time to be everlasting when they met the student boarder of the house.

✎ She went by the name of Y/N, which was a name that sounded just as sweet as the lady to whom it was attached.

“Hello, everybody! I’m Y/N!” The girl said, reaching out her hand to shake one of the poets’. Truth be told, it had been quite some time since any one of the boys had been in close contact with a woman; so they found themselves to be quite the martians in the situation. It took a few moments before one of the poets-- Neil Perry-- could offer his hand and shake hers. “I’m Neil! We’re friends of Meeks and his classmates from Welton.” The boy swore that he felt a spark as their fingertips touched, but he tossed the feeling aside; along with the apparition that he saw of a faint glimmer in Y/N’s eyes.

✎ The boys instantly took her in to their little group, and they all fell in love with her personality-- which was a platonic statement of course; but Neil Perry found this to be otherwise as he actually began falling into love with the new girl.

✎ He loved the way she cared for her new friends, the way she projected her personality through the clothes she wore, and all of the little smiles she gave him.

✎ With every beam and twinkle that she delivered, Y/N found herself to be falling for Neil as well.

✎ He provided a feeling for her that made the blacks of her eyes expand and butterflies to quiver inside-- which was the very same one Neil had felt when he first laid his eyes on her.

✎ She had been a fantastic addition to the band of poets, and the boys could not have had it any other way.

Despite the summer coming into fruition, the poets did not fail to meet up in their little cave every once in a while to read poetry, discuss girls, and laugh. The first meeting of that summer was simply like any other. “Guys, what do we think of Y/N?” Meeks questioned. A clamor of answers that ranged between “I think she’s great,” and “Do you think Mrs. Meeks has any more people in her house like Y/N?” echoed in the dark cave. Clearly, the boys had favored Y/N; but certainly not to the point where they’d be infatuated with her. “Yeah, I think she’s nice. She’s really pretty too,” Knox added. “Woah there Knoxious,” Charlie replied, expelling out a chortle. “I don’t think Chris would like to hear that. And besides, she looks more like she’s Neil’s type than yours.” Charlie’s words weren’t incorrect, but it was needless to say that Neil had strongly agreed with that statement.

✎ Over the summer, they would all begin to get to know each other better.

✎ The poets eventually introduced Y/N to the intricate realm of poetry, and she wholeheartedly fell in love with every line that was recited.

✎ They enjoyed every moment of their fleeting time together. Of course, there would be times where the boys would get into small fights and bickers.

✎ Pitts would always be yelling at Charlie for taking an ungodly amount of time in the shower, while Charlie would be yelling back about how Pitts always seemed to inhale the food that Mrs. Meeks provided for them before he himself could even take one bite.

✎ Cameron did his best to do some summer reading at night, but he found it quite hard as his room was beside Knox’s room, and Knox would spend hours on end talking to Chris over the phone.

“Oh, Chris. How do I love thee?” Knox sighed, lacing the telephone cords in between his fingers. “That’s the title of a poem we learned in Mr. Keating’s class. It reminds me of how lovely you are. Of course, she’s not as pretty as you are,” Knox’s giggles not only erupted through the phone; but it travelled through the walls as well, disrupting Cameron from the climax of his novel. “We get it, Knox! You’re a romantic poet! Now why don’t you go tell Chris about how you finished with a D minus in English!”

✎ While all of the little squabbles took place, they hadn’t even noticed the slight change in Neil and Y/N’s behavior.

✎ Y/N seemed to be keeping to herself more often, while Neil appeared to have possessed an undying smile on his face around the poets; particularly in the mornings when everyone gets up early except for him and Y/N.

✎ Little did they know, Y/N’s room had been vacant for the past few days since the arguments began-- which was approximately three weeks after the boys had arrived to the Meeks’ residence; and Neil seemed to be giggling in his room every night when the rest were asleep.

✎ In the duration of those three weeks, Neil had become more familiar with Y/N than any of the other poets had been.

✎ They’d walk along the nearby river every morning, discuss poetry in the late afternoons, and eventually fall asleep in each other’s arms at night.

“How long have you been living here?” Neil inquired, peering into Y/N’s eyes. His vision didn’t have to stretch too far as his face had only been a breath away from Y/N’s. The pair laid together under the warm covers of Neil’s bed with their legs entangled in one another’s and their hands interlocked, talking about anything and everything that came to their minds. “It’s been two years since Mrs. Meeks took me in,” She replied, gazing over Neil’s chiseled face. “In the whole time I’ve been here, I think you’re the most interesting thing that’s happened to me,” Y/N added, beaming up at Neil. Hearing her words, Neil slowly leaned his lips onto Y/N’s forehead, giving her an endearing kiss. She too had been the most interesting thing to happen to Neil in a long time.

✎ For each and every day that they were together, Neil wrote love poems.

✎ His poems revolved around his time with Y/N and included detail of all sorts; such as how colors appeared to be more bright and more vivid when he was with her and how lovelier the birds had sounded in the morning during their walks.

"My love,

The luminosity of the golden sun

does not compare to the radiance

of your glowing skin.

In this air full of morning dew,

the most beautiful scent in the air

is still you.

The sounds we hear of the melodious

birds are all because of your presence,

and they sing only for your beauty.

I look into your eyes and I see nature

reflected back at me; but it is much more

pleasant to perceive than if I were to do so

through my own set of eyes.

Though the morning lasts for a mere set of hours,

My fascination for you can go for as long as

this smooth river flows.

✎ Neil felt embarrassed about being so infatuated with Y/N, so he kept his poems hidden for the time being.

✎ Somehow, the boys had failed to notice Neil and Y/N’s constant disappearance.

✎ Although, they’d make little remarks from time to time that ran along the lines of “Ooh, Neil found a muse!” and “Y/N definitely likes somebody here. It’s probably me.”

✎ The last comment came from Charlie, which later earned him a smack on the head from Neil.

✎ So, Neil and Y/N did their best to keep their relationship hidden throughout the summer.

✎ The two were rather domestic in their relationship; they did all of the typical-couple activities that everyone else had done.

✎ To anyone else it would have been rather common to witness, but to them it was simply extraordinary being with one another.

It had been a scenic day at the river that morning. The beauty of the nature surrounding it had been ordinarily pleasing to Y/N; but all of its best qualities were magnified for Neil as his hand was in hers and the only thing he could smell was her fragrance. He had been quite nervous for the entire morning as he promised himself the night before that he would finally gather the courage to say those three magic words he’d been imagining to say for quite some time. Unbeknownst to him, Y/N had been thinking the same and had been visualizing how she would say it at that moment for the past few hours since. Just when the cascading waters began to relax and the chirping of the birds started to quiet down, the pair stopped on their trail and those three words were finally professed by Neil in a sudden manner while Y/N had spoken the same in a clear and gentle tone. They looked into each other’s eyes, recognizing the same look of love and eventually realizing what was said. As it was acknowledged, the two lovers simply smiled at each other and kept walking along; their hearts now beating on the same rhythm and their minds thinking of nothing but one another.

✎ Time to time, they would go up to the attic and listen to the music from Mrs. Meeks’ old gramophone, caressing one another as they slowly dance along to the lyrics of Ella Fitzgerald’s songs.

✎ Neil would always sneak a flower out of Mrs. Meeks’ rose garden and leave it on Y/N’s bedside table for her to wake up to.

✎ One of Y/N’s ways of communicating her love would be recommending books to Neil that she thinks is encompassed with his personality. Since then, Neil’s library had enlarged to a great extent.

✎ There would also be some occasions where one of them-- mostly Neil-- would get a little cheeky and try to express their love for the other out in the open.

“Eat up, boys! You know there’s plenty more of where that came from, so don’t be afraid to dig in!” Mrs. Meeks endorsed, setting down a bowl of mashed potatoes. With a jubilant ‘thank you’, everyone at the table promptly began to tuck into the mouthwatering cuisine. The boys soon found themselves distracted with the heavenly taste of Mrs. Meeks’ cooking; and Neil took this opportunity to covertly sneak his right hand onto Y/N’s thigh under the table. A scarlet blush crept its way up to Y/N’s cheek as she sent Neil a glare. Though her eyes expressed the message of “Not here!”, every other signal in her body sent the message of ‘Yes, Please’ to a very triumphant Neil.

✎ The summer inevitably came to an end and the boys were forced to return to Welton, much to their dismay.

✎ They couldn’t stand ending their summer; and they especially couldn’t stand leaving their new friend behind while the rest of them stayed together.

“Oh God, How are we supposed to leave this beautiful girl all alone in this big house?!” Charlie pleaded, theatrically dropping down to his knees and shouting out loud to the heavens. “It’s all just too emotional for us,” Pitts added as he went along with his friend’s act, his head bowing down to the ground in grief as he placed a comforting hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Just take me with her, God! Let me be with Y/N at her all-girls school!”

✎ Despite all of the inconveniences they put upon Y/N, the poets really did leave a mark on her. These boys showed her a new way of life-- she knows what ‘Carpe Diem’ means, and she knows how to seize her days because of them.

✎ Of course, Neil had a harder time coming into terms with their departure more than anyone else.

✎ Leaving the Meeks’ residence meant that he was leaving Y/N, which was something that he hadn’t prepared himself for.

“I’m not ready to leave you,” Neil confessed. Tears were beginning to form in his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. After the individual hugs and goodbyes Y/N had given to the rest of the poets, the ill-fated time had come when she had to bid her own farewell to her lover. Neil believed that though their time was short and fleeting, it truly had been something special and something that he’ll never forget. Y/N was his first love, his first muse, his first everything; and no amount of riches could ever sum up to the prominence of that. Y/N placed her hand on Neil’s face, stroking away his tears with her thumb as she felt her eyes begin to swell up as well. “I’ll write to you every day, Neil.” Naturally, Y/N was on the brink of tears as well. She couldn’t bear to leave Neil after everything he’s shown her. It feels like she’s known him forever, yet everything felt so new and exciting with him. She loved him too much, and she knows she’ll continue to love him long after.

✎ Neil was afraid that she would forget about what they had soon after she had left, so he decided to give her all of the poems he had written about her.

✎ As her hands clasped the thick set of parchment, the tears she had been trying so hard to conceal had all poured out, staining the paper and her hands.

“Neil… these are beautiful,” She croaked. Her eyes skimmed over every title and date, realizing that there had been a poem for each and every splendid day that they had been together. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. That’s why I wrote these,” Neil corrected. “Everything I love about you is in these poems, and all of the love I have for you is written in each letter. I just don’t want you to forget about me while we’re apart.” The absurdity of Neil’s words made Y/N chuckle softly before she stepped forward and linked her hands around Neil’s neck, reducing the space between their lips. “I love you, Neil. You’re always going to be in my mind and you’ll always have my heart in the little pocket of your Welton blazer.”

✎ Y/N felt truly fortunate to have met Neil. This summer had come as quite a surprise for her-- she did not expect to fall in love so soon and with such an extraordinary person like Neil Perry. He was everything she’d ever looked for and he gave everything she deserved.

✎ Even though the bright days of the summer had ended and the early falling leaves of the autumn was yet to arrive, the change was of no concern as the only thing that mattered was what had been consistent-- and for Y/N and Neil, the thing that stood still for the two of them despite all odds was each other.

dedicated to these lovely people!! @mybabysweetascanbe @disagreeingpoets @catflowerbean @galaxyrhytm @nananostalgic @ughgclden @towriteabetterlife @neilsemeraldsweater @yourpal @willowestelle

[codename-adler]

Death of Heroes

Because not even Neil can outrun the ephemerality of men.

Renee is the first one to go. 

Nearing sixty but never reaching it, she is outlived by Abby and Wymack. At least Stephanie Walker is waiting for her at the gates of Heaven, but for the rest of her Foxes, the loss is heavy.

It’s cancer. Leukemia.

It started with the bruises from her sparring matches with Andrew not healing very well. Then not at all. After decades of maintaining these monthly meetings, of keeping her body healthy, Renee finally has to give it up. She knows something is wrong, and she knows that these sessions won’t be of any help, now.

Then the extreme fatigue starts. Still, Renee doesn’t do a thing about it. Or at least, she lets life go its own course. She looses weight, which she already doesn’t have much of. But then the nosebleeds begin, and it’s no use telling Allison to stop worrying. The diagnosis is unsurprising, yet still shattering. And it’s not a good prognosis either, but it’s still not bad enough for the doctor to give up the Five-Year survival plan.

Renee has to speak up. Ally, I don’t want to do this. She has to put her foot down. Allison, my love, it’ll be okay. I won’t get better, you and I both know that. But it can be okay. It can still be good.

Renee doesn’t get treatment. Renee doesn’t tell anybody, except Andrew. Because Andrew knows, somehow, that she made a terrible, irreversible choice. Because Andrew only deals in truths. Because Andrew is Andrew, and just as he needed her all those years ago, she needs him now.

A little more than six months pass, with less and less outings from Renee and more and more excuses from Allison, and Renee gets sick. Really sick. It starts like a regular cold. Then it looks more like the flu. And suddenly it’s pneumonia, and respiratory difficulties, and lung failure. She’s in that hospital bed, wearing that gown, breathing in that mask. Renee finally nods to Allison, giving her consent.

Ally makes the call.

Only Andrew and Dan make it in time.

Renee Walker goes out like a light.

The Foxes, who had once upon a time been used to murders, life-threatening schemes and acts of extreme violence, had never really known Death itself. The simple, yet inevitable fate of human lives. Of going quietly into the night. It’s all so quiet. So anticlimactic. It’s so quiet, too quiet, too heavy with silence. This time, there is no one to blame, no one to punish, no one to take responsibility.

It’s just life. It’s just death.

Wymack and Abby can’t believe that one of their Foxes, on of their kids, left before them. Renee’s Korean roots made her look barely a day over forty, which made it all so much worse. Renee’s death takes a toll on every single one of them. Because it’s Renee, the best of them. Because all her papers are in orders, her will to date, her wishes known; just as when she was alive, she leaves no chaos behind her.

There is nothing and no one to be mad at, except life.

In the cemetery where Stephanie Walker is buried, Andrew buys a large lot of land. (Large enough to one day welcome all the Foxes) The tomb is moved over there, and Renee’s name is added. A tree is planted above her scattered ashes. It’s very small, very fragile, but with the years, it grows strong.

For the first time, the Foxes realize that, despite going through Hell and back in their youth, they are not immortal. There is nothing to be done about that, but it hurts. It hurts to lose their angel this way, so soon, so suddenly. It hurts to lose, period. It feels like a failure, like giving up. They lost her. They lost.

But somehow, they gained something else they might never know about. Renee might have been the only religious one among them, but that didn’t stop her from becoming their Guardian Angel. Because somehow, from then on, the Foxes were spared.

Let me show you.

Just as Bee had a few years before Renee, Abby, then Wymack, simply die in their sleep, no fight, no agony. None of them have to see another Fox go before them. They don’t have to go through that indescribable ordeal ever again. They are spared the pain.

Then decades pass, enough for the remaining Foxes to grow very old, and live very long. Not infinitely, but long enough.

Matt is the next one to go.

Matt has worked hard all his life, both mentally and physically. It comes to no surprise, then, that arthritis chose to invade his body. For the first few years living with the diagnosis, natural medicine and osteopathy are enough to keep the pain at bay. It doesn’t stop Matt from doing anything. He babysits his 9 grandchildren with Dan every week; he goes on roadtrips with Dan every summer; he goes on a light jog with Dan every day.

It’s just that one day, it’s not enough anymore. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the pain becomes too much for Matt to do his day-to-day activities. And really, the pain, he could take; it was an old friend, a familiar feeling, almost like a sixth sense.

It was the mental toll of it all that he couldn’t take. To have to say no to seeing his grandchildren. No to driving around endlessly and aimlessly for hours. No to waking up in sync with Dan every morning, and no to their routine, and no, and no, and just- not living.

For the first time in a long time, Matt doesn’t want to do this anymore.

But he does, still. He smiles, and he lies, and he tries to will away the pain.

It all comes down to one afternoon, when he takes his painful walk of the day around the neighborhood. There are three little kids playing Exy in their driveway, when suddenly a ball escapes their racquets and rolls down in the street. The smallest kid runs after it, runs and runs and runs, without looking. Kind of like Neil, Matt thinks to himself before his body acts of his own. The kid doesn’t see the car, and the car doesn’t see the kid. Matt sees both.

The BMW is going way over the limit, its sleek black sides reflecting the sun too brightly. Despite his pain, despite his age, despite his now slow reflexes, Matt leaps. He screams at the kid to stop and turn around, to let the ball roll away, but to no avail. 

Matt pushes the kid away in time for the car to hit him instead, and only him.

The rest becomes a blur, but the final verdict is as such: broken hip, shattered leg, probably won’t walk ever again, even with surgery. The doctors and surgeons warn Matt that with his age, his pre-existing condition, and his drug history, surgery might kill him. But Matt refuses to be bedridden for the rest of his already miserable life. Dan knows that. She knows that he has to try. Knows that he might not pull through. She also knows that Matt wants to go, has wanted to for a while now. 

She calls Neil. She calls Allison. From there, all the Foxes are bound to get the news. Matt promises to wait until their arrival before going into surgery. In the meantime, the nurses start a morphine line, after warning the couple very strongly about the side effects and the risks. But Matt is in pain, terrible pain, and it’s a compromise to wait for his Foxes. It takes about a week for all of them to come to his bedside, with Nicky being last, coming all the way from Germany. Neil and Allison barely leave his room; Dan doesn’t at all. The others take turns, leaving as much space for Matt’s kids and grandkids as their hearts can allow.

The open spot for Matt’s surgery is on a Friday.

Matt Boyd does not make it to Friday. 

The morphine is too heavy on his heart. It was a possible outcome, not as alarming as the upcoming surgery, but... Matt had secretely wished to go ever since and- maybe, up there in Heaven, someone heard him... 

Dan and Matt had had a mutual understanding, that it was okay, but it doesn’t make it any more easy to let go. 

Two months into Matt’s departure, Allison moves in with Dan. She walks her through every stage of grief. She grieves all over again herself, too. But they make it.

Same goes for Andrew with Neil. Neil doesn’t know loss like this. Death like this.

And yet. And yet. Deep, deep down, Neil is scared. That after all his years of running, and fighting, and lying, he won’t get that peaceful ending Matt was granted.

But Neil lives.

And Nicky leaves.

A few months after Matt, he and Erik simply stay in the States. They say it’s because they want to be close, because they don’t want to miss anything, because they don’t want to risk a Fox leaving without a chance at saying goodbye. Because Nicky misses his Aaron and his Andrew.

Which are all valid and true motives. It’s just not the whole truth.

