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starsandmoonys · 4 years

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Part 2 of this, since basically everyone asked. Sorry if it’s cringe. I wrote it while being happy, so maybe it’s cheesy. Anyway, enjoy! and let me hear you comments and opinions, pleaaasee.

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Sirius, surprised with all his friends, not bringing his eyes up to meet Remus’. He could feel the other boy’s stare, piercing through him. He knew there is no turning back; he said it. He knew he had to follow through. He gathered the rest of his strength and spoke, still looking at the floor, “Ahh fuck this, I like you Remus.. a lot. And I don’t know, It's okay if you don't. I’m sorry this happened; I didn’t mean to say it.” He started rambling. He knew he was freaking out because maybe Remus didn’t feel the same; he’s made a fool of himself.

He lifted his eyes to search for a reaction and was taken aback by Remus, legit crawling again to his direction. He couldn’t take his eyes off of him. “Remus?” He said when Remus finally settled beside him, incredibly close.

“Yeah, I know,” Remus said, smiling.

“Excuse me? You know? You know what?” Sirius was full-on panicking. What does Remus mean? All this time he knew, and he let him just pine like an idiot. Is he serious? Are they too drunk to be even talking? He tried to stand up; he wanted to leave. He had his heartbeat going crazy. He started to wonder if it’s a prank and everyone is in on it. He’s just the butt of the joke. That’s why everyone left. He moved to get up and was grabbed by Remus, “I know you liked me, Pads,” he said, hands wrapped around his wrists. Sirius couldn’t function, “Close your mouth; you’ve been obvious since summer,” Remus kept being ambiguous, not letting the raven-haired boy out of his misery like he was enjoying it.

“What? I? Remus, is this a joke? You're playing me?! Let go!” Sirius breathed out; he desperately wanted to get away from Remus’ clutch. “Merlin, she was right,” he heard Remus whisper to himself, looking at their hands. He then looked up; and grabbed his face with both hands, “You really are an idiot to be watching me that much and not realize that I like you back, Padfoot,” Remus fell quiet, looking at Sirius’ eyes. “I just wanted to see how long it would take.”

Sirius’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “What are you talking about?” He said, calmer than before, yet heart racing a million miles an hour. It dawned on him that Remus just said he liked him too. So it’s all real; he wasn’t imagining it anymore. He kept denying himself for so long, afraid to speak up, but it’s all real now. He’s right in front of him.

Remus giggled drunkenly; “For you to break, love. It wasn't my idea; it was Lils’; she told me to wait it out.” So they have been going on behind my back Sirius thought. “Does everyone know?” he asked a question he obviously knew the answer to. He felt like a complete idiot; how was he so dense? Remus nodded, smiling. “God, that damned redhead,” Sirius said, taking Remus’ hands off his face to hold on to them.

“She’s marvelous. And I've got what I wanted. I liked your pretty confession.”

“Wait, You actually like me?” Sirius said, smiling now. Remus nodded, quite frantically. “Since… Since when?” Sirius couldn’t help but ask. Remus inched closer and closer, so their foreheads were touching, “Since I realized I was gay. Being stuck in the same room as you nine months a year for six years did some damage to my poor heart.” Remus spoke slowly, cooingly, lips threatening to touch with every word.

“Moony, can I kiss you?” He asked, eyes darting to Remus’ lips. “Yes please,” Remus didn’t get to finish his answer as Sirius’ lips were pressed to his. They kissed for the first time. Remus' hands moved into Sirius’ hair, for he started to get onto his lap, straddling him. Sirius deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms around Remus, holding him close. They didn’t know how long that kiss lasted, but they pulled away breathless and in a state of bliss, both boys smiling from cheek to cheek. “Merlin, this is better than all my dreams,” Remus spoke first. He pulled away just enough to look into Sirius’ eyes. “Reality is always better, Moons,” Sirius said pressing another soft kiss to the other boy’s lips. He pulled away and Remus grabbed him again pressing a rather not so soft kiss this time, it was short but as good as all the ones before it. “Just checking,” Remus said against his lips.

"So, you were playing me.. those past months..." Sirius started, narrowing his eyes. Remus snickered in his arms, "I'd rather say, encouraging you. Cause at your rate, we'd be 30 before you say anything." He spoke openly; drunk Remus can be very confident and bold. "All the things you were doing.. encouragement?" Sirius questioned; he admired how free Remus seems to be. "Yup," Remus said, popping the P.

Sirius found himself tackling Remus to the floor, "Oh you little..." He started tickling him, ruthlessly.

"Oh god, oh my god, stop. Sirius, shit. Please." Remus uttered between laughs. Sirius halts after many pleas from the werewolf under him. he stopped his assault to find himself on top of Remus, faces so close and chests pressing against each other, both of them gasping hard for breath.

Sirius fought the urge to kiss Remus senseless at that moment and moved away from him to the side.

"We'll do this right. Stand up, Remus." He said sitting up and pushing Remus off the floor. He needed to make the moment memorable. "What? Why?" Remus questioned him, confused.

"Just do it, please." Sirius pleaded. Remus complied, still puzzled, as he rose to his feet, Sirius positioned himself on one knee in front of him. "Sirius, what are you doing?" Remus asked beet red as Sirius took in his hands.

Sirius smiled softly and looked up to meet the hazel eyes, "Remus John Lupin, would you honor my miserable soul and become my cute, hot, and loving boyfriend?"

"Yes, Sirius," Remus, who couldn't have gotten anymore redder, croaked out the response. At the notion, Sirius stood up and pulled his now-boyfriend into a bone-crushing hug.

"This is not real," Sirius said, burying his fingers into Remus' curls. He felt Remus smile against his collarbone, "Yes, it is. It's as real as it gets now. Believe me, I've known dreams." He spoke.

"I've actually got you?" Sirius asked again, still in disbelieve.

"You've always had; you've just been too dense to realize." Sirius laughed and kissed the top of the other boy's head.

****

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ashxketchum · 3 years

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For the handholding prompts! Taiora + 37? :3 Have a lovely day

Hello! Sorry for such a long wait, at first I was really confused by what I should write for Taiora with this prompt, and by the time I got around to outlining the scene, life happened 😔

But finally today I was able to sit down and get this out of my brain! This is set right after the battle with Ordinemon in Tri Part 6 and is mostly canon compliant. I hope you enjoy it, thank you for requesting 🧡

37. not realizing they’re holding hands till someone points it out

Taichi’s gut kept telling him that he was missing something, but he brushed it away. What could he be possibly missing when he was sitting with a wall of comfort surrounding him? That’s why even as the thought continued to gnaw at him, he refused to open his eyes and acknowledge the problem, it could be dealt with later, when his nap would be over and he would wake up feeling well rested and refreshed. For now he wanted to bask in the feeling of floating in sunshine, with every aching muscle in his body being cured of it’s pain, every tired fibre in his body being refuelled with energy. He wouldn’t dare open his eyes right now, not when he could hide under this umbrella of comfort for a little while longer, because who knew if it would still be there to shelter him from the stinging raindrops of reality when he woke, or if it would leave him drenched and broken, as it had once before.

NEXT STATION-

The words rang in his ears like a blaring alarm and suddenly Taichi was very much aware of where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. His eyes jolted open and he made to get up, when a familiar weight on his shoulder made him halt as realisation dawned fully upon him, of course the warmth had belonged to Sora who still slept quietly with her whole body leaning on him and her head resting on his shoulder, just like two puzzle pieces perfectly aligned.

The announcement echoed again throughout the train compartment and Taichi broke out of his daze, deciding that now was not the time to marvel over these little things, he quickly stood up. When he did so, Sora woke with a start, her eyes fluttering open in slow motion, but as they didn’t really have time for her to be fully awake, Taichi grabbed her hand in his and pulled her onto her feet, dragging her behind him as he rushed to get out of the train just as the doors slid shut.

He turned to face Sora and ask her if she was feeling okay but saw that her eyes were still drooping low and she held on to his grasp on her hand tightly for support as her feet wobbled out of balance. Taichi couldn’t really blame her, in fact he was relieved that he wasn’t the only one who felt like they had been made to run a marathon for 1000 years without a break. The visits to Digital World, the adventure and the battles had always been exhausting, but today their strength had been put to test in a way that none of them had ever expected to encounter, and the price of overcoming it all was pure exhaustion, both mentally and physically.

So Taichi kept quiet and gently pulled Sora along with himself across the mostly empty platform, glad that he had been the one to volunteer to take her home as he was so familiar with the route that he could probably reach there even with his eyes closed. He also didn’t mind the silence that had settled between them as they walked slowly but steadily, as Taichi wasn’t sure if he had anything left to say to anyone after the lengthy interrogation him and his friends had been subjected to by the authorities right after Ordinemon had been defeated, without so much as a moment spared for them to deal with the loss of their Digimon friend.

Even though Taichi’s session had lasted the longest as he was the only one to witness Nishijima’s demise he still felt that Sora had been subjected to a more difficult task, which was consoling not just Meiko, but also Hikari and Mimi as they had sat in the room waiting to be called in for questioning. As always, she had given every bit of her energy into taking care of others rather than herself, so Taichi attempted to make things easier for her the only way he knew how to, by keeping quiet and giving her the space to deal with everything at her own pace.

It was when they reached her home and rang the bell that Sora finally looked like she was awake, right on time Taichi thought, as at least he’d be able to tell her to take care of herself and have her actually retain those words in her head. So he turned slightly, hoping to bid her goodbye before her mother opened the door, but as tired as he was, he missed his chance to make a quick escape. The door swung open before he could open his mouth and a bright light was cast upon them and the dimly lit hallway.

Mrs. Takenouchi stood behind the door, looking like she had rushed to the door in a hurry that was uncommon for her, her face an odd mixture of relief and concern as she studied her daughter. Then her eyes travelled down and she raised them in mild surprise, another thing which was unusual for the stern Mrs. Takenouchi, so both Taichi and Sora followed her astonished gaze and experienced a rude awakening themselves as they saw that their hands were still tightly clasped around each other’s. They quickly pulled their hands away and shifted a few steps away from each other to put some distance between them.

Taichi was amazed by how despite of being so tired, his body could still find the energy to turn his face into a heated mess, and smoke coming out of his ears now wouldn't come as a shock to anyone.

“Good evening, Mrs. Takenouchi.” He mumbled awkwardly to fill the silence and draw attention away from the fact that he had been unknowingly holding onto Sora’s hand for who knows how long now. He could only hope that Sora too knew that it had been unintentional, and that he hadn’t meant to overstep his boundaries.

“Good evening, Taichi. I am relieved to see that you’re both okay, though you do look like you need a few days worth of rest.” She smiled softly at the two teens, turning to face her daughter with an affectionate gaze, she added, “Sora, welcome back.”

“I’m home.” Sora replied almost automatically, and satisfied with the response Mrs. Takenouchi passed a peculiar look to her daughter before she headed back inside, leaving the two of them alone to say their goodbyes.

Sora took this chance to move inside her house, now taking Mrs. Takenouchi’s place in the doorway, finally facing Taichi with her eyes wide open, though they were still filled with reflections of what had transpired in the past few days.

Taichi remembered that he had been meaning to tell her to take care of herself before her mother had arrived at the door, but when he looked at Sora now, with her figure illuminated by the white light coming from inside her house, her vermillion eyes shining with tears that were being kept at bay with every bit of remaining energy in her body, he lost the words he had so carefully selected a few moments ago. He wished instead that telling her how much he cared for her and her wellbeing could be as easy as taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. He knew he had to say something however, because not only had the silence between them become suddenly deafening, but also because he couldn’t possibly leave without a word of appreciation or gratefulness for all that she had done for Hikari and the rest of them today.

“Don’t forget to eat dinner,” He joked, hoping to lighten the mood enough to easily slip the words he wanted to say out of his mouth, but his half-grin seemed to light something in Sora as one lonely tear slipped down her cheek slowly despite her strained efforts to keep it from happening.

“Don’t ever disappear like that again, Taichi.” Her voice trembled as she spoke and Taichi felt a pang in his chest at her tone, “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come back. You can’t leave me behind just like that!”

“I’m sorry.” Taichi muttered quietly, that was all that he could manage to say out loud.

In reality he wanted to remind her that there were other people in her life who would easily be able to fill the gap he would leave, that it was not fair for her to stand there and tell him this, knowing well enough who he had meant to save in that moment. But he held his tongue, it had been a long few days for both of them and now was not the time to turn regrets of the past into bitter remarks that he may never be able to go back from.

“Please. Promise me, you will never do that again.” Her pleading voice was just above a whisper and it was a miracle that it even reached his ears.

“I will, if you promise something in return too.” Taichi replied in a determined tone, his hands balling up into fists on their own as he fixed her with an intense gaze. Sora looked at him with doubt at first, but eventually nodded at his words tiredly, “You have to promise to start putting yourself first from now on, no matter what.”

“That’s a difficult promise to make.”

“So is what you’re asking of me.” Taichi refused to back down.

“I’m asking you to take care of yourself, that isn’t too hard.”

“Likewise.”

And silence settled between them once again as Sora glared up at him and Taichi returned the favour with equal vigour. He had no idea how either of them still had the energy to keep this up, but even if it meant sacrificing being closer to his bed for a little while longer, he would gladly do so to get Sora to treat herself better. If he had learned anything from what they had all been through in the past few days, it was that change should always be embraced, for better or for worse. He didn’t know just how much Sora could change her ways or how it would affect her presence in all of the Digidestined’s lives, but he knew that if she didn’t start now then she wouldn’t start ever and he was tired of seeing her be the victim of her own labours of love.

“Okay.” She sighed in defeat, as her glare turned into an exhausted and disgruntled stare, “Okay, I promise to put myself first from now on, no matter what.”

“And I promise to take care of myself and not jump headfirst into danger without a second thought.” Taichi chimed after her, a smile spreading across his face as he realised that he’d actually gotten Sora to bend to his demands.

There was a first time for everything, he thought to himself, and secretly hoped that this wouldn’t be the last of it either.