Nicky has dementia. Alzheimer’s, to be precise. Diagnosed about a year ago. It’s not bad yet, but- It’s the endless back-and-forth between the house and “der Supermarkt” because Nicky forgot what he drove there for in the first place. It’s forgetting words in all the languages Nicky speaks. It’s freaking out at all the Germans speaking German, because Nicky sometimes believe he is still living in America. It’s not finding the Columbia house and panicking when Nicky can’t get a hold of Andrew or Aaron.

It’s hard, it’s heartbreaking, it’s terrifying, but it’s manageable.

Once Nicky and Erik settle back down in North Carolina, they both wonder how long it’ll take before the twins figure it out, because there is no way Nicky is telling them, but he also knows nothing can get past his twins.

And he’s right. Between Aaron’s acute knowledge of Medicine and Andrew’s reknown lie-detector skills, it takes about 14 days for them to take Nicky hostage and demand the truth. 

As the year comes to an end, Nicky’s dementia doesn’t seem to progress that much. He seems to escape the worst. He doesn’t forget anyone. He doesn’t become aggressive, doesn’t go missing, doesn’t lose any function of his body. Without looking too closely, Nicky is simply getting old. 

The twin girls he and Erik adopted get to move back in for a little while, having lived in the U.S. all their lives and seeing their parents fly to Germany after their retirement. They know, too, and try to make the most of it. They are lucky. They are so lucky. Nicky is a miracle patient.

In the end, though, it’s Nicky’s body rather than his mind that gives out. Once you reach a certain point in time living with the disease, but without the general complications of it, eventually the brain has trouble managing all the organs of the body. So instead of forgetting to eat, or forgetting names and faces, sometimes your brain doesn’t remember how to make your heart beat. Or how to make make your lungs breathe.

Nicky Hemmick stops breathing in the middle of the night, after having wished his twin daughters goodnight, texted his other set of twins goodnight, and kissed his husband goodnight. Nicky had thought, then, that it was indeed, a good night.

Just as he had remembered his Foxes until the end, he was remembered by them as the big-hearted lover that Heaven had just gained as its new angel.

Too soon after him, though, it’s Allison’s turn. 

It’s not that she’d simply been waiting around for the day she could be reunited with Renee. She just didn’t understand why her Foxes kept leaving, and why she was still stuck here without her other half. 

She didn’t just wait, though. She helps Dan out with the grandkids, and sometimes the grown-up kids too. She volunteers a lot. She gives back to the Columbia community, and all around the world. She travels to places she’s never been, places that remind her of Renee, but are void of painful memories. She empties their bucket list, and much more. The last thing Allison has yet to do, the only thing left to do, is mending her relationship with her parents. Or parent. Singular. In spite of everything, including the death of her husband, Francesca Reynolds was still standing strong at the head of the Reynolds empire. 100 years old was nothing when you lived in spite. 

In a twisted way, Allison believed that maybe her mother was the last piece she needed to mend before she was allowed to go. That despite being gone for years, Renee was still there somewhere, looking out for her and making sure she didn’t have any regrets. 

So Allison accomplished the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the impossible. For the first time in decades, she flew back to the Reynolds estate and spoke to her mother. In person. 

It was not the emotional reunion Renee might have hoped for, but it was a reunion still. That was more than enough for Allison. They didn’t talk about the big things. The important things. But they talked. They talked. And they scheduled another talk. 

Back home with Dan, Allison embraced her friend and let the tears fall. She was grateful for her friend, but both of them knew that these were not the arms Allison wished to be held in. She went to rest a bit before dinner, and she tried to imagine how it would feel like to have Renee hold her again.

For someone as loud, as present and as strong as she was, Allison Walker slipped quietly from time. 

When Dan found her, she could only smile tearfully. She played with her hair one last time as she called her Foxes.

Allison left Dan in charge of her finances, and so she took over her charity duties and went above and beyond to honor her friend’s memory. Her sister.

Dan thought she would be next. She wished, she hoped, she prayed to be next.

She wasn’t.

Kevin was.

He might have been the biggest and hardest loss to weather. It wasn’t a feeling that could be explained. As painful as it had been to lose Renee, and Matt, and Nicky, and Allison, losing Kevin was... the great and terrible 10, as they’d say.

Kevin should have died way sooner. His liver should have given out because of all the alcohol it had endured in Kevin’s youth. His heart should have given out because of all the stress it had faced for most of Kevin’s life. All the bad things that could happen with old age should have happened to Kevin, but they didn’t. They didn’t. 

Death came knocking one day, and politely asked him if he would please follow them, and Kevin simply took it as a sign that his time was up.

That day, Kevin had felt a numbing pain in his chest all morning long. Used to little injuries here and there, he hadn’t thought anything of it. And he certainly wasn’t about to worry his doctor of a husband... 

However, as the sun reached it’s highest in the sky, Kevin couldn’t really hide his pain any longer. He had lain down on their couch for a bit, but he couldn’t seem to get back up. It was too exhausting. So he called for Aaron, as loud as he could in the state he was. 

As Aaron stumbled into the living room, Kevin tried to use his softest voice to inform his husband of the situation. Aaron immediately called an ambulance, and when the vehicle took them both away, he reached for his phone again to make, once again, a terrible call to their Foxes. But through his oxygen mask, Kevin reached out to grap his wrist and whispered, with difficulty, just Neil... just Andrew...

Because here’s the thing: Kevin loved his Foxes, and his Foxes loved him back. Immensely. 

He loved them so much he had married one, with another one of them as best man (Neil), another as his husband’s (Andrew), and yet another one as their celebrant (Renee). 

They loved him so much that it was only short of worship by a hair or two. And Kevin knew that. He loved Dan like a sister. And by extension, he loved Erik like a brother, too. And he loved all the Foxes’ children and grandchildren like his own, despite never being a parent himself. 

But Neil and Andrew... There were no words for what they were to him. He knew that he wouldn’t have to talk them through it. He knew they would be the only ones strong enough and close enough to hold Aaron up in case it all turned to shit the moment he passed the hospital doors. 

And being the History nerd he had always been, Kevin had written letters, a long time ago. To his Foxes. Most of them had left before him, and so he could never give them their letters, but Dan, and Erik for Nicky, could still have those letters. Kevin poured everything into these letters. It had taken him years, ever since Renee’s departure. He wrote, and threw away, and started again, until he got it right. Nine letters, for his nine Foxes. Andrew knew about it. He’d give Nicky’s and the upperclassmen’s to Dan and Erik, and they’d understand. Kevin didn’t want them to be there, at the very end of it all. He just wanted Aaron. And Neil. And Andrew.

Those three had letters waiting for them, too. Andrew would hand them over a month later. But he would never open his.

Andrew and Neil arrived just before 1 PM. Kevin was hooked on all sorts of IVs and still had the oxygen mask on. His heart monitor was beeping very, very slowly, erratically. He was still Kevin Day in all his gloriousness, but he was much more Kevin, their beloved Kevin.

On one side of the hospital bed, Aaron never let go of Kevin’s hand. On the other side, Kevin removed the mask and weakly motioned for Neil to take the other hand. But Neil was stunned. Frozen. So Andrew came up behind him, and held Kevin’s hand. 

It would be the first, and the last time.

Just as Neil finally sprung into action and went to put a hand on Kevin’s shoulder, feeling his wiry muscles and his fragile bones underneath the hospital gown, Kevin closed his eyes. 

The heart monitor began flatlining.

Neil looked at the monitor, then to Kevin. He looked at Andrew, then back at Kevin, and then at Aaron. His eyes couldn’t stay focused on one thing. He was still hoping. He was still refusing.

Aaron lowered his head. Kissed Kevin’s hand.

Andrew held on tighter to Kevin’s other hand. Gripped the back of Neil’s neck.

Kevin took Death’s hand, which felt a lot like Aaron’s, and Andrew’s, and Renee’s, and walked away.

Aaron unplugged the monitor. And called it.

Time of death: 13:01.

It took exaclty one month, day for day, for Aaron to leave as well. They called it the Broken Heart Syndrome. On the surface, Aaron had held it together. But Andrew knew. He saw. That he was losing him as well. 

Some could say that, by handing over Kevin’s letter, Andrew killed his brother. But those who would say that didn’t even begin to understand the complexity of the bond between twin brothers. Especially not the Minyards. 

Because what Andrew really did, with that letter, was gifting Aaron with relief.

Peace. Quiet. 

Love. 

Aaron could exhale, now. He would see Kevin soon, now.

And so in the same room, in the same bed as his husband’s, Aaron Minyard forced Death’s hand and demanded to see Kevin again.

And then there were three.

Dan lived for so long that she started to fear outliving her children. She felt old, so old. In her head and in her heart. She did not believe in a God, but she often found herself praying to someone, anyone. She did not believe in angels and demons, but she often wondered how long they would keep her from Death.

So she waited. For the days to go and the nights to pass. She barely ate anymore. She barely moved. She was only feeling okay when she slept outside, in her chair in the backyard, the sun shinning on her beautiful face. She could sleep for hours there, surrounded by her lively garden. The wind swayed her skirts, the trees whispered in her ears. It was okay.

And at the same time, it wasn’t. 

She was tired. She was lonely. Even Erik, a couple of years ago, had gone to rejoin his husband. Neil visited her at least once a week, but he still had Andrew. He couldn’t understand, nor could he stay away from him for too long. He would miss him too much.

Every year she celebrated another birthday, and every year she blew her candles wishing they were her last.

And at last, her wish came true.

Dan was expecting one of her kids to come by in the afternoon. The Carolina sun was shinning quite hard on her, so she had placed her chair in way that let the sunlight hit the back of her head, turned away completely from her house. Her daughter knew exactly where to find her when she arrived, and so she didn’t wait for a response to her presence before making her way down into the garden. She had called her mother multiple times, and had assumed she was sleeping when she hadn’t answered.

Dan was not sleeping.

Dan Wilds had left this world, the sunlight pouring down on her like the radiant goddess that she was.

Being one of the last Foxes, it took a day before Neil and Andrew got the news of her death. They don’t get involved in the funeral preparations, but they show up. And that’s enough. 

People don’t really bother them anymore, so they can bid farewell to their Captain in relative peace. They come by Dan’s house aftwerwards, too, and help her kids out with everything. Yes, even Andrew. 

Dan’s death makes them reflect the most.

About the Foxes. About each of their departures. How they all lived a good and long life. How they all died a good and quiet death. 

They think about how they were always the ones nearing death, always fighting to stay alive. About how they died a million deaths before the age of 18.

They think about how they are the last ones standing, even after everything. 

They survived. They lived. 

(They loved)

Neil and Andrew should not have gotten this far. They should not have lived this long. They shouldn’t have. But somehow, somewhere above, someone has watched over them and made sure that they didn’t get the ending they should’ve had, but the ending they deserved.

Neil and Andrew don’t really want to die. They don’t really want to live on either. But they take every day that they are given, to be with each other, to mend their hearts still, to breathe. 

They take every breath they can.

They wonder who will leave first. Who will have to say goodbye and stay behind, who will have to wait. 

It’s a fear neither of them had ever thought they’d have. Not like that.

And it’s only a matter of time before they get their answer. They are, after all, getting very old. It is both a blessing and a curse.

After decades of partnership, Neil and Andrew still go to bed the same way they did when they were eighteen. Both facing each other, their hands joined in the middle, their nose a breath apart.

After decades of peace, Neil and Andrew still wake from sleep at the slightest abnormality.

Which is why the minute Neil Josten gives out his last breath, Andrew awakes.

Neil’s hand in his is still warm and his skin is still soft. His hair, although completely white for quite some years now, still have that bronze glow to them. They’re still curly, and soft to the touch. Andrew passes a hand through them before resting it on the back of Neil’s neck. 

He looks at Neil like it’s the first time, tries to memorize every detail of his beautiful face. He rubs circle in his skin, and takes in everything that was, that is Neil. His husband. His junkie. His rabbit. His pipedream. His lover. His love.

Andrew doesn’t move from their bed. 

When he has finally spoken everything that he feels to Neil, from the safety of his mind, Andrew moves closer to him so their foreheads touch and noses align. He takes Neil’s lifeless hand again, and kisses it. He sets their hands back down, between the two of them, and looks at Neil one last time.

And slowly, Andrew Minyard closes his eyes, forever.

[daloy-politsey]

On my first date with Yehoram, I offered him a sip of my prosecco at the hip Tel Aviv bar I had brought him to. He tensed, paused and quietly replied, “I’m not sure if I can. I don’t know if it’s kosher.” I immediately recognized his confession for what it was: a coming-out. I told him that it’s fine, that we can ask the waitress if the wine has a certification, that I grew up in an observant family too. He finally breathed.

I already knew that Yehoram is female-to-male transgender. In fact, it was the only thing written on his dating profile. Over the course of our year-long relationship, and then our seamless transition into friendship late last year, he explained to me that the queer community will often accept that he is trans but not that he is religious. But the same is not always necessarily true of the religious community – and particularly of his family.

There are many preconceptions about his family. The matriarch Mazal, 74, and patriarch Yehiel, 78, were both born in Sana’a, Yemen, and immigrated to the newly-declared State of Israel in early childhood. (Haaretz is honoring their request not to publish the family name.) They are visibly Haredi: Mazal wears long skirts and tucks her hair into modest black caps; Yehiel trims his salt-and-pepper beard, and wears a uniform of crisp dress shirts, black pants and a black velvet kippa.

They speak with heavy Yemenite accents – which have been at least partially adopted by their seven children – and their speech is seasoned with religious aphorisms and allusions. People are surprised to learn that Yehoram, 32, is accepted and supported by his parents, to a degree that is rare even in the secular homes of Tel Aviv.

At their kitchen table in a town near Rehovot, central Israel, Mazal has set out water, juice and a homemade cake. Yehiel has set down a voice recorder of his own, to make sure he isn’t misrepresented. They have a story to tell about being the parents of a trans son, and they have decided that I am allowed to tell it.

Before we begin the interview, both are apprehensive. After much deliberation, they decide that I can publish their names but not their images. Yehiel is a respected figure in religious circles: he serves as his synagogue’s main cantor on the High Holy Days, is a mezuzah scribe and kashrut supervisor for the Chief Rabbinate. He spends his free time poring over religious texts, with Yehoram often alongside him. His son no longer attends the local synagogue in which his father plays so large a role; the congregation knew him before his transition, and it could hurt his family’s reputation.

If someone goes to the rabbi with this article in hand and tells Yehiel that he’s out of the fold, “at our age, there’s no fight left. There’s nothing you can do,” he says. “It would destroy me.” When he thinks I cannot hear him, he says that he suspects that one of his contracts as a kashrut supervisor was not renewed for this exact reason – because of his unconventional family.

But if getting his story out shows religious parents that they can embrace their own LGBTQ children, he wants it published. “I want to help,” he says.

Mazal chimes in. “Both of us do. You hear these stories about parents throwing their children out ... I don’t understand it. I don’t understand how you throw out your child.”

She recounts going to the shivah of a friend of Yehoram’s – the transgender queer activist DanVeg, who took her own life in 2016.  “I saw them all in the living room, with their heads on each other’s shoulders. I started to cry. I wanted to hug them all, to go one by one. And they came to me; they saw the look in my eye. There was a man who had become a woman, who came to hug me. And a young girl, and more. I couldn’t take it,” she says, wiping away tears that are coming faster and faster. “More and more of them told us that they’re alone, abandoned by their parents. How can you throw out your child? The child of a human being!”

I get up to hug her, and she cries into my back: “Why? Why would you throw your child out of your house? Why?”

They say they never suspected that Yehoram was different before he came out to them, if not unconventionally, as queer at the age of 18, some 14 years ago.

He did not employ the usual lexicon: “I told them, this is how I am – I’m wearing pants from now on and I’m not interested in men,” he recounts. In Yehoram’s absence, Yehiel recalls it as well. Yehoram sat his parents down in the living room and said his piece, and then asked his parents for a response.

“We got up immediately, as if it were coordinated,” Yehiel says. “We hugged [him] from both directions … and we told [him], ‘You have nothing to be afraid of, no need to worry. You’re our daughter, it doesn’t matter what you do.’” Yehoram then opened his backpack to show a couple days’ clothes inside. “If you didn’t accept me, I would have killed myself,” he told his parents.

From there, they worked to make sure that their son wouldn’t, for one moment, forget that he is loved and cared for. They also made sure that he could live a normal life. “It was important that he be self-sufficient, have a respectable career, be able to build a life without us,” Yehiel explains. “Every day, I’m afraid that he won’t be here. I think about how he can build his life so he’s not dependent on anyone else.”

Mazal and Yehiel tend to refer to Yehoram with female pronouns when he isn’t in the room, and occasionally slip into them when he is. To her, Mazal says, he will always be their daughter. “It’s hard for me,” Yehiel concurs. “[He] should be patient.”

Mazal calls him by his chosen name – an anagram of his birth name – to make him happy. “And to connect with [him] – what can you do? We love [him] either way. [He’s] our daughter.”

There have been difficulties in accepting him along the way, she concedes. But like many parents of LGBTQ children, they are mainly rooted in concerns that he will be able to live a safe, fulfilling life.

No one should mistake their acceptance for liberalism – they repeatedly note that the Pride Parades, with their scanty clothes and glitter, are unsightly. “The left brings it in,” Mazal says. “Non-Jews from abroad, with all their tattoos and whatnot.” However, their embrace of their transgender son and the many queer people who have passed through their doors does not come in spite of their firm religious beliefs, but is the direct result of them.

Yehiel, a lifelong religious scholar, has poured over sources biblical, talmudic, rabbinic and kabbalistic. The kabbalistic concept of the soul provides a simple explanation for the transgender phenomenon, he believes.

“We have the knowledge that Jewish souls can be reincarnated into anything – into non-Jewish families, into animals, even into food,” Yehiel explains. “We were taught that the soul of a man can be reincarnated into a woman, in order to remedy something he had done in a past life.”

When Mazal was pregnant with Yehoram, she had already given birth to five daughters and was hoping for a son. The couple went to a respected rabbi, who told them to buy a bottle of wine for the circumcision ceremony and to come see him 40 days into the pregnancy. Yehiel says that when the time came, it was hard to get hold of the rabbi to schedule an appointment, and they were only able to see him eight months in. The rabbi gave them the blessing regardless.

“The body was already formed female,” Yehiel says, but the prayers had worked: “The soul was male.”

And there is scripture to back up the existence of LGBTQ people within Judaism. “You’re not different, you’re not strange,” Yehiel says. “This [phenomenon] has always existed. It’s in the Torah, and it’s in the mystical sources.” Mazal adds: “It’s a shame that we don’t lay this out these days, to have everything written up and organized to say that it’s all there in scripture.”

At 26, Yehoram told his parents he was transitioning. He underwent top surgery – a double mastectomy – without informing them. “On the one hand, it hurt us,” Yehiel admits. “For us, it meant that’s it – it’s sealed. If he’d told us in advance, we would have told him to wait. Maybe the situation would change.”

But what’s done is done, Mazal says. “What hurt me is that [he] underwent the surgery and I wasn’t there. That ate at me.”

Both loudly agree that the important thing is that he is happy and healthy. “We hope just for success – and thank God there are many successes, so everything is alright,” she says. “I’m just waiting for children,” she laughs.

Yehoram, who has taken a seat next to her, smirks. Mazal jokes about him coming home pregnant one day. He’s slightly irked, but jokes along. A couple of years ago, he froze his eggs through Ichilov Hospital’s fertility clinic for transgender men, and hopes to one day become a father, no matter how he has to do it. His parents strongly supported the move. They have 31 grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.

Yehoram asks a question of his own: Whether his parents want to talk about the time they took him to an esteemed rabbi in Tel Aviv, after he came out at 18.

“After he told us everything, we consulted with a rabbi,” Yehiel relays. “I remember that he got angry and yelled at him. I didn’t like that. He hurt him, and I couldn’t stay any longer, so we left.”

“The rabbi told me that I had lapsed, deteriorated in my spirituality,” Yehoram explains. It’s clear that he remembers it vividly. “That I had fallen.”

After that, the rabbi told him to leave the room, and for his parents to stay. “I heard shouting, and then you left the room,” he says to his parents. “You didn’t say anything, I didn’t say anything. We were quiet all the way home.”

No one discussed the incident for days after, and they barely spoke at all. After three days, Yehoram says, he asked his mother what had happened after the rabbi told him to leave the room.

“I didn’t know what happened, I assumed the worst. You told me that [Dad] got very angry and told [the rabbi], ‘How dare you hurt and belittle a Jewish soul?’ You said you had to give him however much money, and that you just threw a small bill onto the table and left the room,” Yehoram tells his mother. “It really surprised me. I thought you were on his side, and then I suddenly heard that you were on mine.”

When he is with us in the room, Yehoram sometimes seems agitated by his parents’ insistence that their acceptance has always been complete. He tries to direct them toward other instances, other rabbis they don’t or won’t recall. It is often difficult for parents to acknowledge the pain or discomfort that their actions caused their children, even if they were accidental. Mazal brings out a picture from Yehoram’s bat mitzvah, of them embracing the young girl he was. They look almost exactly the same, 20 years later, beaming. Young Yehoram, in a long-sleeved, high-necked dress, is smiling, but the smile does not reach his eyes.

Elisha Alexander, co-CEO and founder of the transgender advocacy and information organization Ma’avarim, says that even though Yehiel and Mazal’s acceptance of their son may seem unique, he would like to think it’s more common than we assume.

“There are religious and even ultra-Orthodox people who accept their trans family members, but it’s usually in secret. The main problem in these communities is the leadership,” he says.

But if more of them realized that embracing their children was a matter of pikuach nefesh – the Jewish concept that saving a life supersedes most religious commandments and norms – they would be more inclined to find a halakhic solution to integrating transgender people into these communities.

There is also a misconception that acceptance is a binary choice: That any parent who does not kick their transgender child out of the house or disown them has, by default, accepted them. “This could not be further from the truth,” Alexander says. “Accepting your child means accepting every aspect inherent to them, including their gender identity, pronouns and so on.”

When parents refuse to do so, their child may seek acceptance elsewhere. He adds that studies show that acceptance within the family drastically reduces the suicide rate among transgender people.

Knowing this, Yehiel says that any parent in his position must continue loving and supporting their child. “This child can fall,” he says. He does not mention it, but he is aware of the stories and statistics: trans youth who find themselves on the street face high rates of abuse and exploitation. Thirty to 50 percent of transgender teens report suicidal thoughts and behaviors – a rate three times higher than for teens overall. But that figure falls to 4 percent when families accept and embrace them, says Sarit Ben Shimol, manager of the Lioness Alliance for families and transgender children and teenagers.

Yehiel adds that it is the duty of parents to give children the support they need to thrive. “As a parent, it is your responsibility to tell your child: You are my child and you are my life. My life depends on you. Watch over me so that I can watch over you,” he says.

As we get up from our seats, Yehiel looks at me for a moment and asks, “If it’s not too personal – since we already opened up the topic – what is your relationship like with your parents?”

I tell them that I talk to my parents, and especially my mother, almost every day. That it was difficult for them to come to terms with my sexual orientation as well, and that sometimes I have an inkling that it still is, even if they won’t say it outright. But I try to be patient.

“Good,” Mazal says. “It’s important to be patient – they’re learning too.” She embraces me again, and Yehiel rests a hand on my shoulder. They invite me to come again, whenever I like. “After all, you’re like our daughter, too.”

[thetargaryenbride]

A break [Levi x Fem!Reader]

Requested by: @emmaandemmal  Hi, I love your works! Can I request one where Levi and his fem s/o have been a couple since before they were captured by the scouts in the underground? After the deaths of Isabel and Farlan, the reader tries to convince Levi to leave the scouts with her to go and live together in a safer place, but he refuses saying that he believes in Erwin's vision of the scouts and the two begin to fight badly. The reader eventually stays in the scouts because she doesn't want to leave without him, but the relationship between Levi and the reader is getting colder and more detached. The reader begins to think that Levi is no longer interested in her after noticing his growing friendship with Petra and she decides to leave the scouts thinking it's the best decision for her and for Levi. When Levi finds out, he tries to find her, but without success. Only a few years later, he catches a glimpse of her in the crowd after the scouts have returned from an expedition and he follows her. Once they arrive at the reader's house, she and Levi make up and the reader claims that she has been selfish in the past and that she would like to return to the scouts to fight against the titans and to claim the deaths of Isabel and Farlan. Eventually the reader and Levi resume their relationship and Levi promises her that nothing would separate them again. I'm really sorry that it's so long, if you consider this idea feel free to modify it as you wish. Sorry for my English too... it’s not very good. Thank you so much, you're one of the best Levi writers I know! ❤️

I’m sorry for the delay, dear. I was struggling with a mini writer’s block and was focusing more on art but I’m slowly getting back on track! Thank you so much for the request and thank you for your kind words. This really means a lot to me! As far as modifying goes, the only thing I modified is the timeskip. Instead of a few years, I made it one year. I hope you don’t mind ^^

Words: 4.5K

Warnings: Very Brief mention of suicide, prostitution and self-harm

Hope you like it  ❤️ Feedback is deeply appreciated! ^^

Also, if Levi seems OOC, please feel free to correct me~ I accept constructive criticism ^^  

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

You were arguing.

You never argued.

But the situation that had befallen you made you feel all sort of ways and neither of you knew how to express those emotions, that stress, which is why it had slowly turned into a fight.

“You shouldn’t have agreed! We have no idea how the world above works! We’re going to fuck up, Levi,” you raised your voice, hands clenching into fists by your sides, levels of anger rising at Levi’s indifference at the situation. You knew that it was only a façade and that deep down Levi wasn’t indifferent. You knew he was probably worried just as much as you were. But right now you were so scared and you wanted him to just show some more emotion, fight back, shower you with words of reassurance, hug you…anything…not just stand with crossed arms, staring at you.

“So what, I should’ve let the bushy eyebrowed bastard send us in prison?” he raised an eyebrow as if challenging you to give him a good reason for your big distaste of joining the Survey Corpse. He couldn’t understand why you had exploded like that when he had agreed. It was the perfect opportunity for the fulfillment of your mission…Not that you had been very accepting of the mission either. Your paranoia and distrust always clawed at you, many a time ripping any semblance of reason and logic. But he couldn’t’ exactly blame you. He was similar in a way. He supposed that this is what living in the Underground did to you.

Living?

No. More like struggling, digging in the mud, to survive.

And the two of you had been doing this since you were kids.  

“I’d rather rot in a prison cell than a titan’s stomach. And since when do you trust nobles anyways? It’s mostly because of them that we all fester here in this dump,” you spat out and he pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh.

“If you are so against this mission, why are you even joining?” he shot back and you choked on whatever words you had the intention of spilling.

You took a deep breath as you slumped next to him on the couch, body completely slacking in defeat as your anger simmered down a bit.

“Do you even have to ask me that?” you muttered as you stared at the ceiling, the hands in your lap fiddling with your fingers. “It’s because I would never turn my back on my family…on you,” you murmured as you straightened up and turned to face him. “Even if it’s the stupidest decision which would probably result in something shitty, I’ll still stick with you. You are all I have…I love you,” you timidly uttered the last words, casting your eyes downwards as a slight blush spread over your cheeks. The man sighed before his hands went to grab yours, successfully stopping your fiddling and wringing, squeezing them reassuringly.

“Look at me,” he ushered you gently yet firmly and you lifted your head, locking eyes with his. “We’ll be fine.”

You let out another sigh before you leaned, letting his arms encircle your form as he rested his chin on the top of your head.

“I pray that you’re right,” you whispered and just when you thought you could have a moment of peace, Farlan entered the room with a constipated expression. You couldn’t blame him. You were all beaten and battered by the soldiers and your ego was bruised, even though you let them capture you. And now they were all standing in your home or surrounding it while you packed the little of your belongings, breathing down your neck.

It was suffocating.  

“We’ve packed everything. It’s time to go.”

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

You wanted to blame him.

You wanted to tell him – “I told you so.”

But that wouldn’t bring back Farlan and Isabel.

It wouldn’t stitch back their ripped bodies.

They were gone and the only thing you could blame was this world.

Because it was so cruel.

And the only beauty you found in it was your love for Levi and his love for you.

He had no fault. Nobody knew that things would turn out like this. That fate would decide to cackle in your faces.

The two of you stuck together like glue more than ever after that day. You even went as far as to disregard rules as you would sneak into the men’s barracks just to sleep with him because he was the only one who managed to chase away the nightmares and wipe your tears. And you knew, even without him saying it directly, that you were the only one who could comfort him when he was feeling the burden of the world crushing his shoulders. And Farlan and Isabel’s deaths really did feel like the whole world just crumbled on top of you two. The only difference was that you were more prone to emotions and didn’t find such a difficulty at expressing them unlike Levi who preferred to bottle everything inside, feign indifference and coldness and find toxic coping mechanisms like not sleeping which as time passed shaped into the ugly form of his insomnia, despite all the scolding you’ve done.

Time passed. The first weeks after Isabel and Farlan’s deaths, you had been inseparable. But that slowly began to change after the date of the next expedition was announced. Your paranoia spiked up one night after you had tried suppressing it for days and that resulted in a breakdown.

You wanted out.

You wanted to leave the Scouts.

You had even gone as far as to talk to Erwin and the Commander, literally begging them to help you with the citizenship matters and let you and Levi leave. But of course, they refused and Erwin even went to speak to Levi about this, not knowing that the man had no idea about your plans and wishes.

Levi was angry that you did something like that behind his back. He understood your fear. He understood very well because he was afraid too. He was afraid that he was going to lose you too – the only person he had left. But he didn’t appreciate that you hadn’t been straightforward with him regarding such a serious matter, only revealing everything you have done and felt at the heat of the moment.

“I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a little girl, hiding in the wardrobe, listening how man after man would use my mother every night. Dreaming about a life, safely tucked in the corner of the world, surrounded by beautiful nature, peace and quiet, alongside my beloved person... Is it so bad that I want this for us?” you had asked with trembling voice and Levi’s expression had softened, a sign that he had forgiven you for everything and that he didn’t want to argue anymore.

“As much as I want that too, we can’t have it when the titans are roaming everywhere, threatening to wipe out Humanity. If we don’t destroy them now, we are only delaying our doom,” he muttered as his hand went to softly caress your cheek, making you sigh as you leaned into his touch. “But that man, Erwin Smith, sees something that I don’t. He has a plan to save humanity and… he sees victory… That’s why I want to stay in the Survey Corps and fight,” he admitted and at that moment, you found yourself captured by that determination burning in his eyes.

His desire to fight for a better future.

Not only for the sake of you two, but for the sake of thousands of people.

And while you weren’t completely sure yet that you were ready to sacrifice your happiness and life for a bunch of people you didn’t know or care about, you knew that you were ready to sacrifice anything and everything for him.

And that’s why you stayed.

And he knew that. He knew you better than you knew yourself. But he chose not to call you out for this. Because he understood how you felt. He didn’t belittle you. He didn’t call you selfish or insensitive or a bad person just because you didn’t want to care about anyone else but him. What does selfish, insensitive or bad even mean? They are just vague concepts that are different from every person’s point of view.

And as more time passed, after every expedition, he could see why you wanted to leave. He could see why you didn’t want to fight. Every expedition, every death, left an impact on you, stealing bit by bit from your sunny personality and shaping you into a depressed, miserable person.

Even if you claimed that you didn’t care about strangers dying, deep, deep down, he knew you did. It was just the person you were, trying to convince yourself that you didn’t care about anyone but him in order to protect yourself. But on a deeper level you still cared and you were still affected and he knew that you hated feeling like this – it brought only chaos, confusion and misery to your mind and soul as you desperately tried to live up to your own expectations and build walls around yourself only for every brick to be broken as a comrade would send you a smile or compliment you or help you out with something. And after every expedition, he would gain a better understanding as to why you wanted to be selfish and leave. Why you wanted – why you tried forcing yourself – to stop caring about anything and everyone and run away with him – the one and only person who – you tried to convince yourself – mattered.

And he didn’t know why he couldn’t follow you. On many occasions, he felt the same. But somehow, for some reason, he would always find a way back to Erwin – back to the goal they shared for humanity. He didn’t know where that sudden loyalty for the blonde had come from – the same blonde who more or less had been the reason as to why Farlan and Isabel had died. But it was exactly this loyal bond that had formed between them that prevented Levi from following you and he hated himself for it because he could see how this life of soldiers was destroying you from the inside out and there were moments when he would lay at night and dark thoughts would cross his mind – of your body hanging from somewhere or him finding you drowned or with sliced wrists or a bullet stuck in the head.

It wasn’t uncommon for soldiers to turn to self-harm as a coping mechanism and some even committed suicide.

The fight against the titans wasn’t something to be underestimated and it left an irreparable damage on everyone.

And he could see you were heading that way and he hated himself for not being able to put a stop to this and just grab your hand and run away from everything – as you wanted.

That’s why he decided to distance himself from you. He thought that maybe if he started ignoring you, if he was being cold and distant, it would put a rift in your relationship. It would make you think that he didn’t love you anymore. That you were a painful reminder of the past. And once your bond was severed, nothing would be holding you back. Nothing would stop you from leaving. Because he was the only thing, the only reason, as to why you were still sticking around. And then maybe you would finally be able to find the peace and quiet you had been seeking for ages.

His conversations with you became shorter. His answers – curt. His affection and acts of service decreased. It had brought you to tears, thinking that you had done something wrong and it tore him apart when he caught you crying one night. But it was for your own good so he had to grit his teeth and bear with it never mind how much it hurt that he was causing you this suffering.

Him being promoted to a Captain helped a lot. Now he didn’t need to find reasons or excuses to not spend time with you because he was genuinely so busy all the time. The stress was making him snappy too so he tried avoiding conversations altogether, not wanting to actually say something hurtful because then he would feel even more pain and regret and that would have his resolve crumble and he would go back to being loving and affectionate which was far, far from the goal he had.

Then Oluo and Petra had entered the picture – two members fresh into the Survey Corps, graduated from the same trainee squad with incredible talent and promising skills. He had taken them into his squad but he didn’t know that this would be the final straw to put such a rift in your relationship.  

It was true that Petra was a bit clingy. Her infatuation, devotion and loyalty to him were obvious. But he thought it was a childish, fleeting crush which is why he didn’t find it necessary to confront her about it. He thought it would disappear over time, especially with how both she and Oluo seemed like an old married couple more and more with each passing day. He didn’t want to push away the members of his own squad. He wanted to embrace them. To embrace their friendship. On a subconscious level, he was trying to fill the gaps left behind from the people he lost. The gaps oozing loneliness and pain. The gaps you couldn’t fill because he wasn’t allowing you to in his haste to push you away.

And when one day he went to have lunch with Erwin, as the two needed to discuss important matters in his office, he wasn’t expecting the blonde to deliver such mortifying news to him.

“Look, Levi…I’m sorry to say this but… Y/N left the Survey Corps,” told him the Commander with a sombre tone and Levi felt his entire world shift.

Suddenly, regret flooded him, chilling him to the very last atom.

Erwin saw each and every emotion flashing in his eyes. And even if he wanted to remind his friend of the words he had told him years ago, he couldn’t.

Because there were things in this life that were impossible not to regret.

Like losing a loved one because of your or their own demons.

It was one thing to lose a loved one to death. And completely another to lose them because of your decision.

Levi didn’t utter a word, pressing his lips in a thin line as he swiftly stood up and turned on his heel, leaving the office with ebony bangs covering his eyes, shielding him from his friend’s look of pity and compassion.

He needed to think.

He needed time.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

You don’t realize how much someone or something means to you until you lose them.

No, that’s not exactly it.

Levi cherished you a lot. Levi loved you a lot. You meant the world to him. That’s why he wanted you to leave. He wanted you to find peace. He wanted you to live a good life away from that misery and bloodshed.

Even if it killed him on the inside.

Because if you truly love someone, you would let them go if it was for the sake of their happiness.

But now that he’s finally gone and done it. Now that he not only pushed you away as a lover but pushed you away from his life altogether, he felt lost.

He felt lost and miserable.

As if life was drained from any sound and colour, leaving him to float in some abyss, soaking in his own negative feelings.

The sorrow, the pain, the dread, the loneliness.

If he had to list them all, he would waste all of Erwin’s expensive parchment.

And as he laid there in his bed, after thinking and reflecting on everything for hours on end, staring at the ceiling with an empty bottle of alcohol shattered into pieces against the opposite wall – alcohol that barely got him tipsy – he realized that maybe he wanted to be selfish too. That, combined with the regrets of pushing you away, burned at his soul, melting any doubts he had, like a blacksmith melting steel, and solidified his resolve to find you and bring you back, like a new sword being forged.

So next day after he had gotten all his emotions, thoughts and feelings in check and after he had taken a decision, he approached Erwin and asked for your location.

He was unpleased when his friend told him that he had no idea where you went off to. Part of Levi wanted to be angry and yell at him. Accuse him of lying. But he was so tired after the emotional and mental battle he had wielded that he just gave up on his anger and frustration and decided that instead of letting such negative emotions rule over him, he would brush them aside instead and pave way for that same scorching determination he had for the Survey Corpse’s cause, now combining it with the determination of finding you.