#taiora #taichi yagami #sora takenouchi #digimon #digimon fanfiction #digimon adventure tri #writealot #you know a taichi pov was pending from me when I inserted him in literally all the mimato oneshots lol #one more request to go from this series and i hope to get it done soon!

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lordoftermites · 3 years

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Fairy Chess ‖ p. ⅰ

I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things I would do So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you...

Ship: Roiben x Kaye

Summary: {set immediately after Ironside} Kaye provides Roiben with a little more... entertainment at his coronation revel.

Rating: M/E for me going to hell but hey at least i’ve got reading material Part Ⅱ

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He wanted only one night.

One night, devoid of drunken courtiers. Of the endless pouring of wine. No constant strumming of lutes and harps and laughter echoing through the cavernous hall, no attendants bidding for a moment of his attention with some new seemingly-urgent dispatch. Just a single, fleeting night of glorious, undisturbed peace.

But when you're a king of two courts, both of which would see the other fall to ruin, peace is a knife's edge; a balancing act—not a reward. And no amount of wishing is going to change that.

Still, as Roiben leans back into the twisted branches of birch that make up his blood-won throne, watching the frenzied, continuous dancing, he finds himself hopelessly wishful anyway.

Before the dais, a mass of fey move almost as one enormous wave to the music, their entranced twirling and swaying both beautiful and nauseating. They have all come to celebrate the second crowning of their brutal new lord.

Groups of sprites whirl their little forms above the throng, bathing the packed earth of the newly-rebuilt Palace of Termites in flickering yellow light. Roiben decides he likes looking at them better—their movements don't make his stomach quite nearly as unsteady.

But even then, the way they blink in and out, reminiscent of fireflies in the trees at dusk, causes him to squint himself into the headache he's been suppressing all evening. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, sinking further into the throne that feels so much more like a cage; a cage he killed his way to get into.

“Acorn for your thoughts,” chimes Kaye’s voice against his ear. He smiles, eyes still closed, as he feels the familiar, comforting brush of her fingers slide over his shoulder. Roiben reaches a hand up to cover them, to ground himself in her touch. Her skin is warm— a constant contrast to the chill he can never seem to thaw from his own. “I find I have had my fill of revelry, for the next ten moons at least,” Roiben answers with another sigh. His eyes open to the overcrowded throne room once again, and that weariness washes over him anew. “Unfortunately, it would seem this one has no intentions of slowing anytime before that.” Kaye moves from her position behind him, slipping between his throne to the wooden stool beside it.

Roiben shifts his gaze to look at her, and cannot stop his breath from catching: she’s clad in a fluid, iridescent dress coming to tattered strips just above her clover green knees. Pewter ties gather slashed sleeves at her shoulders, the front of it dipping below her collarbone to pool at the beginning of her sternum. He smiles again: the sheen of fabric is the exact silver of his eyes.

Her wild hair is pulled up into two emerald knots on top of her head—space buns, she called them once, much to his confusion; they resemble neither celestial body nor baked good, but he assumes it’s simply another human reference lost on him. At the roots, she’s dusted a silver glitter that catches the light of the sprites above them. Silver hoops line the length of her earlobe, and from each dangle a single star or crescent moon, respectively. On her feet, to no surprise, are the cracked leather boots she favors above any slipper made by Skillywidden, no matter how intricately stitched or comfortable they might be.

Roiben can’t help but marvel at her: a creature of two worlds, and equally as beautiful in both. He reaches out to take her hand, brushing over the extra joint in her thumb. She smiles at him, the smile that’s just for him, the smile he would burn the world down for.

“I’ve been to some pretty wild raves,” Kaye says, turning her inky black eyes to the sea of Folk before them. “But this one definitely takes the cake.” Again, another human phrase he doesn’t quite understand, but this one makes at least more sense than astronomical hairstyles. When she looks back at him, her brow raises. “It's your coronation revel, and you’re already partied out? I thought dancing till your feet bleed was just another day in Faerie for you.”

He chuckles, eyes settling on her hand in his. He’s almost sure his stomach will betray him if he dares another glance at the swirling revel-goers. “My… previous duties kept me elsewise occupied from most of the festivities,” he replies. To his great relief, neither of them need his explanation of what those duties had been. “When the guest of honor is you, it’s not nearly as easy to slip away unnoticed.”

Kaye leans over to take a fluted glass of wine from the table between them, and Roiben can’t help his gaze shifting up to the loose fabric at her chest, which opens at her slight movement to reveal a hint of the deep green curvature there. He swallows automatically, his throat suddenly dry.

“Like the view?” Kaye asks, leaning against her own arm to further accentuate that curve as she takes a sip of the plum-colored liquor. It’s a small gesture, but it’s enough to make Roiben’s breath catch. When his eyes flick back up to meet her, she’s wearing that coquettish grin that speaks true to her pixie nature. “Though doubtless you already know my answer," he says, giving her an impish smirk of his own, "Verily, I do.”

Kaye shortens the gap between them, near enough for him to smell the clove and blackberry wine on her warm breath. Near enough to kiss him, but she doesn’t. She lingers, instead pulling her bottom lip between her teeth—a move she knows all too well sets a fire alight in his veins, and it’s all Roiben can do not to close that gap between them entirely.

Her hand reaches to the collar of his doublet, where she trails a lazy finger along the silver stitching, brushing feather-light against his neck. He inhales slowly, a deliberate drawing of breath, as though to remind himself where they are. Again, he finds himself wishing the hall was empty and cursing the reality that it isn't.

Kaye pitches her voice low, so only he can hear among the raucous around them. “I think I know how to make this party a little more… interesting. A game. Kinda.”

His brow goes up at that. “A game?” he repeats, only slightly warily. While admittedly, any diversion to keep him from spoiling his own revel would be welcome—by his attendants as well as himself—he’s almost certain, from the mischievous glint in those sable eyes of hers, it isn’t likely to be something as simple as a chess match.

Kaye shrugs. Her gaze drifts down the front of his black doublet to his lap, lingering there momentarily before fluttering back up to his face. There's a craving there in those onyx depth. A shark circling its next meal.

“Unless, of course, you’re too chicken to play.”

Indeed, this will be no game on a checkerboard.

Roiben shifts in his seat, already finding himself full awake from his previously half-present participation in the night’s celebrations. He leans in, until his mouth is against Kaye’s silver-clad ear and grins at the small, sudden breath she takes in response. “If you mean to play a game of torment,” he whispers, his lips grazing her skin, “you may find I am not at all a fair opponent—nor a patient one—when I mean to win.”

Kaye, cheeks flushed with drink and something else, opens her mouth to speak, but is cut off. From below the dais, as if on cue, a throat clears. Roiben, gritting his teeth against a sudden rise of annoyance, draws himself back up on his throne. Bowed to nearly kissing the earthen floor is Ruddles, his chamberlain.

“Yes?” Roiben sighs, unable to hide his displeasure at being interrupted; he was, for the first time tonight, on the verge of actually enjoying his own celebration. Of course there would be something to stall that entertainment. “What is it now, a ninth round of toasting? More petitions? Perhaps a naming of yet another inanimate object?”

The old hob rises with a grunting effort, either unaware of Roiben’s clipped tone, or so used to it by now that he doesn’t let it perturb him. “My King,” Ruddles says formally, and even though the title has been invoked countless times since his first crowning, Roiben still can’t quell the sour taste that floods his mouth upon hearing it.

The chamberlain continues, again oblivious to the ticking in his master’s jaw. “Since it is nearly dawn, I thought perhaps you would wish to retire.” Ruddles turns to sweep his hand over the continuous movement of courtiers. “There are naught but a few simple matters of the court that myself and the other members of the council can handle in your stead—or save upon your return, should so desire."

Desire is the very thing being kept from him at the moment, though it isn't as if his chamberlain knows that. Still, Roiben can barely stifle an eye roll. "I was unaware that I needed permission to—"

The gentle squeeze of Kaye's hand on his arm stalls his scorn, and he forces himself to start over. "Apologies, Ruddles," he sighs. "I admit, I am overtired. I should indeed very much like to rise from this seat—before I become part of its ornamentation." Roiben stands, tired limbs groaning in protest from hours of being stationary.

Kaye stretches at his side, feigning a yawn. "I could totally kill for a bed right now," she says, and while she is also bound incapable of lying, the look in her eye when Roiben meets her gaze tells him there is nothing to do with sleep in her confession. The wink she gives solidifies her meaning.

The little hob nods, seeming to miss their unspoken exchange, and bows low once more. "As you wish, my King. I shall address the court of your retirement—"

Roiben shakes his head to forestall the chamberlain, and holds a hooked arm out for Kaye, who takes it with another squeeze. "No need. They are blissfully unaware of my presence as it is, let them continue. And, Ruddles—" He pauses at the foot of the dais next to the hob, leaning low enough to not be overheard. "It would please me greatly if you saw to it that we are undisturbed."

Ruddles gives a reverent nod and steps aside, clearing their way off the platform. Without stealing another glance back at the endless revel, the king and his consort leave the tumultuous celebration behind them.

#i liked writing this one tbh #we know kaye would pull some shit like this too #makin' roiben do a sweat #like can you imagine the dude sitting on his throne just #*casually crosses legs*#（°___°；）#i have 0 doubt bruh is inches away from losing his cool at all times #rath roiben rye #roiben #kaye fierch #kaye x roiben #modern faerie tales #mft #tfota #i need a fic tag but no think

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readingsoyoucanavoidlife · 3 years

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Jily through the ages - first year - James

James’ excitement had been building up for days, so when the day came that he was finally able to embark on his journey, he was up at the crack of dawn lugging a trunk down the staircase that had been packed, repacked, and then packed again. The night before James’ father had handed him his most treasured possession and he had been itching to try it out. The things he could do with invisibility were endless. By the time James was able to leave, he didn’t know how he hadn’t exploded yet and his mother shared the same thought as he had been waiting several hours for them to leave. As they were apperating they could be there in a number of seconds so James getting up at the crack of dawn seemed ridiculous even to his mother who was usually on board with his schemes. It wasn’t that his father wasn’t, it was just that while James and his dad looked alike he and his mother’s personality were alike.

A pop came and James and his father arrived straight onto platform 9 3/4 , there was no reason for them to use the muggle entrance as there were only 3 of them and they were able to get to the platform without it. However his mother did think that it was important to show him the magical entrance unlike most pure blooded families, even if he never went through it, since if he did he was crowding it for those that really needed to use it. That’s what his father had said anyways. Looking at the wall James was startled when someone did come through it. It was a girl that looked about his age with stunning bright auburn red hair dressed in cutesy muggle clothes. When she opened her eyes he could see that they were the most fantastic shade of green he ever saw, he noted that it kind of made her look like Christmas. The girl seemed as shocked to come through the barrier as he probably did watching her do it. He looked over at where her eyes were darting and was amazed to see her find interest in everything that he had become so accustomed to, James wondered if that was what he would look like if he ever entered the proper muggle world. The girl found amazement in all the things that he had taken advantage of and he was intrigued to see what things piqued her interest. Although before he could find out the girl had obviously remembered herself enough to get her family onto the platform too and his own family were calling him away.

When James had finally said goodbye to his parents, he clambered onto the train with his trunk. He was determined to make friends on this journey. His father had always told him the importance of having good people on your side and his mother proved that the Hogwarts Express is a perfect time to make lifelong friendships, like she had herself with his godmother Minnie (or McGonagall as he was now supposed to call her). Marching down the corridor, James finally found a compartment that he would be welcomed into, there were only two occupants there and one of them was the platform girl. He made his appearance known and unfortunately the platform girl didn’t seem as interested in him as he was about her. Therefore he decided to turn his attention towards the other boy in the corner and let the platform girl marvel at her surroundings in peace (he was very considerate like that). He learnt that the boy's name was Remus Lupin and from Remus that platform girl's actual name was Lily Evans. Remus proved to be very entertaining and they had a great conversation, but he noticed this was much to Lily Evan’s dismay. James wondered why she would be annoyed by this as he had left her alone and talked to the other occupant in the compartment when he clearly so desperately needed to be distracted by the thoughts in his own head. James just assumed it was nerves with leaving his parents and he was nervous about that too, so he thought that the two could help each other.

Before James could get any more confused by Lily Evans, a person appeared at the doorway. James recognised the boy straight away to be the son of the Blacks due to his grey eyes that were infamous to the family. Although James did wonder why he looked to have gone through the effort of being purposefully scruffy when he had been told that the family prided itself on being better than everyone else and they were always put together complete with the most over the top and expensive accessories. James still remembered his manners and introduced the compartment to the newcomer, and for some reason Lily Evans got annoyed with him again. Sirius Black caught this as well and smiled at her reaction. It looked like it was the first smile in ages and James felt a pang of sympathy for the boy, he hadn’t really thought about the Blacks not being truly happy since they were always so stuck up in the stories he had been told and the few glimpses he had gotten. Under further conversation when Sirius Black had settled into the compartment, James got the impression that the boy wasn’t on the best terms with his family and he didn’t agree with what they believed about pure bloods, no matter how much they had expected him to believe it.

Lost in conversation with the two boys next to him, James almost didn’t realise the shuffling outside the compartment, and when the door did open he couldn’t help but put on a grin when he realised who it was. Peter had been one of James' only friends growing up, his parents weren’t dangerous like other pure blood wizards but they weren’t known blood traitors either. Nevertheless, the Potter’s and the Pettigrew’s lived near enough to each other that James was able to have someone other than the house elves to play with when his parents were busy. Peter also seemed to have the same doubts about Sirius he had when the boy first arrived but James quietly reassured him when he got up to help the boy pull in his trunk.

Once the train had started moving and they became settled again into their seats. James saw that Lily Evans was still facing the window and in the blurred reflection of the glass she had tears slowly falling down her face. James had the instinct to comfort her but didn’t know how to, he had never really been around girls who got upset. He had known the McKinnon’s daughter but Marlene was stronger than he was (not that he would ever admit that out loud, especially to her). Instead James resolved to let her collect herself and continue distracting Remus from the thoughts that he knew were going around his head, he just didn’t know what they were. And Sirius who had become more quiet since they had gone to say goodbye at the window, well Sirius hadn’t done that so maybe that was the problem. Peter he noticed seemed oblivious to James observations but still unknowingly he was able to help James in distracting the two boys and not making everyone aware about Lily pulling herself together in the corner.