And he didn’t stop.

Once he started, he didn’t stop.

He would visit every town, every village, whenever he was free from his duty.

He never stopped looking for you.

It took him roughly a year to scout most of Wall Rose’s lands.

But it was during one fateful evening, after the Scouts were returning from an expedition, when he spotted you.

The sun had just set, allowing the sky to be painted in purples and blues with shimmering stars being sprinkled onto the canvas. The street lanterns shone brightly and the comforting light spewing from them had illuminated a very familiar form.

A form that Levi knew like the lines of his own palm.

He hadn’t wasted time to jump from his black mare and chase after you. He didn’t want to approach and confront you right away so he just settled for walking at a slow pace behind you, trying his best to not be noticed or come off as some creep.

He seriously couldn’t believe his luck.

Knowing your thought pattern, he believed that you had run away somewhere far. Back in the days when you lived in the Underground, whenever you had arguments – which was very rare – you would always run away from home and hide somewhere far, knowing that it would be hard for him to find you and nearly giving him heart attacks because of it. But this time you had decided to hide right under his nose – near Trost district which was not far away from the SC HQ.

He counted himself outsmarted and he didn’t know whether to be annoyed by this or proud of you.    

You looked radiant even in the dusk. The cream dress you were wearing made you look like a vision, glowing in the dark. It reached a bit past your knees, revealing some of your calves while the upper part left your collarbones in the open. He longed to run his fingers over your skin. Through your hair. To touch you. To feel you. To hold you. To tell you what an idiot he was. How he wanted you back in his life because he couldn’t exist without you by his side.

To apologize.

“Are you going to keep following me or are you going to help me carry the basket?” your voice interrupted his train of thought and he cursed lightly under his breath. You chuckled and stopped in your tracks, turning around ever so slightly, eyes finally landing on the person you were so anxious to see again but didn’t have the courage to approach.

He wordlessly took the basket from your hands and began walking next to you.

All the way to your house you stayed silent.

He didn’t even comment when you exited the District and neared the woods, only lifting an eyebrow.

Your shoes and his boots clinked against the cobblestone pathway, the little door of the wooded fence creaking under your touch as you pushed it. His eyes scanned the yard, taking notice of the freely roaming chicken, a few lambs, one cow and one horse – your horse from the Survey Corps. He could vaguely make out a garden peeking from behind the house so he supposed you also had a backyard where you were growing your food. He almost flinched when a huge dog – almost as big as you and him – came running in your direction, demanding head pats which you gladly gave.

Levi was impatient. He wanted to enter the damn house already and talk. But at the same time, a part of him was happy about the delay. He almost gulped nervously at the thought of the following confrontation.

Almost.

At last, you unlocked the front door and the two took off your shoes, putting on slippers, and moved into the house. You took the basket from his hands and placed it on the kitchen counter before you grabbed a rag to wipe the table and beckoned the man to sit down. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, taking a step towards the chair before halting, looking at you rigidly, and resuming his journey until he was finally sat. You clenched and unclenched the rag before you threw it away and sat across him, fingers now playing with the soft fabric of your dress. You looked at the ground and he looked at your feet, noticing your toes curling and uncurling from nerves even through the slippers.  

“I-“

“Levi-“

You both said at the same time and you chuckled lightly at the cliché situation.

“You first,” uttered the man and you gulped, sending him a wobbly smile.

“I want to apologize-“ you took a short pause and an intake of air when you saw his eyes widening as his features twisted in a dumbstruck expression as if he was unable to process why you were apologizing. “-for leaving so suddenly without uttering a word. It was…childish,” you quieted down and he closed his eyes, sighing deeply. “You were walking further and further away from me, getting extra busy with being a Captain and…and then Petra came into the picture,” you muttered but were fast to wave your hands in defence, “Not that I ever doubted your loyalty! My trust in you would never waver but…I just thought that maybe we both needed a break. We needed to breathe and clear our heads and start thinking properly. That’s why I decided to leave and give us some space. I never truly intended on leaving the Survey Corps or abandoning you…You mean so much to me…but I’m still sorry that I-“

“Stop,” he rose to his feet and you quickly followed, anticipation and fear at his next possible words, building up inside of you, making you feel like burning. “You don’t have to apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

That calmed you down a bit, the fear leaving your mind, but instead, worry settled as you looked at the way he lowered his head and bit his lip.

“I acted wrongly…I was foolish by thinking that pushing you away would bring you the freedom and happiness you sought,” he muttered and your face softened. “I just,” he sighed as his trembling hand went through his hair in an attempt to ground himself. “I just saw how impacted you would get after every expedition…how you started losing that glow of yours, your bubbly and sunny persona…I saw how hard you were trying to force yourself to stop caring, to be selfish and leave, but you still couldn’t because…because you’re not like that… damnit,” he grit out as he tugged on a few strands before letting his hand fall and rest against his hip limply.

He kicked himself inwardly. He was never good at expressing himself. The moment he had seen you in the crowd, the moment he had set a goal to talk to you and sort everything out, he had been reciting in his head and thinking what exactly he was going to tell you and how he was going to explain himself and the reasoning behind his actions.

“I just-“

“-wanted me to be happy…So you thought that by being a dick and pushing me away, you would make me leave so I can find my peace and quiet somewhere far, far away,” you finished for him, deciding to help him out which caused him to halt in his speech and just stare at you, waiting for your next words, the terror of you rejecting him or telling him that you didn’t feel the same anymore felt like a nettle rope around his neck, getting tighter and tighter with each second, suffocating and scathing him. “Listen, while you might have been partially right, you were also wrong. Because even if I do find happiness away from all the bloodshed, it just wouldn’t be the same without you, silly,” you shook your head as you sent him a sad smile. “I’d rather endure all the pain and suffering in the world than be separated from you,” you finally took the courage to close the space between you as you laid your head on his chest, arms slowly sliding around his torso. He didn’t hesitate to return the hug, sharply bringing you closer, if that was possible, and squeezing you so hard you didn’t know whether to groan from pain or chuckle at seeing him express himself so openly and in such a sweet, boyish manner. It kind of brought back memories from the days you lived in the Underground and how he would hug you exactly like that when you would do something stupid that would put you at risk, albeit a bit more awkwardly since back when you were teenagers you both had no idea how to express your love for each other.

“Deep down I knew you were onto something. Because why would you start acting like that so suddenly? It just wasn’t in your style. But at the same time I felt…” he tightened his embrace even more and buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent and letting it comfort his tortured mind. He had missed you so unbearably much.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” he whispered and you sighed as you ran your hands over his back in a soothing manner.

“I forgive you, Levi…I understand that you did it for my own good. But believe me when I say that I can’t find true freedom or happiness without you by my side,” you placed a kiss on his shoulder before pulling away to look him in the eyes. “Don’t ever leave. Don’t ever try to make me leave. Let’s just stick together through thick and thin as we’ve done since we were kids, ok?” you asked and he nodded, leaning hesitantly. You met his lips halfway and you kissed gently which slowly turned into a passionate, hungry, heated and desperate make out as you tried to feel one another after a whole year of being apart. When you finally broke it off, needing air, you rested your forehead against his and let yourself soak in his presence. He did the same. You just stayed like that, foreheads touching, arms around one another as you swayed ever so slightly.

“Want to help me pack?”

[outofsstyles]

a/n: This is by far THE MOST requested fic I’ve ever had and (a year later) it’s finally here!! First of all, sorry that it took me so long but when I first wrote Wildest Dreams I never intended on it having a follow up, but the amount of love I got from it was so overwhelming that I decided to put this together for you all :) I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit nervous about it, considering the amount of requests I’ve had the past year, I know there’s gonna be a lot of expectations and I wanted to do something a bit different so it’s not too predictable lol. So yeah, as always, feedback is very much welcomed!! If you enjoy please reblog it to support my writing, it would mean the world to me <3

word count: 13.7k

warnings: none!

concept: It’s Evan’s birthday and he decides to do something a bit different.

Wildest Dreams: read part 1 here :)

                                               ~*~ ~*~  ~*~

In the last two steps, you have to use your leg to support the box as it starts to slowly slip down your fingers. This serves as a reminder to start exercising again now that the midterm is over — meaning that you should finally give in to Nia’s pleas to join her in the free week of Pilates classes she got when signing in at the gym, “Exercising is one of the best ways to relieve stress!” She would argue, to which you’d simply reply with something along the lines of: “So does binging another trashy reality tv show!”

Thankfully, no one seems to notice your struggle, sparing you the embarrassment of listening to their teases due to your difficulty in carrying one of the smallest boxes of the bunch. Nate barely glances at you once you finally reach the car to hand him the box, only shooting the longest smile you’ve ever seen coming from him—which somehow still manages to be probably the quickest when compared to any other regular person. His girlfriend, who stands with hands on her hips, entirely held his attention. Nia’s purple strands of hair poke out of her half-bun in every direction and her bottom lip has found its permanent spot between her teeth as her eyes fixate on the vehicle in front of her, barely blinking.

“Everything alright, Ni?” You prompt, trying to even your breathing. “Forgot something? There’s still time to check.”

“It’s not that.” She mumbles, shaking her head to break out of her thoughts. “My keyboard doesn’t fit.” Nia nods at the instrument lying on top of the car’s ceiling.

“Oh,” You say, frowning your lips as you take in her stressed figure. Clearing your throat, you attempt to blurt out a joke, “Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t move it and stay right here in our little flat with creaky doors.”

She breathes out a sharp laugh, finally looking at you as she drops her arms. “Don’t start.” She warns, “You promised; no crying today.”

“Don’t worry, I’m good at holding back the tears.” You give her a soft smile, pulling her smaller frame into a hug. The sudden reality of your best friend and roommate leaving you hitting you at once. “Gonna miss you, Ni.”

You feel her sigh into your shoulder, arms circling around your middle. “I’ll be ten minutes away.”

“Not the same.”

“I know.”

The two of you sway in silence for a moment, and you watch from over her shoulder as Nate attempts to awkwardly pick up the keyboard, almost dropping it on the sidewalk in the process. He grunts, the instrument tilting in his arms, and you giggle as you hear Nia sigh once more. Tightening your arms around her, you release each other as she turns to check on her boyfriend who holds the instrument as you would a newborn — except this one is half his size and hard as a wood plank.

He glances between the both of you, helpless. “Uh, where does this go?”

“You can put it with the other big boxes upstairs, babe. We’ll take them Sunday.” Nia says, moving to close the trunk. She looks back at him, calling back in a sing-like voice before he disappears inside, “Thank you!”

You lean back against the car, a playful pout plumping your bottom lip. “Am I only seeing you again on Sunday, then?”

“Nope, I’ll pick you up for Evan’s birthday — did you forget about it already?”

You have. “Of course not. It’s on — tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow?” Nia gasps, eyes widening. “Holy shit, tomorrow’s Friday.”

You nod slowly, just as shocked as she is about how quickly the past couple of weeks have flown by. Between piles of book reports and stress-tear-stained essays during midterms week, you also had to find some time to help Nia with packing boxes while searching for a new roommate for yourself. If you managed a five-hour sleep on these past days, that would have been a well-rested night. So you can’t really blame yourself for forgetting about Evan’s birthday when Nia herself had it slipping through her mind.

“This is an emergency,” Nia says, eyes focusing on a point beyond you and, you feel like, if you listen close enough, you can hear the engines inside her head working. “I’ll have come here earlier so you can help me with my outfit.”

You chuckle. “What even is the theme this year?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Nia says in a huff. “But, on the bright side, I don’t think this year he’ll do anything too crazy — he was too busy these last couple months with that short film I told you about, remember?”

“Evan doing something low key? That’s a first.” You raise your eyebrows, skeptical.

“I mean, I don’t know. I’m just guessing.” Nia shrugs, picking at her nails. “I’m only saying because he mentioned once he was only inviting, like, twenty people.”

Now, this is a surprise. “I’m glad I made the cut, then.”

It’s not a secret to anyone who’s ever had any kind of interaction with Evan that he’s fond of the dramatics of life — his bright-colored outfits with mismatching patterns being the first example that comes to mind — and that reflects as well in his events. Especially when it comes to his birthday.

To be fair, you’ve only actually been to two birthday parties of his so far — considering the invitation usually finds you because he’s close to Nia and sees you as some sort of extension of her. Nevertheless, they were both impactful enough that left a clear impression of how much he enjoys celebrating himself. Last year in particular you remember quite well. It was what he called “Evaney” themed; being a mix of himself and his favorite artist: Britney Spears. And, while you and Nia showed up as one of at least fifteen different variations of the Baby One More Time schoolgirl outfit, Evan pulled a perfect match of the Oops! I Did It Again red bodysuit that he got one of his fashion student friends to tailor for him, as well as freshly dyed beach blonde hair to suit it. He even went as far as photoshopping pictures of himself on Britney’s body and had them printed on posters hung on every single room of the house. There were even custom-made cups and napkins with them — two of them that Nia stole at the end of the party still sit somewhere in your kitchen to this day.

Another particular thing you remember quite clearly was that there were enough people crowded in his living room to fill up your entire apartment, as you recall. And that’s about how a typical event at his home is like — even on his friendsmas dinner there were much more than just twenty people eating turkey out of disposable hot pink plates. So, Nia’s information leaves you wondering what he could have in mind for tomorrow with such a limited list of people.

Before you can voice your wonders to her, though, Nate pushes through the entrance door again. You can tell he, much like you minutes ago, is trying to cover his heavy breathing. “I left it on top of those big boxes with a bunch of books in ‘em.”

“Brilliant! Thank you, baby.” Nia grins, wrapping an arm around his middle. “By the way, we just remembered Evan’s birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow already?” Nate asks, and you hold back a giggle at the way his face scrunches in discontent. He hates going to Evan’s to a point that’s nearly comical. “Fuck’s sake.”

“And I think I’ll come here early so we can get ready together.” Nia nods towards you.

Nate grunts. “Do I have to go this time?” 

“Of course, darling.” She rises to her tiptoes to pinch his cheek, to which he brushes it off.

Nate looks at you, and you only send him a tight smile in solidarity. The two of you share similar experiences with Evan, considering the only reason either of you even gets invited is that because you’re close to Nia, and she’s close to Evan. Although you like Evan, even if you’re not that close with him, you can still put on your social mask for a couple of hours and have fun at his parties. Nate, on the other hand, is likely the least sociable person you’ve ever met, and it’s obvious how uncomfortable he gets every time. 

Nia seems to sense how tense he gets as well, because she steps in front of her boyfriend, finding his eyes with her doe-like ones. “I mean, if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to.”

He sighs, “Of course I’ll go with you.” He looks up at you. “Maybe this time we can actually count how many faces of his we can see from the couch.”

This time you don’t hold back a giggle. “I have a feeling we’ll have an easier time this year.”

“Hope so.” Nate taps on Nia’s back. "Let's go, then? Is everything you need in the trunk?”

“Yup.” She answers, circling the car and opening the door to the passenger’s side. Before entering, she gives you one last look. “Do you want me to bring anything for you tomorrow?”

“I’m good.”

“‘kay!” She enters, closing the door behind her in a click and leaning over Nate to wave at you from his window. “See you tomorrow! Don’t cry too hard tonight!”

“I won’t!” You wave back.

Watching as the car pulls back, before driving away and disappearing around the corner, there’s a light breeze that raises goosebumps on the exposed skin of your arms. You cross them under your chest, leaning back into the wall of your building, not quite ready to go back to your empty home yet. The seconds blend into minutes and you stand there The promise you made to Nia not even a minute ago already pooling in your eye, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep it anyway, you let it tickle its way down your cheek.

A rougher gust of wind hits you and, this time, you turn to go inside.

                                              ~*~ ~*~  ~*~

The days are still not long enough so that the sun can shine proudly at seven in the afternoon, but as spring just about rounds the corner there’s still a golden glow as the rays provide one last warmth before disappearing on the horizon. And that’s how the sky greets you once you step out of your building to make your way towards Evan’s house for his birthday.

As planned, Nia arrived at yours with plenty of time so the two of you could help each other get ready, a bag filled with clothes she’s just taken to Nate’s yesterday under her arm for you to help her choose. “I’m thinking something monochromatic tonight.” She said as she walked in, making you jump in your spot on the couch as you didn’t hear her using the spare key. “I’m just not sure what color.” 

She ended up choosing red. There was an old box of red hair dye you found lost inside the bathroom cabinet after Nia left — along with two different brands of shaving cream, although those belonging to Nate — and, after presenting it to her, she decided to go all for it, taking it as a sign. Nate showed up just about an hour after his girlfriend, still in his work attire and barely batting an eye at Nia’s new hair color as she blew dried it. The only comment leaving his mouth being, “You look like a tomato,” before kissing her forehead and excusing himself for a nap while the two of you finished getting ready.

What neither of you realized was that Nia’s last-minute decision took more time than you predicted, giving you barely enough time to get dressed. To her, that wasn’t exactly an inconvenience considering she had an outfit ready to match any color she wanted — in this case, was a red-dyed denim two-piece. and a matching jacket that ended up discarded after she noticed it covered her newest shoulder tattoo (though you tried to argue she could just have Nate carry it so she could wear it considering she eventually would get cold at some point). To you, however, was more of a stressful task, seeing you hadn’t taken in mind to think of an outfit beforehand. So you ended up just going with the safest option that didn’t give you a lot of room to overthink, choosing to finish your makeup on the way so Evan wouldn’t have any of your heads on a plate for being late.

You’ve found that applying mascara on a moving vehicle is not the easiest task, as Nia holds your elbow to help you keep steady while talking nonstop with the driver about a topic you stopped paying any mind to about ten minutes ago.

“I’m loving our black and red moment, by the way.” She turns to you, loosening her hold as you finish the last coat. “You look like one of those hot businesswomen with your teenage daughter who likes to dress like an animated character.”

You laugh at her comparison, only now noticing the discrepancy between both your outfits. Without even realizing it, you also ended up going for the monochromatic look. Except unlike Nia’s, yours completely lacks any color. “That’s actually the best comparison you could make.”

“I know — You can take a left right here — Here, I have lip gloss.” Nia fetches a small tube from her jacket (that she ended up taking, after all), presenting it to you.

“Do you not have lipstick?”

“Are you not planning on smudging it later?” Nia wiggles her eyebrows, teasing. The hint behind her words makes you roll your eyes, snatching the lip gloss from her hand without bothering to give her an answer. There was about a month or so, just before winter rolled around, that Nia felt as if she had a mission to get you with someone. You suspect, knowing too well how her mind works, that she must’ve felt some sort of guilt for what happened during her film project last year. It was clear that her attempts came from a place of good heart, but this doesn’t mean that it made them any less annoying. However, after her plans to move in with Nate became more concrete, her cupid persona seemed to have disappeared, or so you’d thought. But now that there’s nothing else filling her mind anymore, it looks like she’s back at it, and you can’t help but snort. “What? I’m just saying-”

“You say a lot of things, most of them are incorrect.” You say, “I’m not smudging anything tonight. Not on a party with twenty people, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t say that before — right there! The big house on the corner!” Nia leans over the console, signaling to the driver where to park. It’s so sudden that you notice how he jumps just slightly from his seat, chuckling to yourself at how Nate snaps his eyes at her. 

The front of Evan’s Victorian home is unusually quiet once you step out onto the sidewalk. So much so that, if it weren’t for the lined cars parked along the street and filling his driveway, you would’ve thought you’d typed in the wrong address. 

The discrepancy is clear to you when compared to other gatherings Evan hosts in his house, but especially for his birthday. Last year, you could hear Toxic blasting from his place from the moment you turned on his street, and a small crowd gathered on his front yard — most of which you recall being comprised of people plastered out of their minds, particularly one semi-naked man who was using one lamppost as a strip pole while swinging a stuffed snake

That’s more or less the standard one could expect when invited to a party at Evan’s. So, to find the street as silent as any regular day is, to an understanding, odd. 

“Are you sure it’s the right date?” You ask as the metal creak of the front gate mends with gushes of wind whistling through the air.

“Yup,” Nia says simply, walking in front of you. “You can hear the music inside, shush.”

You come quiet, listening in, and, surely, you can hear the faint keys of a piano coming from the other side of the stone walls, but it only brings up more questions to your head than answers. Evan seems like the last person on Earth who would listen to classical music. Deciding not to voice your question this time, you follow short behind Nia, kicking some loose stones on the gravel path leading to the front door.

There’s no need for more than a single knock for it to open almost immediately, revealing a lace-clad Evan downing the last bits of his wine. Without the barrier you can hear the music more clearly, the keys of the piano meshing in a peculiar way, not like anything you’ve ever heard in a classical song— at least not ten years ago when you tried to learn piano for a year before giving up.

“Look at my favorite people!” Evan says with his purple-stained lips, pulling Nia for a hug with the arm that’s not holding the door open while pointing at a spot behind her. “Did you greet Jonathan when you passed him? It’s his birthday as well.”

He points to a spot where a gnome statue sits in the dry grass, face painted in clown makeup. Nate’s voice comes from behind you, “Christ.” 

“Nate!” Evan chirps, going straight for the man standing with a sharp smile and throwing his arms around him. “You know you’re my favorite grumpy, right?”

Nate only taps on the shorter man’s back, quickly moving to Nia’s side as soon as he’s free from the embrace. With that, Evan turns to you, hands finding your elbows as he takes you in, “And what have you been up to, bug? It's been ages.”

“You know… Books and… Stuff.” You chuckle, brushing it off. “Happy birthday, E.”

“Thank you!” He claps his hands together. “Now, c’mon, let’s get all of you started.”

Following him inside, you’re met with a glittery box standing right next to the entrance; rolls of tape seal it shut, and a hand-sized hole has been cut on top of the lid. You try to peek at what could be inside, but strings of colorful crepe paper are stuck to the hole, making it harder to know its contents.

Evan picks up the box, holding it to his side. “So, I need each of you to grab a piece of paper inside the box. There will be a number in it but for now just hold on, drink, and chat while waiting for further instructions.” His voice lowers at the end to give his words more of a mystery behind them.

Nate tenses in front of you and you have to keep yourself from chuckling at his desperate gaze moving from the box to his girlfriend as he moves uncomfortably on his feet. Nia, however, only gives him a pat on his back, barely looking at her boyfriend as she does a little dance in excitement. “Oh, this feels fun.” She says, quickly reaching her hand inside the box and retrieving a piece of paper. “Mysterious, but fun. What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Nothing too crazy this year, darling, you can relax — We’re all too tired.” He moves the box towards Nate, who reluctantly reaches inside. “Just something to mesh people together that won’t give me too much of a headache to clean tomorrow.”

“Smart.” You say, peeking at the box as it’s presented to you before reaching for a paper inside, quickly reading the number eight written on it before folding the piece between your fingers.

“Nice! As always, drinks in the kitchen. We’re starting in ten minutes!” Evan claps, hushing the three of you further inside.

Surprisingly, this time around there are no posters of his face in sight as you follow Nia and Nate to the kitchen. There’s a mild mash of voices coming from the living room — where the sound of the piano is the loudest, and you wonder if he got an actual piano or if it’s just a Bluetooth speaker —, but it’s not nearly as loud as you’re used to from past times. The lighting has been lowered to a buttery yellow; you realize once you enter the kitchen that feels too bright to your eyes in contrast to the hallway.

“Is there any alcohol?” You wonder out loud, and Nia glances at you with her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “What? I’m just asking ‘cause everyone is unusually quiet.”

“There’s wine and — what are these guys right here?” She picks up one out of four plastic jars sitting on the kitchen island, reading the label stuck to it out loud, “Strawberry Mary — ooh, this looks fun.”

You reach for the other three to check their contents, but all have names similar to the one Nia now fills her cup with — fruity, yet mysterious: Lana Banana, Jenny Berry Mix, and Pineapple Suzan. “Did he come up with these?” You chuckle, reaching for the berry mix.

“It was probably Adam,” Nia says, and you frown. “That bartender guy? The one with the pet snakes.”

“Oh, yeah. I know him.”

The room comes quiet as you serve yourself, and only after you glance up you realize a tension lingering in the air. Nate stands awkwardly in a corner, eyes fixed on Nia as he moves his head around subtly. Glancing between the two of them, you notice how their expressions change as they keep their eyes locked, not a single word being uttered out loud. To you, it almost feels as if they are reading each other’s minds, and the heat of their silent argument becoming clear once Nate huffs, shaking his head. 

Nia clears her throat, seemingly uncomfortable, shooting you a knowing look. It’s only when she gives you a toothless smile that you realize the silent question behind it. “Uhm, I’m going to check if there are any sweets outside.”

Beelining towards the doorway, you quickly make your way out of the room. The hallway is empty and, from where you stand awkwardly in the middle of it, you can tell Evan’s left his spot by the front door, meaning he’s likely gone to the living room where the rest of the guests are. You can hear them chatting, although like you previously pointed, the voices are much more controlled than what you’re used to, and that makes you oddly flustered by the thought of walking in alone. 

Considering the limited amount of invitations this year, the chances of you knowing anyone are slim and, to add to your sudden nervousness, most of the people from Evan’s closest circle of friends are — like himself — inexplicably intimidating. This is mostly because it feels like this unspoken competition that everyone has settled with each other, to subtly brag about your success whilst simultaneously pretending to be impressed about the other’s accomplishments. And for you specifically, considering you’re not part of this artist clique that they lock themselves into, it feels particularly tiresome to be part of those interactions. 

So, you opt to wait for Nia, pretending to admire one peculiar painting hanging on a wall opposite to where the doorway leading to the living room stands. Every so often, you catch yourself glancing over your shoulder one way or the other, either towards the kitchen to check if your friends are joining you, or to the doorway where the rest of the guests are in. At one point, the voices get louder, joining in a laugh before tangling together in a mess of noise you can’t make sense of. It’s after a minute that you hear footsteps coming from the living room, making you freeze on your spot, carefully turning your back to whoever’s about to catch you avoiding the party, and focusing on the piece you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes.

The painting you first thought was just random strokes of earth tones abstractly put together you now realize it’s a man and it doesn’t take you more than a second or two to recognize Evan’s side profile in a peach shade. Your hand claps on top of your mouth as you fight the urge to laugh. The sound comes out muffled, but it stops as you hear the footsteps falter as they turn into the hallway. Keeping you back to them, you listen as the wooden floor creaks as whoever was approaching makes their way back. You peek to catch sight of who it might be, but all you make out is the shadow of mustard corduroys turning the corner.

As if on cue, Nia and Nate finally appear from the kitchen, thankfully neither appearing to be sour after the talk in the kitchen. 

“Finally.” You say, still feeling giggly from your finding. “Nate, you have to check this-”

“Okay! Let’s start, then. Do we have everyone in the living room?” Evan’s voice interrupts you as he calls out. Nia guides you along with her to the living room. And, as soon as the three of you enter, Evan nods at you, before continuing, “Now that all the bunnies are trapped, we shall begin!” He laughs, clapping his hands together before motioning vaguely to everyone. “Before I explain what I have planned, I want to pair you all. So, I’ll call out the numbers that each of you picked when you arrived, so everyone can find their pair.”

You frown, confuse yet curious about what Evan’s up to as he calls out the numbers. Now that you stop to glance around the room, you note how there are more people than you’d expected. It’s still not nearly as many as previous parties of his, but it still feels like the room is nicely filled, maybe just a dozen people above twenty. And amongst them, there’s quite a few you recognize as they pair up together — like Georgia, the first one to be called, whom you spent a good half of the New Year’s party with, or Taylor, who gets paired with Nia (you remember him particularly from a film festival that Nia had been part of — he produced and directed a short film comparing the second wave of feminism to the wildlife in the Amazon Rainforest, and Nia couldn’t stop complaining about how bad it was for the entire week after). 

It’s when Evan jokes with someone on the other side of the room, however, that you see him.

He’s tucked in a corner, right next to the bookshelves, arms crossed under his chest in a way that makes his tattoos pop out of his biceps, something you notice even standing on the opposite end of the room. His smile is subtle as he watches the scene in front of him, but it’s still enough for a dimple to poke at one side of his face -- it’s barely there, but you’ve seen it up close enough times that you notice those details. His hand holds a drink, but you pay no mind to it because what calls your attention is the mustard corduroy hugging his hips, the same one you watched run from you not only five minutes ago.

He laughs, and you avert your eyes, mouth still hung open. You wonder if anyone will notice if you leave.

But, as though he could read your mind, Evan calls the number written on that sits crumbled inside the pocket of your jacket. “Where are my number eights?”

You step forward and, like a magnet, your eyes glue on Harry as he raises his hand. 

Shaking your head in disbelief, you have to fight against an urge to shut your eyes tightly as the regret of having left your room at all tonight becomes almost overwhelming. All you expected for the night was to forget about book reports and endless essays piled up on your computer, to relax, maybe drink a bit more than you should while watching Evan’s friends dancing with a taxidermy beaver or something of sorts (that was on his friendsmas party two years ago). Instead, here you are on what feels like the first day of class dynamic your teacher has imposed to make everyone interact with each other. And, suddenly, the long pages of (insert boring book) don’t seem that bad right now.

And to make matters worse (because the universe just likes to add a little more spice to your tragedies) of all people standing in this living room you just had to be paired with the one with whom you had a fling-like relationship six months ago.

It’s awkward before he even approaches you, the tension making you fidget in your spot anxiously, barely being able to shoot a tight smile his way. 

The last time you saw Harry was through the rearview mirror of a car, standing on the sidewalk like an abandoned puppy with his tail between his legs. Though you admit you let your dramatics take away when you turned away from him to leave, the feeling behind it was genuine. You were upset. He had led you on, after all, made you think he wanted to have something more just to ignore you for months and, later, appear with a redhead under his arms and call her his girlfriend. So, yes, it wasn’t the best note to leave on.

But despite how you left the last encounter, the spark of nervousness that shoots through your stomachs right now doesn’t come exactly because of his presence, but more so for the awkward nature of this encounter. At the time it happened, you avoided any activity that had the slight possibility of seeing him again like the plague. You were hurt, and you were mad — though the second part was more directed at yourself than at him. But that was six months ago. After all, as much as you felt enchanted by him and as much as those two weeks you spent together were nice, that’s all that it was: two weeks. Yes, you were sad and, yes, maybe you shed a tear or two while watching Love, Rosie with Nia afterward, but that passed as quickly as it came.

That is, until now.

“Your hair is shorter” This Is all you blurt out when he stands in front of you again.

“It is, yeah.” Harry runs his hand through his hair. The strands that last time you saw him, curled around his jawline, now peek just under his earlobe. “Did it myself, actually.”

“Really?” You take a big gulp from your drink, gaze going anywhere but meeting his own. “Found yourself another talent.”

“Another?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I mean, besides acting.” You grin, holding the cup to your lips and sparing him a glance. “Suppose after your debut you’ve gotten yourself busy with casting calls”

“Of course” Harry laughs. Now that you’re closer you have a better look at his dimples as they pop out, as well as the constellation of freckles hugging his nose, and the mole right under his lips. You avert your eyes again. “I’m set to be the next Bond, in fact”

“Oh, wow.” You raise your brows, grinning at the brim of your cup. “I can see it.”

He turns to you, “Can you?” You peek at him. "Why is that?”

This is exactly what you were afraid of all those months ago after last seeing him. The entire reason you ran from any possibility of seeing him again afterward. You can still remember clearly how much of a flirt he is, even when he doesn’t mean to be. It’s not a secret that Harry’s a charming man. His words are like honey, and when he uses them just right, you know is enough to have you melting. And it doesn’t help how well you seem to click together. Even now, you still feel it by your impulse to flirt back, to look him in the eye, and get just close enough to feel the scent of his cologne. Do all that just to turn away in the last second. Tease him the same way he did you. But you don’t do any of that, of course, because you’re as petty as you are bitter. So, instead, you click your tongue. “Don’t get too comfortable, Harry, bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about that.”

He chuckles. “What girlfriend?”

This time you turn fully at him, brows shooting up not in defiance, but surprise. “Yikes.” You say before you’re able to hold back.

“Yikes.” Harry still holds a smile when he repeats it, head falling as he lets out a — nervous? — laugh.

A question pops into your head. One that lingered in your mind for a good while now, but comes back a bit louder now that you have the information that his relationship was short-lasted after all. It’s a short one, but one that requires a long answer, you suppose. What happened? You think. But you don’t dare to voice it, you don’t want to have this conversation with him. Whatever the explanation is, it’s not going to change anything. So you just avert your gaze back to Evan, who now calls for everyone’s attention again.

“I know you’re all dying to know what this is all about. So, I’m going to explain it all.” And with that introduction, Evan dives into a monologue you only pay half mind to. It’s hard for you to focus on the words rapidly leaving his mouth as you can feel Harry glancing at you every so often from the corner of your eye. You listen in to Evan describing himself as a feisty kid and mention his love for drama, and then you feel the ghost of Harry’s arm bumping against yours as he sways on his feet. You try to pay attention to the story being told of the events leading up to this birthday party, and then you have to hold yourself back from meeting Harry’s eyes once you feel them at the side of your face once again. He makes a comment under his breath that you don’t quite catch, and you’re about to question him before Evan’s voice comes in an even higher pitch. “I wanted tonight to be exactly that: chaotic. I didn’t want anything to quite make sense, and I didn’t want to think much, if I’m honest, last year of film school is taking a big chunk of my functioning neurons and m’dad’s whiskey collection is taking the rest of them.”

There’s a collective laugh that takes place and, once again, Harry’s eyes peeking at you. “Everyone can relax, it’s not one of those murder mystery parties, as I’ve heard some people guess — for fuck’s sake as if I have the time and patience to plan something like that.” He says with a sip directly from a wine bottle you just now realize he’s been holding. “It’s a scavenger hunt, you have a partner and an envelope with clues. Each pair will find something related to moi and after it’s all done, we’ll eat burgers and talk about me for the rest of the night.” 

“Sounds easy enough.” Harry mumbles.

Evan claps his free hand on his wrist, hushing everyone. “So off you go, c’mon! I’ll be hungry in an hour.”

“This is gonna be…” You start. “Interesting.”

“Interesting is a great word to describe it.”

“Well, let’s try to do this as quickly as possible, then.” 

 The side of his lips quirks up. “On a rush?”

“This is not exactly a comfortable position to be. I think you get it.” You say, fidgeting on your feet. You wait for a second for him to say something so you can start the activity, but he doesn’t and you realize there’s a piece missing. “Do you have an envelope?”

Harry nods, reaching for his pocket where the envelope sits folded in half. He swiftly opens it, taking out a card.

 “Well?” You prompt, “Read us the first clue, Bond.”

There’s a smile that Harry fights against at the nickname and you’re not sure due to the dim light, but you think there’s a hint of a rosy tone on the apple of his cheeks. “An activity that grows lives and ruins manicures.” He reads out loud, pausing for a moment before laughing to himself. “I know this one.”

“Grows lives?” You frown. “As in, a pregnancy?”

Harry shakes his head, leading the way towards the corridor. “As in, gardening.”

“That’s a very weird way to put it.” You say, following him. “Does he garden?”

He walks into the kitchen, greeting two people you don’t recognize who are searching for something — their clue, you assume — inside the cabinets. “No, but his sister does. There’s a greenhouse in the back.”

You simply hum in response, muttering a quick thank you as he opens the door for you that leads to the back garden. The greenhouse is not unfamiliar to you from the outside, there have been a good amount of summer gatherings in his back garden for you to know of its existence. But you’ve thought nothing more about it. If you’re honest, you never really paid much attention to it. If anything, you assumed he used it as storage at most, never taking Evan as someone who enjoyed gardening. Though now you know you were right, you've also learned that his sister lives with him and you wonder why he’s never mentioned it before.

The curiosity inside of you wants to question Harry about it, to ask him what else he knows you don’t. When you think about it, there’s a lot you want to ask him about. Not just regarding Evan, but also regarding him. You wonder what he’s been up in the past six months if he ended up adopting the kitten he’d told you about back when you were still filming or if he read any of the book recommendations you wrote on his notes app one particular night the two of you chatted for longer than the moon could hold itself up in the sky. The part of you that begs for you to say something on the short walk is so strong you have to physically bite your tongue to be able to hold back.

You don’t have to hold for long, however, as Harry takes it upon himself to say, “So,” He starts, clearing his throat, “How- uh- how are you doing?”

Somehow, his words click something inside of your mind. They remind you of why you shouldn’t let that curious part of you win. The sole purpose of it not falling for his charm. You shake your head, “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He frowns, his steps faltering for a second.

“Small talk.” You answer, focused on your goal. “We’ll just solve this thing as quickly as possible so I can go back home and finish my Euphoria marathon.”

“Right.” Harry nods once, and you can’t help but notice the way his lips quirk down, the frown not leaving his face. You can’t lie and say it doesn’t make your stomach drop the slightest bit to see you’ve upset him, but you have to remind yourself how much he’s upset you, too. 

It’s protecting yourself, you think. After tonight, you don’t have to see him ever again.

Inside the greenhouse, you’re greeted with a mix of scents you’re not prepared for before stepping in. The space is compact, with a single corridor narrowed with garden beds on each side. Dozens of branches and leaves tickle you as you walk in, most of them belonging to different flowers that, despite the chilly weather that still lingers outside, are already blooming. It’s a blend of colors, bright reds, and ocean blues, soft purple petals kissing pink and yellow ones. 