When the compartment door opened again, James made sure not to repeat his mistake and politely introduced himself and the others. The boy standing in the entrance had already changed into his school robes and he looked as though he hadn’t washed his hair in a while. His black eyes looked straight past the other occupants in the compartment and landed straight onto the redhead by the window. The boy seemed to not care about being invited in because he just stormed in and sat down next to Lily Evans. James didn’t know why but this really bugged him, how the boy was being rude to himself and the others and able to get Lily to talk. James also wondered how he seemed to know her as he was pretty sure she was a muggle born and muggle borns don’t normally know others in the wizarding world. James could also see the upset expression that appeared across Lily’s face that the other boy couldn’t, and all James had the urge to do was get him away from the girl. (but it definitely wasn’t jealousy it was the fact that he didn’t want Lily Evans to go through any more sadness because of this conversation). What James did next was incredibly stupid, but it all happened so quickly that he didn’t know what he was saying. James was only brought back to reality by the slam of the compartment door and Sirius’ snickering coming from beside him. James found that he couldn’t be in a proper bad mood next to Sirius and after awhile they forgot about the event that had happened and the boys were laughing all the way to the magical school.

Over the next few weeks the boys found themselves settled into their new life and were beginning to become bored by the lack of opportunities there were for first years. James had also been dying to test out his new invisibility cloak. It was Sirius who suggested that they played a fun trick on the school and James quickly agreed with the other two coming around sooner or later. The prank turned out to be a great success and for the first time they were actually recognised instead of being brushed over as a couple of first years. This made the punishment they received worth it and the boys began planning their next few pranks.

In fact the only people that didn’t seem pleased with them were the Slytherin’s (but that was to be expected), Lily Evans and Minnie. James wasn’t sure what he had done to irritate the redhead that much but as he was so busy with the Minnie plan and the other pranks, he never really had time to think about it. Besides him and Evans hadn’t talked since the train and she seemed pretty keen to keep it that way. As well as this, Peter, Sirius and James had been desperately trying to figure out why Remus kept disappearing. The boys were very concerned about their friend and as time went on they noticed that Remus had started to distance himself from the others. This was the point where The three boys knuckled down to figure out what was troubling their friend and how they could make it better. It wasn’t until the next full moon when Remus had disappeared again that it finally clicked for Sirius. Everyone was shocked by the realisation and Peter seemed to skirt around Remus more often. When the boys finally admitted to Remus what they knew, they all broke down in tears. Remus didn’t think that he deserved the people around him but they couldn't disagree more and were there for him no matter what he said.

After the discovery about Remus the boys became more careful with what they did and always planned their pranks around the moon to make sure Remus wasn’t left out or in trouble for when he had to go through hell and back. They covered for the boy when he was off sick and they made sure that he was eating enough and getting enough sleep. Though this caring attitude didn’t stop their mischief. The boys found themselves getting into more and more arguments and disagreements with the Slytherin’s. James often heard them use language that he found was totally unacceptable and he made them pay for it, he always did, no matter how many detentions they got. Severus Snape was often in the crossfire of this petty revenge since he and James had always been especially icy since the first day. However, by the end of the year the four boys had managed to make a mark on the school, just like James had always hoped he would. And they went off on their summers as happily as they possibly could with what was awaiting them.

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msruchita · 5 years

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Who Knew? - Part 1

Summary: It’s been 5 years since the snap, Bucky doesn’t seem to be coming back. Enters a stranger who is a balm to her soul. Will she dare to love again?

Pairing: Erik ‘Killmonger’ Stevens x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: 18+ (There’s just a lot of smut, so please, swearing too)

So, I have finally created a proper Marvel fic for the Sinful Secret’s Challenge. My prompt was ‘Do you want something better? Here’s my number.’ from

@howardpotts and also tagging @tranquil--heart and @cametobuyplums

Let me know your feedback and seriously, every like, reblog, comment is appreciated. I always aim to make myself a better writer. So, to stop rattling on, I hope you guys enjoy! Plus, my Taglist is open, but I will stop tagging you if after a few fics; I see no activity from your end

@thesaltyduchess @brazen88brat @lancetuckersmustache

Masterlist

“Enlighten me again, why are we playing Truth or Dare in the middle of a club when we can barely hear each other?!’ Peering intently over your glass at the three people opposite her, you downed the last of your vodka, before choking and gagging on it as everyone around you laughed uproariously. Trying your best to control your own laughter, you set the bottle down as Vesper winked at you before shaking a large silver cocktail mixer.

‘Feeling a little reptilian, in the nastiest way possible? We have you covered with Alligator Sperm! This bright green gator crazy goodness contains melon liqueur, pineapple juice, and yes, a literal splash of cream. Try ordering it at the bar with a straight face like me if you actually have the balls.’ She finished her sales pitch with a poker face as she poured out the lime green liquid into fresh glasses while Shayan held a small pitcher of cream.

It was busy tonight, the crowd seemed to be thrice more than normal, the reek of booze, sweat and desperation spraying everywhere as you shifted on the slightly sticky leather. None of you ever spoke the truth outside of the group therapy sessions Steve forced you to go to. It was like scraping fresh wounds with salt, hence, every time Truth or Dare was played, it was more Shot or Dare. The latest dare being Vesper had to get a hickey from someone she hadn’t slept with yet; the video now safely in your phone courtesy from the bartender who had been necking her barely minutes ago, the fresh purple of the bruise standing out against her olive skin.

‘Crocodile cum, actually.’ Lucien was so matter of fact, everyone collapsed into a fit of giggles again as she waggled her eyebrows at him. The bass of the music thrummed through your veins as all of you relaxed, occasionally bursting into fits of laughter as all of you did shot after shot; most of the dares having already been done before and the novelty had faded.

‘Y/N, you. Flash your tits to the first guy that puts his hands on you or 5 shots.’ Shayan pointed at you, flashing you a grin that was anything but innocent, as you shrugged. Slamming all 5 in a row, you winked at them, waiting for the moment the liqueur went straight to your head; the throng of people gathered beneath the DJ, all looking to escape reality like you, parted like the sea as you slid off the leather vinyl.

The heat was near unbearable, but you didn’t care; the pulse of the music called to you, it was the only time you’ve ever felt so alive, so free. You could feel your blood singing as the humidity clung to you like second skin. The bass vibrated beneath your red heels; anything was better than thinking about what lay outside the walls of the club. At least protected by the four walls, throbbing beats and strobe lights, you didn’t have to face the rubble that Thanos left behind. The pain and suffering of the people lost still pierced deep in hearts; why Steve left you alone after you both lost him. The love of your life and his best friend. Bucky.

Swallowing the sudden lump in your throat, you swirled your hips, rucking up the black camisole top you borrowed from Wanda paired with the skin tight jeans she and Natasha would whistle at every time you stepped out in them, running your hands through your skin, as you let yourself be seduced by the music. The memories of their laughter echoed in your mind as you noted several appreciative glances at your dancing and your body, knowing the glitter oil you used was illuminating your curves just right as you flipped your hair back. You caught a flash of gold, Lucien’s watch glinting for a second, as he gave you a thumbs up, hoisting Shayan up. Nodding once, you blew a kiss to Vesper; knowing your friends were just checking on you before heading out.

Vesper and Lucien understood better than most; your need to stay awake the entire night. Giving you a once-over from the table, they would check that you’re okay before calling it a night. They never stayed long; but they never said no to you either whenever you asked to go out. You continued swaying side to side, giving your hips an extra boost, pushing the memories away; the flash of teeth, crinkle of eyes before steel-blue eyes…

No! You dug nails into your side sharply, the pain chasing away the scent of gun metal, whiskey and mint. It was either dancing till the bouncer called a cab for you, telling you it was time to close up or spending hours waiting silently, staring up at your ceiling fan waiting for the alarm to ring. You always stayed till closing time, helping out to clean the place down, making sure the employees got home safe.

The body that suddenly slotted against you from behind was both familiar yet a stranger. A distant memory of raised scars and a warm, calloused hand, the same hand that now splayed wide against your belly, unyielding yet soft. Leaning against the hard chest, you continued swaying hypnotically and he followed without a second thought. ‘Did you know, there’s a rumour going on,’ you began after a long pause, as his grip tightened on your belly at your facade of casualness, that hint of pain rushing to your head faster than alcohol. ‘That you’re Erik Stevens, T’Challa’s cousin?’

The flex of the muscles under his skin relaxed fractionally, as you wondered what he was so afraid of. Nobody cared about that anymore; too much had happened. He slipped a hand beneath the camisole, up to rest underneath your ribcage, so warm and steady. It pressed just beneath your breast; thumbing slowly at the curve, a whisper, let go for me.

You could kick yourself for the comparison you can’t help but make that he never matches up to. That memory lane was dangerous as you pulled yourself out once again, chasing away the ghost of cold metal against your skin, another rough palm splayed out against your tummy, keeping you grounded against him as you very slowly sunk yourself into the crook of his body.

‘What’s my name?’ Erik asked quietly, his words brushing against the shell of your ear as his hand came up to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh. ‘What do you know about me?’ He dipped his head further, his tongue snaking out to taste the jasmine on your skin, the other hand slowly tracing out symbols onto your bare flesh, the symbols etched on your skin like he knew, as you struggled not to shudder under his touch.

‘Charismatic genius, MIT graduate with top honors, slight homicidal tendencies and-,’ You cut yourself off, not wanting to do this dance anymore. You sighed indifferently, tired. ‘Why does it matter? One night and I’ll never see you again.’

His hips suddenly pressed flush against you, his cock coming to nestle between your ass, his hand playing with a nipple. A guttural growl of warning reverberates through his chest into you, like you’re treading on thin ice. True dread spiked through you as his posture shifted, shoulder rolled unconsciously back, feet parallel so that the weight is evenly distributed. The stance of a warrior.

His voice was a low timber as you slowly turned to face him, looking up at those piercing brown eyes filled with cold intelligence. ‘No,’ he assured, pulling the nipple away before releasing it, watching it bounce lightly. ‘Not with me. Never with me.’

You looked down to see the markings peeking from the top of his white shirt and the cuffs of his jean jacket. You knew they adorned his entire upper body; earned with every life taken. You should have trembled with fear when you traced one scar, but there was a deeper need to trace your tongue along each one, the way he longed to trace his fingers across every ink you had.

You sighed heavily again, breaking away from his touch as your body screamed for his warmth, hands that promised to show that you would be taken care off, over and over again. You managed to get away enough to reach the bar when Erik grabs your hand and like a movie spins you into his arms, flush against his chest, one hand slapping your ass so fiercely you gasp as he simply sets his lips on yours.

It could have been maybe a minute, but it felt like time suspended itself; everything slowed down before he gazed down at you, the hurt and concern in his eyes surprising. ‘Come with me, please.’ He held his hand out, and you slipped yours in it without thinking.

Your talks lasted the entire night, even after the soft pink and lavender of dawn peeked through, you both kept going. He starts with his beginning. About his father, about Wakanda, how he just wanted what was his by right; but even that had been deceitful. The fight for the throne, how he almost died, meeting the White Wolf. An enigma unlike himself.

Your heart clenched but he held you in his arms, your legs between his body, stroking your back against the silk. He tells you what his cousins were like, unable to hold a grin back at the elegant respect he begrudgingly built between him, T’Challa and M’Baku though the latter would love the chance to break his back. Shuri, for being a prodigy yet so humble, it annoyed him and made him prouder than he could have imagined.

You tell him how you met Bucky when Okoye and Steve forced him to join a yoga class as he wasn’t sleeping, and they had tried everything. Even Shuri was fed up. How it was a riot watching him struggle even though he had the natural agility and flexibility of an Olympian gymnast. Within a week he asked you out, a month later you were his girl, staying with him in STARK Towers, recounting all the incidences when F.R.I.D.A.Y and Tony would team up with Sam to play tricks on you.

He tells you about how Okoye beat him to within an inch of his life for attempting to murder her king and manipulate her lover, W’Kabi. He reluctantly admitted he deserved that as you laughed out loud, missing the way his face lit up at your laugh. His voice breaks slightly as he mentions going for therapy, going deep into the jungles to stop poachers, how he had just finished his probation when he heard the news, watching his men disappear.

A diplomat and the acting king for Wakanda, he came here hoping for some change, just anything to take him away from the ashes that haunted him. You would never admit how the bleakness in his eyes matched the ache in your heart…

You stand offering him a place to crash and a mug of peppermint hot chocolate as the sun filters through. He slowly pulls you into his embrace, arms tightening around you, the need to protect you, covet you so strong he doesn’t realise he’s near tears till his voice comes through ragged and raw.

‘Ya know, I expected something better than hugging the hottest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on and getting hot chocolate for baring my soul.’

He stares down at you, a cocky smirk on his face, his eyes shining with unshed tears you wanted to smear with your thumb.

‘You want something better? Here’s my number.’ Scribbling your number on his hand with a ball point pen you found in his jacket, it was like a purse in there. ‘No calls for the next 2-3 days. I don’t put out on the first date.’

Winking at him, you power walked away, heels clacking, telling yourself you wouldn’t look back. Within 2 minutes, you started chuckling, looking at the message from the unknown number flashing on your screen.

‘I’m not waiting 2 days for that ass.’

8 Weeks Later

Your back hit the mattress with a thump, bouncing lightly, giggling as you shifted yourself half upright to see Erik more clearly, the bangles on your wrists clinking softly against each other. His dark eyes glittered in the darkness, the lust stamped on his face hungry as he reached for your ankle, tracing the delicate bone before kneeling on the bed, straddling your knees, holding you down with his weight.

Leaning forward, he kisses his way up the red fabric, the gold accents shining in the moonlight, pausing at your exposed waist. Shifting the material of your sari aside, he took a good look at you, chest heaving against the barely there blouse, your tattoos swirling in intricate patterns around your skin.