“We should look for gloves.” Harry’s voice startles you, chuckling as you jump a bit.

“Huh?” 

“Gloves.” He says. “I think whatever we’re looking for has to do with the gloves, ‘cause he mentioned manicure.”

“That makes sense.” You look around. Many gardening tools are piling under the tables that hold the garden beds; watering cans and empty pots. You look between bags of fertilizer and drawers filled with shovels. There’s so much stuff to look through that, at one point, you sit back on your calves, glancing around, lost.

You hear Harry leafing through as you’re doing, feeling his legs brushing against your back as he passes by and you stop, watching him from your spot on the floor. He’s got a concentrated look on his face, bottom lip worried between his teeth as he scans through the walls before he opens another drawer. That’s when his gaze falls, catching yours. You quickly turn away, pretending to go through another pile of empty pots and blocking the sound of a chuckle coming from his spot.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clicking of ceramics and the opening and closing of wooden drawers. That is until you hear from Harry, “A-ha!”

You look up again, seeing him move to the back where few pairs of gloves hang on the wall — so obvious yet still hidden between raincoats and summer hats. “Right under our noses.” You say, getting up.

Harry searches inside the gloves, tongue trapped between his teeth. “Bingo!” He says, pulling out two tiny bottles from inside one pair.

“What is it?”

“Liquor.” He grins, peeking at you from under his lashes before ripping a piece of paper attached to it. “It says ‘one for each, now get to clue number two.’” He holds up one bottle, offering it to you, to which you take it. “It’s chocolate flavored.”

“Of course it would be a drinking game.” You open it, feeling the artificial chocolate scent braid with the alcohol. “Christ.”

“Don’t smell it, or it’ll be worse,” Harry says, downing his with one quick tilt of his head. “‘S not that bad, actually.”

You mimic his action, letting the drink swiftly burn its way down your throat. Unlike Harry, you can’t help but scrunch your nose at the taste. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Harry only giggles in response, taking the empty bottle from you and placing it back inside the gloves, along with his own. 

And then again, silence. You turn to the flowers to find some comfort.

A family of tulips glances back at you, their petals in a full red, it’s the kind of beauty you’re scared to ruin if you touch, so you just rest your hand on the wood. “They’re beautiful.” You only notice you say it out loud when Harry hums back in agreement.

“They are.” He says quietly but somehow feels loud by how close he is. “Tulips are my favorites.”

You stop, brows raising incredulously at him. “No, they’re not.”

“What?”

Cursing the universe for playing with you like this, you can’t help but laugh at the situation. “It’s just- they’re my favorites, too.” You look at him. “My nan used to plant them when I was little.”

“That’s sweet.” He says, smiling and you nod. “The red ones represent true love.” He points. “And the purple ones represent royalty.”

You blink at him. “Do you just look up tulip facts in your free time?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, basically.” He looks down at you, and you can’t help but notice how the greenery around brings out the shade of his eyes. “I worked at a flower shop for a tick.”

“Really?”

He nods. “For eight months. My favorite part was writing on the store board every morning.” His face lights up as he recalls his experience. “I used to write silly stuff like, ‘one day I’d like to meet tulips.’ The old ladies loved it.”

You shake your head, breathing out a laugh. “You’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Why’s that?”

Because you’re sweet, you want to answer, because when I think I won’t get charmed by you again, you hit me with tulip puns. Your lip finds its spot between your teeth, you’d be damned to give him the satisfaction of hearing you tell him that, so, instead, you shrug. “Because.” You can tell he wants to dig more by the way his lip twitch up, teasing a smile, but you just nod towards the door before turning away from him and heading out. 

There’s a distinct change of temperature when you step outside, and it’s only when you do that you notice the greenhouse was heated. Thankfully, the night is not too windy as it would get a week or two ago when winter was still insisting on making itself present, but it’s still chilly so that it makes you hug your jacket closer to your body. Harry also notices the difference, as you hear him wince as he steps out from behind you — unlike you, he’s not wearing anything to protect his arms from the cold, which only makes it harder for you to not ogle the tattoos hugging his skin.

“So, what’s next?” You prompt.

Harry reaches for the card again, taking it from its spot on his pocket before reading the second clue. “‘Not feeling too creative to write this one, it’s on the third tree on oak.’”

“I mean, at least we don’t have to think too much on this one.” You say, “Oak Street is the one to the left, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “Can’t believe he’s making us go out on the streets.”

You start to make your way back towards the house. “Too tired for a stroll?”

“‘S cold,” Harry says, scrunching his nose. “Here, there’s a side gate.”

He guides you through a gravel path to where the black gate stands, hidden between bushes and branches. Strings of fern hug the bricked fence and the surrounding grass is high enough that it tickles your calves through your tights, making you believe this path has probably been left unused for at least a couple of months now. This information brings out an extra worry for you, as you take a better look at it, noticing how the gate is closed shut to the fence.“Is it open?” You wonder out loud.

“Shit, I don’t think it is.” Harry huffs under his breath. “But, I mean, we could easily jump it.”

You stop, turning to glance at him as the suggestion leaves his lips. He stands there, hands on his hips, examining the gate, tongue poking out as he frowns. After a second, he meets your eyes. “What? It’s not that tall.”

“I suppose.” You say, looking back at the fence that ends just below your shoulder length. It would be easy enough for you to climb it with a boost, however, “I’m wearing a dress.”

“Oh,” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just go inside-” He turns back.

“Wait,” You stop him, not sure if it’s the slight amount of alcohol in your system already making you more adventurous, you train your gaze at the gate, analyzing it again, before looking back at him. Squinting your eyes, “You have to close your eyes.”

He laughs, “Are you sure?”

“It’s not that high.” You shrug. “But I need your help.”

“Of course.” He moves next to the brick wall, kneeling before it and nodding towards you. “C’mon, step up.”

Hesitantly, you glance at his thigh stretching his trousers, a sudden wave of insecurity hitting you. “Are you sure you can lift me?”

Harry simply puts his hand out in a silent request for you to hold. “Of course.”

“No peeking.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, chin meeting his chest as he looks down. And then you take his hand, feeling his fingers lock in a firm hold as he helps you use him for support. You hesitate again before using his thigh as a step, “Wait, I’m gonna ruin your trousers.” You worry, but Harry only shakes his head, still keeping it facing the ground, the strands of his hair falling above his eyes in a makeshift blindfold. When he doesn't feel you stepping in still, he encourages you with a squeeze in your hand. 

You attempt to do as quickly as possible with your dress clinging to your legs, tightening your hold to Harry’s hand to step on his thigh. Once you let it go, you can still feel it lingering behind your back as you use your arms to boost yourself up the wall, sitting on it for a moment before jumping to the other side with a huff.

“Can I open them?” You hear Harry’s voice calls from the other side, and you smile, nodding even though he can’t see it.

“Yes!”

And then his face appears as he stands up in a jump, grinning at you. “See? Easy Peasy.”

“I feel like a teen sneaking out.” You say, and you instantly give another meaning to your words as Harry boosts himself up. This time, you certainly don’t hold yourself back from staring at the way his muscles flex at the movement, the tattoos on his arms stretching, and his shirt rolling up. He makes it look so easy, so effortless, barely taking five seconds until he’s jumping in front of you.

“That was fun.” He puffs, patting his trousers lightly.

“So, how are we finding the tree?” You ask, taking a quick glance to where his hands brush on the fabric of his trousers. “Should we read the clue again?”

“I know which one he’s talking about,” Harry says, nodding to the left before beginning his stride in that direction. You follow him, trusting his words as the two of you turn the corner where Evan’s house is located. 

The street in question is much calmer than the one you were just in, with no cars coming or going from the residences — that stand much closer to one another, you notice, giving the whole street more of a narrow feeling to it --, which is not exactly odd, but certainly is a contrast with the main street that Evan’s home faces, that one being more lively with people either coming home or leaving it to enjoy their Friday night. The sudden lack of background noise makes the walk to your destination a tad awkward, as none of you make an effort to strike a conversation. Instead, you resort to silently observing the surrounding area as you walk alongside Harry, noticing how the trees here bend over the sidewalk, their naked branches slowly but surely growing back the leaves they lost months ago — it makes you wonder how beautiful this must look during the peak of springtime, their full branches blending together, making a ceiling of flowers.

“Here.” Harry stops abruptly, making you almost bump into his shoulder, as you were too busy with the scenery you’ve made in your own head. “‘S this one.”

“I thought it said the third one.” You frown, looking back and noticing the way you’ve passed way more than just three.

“This one is the third.” He says, motioning to a small birdhouse stuck to its trunk with a number ‘3’ painted to the front in blue. “It’s a bit of an inside joke,” Harry chuckles to himself. “Now I get why the bastard wanted me to have this card.”

You look closer at the tree, trying to see if there’s something attached to it besides the birdhouse, but there’s nothing. Before you can question it, Harry opens the front of the tiny house, retrieving two tiny bottles from inside of it, similar to the ones you found in the greenhouse.  “Oh, no.” You say, laughing. “Did he just put liquor inside a stranger’s birdhouse?”

Harry shakes his head, “This is not a stranger’s birdhouse.”

“Huh?” You frown, glancing back to the house where you stand in front of, its front completely dark, showing that no one must be at home. You point to it over your shoulder. “Do you know who lives here?”

“Yeah,” He starts, offering you one bottle. “I do.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise, glancing back and forth from the house to the man standing in front of you, an amusing grin growing on his face. “You live here?” You ask, “This is your birdhouse?”

“It is, yeah. In fact, I was the one who built it.” He gives the birdhouse a small pat.

You can’t help but let your mouth hang open for a second. “That’s-” You pause, not sure which word to use. Impressive? Amazing? Hot? “That’s nice.”

Harry smiles, and the two of you stand there for a moment, admiring his work in silence. You suck your bottom lip in, keeping yourself from inquiring further. 

Being presented with how little you know about Harry only peaks at your curiosity at what had happened last year in your brief experience with him. When you were with him it felt as if you’d known him for months rather than weeks, but looking back at it now, you wonder if your infatuation fooled you into thinking the two of you were close. Maybe that’s why you were so upset at the premiere after all because all that did was prove to you how much you didn’t know him at all. No matter how many sleepless nights you spent together sharing bits of your lives, it wasn’t enough for you to get to know him.

It’s only when a car turns into the street that you break away from your thoughts, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “We should take this back to Evan’s.” You say. “I’m not sure how it would look from an outsider’s point of view to see us downing these tiny bottles in the middle of the street.”

“You’re right,” Harry says. “Should we read the last clue while we’re at it?”

“Sure, yeah.”

He reaches for the card inside his pocket, presenting it to you. “You do the honors this time.”

You take the card, brushing your thumb over the words before stopping for a second to read them out loud, “You’ll find your prize behind the words of buried legends.” You snort. “That’s so corny.”

“Words of buried legends,” Harry repeats, letting out a hum. “Bet he was feeling quite poetic when he wrote this one.”

“Maybe because it has to do with poems.” You peek at him, a slight raise to your eyebrow. “‘Words of buried legends’? like dead poets and stuff?” Upon reading it again to make sure, you mumble, “He really made this card especially for you, huh?”

“Makes sense.” Harry agrees before nudging you playfully with his arm. “Look at you with your literary mind!”

“Could’ve used some better wording but I’ll let it pass.” You giggle, shrugging as you hand him back the card. As you do so, you notice there’s something written on the other side. “What’s in the back?”

Harry’s brows meet. “Huh?”

“In the back of the card, something’s written on it.” You nod towards his hand as he’s about to pocket the card again. 

Harry turns it around, reading it with a chuckle. “Ice breakers.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Your mouth drops open in amusement. “Well? Go on, then. Break the ice.”

Harry makes a show of clearing his throat before reading the question as an announcement, “What celebrity do you think you could pull on your best day?”

“Is this the actual question?” You squint your eyes at him and he turns the card to allow you to read it as well. Surely, the same question reads right on top of it and, as you take a glance at the ones below it, they’re not that much better. You shake your head, “God, I have no idea.”

“I know mine.”

“You didn’t give a single thought on that one.” You say. “This should be good.”

“Jennifer Aniston.”

“Jennifer Aniston?” You stop on your tracks, raising your brows at him. “You know she was married to Brad Pitt, right?”

“Ouch.” Harry makes the theatrics of putting a hand on his heart, head falling dramatically to the side. “Right where it hurts.”

“I’m not saying you’re bad-looking, but he’s Brad Pitt.” You emphasize with a laugh, pushing him playfully as you keep walking. “Like he is the male beauty standard. Personified.”

The front of Evan’s feels more vivid than it was when you first walked in hours ago, the lights inside seeming lighter and the curtains having been pulled back, showing people wandering around on the inside. You walk past another pair crouched in front of the bushes that line next to the front gate that creaks as you open it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Sure, let’s hear yours, then, sweetheart.”

“Ew, don’t ever call me that again.” Your nose scrunches and your face grows hot, but you attempt to shake it off, stopping to think of the question. “Huh, on my best day? I think… I don’t know, maybe Drake?”

“Oh, no!” Harry’s hands cover his face as he shakes his head into them. “I feel like that’s the most basic answer anyone could ever give to this question.”

You gasp. “Did you just call me basic?”

Harry holds the front door open for you and, before he’s able to give you an answer, you bump right into Nia. She instantly blurts out your name, as if she’s been expecting you to appear. “I’ve been looking for you!” She says, sparing Harry a glance over your shoulder before pulling you slightly to the side. “Do you think we could talk for a second?”

“Sure.” You hold out the word, looking at Harry before focusing on your friend again. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, nothing happened. Just—” Nia starts, locking your arms as she guides you back outside, pulling you to a corner a few steps away from the front door. “How are you? How's it going?”

“I’m fine. Why?” Your brows knit together at her interference and you wonder if it has anything to do with her conversation with Nate.

“I’m talking about-” She looks over her shoulder, clearly checking if anyone is listening in. Even after making sure that there’s no one there, she still lowers her voice. “When I saw he was your pair, I wanted to rescue you right away, but fucking Taylor pulled me with him and I didn’t get the chance.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Is it too awkward?” She keeps her inquiry, holding your hand close to her chest. “We could ask them to switch so we can do the rest together, I’m sure Evan’s too plastered to notice.”

“Nia, I-” You smile as you come to realize that she pulled you aside just to check if you’re uncomfortable, having witnessed first-hand your whines and cries over Harry last year. “It’s okay, really. It’s not that bad, surprisingly.”

“Really?” Nia blinks, taken aback. “I- What happened?”

“Nothing.” You reassure her with a squeeze on her hand. “We’re just chatting, it’s not that awkward.”

“Okay.” She nods and nods, before falling serious again. “But if anything happens you just have to scream for me and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay.” You say, pulling her for a brief hug. “Thanks, Ni.”

The two of you return inside just as Taylor brings up his brother’s hair sculpture collection that’s being exhibited at a local gallery — a subject you already have been the victim of hearing for about an hour during New Year’s and, by Harry’s face, he seems as helpless as you did back then. Nia doesn’t waste a second before pulling her pair away, “Let’s go, pal, those clues won’t solve themselves,” she shoots you a look over her shoulder, pushing Taylor towards the living room and you chuckle.

“He really is one of a kind, that man,” Harry says with a sigh before meeting your gaze. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just lady talk.” You brush aside. “Let’s find those poets, shall we?”

“We shall.” Harry smiles, looking around for a second before guiding you down the hallway, turning just before entering the kitchen where a staircase. This is a way that — like the greenhouse — you’ve never been to. Still, Harry navigates so casually as if it were his own home and, to some degree, you suppose it is. You follow him up the first flight of steps, stopping just before turning into the next one where a door you never really noticed before stands. Harry rests his hand on the handle, turning to you before saying, “There’s an office hidden right here.”

You watch as he opens it, motioning for you to walk in first. And, indeed, the inside of it is an office, just a bit smaller than the living room on the opposite side of the house. Two bookcases that go from the floor to the ceiling mostly covered the wall, only leaving a single space in the middle for a dark wooden cabinet. In front of it, an L-shaped desk takes up the middle of the room, most of it is filled with files and paper stacks, as well as two computers lying asleep. For a moment, you just stand by the doorway, admiring this room you’ve never known of its existence, your eyes quickly sweeping through the bookshelves completely packed with dark cover books of all sorts. “Do you think this is where it could be?”

“Probably, yeah.” Harry nods, turning on the lights. “I don’t know where else he could have any poetry hidden.”

You move towards one bookshelf, the one closest to the door, reaching to brush your finger through the spines perfectly lined. “But look at the size of these, we’ll take forever to find anything in here.”

“Those big ones are mostly law books, I think,” Harry says, opening cabinets at the other side of the room, right next to where a white couch stands. He turns to look at you, “His sister’s a lawyer, this is her office.” Harry says, “But Evan’s got a corner right here where he keeps some of his stuff— like books of sorts. It’s the only place I could think of.”

You hum, not knowing exactly what to respond to this information.

“You can go through the ones on that side, it could be there as well.” Harry nods towards a cabinet right next to the door where you came from, and you nod.

The first two cabinets are of no luck, both being mostly filled with boxes full of children’s books and old toys — some of them mixed with more stacks of paper, but those, instead of having long texts, have drawings of all kinds from what you could gather in a glance, from child-like scribbles to actual sketches. You can hear Harry going through drawers on the other side of the room and, upon closing another empty cabinet, you peek at him, watching his broad back flexing under his shirt as he moves around. Averting your eyes as swiftly as you looked, it’s still enough to bring warmth to your cheeks.

Finally, you open the cabinet at the very bottom of the shelf. On the top, there are piles of DVDs, most being different variations of Barbie movies, but, right at the bottom, you find books. You don’t stop to check their genre at first, simply moving them away until you stumble upon a small box, the top of it marked with the word ‘prize’. “Found it!” You call back, taking the box away from the pile before setting the books back in place again. “Under Rupi Kaur? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure she’s very alive.”

“Don’t tell Evan that,” Harry says as he crouches next to you, taking the box from your hands. Inside, there are, as expected, two tiny bottles like the ones you found before but, what calls both your attention, is a small bag of sweets lying in the middle. Harry takes it, “Oh, those are nice.”

He hands it to you and you open it, quickly shoving a jelly candy into your mouth before nodding. “Yeah.”

“So…” Harry starts, peeking over his shoulder, “Do you want to go back there?”

You glance at him, his eyes hovering above yours, lips twitching up just barely. “Uh… Maybe not right now.” You answer, “Unless you feel like sharing our Jellies with other people.”