Grabbing your wrists, he gently kisses your clenched fists, the metal scarping softly against his lips, smiling at the soft exhale of breath as he pulls you up, deftly untying the strings that held the scraps of lace together, exposing your breasts to him. Pushing you back enough to arch your back, he trails a trail with his tongue over one breast, before pulling the fabric back over your skin, your nipples hard and aching, peeking through the sheer material.

‘Did you enjoy making your King squirm for you? Wrapping me around your little finger, turning me into a jealous clout with just a yard of fabric? Hmm, answer me!’ He slapped you once, the slight sting making you gasp as with another grim smile, he slants his mouth over yours, swallowing the squeak of surprise, his hand tweaking a nipple, the soft scratch of brocade teasing your sensitive skin.

Mewling slightly, you grab his shoulders when he pulls away, trying to pull him down to your lips again, but he shrugs you off, instead kissing a burning trail down your neck, deftly undoing your necklace and draping it on the table beside; over your exposed shoulder before biting down on the firm muscle, his teeth leaving their imprint behind.

Frustrated at Erik’s refusal to kiss you, your hands reach for the lapels of his suit, fumbling to get the buttons undone on his shirt, as he reached to nip at your collarbone, sucking a row of purple bruises along the column, grabbing your hands and pulling them away from his shirt, shaking his head.

‘No baby, not this time. Not after that little stunt you pulled with this outfit…’ His words trail away as he runs a warm possessive hand over your waist, tugging lightly at the thin chain that adorned it, licking his lips slowly as your own heartbeat sped up.

Another useless gala dinner with the world leaders; just another unproductive meeting for them to try and reason with the Avengers. They never showed, leaving everything to you and Erik. The situation had worsened as nobody knew what to do with all the empty infrastructure. You had been sent to mediate lest the situation worsened; you wondered since when did a yoga teacher become a certified consultant.

Slowly climbing up the stairs, making sure your golden high heels didn’t catch along the embroidered fabric, you strode towards the foyer, just as Eric stepped in with Okoye nearly barrelling into the Prime Minister of Canada over, as his eyes never left you. The mere sight of you, a vision of gold and red with slight accents of blue; a true goddess. Okoye merely smiled at you, mouthing how beautiful you looked before her sharp eyes swept around, making sure there was no threat as the Prime Minster ogled at you.

His reaction did not go unnoticed by the Warrior King, his mouth tight at the sight of the sari wrapped around your lithe body, your curves accentuated by the small dips and creases in the fabric, your waist enticing any man for a closer look with a simple gold chain adorning it. His chain, the one he asked you to wear for good luck, now made into an object of desire.

Heads turned, jaws went slack as women hissed softly in envy, the sari blouse so daringly cut, it couldn’t even be called a blouse, it was a bikini top, mere scraps of gold lace held together by strings, cupping your breasts softly.

You strolled towards him, unaware of the seductive spell you wove; an extra swing in your hips, your movements almost cat-like, as you came to stand beside him, claiming your place, his hand sliding down your back possessively…

The rest of the night was a blur of sexual tension, stolen touches and awkward adjustments as he discreetly kept adjusting his dress slacks every time you bent down exposing the tattoo on your chest or when you turned around to showcase another one of your inked designs on your back dipping into your waist. Gritting his teeth, he promised retribution for your teasing, his teeth bright against the warm tones of his skin, a dark glint in his eyes.

Pinning your wrists down over your head, he used the strings of your blouse to tie the bangles together, the metal clinking each time you moved, a warning to not bring them down as he bent down to kiss you, slow and passionate, but still ghosting around deep. He begins his assault on your neck again, this time leaving a trail of stinging, red bites down your chest, around your breasts to bite down on your nipple, bringing your body up to an arch.

Keeping one hand below the bangles holding them down, the other hand strips off the fabric off your body, leaving you topless in the petticoat, your stomach quivering as he runs a finger lazily to trace the angelic runes that adorn the soft skin. Your belly goes taut under his touch, breath heaving as you moan for more. The soft cotton clings to your legs as he reaches down and takes his time pulling up the skirt, kissing every inch of freshly exposed skin. His other hand moves to clasp your hand in his, finger entwining as his lips trail your calf, up your knees, to your inner thighs, your arousal soaked through the cotton. You didn’t wear any underwear.

The dark glint returns as his mouth descends up to focus on your breasts again, kissing the aroused flesh, blowing warm air on each pert nipple, a small frown on your face as he refuses to give it the attention its begging for, instead stroking his hands across your exposed belly, the tattoos shining black under the moonlight from the open window.

Slowly, he tugs the petticoat off you, leaving you completely naked save for the belly chain and the bangles on your wrists. ‘Baby, you went without underwear, that’ll require some punishment…’

He smiles into your skin, finally taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking slowly as a single thick digit slides into your wet, swollen folds, his groan reverberating through you. He chuckles wickedly, as you tighten and moan around him, the other hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing.

You buck your hips against his hand. ‘Erik, please…’

‘Hmm?’ He asks innocently, deliberately adding another finger , raising his head to press a kiss to your lips, his mouth watering to taste your tattoos, taste your sweet pussy, the obscene sounds calling for his tongue. He rubs his lips against yours, nipping the bottom lip and biting it down with a soft pull.

His muscular body pulls you up to him, pressed against you, the scars creating their own friction against his clothes, his cock hard against your mound. The sensation sends warmth and lust in dizzying waves through you, pooling to your lower belly. His fingers curl inside you, rubbing against your sweet spot, before pulling them out completely to suck and lick them.

‘So beautiful, so wicked, so sweet, all for me…’

‘Fucking tease…’

He chuckles again darkly, bending down to kiss you again as you gasp against his mouth as he suddenly thrusts both fingers back inside, the other hand leaves your throat to hold the back of your waist, the chain digging into your skin, keeping you still as he slowly finger fucks you.

‘I’m the tease?’ He continues the slow, torturous pace, enjoying the myriad of emotions running through your face, your mouth slightly open in mid-moan, and you look so pretty he can’t help pull you in to kiss you.

‘Perhaps you should have thought of the consequences about wearing bits of cloth as a blouse and this damn sari, mmm, this sari, will be the bane of my existence, and my solace when I’m away from you. Shouldn’t have worn it to the gala. This should have been just for me.’

‘It was a necessary risk. It’s my job to entertain and mediate the delegates.’ You manage to breathe out, his growl making you jump.

‘Perhaps you were being unwise. You will entertain no man but me.’ The smile that now graces his face has a hint of madness, it’s almost evil. He’s no longer Erik, but Killmonger and you understand immediately what makes him so fearsome to his enemies. Crooking his fingers, he twists them, screw driving you, making you cry out as you nearly collide into him, jerking at the pleasure shooting throughout your entire body.

He lets go, watching you fall back on the sheets, your hands clenching at the duvet, almost ripping it to shreds as your orgasm builds up. You sit up, grasping at his suit, pushing it off his shoulders desperately, hands shaking to unbutton his shirt, exposing his body to you.

Killmonger refuses to give in to you, a wicked smirk on his face, instead moving his fingers with more speed, his knuckles hitting to the hilt every time, biting down on the other nipple harshly as your orgasm rocks you, and he removes his fingers, your walls clenching emptily at nothing, as you whine at the loss of contact, disbelief stamped on your face. He slides backwards of the bed, leaving you feeling cold and frustrated.

Quickly shedding off his clothes, standing completely nude at the foot of the bed, devouring you like a carnivore with his eyes. He grasps your ankle and pulls you to him, hard. You nearly fall off the bed straight into his arms, as he bounces you up, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist, the scars rubbing against your heated skin, making you bite your lip.

His hands come down to grab and squeeze your ass, slapping them a few times, knowing how much you love the sting, as he crawls back on to the bed, never leaving you and settling down on his knees. His hands trail all over your body, avoiding where you want them the most, pressing sweet open-mouthed kisses against the purple marks. He bites down on the skin on the other side, leaving angry red marks in its place, claiming you as his.

He pushes his finger back into you, adding another two, the three thick digits creating a soft stretch as he scissors them, swallowing your moans with a heated kiss. Your eyes almost roll back when he his hand wraps around your throat again, squeezing tightly, the air suddenly thin. He removes his fingers from you, spanking your ass hard before circling your clit, feather light. You buck your hips against him, but he merely smiles.

‘You look so pretty when you’re so flustered. Such a doll.’ He grins, kissing the corner of your mouth as you suddenly stiffen, feeling the ghost of cold metal in the place of his warm, calloused hand.

‘You’re such a doll to me. I don’t deserve you…’ Brooklyn accent washing over you as you tip toe up to tangle your hands in chocolate brown locks…

‘Y/N! Look. At. Me. Who am I? Who do you belong to?’ Grasping a handful of your hair, he yanks tightly as you snap back, unable to sink into the attack, his eyes seeking yours desperately.

‘I belong to you. Erik, please.’

‘Say my name!’

‘Please N’Jadaka, fuck me.’

Softly strokes your cheek, nuzzling your ear, pleased. ‘No.’

He changes the angle of his fingers so that they’re thrusting up, causing your orgasm to build again as you forcefully suck in a breath against his hand around your throat. He stills all movement again, you moan pitifully, the pressure bringing tears to your eyes.

Grinning wickedly, a glint in his eyes, he returns his hands back between your legs, the flesh so swollen and wet, it gleams softly against his skin. Removing them to roll a nipple between his fingers instead, as you arch your back against his hand and he takes your other nipple in his mouth.

He sucks lightly, flicking the tongue over the already sensitive, tender bud. You hum and he bites down slightly harder than before, turning your moan into a cry.

You can feel his cock pulsing against you and the anticipation is both killing and making you dizzy with pleasure. You clench your thighs around his waist, urging him but he doesn’t move. He releases your breasts, his mouth coming up to kiss you, the pillowy softness red and bruised as his hand comes down to play with your clit. He rubs it lightly, alternating between quick flicks and pressing against the very sensitive nub.

#sinfulsecretschallenge #erik killmonger #erik killmonger x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #a lot of smut #so much angst #okoye

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jesussavedevenme · 5 years

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More than words

So I finally updated. Don't kill me for not writing one of the prompts I'm supposed to be writing please. This kind of just came out of no where but here it is anyway!!!!! Thanks to everyone who has continued to support me even though I don't update often. (This also has not editing btw) Warning- this is kind of sad

Two years. That's how long it had been since Seth had lost his memories and taken by Ronodin. That's what warren had told him at least. Bracken had returned a mere month ago when the Knights of the Dawn launched a rescue mission. Unfortunately Ronodin and Seth were off on another preserve at the time of the rescue. Bracken walked swiftly through the halls of Blackwell Keep in search of Kendra. No one had seen her for hours and when he tried to reach out to her via his horn, she seemed to be blocking him, a new trick she had learned that Bracken was not very fond of. Any other day Bracken would have simply assumed that she was busy with her duties as caretaker, but today was different. He had been gone on an assignment for the past week, the results of which he thought would make her very happy, but his absence seemed to have sent Kendra spiraling downward into her new found separation anxiety. To make matters worse, today was the day that everything had fallen apart for her. Today marked two years since Seths capture, two years since Kendra had said a word. Warren had warned him when he was rescued that Kendra was a bit different. Truthfully, he had expected change, but never like this. Kendra hadn't spoken a word since Seths disappearance, despite everyones best efforts. Kendra's cheekbones were more prominent, but not in a healthy way, actually all of her bones were more prominent. Bracken had marveled at how someone so strong could become so fragile. It terrified him. She had become so frail and fragile that he was afraid to hug her too tightly. Afraid he might break her. He was afraid that she was going to fade away in front of him and he wouldn't be able to stop it. It shattered his heart to think that she wouldn't eat and when she did it usually didn't stay down. But what scared Bracken the most wasn't the lost weight or the bruise like bags under her eyes, it wasn't even the fact that her blinding brilliance had dimmed significantly. No, what scared Bracken most was the silence. The heartbreaking silence and the empty look in her previously bright happy green eyes. Bracken used to love to stare into her beautiful green eyes as they lit up with happiness and excitement, or danced with humor and amusement, even when they would occasionally glint with mischievousness. Now it seemed the only emotions those green eyes held was a deep sadness and fear. And the silence, the silence was crushing. The only time, even a hint of Kendra's voice was revealed was through shrill, heartbreaking, terrified screams. Her nightmares had always been bad, but now they shook her to the core. The screaming was hard, but the silence was harder. No matter what anyone tried Kendra had remained silent. When he had returned, she had stood stunned for more than a minute. In fact, she didn't move at all until he had said her name. He remembered the way she held onto him like a lifeline. He remembered wondering why life had to be so cruel to such an amazing girl. Since his return, he had been doing everything in his power to pull Kendra out of her depression. He was determined to get her back. He knew it would take awhile, but the past few weeks had been filled with so many milestones that he hoped they were coming towards the end of the tunnel. Which is why Bracken was currently rushing through the hallways. With today being the day it was he was afraid that the progress they had made would be lost. Bracken into Kendra's room, relieved when he found her lying on her bed. The room was dark, but Kendra's light, despite the abnormal dimness, kept it from being pitch black. Quietly he walked to her bed and sat beside her putting a hand on her fragile back. "Hey," he whispered, brushing a piece of her hair behind her ear, causing her to look at him with her sad, watery green eyes. "How you holding up princess?" He asked gently. Fresh tears poured down her frail cheeks in response. Slowly he moved into a laying position, allowing her to cuddle up to him. That was the one thing that had remained the same, was Kendra' love of cuddles. "It's ok to miss him, Kendra, its ok to be upset. But you also have to remember that, Seth is alive. I know right now things seem hopeless. Well, I don't know exactly, but I do understand hopelessness. What you have to remember there is that, hopelessness is merely an emotion and right now is merely a moment. What we have to do when we feel hopelessness overtake us is live in the knowledge that we feel it in a moment and like every moment it passes. We just have to allow that moment to pass just like the others. Don't be afraid to feel hopeless, or sad, or even scared. For these are just emotions. It is ok to feel emotions becuase it reminds us that we are alive and healthy. What we need to focus on is the fact that emotions are reactions not reality. " By the time he had finished his speech Kendra's tears had dried and her body had relaxed. "Now what do you say we take a little adventure to make this moment pass a little faster?" He asked looking down at the small fairykind. He could see the debate in her eyes before she finally nodded her head. He gave her a bright smile before standing up and helping her do the same. He kept an arm around her as her weakened body adjusted to the different position. Slowly he began to lead her through the hallways towards one of the towers of the keep. " You see I would have been in there to check on you sooner, but I had something I wanted to set up first." Bracken said once they had climbed to the top of the tower. He gently opened the door and turned to see Kendra's reaction to the sight before them. Kendra gasped and slowly brought a hand up to cover her mouth, eyes glistening with tears once more. Sitting before them was an intricate blanket fort with fairy lights surrounding it looking towards the setting sun. However the beautiful wasn't what had caused her reaction. The reaction was caused by the boy with messy, brown hair seated in the center of it all. "Hey, sis." Seth said quietly as he stood up. There was a noticeable change in height, build, and muscle, but it was still Seth. His much deeper voice still held its hint of carefree humor and confidence. His chocolate brown eyes still held a mischievous glint. Seth awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. " I've really mi-woah" he finished as Kendra slammed full force into her brother. Bracken watched as the sibling clung to one another reminding each other they were safe. Quietly Bracken turned to leave the pair to catch up on the two years they had lost. "Wait!" Bracken stopped dead in his tracks and quickly turned around at the sound tears of joy filling his eyes. The voice was rough, quiet, scrathy from unuse but it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. Kendra walked up to him and pulled him into a hug. "Thank you. Thank you for everything. Thanks for putting up with me and bringing Seth home, memories and all. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I love you. " Tears were pouring down Bracken's face when Kendra finished and he couldn't stop himself when he swooped down to press his lips to hers. " EW!!!!! Dude! That's my sister!! Seriously, how long have I been gone?" Seth yelled dramatically bringing some humor to the situation. Kendra pulled away as she blushed and began to laugh for the first time in two years. Her laughter was contagious and soon they were all clutching their side in laughter. Eventually Bracken left, allowing the two siblings to catch up on some much needed sibling time. As he returned to his room, he felt a weight lift off his chest. He knew this was from the end. Ronodin was still out there, Celebrant wasn't finished, but for at least a moment things were looking up.