Harry only laughs, shaking his head as he sits back and you do so too, right next to him. He reaches for his pocket, presenting another tiny bottle, the one you found inside his birdhouse, “We still got these.” 

“Right!” You fetch your own out of the pocket of your jacket.

Harry opens his, holding it up towards you. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” You say, mimicking him.

Both of you down your drinks, the liquid tasting bitter, like medicine on your tongue, the only reminder of alcohol being the burn as it slides down your throat. You rest your head back on the cabinet behind you as the two of you fall into silence once more. A part of your mind is already beginning to swim around the space inside your head, and you decide to not take the last drink just yet, laying it next to your leg. Though you’ve only had the equivalent of two shots, you realize the long break you’ve had from drinking for the past couple of months -- which wasn’t exactly an intentional choice, but more like the result of your lack of free time -- is showing itself to have been enough to make you more of a lightweight. 

And even though the night so far has been strikingly surprising in terms of how comfortable you felt being around Harry again, it doesn’t mean the questions you’ve been carrying since last year have gotten any quieter. They’ve only gotten louder. More persistent, even. The curiosity you feel to know what happened is almost suffocating now. And you’d be damned if you let a drunken mind stop you from having this conversation.

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, only watching the back of his head bobbing along with the music -- still the piano -- that comes faintly from behind the closed door. Your lips part, feeling the question form right at the tip of your tongue, but not knowing how to voice the words. Will it be awkward? You think so, but what if it ruins the night? Tonight, that’s been so oddly refreshing. A night that only served to remind you how you became so infatuated with him in the first place.

But you know you won’t be able to let go of this ich inside your head unless you bring it up. And you want to, you do, but as you take too long to think of the right way to do so, Harry decides to break the silence, murmuring next to you, “That’s a good one.”

Your brows knit together, trying to make out any trace of familiarity within the song that’s playing, but you don't find any, which only leaves you even more confused.  “Do you like classical?”

“Love,” Harry says simply, his eyes closed as he moves his head with the piano keys. “Especially this one. One of the greatest works from one of the greatest contemporary composers: Billie Eilish.”

Your lips fall open, “Shut up. Is she playing this?”

Harry laughs, a full one, that brings a grin to poke at your lips. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, no. It’s a version of her song — listen in.” He points to his ear, nodding with the melody as he sings along, “So you’re a tough guy, like it really rough guy.”

You shake your head incredulously, “Of course he’s playing classical versions of pop songs!” 

“Did you really think Evan had a taste for Chopin or Debussy?” Harry asks both dimples poking on his cheeks.

“I think at this point I’d believe anything you tell me about him.”

Both of you laugh, the air surrounding you light and warm, before falling quiet again. This time, however, you simply stare at each other for a beat. You watch his eyes, with their almost hypnotizing jade shade, glancing between your own. He rolls his lip between his teeth, nibbling at it. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the details on his face only feel like a reminder of your doubts. Like the nostalgia you feel with a bittersweet memory.

“Should we-“ You stop, the words falling from your lips before you can think about them. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?”

You half expect Harry to frown, to play dumb, and question you the meaning behind your words. For a second, you even expect him to shake his head, to get up and leave the room. And, for some reason, you kinda want him to do so. To finally break the mask of the nice, sweet guy he’s been putting on all night and allow himself to play the role of cold prick you put him on for the past months. 

But he doesn’t do it. He only gives you a short smile. “I was thinking about how to bring it up.” Harry’s gaze falls to his lap for a beat as he scratches his nose. “We should, yeah.”

You nod, more to yourself than to him. This is it. The moment to ask what you’ve been waiting for for six months now. You decide not to think much anymore, allowing the question to roll freely, “I don’t really know how to word this better but- pardon my French- what the fuck happened?”

Harry chuckles, but not an amused one. It’s more of a dry, nervous laugh. “How cliche is it if I tell you I was really fucking stupid?”

“Pretty cliche.” You say, “But also pretty true, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry for that.” He looks up, eyes meeting yours again, his own softening upon seeing you. “I really am.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” You smile a little, “But I think I deserve an explanation.”

“You do.” He speaks quietly before clearing his throat. For a second, he doesn’t say anything else, just takes a sharp breath, focusing on his fingers that play with the hem of his trousers. “I- Uhm- I know this might come as a surprise, but I’m not very good at letting people down.”

“A bit, I guess.” You try to humor, but your tone doesn’t show it. You sound quiet, hurt.

He peeks up at you, and continues, “Jess- the girl you met at the premiere- she’s lovely and all, but- how do I say this- we were never really supposed to be together.” Harry sighs, “I didn’t like her like that.”

You frown, “Then, why did you?”

“A couple of months before we met- before Evan even mentioned the film project to me, one of my mates kept insisting that I should meet his sister.” He pauses, “That was Jess.”

“I figured.”

Harry nods, “As I said, she’s a lovely girl, really nice, but we just- didn’t click like that, you know?” You hum in agreement, ignoring a small twist in your stomach when he repeats the endearment term. “But I guess she really wanted to try it, and, for months, I just kept pushing and pushing, cause I thought maybe with time I could bring myself to feel the same way.” And then again, another humorless laugh, “But- spoiler alert- I couldn’t and I should’ve just told her that.”

Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you decide against saying anything. It’s clear as you watch him explain that the entire situation for him felt more complicated than you’d ever considered. Not once did you think about the possibility of him being caught in a twist of his own decisions, and not once did you regard his feelings with the whole situation. In your bubble of gloominess, all you could think of was how he played you and used you for a bit before moving on to the next girl that fell for his sweet talk. 

Looking at him now, however, his head low and brows set on a permanent crease, lips frowning down, you can feel the internal conflict pooling out of his pores. You’re not sure if it’s exactly a look of remorse that he gives you, but it sure seems close to it.

Harry huffs in what feels like frustration as he keeps recalling the events, “But all my mates kept taking the piss, pushing me to ask her out and then, in the middle of it, I met you.” He finally smiles a bit, and you have to look down to hide the warmth that spreads on your cheeks, “And we-uh-” He shrugs, “I mean, we clicked, didn’t we?”

“I think so.” You say, just above a whisper.

“I think so, too,” Harry says, holding your gaze with his own. “And when I was with you I let myself forget about that, forget about the pressure to be with someone else, I guess.” His lips fall again, eyes meeting his lap, “But when we came back, there wasn’t much running away from it anymore. The night we got back I met that friend of mine and, I’m not sure if he said anything to Jess, but she asked me out.”

“And you said yes.”

“I said yes.” He repeats, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have, but I said yes.”

“So you just dated her? Even if you didn’t like her like that?” You say, trying to understand his thought process. Even if his words tug at your heartstrings -- which you try to not think about right now -- you still can’t help but feel a bit for the other girl.

“I thought I could- I don’t know, I thought with time maybe I could-” He stumbles around with his speech, before finally letting out a sigh, “I don’t know what was going through my head, to be honest. I was a prick.”

“At least you can admit to it.”

“I was a prick to both of you.” 

You fall quiet, hoping he takes your silence as an agreement. When he doesn’t offer anything else, you speak up again, “Did it work, though?” He frowns, and you clarify, “Letting time force feelings into you?”

“I found very quickly how hard it is to develop feelings for someone when there’s someone else on your mind.” He says, and you bite back a smile that wants to spread on your lips.

“It’s very easy to say that now.”

“I know.” He agrees, “And I wish I could’ve realized that earlier, before even bringing you into this mess.” Harry reaches for your wrist, which lies on top of your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. “For that I really am sorry.”

“I know you are.” You reassure, turning your hand to find his, squeezing it back. “And what happened to Jess?”

“She was rightfully upset when I told her.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, moving the rings on your fingers around just slightly, and it’s almost enough to distract you from his voice. “We broke up a day after the premiere.”

“Ouch.”

“But it’s fine now, she’s got a boyfriend now who actually cares for her the way she deserves,” Harry says.

“That’s nice to hear, at least.”

“It is, yeah.”

You look down at your hands locked in your lap, squeezing his one more time before letting it go with a sigh.  “You really made a big mess, huh?”

He chuckles, a guilty smile poking on his face, “I did.”

You nod, finally reaching for the tiny bottle left forgotten next to you, opening it. This time you only take a sip, but it’s still enough to end half of the liquid inside. You click your tongue, “I’m glad we talked, though.” You look up at Harry again, who’s already watching you, giving a small tap on his thigh. “It’s nice to have closure, you know? To give it a conclusion and wrap with a nice little bow.”

Harry rolls his lip inside his mouth, “Is this a conclusion, then?”

You raise your brows, “Is it not?”

“I guess it could be.” He shrugs one shoulder, leaning closer to you just barely, eyes trained in yours. “But I’m hoping that, after today, maybe we could start over?”

You laugh, scrunching your nose at him as you shake your head. “Not a start over, no.” You poke his side, “You’re not getting away that easy.”

“You’re right.” He says, still not budging as he frowns his lips. “But I wish it didn’t have to be an ending as well.”

“Is that so?”

Harry nods, you can tell his eyes hold a shyness that wasn’t here a minute ago, but at the same time -- as paradoxically as it seems -- there’s a boldness as well, one you’re more familiar with. “Maybe we could chat again. This time with fewer ice breaker cards and more bags of sweets.”

You smile, rubbing your chin as you pretend to ponder about his suggestion. “That does sound very promising.”

“I really do think we clicked.” He drops his playful tone as if wanting to make sure you feel the sincerity behind his words. “Wasn’t just saying it.”

“I know.” You say, “And I think so, too.”

His smirk grows, and he doesn’t offer anything else to say, but you can tell he’s holding something back. With the silence, you suddenly become too aware of the way your arms brush together, and how his knee bumps against yours. You notice how his eyes fall a bit from yours, so quickly you could’ve imagined it, but you choose to not think so. If you lean forward, you know he will too, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You’re not letting yourself make the first move.

Surely, you’re aware these thoughts are a direct result of the alcohol sweeping through your mind, testing how much of your pride you’re willing to ignore. There’s no questioning of the wall that you built all those months ago after walking out of this very house with this very man on your tail blurring out apologies. It still stands, tall and strong, and you're not letting sweet words mixed with a drink or two pull it down. Not that easily. But at this moment, looking at his stupidly beautiful face with his stupidly beautiful eyes so close to you, you feel like maybe you could peek through a window, or open up a door — just a creek, just to have a sample of what it would feel like if you were to pull it down.

“Do you want to go back?” Harry asks again, this time more quietly, this time his question has a different implication than it did before.

You're quick to shake your head, voice quiet, “Not yet.”

The corner of his lips quirk up and you raise your brows, silently daring him to ask what he’s been holding. You see his hand moving from the corner of your eyes, but you don’t break your gaze from his, not even when you feel his fingertips moving so gently against your cheekbone, brushing your hair away from your face. Harry leans closer, again just barely, and again, you stay still, only smiling softly in encouragement. Now, you’re stuck in your own silent conversation; both seeking the same thing but not making the move to achieve it -- either for pride or apprehension. 

“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Harry whispers finally, eyes moving down again, this time slowly, making sure that his intentions are clear.

“Do it, then.” You tease.

Harry breathes out a laugh, his hand caressing its way down to your jaw. He rubs his thumb against your cheek, a feathery touch, taking another second to look at you before pulling you in. Your eyes fall closed, as you focus on your senses, and allow yourself to peek from that window, or creek that door open just a bit, to have just this moment to remember when you first got lost in his touch. 

First, it’s the warmth of his breath tickling your cupid bow, making your hold your own breath in anticipation. Then, the tip of his nose, gentle against your own, and you can’t help but lean in a bit more when you feel the ghost of his lips on yours. But he pulls back, just so slightly, hoping to have you reach for him again. Except you don’t, knowing what he’s trying to do.

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head, pulling back just a bit to look him in the eye. “You don’t get to tease me.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, “That’s fair.”

This time, there’s no teasing. Still, he goes in just as slowly as he did the first time around, curving his lips around your bottom one so softly it almost makes you lean in again. His kiss is cloud-like in a way that makes you a bit dizzy and when he presses his lips harder, you have to refrain from letting out a dreamy sigh -- still too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. It’s when you feel the tip of his tongue poking out to lick at your bottom lip in a silent request, that you pull away completely.

It’s your turn to smirk now, licking your lips before announcing, “I think we should go back now.”

[becca-e-barnes]

hi lovely, I wanted to make a request about a sensitive topic, so it's ok if you decide not to.

But if you decide to do it, Zemo x Reader where she has been sexually abused and he comforts her, because I just need him to tell me that it was not my fault.

I sometimes remember the moment it happened and it makes me really sad and guilty. I'm really sorry if this request triggers you. Thank you in advance🖤

Honey omg, can I start off by saying whatever happened was absolutely not your fault. I woke up at 5am and saw this request and I just couldn’t get back to sleep until I had started writing it. I was in a similar situation a few years ago so this is really based off my experience and how I found I dealt with it. While it still upsets me sometimes I’ve found I don’t think about it as often as I used to so it does get better, I promise. I actually found this quite cathartic to write since it’s something I don’t talk about much. If you ever want a little chat, please don’t be scared to shoot me a message! Hope you’re doing okay 💗

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x GN! Reader

(Again, the fact this is gender neutral was a happy accident but I wanted it to be applicable to anyone that might find some comfort in it)

Word count: 1.5 k

Summary: You have a bad night and Zemo comforts you (list of international resources at the end.)

Warnings: TW: Sexual Assault mention, please don’t read this if those themes will upset you. There are no graphic descriptions, this is more just the reader dealing with the aftermath. Hurt/ comfort, quite dark, angst, Zemo does his best but everyone heals differently, fluff.

You weren’t quite sure how it had happened but it had become one of those nights where reality had become a little too heavy to handle. You had went to bed feeling fine but woke in the early hours, head swimming with the recollection of everything that had happened. All of a sudden, sleep was the last thing on your mind, your body jarred awake by the painful memories and the sickly feeling that always accompanied them. Rather than spend the night tossing and turning in bed beside your boyfriend, you got up, hauling your sleep deprived frame from the warmth of your bed, heading to the little snug at the end of the hall. Grounding yourself wasn’t easy when you felt like this, but you had to take the time to notice the little things or risk losing yourself in the past altogether. You let yourself notice the little breeze that came in through the window down your hall, the smooth feeling of the wooden bannister under your fingertips and the cold that travelled up your bare legs as your feet padded softly across the wooden floor. Your pyjama shorts tickled the tops of your thighs as you walked the short distance before you gently pushed the heavy wooden door, admiring how it manoeuvred silently under your touch, despite it’s weight. None of these things were particularly special, often lost in the monotony of day to day life but during these early mornings where the past felt all too real, they were little blessings, reminders of the present.

Closing the door behind you quietly, you made your way over to the little cushioned window ledge. It had been extended so it was easily large enough to sit on, giving you a vantage point to look out the topmost window of the house, completely unobstructed. You settled into the familiar spot, legs crossed in front of you. From here you could see everything that went on in the grounds of Helmut’s massive estate. You could see the little stream running down beside your house, often your favourite point of focus as it was ever changing and therefore, distracting. Huge birds swooped and dived at the lake, hoping to procure some breakfast for themselves and their young, some flying off triumphantly with a tasty fish while others left with nothing, frustrated by the difficulties of hunting. Apart from the running water and their squawks, there were no other sounds to disturb the early morning air.

The birds were an adequate distraction for around an hour before you began to lose interest, feeling your mind wander once more in a direction you didn’t want it to take. That pang of guilt hit you deep in the chest as you began to feel like your body was tainted in some way. Horrible memories flooded your head, memories of roaming hands and that feeling of being painfully helpless, your chest feeling like it might collapse under the weight of those memories. You had no more tears left to cry when you thought about what had happened, while it still hurt as intensely as it did, the memories weren’t often accompanied by tears anymore, rather a guilty ache in your chest that threatened to consume you and you honestly weren’t sure which was worse. A good cry used to get it all out, give you the opportunity to start fresh and you often felt all the better for it when you were done but the ache was harder to manage. You hated how this was now something you had to live with, knowing that someone else’s actions had such a huge reign over your life.

You were so lost in thought, you hadn’t even noticed Helmut slipping in behind you until you heard the faint click of the heavy wooden door.

“Bad night my love?” He asked softly, his voice barely disturbing the calm, his accent noticeably thicker after he had just woken up. He was still in a little thin pair of cotton pyjamas, hair messy and tousled from sleep. You could only nod in response, noticing how his lips pressed together so he didn’t voice his anger about the person that had done this to you. He didn’t want the focus of this to be on them and their selfish actions, that wasn’t helpful but it didn’t stop his blood boiling in his veins. Dealing with this was often as hard for him as it was for you, seeing the only person he loved so dearly feel the way you did, knowing you were hurting and he wasn’t able to take the pain away sometimes brought him to a very dark place.

“May I touch you?” He whispered quietly, knowing that sometimes having that contact could be worse for you.

“Please.” You nodded simply, feeling his body slot in behind yours. His legs bracketed yours, arms wrapped around your waist and his head buried in the crook of your neck as you both went back to watching the birds silently. His heart beating in his chest was comforting against you, the rise and fall of his breathing giving you something else to focus on.

“This is not your cross to bear alone, my dove.” He whispered, thumbs rubbing at the exposed skin of your waist where your pyjama top had ridden up slightly.

“I know I just… Didn’t want to wake you.” You replied, equally softly.

“How many times must I tell you sweetheart, I want you to wake me. Let me be there for you.” He pleaded, pressing little kisses to your shoulders, hoping to rid your arms of the goosebumps that had begun to form. He was not mad, not at you anyway, understanding that sometimes you just needed the time alone to come to terms with things but if you needed him, he wanted to be there. There was a heavy pause that hung in the air after that, both of you slightly weighed down by the gravity of the emotions this can inflict on you as a couple.

“Can I talk about it?” You asked softly. It wasn’t something you did very often, preferring not to burden Helmut too much with the details. He had heard it all before so nothing would surprise him but you were still conscious that it hurt him to hear what had happened.

“Of course.” He answered, gentle chaste kisses to your shoulders reminding you that this was entirely on your terms. He did not press you to talk further when you had said enough, he also didn’t let his own pain at the situation take away from yours, knowing if you needed to talk about it, he had to be there to listen. You took a deep breath, taking one of his hands in yours, clasping them together.

“I just feel… Tainted? I feel guilty. Feel like I could’ve done more to stop it.” You knew you couldn’t have done more but there was always a nagging sense of ‘what if’. Helmut nodded from behind you, giving your hand a little squeeze, waiting to see if you wanted to continue. “Feel like it’s my fault. And now I have to deal with it. But you don’t have to.” You explained quietly, ache in your chest growing to sharp pain.