♪♪♪♪ Hey guys so I really tried to keep this from ending up as fluff for you people that adore angst but I couldn't do it. I really tried to not bring Seth back but again i couldn't do it. Oh well. Sorry this is probably really bad but here it is♪♪♪♪♪

#fablehaven #dragonwatch #kendra sorenson #bracken #brackendra #seth sorenson #sad #angst #fluff #i tried #tired #i'm going to bed #goodnight

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kondo-hijikata · 6 years

Text

Pairings: Established Kondo/Hijikata Rating: M Summary: It’s simple. Peddle medicine and find purpose. But after Hijikata is caught in a downpour that leads him right into Kondo’s arms, he realizes things are a little more complicated than he’d like to believe. [AO3]

many thanks to @shell-senji for the beta

<< Chapter 1

.*After the Rain*. Chapter 2

I need you. I need you just as much. Maybe even more.

When Hijikata’s lashes fluttered suddenly, he was unsure if it was the caress of dawn on his cheek or the reiteration of phantom whispers that had roused him to wakefulness. Whatever the case, his lips parted and he exhaled softly toward a ceiling which looked nothing like his own. In the same, he found himself naked yet warm against sheets stiffer than recollection served, the futon just as foreign as the scenery.

But it was also comfortingly familiar.

And that was when his mind fully escaped the haze of sleep, when he let his head loll to the side.

But I don’t want to push. …Or make you think I have expectations. Because I don’t.

There was a small gasp and slowly he blinked, his chest rising and falling thereafter with gentle undulation, his sight rife with an image of beauty as golden light sparkled and crept across the dormant form next to him. Ever the early riser, it wouldn’t be long before Kondo stirred as well to make a thankless, drab world of gray blossom back into the colors of paradise—of hope and opportunity and all things that were good.

Merit was to be found in having the fortitude to stare the unsightly straight in the face, however; and so, Hijikata seized the opportunity these fleeting moments gave him, to flex his daring on the plane meant for mortals and allow himself to just…process.

Because there were some dire things once more up for consideration after all that had transpired—things previously deemed figured out, just for Hijikata to realize he’d barely scratched the surface, or even worse, had been avoiding them.

Toshi, I just…I want you to do what makes you happy.

Deliberating, he stared at this man who so willingly, so openly, shared his bed…at shapely and reverent lips which had spoken the reassuring warrant of acceptance now flickering through Hijikata’s thoughts like butterfly wings amid garden flowers. Those words offered a universe of comfort he was wary of accepting, and not because Kondo hadn’t meant them with utmost sincerity; it was because he most certainly had.

That blatant honesty was why Hijikata now wondered if it was actually okay for someone to be okay with this kind of arrangement between them, especially since it involved a compromise of an indefinite nature.

His plan had always been elemental: work hard, get on Kondo’s level, and eventually earn a place at his side where he could pull equal weight. However, upon looking back at the outcome thus far of such a scheme, Hijikata found himself going nowhere fast and doing nothing profound. Instead, he’d somehow become trapped in this infinite loop of not moving forward with Kondo because he felt he couldn’t, and feeling he couldn’t because he wasn’t moving anywhere at all.

He’d assumed these matters would work themselves out eventually, if he just kept at what he was doing; something had to give at some point, after all. People found their calling all the time when least expected and Hijikata was sure his own awaited him, somewhere on the vast oceans of prosperity. But that optimistic view of someday arriving out of no place seemed more fantastical than ever this morning, especially when he’d come to realize just how much it affected more than himself, but them as a unit.

That there even was a them meant everything. And they’d been this way for so long that it felt natural and right…but was it really?

Hijikata’s eyes narrowed with a wince.

After his confession of feeling like a burden, it’d been Kondo’s reassurance that led him home again. And once that happened, they quickly slipped right back to normalcy in the aftermath, like nothing had happened at all.

There was no deviation from the usual, the pattern of behavior unfolding the same way it always did.

First, it was Hijikata’s unprompted, self-induced tension bringing choppy currents to calm waters. Then, followed Kondo’s sweet words, the kiss which placated, the embrace that succeeded in smoothing everything over and restoring life to its usual state. And just as it always had been, it was so easy to let the pressures and trials Hijikata put himself through dissipate, especially when the warmth of reassurance lapped at his agitation in gentle waves.

They’d held each other and talked, quietly at first, the conversation like Hijikata’s hair shifting from damp and heavy to relaxed and light. They ate dinner, shared sake, spent hours into the evening with quality Shieikan company, then sat on the starlit porch drinking and dreaming…until their eyes met in the way they often did. It hadn’t been long thereafter when the shoji shut and the garments fell to the tatami in time with the futon, when lips met again not out of comfort but desire and the entire world whited out.

It was all so…normal. But their relationship really wasn’t that at all, with Hijikata running about in circles while Kondo kept moving forward but still wanting the former around like he was useful for something.

And perhaps these thoughts were why waking up this morning next to Kondo for the umpteenth time of Hijikata’s life felt different.

Something shifted inside him now, as he recalled how Kondo’s feelings had been laid bare before him last afternoon, how that level of humility prompted doors to open even wider to weighty inquiries within Hijikata which had no concrete answers. Worse yet, they were the kind of questions which invited guilt, and that guilt brought with it the self-doubt.

With caution Hijikata turned on his side to face his companion completely, pulling the blanket back over an arm rendered exposed from the change in position, and resolved to study him—to watch Kondo breathe evenly and drink in that placid expression as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He felt his eyes soften and his heart beat but a little quicker.

Kondo seemed even more at peace in his slumber than the waking hours—a marvel itself—with his head against an ivory pillow roll and the thin cover cast off recklessly to expose the solid lines of his robust chest. The material had gathered over narrow hips, almost daring to expose more to the eye than decency would allow. And Hijikata would have been entirely content to revel in the presence of living, breathing art if it weren’t for the more pressing matters insistent and vying for his attention.

His shoulders rolled up slightly. Was it acceptable to leave a man like Kondo waiting while he worked through ironing his life out the hard way, with showing up frequently but never for the long run? Was such a relationship fair to either of them, with one having to surrender more than the other, when the trade-offs never felt even? Was taking his time as he had been also unwittingly taking advantage?

Long black lashes fell with the closing of Hijikata’s eyes, while Kondo’s voice filled his memories once more.

Things are okay this way. I promise. Everything is okay. We’re both doing what we need to do.

But why? Why was it all okay? And why did Hijikata keep inwardly arguing the opposite of all the reassurances and guarantees?

He supposed it all came down to this: it was unclear to him what necessity, what purpose, could be found when Kondo looked his way. There wasn’t a single doubt in existence that he saw something which had him holding Hijikata in such high regard, and so dearly. The not knowing why was infinitely troublesome, however, and brought with it negative thoughts and further discomfiting speculation.

It couldn’t be pity; or more accurately, Hijikata hoped beyond all hope that it wasn’t, as the thought of falling in love with someone out of sympathy for their condition seemed entirely pathetic. Yet then again, Okita was another hard luck case whom Kondo had taken to, but in an older brotherly or even fatherly manner. The difference with Okita’s misfortune lay in his capability of doing something about it; being naturally gifted with the blade meant he possessed something of value upon which his future could be reliably staked.

By contrast, Hijikata practiced the art of swordsmanship in the style of multiples, but held no inkling of mastery for one certain type. He’d worked as a merchant’s apprentice at his family’s insistence, but abandoned that way of life when it’d become too insipid and repetitious. And upon these failings, he’d resolved to wander an aimless path of medicine solicitation while looking for his big break—an occupation which yielded only enough funds to supply little more than sustenance and temporary shelter for himself while on the move.

In the long run, he wanted to be and feel useful, to make an impact that shook the very ground at his feet. …Like his brother-in-law, Hikogoro, drenched in wealth and finesse, who commanded the respect of the locals and even had his own Hino-based Tennen Rishin Ryu dojo. …Like Kondo, chosen by one from the samurai class to join his family and inherit his legacy, who inspired the ambitions of mere farmers and challenged them to be and do better.

Transcending social constructs like that was a ludicrous fantasy seemingly better for bedtime stories, but one boy hailing from Kamiishihara had done the impossible and was now on his way to becoming the master of an entire fighting style. He was a true samurai, not by birth, but in spirit—and that, by Hijikata’s opinion, made Kondo more samurai than any man lucky enough to have been born with such an embellishing title while lacking the discipline and character.

Ultimately, the bitter reality was that up against these admirable men of high caliber, all Hijikata was at this point was a rough stone without polish—one that would barely make a splash if tossed into a lake, one that would sink right to the bottom undistinguished from the rest. He was no pearl, not yet. And he would never become one if he kept on as he had been.

Hijikata’s eyelashes parted suddenly.

…Where were these thoughts going?

He stared at his palm resting flat on the sheet.

…Every twist, every turn of mental gymnastics led him to the same conclusion. He had to make a change. And that change, it meant…

The sudden soft yawn at his side jarred Hijikata and sent his emotional shields slamming into place, his eyes snapping shut before Kondo noticed he’d uncharacteristically woken up first. He feigned sleep over the sounds of stirring, of small stretches and joints popping, of Kondo shifting from his back to his side. Then, all went silent.

The quietude persisted for long enough that Hijikata believed Kondo had fallen back into slumber, so his eyes fluttered open again. But when they did, they parted that much wider in surprise.

Soft amber. Flecks of gold. A universe of treasure between rims of dark lashes, aimed directly at him.

Seconds ticked by.

“Hey…” Kondo whispered at last, a lazy lopsided smile pulling outward to his cheek.

Hijikata blinked, as dread simultaneously crept up his throat and weighed his body down until he felt twice as heavy. If it were any other day, he might have snapped at being watched while he slept and even pulled the cover over his face as retaliation. However, this morning was anything but typical and Hijikata had been the furthest place possible from inner peace.

He wished he could react normally, wished he had the right to chide Kondo as he often would over the small things. Alas...

“…Hey,” he replied, before it became too long and things turned even more awkward for him.

A hand fell over his own, still resting palm-down on the futon, as Kondo’s sluggish features began to sharpen with the furrowing of his brow. “Are…?” He cleared his throat to shake the coarseness from his voice and began rising to a forearm. “Are you okay?”

Hijikata nodded immediately, pulling his hand free from Kondo’s to press unto a bicep and still him. “Mm.” He sniffled, and several frightfully thoughtful moments drifted by before he added, “Still tired.” The yawn thereafter started out fake, but quickly turned real.

“Heh…” To much relief, Kondo seemed to relax at that. He shoved his pillow roll off the futon, then slipped an arm beneath Hijikata and drew him close enough for his lips to meet his forehead. “Me too.”

“I mean…” Hijikata huffed and felt Kondo smile against him, felt the quiet laugh rumble within his chest.

“Sorry.” Kondo stroked his thumb gently across Hijikata’s exposed cheek, then brushed loose locks of hair behind his ear.

He’s such a good person…so rare, so good. He deserves the best of everything. Is that what you can give him as you are now? Really?

“Toshi,” Kondo breathed, elongating the vowels of his name, and then used his weight to coax Hijikata on his back. He nuzzled him, draped an arm over Hijikata’s waist, then rested his head against his chest. “Let’s sleep a little longer?”

Things are okay this way. I promise. Everything is okay.

In fact, at present, nothing was. But perhaps, one day, it could be. Hijikata’s chest tightened as the path with all the answers suddenly opened to him, and at last he realized what needed to be done...for the good of them as one, and the good of them as individuals.

But for now…

If only for now...

“Aa.” Fingers came up to thread through locks of short brown hair before Hijikata let his arm fall, wrapping around Kondo’s back and holding him close. “Just a little longer.” He stared toward the ceiling, as he held tight.

And then tighter yet.

Toshi, I just…I want you to do what makes you happy.

That there even was a them meant everything. And they’d been this way for so long that it felt natural and right…but was it really?

Hijikata’s eyes narrowed with a wince.

There was no deviation from the usual, the pattern of behavior unfolding the same way it always did.