“You are not tainted my love. Nor was it your fault. You could not have done more to prevent it and even if you could, that is not the point. You shouldn’t have had to do more. One ‘no’ should have been enough.” It killed him to know you thought like this about yourself. He didn’t see you like that at all. Your body wasn’t tainted from what had happened, it didn’t make him want you less. It made him admire your strength and courage, seeing how you got up every morning and took care of the body you blamed. “Your blame is misplaced my love. The blame is not yours to carry. You have done no wrong.” His words made warmth flourish in your chest, hearing him listen to you and truly understand meant more to you than he would ever know.

“Thank you Helmut.” You whispered, tears brimming in your eyes, spilling over your cheeks but not from sadness, more from the unconditional love Helmut afforded you, the time he took to make you be gentler to your body again making you feel more loved than you could’ve imagined possible.

“Not at all, my sweet.” He whispered, gripping you just a little tighter. He loved you, every single part of you. To him, you were perfect and nothing would change that. He just wanted to help you through your pain and absolve you of it, hoping some day you could see yourself how he saw you.

A/N: I’m going to drop this link here just in case it’s needed, this was the most comprehensive resource I could find. If you need it, please do use it. 💗

https://osapr.harvard.edu/international-resources-0

[peaceisadirtyword]

Move On VII (Modern!Ivar/Reader)

A/N: Hello!🥰 It’s 2am and I can't sleep, I have a terrible headache and everything hurts (I’m getting my period this week lol) so I thought I’d try to finish the chapter and post it so I’d feel a bit more productive. I had a lot of deadlines and exams these past weeks because I finished some courses and started new ones. Now I have a week of holidays but I can't relax :( I’ve been sick too, so I barely had time to focus on writing. This chapter might suck, but I’d try to fix it with the next one (which if everything goes well I’ll post this week too!). There’s only three chapters left after this one, so at least try to enjoy it!💞 Thank you for all the comments and the messages🙏🏻 I’ll try to answer to all of them!

Warnings: angst, a bit of fluff, Ivar, talk of jealousy, mentions of harassment (this part is complicated, it’s nothing very detailed, but basically mentions of someone trying to flirt, making unwanted advances and putting a woman on an uncomfortable situation, don’t read that part if it triggers you, it was difficult to write and I can imagine it can be difficult to read💕)

Words: 3553

Move On Masterlist

gif belongs to @timotay-chalamet

my boy Hvitty by @honestsycrets

For a moment, Ivar's face softened enough for you to let your guard down. He sighed and sat on your bed, running his hand through his hair. 

"You were with Freydis two days ago, right?"

You tensed up. Was it what you thought it was?

"Yes, we went to a club together... Well, not together, on the same group..."

"And..." he bit his lip "Y/N, did you see her kissing someone?" 

You sighed, sitting down next to him. You might wanted to hit him, yell at him and kick him out of your flat, but at the same time you didn't want him hurt. You didn't want him feeling what you were feeling. 

"Who told you?" 

"Hvitserk" he shrugged "It's true or not?" 

"Yes, Ivar" you said softly. Your hand touched his shoulder hesitantly, trying to give him some type of comfort without making him feel uncomfortable. Ivar wasn't one that liked physical contact with someone that wasn't his partner "I went to the bathroom because I didn't feel well" you muttered "And when I got out I saw her leaving the club with a guy, and they kissed" 

He nodded slowly. For a moment you thought he'd cry. 

"I'm sorry, I would have told you sooner but I..."

"I don't believe you" he moved abruptly to push your hand away, and turned to glare at you with his jaw clenched "I think you're making this up" 

You raised an eyebrow. The urge of slapping him came back stronger than ever. 

"What?"

"I think you're jealous" he narrowed his eyes "I think you're lying"

You gasped, shaking your head and rubbing your eyes. 

"Why would I lie to you, Ivar?" 

"Because you are in love with me" he stared at you with a serious face. He actually believed it "You want me to leave Freydis and go back to you"

You stood up, glaring at him and biting your tongue to hold yourself back from yelling a string of insults at him. 

"When have I ever lied to you?" you nearly trembled in rage. 

"I don't know, Y/N" he glared back at you "You tell me"

"Never" you spat "Never in my entire life I lied to you Ivar, and yes, I might be in love with you, I will always love you, and that's exactly why I would never even imagine to make up something like this to hurt you" the tears threatened to fall down your cheek but you refused to let them, he didn't deserve those tears "I would never hurt you in purpose, I'm not like you" 

He clenched his jaw again and looked away. 

"I'm tired of you treating me like shit, I don't deserve it" you shook your head "And I don't care how much I miss you, I'm not letting you come to my house to call me a liar, Ivar"

He rolled his eyes with an annoyed expression. You wondered why he even bothered to come and ask you if he didn't believe it. 

"I love Freydis, Y/N" 

"I know" you shrugged, your heart broke a bit more if it was even possible, but you managed to hide it. 

"And she loves me" he insisted "And she makes me feel special, and she made me realize that I am special" he shrugged "She wouldn't lie to me"

You took a deep breath, shaking your head. 

"You can believe whatever you want, I just told you what I saw"

"Fine" he rolled his eyes again "But don't go around telling everyone"

"So you don't believe me?" you asked softly. 

This time Ivar hesitated. He stared at you for a couple of seconds before frowning and looking down. 

"I don't know" he muttered "I'll talk to her" 

You nodded. He stood up with some difficulty, groaning and grabbing his leg with a grimace. You bit your lip and looked at him carefully. You didn't remember the last time his eyes were so blue, and his movements were much slower and accompanied with soft groans. But you chose not to say anything, he wasn't in the mood. 

"Ivar" you said softly when he was about to open the door. He didn't turn around, but he stood still "You said she makes you feel special... Did I ever make you feel like that?"

You didn't even know why you asked that. It was something that had been on your mind ever since he broke up with you, even if it wouldn't make a difference now, at least you'd know if he had felt something that was at least close to what you felt for him. If he had loved you, even if it was only once. Because that would mean you had been enough. 

Ivar hesitated. He stood there, with his head lowered and breathing heavily. Then he opened the door and left the room. 

When he reached the living room, he glared at Alfred again, who seemed relieved to see him leaving.

"The two of you can... Go back to whatever you were doing" he scoffed, but Alfred caught him clenching his jaw at the sight "She's good in bed, if you don't believe me ask my brother"

"I think you should leave, Ivar" he stayed still, not letting him see that he had bothered him. 

He rolled his eyes, but left the flat closing the door roughly. As soon as he had left, Alfred stood up and approached your bedroom. He knocked on the door, even if it was widely open. He heard you sniffing inside but waited patiently until you responded. 

"Yeah... Come in" 

You were sitting on the bed, drying your tears with the back of your hands. 

"Hey" he sat next to you as you took a deep breath. It was like going back to the beginning. Would it ever end? "Are you okay? What did he tell you? Want me to call someone?"

You shook your head. You weren't in the mood to see anyone else right now. 

"I'm sorry, this was a disaster again" you muttered, sniffing. 

"It's fine, it's not your fault" he caressed your arm softly "I really enjoyed dinner with you, let's ignore your ex barging into your house part" 

You giggled, rubbing your face and shaking your head. 

"We can... Eat dessert?" you shrugged "Try and fix this" 

"Sure" Alfred smiled "I think you could use a bit of chocolate"

________________________________________

For the first time in months, he didn't feel like seeing Freydis. Ivar was furious, and for the first time he couldn't really blame anyone but himself. He didn't really believed Hvitserk when he mentioned Freydis cheating, but he went to see you anyway. He wanted to hear that Hvitserk lied from you, because he trusted you.

But then you confirmed it, and he convinced himself you were just jealous and trying to break them up. But it wasn't like you. Besides, you had sex with his brother and were in the middle of a date (was it a date?) with Alfred. It seemed like you were trying to move on. 

Now he had doubts. Serious doubts. And he didn't really know how to deal with it. He never had this problem with you. Should he just ask her? Or maybe throw hints until she said something? 

Ivar yawned and rubbed his eyes. He was so tired he felt like passing out at any moment. Now he wasn't only in pain and stressed about Freydis' possible cheating, but he was also thinking about what you'd be doing with the fucking Alfred after that dinner. 

He didn't even know why he didn't answer your question. A simple 'yes' would have been enough, and maybe the two of you would feel better afterwards. Ivar missed you, and even if he was angry at you and Hvitserk for fucking, he thought he'd like to be friends with you again, when things had calmed down a bit. But after his own reaction seeing you move on with other people he wasn't sure he could do it.

"Ivar?" Freydis' sweet voice startled him. He heard the front door closing and her steps towards his bedroom. He had given her a spare key, and now he was regretting it. 

She opened the door without knocking, and her beautiful face lightened up when she saw him. 

"Hi..." He cleared his throat, his voice weak and tired. She pouted and frowned in worry, moving to kneel on the bed next to him.

"Are you feeling well? Do you need anything, my love?" she kissed his forehead softly. Ivar frowned and, for the first time during their relationship, he moved his head away. 

"I'm fine" he lied "Just tired" 

She caressed his face and he felt uncomfortable. Should he just...?

"Ivar" she muttered "You know you can tell me everything, right?" 

His eyes found hers again. Freydis didn't stop smiling even if she obviously noticed his cold demeanor. 

"I love you" she insisted "More than anyone else, you are the most special person I've ever met, and I'd do anything for you" she whispered into his ear "You know that, you know you're the most important person for me" 

Ivar nodded slowly. She told him ever single day how much she loved him. With words, whispering into his ear and giving him sweet kisses that clouded his mind. Freydis looked at him like he was the only man in the world. She would never betray him. 

"Yeah" he relaxed into her arms "I know"

_______________________________________

"Ivar, please, talk to me" you sighed, leaving your coat on the back of the couch with a sigh "What's wrong?"

You knew what was wrong, you had seen it on his face. But you were determined to make him talk, to make him tell you what was wrong so the two of you could talk about it and work it out. 

He kept scowling, looking away and clenching his jaw, and he sat on the couch and threw his crutch on the floor without looking at you. 

After nearly a month too busy to spend time with each other, Ivar had managed to get reservations for one of the most expensive restaurants in town. One of those you couldn't even imagine to glance at the door when you walked past it. It was incredibly hard to get a table in there, but the Lothbroks had contacts, and no one on his right mind would refuse a reservation to Ivar. 

You were so excited, and treated yourself to an entire day of self-care, with a relaxing bath, facial masks and shopping for new lingerie to spend the night with him after one of the most stressing months of your life. You wore a light blue, silk dress that felt soft and comfortable around your body. Ivar's eyes flashed when he saw you, and you couldn't stop smirking for a few minutes. You felt sexy, confident and desired, and couldn't wait to get home so you could enjoy his attention in a more intimate atmosphere. 

But Ivar wasn't the only one that appreciated your outfit. The waiter at the restaurant seemed to like it too, and he made it clear since the beginning. 

You had raised an eyebrow at the first comment, but smiled softly and thanked him when he called you "beautiful lady". Ivar didn't like it, and he glared at the man until he left. Ignoring your boyfriend, the waiter kept flirting with you, no matter how Ivar cut him off and interrupted him whenever he started talking to you. 

Until he had exploded. He practically threatened the waiter with a cold, calmed voice. It had scared you, as you knew he was unpredictable and could lose his temper very easily. 

During the ride back home, he hadn't said a word. Instead, he held your hand and kept you close. Until the two of you reached his flat and you couldn't stand it anymore. 

"Ivar" you insisted, sitting next to him "Are you angry at me?"

He looked at you briefly, and shrugged. 

"No" 

That relieved you. At least he didn't blame you. As a woman, you had to deal with that kind of situations during your entire life, and most times you got blamed, saying you dressed too 'provocative' and that men had instincts. It wasn't nice, it was actually very uncomfortable and you never knew what to say. You thought that if they saw you were with your boyfriend they wouldn't say anything, but apparently they didn't respect any of you. 

"I didn't..."

"It's not your fault, Y/N" he rolled his eyes "I'm just angry" 

"Then talk to me, tell me what's wrong" 

"A guy just spent an hour and a half flirting with you on my face, Y/N" he scoffed "He stared at you and kept flirting even if I was there with you" 

"I know" you sighed "I'm sorry, I didn't engage with him, I ignored him but he kept..."

"He did it because I can't walk, Y/N"

You raised an eyebrow. 

"I'm sure that wasn't the main reason"

"Not the main reason, the main reason is obvious" he growled, rubbing his eyes "But I can assure you, if you had been there with Ubbe or Hvitserk he wouldn't have done it" 

"Ivar..."

"You know it" 

"Ivar, you know I don't care about that" you sighed "We have this conversation every single day, and we will keep having it until you realize that I love you"

Ivar stood silent. Yes, you did tell him that constantly, but he couldn't help but wonder when you'd realize he wasn't worth it. 

"Hey" you insisted. He sighed and shook his head.

"Are you okay?" He turned to look at you "Do you need me to go back there with my brothers and kick his ass?" 

You giggled, shaking your head and moving closer to him. 

"No, I'm fine" you kissed his cheek "I'm sorry that idiot ruined our night" 

Ivar hummed as you pouted, leaning your head on his shoulder.

"We still have time to fix it" his eyes fixed on the dress you were wearing. It infuriated him, but he could understand why the guy at the restaurant was so obsessed with you. 

You smiled softly. He looked more relaxed, and he finally leant against your body.

"Y/N, can you promise me something?" 

You raised your head, frowning softly at him when he sounded too serious. 

"I... Think so?"

"If you ever feel attracted to someone else, if you feel like you're falling in love with someone else..."

"Ivar..."

"No, let me finish" he shook his head "Please tell me first"

"I don't think that will happen, but I promise I'll tell you" you pressed your forehead against his "I would never cheat on you, Ivar, and believe me when I say I can't even think about looking at other people" 

He understood that feeling. Ivar saw beautiful women everyday, he wasn't blind and he looked at them, but at the end of the day you were the only one he wanted. For him, you were the most beautiful person in the world. 

Ivar leant in to kiss you softly. You smiled against his lips and your arms went around his neck to pull him closer. The night might had started as a disaster, but the two of you intended to fix that.

________________________________________

"So you still intend to go to that wedding" Hvitserk raised an eyebrow when he saw the store you were leading him to "After everything that happened" 

You shrugged, biting your lip. 

"Torvi and Ubbe called to make sure I was going, and I still feel bad for talking to her like that..."

"Don't" he rolled his eyes "You were right, she's just excited because if you dated Alfred you'd join their club"

"What club?" you chuckled "I'm not going to date Alfred, or anyone, for a while. She knows that" you shrugged.

Hvitserk finished his cigarette and looked at the store again. 

"So you brought me to find a dress" he sighed "I thought you said you had a fun plan for today" 

"And what is better than shopping for clothes, Hvitty?" You giggled "Besides, I'm sure you need a suit too! Because you're coming, right?" 

You knew Hvitserk wasn't very excited about the wedding. He didn't really get along with Ubbe anymore, and Torvi had made very clear she didn't like him. But you couldn't attend without him. Hvitserk had became your rock, your main support and the only one that seemed to understand every single thing that went through your mind. 

"I don't know..." 

"Please" you pouted "Please, Hvitty, I need you there" you tilted your head. 

"You're going with Alfred, aren't you? Why do you need me there then?" 

"I can go with you too" you smiled softly "Or you can invite Thora" you winked "But please, don't leave me alone with them" 

He sighed, low-key enjoying the fact that you needed him there. He was going to go with you anyway, but he wanted to hear you begging a bit. 

"Okay" he shrugged "But if my family gets annoying, we're leaving" 

You nodded with a wide smile on your face and jumped to hug him tightly. Hvitserk couldn't help but smile and hug you back, turning his head to kiss your temple softly. 

"Was Ivar too harsh the other day?" he asked, on a more serious tone, as soon as the hug ended. He has wanted to kill his brother when he learnt (after Alfred called him and bitterly implied that he should control Ivar better) that he had practically bursted into your flat.

Your expression changed, and your smile faded. Hvitserk felt a bit guilty, but he truly wanted to know. 

"No" you shrugged "He was... Ivar, he said I was making things up because I was jealous, and then proceeded to explain to me that he loved Freydis, and that she makes him feel special and yeah" you rolled your eyes, walking to the store.

"She just knows what he wants to hear" Hvitserk shook his head, opening the door so you could step into the store "She inflates his ego, that's all, it's not love, its manipulation"

"Maybe she does love him" you sighed, shaking your head "They seemed to be much closer than we were"

"Maybe" he shrugged "I just know my brother was in love with you, but now I barely recognize him" 

You opened your mouth to say something, but a woman approached you with a wide smile. 

"Hello! Can I help you?" 

____________________________________

"I'd pick that one" Hvitserk had put his head inside the changing room, making you jump and look at him through the mirror. 

"Do you think so? I liked the red one"

He raised an eyebrow.

"You always wear red"

You bit your lip. He was right, you always wore red. Maybe because it was Ivar's favorite color, because you liked the way he looked at you when he saw you dressed in red. How he'd smile and kiss you deeply before whispering into your ear how beautiful you looked. 

Maybe because you liked it.

"I know what you're thinking" Hvitserk shook his head entering the changing room and closing the door. He didn't seem to care about the warning the woman had given him earlier "Your eyes lighten up and you get that enamored expression and yeah, I know what you're thinking"

"I don't know what you're talking about" you smiled with an innocent expression.

Hvitserk rolled hie eyes.

"You look pretty in red, we all agree on that, but this one" he pointed at the dress you were trying "You look like a fucking goddess with this one, you could come and break my heart with this on and I'd thank you" 

You giggled, shaking your head. The silk dress was black and tight around your body, but width under your hips. It had a split that exposed your right leg, and it was truly beautiful. Hvitserk chose it, and even if you felt a bit awkward, you kind of liked it.

"Maybe I'll take this one" you muttered, caressing the soft fabric. 

"It would be rude to look better than the bride" he winked at you. 

"Shut up" you laughed "You're too sweet, Hvitty, I wish I was in love with you" 

He smiled softly at you. 

"I wish I was in love with you too, you're like my soulmate" 

"Maybe we are soulmates" you turned to look at him with a smirk "But friend soulmates" 

"I agree" he winked at you again. You were used to Hvitserk's flirty tone, and this time you wished you could feel something more than friendly love for him. Things would be much easier if you had fallen in love with him.

"Thank you, Hvitty" you pouted. You took his hands and looked at him "You're helping me so much and you're my best friend, and you didn't have to cope with me and my breakdowns" 

He shook his head with a smile and moved to hug you again. You relaxed against his body. 

"You're literally the sweetest person in the world, Y/N" he muttered "Now, I'm going to get out before that woman thinks we're fucking and calls the police"

________________________________________

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