It was all so…normal. But their relationship really wasn’t that at all, with Hijikata running about in circles while Kondo kept moving forward but still wanting Hijikata around like he was useful for something.

And perhaps these thoughts were why waking up this morning next to Kondo for the umpteenth time of Hijikata’s life felt different.

Long black lashes fell with the closing of Hijikata’s eyes, while Kondo’s voice filled his memories once more.

Things are okay this way. I promise. Everything is okay. We’re both doing what we need to do.

But why? Why was it all okay? And why did Hijikata keep inwardly arguing the opposite of all the reassurances and guarantees?

Hijikata’s eyelashes parted suddenly.

…Where were these thoughts going?

He stared at his palm resting flat on the sheet.

…Every twist, every turn of mental gymnastics led him to the same conclusion. He had to make a change. And that change, it meant…

The quietude persisted for long enough that Hijikata believed Kondo had fallen back into slumber, so his eyes fluttered open again. But when they did, they parted that much wider in surprise.

Soft amber. Flecks of gold. A universe of treasure between rims of dark lashes, aimed directly at him.

Seconds ticked by.

“Hey…” Kondo whispered at last, a lazy lopsided smile pulling outward to his cheek.

He wished he could react normally, wished he had the right to chide Kondo as he often would over the small things. Alas...

“…Hey,” he replied, before it became too long and things turned even more awkward for him.

“I mean…” Hijikata huffed and felt Kondo smile against him, felt the quiet laugh rumble within his chest.

“Sorry.” Kondo stroked his thumb gently across Hijikata’s exposed cheek, then brushed loose locks of hair behind his ear.

He’s such a good person…so rare, so good. He deserves the best of everything. Is that what you can give him as you are now? Really?

Things are okay this way. I promise. Everything is okay.

But for now…

If only for now...

And then tighter yet.

Chapter 3 >>

#uss enterplaid #toshisami #hakuouki #t1 #long post #writing on plaid paper #im.........sorry #things have to be bad before they can be good #...or something...like that...#jkhlskdgfdghdksd

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aenigmaticdays · 6 years

Text

Coda

Summary: The mythic invincibility of Fitzsimmons is just that: a myth. Fitz and Jemma learn the most painful way that even the foundation of a once rock-solid friendship that everyone once thought can weather any the test has its own cracks.

Notes: This fic is based on a very unpopular opinion that I have of how the writers tackled Fitzsimmons in S3, particularly during the Maveth-related episodes and the insertion of Will Daniels. I came to realise that 'Coda' was a story I wanted to read, but more than that; it was a story I wanted to write, so I did.

(Well kids, I think communication is important.)

On AO3, and FF.net

Who would have known that the previously-believed unbreakable bonds of a decade-old friendship wouldn’t have withstood the perfect maelstrom of time, the odd chance and more than a few debilitating circumstances?

Lost in this particularly boat-shaking revelation, Fitz starts mentally taking stock.

That much he is sure about: the confidence he has in his abilities and his understanding of science (and some newfound knowledge on astronomy) to bring Will back from that godforsaken planet.

So sure, that he leaves a hastily-written letter at Coulson’s desk before joining everyone else in the lab for the final but delicate stage of the operation.

The insistence whines of the machines take precedence over his morose thoughts. Fitz parks himself at a computer terminal in a corner of the lab, with an eye on the door and an eye on the screen scrolling data that would revolutionise NASA.

After all, he’d crossed the universe for her, and quite possibly bent and twisted several theoretical laws of physics in the process and is alive and well to talk about it should he wish to. But what could have ordinarily been considered one of the few miracles of his career—the leaps and bounds he’s single-handedly made in pushing through to achieve the impossible—has instead shattered his entire world.

The scene in front is hard to take in.

Fitz averts his eyes and stares instead at his dusty shoes as Jemma lavishes sobbing kisses on a ragged and dazed Will, taking small comfort in knowing that his last deed for her is one that will at least, guarantee her happiness.

Locked in a tight embrace, at this very moment, Will and Jemma form a grotesque parody of a medieval triptych that he’d taken in as a wide-eyed boy so long ago in the National Gallery: a woman who weeps over a fallen man, the folds of her skirt draped carefully over him. The pose is intimately timeless, a perfect framing of devotion between two people so intense that every other subject fades into obscurity in the background.

Fitz has never felt more like the outsider. To keep on looking would be intrusively profane in this sacred moment that relegates him to the role of the dispassionate observer. To insert himself into this would render its perfect symmetry askew and disrupt the harmony of its composition.

He uses that frozen moment as additional validation that his place isn’t here any longer.

Close on the heels of relief in knowing that he’d brought Will back are the tiny pinpricks of resentment, anger and throbbing pain that he’d managed to shoved into a deep, dark box the very moment that Jemma had made it clear where she stood.

Fitz raises his head and forces himself to watch as Simmons reluctantly disentangles herself from Will, her movements awkward and anxious as she moves to prep him for a period in isolation.

Coulson approaches slowly in his peripheral vision, tilting his head sideways at the flurry of activity in front of them.

“I think they won’t miss us just yet. Come to my office.”

Fitz slips from the room numbly. The blankness occupying a huge part of his mind is welcome; he has no more words to give. Having kept a promise he’d made himself a while ago—that is, to do all he can to make Simmons happy—he’s nonetheless still floundering as the realisation dawns on him that this winding journey can end today.

His feet take him past the lab—a place which had once freed him to be in his element, then later became a refuge when Simmons was off to Hydra—and the common area (another place where the memories now weigh like a yoke on his neck) and finally to the office, his walk not unlike a prisoner making his way to the gallows.

Those memories of what he and Simmons had accomplished in the years together, both good and bad, flit past until they’re like intertwined catacombs, a haven in the hell he felt he’d just endured, or maybe like a hell that he needed to carve his refuge from.

His breaths automatically quicken, the sudden onslaught of emotions leaving his bad hand trembling more than usual.

Fitz moves two steps past Coulson’s doorway and tries to shake the panic free. With deliberate slowness, he tucks his hands into his pockets. He clenches his fists, then unclenches them, bunching the already-wrinkled fabric of his trousers.

The suffocating weight of claustrophobia that he’s kept at bay now tunnels his vision to the very spot on Coulson’s desk where the letter lies. Nestled haphazardly in the pile of paperwork on the director’s desk is the envelope that he’d left on top of everything else, which means that Coulson has probably read it.

His acceptance of it, however, is another issue altogether.

In fact, it’s surprising to see the letter in a sorry state, as though it’d been read, crumpled and tossed away, before it was reluctantly plucked from its grave and re-read.

Coulson’s appraising sigh echoes loud in the small space, signalling the reckoning that’s coming.

“I’m not going to mince words, Fitz. The last few months have been hard. On you, on all of us, but on you especially. Too much has happened and I know that you and Simmons haven’t been—”

Hearing this from Coulson himself…excruciating doesn’t even begin to cover this.

Interrupting what he thinks might be a speech—whether a bureaucratic or a heartfelt one—that would deter him from doing what’s necessary, Fitz raises a hand in an uncharacteristic plea for silence which catches Coulson off guard.

“Please, Sir.”

Fitz hates himself already for that weak response, for the plea dripping with a desperation that mirrors all the times he thinks he’s lost Jemma.

In any other circumstance, he would have marvelled at how he’d managed to turn the tide—as short as it is—and take control of a conversation that he doesn’t want to have with a man he’s always looked up to.

Because allowing Coulson to go on would be to allow the director’s blunt words to mercilessly chisel through the emotional fortress that he’d been building brick by brick every sleepless night he’d spent in his bunk since Jemma’s return from Maveth.

And alone in his bed, he can be honest with himself: flaky talk of the cosmos aside, reciprocity had always been at the heart of the problem, and the shy hope he’d constantly nurtured about Jemma actually wanting him for who he is? That had finally disintegrated into nothing more than the dust of Maveth just as he thought they were both getting over his difficult recovery and her absence.

An extraordinary combination of circumstances making up the perfect storm, has moved them past the realm of potential and into impossibility.

The ugliest of the confessions he’s painfully admitted to himself is one where he knows he’s always needed Jemma more than she needed him. And she’s always needed him as a friend, an academic equal and as an esteemed colleague.

But as a romantic partner, he’d be her consolation prize.

It’s a kind of proof that he’d never wanted to face, until the sharp reality of it is shoved deep in his guts.

The conclusion he reaches doesn’t come easy, but what finally pushes him forward is the timid and defeated acknowledgement that he simply needs to de-couple himself from the unbreakable idea of Fitzsimmons.

Hard, fast and cleanly.

Having functioned so long as half of a pair, the time has come to shed this unhealthy co-dependency that has him clinging to Jemma longer than he should be. Her undercover work with Hydra, the quickness with which she’d fallen in love and into the arms of another man, the difficulty she had in facing his quasi-confession of love at the bottom of the Atlantic…aren’t these events proof-positive really, that the way forward is one where he needs to stumble onwards and upwards and alone in the journey ahead?

Maybe years later, their paths might cross again and a professional relationship between them could be in the cards. And if time was really said to flatten some scars, this would all be but an unpleasant memory that’s lost its sting.

Coulson eyes the letter once again, leaving Fitz to wallow in discomfort for a few seconds of absolute silence.

He shifts slightly from foot to foot, stilling only when Coulson asks him very quietly if this is truly what he wants.

Cut this right now, is the sinuous whisper in his mind. Cut it now, cleanly and quickly, and you’ll be free.

All he needs now, is the courage to ask for it.

Taking a deep breath as he battles the roil of guilt and anger in his stomach, Fitz merely nods, curtly and decisively.

He’d dug Jemma—no, he would now only think of her as Simmons—out of rubble and dirt, but perhaps, it’s time to dig himself out of this special hell that no one else will pull him from.

Coulson’s reluctant acquiescence is the executioner’s blade that helps cleave Fitzsimmons in half.

oOo

His bags wait at the heavy doors of the base; he’d packed the last few things of his with a single-minded determination that his mother would be proud of the moment Coulson accepted his resignation letter.

It’s this last bit that has him testy and nervous, but his feet nonetheless take him to the medical bay where Simmons still bustles around a sedated Will.

Leaning against the doorway, Fitz watches her for a minute, taking in the utmost care she gives to the people around her. How often had she done that for him as well, while he’d merely repaid her by being an emotional burden that she shouldn’t have to carry in more ways than one?

Simmons catches sight of him when he finally takes a tentative step in, her smile wide and a little wobbly.

“Fitz! Oh good, you’re here. I wanted to—”

She trails off, as though sensing the struggle in him, the curve of her lips turning downwards into a confused frown.

Best to get this done fast, he tells himself.

Because, despite what he’d seen of her videos and what she’d imagined of them in a planet that brought out the basest of instincts and wants that aren’t really there, she’d still chosen Will. In the moments where she’d thought he wasn’t looking, the distant stare that he’d mistook for fatigue is one that he now knows had been for another man who was stuck a universe away.

And unless he considers Simmons utterly lost to him, he knows that every last shred of hope he harbours for the both of them would merely keep him coming back for scraps even as a small part of him resolutely insists that he is in fact, deserving of more than that.

Finally, the words spill out of their own accord, the finality of this conversation akin to a swinging sledgehammer in his chest.

“I’m here to say goodbye, Simmons.”

Fitz glances once more at the sleeping man on the bed and then shifts his gaze to the familiar, beloved face that he’d grown up with for a decade.

The rush of grief and regret bursts from its dam when he sees the dawning look of wretched understanding in her eyes, to the point where it almost has him marching back into Coulson’s office to tear up that letter and rescind his resignation.

But his eagerness to give Simmons what she needs wars with the only selfish decision he wants to make for himself and as much as he wants to be there for her in any capacity at all as she sorts herself out, he is of little use to her as a pillar of support when his own blind need for her would only cripple them both.

She throws her arms around him in a quick, tight hug that he misses already before the sobs start to come.

In a soft whisper, he tells her not to cry for him, then releases her, in all senses of the word.

She doesn’t offer platitudes or any offers to keep in touch, for which he is grateful. Juggling the hurt she must feel with his own …it’s an unbreakable cycle (she had to have known this, surely?) that could only be ruthlessly broken by one of them somehow.

Maybe it’s the last time he’ll ever see her, maybe not, and in the moment before he spins on his heel to walk out, he turns back partially for a last look at her. But it’s a stolen and mute glance as always, like one of the many he’d sneaked in over the last few months because he always feels as though he’s taking something from her without her express permission.

The approach of quiet footsteps stops him in his tracks when he nears the exit.

“Sorry to see you go, mate.”

Hunter swings a brotherly arm around him then hugs him tightly, the exuberance of the action in stark contrast to the quiet words of farewell, then tucks a slip of paper into his pocket.

Baffled, Fitz fishes the paper out curiously but finds that it’s nothing more than a name and a number, neither of which are familiar to him.

“Call the number when you’re ready. Edwin,” Hunter gestures cryptically at his near-illegible scrawl of that mysterious name, “will be expecting you.”

It’s all Hunter leaves him with before turning back and rounding the corner.

Fitz shoulders his bags and waits for the heavy door to open. His eyes are burning (it’s just a trick of the light, he’s sure of it) as he walks forward into the bright sunlight.

It takes every effort not to look back.

oOo

The journey back to Glasgow is brutal, but that’s because he takes the slow way with too many connections for his liking, eschewing Coulson’s offer to use the quinjet to cross the Atlantic.

With nothing but time on his hands and his meagre belongings sitting in the cargo hold of a commercial flight, Fitz only remembers traversing the distance with lingering pains in his tailbone and the occasional drink that he takes from the flight attendant.

When time is catalogued as an endless stream of memories, night can meld into day and into night again outside the plane’s window, he finds that even jet-lag is no match for the movie in his mind. There’s no transcendental epiphany as much as he wishes for it, but merely an emptiness and a longing that he knows he has to fight, this time, for himself.

He’s come too far now—there’re literally thousands of miles between him and Simmons—to look back.

That decision to leave S.H.I.E.L.D., in truth, had been made the day when he slowly realised she’d increasingly become a crutch for him but had been too deep in denial to say so. The growing distance between them had spoken volumes about their once-in-sync relationship, professional civility replacing the platonic familiarity they once had with each other.

Then the revelation of his feelings which apparently repulsed her so much that she’d gone off on assignment to Hydra (what was he to think, after all?), their tentative truce before the damn planet whisked her away, her admission of love for Will...it’s a cosmic hand dealing him odds he can’t overcome.

He knows that the cracks in this once invincible pairing had formed long ago. Only later can he painfully conclude that excising himself from her life is the only option for his sanity, because he doesn’t think he can bear being there (it’s just perfect timing, innit?) when Will Daniels gets back on his feet and starts building a life with Simmons.

It’s only when he raises his fist to knock on the door of a modest home in Glasgow that he realises the late hour he’s arrived. But just like the stalwart woman he remembers who’d brought him up single-handedly, she opens the door in her pyjamas sans robe, shock and delighted surprise on her face when she sees him.

For the third time in two days, he’s engulfed in a hug.

Clinging to her to as long as he can, he tries to give her a smile when she asks about Jemma, though he doesn’t say a word in reply to her rapid-fire questions.

In fact, just the mention of her now brings up the roiling emotions he’s promised himself to keep tightly locked down—Fitzsimmons is no longer a fixable thing, he’d made sure of it and well…fuckthis skewed crisis of conscience that he can’t get past.

After all, how does he tell his mother that long, complicated story that starts with him nearly giving up the ghost at the bottom of the Atlantic, then giving up on a complicated friendship—if one could even call it that still—that had uttered its dying breath even before he’d walked away?

This close to breaking point, Fitz just shakes his head and avoids the intensity of her stare. He simply tells his mum that he’s tired from all the travel.

That is enough to galvanise her into action. She literally pulls him inside and pushes him into the bathroom to clean up, then sets out to make a full Scottish breakfast for him in the middle of the night.

It’s morning somewhere else around the world, she tells him later after the first helping of tatties and buttered toast and bacon, and her returning, prodigal son gives her an excellent excuse to eat a huge meal at the wrong time.

Much later, tucked into his childhood bed, all scrubbed raw and unpacked, he tosses and turns, and stares unseeing, at the crack in the window that he’d accidentally made the day before he left for the Academy all those years ago, contemplating the journey that has him coming back full circle after far too many losses.

The tears only fall hours later, when there’s no one at home.

oOo

Apart from Simmons, Fitz learns to live with a terrifying vulnerability that he hasn’t felt in years. Having been sheltered by her constant presence and then twinned with her in so many ways for so long, going solo makes him wobble like a new-born foal struggling to find its feet.

After the cathartic breakdown a week ago, he feels just a little bit stronger to face the world, so he ventures out and around Glasgow, keenly feeling the cold Scottish air nipping at his cheeks and nose and reddening the tips of his ears.

So much has changed, yet so many things have stayed the same. He walks past the high street in somewhat of a daze, still fingering the slip of paper that he hadn’t bothered to remove from the pocket of his jacket. He revisits old haunts—these memories, from before the Academy, now take on faded, sepia tones—and tries to remember what that time had been like.

Never has Fitz imagined a life past S.H.I.E.L.D. and in these uncharted waters, it’s either sink or swim. The former is something he’d literally already experienced and has no wish to go through again.

So that leaves him with learning how to swim, just as he tries to put the memory of the last sacrificial breath of oxygen out of his mind and the ill-timed confession that went with it.

Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he dials the number written on the piece of paper.

oOo

People can say all they like about Hunter and his ilk but Fitz is nothing but thankful for the man’s outstretched hand of friendship and help in his darkest hour. The only caveat being, all bets are off when it comes to their favourite football teams.

Edwin (the man with no apparent last name), as it turns out, is an English owner of a large private security firm and apparently, Hunter has said enough to Edwin that he’d been willing to hire Fitz on the spot as a tech-and-weapons specialist, with just that single but lengthy phone call.

Edwin’s proposal is simple and tempting: he wants Fitz in his first team, convinced that the addition of a tech-and weapons specialist of Fitz’s calibre can only be an asset to his expanding business.

The job role after all, isn’t too dissimilar to what Fitz had been doing all along, though he would be expected to participate more in fieldwork this time around and not sit in a van or in a lab behind a screen to remotely toggle switches or calibrate his readings. The lifestyle can be a nomadic one at times, but with the firm’s permanent bases in London, the Middle-East and North America, he’s guaranteed downtime and the choice of several countries to be based in, if he chooses to.

He accepts the offer after the hour-long conversation, then returns to his mother’s house to pack his bags once again.

oOo

As spring breaks the harsh colours of winter, Fitz learns once again, what it means to be part of a team.

It’s different but not unpleasant. Less grounded in alien tech, more focused on immediate threats that don’t come from realms unknown.

The fieldwork training is hard, but whatever he’s taken from those short years with Coulson helps him along somewhat. Whatever foundation S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him, Edwin’s team now build ferociously on it.

Fitz still finds himself out of his depth—it’s knowledge of a different sort after all and acting on it with a calm head under fire is bloody difficult because he’s inclined to give into panic first—but instincts can be honed and sharpened and that’s exactly what his new team gives him.

The leader of the team is not the Cavalry, but he comfortably holds his own in hand-to-hand combat and it’s his patient training that returns some of Fitz’s confidence in his own physical abilities. He isn’t the strongest man around, but he discovers he’s quite a natural at taking shots and that the odd but precise task of packing his go-bag for every mission (one of the first things they teach him) soon becomes a routine that he can do in his sleep.

They also give him a small lab to work in and even if it isn’t the state-of-the-art kind of technology he’s used to, it’s space that he can call his own where no one bothers to disturb him unless it’s a reminder about deployment or down-time. Engineering improvements to their safety gear becomes his creative outlet and soon enough, the teams start squabbling among themselves to see who gets to use the enhanced tech first.

The camaraderie between the guys is solid and despite their intimidating sizes, they’d been nothing but welcoming to him, more so when he manages to save their collective arses (he’d just gotten his own arse singed in the process), first on a black-ops mission in Honduras and then later, during a covert operation where they’d been inserted into deep in the Kamchatka peninsula.

But maybe what Fitz likes about them best is how they don’t see the occasional shake of his bad hand and how they ignore the stutter that still emerges from time to time (they don’t say anything if they notice it anyway). With the ribbing and joking aside (being the new guy can still suck at times and the pranking doesn’t go away just because he’s come highly recommended), he learns that there is a life apart from S.H.I.E.L.D. and it isn’t a dark path as he’d previously imagined without Simmons at his side.

Edwin had merely introduced him as a former agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and that had been enough to stir some gossip amongst the more…curious ones. There are things Fitz knows that the guys are dying to ask him, but it’s not something he’s ready, or will ever be ready, to talk about.

His unnatural silence when they jokingly question him on girlfriends and the other missions he’d been on might show that while he’d walked past the light at the end of the tunnel, but his inability to say the words perpetually stuck in his throat is also a reminder of a dull, lingering ache that still throbs when he slides his own mental shielding up for a bit. The pattern of silence that he takes henceforth when it comes to anything remotely related to Simmons becomes as natural as breathing. Pain and other thorny emotions, rendered into muteness, had become his salvation.

But Fitz isn’t too daft as to think that it’s all sunshine and roses. Such moments are milestones in some ways, or at least, indicators that he has still not fully come to terms with the past few months yet, not when they still feel like a jagged knife in his gut.

Still, he meticulously builds layer upon layer of personal armour, strengthening the walls each time to keep out the thoughts of S.H.I.E.L.D. (and Simmons) that creep unwittingly into his mind.

He slowly gets used to having his own locker in the boys’ room with his name printed on it—the term ‘operative’ is so laughable when it’s applied to him—as well as the tactical clothing that he dons more often now than the shirts and ties that have been stowed and largely forgotten in the bottom of a drawer.

He learns of adrenaline highs and lows during and after missions and how to manage them.

Mostly, it’s found at the bottom of a beer bottle with the rest of the rowdy crew or in an intense lab session where he takes things apart and puts them back together again on his pristine workspace, and on a memorable occasion, in the bed of a young prodigy of a physics professor staying in town for a few nights for a conference.

Maybe it’s a rebound, maybe it’s not; he doesn’t quite know how to classify this thing between them that’s so not him. But he’d loved the past few days of laughter and easy conversations, along with the surprising amount of heat two people can generate when they’re genuinely into each other minus the baggage, the expectations and the heartache.

She looks nothing like Simmons yet speaks his kind of science language, and her own beauty stands on its own. But her exuberant nature is infectious—she tells him quite honestly that the general air of brooding he carries around, along with the delectable accent, are like catnip to some women (he laughs shyly at that)—and by the time she fondly kisses him goodbye at the end of their short time together, she’d inadvertently gifted him with some measure of understanding that maybe, just maybe, his brokenness is not unfixable, and that his world really hadn’t started and ended with Simmons.

Mostly, despite the gaping hole that’s still in his chest, she leaves him in awe of the passion she has for the life ahead of her, though it isn’t without some shock to discover how far he’d come since joining Coulson’s mobile unit.

He learns to disassemble and reassemble his weapons as quickly as the rest of the guys (timed competitions that he can’t resist help make this second nature to him), joins them sometimes in the gym (he develops a fondness for the punching bag in particular because it helps blank his mind) and slowly, starts accepting their invitations for after-work drinks.

He learns, for the first time, what bromance really means after seeing how the guys have each other’s backs, and that he’s actually grateful for this sort of masculine connections that had he’d sorely lacked for the first part of his life. Their don’t-ask-don’t-tell attitudes compel him to shed the last of the awkwardness that he has around them, though it takes more than a few drunken nights to achieve that.

He also learns to call London, Bahrain and Colorado home, where temporary but luxurious apartments house the teams on their downtime. Eventually, he thinks he might want London as his permanent base—it’s the closest to home where he’s just a few hours away from his mum should she need him around.

With the weeks marked by some periods of mad activity and sometimes, even longer periods of lull, the cool spring gradually transitions into the scorching heat of summer. Without really knowing when it happened, Fitz realises that he’d completely slipped into another kind of life—and down a very different path—that he couldn’t possibly have conceived of when he’d first stepped into the Academy.

The only connection with the past is the rare but treasured phone call from Hunter, who never fails to take some credit for this new life Fitz has made for himself. They steer clear of the sensitive topics because Hunter can be perceptive when he chooses to be and he always grits his teeth and swallows back the questions he wants to ask about the rest of the team and well, Simmons.

Or Simmons and Will Daniels.

The only time Hunter tangentially mentions her is when he slips in a side-complaint about her new engineering partner who has had more than a few difficulties filling the shoes he’d left behind.

But Hunter also never fails to make it clear that he is sorely missed.

Just like that, the dull ache returns with a vengeance.

#fanfic #Marvel: AOS #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d.#Fitzsimmons #fitz x simmons #fanfic au #Leo Fitz #Jemma Simmons

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cipriss · 7 years

Text

Anything For You

Jin Scenario

Warnings: A lil’ swearing, Fluff galore, Cheesy ass writing.

Words: 1.6K

Summary: Inspired by the quote ‘In a room full of art, I’d still stare at you.’

Requested: No

MASTERLIST

“The bust you see in front of you was crafted by none other than the great sculptor Francis Béranger. Of course, being one of poor background he only had his hands to do what he intended.” You scoffed inwardly at the instructor's words. It looked like it was handmade.

“It looks more like he maced it to make it look slightly like a human-shaped bust.” Jin whispered in your ear which caused you to chuckle quietly.

“I’m sorry I dragged you to this. I had no clue they closed off all the good art. This hang out was a bust.” Jin chortled a little loud at your pun earning the both of you a few distasteful glances. You wouldn’t blame them, the museum had closed off the section with the art pieces it had advertised their museum with. Now, we were stuck looking at mediocre paintings and sculptures with little to no tasteful history.

“Hey! I don’t really care what we do. As long as we’re hanging out, I’m totally fine. Plus, that pun saved the entire night.” The both of you still kept your voices low, as to not draw any attention to yourselves.

“But it’s been so long! I finally see you after six whole months after your tour and I can’t even plan a decent museum trip. Gosh, why is this so boring? I’ve never hated museums like right now.” Jin smiled at your pouty expression and nodded.

“Then y’know what?” He grabbed your hand and started pulling you away from your museum group. “Let’s fix that.” You protested lightly as he dragged you along but didn’t put up too much of a fight in case he let go of your hand. He only hushed your weak complaints and pulled you behind him.

Realization dawned on you as he led you to the area of the museum that you had come for in the first place. The only difference was that he totally disregarded the velvet rope that made the area off-limits to the visitors and ducked under it after checking for any onlookers. You whipped your head from side to side, to see if anyone was going to catch the both of you but saw that the entire hallway was empty.

“You wanna go in there? We’ll get caught Jin!” You whisper yelled. You don’t anyone would’ve heard you if you spoke normally but your panicked brain was way too scrambled to put that together.

“So? We’re not stealing anything. What’re they gonna do? Arrest us for admiring actual pieces of art?” He said sarcastically. You were still hesitant and Jin sighed and grabbed a hold of your hand -after he had let go of it to duck into the restricted are- and pulled lightly. Not moving you from your place but only as if he was testing you. “Come one (Y/N). I promise I won’t let anything happen.”

His eyes were soft and pleading as he said that. “Ah... I hate when you give me the puppy dog eyes. You know I’m weak for those!” You finally resigned to the idea of entering and ducked under the rope yourself. Jin smirked lightly and squeezed your hand before letting go again.

“Let’s see some real art shall we?”

“Ooh! Crime at the art museum, who knew we were such nerds?” You laughed as you took a look around the room. Your breath caught in your lungs. It was a wide open space with some paintings as large as the walls they were hung on themselves, and beautifully crafted statues that looked like they could rival the realism of Da Vinci’s many sculptures. You could faintly hear that Jin had said something to you after your last quip but you didn’t bother listening as you were too busy marveling at the restricted art. Why would they even hide this? The skylight dome lets in the natural sunlight that gave the room a sort of heavenly look and complimented the art so very well by highlighting the soft, aged colors of the paintings and making the sculptures seem borderline ethereal.

Jin realized you were long gone as he stared at your expression in awe. Your lips were slightly parted as you took in your surroundings and your hair looked like it was tangled in the rays of the sunlight surrounding the room. You’d never looked like this to him. Truth be told, Jin harbored affection towards you but never confessed as he was afraid that it would strain the friendship the both of you had maintained over the years. Seeing you look so star struck like this made Jin’s heart clench. You didn’t even notice him as you stared on at the various pieces of art in the room, and the only masterpiece he couldn’t move his eyes off of was you.

You finally remembered that Jin was still with you, patiently waiting for you to indulge yourself. You blinked and looked back at him to find that he was staring at you with an expression you’ve never really seen from him before. It was the first time you couldn’t get a read on his expression. He seemed to gracefully snap out of it and smile at you. The kind of smile that made your heart leap. “Wanna go?” He tilted his head towards the way you two had entered. “Or spend some more time in this room?”

You shook your head slightly. “We should leave before someone finds us. Plus, I can always come back later. should be the one asking you that since you’ll be way too busy with you idol life.” You smiled at him slowly walking your way out of the room.

“What, no pictures?”

You shook your head again, ducked under the rope and whirled around to face him. “Pictures won’t do the art in that room any justice.”

Jin silently agreed and followed after you towards the exit of the museum.

“How’d you like it then?” He asked, right after you left through the front doors of the museum. His hand was yet again, wrapped around yours as you leisurely paced your way back to your home.

You looked at him with an incredulous look. “You kidding me? Did you not see me in there practically drooling of how good that looked? I’m pretty sure I drooled.”

Jin scoffed comically and squinted his eyes at you. “Just a little bit.”

“Seriously though, were you not looking at the art? It looked breathtaking!” You explained loudly. Jin loved seeing you like this. Seeing you talk about things you were passionate about. The twinkle in your eyes could rival that of the night sky in rural villages.

“Trust me. I think I had my fair share of drooling over fine art as well.” You glanced at him, only to find him staring at you the same way he had in the museum. You furrowed your eyebrows and asked him if there was something on your face. Jin couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t just stay satisfied with longing glances towards you and he needed more.

He doesn’t know what made him snap today but the nest thing he knew, he had one hand rested on your cheek and the other still holding onto you as his lips were pressed against yours. His eyes clenched tight and he felt his resolve melting away as you didn’t kiss him back so he pulled away.

“Oh shit, (Y/N). I’m sorry- I jus-” His words were then cut off by your lips encasing his as your body was flush against his and both your arms were around his neck. After the initial shock of you actually kissing him, he starts to slide his lips against yours and wrapped his arms around your waist. It didn’t matter to him that you guys were basically making out in public like it should because all he could really focus on was you. You and your lips against his that tasted of what the sun felt like on his skin on a cold morning. That’s the only way he could describe your kiss.

You were the first one to pull back but your eyes were still shut as you did and Jin took a moment to etch this memory into his brain. You looked so vulnerable and so ready. You finally opened your eyes and looked at him with surprise. You didn’t expect the kiss. You didn’t even expect you kissing him back.

“Wow...” You let out after what felt like an eon but in reality, it was only a few seconds.

He chuckled airily and nodded in agreement “Wow indeed.” He smiled. That smile was going to get you in a lot of trouble.

“So... Is it safe to assume you’re into me?” You asked quietly. Strangers passed around you guys but you still held one another in an embrace.

“What do you think?”

“That you kissed me to mess with me?” You replied with a slight hint of sarcasm.

He shook his head slightly and leaned in to give you a small peck. “Never. I just couldn’t hold it back anymore. I wasn’t satisfied with just being your friend and I couldn’t take it. So um, I made a move.” He let out a breath of air in the last part.

“Hold back?” You smirked, deciding to tease him a little. “How long exactly have you been holding back?”

He groaned and looked up at the sky. “I don’t appreciate you mocking me when I’m trying to confess.” That promptly shut you up. He looked back down at you and bit his bottom lip slightly as his eyes sneaked a glance at your lips. “(Y/N), will you let me date you? Because honestly, now that I’ve kissed you, I don’t think I’ll be able to live with a thousand more kisses like that.” You smiled endearingly at him.

“Anything for you.” you whispered as you brought his lips down to yours again and gave all of you to him.

A/N: Okay so THAT’S over. I’m gonna apologize again for the intense cheese in this and shit but please go easy on me because it’s literally the first time ever I’m writing for BTS. I’m still trying to learn the ropes and just wanted to post something to make my blog look less empty.

#i apologize for the intense cheesiness #again.....#but jin makes my insides melt and turn to mush #jin x reader #kim seokjin x reader #kim seokjin #jin imagine #jin imagines #kim seokjin imagine #kim seokjin imagines #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts #bts jin #bts reactions #jin scenarios #jin scenario #kim seokjin scenarios #kim seokjin scenario

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imuskansameer · 4 years

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A Living Stuffed With Miracles - If Just You Believe

Lanciano is a small, medieval town , nestled in from the coast of the Adriatic Sea in Italy, halfway between San Giovanni Rotondo and Loreto. Everything about Lanciano smacks of the Eucharistic Miracle. Even the name of the city was changed from Anxanum (in ancient times), a course in miracles to Lanciano, meaning "THE LANCE."

Tradition has it that the centurion, named Longinus, who thrust the Lance into the medial side of Jesus, striking Him in the Tip of His Heart where He shed blood and water, (in the Gospel account of the Crucifixion (Mk 15:29)) was using this town. After seeing the events which followed the piercing of Jesus'heart, the darkening of sunlight, and the earthquake, he thought that Christ was the Savior.

A far more physical sign, however, was that Longinus had had poor eyesight, and after having touched his eyes with the water and blood from the side of Jesus, his eyesight was restored. Just what a perfect parallel the actions of the Centurion were to the Eucharistic Miracle. He touched the Heart of Jesus, was healed, and converted. He gave up the Army, visited Cappadocia, and was martyred for the faith. He's known now as Saint Longinus.His feast day is celebrated on March 15.

The church of the Eucharistic Miracle is found in the middle of the town. But what exactly is the biggest market of town today was the outskirts of town in the Eighth Century, when the Eucharistic Miracle occurred. At the time, it was called the Church of St. Legontian and St. Domitian, and was under the custody of the Basilian Monks, of the Greek Orthodox Rite. This was ahead of the Great Schism of 1054.

A Basilian monk, wise in the methods for the planet, however, not in the means of faith, was having a trying time along with his belief in the actual presence of Our Lord Jesus in the Eucharist. He prayed constantly for rest from his doubts, and worries he was losing his vocation. He suffered through the routine of his priesthood day after day, with these doubts gnawing at him.

The problem on earth did not help strengthen his faith. There were many heresies cropping up constantly, which kept chipping away at his faith. These were not totally all from outside the church either. Brother priests and bishops were victims of the heresies, and they were being spread through the entire church. This priest, being fully a very intelligent person, couldn't help but be more and more convinced by the logic of the heresies, especially usually the one concerning his particular problem, the physical presence of Jesus in the Eucharist. Human logic is definitely a great enemy of the soul, once we try to understand the Divine.

One morning, while he was having a solid attack of doubt, he started the Consecration of the Mass for the individuals of the town. He used the exact same size host that is utilized in the Latin Rite masses today. What he beheld as he consecrated the bread and wine caused his hands to shake, indeed his whole body. He stood for quite a while with his back once again to individuals, and then slowly turned around to them.

He explained: "O fortunate witnesses to whom the Blessed God, to confound my disbelief, has wanted to reveal Himself in this Most Blessed Sacrament and to render Himself visible to our eyes. Come, brethren, and marvel at our God so near us. Behold the Flesh and Blood of our most beloved Christ."

The host had converted into Flesh. Your wine had turned into Blood.

The people, having witnessed the miracle for themselves, began to wail, seeking forgiveness, crying for mercy. Others began beating their breasts, confessing their sins, declaring themselves unworthy to witness this kind of miracle. Still others went down on the knees according, and thanksgiving for the gift the Lord had bestowed on them. All spread the story throughout the town, and surrounding villages.

Jesus even allowed Himself to be crucified again. Following the miracle, the Host was pinned right down to a wooden board, so that whenever it dried, it wouldn't flake out, as scabbed flesh does. So here He was again, with nails in His Body, nailed to an item of wood.

The miracle that occurred in 700 was just the beginning. That has been 1250 years ago. Had that miracle taken place, and then a flesh and blood disintegrated, as would have been normal, the miracle could have been none the less a miracle. The priest's faith had been renewed. The entire town, the whole country for that matter, became conscious of the miracle. Pilgrims flocked to Lanciano to venerate the Host turned flesh. Belief in the Eucharist had been reborn. The gift from the Lord was complete.

But that's not all. The Miracle is ongoing. The Host-turned- Flesh, and the wine-turned-Blood, without the usage of any type of preservative, continues to be within the reliquary. In 1574, testing was done on the Flesh and Blood. An unexplainable phenomenon was discovered with the Blood. The five pellets of coagulated Blood will vary sizes and shapes. But any combination weighs just like the total. In other words, 1 weighs exactly like 2, 2 weigh just like 3, and 3 weigh the same as 5.

From the beginning, the local church accepted this miracle as a real sign from heaven, and venerated the Eucharistic Flesh and Blood in processions on its feast day, the final Sunday of October. The fame of the shrine spread through the region quickly, and soon all Italy came to the Church in Pilgrimage.

Many writings authenticating the Eucharistic Miracle took place within the years. Because it has been such a important local miracle, the backdrop and history of the events were carefully recorded.

There had been a manuscript written in both Greek and Latin, attesting to the Miracle. It had been said to have been written and certified during the time of the Miracle. In a Chronology of the City of Lanciano, historian Fella wrote that in early 1500, two Basilian Monks came to the Church, which was now in the custody of the Franciscans, and asked to stay overnight. Additionally they asked to start to see the parchment which told the story of the Eucharistic Miracle of Lanciano. The Franciscans allowed them to review the parchment overnight.

But the following morning, the Basilian Monks left very early, ahead of the Franciscans had awakened, and took the manuscripts with them. The motive, it absolutely was thought, was that the Basilian Monks were ashamed any particular one of their particular had lost his faith in the Eucharist, and hoped that by stealing the original document attesting to the big event, it might go away. The Church of the Miracle remained in the custody of the Monks of St. Basil, until 1176, once the Benedictines took over. However, the building had become very rundown, and the Benedictines were not overly worked up about taking care of it.

The Franciscans, however, did want custodianship of the Shrine. When certainly one of their benefactors, Bishop Landulfo, was created Bishop of Chieti, he gave them the Shrine to be mindful of. So, in 1252, the Benedictines left, and the Franciscans took over. What they certainly were not conscious of until they really came to Lanciano, was that the church was a disaster. They surmised that this was why the Benedictines so easily turned it to them. In 1258, the Franciscans built a new church on the webpage of the first Church of St. Legontian.

In 1515, Pope Leo X made Lanciano an episcopal See, directly responsible to Rome.

In 1562, Pope Pius IV wrote a Papal Bull raising it to an Archepiscopal See.

In 1666, the Franciscans found themselves in the center of a legal struggle with the thing that was called the "Raccomandati", or Select band of the town. Today's Italians might call them "I Superbi ".They thought these were much better than everyone else. The Raccomandati tried to take the church far from the Franciscans by laying claim to the ORIGINAL CHURCH of St. Legontian, upon that your Franciscan church was built.

If they had won, they'd experienced both churches. However the Lord intervened through the high ranking Cardinal Giannetti, of the Sacred Congregation of Bishops and Religious, and the Franciscans won the case. You may be sure they immediately requested a deed, and 18 years later, in 1684, it had been granted them. During Napoleon's time, in 1809, the Franciscans were driven out from the town. But they returned in solemn triumph on June 21, 1953.

On June 25, 1672, Pope Clement X declared the altar of the Eucharistic Miracle a privileged altar on the Octave day of the deceased and on all Mondays of the year.

In 1887, the Archbishop of Lanciano, Monsignore Petarca, obtained from Pope Leo XIII, a PLENARY INDULGENCE in perpetuity to those who venerate the Eucharistic Miracle through the 8 days preceding the feast day.

The Eucharistic Miracle was placed in different locations within the Church of St. Francis on the years. At one time, in 1566, the threat of the Turks became imminent across the Adriatic Coast. It was thought that Lanciano could be a simple target to allow them to invade. As a matter of security, the Eucharistic Miracle was extracted from its chapel, and walled on the other side of the Church.

It got to a spot, however, that the threat of the Turks became an excessive amount of a reality. On August 1 of this year, a Friar Giovanni Antonio di Mastro Renzo lost his faith, not in the Eucharist, but either in God's ability, or God's desire to truly save him and his little band of Franciscans from the onslaught of the Turks. Using the need to save the Eucharistic Miracle from the Infidels, he took the reliquary containing the Flesh and Blood, and himself and his friars, and fled the city. They walked all through the night. Right before dawn, Friar Giovanni felt they had put enough distance between them and the enemy, and ordered his friars to rest. As the sun came out, they unearthed that they certainly were back at the gates of the city.

Believing that the Lord had intervened, and that He wanted His Sacred Sign being an assurance to the individuals of the city of Lanciano that He hadn't abandoned them, the friars were filled up with the Holy Spirit. They acquired the courage of lions. They vowed to keep in the Church, and protect the Eucharistic Miracle using their lives. As it turned out, the Lord kept them from harm, in addition to the city of Lanciano, and the Eucharistic Miracle.

The Flesh and Blood were kept walled up to 1636, even though threat of the invading Turks had long since disappeared. In those days, the Eucharistic Miracle was utilized in the right side of the altar, encased in an iron tabernacle, behind iron doors. There have been four keys to the vault, each held by different people in the town. This was called the Valsecca Chapel, in honor of the benefactor. The Miraculous Flesh and Blood were kept in this chapel until 1902. The faithful were only in a position to venerate the Eucharistic Miracle on special events, the Monday after Easter, and the final week in October, the week of the feast. The Plenary Indulgence was offered to individuals through the feast.

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